#they should have all ended up together instead of whatever the bullshit was Roy and Jamie fighting over her

[badwolfgirl13]

The craziest thing I've ever seen on television was Roy and Keeley following Jamie home ending up in his childhood bedroom where there's posters of both of them on the wall and then not have them end up as a throuple

[darkpoisonouslove]

Ranking the Winx Club Finales

I recently finished my rewatch (and first watch of a season and a half) of Winx Club and wrote out my thoughts on all of it. However, to send off a year that was in experience a lot like watching this series - meaning, generally frustrating and downright disappointing whenever I got excited over a thing with a few highlights that actually stuck the landing - and to get out any remaining feelings over the series, I have decided to rank the finales from least to most favorite. I just have a lot of rage to spare over season 8′s finale and needed an excuse to do so. Plus, I am being thematic here goddammit! Here we go:

8. Season 8

Yeah, I really spoiled that already. To sum it up:

But let me elaborate. Like I already said, this finale enraged the living fuck out of me. I just cannot comprehend whatever possessed them to write a finale so, so... excruciatingly devastating... to a season that started out with a lot of promise and had some extremely solid decisions (except for the art style, which is just NOT IT). This finale is an absolute disaster in every way. First, there is a new plot point introduced mere minutes before the finale and it is never tied into the overall narrative of the season which doesn’t do it any favors, especially after the two halves of the season already have trouble connecting together into one overarching story. The reason they brought in the creatures from the Dark Dimension was to distract Valtor while Winx make their attempt at stealing the stars which could have very well been a role filled by Arken confronting Valtor in an opportunity to clear up all the muddy details around their partnership and bring together the two halves of the season. The Winx’ plan had potential that was completely wasted by their own interruption instead of seeing each girl (provided Layla was playing Icy, Stella - Darcy and Musa/Tecna - Stormy) doing her best to pretend to be the Trix she’s posing as to give the Trix the due role they should have had in this finale. Instead, we get an Icy that is a complete opposite of the character we’ve known her to be for seven seasons all for the sake of a wish she doesn’t even get fulfilled despite her decision to help. Her motivation is a direct contradiction to the original plan of the Trix and disrespects her character from all previous instances of her being on the show for absolutely no reason as she is left with nothing in the end and the whole backstory they invented for her out of nowhere and couldn’t fit in any way with anything previously known about her was in vain because it was never resolved. Winx essentially manage to defeat Valtor once they wish for their own power-up and are gifted powers they haven’t really earned only to be pronounced great heroes who even get their own constellation in the sky. Come again? There was no narrative tension in this episode, no big climax to resolve what is supposedly the biggest threat in the universe at the moment, and no actual emotional conclusion to the season. It can’t even be called a messy wrap when so many threads were left hanging in there. A true disaster on every front.

7. Season 6

Even if you count both 6x25 and 6x26 as the finale of season 6, the structure is still lacking big time. Acheron who is the main drive of the entire season is defeated before the end of 6x25 and the Trix who are the other main villains were also more or less neutralized at that point to leave absolutely no stakes for the last episode so they had to pull some bullshit to fill it. The Winx are useless for the entire episode, including Bloom whose battle with the Trix is an absolute joke. Like, they can’t even think of syncing their attacks so that she can’t protect herself from all three of them with her ridiculously small shield and Bloom couldn’t even bother to actually buy herself enough time to leave the Legendarium. The only saving grace of that fight is the little emotional moment it causes for Bloom but that was also not really set up at any point of the season so it was just out of the blue. Selina changing her affiliations permanently even after the imminent threat for her life was neutralized made about as much sense as her turning evil in the first place and the fact that they needed her to lock the Legendarium made everything 1000% shittier because of how convenient it was that she just decided to turn good again without any justification for her course of actions. That coupled with the lack of consequences for any of her actions (she nearly killed Flora for heaven’s sake and no one even brought that up?) plus the dreadful info dump monologue they gave her just brought the whole thing down. The wrap-up of the season was also underwhelming after they had an entire episode that was mainly free of villains in order to close the other storylines... but, of course, there were no other storylines. Pretty disastrous.

6. Season 7

Just like in season 6, Winx were pretty useless here as they really didn’t do all that much for the plot. Luckily, the fact that the Trix were brought in allowed for the villains to have a battle that was more intriguing and provided some action as for a finale. The other key elements of the season (fairy animals, Trix, wild magic, Kalshara and Brafilius and the time travel) were actually woven together pretty well to make for a pretty satisfying finish to a season that really lacked any solid plot. The mini worlds and the Tynix transformation did not have use in the last episode but that wasn’t too catastrophic. There was actually a pretty emotional moment between the fairy animals and Winx that would have been even better if their relationships had been better developed throughout the season... You’d really think that since fairy animals were the main point of the season and there was no solid plot to account for, they would have taken the time to pay attention to Winx bonding with their fairy animals but nah. I am still impressed with how touching their goodbye was given the fact that they didn’t really have all that much time to actually become close so bonus points for that. The very last scene is a little generic but what else to expect from a season that has sung all its songs already (thank god that there were no musical numbers in this because I have a feeling it would have been even worse)?

5. Season 5

Season 5 could at least pat itself on the back for dealing with the main villain of the season even if there were a couple iffy things about the whole deal. I’m taking away consistency points for a) the fact that the Throne was supposed to be activated with the seals from the Pillars of the Infinite Ocean, yet suddenly stealing a random Sirenix would do, b) Tritannus being defeated by simply having his trident taken away even though he literally grew in body mass implying that the power of the Emperor’s Throne had seeped inside of him (also confirmed by Mystery of the Abyss) and c) the mutants inexplicably turning back into people once Tritannus lost his powers even though they never turned back during his times of relapsing back into a human thanks to running out of pollution. His defeat was just ridiculously easy and Bloom got to do it even though Layla was the one with the personal connection to Tritannus and the one most directly impacted by his actions as her family fell prey to him. Instead of getting to shine in a season that focused heavily not just on her home world but on the environment from which her powers come, she got benched in favor of Bloom getting to do everything again with only mild assist from Layla’s cousin. They should have kept it in the family and left Layla and Nereus deal with Tritannus. The Trix were blasted out of the narrative extremely conveniently and the rest of Winx were saved twice by the mutants just turning their back on them instead of destroying them right then and there and then being turned back into their original form as well. There wasn’t the usual teamwork of the whole Winx unit which I am still salty about despite being sick of all the time they reached for convergence in that season. Theredor fighting alongside Winx (different from his own daughter) was a nice touch but the king and queen of Andros coming off as so helpless (and apparently the only people in the castle unless you admit that everyone else drowned) was frustrating. Where was the Andros army? We only got Tressa, Roy, four of Winx and a handful of mermaids. Is that the whole population of the Heart of All Oceans? Additionally, the finale left no time for any emotional resolution of the season’s events, especially considering the big deal that Daphne’s revival was. Instead they opted for a musical number at the end. Not the best form.

4. Season 3

Season 3 had a finale and then another finale. Granted, better than season 6 that had a finale and then filler but there was not a lot of glory to the ending of a story with such a strong opening and emotional moments that send you bursting into tears. The spell of the four elements was pretty decent in its first appearance in 3x25 but the way Valtor lost it all was a real let down after the climatic confrontations between him and the Winx girls throughout the rest of the season. His return was more or less a desperate last attempt at personal revenge against Winx as his goal was mostly out of reach at this point. The spell of the elements was brought down in both its use to create clones of Winx’ boyfriends and in its power as it was much easier to undo in its reappearance. The saving graces of this season’s finale are the couple emotional moments sprinkled through both 3x25 and 3x26. Bloom’s willingness to sacrifice herself for her friends and the world was the thread that the finale hangs on as she is mostly the one resolving the whole conflict which was a bit dissatisfying after the emotional damage Valtor inflicted on all of them directly or indirectly. There is a few moments left to recover from the emotional intensity of their battles against Valtor but nothing that really addresses the seriousness of the trauma they had to survive because of him. The Trix didn’t even get to have a last stand of their own in either of the last two episodes despite the position in which they started the season but that was more or less unnecessary anyway since we’d already seen they can’t hold their ground against Enchantix Winx even with a boost from Valtor. Overall, the finale is pretty weak, especially as a follow-up of the dynamic and strong experiences that the season put them all through. It was the first finale that was confined to a single episode (or rather two separate battles spanning over an episode to end the season) and there wasn’t enough tension building in the confined storyline an episode told.

3. Season 4

The season 4 finale is overall a solid conclusion that delivers both a final battle with the Wizards and enough time left to address all the other storylines left unfinished. The final battle was pretty short but there was enough intensity in the previous couple episodes to have covered the action demand that the season had already set up and it also provided the opportunity to have Winx come back together as a team after Layla split up. Not only that, but Nebula and Roxy also get to play their part while the Wizards make their last desperate attempt to regain the upper hand. It’s pretty climatic for something that length that also left about 15 minutes of the episode still to fill. Everything that had to do with the closure of the Earth fairies storyline was emotional beyond belief and gave more depth to all of them and Layla’s decision to join them. Winx had to face all of the separate responsibilities they have on their shoulders and find a way to balance them all so that they can pursue their dreams. There was a plethora of emotional moments and a deserved spotlight shined on Layla’s situation and how she’s dealing with it, plus the others’ feelings. It was a really touching finale and also an inspiring one to see Winx stand behind their dreams while still balancing their responsibilities. It seemed to achieve the initial goal of the season to have them adapting to the adult life they were shifting into.

2. Season 2

I’m gonna be honest, I had a very hard time deciding whether this would be number one or two because the season 2 finale had a lot more character moments that were very moving. It really corresponds to the season since it was more character driven than the first one and the finale suited that. However, ultimately I decided that it would take silver because of a couple minor things that bring it down. To get that out of the way, the second portal to Realix that led Winx there was imo a copout that destroyed pretty much all of the tension that the entire season spent building around the search for the Codex. It just felt so wrong for there to be another way to enter that dimension and to me it was a big disappointment. Especially since the key to activating the copy of the Codex was the color riddle that was a ridiculous panicked attempt on the writers’ part to show that Stella isn’t useless and has what to give the team but it only made her look worse in my eyes. Also, minor gripe for the fact that there wasn’t that much of a final battle since everything ended with a single convergence. Of course, there were several battles across the episode between different sides that made for good action and tension and there was magic involved in more ways than simply the convergence in order to defeat Darkar but it was still a bit of a letdown to never truly see him put his everything in battle. And the fact that Griffin and Faragonda held him off for as long as they did on their own actually hurt his credibility as a threat as well. But hey, on the plus side, remember when the teachers actually helped and did not leave the fate of the whole universe in the hands of 16-year-olds? Good times! The MegaTrix and her? their? battle with Darkar was epic. 20/10 on that concept alone, plus it really brought a great feeling of vindication after the number Darkar did on them and felt so satisfying even if they were also part of the villain team of the season. They were portrayed as three-dimensional and weren’t cast out of the narrative without care just because they were villains and that was actually probably the most solid moment that the Trix have ever had on the show (just minor gripe for the fact that they were supposed to be trapped in Realix when the dimension was sealed forever but they were later somehow brought out of there which was never explained). Sky’s speech to Bloom was actually a pretty emotional moment and the payoff from it felt earned and allowed for Bloom’s victory against the darkness to feel natural and in place. It was probably one of their best moments as a couple. Plus, the cute little interactions that we got during the celebration party to send off the season on its merry way made for a great finale. (And a shoutout to the Musa x Riven scenes both in 2x25 and 2x26 because that was some good shit and some cute shit and it was exactly what we deserved).

1. Season 1

Season 1 reigns supreme with its finale. There is just no other finale that can rise to the level of the first one that was built for about one third of the season so that the last episode could dive right into the action without wasting time on setup. This is also the only place where we truly and fully get to see each of the Winx and the Trix (well, minus Layla who hasn’t been introduced yet) showcase their powers but especially Bloom and Icy. It is the longest battle we have seen and it builds a lot of tension on top of what was already there to leave you on the edge of your seat. The exploration of magic in this episode makes it so iconic and such a great watch even on the 300th time. There isn’t really much more to say than simply “It is epic”. What makes it even better though is the fact that there is enough time left in the episode to wrap up everything else and not in a rushed way. The battleground is extended to the locations that have already suffered the previous battles to show the full extension of the action and to setup the wrap-up that comes at the end. They even find the time to let some of the minor characters have distinct and touching moments as well and thus expand the universe of Winx further than just the main characters. Speaking off, they all get their moments, too, and the Specialists aren’t left out of that (you will never catch me not fangirling over Sky and Riven fighting back to back). The finale also doesn’t forget about the overarching story about Bloom’s origin which is commendable considering the constant lack of consistency the show suffers. This is really the only finale that isn’t lacking in any of the departments and manages to provide a truly fascinating story that keeps you entertained and in suspense while at the same time does not discard the emotional payoff or the logical continuation of events. It just excels in every way.

Well, this is my analysis on the finales of Winx Club. What started out as a bitch fest actually left on on a positive and uplifting note to make for a great ending to a harsh year. Let’s see what beginnings 2021 will bring! ;)

[sparkleofpizza]

The archer - Tim Drake x reader 7/?

A/n: I am back, finally. I can't believe how long it took for me to write this when it is mostly a filler part for what's coming next, but quarantine got me and I spent a very long time without feeling like writing, then I hurt my wrist and I couldn't type. But, hopefully, now I will be able to keep on writing again.

Requested: no

Warnings: smut mention 

Taglist: @isthataladybag @the-fandom-ness @takoyakkun @caswinchester2000 @malfoys-demigod @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @ijustwannabecanadian

Summary: Y/n Queen will be living in the Wayne Manor for a while, and Dick Grayson decided to be the cupid between her and his little brother Tim Drake

Word count: 2.9k

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

The apartment was really quiet. In all honest, you don't think you've ever seen Oliver this quiet before, specially when you told him something important. Specially after you had ghosted him for nearly two days. You expected him to lecture you about safety, or to argue with you, not sit there, in silence.

You had asked him to come over to Tim's safe house, you didn't trust to have this kind of conversation with him at the manor - thinking you two would yell at each other. But there you were, sitting at the sofa, staring at your brother who sat across from you. The only sound present was the dishwasher working on the kitchen, Tim was out for patrol, so there was just the two of you there.

"Do you understand now, why I have to treat her like a villain?" Oliver asked, breaking the silence 

"Yes, but I don't think you should. It's mom, Oliver."

"And yet she wanted you to become an assassin!"

Yes, he was right, she wanted you to become an assassin. But there must be an explanation for all of this, your mom couldn't just have become one of the bad guys! That meant so many things in your life was a lie, and you weren't ready to face it. It was too much happening all at once. 

"I don't..." you shook your head "I don't want to give up on her just yet. Look how Emiko turned out?"

Oliver nodded, sighing in frustration.

"I know, y/n. But I don't want us to let our emotions get in the way if we have to stop her, we need to be prepared for the worst scenario."

Again, you knew he was right. You knew this was all too good to be truth, mom alive and hoping that everything would go back to the way it was, being a family.

You nodded your head, heaving a sight.

“So what are we going to do?”

“We’ll come up with a plan and we will get her, then after that, after... talking to her, we will decide what will happen.”

What a family reunion this is going to be.

“I can be the bait.” You suggested

Oliver glared at you and then at Dinah who had slightly moved her head in agreement.

“No. No one is being used as bait.”

You were all reunited at the batcave, Bruce had said you could use it for as long as you need and that they would help you with anything necessary.

Dinah, Emiko, Felicity and Diggle had came from Star City to discuss strategy and what to do from now on. Everyone staying at the manor, Bruce was really a nice guy, opening up his house to so many people.

You stared at Tim who was working on the batcomputer, sometimes stealing glances at you and smiling reassuringly at you. You wish he was sitting right beside you, but he had a big case to crack and you knew you could handle it with team Arrow. Still, it would be nice to have him by your side.

“Stop daydreaming about your boyfriend.” Emiko poked your side

You frowned at her “What makes you think I am daydreaming about him?”

“You were staring.”

You rolled your eyes at her “You were staring at Damian earlier too and I didn’t acuse you of daydreaming about him.”

Her face took different shades of red, glaring at you the way you knew your brother used when he was out on patrol. You smiled triumphantly at her as she scoffed and said it was bullshit. You giggled, throwing an arm over her shoulder and bringing her into a sided hug, one that she tried to fight but couldn’t because you knew she lacked this kind of affection from her mom, and she seeked that in you.

“So according to the data that Oliver managed to get, they will be in London this weekend.” Felicity informed, staring at the laptop in front of her

“Good.” Diggle nodded his head “We have some time to prepare, then.”

“We need to be at our best conditions, so this means no patrol while in town, we can’t risk it getting hurt before leaving.” Dinah said, giving Emiko a pointed look

“That’s not fair. You said I could patrol tonight!”

“Dinah is right. Beside, the bats got it covered, we should be worring about Star City.” Oliver shook his head “I called Roy and Arthemis, they said they will see what they can do to make sure the city is safe while we’re away.”

Soon, everyone started to leave the cave, allowing you, to finally go spend some time with your dear sweet boyfriend.

You stood behind him, watching whatever he was hacking into him. You lightly touched his shoulders, not to startle him, but you had a good idea that he already knew you were behind him.

“Haven’t you worked enough, already?” You asked, quietly not to disturb the calming silence

Tim sighted “Maybe. I do need to wake up early tomorrow, but I really not to finish this.”

You smiled, kissing his cheek “What do I need to do to make you go to bed and get some rest?”

“Sleep right next to me and cuddle?” He suggested, spinning around in the chair and caging you between his legs, hands pressed against his chest

“That sounds like a good deal.”

Tim nodded, smiling at you and stending up, still keeping you in his arms. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours.

“Let’s go to sleep.” He whispered, you nodded with your eyes closed, basking into his warm touch

He lead you out of the cave and into the manor. Keeping a hand at the small of your back, while he told you about the case he was working on and how Jason had been bugging him about it all day long.

“I swear I wanted to punch him.” He rambled, making you chuckle “Don’t laugh, I mean it.”

“I know you do, love.”

You pushed his barroom door open and stepped inside, turning on the lights. His room smelled faintly like coffee - probably because he thought it would be a good idea to get a coffee machine there, but it ended up with you and Alfred scolding him for being irresponsible.

Tim wandered to his closet with you trailing behind him, you grabbed a hoddie while he got sweatpants for him to sleep. You turned back to change your cloths into his hoddie.

“Is everything ok with you and Oliver?” He asked, entering the bathroom to brush his teeth

“Yes.” You sighted, grabbing the toothpaste “We are going to London this weekend.”

He nodded, brushing his teeth while he watched your expression on the mirror. You looked tired, and he knew you haven’t been sleeping well lately - you spent most of the nights together, while he was working on the computer you’d be lying in his bed, tossing and turning too much for someone who was having a good night sleep.

“I just want this to be over with as soon as possible.” You said after finishing brushing your teeth “But at the same time I don’t want it to be over because I am terrified of what I am going to face when I see my mom again.”

He nodded, kissing your temple.

“It’s going to be alright, pretty bird. You’re not alone in this.”

You smiled at him, clibing into bed right next to him. Tim pulled the covers on top of you both, and pulled you closer to his body, wrapping his arms around you.

“Try to get some sleep.” He kissed your forehead

“Goodnight, Timmy.” You mumbled

There was something about London that made you like the city quiete a lot. You haven been there so many times, only two. Once when you were still a child and your dad had a business meeting, he thought it would be a good idea to take with him, spend a couple more days than necessary. You enjoyed it a lot, it was one of your favorite memories with your dad. 

Now, there you were back in town, but this time to deal with your villain mom who you didn't even know was alive. Well, maybe London will lose its magic once you realize that from now on you will be thinking of this town as a place where your family fell apart. 

You watched Emiko and Damian discuss different types of blades and which occasion it was better to use them. You frowned. Weirds kids, why can't they talk about some cartoons or school? You hated the fact that they didn't acknowledge their childhood and instead acted like... this. 

A cold hand fell on top of yours. You turned around watching Tim smile at you, you smiled back, placing your head on his shoulder. 

"Is it weird that your first trip together is a mission with our family involved?" he questioned making you giggle

"Totally. But I don't think I would've even stepped a foot in the airport if it wasn't for you."

He kissed the top of your head.

"Do you want to go to your room?" he proposed, looking at Emiko and Damian on top of Damian's bed 

"Tim Drake are you trying to get me into bed?" you wiggled your eyebrows at him, a playful smile on your lips 

"To sleep, yes."

You nodded, standing up with him. You both didn't like very much room arrangements, you were sharing it with your sister and Tim was sharing it with Damian, but since both were busy in Tim's room, it wouldn't be weird if you both napped in yours.

You opened the bedroom door with your card key, letting it lock behind the both of you. You kicked your shoes off, unbuttoning your jeans to get rid of them, it would be very uncomfortable to sleep in them. 

"Uh, what you're doing?" Tim asked, you looked over your shoulder to see him with wide eyes trying not to look at you

You giggled "Taking off my clothes so I can put on more comfortable ones? What did you think I was doing, Timmy?"

He groaned at your teasing voice and smile. Yes, of course you would tease him. You both have been a this weird teasing make out sessions mood ever since the day at the bar, but it haven't gone far than that because there was always something to interrupt them. And yes, it was killing him that all he wanted to do was to be with you and you kept teasing him, so of course, he teased you back, it was a restless war that you both couldn't wait to be over.

"Maybe going to take a nice and hot shower..." he trailed off, pulling at his sweater until it was lying on the floor, you stared at his chest then slowly your eyes were back at his face "But comfortable clothes sound very nice."

You frowned at him, he didn't have any clothes at your bedroom right now because you two weren't sharing it. Then a devious idea popped into your mind.

You took of your shirt, and then your bra, leaving yourself in just your panties. You went down to the floor, grabbing the sweater Tim had left fall there, not breaking eye contact as you put on his clothes. You watched him gulp as he stared at your body covered in his sweater. 

You grinned at him, flopping yourself on top of the bed, patting the place next to you.

"Aren't you going to take a nap with me?"

Tim took a deep breath before lowering himself to the mattress and laying beside you. You moved yourself closer to his body, letting him drop his arm over your waist as you placed a hand on top of his chest.

"Now, this is nice."

You closed your eyes, enjoining your boyfriend's warmth, embracing the tiredness.

Now that you ara finally in London, the moment you're going to have to face your mom is closer than ever. You could still remember all of the memories you had with her, not believing that the same loving woman who had raised you until her last days was the same one that was part of such a bad and horrible organization, that she had did all that Talia had told you. You just couldn't wrap your mind around it.

What are you going to actually do when you see her? Talk? Hug? Yell? You had to be prepared, you couldn't just stand still staring at her. You're going to have a plan of action, you're going to have to be ready for this dreadful moment. 

Oh, but how you wish Oliver is wrong and that his is mom. 

You lifted your head from the pillow, watching Tim who had his eyes closed, but you knew weren't asleep.

"Why aren't you sleeping yet?" he asked you once he felt you shifting around, still not opening his eyes 

"My mind won't shut up." you complained, letting your head fall back into the pillow, sighing heavily 

He chuckled "Welcome to my world, pretty bird, this is way I always stay later than I should."

"Maybe we're spending too much time together." you joked 

He squeezed your waist making you squeak.

"Tired of me already?"

"Never." you shook your head, laughing 

You stared at Tim. He, now, had his eyes open and was looking at you. He looked so beautiful, with sleep clouding him and the soft smile he was giving you right now. You are so luck to be the one lying in this bed, with his arms around you. You couldn't imagine sharing a moment like this with anyone else but him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked quietly 

You smiled "Just thinking about how cute you look when you're all soft and ready to sleep."

He leaned him, allowing his lips to touch yours briefly, in a sweet kiss. You touched his hair, tangling your fingers in it, it was so soft and you loved to put your hands there because you knew he enjoyed it too. He brought you in closer by the arm around your waist, pressing your chest together.

Soon enough, you were straddling his hips, full on make out session. Hands everywhere, touching every ounce of skin possible, shivers running down your spine every time Tim squeezed some part of you. Breath moans leaving your lips when he kissed down your neck. 

And then, someone opened the bedroom door. Tim pushed you off of him, nearly knocking you out of bed, but luckily you found a way to stabilize yourself.  He tried to cover his naked chest only to realize that you had stolen his sweater and that your clothes were scattered across the room, having fallen out of their original place on top of bed. This did not look good.

Emiko and Damian stood on the door, staring at the both of you. Cheeks flushed and mouths hung open. 

"Oh my God." your sister muttered "I'm sorry, we didn't meant to..."

"What are you apologizing for? They are the ones who should be sorry." Damian frowned "We are here on a serious mission and you two are trying to get at each other like desperate beings, we do not need any more Drakes in the world."

You thought you couldn't feel more embarrassed than right now. You couldn't even look them in the eyes, this is so so bad. And the fact that Damian thought you and Tim were trying to have babies? Oh God, you cannot deal with this right now. 

"We are going to order some... food." Emiko said, scowling backing away into the hallway "If you guys are hungry..." 

She closed the door behind her, leaving you and Tim alone and in completely weird silence. 

You kept staring at the closed door, still not believing your sister and Tim's brother had walked into you two making out on bed. This is so embarrassing, and frustrating. 

"You don't think they are going to tell Oliver, do you?" Your boyfriend broke the silence, making you turn your head to look at him 

"Hopefully not." you slid out of bed "I'm going to take a shower so I can try to forget that our siblings could've seen us naked doing something they shouldn't see us doing."

You grabbed some clothes out of your suitcase and headed towards the bathroom. Tim stayed laying in bed, watching you.

"It could've been worse." he said as you were about to close the door "It could've been Jason, Dick or Roy. Think about how much teasing we would have to go trough."

You wined just thinking about it. Hopefully, both Damian and Emiko would keep their mouths shut and this all could be avoided. The last thing you needed was to be teased by something that didn't even happen yet.

After you left the shower, feeling refreshed and ready to actually try to get some sleep or even go to Damian’s room and eat dinner with them. You opened the door to the bathroom, finding an empty spot in bed where Tim had been previously. You looked around the room, finding Emiko getting her suit out of her suitcase.

“We have to go.” She said, putting her suit in a hand backpack “They’re on the move.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Juice Box || Morgan & Cece

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Oh, right. The box. The box from Roy. The box stolen specifically from Roy. Roy’s box.

CONTAINS: ex-roomie shenanigans

Morgan would have gone to see Cece after she was out of the hospital anyway. She felt awful about what had happened at the morgue, and how it had probably cost her a friend, at least for a while. And then there was whatever weird pain and damage a banshee scream would have on human ears. Something like guilt twisted in her stomach as she adjusted in her old spot on the couch and set her water glass on Cece’s coffee table. This wasn’t anything directly to do with her, but she could probably afford to be a better friend than she had been lately. But maybe a little magic research would be a good distraction from the awfulness around them. They’d had enough adventures like this before, maybe Morgan was just feeling nostalgic for earlier times. “So,” she said, nodding at the box, which sat perched on a stack of books she’d brought over. “Any ideas?”

After the morgue incident, Cece was happy to relax at home with something to distract herself. She had felt a surprising amount of guilt following the incident in the hospital. In her less than 48 hour stay she had managed to piss off Grace and steal the memories from Janus the janitor. Both in an attempt to cover the tracks of a woman who refused to talk to her. Maybe Regan had been right, trying to build a friendship with a coworker or boss was a bad idea. It certainly seemed overrated at the moment. Morgan had enlisted Cece’s help to study this magic box. Cece didn’t have all the details yet, but was slowly pressing for more before attempting to open it herself. Before, when Morgan and Cece had discovered a magical artifact used when those lobsters were hanging about the artifact that drained magic. They had been able to quell it by working together and sharing the magic between the two. If this were a similar situation, Morgan didn’t have the same magical abilities she had before. “Well I’m sure it’s magically locked. Probably needs a spellcaster to open it. But I don’t know exactly how to open it. Or if it’s boobytrapped. What context can you give me about the box?”

Morgan laughed uneasily. “Uh, promise not to hate me?” She flashed Cece a sheepish look as she brought it onto her lap and ran her fingers over the markings on the surface again. “It belongs to a crime boss. Some undead asshole named Roy something or whatever. He’s after a friend of mine and she’s hoping to figure some stuff out so he can’t, you know, bump her off so easy. It’s important to him, enough that it was kinda hard to steal. This sigil here--” Morgan pointed to one and held it out for Cece to look at, “Gets used a lot in containment rituals, like when you’re trying to seal something up. It’s a little intense, so maybe whatever’s in here is volatile, or rare, or ephemeral somehow. Problem is, I can’t figure out these--” she pointed to the row of markings along the lid. “Are. Probably if I had done my homework a little more in grade school, I could read it. But I thought I’d ask my genius witchy friend instead of renting a time machine, you know?”

“A crime boss eh? I feel like I’m in a heist movie or something.” Cece wiggled her eyebrows and leaned around the box to study the sigils as Morgan pointed them out to her. She discarded the wine glass she had been holding, abandoning it on the coffee table as she studied the signs closer. “I guess I don’t want to know what a friend of yours is doing pissing off a crime boss?” Actually, Cece very much did want to know. As much as Cece had seen, a crime boss wasn’t something that she had spent a lot of time around. Cece loved trying new things. “They’re a mixture of things from the looks of it.” Cece slid off the couch and onto her knees on the floor, pressing her face close enough to the box that her breath fogged up the silver of the box. “Please, Morgan. Flattery will get you everywhere. Some of these are more containment spells, but some-” Cece pointed at the symbols as she described them, “Are hexes. I can’t tell exactly what they’re supposed to do. But my guess is that it’s a last ditch effort to keep the contents safe in case someone got it open.”

“Uuuuhhhh…” Morgan’s voice lilted up shrilly. Cece had enough mischief in her to pass for fae. It wasn’t hard to figure that she did want to know, but the whole criminal justice system thing was still...a lot for Morgan to wrap her head around. “I could tell you, but you definitely can’t tell your boss. I don’t think she’d be happy knowing I’m a corrupting influence. I’ve lost count of how much weird shit we’ve gotten up to together by this point. You’d think the whole me being dead thing would mean less trouble, but I think we’re getting worse.” She smirked as she spoke, and angled herself in as many weird ways as she needed to look at the hexes Cece had identified. “You ever wish people would just print out a nice label on these things? Like, beware, magic dynamite inside! Or, angry bloodclingers within! But, that looks kinda like some Irish curses I’ve seen in this book… Doesn’t it feel weird to you how light it is?”

Morgan set the box between them and reached over for the book in question, flipping through the pages too quickly to find what she was looking for.“Hey--” she said, turning the pages slowly now. You’d say if you weren’t okay, right?”

“Yeah, well. My boss and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now anyways.” And by that, Cece meant that Regan was not on speaking terms with Cece. Despite the repeated attempts on Cece’s part. The whole thing was bullshit. Especially considering that despite this, Cece had still gone out of her way to make sure that no one poked their heads around Regan’s business or questioned her abilities to do her job. “That being said, I love the idea that you’d be able to corrupt me. I for one cherish every moment we share getting dragged into some crazy shit.” Cece laughed. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Morgan had died. Especially since she hadn’t seen it for herself, “Well there’s nothing like the afterlife, am I right?” Cece had to admit that Morgan had a point. It would sure make things a hell of a lot easier. “Witches are way too dramatic to do anything as simple as that, unfortunately. They can never make anything easy.” Morgan pointed out how light it was and Cece had to agree, leaning in closer but not being able to tell anything further. “This whole thing feels weird to me. What would a crime boss need with a magically sealed box? There must be more than meets the eye with this guy. If I’m careful, I should be able to strip the hexes before I start working on getting the box itself open. But keep reading to see if you find anything I don’t know.”

The distraction wasn’t enough, since Morgan decided now was a good time to dive into the personal questions. “Me? Almost certainly not.” Cece laughed the question off. After a moment, she decided to not completely brush the question off, “If you’re asking about the morgue then I’m fine. I’ve had worse done to me than some exploding glass and an earache.” Cece hadn’t told anyone about her days with the coven but figured Morgan would be one of the few she would trust with the information. At least some of the information. Cece didn’t need all of her skeletons dancing around the house. “Nothing that a few glasses of wine and solving a mystery with you can’t solve.” As far as not talking about issues went, Cece wasn’t the only offender, “What about you?”

Morgan scrunched her face up in a way Cece was long familiar with. “I didn’t just mean that,” she said. “But that is good to know. I just… I mean as much as I can’t imagine leaving here anytime soon, I know it can be really cruel sometimes. And you’re all Miss Tough Gal with a smile, but you don’t have to be like that all the time, you know? I just don’t want you to slip through the cracks just because I’m not here so much anymore. I’ve been kinda swept up lately, but I do care about you, tough gal and all. And not just because you do so many nice favors. But if you’re good or you wanna say you’re good, then that’s…good. And, oh, you know me. Cursed or not cursed, apparently there’s always something. Lots of gory details we didn’t make it to sharing on the dash.”

It took Morgan a few more pages to find what she was looking for, but she hesitated before showing the witch, just in case there was more to say.

Cece supposed there was no better time than now to discuss this, though Cece usually preferred any serious conversation be prefaced with a lot of alcohol. More than Cece had drunk so far. More than Cece probably had in the house. “Honestly? I’ve always been like this. Full disclosure, I was in a coven before I came to town. Things didn’t end so well with them and it always keeps me a bit on edge. Even before joining the coven, I wasn’t really one to take life super seriously. I had a pretty laid back childhood with a surprising lack of trauma so I guess when I turned eighteen life decided I had to make up for it.” Cece talked with an airiness, trying to show Morgan that she was trying to be sincere without trying to sound too much like she was whining about her past. “I have plenty of things that should keep me up at night, but I promise the injuries from the morgue aren’t one of them. I’ll seriously be okay. But trust me, even living apart I know you’ve got my back. Same to you.” Gory details didn’t exactly inspire confidence. “Yeah, what the hell? I thought you were done with the whole curse and ghost bullshit? Because ‘gory details’” Cece made finger quotations to match with her tone, “doesn’t sound very fun.”

Morgan listened thoughtfully, smiling wistfully at the thought of a good or ‘before’ times that lasted longer than eight or twelve years. But how awful, still, to know exactly the stability you were losing. To never be able to exhale or relax. Well, that part Morgan  knew too well. Maybe that had something to do with why they got along so easily. You had to keep things light when you had one eye on the present and one over your shoulder. “Those are some pretty ominous Sparknotes. I’m starting to take back all those times tiny me wished for a real coven besides just my parents. If any of them come knocking, you’ll holler though, yeah? Partial magic immunity makes for a great zombie perk in a pinch.” Morgan smirked at Cece’s question to her. Fun was...definitely not a word to use for this. “You’d be right,” she said. “I...honestly don’t know what the sparknotes version of that is. So maybe you’ll have to drag me into a sequel session just to find out.” She huffed and held out the book. “Found our guy. Check out the common uses. What does ‘source’ even mean? Like...power source? Is that a real thing?”

“I’ll keep that in mind. But fingers crossed I never see any of them again.” Cece laughed, although the idea of any of her former coven members finding Cece’s location and showing up in town was anything but a laughing matter. Something told her they wouldn’t want to catch up. And if they did, Morgan wasn’t who she would want to get involved although she made a good point about the magical immunities. Cece had always figured that her best bet if any of them were to show up in town would be to count her losses and cut and run. As the two had talked, Cece slowly worked on rubbing the hexes away from the box. It was more exhausting than it looked, a constant string of magic being poured into her fingertips in order to break the seals without cursing herself into oblivion. Whatever those hexes did, Cece didn’t want to find out. “You’ve got yourself a deal. You. Me. Pick another night and get drunk off our asses. You can give me the sparknotes version of your story and I can try to elaborate a bit on mine. It’ll be a good time.” Morgan found something in the book and leaned over to see what she had found. A power source? It didn’t mean much at first, until she remembered that Morgan had mentioned that he was undead. Cece still couldn’t be sure, but suddenly something started to make sense. “Holy shit.” Cece let go of the box for a moment. “You said undead, right? Do you know what kind?” If they didn’t then…. “I think this is a fext. And if I’m right- yikes.” Cece didn’t know how else to describe it. Cece had heard of fext from the coven. To witches, they were a sort of horror story or monster under the bed type. A monster whose special power was stealing the magic from witches. Was there any fate worse than that in the eyes of a coven? “If he is a fext- then I have a feeling that I know what’s in this box too. I think I have all the hexes cancelled out. Now I just have to pop the thing open. Give me a minute.”

“A--a what?” Morgan stammered. She hadn’t thought about fexts in a really long time. Some old witchy wives tales, stories her mother would tell her to scare her into behaving one day and dismiss as folklore the next. It was never anything to devote a lot of headspace to. “Those are--real? They’re like what...witchy-vampires?” She searched Cece’s expression. Her friend looked very serious and certain. “What’s the big yikes? Can he do weird creepy magic things to normal humans? I mean, I know he set her house on fire, but does this mean there’s worse things? Magic things? Wait--” She gaped, mouth dropping as the pieces aligned themselves in her mind. “Is that--does mean there’s just...raw magic in there?” That definitely explained why it was so light for something that was supposed to be important. “Are you sure you want to open that? Is it going to--- do something?”

“Exactly. Or something like that at least.” Cece couldn’t speak with any certainty. She had never seen one for herself. “The coven used to talk about them. Supposedly they can drain magic from spellcasters and then use their magic.” No word on whether the witch lost their magic completely or not, but all the horror stories claimed they did. Could just be a part of the chill factor, though. “Exactly. Chances are that fire was taken from another witch.” Cece nodded her head. Chances were that it was. The problem was, without seeing for themselves they had no idea what kind of magic it was. That wasn’t going to help Morgan’s friend. “I don’t know. Things could go bad. But knowing what kind of magic is stored in here might help your friend.” She couldn’t guarantee it. For all the things that didn’t scare Cece, this one at least made her a by apprehensive. “Moment of truth. Do we open it or not?”

“Shit.” Morgan took the box for herself, looking it over. “Why couldn’t I be a dead witchy vampire?” She grumbled. “I mean, obviously: very spooky. That is some dark, sketchy shit and a hard diet to work with sustainably. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if I could work some magic after death. Why do things like this have to happen to assholes who light funeral homes on fire and run underground organ trading rings? That’s just not fair, is all I’m saying.” She examined the markings and little groove the lid depended on. “I’m a little worried about what would happen if we did open it. Hypothetically, I have the least amount of risk of getting whammied by something, but what should I be on the lookout for?”

“You’d make the coolest dead witchy vampire.” Cece agreed, “And you’d definitely use your power for much better than Roy uses his for. What a prick.” Cece didn’t know the man but just from the bits and pieces she had learned she had to say that he didn’t seem like a stellar dude. In fact, he seemed like an ass. “You got the short end of the stick for sure.” It wasn’t surprising that Morgan was offering to open the box and take the brunt of the spell for the two. Morgan was selfless like that. And although Cece was worried about it’s contents, she had a list a bit of confidence that things would mostly be okay. “Well- what the coven explained to me once was that spellcasters and artifacts acted as a sort of conduit to magic. Without it, there’s no where for the magic to go. Using that same logic, it might be that raw magic is just that. If we open it it’s just a mass of magic until someone that can use magic channels it.” The logic wasn’t exact, but based off of what she did know about magic this at least seemed semi plausible. “On the flip side, if this is some sort of summoning spell, it could already be activated and take effect as soon as the box opens. Hypothetically opening it could literally summon a demon. But the chances of it being that are pretty low. Probably.”

“Probably?” Morgan squeaked. “Okay, come on, grab something powerful, we’re doing this outside.” She took the box, held out in front of her and pressed between the tips of her fingers like it was hazardous waste. “I really don’t want to punch a demon or chase one into the woods, but I think our evenings together have taken weirder turns, so--” Morgan opened the back door with her elbow and walked out into the yard. She couldn’t tell if she was overreacting (because who would seriously leave potent magic just in a booby-trapped box? There had to be other layers, right?) or if this was the most reckless thing she’d done yet. “Maybe, uh, stay back--?” She called, looking sidelong at Cece.

Come on. Waiting wasn’t going to change what’s inside. They had to know for sure if they wanted to correctly identify this asshole. One eye pinched shut, Morgan thumbed the lid open.

No flashing lights, no demon. Morgan finally risked a look inside. “Oh. That’s a little anticlimactic.”

“Well I can’t see the future Morgan!” Cece defended herself. She very rarely spoke in absolutes. She couldn’t be blamed or held responsible if shit went south if she told them probably or most likely. “Divination is not one of my skills.” Nor one of her interests. For all of the planning that Cece liked to do- her escape from the coven had taken more than a year to pull together- Cece had no interest in seeing her future. At Morgan’s request, Cece hopped onto her feet and began following her outside, only to spin back around and grab her wine glass and falling behind Morgan again. “You said grab something powerful.” She shrugged, taking a sip and standing with her former roommate out in the backyard. Now it was time to actually open the damned thing.

When Morgan did it was… well it was boring. Morgan was right, that had been anticlimactic. She stepped closer to Morgan and leaned in to get a look at the vial. “Can I squeeze in real quick?” Cece reached her arm in, running her hand over it without actually touching it. Magic was different. In some ways it felt alive or like an aura. And every aura was different. If someone was familiar enough with a certain branch of magic they may be able to pick it out just like someone could look at someone and see what color their aura was. “Well, bad news is that I’m pretty sure this actually was summoning magic. Whoopsies.” Cece sucked air through her teeth and slid away from the box again, “But on the plus side it didn’t summon whatever is in there! So another point for the former roommate dream team!”

Morgan’s stomach turned. There was no consciousness in the box, no traces of who the spellcaster had once been, but after what Roy had done to Erin’s home, she felt pretty confident that they were dead. She knew, on one level, that it was the same as the stock of brains she kept in the fridge. But thinking of his cruelty, the way he crushed people for nothing more original than gain, she felt disgusted. Morgan snapped the box shut and turned back to Cece. “Thank you for this. You’re a really good friend, you know?” She pulled her in a one armed hug. “I’ll make sure this guy get’s destroyed, okay? Do you want to hang onto this, in case you need it someday? I’d rather it be with a real witch than with Roy.” She squeezed her friend carefully. “But definitely, definitely another score in our dream team column. We are, without a doubt, the most badass pair in the Crest. Maybe we should start charging the town for all the favors we do them, huh?”

“I’m supposed to be holding up my tough girl reputation Morgan. Don’t expose me. You know this unbeating heart only flutters now and again for you.” Cece playfully shoved Morgan’s shoulder, careful not to do it hard enough to jolt the vial resting in the overdramatic box. “He sounds like a real dick, so I can’t say I’ll be mourning his loss or anything. But you and your friend need to be careful. If Fexts are even half as scary as the stories are, you don’t want to underestimate this guy. He’s going to be dangerous as hell.” Cece had no idea what kind of nightmare fuel this bottle could summon. Keeping it around probably wasn’t the greatest idea. But if Cece could figure out what it was, she may be able to use it someday. “I will happily take this little container of evil. What could go wrong, am I right?” What an awful question to ask. It’s like she was begging for demons to fuck up her life. Good luck trying to screw up something that was already so royally fucked, demons. “We really do. I’ll brainstorm some business titles. Double bubble, toil trouble? Never mind. We’ll keep workshopping.”

[swiftlythebest]

Au where Nico and Levi were already established in season 14. Maybe Levi is talking about this hot boyfriend he has and nobody believes him but then Nico comes and they're all shocked and Levi is just like i told you so. Nico's just confused lol.

Okay, this one took a bit. I was debating for a while whether I should rewatch Season 14, but I ultimately decided I was too busy to be able to commit to that. Therefore, if this differs from canon (beyond the obvious AU aspect), that’s all on me and my lack of rewatch. I could see myself continuing this because it does feel a little open-ended. I really like the prompt and hope the execution was as fun and fluffy as I wanted it to be. I wrote this in the wake of buying Lover Fest tickets, which was a nerve-wracking mess so I hope this fic is more coherent than I feel at the moment. It’s a bit longer so a lot is under a cut. I hope you enjoy! 

“...But then my boyfriend called so she had to calm down, at least for a bit,” Levi Schmitt took a bite of his sandwich as he finished the story chronicling his mother’s latest freakout. He expected some laughs or maybe a few understanding nods but was instead met with five confused expressions.

“I’m sorry, your what now?” Taryn Helm was the first to snap out of whatever trance the five other interns had fallen under.

“My mother. That was a story about my mother. Duh.” Levi rolled his eyes at Taryn’s question.

“I think she was asking about the boyfriend part.” The interns nodded at Sam Bello’s suggestion.

“Oh, have I not mentioned him? Huh. Yeah, my boyfriend.” Levi shrugged, focusing his attention back on his lunch.

“Is he hot?” Dahlia Qadri smacked Vik Roy’s arm at the question. “Ow! What, you were all wondering too!”

“Who, my boyfriend?”

“No, your fish.” Casey Parker was already getting fed up with this conversation and couldn’t suppress an eye roll at Levi’s expense.

“I think so.” Levi dug his phone out of his pocket and pulled up a photo of a tall Asian man with a chiseled face, swoopy hair, and magnificent muscles. He was smiling fondly at the camera, as though the photographer were his favorite person in the world. 

“Glasses, you can’t just Google ‘hot guy’ and use some image result. We’re not gonna believe that,” Roy scoffed.

“What? No! That’s Nico! That’s my boyfriend, Nico!” Levi turned the phone towards him as though checking he had the right picture.

“That’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. You’re telling me he’s not only real but your boyfriend?” Sam raised her eyebrows almost to her hairline as everyone else looked expectantly at Levi.

“I… he… we… we overlapped a bit when I was in college and he was in med school. When the pre-med students would visit the med school, he always sought me out. Wanted to show me whatever stuff he was working on. We became study buddies and then friends and then best friends.” Levi shrugged through the story, trying to downplay it.

“But you slept with Jo!” Taryn exclaimed.

“We got together after that. I was venting to him about the whole ‘Glasses’ thing and how I’d never get a job here. We stayed up all night on the phone, me freaking out and him listening. He flew out the next day and showed up on my doorstep. I guess he sort of proclaimed his love for me? He said he’d loved me since we first met and hearing me so upset on the phone made him realize he needed to step up and give me something good. I don’t know.” Levi fiddled with his fingers, looking down after baring his soul.

When he looked up, the other interns were all just staring at him. Roy broke the silence with a big laugh.

“Yeah, okay. Here’s a tip, if you want us to believe you, don’t make it seem like he was the one chasing you. It just makes no sense.”

Levi looked hurt and confused, “But… that’s what happened!”

“Okay, prove it. Call him,” Roy smirked.

“I can’t. He just got off a 48-hour shift and I like to let him sleep.” 

“Hm, convenient.” While Roy was still enjoying the teasing, the other interns started to look uncomfortable and guilty. Thankfully, Jo walked in just then to give out their assignments.

“Are you too hot for me?” Levi asked as soon as Nico answered his FaceTime.

“Well hello to you too, love.” Nico smiled, used to his boyfriend’s bluntness.

“Yeah, yeah, hey, what’s up? But are you too hot for me?”

“What does that even mean?”

“Like, you’re hot. That’s a known fact. But are you too hot for me? Are we horribly mismatched?” Levi fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt, suddenly more self-conscious than he usually was when speaking to Nico.

“You’ve literally been the object of my fantasies for years now, so I’d say you’re pretty hot.” Levi choked at this comment, eliciting a deep laugh from Nico.

“I’m serious though.” Levi’s voice was small, smaller than Nico had ever heard it. 

“What brought this on?” Nico did away with his teasing tone.

“I mentioned you to the other interns. They didn’t believe that you were my boyfriend after I showed them your picture. They said it made no sense and there’s no way you were the one pining for me all these years. They thought I got a picture off of Google.” Levi gave a sad smile and a soft sigh.

Nico furrowed his brow in annoyance and confusion, “They didn’t believe you?”

“No. Why would they? It is definitely illogical.”

“I love it when you talk Vulcan to me.” Levi gave him a put-upon look, “What does it matter? You know how I feel about you, right? You know you’re my guy.”

“I know. I know! It shouldn’t matter. But I never even thought about our mismatched looks until today.”

“Look, I know you’re way hotter than I am but please don’t rub it in.” Levi gave a watery, surprised laugh, “I’m serious! Screw what other people think. I’m blown away by you. Floored. Overwhelmed. Okay?”

Levi sighed, “Okay. Okay, yeah. I’m sorry for spiraling, love. How was your day?”

“You never have to apologize to me for something like this. Never, okay?” Levi nodded, causing Nico to smile wide. “But my day was good! I’m starting to look at fellowships and my old mentor may have a lead for me.” 

Levi and Nico spoke for another two hours, only stopping when Levi almost began snoring, promising to pick it back up the next night. Even though there was still a nagging in the back of Levi’s mind, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

A few weeks, and many failed attempts to prove his relationship, later found the Grey + Sloan interns huddled together by a nurses’ station, waiting for their assignments.

“Levi!” All six interns’ heads whipped around at the excited shout, eyes landing on a suited man rushing in their direction.

“Nico! Wh- you’re here! What are you doing here?!” The man swept Levi up into a hug, picking him up slightly, a dazzling smile taking over his handsome face.

“I wanted to surprise you! I had an interview here for my fellowship and I took a few days off so I could see you.” They gazed at each other, matching smiles on their faces, too caught up in their moment to pay any mind to the gaping interns next to them.

“Wait, you’re that guy! The one Glasses keeps trying to convince us is his boyfriend!” Sam Bello snapped her fingers as the pieces slid into place, the other interns nodding next to her at the realization.

Nico turned his head, giving the other five people his attention, arms still around Levi, “I am his boyfriend. Hi, Nico Kim. Current resident at the Mayo Clinic, but I’m hoping to get a fellowship here.”

Levi smacked his chest, drawing Nico’s attention back towards him, “Why didn’t you tell me?! I thought San Francisco was your first choice!”

“Nah, you’re here. Plus, my mentor may be getting an attending job here so I’d work with him. I wanted to surprise you, love.”

“So this is real? This is a real thing?” Helm had a small smile on her face. Having spent more time with Levi over the last few weeks, she’d grown quite fond of the clumsy man and liked seeing him so happy.

“It’s so real. The realest.” Nico grinned at Helm.

“Wow, okay. Sorry to have doubted you, Schmitt.” Casey patted Levi’s shoulder as Sam and Dahlia nodded in agreement, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I stand by my disbelief.” Roy stood with his arms crossed as everyone rolled their eyes at his stubbornness, ignoring him in favor of getting to know Nico.

The interns (minus Roy) and Nico chatted for a few more minutes, Nico’s arm slung casually around Levi’s waist. Levi beamed as his coworkers got along so well with his boyfriend, glad they finally believed him. Not that he needed any sort of validation from them because he knew the man next to him loved him no matter what, which was all that really mattered. 

I’m (hopefully) back on my bullshit, so send in prompts, if you want!

[thepartyresponsible]

fourth drabble! i’m still working on drabbles from this list. this one’s for @izumikouhei​, who asked for tony stark/bruce wayne with 66. “if i die, i’m never speaking to you again.”

for the record, there’s bonus roy harper/jason todd. no real warnings for this one, except that it’s ridiculous and kinda fluffy.

also, i failed spectacularly to keep this one under 1000 words. damn, did i fail.

It could have been anyone and anything, but it’s a kid on a rooftop, out of his mind on fear toxin, and it’s a four-story drop crashing through a poorly-enforced fire escape. Batman ends his nightly patrol with a broken arm and three broken ribs and a concussion so mean he can barely stand up without puking.  

The kid is fine, though. Of course he’s fine. Bruce sacrificed his grappling line to save him.

“Yeah,” Jason says, when he shoulders his way into the Manor, drops his duffel bag at the door, and lets Alfred wrap him in a hug. “Yeah, whatever. Beacons are lit. Gotham calls for aid. Here I am.”

“Oh good,” Tony Stark says, peering inquisitively over Alfred’s shoulder, drinking what is either a glass of orange juice or a casual mid-morning screwdriver. “I was hoping someone sturdy would show up.”

  It should be Dick’s problem, but Dick’s doing something complicated with the Titans that involves a lot of fraught interpersonal dynamics and new uniforms and maybe the apocalypse. It could also be Tim’s problem, except he’s at summer camp with the Teen Titans or whatever the hell they do when they all collectively disappear for a while, and Damian, of course, is around, in the sense that he’s always around, but Jason doesn’t trust Gotham to his tender mercies.

Damian’s a promising enough kid, but he’s also potentially the Antichrist. And if the kid gets killed, Jason’s going to have to deal with Bruce in mourning, and he doesn’t have the stomach for that kind of showy, resolute self-martyrdom anymore.

So it’s Jason’s problem. He packs his bags, lets Roy kiss him goodbye, and then he heads to Gotham. He even has the decency to leave his guns behind. He feels a little stupid about that once he discovers he’s patrolling with Iron Man, but it turns out Stark’s swapped all his ammunition for non-lethal rounds.

“Of course I did,” Stark says, three nights in. Dawn’s slowly bruising the skyline, and they’re drinking ice water on the rooftop of Wayne Manor, trying to cool off after another bullshit night of sweating through their body armor. Stark clears his throat and then drops his voice, approximating Bruce’s Batman-growl with impressive accuracy. “If you kill a killer, the number of killers in the world remains the same.”

Jason groans and presses the cold glass to his forehead. It doesn’t help as much as he wants it to. “He’s such an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Stark says, with a wide, affectionate grin. “And surprisingly bad at math.”

Jason doesn’t mind working with Stark. He’s like a funhouse mirror version of Bruce: too rich, too smart, too good at what he does, but stretched-out and wrongly-proportioned, all that grim resolve replaced with good-natured purpose, that laser point attention swapped with a cat’s capricious focus.

The Iron Man suit is fun, and Jason wants one of his own, but he’s content to keep dropping his tech on the breakfast table and watching as Stark’s concentration is slowly but inevitably drawn away from his coffee.

“You owe me, like. Hm.” Stark pauses, tips his head. They’re down in the Batcave, and Stark’s upgrading Jason’s rebreather. “Shit, how many things have I fixed for you? What is this? The…seventh? Do you know what my time’s worth?”

“Put it on Bruce’s tab,” Jason suggests. He’s texting Roy, who’s frothing at the mouth trying to get himself an invite. He’s got some kind of bizarre inventor’s crush on Tony Stark.

Stark goes still for a second and then laughs. He stifles it quickly, which is out of character.

When Jason looks up, Stark has his head ducked, mouth flat, and his cover is so egregiously shitty that he might as well be whistling innocuously with his hands in his pockets.

“Huh,” Jason says, just so they’re clear. Just so Stark knows that Jason knows that some weird shit is afoot.

“You know what you need?” Tony says, damn near doing jazz hands in his completely transparent attempt to redirect the conversation. “Repulsors.”

There’s one bad night where Jason lets Scarecrow dose him because getting drugged is better than letting the creep touch Damian, and then Jason’s out of his head, fucked up, clinging to the Iron Man suit while they skim through Gotham.

“Graveyard,” he says, because his mouth is full of imaginary blood and his fingernails feel broken to the nailbed and he’s been screaming for days, for years, for lifetimes. “Don’t take me to the graveyard.”

“Hey, scout,” Tony says, which is offensive. Which is bullshit. Jason is twenty-two years old. “I’m taking you home, okay?”

He takes him to Bruce’s house, and Alfred fusses, and someone asks, “Can I get anyone for you, kid?” and so Jason says, “Roy, I need Roy,” even though he doesn’t, not really, but he knows he’ll feel better if Roy’s there.

And then Roy is there, sitting suited up at Jason’s bedside, bow in hand, and it’s ridiculous, it’s all made-up, it’s fine. But. It’s nice, having someone on watch.

In the morning, Roy steps out to grab breakfast and comes back wide-eyed and red-cheeked. “Holy shit,” he says, under his breath. “Holy shit, Jay, it’s like walking in on your parents.”

And Jason’s got no fucking clue what he means by that, but he’s too wrung out to ask for clarification. He rolls onto his side, lets Roy scramble up into bed beside him, and then he makes soft pathetic noises until Roy pours just the right amount of sugar into his coffee.

Eventually, Bruce gets well enough to become a Goddamn nuisance. As soon as he’s cleared to sit in front of the screens in the Batcave for a couple hours a day, he decides, naturally, to play backseat driver while Jason and Tony run patrol.

He is fucking insufferable.

“Red Hood, on your right—on your right.”

“Iron Man, this is a street brawl, not a dance competition.”

“Hood, you could have shattered his scapula with that. Be careful.”

“Iron Man, the disarming sequence is—no, stop that, I have it right here. Stop it.”

Jason daydreams a lot about punching Bruce in the mouth. Tony Stark, for his part, just laughs and fires back.

“Oh no,” he says, when he’s disarming the bomb that’s supposed to level a city block. “Oh, how clumsy of me.”

“Iron Man,” Bruce says, voice tight.

“Whoops,” Tony says, while Jason coughs into his comm unit to hide his laughter.

“Iron Man,” he says, voice so low and tense that Bruce’s vocal chords might as well be glaciers grinding together.

“Gotham is just so dangerous,” Tony says. “If I die, I’m never speaking to you again.”

“Tony,” Bruce says, and there’s something weird in it, something held back.

The bomb goes dead and harmless at Tony’s feet. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says. “But I’m still better with explosives than you are. Don’t play tech support with me.”

The thing is, Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne don’t usually spend time together. They could. They both have that playboy billionaire thing to lean into, and there’s a whole series of archived news articles about their exploits in their early twenties. And Jason remembers, dimly, that Tony came by the house once or twice before that regrettable incident in the desert with the Joker and the crowbar.

Something happened between them after Jason died. Or maybe after Tony had his own regrettable incident in the desert.

“Why’re you here?” Jason asks, finally. Because it’s been three weeks, and Bruce is starting to train like he thinks he’ll be suiting up soon. Which means this vacation is almost over, and Jason’s going back to the Outlaws, and Tony’s going back to the Avengers, and Bruce is going back to brooding on rooftops. “I mean, I’m glad you are. Thanks for the upgrades. But Bruce is kind of an asshole, you know?”

Tony laughs into his coffee. There’s a vaguely evasive look on his face, and he’s smiling for no damn reason at all. “Bruce,” he says, with a shrug. “We grew up together. Even went to the same boarding schools a couple times.”

Jason cannot imagine Bruce as a child. “Before his parents died?” he asks, because that’s the part that seems impossible. Bruce Wayne, as a kid with parents, as someone with a future instead of a mission.

“Sure.” Tony shrugs; his smile disappears. “And after. We went to each other’s parents’ funerals. He brought a flask to mine, even though he never approved of—well. That’s how you know about people, isn’t it? At least with someone like Bruce. When they’ll give in, just a little. Because it’s something you need.”

Jason wouldn’t know about that. After all, the Joker’s still walking.

Although maybe, if he thinks about it, there’s a hundred different ways Bruce has compromised for him. And if he hasn’t done the one thing that would mean the most, maybe that’s because there are parts of yourself you can’t ever give away. Maybe Jason’s old enough to understand that now. Because, in the end, Jason hasn’t killed the Joker either.

“Sure,” he says. But he’s thinking about Roy. He’s thinking about Roy dopesick and shaking and terrified. He’s thinking about Roy, clean and steady and brave.

Tony finally looks over at him. His smile is crooked and fond. “You’re a good kid,” Tony tells him. “You’re all good kids. Don’t know how the hell Bruce managed it. But good for him.”

They were good kids before Bruce Wayne. They would’ve been good kids without Bruce Wayne.

But Jason’s ready to acknowledge, in the privacy of his own head, that maybe they’d also all be dead kids without Bruce Wayne.

Tony Stark stays for a month and a half. He and Bruce spend the last week fighting, loudly and dramatically, over every single improvement Tony’s made to the Batcave while Bruce was too busy trying not to throw up on his shoes to stop him. Jason and Roy sneak down to watch, but Roy keeps getting antsy and dragging Jason out before things can get too heated.

“You’re just not ready,” Roy tells him, earnestly. “Your virgin eyes, Jason. I mean it.”

“My virgin what?” Jason asks, incredulous.

“Your slutty eyes,” Roy amends, conciliatory.

“That’s—wow.” Jason stares at him. “That’s even worse.”

“Aw, c’mon, baby,” Roy says, mock-apologetic. “You know I love how slutty you are.”

“Great,” Jason says. “Awesome. So, we’re breaking up. You can move out tonight. Never speak to me again. It’s been terrible, and I won’t miss you at all.”

“Oh no,” Roy says, eyes wide, sounding so legitimately devastated that Jason has to kiss him, immediately.

Roy snickers into his mouth, which really underscores to Jason how out of his depth he is, how much of him Roy owns completely.

“I hate you,” Jason tells him, because it’s been years but I love you still feels like a jinx, like an invitation to the universe to break his fucking heart.

Roy grins at him, immensely pleased with himself. “Hell yes,” he says, “I love hate sex. Let’s go.”

Jason’s not an idiot. He has an idea of what’s going on. He knows two adult men don’t spend that much time together passionately discussing differences of opinion on technical innovation unless they plan to get naked at some point. He knows what it means when Tony’s eyes go warm and distant like they do sometimes when he talks about Bruce. He knows what it means that Tony’s here at all.

It’s just that he figures Bruce Wayne is fucking everything up, the way he always does. He figures Bruce is crashing headlong through the world in grim, determined pursuit of the best, fastest, most justice-glorifying path from Point A to Point B without realizing that Point C has more merits than he deserves.

He figures it’s one-sided. He figures Bruce is going to break Tony’s heart. He figures Tony’s going to let him, has been letting him.

And then he turns a corner on Tony’s last morning in town and walks right into the kind of goodbye kiss that needs an age restriction warning.

“Oh, Christ,” Jason says and slams his eyes shut. A second later, Roy’s hand slaps down hard across his face, palm wrapping protectively across his eyes. It stings a little, honestly, but Jason forgives him for it. He just wishes he’d been faster.

“Oh God,” Roy says, “I warned you! I told you it’s like walking in on your parents!”

“Stop it.” Jason hisses through his teeth, clinging to Roy’s arm. “Get me out of here, fuck’s sake.”

“Your kids are so cute, Bruce,” Tony says. Jason feels endlessly betrayed by the smug amusement in his voice. He’s been fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with this man for a month and a half, and he had no idea he was such a shameless philanderer.

Jesus, just tongue-deep in each other’s mouths right in the hallway, where God and Alfred and Damian could walk by at any moment.

“Only one of those is mine,” Bruce says. He sounds – terrifyingly – like he is out of breath.

Jason wretches, audibly. Roy hauls him against his chest and starts dragging him to safety, back the way they came.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tony says. His voice is deliberately pitched loud enough to follow them. “Looks like you’ve practically got yourself a son-in-law.”

“Roy,” Jason says, “just kill me. I’m done with this earth.”

“Aw, Jay,” Roy says, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Jason’s head, “don’t give up. We’ll go find the Scarecrow, see if he can bleach it outta your head with more of that fear toxin.”

“God willing,” Jason says, low and fervent. 

Jason and Roy go out a window on the second floor, just to be sure they don’t run into Tony and Bruce defiling any other hallways with their goodbyes. Jason’s not proud of it. But he’s finally learned the merits of a well-executed retreat.

It turns out to be unnecessary though, because Tony’s already down in the driveway, climbing into an offensively beautiful red sports car. Jason braces a hand against Roy’s chest to keep him from throwing himself at the hood to get to the engine.

“Hey, kids,” Tony calls, waving jovially. His mouth is very red. Jason is prepared, at this moment, to offer his soul to the multiverse.

“Hey,” Roy says, voice reverent, eyes running all over the car with a licentiousness that would make Jason blind with jealousy if he were looking at a human being.

“Last time Bruce fooled around with someone,” Jason says, “he spawned the Antichrist. So you just think about that the next time you mix your bodily fluids.”

“Oh no, my girlish figure.” Tony does not seem to be taking this as seriously as Jason means it.

“Bodily fluids,” Roy says, under his breath. He doesn’t seem to be taking it seriously, either.

Jason curls his hands around the car door, pins Tony with a look of grave concern. “Listen,” he says. “You deserve so much better than that shithead in there. He’s a disaster. He is the definition of emotional constipation. He knows everyone’s blood type and nobody’s birthday, and he gives up kidney stones easier than personal information, and he absolutely has a plan for how to neutralize you if necessary, and he honestly, legitimately, no-shit thinks that’s what teamwork means.”

“Kiddo, pal, Red Hoodlum,” Tony says, giving Jason’s hand an encouraging pat. “That’s my emotionally constipated shithead disaster in there, and I’d thank you to remember it.”

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to save people from themselves.

Jason steps away from the car and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry you’ve chosen to do this to yourself,” he says. “You seem like a perfectly decent human being.”

“It’s been a real treasure working with you, too, scout,” Tony says. He glances over Jason’s shoulder toward Roy and smiles wider. “And, hey, Wayne-In-Law, if you ever want to talk shop some more, swing by SI. You’d love the labs.”

“Oh my God,” Roy says, very quietly. And then, louder, “Oh, okay, sure! Maybe! Next time I’m in town.”

Tony nods, smiles again, and then turns toward the manor and blows a giant, ridiculous kiss over his shoulder.

And Jason thinks he’s an idiot, thinks he’s just asking to get his heart broken, but there, on the third floor, is the subtle but unmissable shift of curtains falling back. Bruce Wayne was up there, lurking through a final goodbye, and Jason honestly needs to get out of this town immediately.

He climbs on his bike, waits for Roy to do the same. And then, just to see how far this lunacy has spread, he texts Grayson: Did you know Stark and Bruce are fucking?

Dick texts back a string of fruit-themed emojis that Jason instantaneously blanks from his brain. A second later, Dick sends: You didn’t see the pics from Stark Expo???

“Roy,” Jason says, “I love you. Let’s go somewhere with no wifi signal.”

[artificialqueens]

Until the Flavor’s Gone (17/?) (Biadore) - Kitschy Pixel

A/N: Oh wow, what’s this? An update so soon? So, THIS! This is the original chapter that I wanted to bring you but couldn’t because it just got too long. You’ve got your set up – here’s where the dominos fall. Huge special thanks to @veronicasanders for keeping me from going positively insane and helping me go through several edits of this monster and as always, feel free to hit me up on my sideblog @kitschypixel. If you’re lucky, sometimes I even take prompts.

In this chapter, time has passed and people move forward, but when you hit a roadblock, sometimes the person you want is the least qualified to help you. And then they show up anyway.

Warnings for language, implied drug use, broken hearts, nosy strangers, and a whole bunch of bullshit.

Chapter 17

They were in Boston.

Well, Courtney was fairly certain they were circling the gates of her own personal hell, but she supposed naming that ‘Boston’ would be good enough. She clutched her phone tightly, thumbs poised over the screen. She checked it regularly, trying not to seem frantic. She pressed her teeth to her bottom lip, her mind so far away she didn’t realize she was being spoken to.

She jerked her attention back to the conversation when her knee was lightly tapped. “We just met and you’re already holding out on me?” The Russian accent broke apart half way through the question and Courtney blinked a few times as she tried to translate until she realized it was already in English.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your phone! You have like… a death grip. Do you have a… gentleman caller… lined up and ready to pound that pussy into oblivion?” The purr towards the end caused Courtney to laugh before she blew out a breath she forgot she was holding.

“God, I wish. No… I’m actually just waiting for a friend – an actual friend, that’s not a euphemism – anyway. I’m waiting for him to show up so he can take Adore to the hotel…”

“Ahhhh – is this about the – “ there was a couple of snorts and a vague gesture that Courtney felt wasn’t quite as universal as the queen across from her assumed, “you know. Whatever.”

Well, Courtney got the gist regardless and she nodded in response.

“Yes… I kind of wish I knew what it was…”

“Well,” Finger tips tapped across bright red lips as the dishevelled blonde queen squinted in thought. “Do you remember what the guy looked like? You know, the one who did the offering?”

“Mmm… brunette. Square jaw… kind of that few days without shaving look… a bit over six foot with broad shoulders wearing very tight pants…” She watched as the queen nodded and hummed, “Does he sound familiar to you at all?”

“Hmmm?” She blinked the distant look from her eyes before shaking her head, “No. Honestly, I’m just really horny and he sounded like he could be hot.” She bit her lip in a very poor attempt to look at least a little chagrined before she burst with a hiss of snickers she couldn’t be bothered to hold back.

Courtney mentally noted that she should be far more irritated by the fruitless conversation, but she found herself laughing along with the hysteric giggles instead. It helped loosen her grip a little on her phone and get her mind to drift from the rather stressful week and a half of playing mom on tour (not including the numerous weeks prior that had since blurred together). “I’m sorry… I can’t remember your name…”

“Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova,” she rattled off and punctuated with a snap. Courtney’s eyes crossed a little at the mouthful and tentatively started to repeat it back.

“Ye… yekata.. keta?”

“Katya,” she interjected with wide grin.

“Thank God.”

“That works too!”

Both of their heads spun towards the door when it opened, and Katya groaned dramatically in disappointment. “False alarm, it’s just… that one,” she gestured towards the short goth queen that tried to slink in stealthily, only to nearly shut her own foot in the door.

“Hey!” The queen sniffed indignantly and Courtney greeted her with a soft and hesitant hello before she re-introduced herself. “Laila.”

“Right. Sorry.” Courtney was answered with a shrug as Laila wandered over to where they were sitting and perched herself nearby. “How’s she doing out there?”

“Who? Our little drag star?” Laila batted her eyes with a dreamy sigh before cackling a bit and shrugged. “Jumped into the crowd to make out with some guy in the middle of a song and then when she tried to climb back up, she tripped and totally ate shit. It was kinda great.”

“Great…”

“As graceful as you are, I can see,” Katya jabbed lightly before Laila let out an exaggerated ‘hah!’ in response.

“I don’t have 100K followers so I can trip all I want and no one sees it.”

“It explains your tips.”

“You know what? Fuck you,” She wrinkled her nose and looked between the two queens before pointing to the phone Courtney still kept clutched in both hands. “What’s with the death grip?”

“Oh! We’re waiting for ~a man~” Katya dropped her voice into another husky growl before Courtney cleared her throat to interject.

“It’s…” She lifted one finger, taking a moment to pause before continuing her thought, “… not as suggestive as Katya makes it sound…”

“Is he hot?” Laila swung her legs a little, while Katya snapped a few times.

“Oh! Yes! Asking the real questions here!”

“No.” Courtney scoffed, almost like a reflex. She wrinkled her nose as she started to quickly backpedal with a sound akin to a deflating balloon, “eeee-weeeell… okay. I mean… he’s not ugly. He looks fine… so… yeah, okay he is kind of hot… like I wouldn’t say no if I didn’t know him… but… yeah, no. Okay… ummm….” She pressed her lips together tightly, “It’s complicated.”

“How is that compli–” the question got cut off when Courtney’s phone buzzed and she checked it with a sigh of relief before jumping up and spinning around to face the other two.

“Okay. He’s here. Behave! Especially you!” She pointed a finger at Katya who snapped at it with her teeth while making snarling noises. With another spin she darted towards the door, keeping it propped open with her back as she caught sight of Roy being let in through a nearby exit.

Courtney waved him over and wrapped him into a tight hug the second he was close enough with a soft ‘thank God’ punctuated by a deep inhale.

“Not God, but close… did you just sniff me?”

Courtney pressed her nails into his back, “No.”

“I think you did.”

“You know what? I’m not going to argue with you. I’m just glad you’re here. Come on.”

She pulled him into the dressing room, watching as Laila and Katya both perked up at his arrival. She didn’t have a chance to get another word out before Katya raised her hand.

“Excuse me, but how is this yes/no complicated hot?”

Roy’s eyebrows shot up and Courtney rolled her eyes before she gestured with her best Vanna White hands, “This is Roy,” she cut off the coy ‘hi Roy’s with a quick follow up. “And Bianca del Rio.”

“Oh? Oh. Oooooooh! Okay. Yes/no complicated it stays.”

Courtney pulled Roy off to the side as he still mused on the ‘yes/no complicated’. “Roy. Please. Focus.”

“I would but this doesn’t seem like the same kind of emergency you described over the phone. Where is she?”

“Adore?” Courtney waved in the general direction of the floor before she started to text rather rapidly, “She’s still on stage.”

Roy frowned at Courtney’s rather frantic texting, clutching the carry on bag slung over his shoulder close, trying to match up what Courtney’s ominous message meant to him with what was actually going on. “So, she’s on stage? Then she’s okay. You made it sound like she was dying.”

“Not dead yet, but she’s trying,” Courtney held up a finger at Roy’s inquisitive ‘what the fuck does that mean?’ and closed her eyes to try to keep her thoughts from spiralling off into different directions. “She’s high.”

“Good for her. Think she’ll share?”

“Roy,” Courtney snapped and gave him a stern look, “I need you to be serious right now.”

“I am being serious! What the fuck is with you? Since when are you a prude?”

Courtney sucked in a breath and stared at Roy for a long moment, just to level out her increasing annoyance at his ignorance of the situation. He had re-routed his flight and delayed his trip to New Orleans (that he was taking with his boyfriend, she mentally noted) in order to come to Boston at her request out of the concern she’d raised about Adore’s current state. He wasn’t the type to fully understand this level of heartbreak, so she pressed her lips together tightly as she tried to find words he could comprehend.

Gathering up her last bit of patience, Courtney gripped Roy by the shoulders, looked him in the eye, and began to explain – slowly. “I’m not worried about the drugs. I’m worried about the motive,” the way his eyes shot up with a sigh was enough to register that he understood what she was implying, so she moved on. “She’s got one more song and an encore, but she’s so fucking out of it, who’s to really say… I’ve alerted our driver to be on standby to take you guys back to the hotel. I just need you to keep an eye on her.”

“Why me?”

“Because she really wants to see you… and if I try to handle it anymore, I might lose my entire mind.”

“Courtney needs a strong drink and a good dick?”

“Fuck you, but yes.”

She reached out and clamped his lips shut with the tips of her fingers as she heard Adore stumble through the door, palms clamping down on her shoulders as Adore struggled to keep upright. A hoarse laugh erupted with a quiet ‘sorry’ and Courtney forced a smile and a quiet ‘it’s fine’ as Adore breezed past them both. She wagered Adore wouldn’t even have been aware of either of them if she hadn’t tripped into them. So, she cleared her throat and raised her voice a little to catch her attention.

“Adore? Look who’s here!”

Courtney lightly slapped Roy’s shoulder when he winced at the shrill pitch of her voice and shot him a really good death glare when he grimaced as Adore came closer.

“Holy fuck… are you supposed to be here?” Roy still hadn’t turned around instead craning his neck a little far when Adore wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed her nose in the crook of his neck. “I thought you were supposed to be… to be… somewhere not here! What are you doing?”

“I… uh…” Roy looked to Courtney who shook her head and he faked a cough. Neither of them really had enough time to come up with a plausible story as to why Roy would be here and at this point, at least Roy assumed, that the truth wouldn’t be swallowed very well. So without a convincing lie, he was left floundering a little. He stopped just short of using his boyfriend as an excuse when he felt another stern look before he finally settled, rather lamely with, “I could swing it… so I’m here– wait, are you bleeding?”

Adore looked down and laughed, pointing at her knee, “Oh yeah! I need to get something for that…” She wandered over to Laila who was holding up a box of Band Aids, “Oh! They sparkle! Gimme!”

Roy got cut off from whatever smart remark he had loaded and ready by Courtney grabbing his elbows in a vice grip and a firm ‘don’t you dare’ with a growl in her voice and fire in her eyes.

“Careful, or people will know you’re a man,” Roy shot off, wrenching himself from her when she squeezed. “Owowowow!”

“I’m dead serious right now, Roy and I am begging – absolutely begging – for you to do your best to scrounge up a little self awareness and some empathy. Please.”

“Are you sure she’s not dead? She smells like she’s rotting…”

“Roy!”

“What?”

Courtney shot a look to Adore, who was still fussing with… something… she couldn’t tell what before she grabbed Roy and steered him closer to the door, dropping her voice again. “Please. Just… do this.”

“Okay, fine… but she needs to like… bathe.”

“Well, if she drowns, that’s your responsibility.”

“Really?” Roy’s jaw dropped as he shot his own appalled look at Courtney, “Are you saying you wouldn’t help me hide the body? What kind of friend are you?”

“The kind that wouldn’t let a friend accidentally drown–”

“– who said it would be an accident?”

“Roy!” Another hiss. “Empathy! Please!”

“Fine! I’ll drown her in empathy, how’s that? Now go get fucked before you become an even bigger bitch and I have two bodies I need to deal wiiiii – hi!” He slapped Courtney’s shoulder with the back of his hand when she snorted at the way his voice cracked and they both turned to face a blinking Adore. They all stood awkwardly before Courtney finally spoke up.

“So… um… Adore… Roy’s going to take you back to the hotel, okay?”

“Why?”

Roy quirked an eyebrow to see just how Courtney was going to spin this without sounding like she was trying to be Adore’s mother. It took a few long seconds before she finally managed, “Well… I mean… I figured you two might want some time to yourselves? Catch up? I mean.. It’s been… how long?”

Roy didn’t get to answer because Adore seemed to fold rather quickly, nodding quietly before offering a smile that failed to reach her eyes. “Yeah… you’re right. It has been awhile, hasn’t it?” She bit her bottom lip, eyes rolling back in thought before she shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll just get my stuff.”

Not much else was said, there was an “I told you” dancing across Courtney’s tongue but she managed to keep it bitten back. Roy and Adore left in silence but everyone in the room noticed the firm hand pressed in the small of Adore’s back as they did. Courtney sighed from relief, trying to shake off the lingering guilt for getting a little bit more involved than she probably should have – but in her defense, she hadn’t betrayed Adore’s trust outright. Roy still didn’t know the details as Courtney knew them, she’d kept the exact circumstances of her call close to her chest.

She was doing the right thing.

“That hug seemed to linger quite a long time…”

Courtney jumped with Katya at her shoulder and she closed her eyes. “It’d been a while since we’ve seen each other.”

“And did he smell good?”

“He smelled fantastic.”

Katya nodded sagely as she spun Courtney around, took her hands and patted at them gingerly, “Don’t worry, you’re in my hands now and I will take very good care of you. Do you like go-go boys with great asses and even better dicks?”

“Please.”

“Perfect.”

–––––––––––––––––––––

Adore hit the bed hard with a groan, twisting up into a ball and just staring up at the ceiling. She waited for Roy to say something first and when he didn’t, just sighed. She held onto the silence until it started to become painful, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “So what’d Courtney tell you to get you here?”

She heard the hotel bed creak as he sat down near her at the foot of the bed, her eyes sliding to his back as she waited for him to answer. She watched as he rubbed his face before tilting his head slightly to the side. “She made it sound like it was pretty serious… so I said I’d meet you guys in Boston.”

“Okay but like… what’d she tell you?” Adore pushed herself up onto her side, staring down at the bedspread and tracing the pattern with her two index fingers, squinting a little at how the cheap, thin comforter rippled under her touch and the light scratching noise of her nails against the fabric. “Your… what’s his name… know you’re here?”

“She didn’t really tell me much, Dan–” he cut himself off with the way Adore’s lips twisted a little. The ‘sorry’ so quiet on the exhale, she was almost sure he didn’t say it.

“It’s fine, you know,” she replied anyway, pulling at her wig, “It doesn’t matter. Still me no matter what, right? Just a wig and make-up.”

The scoff was harsh and the way the pins pulled at the hair underneath as she tried to rip the wig off her head made her whine. She batted at his hands as he tried to help before he tried to soothe her with a very gentle “You’re making it worse, asshole. Hold still.”

She fidgeted as he finally finished unpinning the wig and pulled it off with a very soft ‘Christ’. Her eyes stayed on his face as he grimaced, running his hand over the tangled wig that reeked of sweat and stale perfume before he looked it over and asked, “You have a brush for this thing?”

Adore shook her head, “Too punk rock for that shit.”

“Right… and what about your own hair?”

Another shrug and Roy rolled his eyes before taking the empty ice bucket and flipping it upside down, using it as a temporary wig stand before he pointed to the bathroom. “Get up. Go. You’re disgusting. Go!” He waved her to the door until she finally stepped into the bathroom and she got a good look of herself in the mirror. Her hair was greasy and her scalp felt raw, and there were signs where she’d simply just sweated off her make-up and then reapplied for the past couple of nights. “Take your clothes off and get in.”

Standing in the harsh white light of a hotel bathroom, she suddenly didn’t have the energy to really argue. She struggled out of most of her clothes before she turned to the bathtub. “It’s empty.”

“Good job, genius. It’s for the best. Get in.”

Rolling her eyes felt gritty, so she rubbed them instead and did as asked, knees bent, hands on the cold porcelain as she stared at the tile. She scratched a little at the grout before following it with the pad of her finger, pursing her lips and looking pensive as she followed the maze of lines.

The ice water hit her scalp first, ran down the back of her neck and down the center of her spine, making her suck in the myriad of curse words before expelling them in a string of very loud insults, “What the fuck, you rotted cunt? Shit!”

“Keep your voice down. It’s three in the morning.”

Adore sputtered as a damp washcloth was dropped on her head. She took it and wrung it tightly in her hands, staring at it. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“Whore bath for a whore,” Roy spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world as he sat down on the floor, with his back against the tub, setting aside the water glass with the sample sized shampoo and conditioner that had been displayed on the counter. He handed her the make-up wipes he’d found with them, giving her a place to start. She took the hint and removed her lashes, pressing them against the edge of the tub.

It took a moment for him to speak again, as she pouted and scrubbed at the layers of make-up on her face, and when he did – it made her pause.

“So what’d you take tonight?”

There was a twinge of curiosity that cancelled out the usual judgemental tone a question like that usually carried. But she acted as if it was still accusatory, just because she wanted to.

“What’s it matter? Sure it’s nothing compared to the shit you’ve done, right?”

She couldn’t see the way he pressed his lips together, but heard the way he clicked his tongue. “Yeah…” he remarked, slouching a bit and tilting his head back a bit. “Probably right…” Another click and he tilted his head to the side again. “I’m gonna offer you some advice, though…”

“I’m fine.”

“Fact that you smell like a stale bag of Fritos says different, now shut up…” he held up a finger before he sighed. “I’m not gonna tell you what to do, because this is your load of bullshit to deal with… but know what the fuck someone is giving you. Just… in case.”

Adore stared at the foundation streaked make-up wipe before she started to rub furiously at her eyes. “So Courm told you about Cleveland…” she squinted in thought before muttering, “Or was it Philly?”

“No.” Roy raised an eyebrow as he pulled the make-up wipe from her hands when she couldn’t seem to stop staring at it as she twisted it tightly one way and then another. Adore grasped at thin air a few times and then turned to face Roy, resting her chin on the edge of the tub and looked towards his face with wide, puppy-like eyes.

“Can you help me wet my hair?”

They both shuddered at that hollow, rubbery ‘flomp’ sound of skin sliding against the barely damp tub surface. Roy was still wincing as Adore got herself situated, followed by a sheepish ‘sorry’. “It’s fine,” Roy remarked before he turned on the facet to a slow trickle, palm pressing against Adore’s forehead to keep her from knocking it against the metal when she reared upwards when it made contact. “Careful! You don’t need a head injury, Jesus…”

“Are you trying to burn my scalp off now?” Adore seethed and Roy helped her sit up so he could check the water temperature.

“You’re lucky I’m not scrubbing you with Lysol, now quit complaining!” He got the temperature down to just below scalding before he helped Adore lean back again. Her eyes rolled upwards and she closed them for a moment, just letting his fingers press against her scalp before she started sniffling.

“You okay?”

The question sounded stiff and rehearsed with genuine concern bleeding through just enough to soften it.

“Yeah… yeah I’m just…” She sat back up slowly, pressing her fingers into her forehead before a sob burst forward. She sucked it back quickly, palms to her eyes as she forced out a laugh. A hand to her shoulder made her lift her head, and she took the small shampoo bottle that was offered. Clutching it in her fingers, she just stared at it as reality seemed to snap back with harsh lines and sharpened edges before blurring out with the tears that pooled in her eyes.

“You wanna pick an emotion, there?”

“Pathetic and embarrassed,” Adore blinked slowly, letting the tears fall before hiding her face with her knees.

“So normal. Good. I was almost worried.”

A soft giggle shuddered forward, weak and breathless. It made her chest hurt and her heart felt raw but that smile still managed to reach her eyes as she shook her head and hoarsely whispered, “You’re such a fucking dick.”

She lathered up her hair making it stand up straight before looking over at him again. “This would have been so much easier if you’d just let me take a normal shower.”

“Maybe,” he let her lean back, a hand shielding her eyes as he helped her rinse the shampoo from her hair, “But Courtney said she wouldn’t help me hide your body if you drowned, so I couldn’t take that risk.”

She dropped her jaw and looked appalled as she sat back up and sputtered, “You would hide my body? Why not call 911?”

“I’m not going to risk potentially going to jail just because your ex is an asshole… now tip your head back, you’re not done.”

Roy pressed the side of his hand to her forehead as he finished rinsing out her hair. She blinked upwards a few times before closing her eyes. “How do you know he was the asshole? Do you even know what happened or why we broke up? I could have been the one who like… cheated on him or whatever.”

“I know I’ve been busy, but I’m not completely oblivious and I know how social media works. I got the gist of what happened… please don’t start crying again, Jesus Christ.”

“Sorry! I’m sorry… I just…” Roy let her sit up and wipe at her eyes, still sniffling. He looked downward to the floor, letting her compose herself. She swiped her hands across her eyes before sniffling and offering a very weak smile, “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

“Yes. But not for what’s…” he made a vague gesture in her direction, “…going on right now…” He tossed a fluffy white towel at her and sighed. “Get out, dry off… find some clean clothes and I’ve got something to show you…” He paused a beat as he caught a very familiar spark in her eyes, “Before you say anything, let me ask you… do you really think it’s a good idea to crack a joke about my dick right now?”

“Well, not when you take the fun out of it like that.”

“Just get dressed.”

–––––––––––––––––––––

Drying off, and feeling kind of clean for the first time in probably four days, he looked in the mirror and saw… Danny. And with Danny came the ugly realization that he was a complete wreck of raw emotion and tangled up heartbreak that he’d been trying to ignore for all of these weeks and was doing a really piss poor job of doing so.

And he started crying again, before he even had a chance to stop it. He was sitting, doubled over, on the lid of the toilet with the towel balled up against his face when Roy came back to check what was taking him so long. His eyes were puffy, his face felt tight, and he was trying to wipe the snot from his nose as he caught sight of Roy loitering in the doorway, fingers tapping rapidly on either side, looking down at the floor.

“Think you’re going to make it or are you living in the bathroom now?”

Danny’s lips twitched and he leaned forward, reaching for Roy and wrapping the fabric of the man’s shirt in his fist before pulling him towards him. Roy complied, letting Danny close the gap between them to wrap his arms tightly around his middle.

“You smell good.”

“It’s called showering regularly. You should try it.”

“Be nice to me or I’ll cry.”

“Hah! Like that’s stopped you so far…” Danny closed his eyes and smiled as Roy lightly played with his hair, ruffling it as he took a step back. “Okay, seriously. This bathroom is making me depressed, can we go now?”

Danny nodded and used Roy to hoist himself back up onto his feet. He shuffled out of the bathroom to his suitcase, dug through it for some underwear and a clean t-shirt, and got dressed as Roy sat on the bed, back against the headboard. He crawled into bed, sliding across the comforter and curling up at Roy’s hip, arm across his lap.

“Sobering up a little?”

There was a non-committal grunt in reply before Danny rolled onto his back, pressed his fingers to his eye sockets for a moment and just stared up at the ceiling. “Fuck…” her muttered before closing his eyes tight. They burned a little from crying. He sniffled again before he finally managed to slide his focus back to Roy. “You said something about a present?”

“Yup,” Roy reached over and grabbed the small carry on bag he had with him and dug around it before producing a Ziploc bag that he tossed onto Danny’s chest. Danny pushed himself up on his elbows and squinted a little as he slowly sat up and opened the bag, removing the stack of papers – no. wait. photos – from inside.

“Oh my God…” He gasped and grinned as he recognized a few of them from Roy’s Facebook. “No way…” he started to rifle through them before his grin broke and softened into a genuine smile. “You brought me baby Bianca pictures?”

“I thought you might get a kick out of them.”

“Holy. Shit…” He couldn’t control the elated giggles, soft and raspy in pure delight as he flipped the photo in his hand over to look at the back. “They’re even dated, you fucking nerd!”

“I can take them back.”

“Noooo!” Danny whined and curved over them to shield the small pile he’d made with his body. “I’m looking!”

He righted himself up and gathered his pile, flipping through each photo, pausing at the ones he hadn’t already seen. He let out a low whistle at one from Bianca’s Cher impersonating days, “Damn, you use to be fucking hot,” he lightly smacked Roy’s thigh at the answering scoff. “Shut up, you know you were hot…” He grinned at the way Roy’s lips twitched to one side and pointed, “See? You know.” He laughed when Roy fell silent and didn’t offer any argument.

Danny thumbed through the pile rather quickly, pausing at some of the photos. There was one he’d set aside to come back to once he got through the rest of the pile, leaving it out as he slid the rest of them back into the Ziploc bag and then handed it to Roy. “Tell me the story on that one…”

Roy raised an eyebrow as he took the photo in hand and tilted his head. Danny wrapped an arm around his middle again, chin on his shoulder and he smiled a little. “Not much to tell…” he mused. “It was… 2001, so I was still in New Orleans. It was a photoshoot that had two other queens… both of them were late as fuck…”

Danny hummed and smiled, “Let me guess… you were on time?” Roy offered him a side glance and a confirming nod, but nothing else before he cleared his throat and shrugged.

“But yeah. That’s really it. This was taken while we were waiting for them. Why do you ask?”

Danny shrugged one shoulder as Roy handed the photo back to him – Bianca looking off into the distance, dressed in white with black hair, the lighting soft and surreal. He took it back and cradled it in his hands. There was something ethereal and warm and very different from the heavy handed camp clown that Bianca had aged into. It made Danny’s heart skip a couple of beats and he held his breath for a second or two before he shrugged again and replied with a fresh smile. “You just look really beautiful, that’s all.”

“Then keep it.”

“Really?”

“What am I going to do with it? If you like it, just have it.”

Danny felt a weird flutter somewhere in his chest, a sense of relief that jumped around a couple times before settling back down and making him feel a little lighter. His smile got wider and sweeter before he leaned in, hugged him and kissed his cheek, before nuzzling his shoulder and sighing from content. “You’re the best. Thank you.”

“Mmhm.”

“I’m serious. Really. Thank you.”

“It’s just a photo, Danny.”

“No. It’s more than that and you know it.”

They sat in silence for a minute or two before Danny got up to put the photo under his phone so he wouldn’t forget it. He settled down, head on the pillow and looked up at Roy before asking, meekly, “Are you happy?”

Roy cocked his head to the side to consider the question, “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

There was a long sigh before he gave up a nod and a very weak smile that didn’t quite tell everything. “It’s… not really easy right now, but overall? Yeah.”

“Are you in trouble for coming to visit me?”

“No. That’d be the last thing on the list of things I could be in trouble for…” his voice trailed and he shook his head at Danny’s perplexed expression, “I don’t want to get into it tonight.”

“Okay…”

“I’m serious, Danny.”

“Okay! I’m serious too. Subject dropped…” He couldn’t tell if he was being extra touchy just because of whatever leftover effects of… whatever it was that had been offered to him… or if it was just natural for him when he was this close to someone as familiar as Roy, but he found himself fiddling with the belt loop on Roy’s jeans, just picking at it and hooking his finger on it before little it go. Roy didn’t stop him and they stayed in another stretch of silence that Danny broke again.

“When do you have to leave?”

“In a few hours.”

“So if I fall asleep, you’ll probably be gone when I get up?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Used to it…” he trailed a bit and wrinkled his nose, “That wasn’t supposed to…”

“Nah. I get it. I know.”

Yet another pause in conversation and Danny started to settle further, “Hey…”

“Mmm?”

“Are you at least going to stay for those few hours?”

Roy nodded before he tilted his head to Danny. “Yeah. I can, if you want.”

“I want…” Danny closed one eye and wrinkled his nose again as he tried to piece together his next request, “Um… can you…? God, this sounds stupid and needy but…” he bit his lip, the words just not falling into place quite right. “Never mind…”

He turned onto his side, back to Roy, until he heard shuffling behind him. He turned over to see Roy settling under the hotel comforter, glasses off and hat removed, a hand under his head and eyes closed. He stared at him for a long moment before Roy cracked open one eye and waved Danny closer. “Stop gawking, asshole. If you want me to stay, I might as well get comfortable.”

The invitation was clear and Danny joined him under the covers, curling up to him and cuddling close. A single arm wrapped around him and one hand rested on his shoulder, that newly freed up spot in his chest filling with a comfortable warmth as he closed his eyes.

“Hey, Roy?”

“Yeah?”

“I hope things work out and you can stay happy.”

“Thanks.”

“Um… Roy?”

“What?”

Danny pressed a light kiss to Roy’s cheek again and whispered to his ear, “Thanks for showing up.”

“Well… it was either show up or listen to Courtney whine until this fucking tour was over, but you’re still welcome.”

Danny hummed and closed his eyes, halfway to sleep before he murmured one more time. “And Roy?”

“What now?”

“You’re so great.”

That got a laugh, a set of fingers pushing back his hair and lips to his forehead. “You’re not so bad yourself. Now get some sleep.”

There was a nearly inaudible ‘okay’ in reply as Danny finally managed to drift off comfortably for the first time in a number of nights that he’d lost count of.

And it wouldn’t be until he half woke up as Roy moved him with a whispered apology so he could gather his stuff – when he was still groggy and still full of sleep, with a cloudy brain and weighted limbs – that he latched onto the pillow that still smelled a little like Roy’s shampoo. It wouldn’t be until he croaked out a slurred ‘good-bye, I miss you’ to Roy’s whispered farewell and he heard the automatic lock on the hotel door click closed and he was finally left alone that a portion of his brain, one caught in between consciousness and sleep, in that sweet limbo where the blankets feel just right against your skin and the temperature in the room is just right and your buzzing brain feels at peace, that Danny could finally feel it.

That rotting, heavy, benign bitterness he’d been toting around for months had finally jarred loose and melted away and the sweet, warm content that had blossomed hours before had decided to take root.

He finally felt okay.

[super-cerulean]

Two Way Street

Part One/ Part Two

Just as a quick note, thank you for so many positive responses to this story as well as my other ones. Seeing so many nice comments always makes my day brighter. <3

Request:  Hi sweetheart, can I request a #10 & #13 from Jason Todd prompt challenge? Sorry to bother u. I love ur blog (The prompts were Jason being Jealous of the reader and Dick and the reader being jealous of Jason and Kori)

Warnings: Language

It took forever for you to figure out what had happened during the fight. Neither of them would talk to you about it for the longest time. In fact, Jason pretty much stopped talking to you In general. If it wasn’t absolutely necessary to see or talk to you, he didn’t do it. How someone who lived in the same space as you found a way to disappear 90% of the time was beyond you. You weren’t sure what it was, but whatever they had been fighting about, was apparently weighing down on both of their attitudes.

After they’d come out of the room and Jason had left with Kori, Dick was gone just as quickly. Within the span of a few minutes, you and Roy were the only two left in the apartment and there was a huge feeling of tension left in their wake. Later on, you tried asking Jason what happened, but that was when he started distancing himself and sometimes completely ignoring you. Not only that, but in all the time it took for someone to finally tell you what happened, you were stuck watching the effects of the argument spread into your own life.

In retaliation to whatever Dick had said, Jason was now “dating” Kori. You weren’t sure if it was real or not, but in all honesty it still got to you either way. Jason was your friend-probably your closest-, but it hadn’t always been that way. There was a time not that long ago where you had even larger feelings for him. It was long overdue, but it still hit you like a truck out of nowhere. You could still remember the exact moment when you realized your own feelings. Jason hadn’t even done anything really besides taking you out to celebrate one of your first deep space missions. Out of nowhere, you caught yourself looking at his teasing smile after making a joke and realizing that the warm feeling in your heart extended far past friendship. By then you were already too deep into your feelings to curb them. Obviously, that didn’t work out in the way you wanted, as you ended up roommates of the most platonic kind. You thought you were over that and done feeling that way about him, but now you weren’t so sure.

It wasn’t that you disliked Koriand’r or anything. Despite everything, you still enjoyed her company and liked her as a person in general. What brought the sickness to your heart was seeing them together. Especially since Jason wouldn’t talk to you. It felt like you’d been severed and he put Kori in the place you could never be. It hurt way more than you would ever admit. Of course, you didn’t say anything. Instead, opting to appear as blissfully ignorant as possible while you drowned in your feelings. This went on for days before you finally tracked Dick down and forced him to tell you everything that happened.

Dick sat beside you on a bench in BludHaven. Everything had reached a boiling point in your mind, so you tracked him down and caught him while he was leaving his day job at the police department. Even though you were in civilian clothes, you made sure to let him know that if he tried to run you had your power ring within reach. Thanks to that, he finally gave in and told you what happened.

“He totally called me out,” Dick explained. “He said he knew I was only talking to you because I wanted to piss off Kori and that I needed to end it.”

“So did you tell him the truth?”

“No, I told him he was being ridiculous and that he needed to mind his own business.”

“Dick!” He flinched at your voice, lolling his head onto the back of the bench.

“I know! I should have just told him the truth then and been done with it,” he defended. “But I was caught off guard. He was coming at me out of nowhere and I got defensive and we fought about it. That’s when he tried to call my bluff and said that he’d go ask Kori out if I wasn’t faking it.”

“And that’s when both of you stormed out of the room.” Dick nodded, tilting his head to look at you. You gave him a serious look, shaking your head before speaking again.

“You know you’re going to have to come clean and dig all of us out this mess, right?”

“You mean we?” You blinked, expression unchanging as you stared at him.

“Um, no. I mean you. I’m not the one trying to make Kori jealous so I feel ‘appreciated’.” Dick rolled his eyes and sat up again, turning so that he was facing you more directly with one leg resting on the bench. He hadn’t had a chance to change out of his uniform yet, so it felt kind of strange sassing a police officer in the middle of a park. Still, you weren’t letting him drag you in any further.

“Maybe not, but you’re the one making Jason jealous, so you’re just as guilty as I am.”

“Bullshit If Jason’s jealous, it’s not because of me. This was all your big idea.” You scoffed, actually processing what he had said after you responded. “Besides, he won’t even talk to me. If anything he’s mad I’ve been talking to his brother behind his back and once again, that’s on you.”

“It was my idea, but you agreed to it!”

“Dick, you’re five seconds away from getting lantern launched across this park, secret identities be damned. This is your mess and you’re gonna be the one to fix it.”

“I don’t want to do it alone! They’re both going to be mad at me for it,” he whined, tilting his head and looking at you with hopeless eyes.

“That sounds like something I warned you about before you started this shit.”

“You warned me about Kori, not Jason. If I’d known he was this into you I would have asked someone else. You should have told me!” You scoffed again, kicking your foot idly in the dirt beneath you.

“Oh please, Jason’s not into me.”

“I beg to differ,” Dick responded, suddenly becoming more animated and dramatic. “He almost ripped my head off twice because he thinks I’m trying to get at you. Just because you don’t see it and he won’t admit it doesn’t mean it’s not true.” Deciding you’d heard enough, you stood suddenly.  

“Okay, this conversation is over. You’re fixing this and we’re all going to be done with all this unnecessary drama.  Got it?”

“Fine, but this conversation isn’t over. Jason has a big fat crush on you and I’ll prove it to you if I have to!” You threw up your favorite finger over your shoulder as you walked out of the park. The last thing you wanted to be hearing was that Dick thought Jason was interested in you. That road led to nothing but disappointment. Hopefully Dick would just take your advice and talk it out with his brother. Of course, that would have been too easy.

“Why do you even care?!?! It’s not like I’m trying to steal your girlfriend!” You sat, head in your hands on the roof top of your apartment next to Kori as Jason and Dick went at it a few feet away. Why were you all on the roof? Because you were already one noise complaint away from getting kicked out of your building so you thought ahead and had everyone meet up there to discuss the situation. Thank god you had such wonderful forethought because now it had turned into a screaming match between the Wayne brothers.

At first you and Kori were trying to keep the peace and solve the problem, but somewhere along the line it turned into Dick goading Jason and the latter lashing out in response. You knew damn well he was trying to get Jason to admit he had feelings for you and at this point you didn’t care anymore. You’d even gone as far as to pull Kori aside and tell her the truth on your own while the others bickered. In response to your own confession, she also told you that she wasn’t really Jason either, which lifted what felt like eighty pounds of weight off of your chest. Whatever Dick was doing, wasn’t a part of the plan and you were just going to let him go off on his own until they tired each other out. Kori was at least was still paying attention to the argument and what they were saying while you dropped that shit ages ago.

“You and I both know why you’re really doing this and it’s disrespectful to both of them. Could you just act your age for once?!” Jason’s voice was almost a full on shout as he glared at Dick, who responded with just as much anger.

“Me? That’s rich coming from you. Why don’t you admit why you’re really mad and we’ll talk about this like adults.”

“You’re so fucking irritating. We’re not getting anywhere with this back and forth.”

“No! We aren’t!” You finally spoke up, raising your head from your hands. “Can you two just talk this out so we can all be done with it? This whole thing went further than it should have and now everyone’s angry and fighting over something stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. We’re fighting because Dick needs to stop dragging other people into his problems,” Jason responded, finally looking at you. It felt like it had been ages since he talked to you and of course it had to be when they were fighting.

“Okay, I understand that and I’ll talk with Y/N about it on my own. I don’t need my little brother butting into my relationships and telling me what to do.” Jason turned back to Dick again, shoving his hair out of his face as a gust of wind blew through the four of you. Despite the current situation, you felt your gaze linger on him for a bit longer than it probably should have. Even when he was in the middle of a huge argument, he still found a way to look breathtaking.

“I wouldn’t be butting in if you hadn’t decided to start dating one of my friends to make your ex jealous. You can’t just play around with people’s feelings like that!” You groaned, finally standing up and moving to stand between them.

“He wasn’t playing with my feelings, Jason. He came to me and told me from the beginning that he wanted my help to make Kori jealous. I should have said no, but I agreed to help him out, so that’s on me. I already apologized to her about it so there’s no need for everyone to keep screaming at each other. The only people who need to talking all this out are Dick and Kori.” Jason looked at you with a surprised expression and before he could get a word out, Dick was speaking again in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Exactly, and if you gave me the chance to explain myself before you started accusing me of being an asshole, I would have told you. I can’t believe you actually think I’d play around with Y/N’s feelings like that. I’m not that stupid.”

“Close, but not quite that dumb,” Kori said, joining the three of you finally.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Jason defended, still not completely over his own frustration.

“I don’t know, maybe if you asked me like a regular person instead of getting jealous and jumping down my throat the first chance you got!” And of course, Dick couldn’t have just dropped the subject now that everyone had calmed down. For a brief second you thought they just might be done fighting, but that would have been good luck.

“Oh here we go again,” you sighed, running a hand down the side of your face. Jason’s face flushed and he looked at Dick with wide eyes, glancing at you for a split second.

“I-I didn’t get jealous!”

“Oh please, Y/N said you’ve been stomping around in a hissy fit all week and you’ve been attacking me about it since you found out. You were pissed before you even knew we weren’t really dating.”

“That’s because I don’t want you fooling around with my friends!”

“This whole thing started because I was already in relationship drama with one of your friends, so that’s bullshit. You never cared that I was dating Kori; you only got defensive when it was Y/N.” Jason was about to produce another defensive response, but you cut him off.

“Why are you turning this on me now?! Can’t you two just fucking bro hug so I can go to sleep or something,” you interjected, glaring at Dick. You were getting sick of him trying to force the idea that Jason had a thing for you. You’d been living together and had been friends long enough that if he was going to make a move he would have done so already. Now Dick was just pushing him and the only thing that was going to come out of it would be Jason telling everyone why he saw you as a friend and nothing more. As much as you wanted to believe you were over it, that wasn’t true and you didn’t want to go through all of the grief and rejection again, especially now that you had to see him every day. He may have had the whole avoiding thing down, but you certainly didn’t.

“You can’t seriously be this blind. The only reason everything blew out of proportions was because Jason got so defensive over you. Anyone can see that he-“

“Listen, I’m glad we all aired this out, but I don’t feel like getting into this right now. Jason already said he wasn’t jealous, so just drop it.” You could feel their eyes on you after you suddenly cut off Dick’s statement and it only irritated your nerves further. “Fuck it, I’m so over this.” You yanked your power ring off of the chain around your neck and slipped it onto your finger. You were quick to suit up in a flash of green and walk away from the whole debacle, slipping into flight as you neared the edge of the roof.

Dick had been calling out to you before you left, but you ignored him. You flew high over Gotham and went as far away from the scene as you could. Despite how much you told yourself you were over everything, the feelings were cropping up all over again and you couldn’t stand staying there for another second. So instead you flew away and didn’t stop until you felt a hand on your ankle. Jerking your head around and coming to a stop, you were surprised to see that Kori had followed you into the night sky.

“What happened back there?” You huffed out a sigh at her question, relaxing into a less defensive position while Kori came to fly nearer to you.

“Nothing, I was just annoyed. He’s been talking about that shit for days now,” you responded, looking at the city below instead of meeting her eyes.

“It didn’t seem like that was it. You looked really upset when he brought it up.”

“I mean, yeah…” You paused, weighing whether you wanted to go into detail about the whole thing or not. This was something you’d never spoken a word about to anyone. There was a friendship between the two of you, but you weren’t sure if it was close enough to be sharing things like that. In all fairness, though, you already knew way too much of her business thanks to Dick. It seemed fair that she know some of yours in return.  “It’s just a sore subject for me. In the past, I really did like Jason as more than a friend and I guess I’m not as over it as I thought.  It was one thing to figure out that he didn’t feel the same on my own, but hearing him say it is another thing entirely. I don’t know why Dick is so hell bent on getting him to say something.”

“How can you be so sure that he doesn’t feel the same? Dick probably knows him better than most and he seems to think so.”

“Yeah, well his idea of romance is trying to make his girlfriend appreciate him by making her jealous so I don’t think he’s the best source of facts.”

“Okay maybe not,” she laughed. “But I spend a lot of time with him too. He’s different around you and the way he talks about you doesn’t feel entirely platonic to me. I think you should give him a chance to give you a final answer. If Dick was wrong, then at least you’ll know. That’s better than wondering, right?”

“That’s debatable.” Still, despite your apprehension, you knew she was right. It was a thought that had crossed your mind a few times, but one that you had refused to humor. Now that someone else was telling you, it really felt like the more logical response. “I’ll talk to him when I get back.”

“Good luck. I’ll make sure to talk to my boy wonder when I get back too. He needs it more than anyone.”

“Yeah, good luck to you too,” you laughed. “He’s a handful.”

When you and Kori got back to your apartment building, she and Dick left without much more discussion. Jason had already gone back inside, so you waved them off before beginning the dreaded descent down the stairs and to your apartment. The door was still unlocked, so at least you knew he wasn’t still acting like you didn’t exist. Still, your entire being was in a panic as you opened the front door. Starfire’s suggestion had propelled you into action, but now the actual nerves were setting in. The urge to just turn back around and run was almost enough to overwhelm your resolve. Almost, but not quite.

The kitchen and living room were empty so the next logical place for him to be was his room. The delay was only adding to your internal panic so much so that you had to pause outside his door to take a breath and shake out your clammy hands. After a that moment to regain some nerve, you pushed open his door and peeked into his room.

Jason was lying on his bed, previously looking at his phone before you’d come in. He was lying sideways so he had to tilt his head to look at you as you entered. He let the hand holding his phone sink down beside him and he shifted into an upright position.

“You okay?” You nodded, biting your lip as you walked all the way into your room. For some reason, your hand creaked his door closed behind you as if you needed some kind of privacy in an otherwise empty apartment. Once you realized what you’d done, you cringed a bit. Now you were trapped and so was he with the uncomfortable tension in the air.

“I…wanted to clear everything up,” you said finally, trailing off as you looked at him. Jason nodded, watching you come to sit beside him on the edge of his bed. You sat far enough away that you weren’t touching him, but close enough that you didn’t have to look directly at him. It was somewhat cowardly, but you had to do something to give your poor heart a break. Everything combined was pushing you towards cardiac arrest.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about earlier…and I guess for before that too. I’ve been pretty rude to you for the past few days and that wasn’t really warranted.”

“It’s alright,” you said, halfway thinking. Your mind was still on trying to get this confession out of your head, but you caught on to your own words. “I mean, it’s not alright because that was irritating as fuck to deal with every day, but I forgive you.” You heard him chuckle beside you and felt your own smile coming onto your face.

“And I forgive you for pretending to date my brother,” he retorted, causing you to groan, tilting your head to the side in mock anguish.

“Thanks for giving me a shortcut out of that apology.”

“You have to admit, it was a terrible idea,” Jason laughed.

“Yeah, I knew that. I just thought Dick would be the only one getting fucked over.”

“Oh so it was okay as long as it wasn’t you?”

“Exactly,” you both fell into the easy dynamic that you usually had. It was as natural as breathing sometimes and knowing this made you even more nervous to speak your mind. All of that could be ruined forever if you did. Pining after him in silence wasn’t a good option either, though.

“So, um. About what Dick said earlier...He kind of put us on the spot in front of everyone so I kind of panicked and ran,” you explained. Jason listened quietly, nodding his head and you could feel his gaze on you. With a quick glance, your eyes met his before you sighed and leaned back on your hands.

“That’s fair enough, if I could fly I’d have done the same thing.”

“Yeah, but it was different for me. I just…fuck this is hard to say.” You paused, looking up at Jason’s ceiling for a moment before regaining your nerve and finally looking into his eyes. “I left because what he was saying was too real for me. I didn’t want to hear you say you didn’t feel that way about me or that we’re just friends because I don’t want it to be true. I just…I really like you as more than a friend and I wasn’t ready to completely accept it was just me. But, I talked to Kori about it and realized that I need to deal with this instead of pushing it into the back of my mind, so here I am.”

Jason looked at you with a surprised expression, completely frozen. You sat in silence for a small moment before you found yourself rambling to fill the uncomfortable silence. “And, I’m not telling you this to pressure you into anything. You don’t have to say you feel the same or anything, I just wanted to let you know what was really going on, I guess.” You bit your lip, feeling the nervousness captivating you again as you looked away again.

“I-I should probably give you a minute to process all that, right. I’ll just…” Your voice trailed off and your mouth shut suddenly. Jason’s expression had softened and he was suddenly a lot closer to you than he had been a minute ago. You watched him, heart in a panic as the distance between the two of you closed.

“Can I speak now?” he whispered and you closed your eyes, mentally kicking yourself as you nodded. “Thanks.” He moved back into his own space, but held your eye contact.

“It wasn’t as different for you as you think. I freaked out and panicked when Dick brought it up like that too. The first thing I thought to do was deny what he was saying even though that wasn’t necessarily true.” His hand ghosted over yours and you responded by turning it over to him. He slipped his hand into your, smiling lightly at your response before his eyes returned to yours. “When I heard you and Dick were talking, I was pissed. I didn’t realize it until he brought it up that night we fought for the first time, but I really was jealous. I knew I felt different about you, but I wasn’t really sure what it was until now. I honestly felt awful not talking to you, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

His words were like sunshine breaking through the clouds after a week of rain. After feeling so stressed out and worried, you felt a lightness overtake your entire being. If you hadn’t had your ring dangling against your chest, you might have thought you were flying. A smile crept along your face at Jason’s confession and you couldn’t help your sigh of relief. A thought crossed your mind and you laughed lightly before speaking.

“So, long story short, we’re both complete idiots about this relationship stuff…” Jason laughed and nodded, using your hand to pull you into an embrace. He wrapped the hand entwined with yours around your shoulder, crossing your own arm over your chest. Your free hand pressed against his side and your head rested perfectly against his chest.

“Basically,” was all he said. You paused; savoring the moment before you finally said something else.

“And we’re definitely not admitting that Dick was right?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

Tag List:

@jason-todd-rh  @chidroichan-blog  @queen-fighter @hyp-oh-critical @roseangel013bf @jdroman5432 @redtodd  @94-wonder-girl @immortalmurphy

[setaripendragon]

The Light of a Pole Star - Part 4

So, this part covers most of canon. I tried not to go into too much detail because I can’t actually remember the details (and I don’t think I got very far in Brotherhood... I honestly can’t even remember how far I got...), but I really wanted to write these conversations anyway ^^” All the foreign language bits are off google translate (I used Chinese for Xingese and Greek for Xerxesian, although I wrote both in latin characters, so accuracy is not to be expected here) And, uh... I should probably warn for attempted patricide? ^^”

Ed really wishes Roy were here. It would be nice to have an anchor right about now. His head is swimming, has been swimming for hours, and he can’t quite snap himself out of it. It hadn’t been like this when he’d realised he’d known Granny through two lifetimes. It hadn’t been too hard to keep his lives separate in his mind. A little mind-bending sometimes, when Granny would do or say something that knocked him back to a different life, but he’d expected it, and he’d braced for it, so he’d managed to hang on to the order Roy’s simple presence had imposed on his memories.

Roy is consistent, and consistently different in each lifetime. So Ed can orient his memories around him. He can look at a memory and go ‘my soulmate was wearing that face then, so it must have been that life’. He knows he’s Edward Elric, that his soulmate is Roy Mustang, but…

Ever since he’d seen that woman in the labs, he hasn’t been able to separate Edward from Leon, so Roy could be Klaus instead, and he doesn’t know. He looks at the memory of Lab Five, and wonders why Leon ever felt the need to go looking for a philosopher’s stone. He looks at his memories of ducking through rubble-strewn streets, bloody sabre in hand and horror choking him, and wonders when the hell Ed ever got ordered to the front lines of a war.

Because she’d been there both times.

So they can’t really have been two hundred and fifty years apart, can they?

Ed tries to anchor himself on Al, his brother, but maybe Leon has a brother? He doesn’t, he’s an orphan, but he could have found one, because Ed is Leon and Leon is Ed, which means they both love Al like a brother. He tries to anchor himself on Hughes, when he comes to visit him at the clinic, but that’s even worse. Leon has known plenty of superior officers, even some he doesn’t hate, so maybe one of them is called Hughes?

The Fuhrer stops by, but Ed barely listens to a word he says, can’t even look at the man because it makes his brain jitter, replacing Bradley with Riese, snippets of old speeches ringing in his ears and drowning out anything else. He lets Hughes handle it, because he’s not in a fit state to be doing anything. It’s taking all his effort just to keep some parts of his thoughts straight. “Brother! Snap out of it, please!” Al begs, some time after the Fuhrer has left.

“Trying, Al.” Ed rasps, fisting his hands- No, not the right hand, the automail will snag on his hair- Not the right hand because he doesn’t have a right hand, and why is it so cold in here, Atossa is never this cold during the day- “Shit. Lyco- Alphonse. Al, tell me what year it is.” Ed begs.

“1914.” Al says at once. “Your name is Edward Elric.”

“What’s their name?” Ed presses.

“Roy Mustang.” Al tells him, not missing a beat.

Not Klaus. Not Huang. Roy. “Black hair. Black eyes. Stupid smug face.” Although, that part’s always the fucking same, isn’t it? “The Flame Alchemist. Hero of Ishval.” Ironic. So, so ironic. “Grew up in a brothel. Doesn’t actually work at a brothel. Right?”

Hughes snorts. “Right.” He acknowledges lightly, but then sobers up when he asks; “What’s going on, Ed? What’s wrong?”

He trusts Hughes, he does, he knows he does, but he also knows that he doesn’t trust a single one of the officers he’s ever met. He likes a few of them, some of them are even good people, but Leon doesn’t trust any of them as far as he can throw them. Side effect of growing up poor and thieving, he supposes. Side effect of seeing first-hand how the military brass treat whores. “I’m fine, sir.” Leon says, even though it’s blatantly not true.

There’s a long moment of quiet, and Leon drifts into Lexi at the buzzing of the lights, slips sideways into Feng at the stringent scent of medicine. “Brother,” someone calls, and he’s Natan, and he needs to pull himself together because Perry and the other kids need him. “Brother, it’s 1914. Your name is Edward Elric.” Ed shudders, memories colliding. “His name is Roy Mustang.”

Roy. Not Valentino. Not Arthur. It’s 1914 and he’s not a regular army grunt, he’s not a drafted military engineer, or an alkahestric healer. He’s a State Alchemist, and he’d gone investigating the Philosopher’s Stone in a supposedly empty laboratory and he’d found himself in a warzone. He remembers it so clearly because it had been kind of odd. Most of the cooks were just as hard-faced and run ragged as the soldiers, but not her. She’d been beautiful and smiling, and more than one soldier had tripped over themselves trying to impress her. And then Leon could have sworn he saw her in amongst a resistance meeting his squad had been sent in to break up, and his moment of shock had cost him everything.

Being gutted isn’t a pleasant way to die.

Except he’s not dead. Is he? Maybe he’s just lying there on the floor, hallucinating before the inevitable end? He’s heard people say that your life is supposed to flash before your eyes before you die, and he has a lot of lives to get through.

“On your feet, soldier!”

Three separate lifetimes have him responding to that barked order on instinct. He’s expecting a wave of agony in his gut, but of course there isn’t. Why the hell would there be? He’s not dying. He got a bit banged up, sure, which is why he’s here in the clinic- his clinic, and he might not be dying, but it sure as hell feels like it when Xiaoli is struggling just to breathe and there’s not a damn thing his useless alkahestry can do to save her-

“With me.”

He follows along obediently, recognising Hughes as someone he trusts, even though the dissonance is loud in his head, making it difficult to place the man. He recognises the phone receiver that’s shoved into his hand, too, although as he lifts it to his ear, several corners of his mind – his soul – insist it ought to be a scroll, a long-distance communication array, a radio, a-

“FullMetal?”

“Roy.” Ed breaths, closing his eyes and focusing on Roy’s voice. Male, smooth, with that crisp edge the military had put on it. His voice is higher Huang’s, deeper than Klaus’s, and nothing at all like Xiaoli’s. Of course. He’s Ed. He needs the Philosopher’s Stone to get Al’s body back. Perry and the others are some three hundred years dead. He’s not in Cameron, he’s in Central City.

“Edward, what’s wrong?” Roy demands, and he sounds cold and sharp in the way he only gets when he’s panicking internally and trying desperately not to let it show.

“Sorry. Just… bad day.” Ed tells him. “You ever feel like you’re not really you anymore, and then you blink and, like, five hours have gone by?” He asks, because that’s the best way to describe what getting lost inside his own memories feels like without explaining the whole past lives bullshit.

“I’m somewhat familiar with the feeling.” Roy hedges. “What happened?”

Ed opens his mouth, and then stops. He remembers, briefly but vividly, watching Val’s bar go up in flames, the way it had felt like her heart had just stopped, just given up the moment the front windows blew out, and everything beyond that moment became a distant, unreal haze of denial. Remembers the ten painful years after that wondering how they’d found out, how they’d known. Had it been her fault? Had she said something careless and been overheard and gotten Val killed when all he’d been doing was trying to help people who were getting crushed under Amestris’s boot?

“Just some bad memories, bastard, don’t have an aneurysm.” Ed says.

“I see.” Roy replies, very clearly not believing him for an instant.

“It’s fine. A lab was blown up, but the Fuhrer says he’s got people looking into it, so it’s all taken care of and shit.” Ed tells him flippantly, and as he says it, he finds himself frowning. It seems… odd, is all, for the Fuhrer himself to come all the way to clinic to- what, exactly? The memory is a little fuzzy, even now that his head is so much clearer, but he remembers the way the Fuhrer had ‘joked’ about the Philosopher’s Stone. It wasn’t a joke, he can recognise that with all of Leon’s – and Piper’s and Lexi’s and Oz’s – experience with men like that rattling around in his head.

And then there’s the woman. She was here, in Lab Five in 1914, but she was also there, in Cameron in 1662. He has a really, really bad feeling about that; his intuition is painting lines of conspiracy all over this event, even though he can’t quite figure out where they’re going or what it might mean. There’s also a little kernel of hope taking root in his chest, making his breath come a little sharper than normal. After all, immortality doesn’t just randomly happen to people. There has to be a cause, and there’s only one thing Ed can think of that could enable someone to live for two-hundred and fifty years.

“I… see.” Roy says again, more dubiously, this time, shaking Ed out of his thoughts. “Well, do be more careful from now on, won’t you, FullMetal?” He asks, sounding exasperated, but Ed hears the concern underneath.

“Yeah, yeah. You too or whatever, Colonel Bastard.” Ed replies, and then hangs up.

“Better?” Maes asks, putting a hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner that also serves as a way to nudge him back towards his hospital room.

Ed nods. “How’d you know it’d help?”

Maes gives him a look. “Ed, your grounding technique was to run through a list of Facts About Roy. You weren’t subtle.” Ed blushes, because, yeah, okay, when he says it like that, it’s obvious, and also really fucking sappy and embarrassing as hell. “I’d be really interested to hear about whatever it was you figured out while you were on the phone, though, and why you didn’t want to tell Roy. That was impressively subtle.”

Ed considers, and then decides he’s going to tell Maes, but not here. Not in a military clinic where anyone could be listening. “I just didn’t want him to go sticking his nose in because he’s an interfering overprotective bastard. The Fuhrer said to leave it alone.” He explains, giving Maes a pointed look. He frowns for just a moment, before his eyes widen as he catches the implication. “Come on, Al.” Ed says, before Maes can respond. “Let’s get out of here. I hate hospitals.”

“You’re feeling better, Brother?” Al checks.

“Yeah. Good as new.” Ed assures him, knocking a fist against Al’s metal arm in a mixture of reassurance and excitement. “I think maybe we should go visit Teacher again soon.” He carries on in a belligerently casual tone of voice.

“Teacher? I suppose it would be nice to see her and Sig again.” Al agrees, blithely cheerful in a way that tells Ed he’s caught on to at least a few of the things Ed isn’t saying. He loves his little brother.

“You know…” Maes begins, falling into step with them as they head out of the clinic. “You’ve had a rough night. How about I buy you a drink before you disappear from Central again for who knows how long, hmm?” He suggests, and he’s definitely better at this ‘pretending not to be up to something’ than Ed or Al are. Ed grins and nods, and isn’t surprised in the slightest when Maes guides them towards Madame Christmas’s.

“Roy, as your mother, I feel a pressing urge to make sure you’re not living in bachelor squalor.”

“I can assure you, Madame, I’m keeping a very clean house.”

“And when was the last time you cleaned your gutters?”

“I felt an irrepressible need to do housework after FullMetal decided to worry the hell out of us.”

“Good. Alright then.”

“What the hell is going on? What happened at Lab Five?”

“Your boy is back to being cryptic again, so I’m not sure how many answers I have for you.”

“Yes, I had noticed.”

“Seems he saw someone there who spooked him. A woman, very beautiful, dark hair, red eyes.”

“Why did she spook him?”

“He said he recognised her from stuff about the Cameron Civil War.”

“He thinks she’s two hundred and fifty years old? At least?”

“Mmhm. He seems to think a Philosopher’s Stone may be involved, whatever that means.”

“It… is possible. I take it that means FullMetal intends to pursue this lead?”

“Yes, although… He also said that he didn’t like the way coincidences were piling up.”

“Coincidences?”

“She was at the Cameron Civil War and a supposedly defunct military lab.”

“He thinks she’s affiliated with the military?”

“The Fuhrer himself showed up to tell him to keep his nose out.”

“That… could be explained by the potential presence of a Philosopher’s Stone.”

“That’s what Maes said. Edward scoffed at the idea that the military could ever be that benign.”

“Well…”

“He cited Ishval and Cameron. Then Maes swore a lot, demanded a map, and drank all my whiskey.”

“A map?”

“Yes. Whatever this is, it involves all of Amestris, and it’s been going on since Riviere, at least.”

“That wasn’t even fifty years after Amestris was founded.”

“Exactly.”

“Shit.”

“Oh, it gets worse.”

“…Worse?”

“Maes lined my map up with an array your boy says is likely used in making Philosopher’s Stones.”

“Your map of Amestris.”

“Each of the points matched the site of one of Amestris’ most bloody battles.”

“Like Ishval.”

“Yes. And like Cameron, and Riviere, and a bunch of others.”

“That is definitely worse. I don’t think I’ve had enough whiskey for this conversation.”

“Mm. I know the feeling.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do with this?”

“Do you really need me to answer that?”

“No. We figure out a way to stop them, of course.”

“Good boy. And Roy?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Be very, very careful.”

“I will.”

“Your boy also wanted me to tell you to ‘take care of your stupid pretty face, bastard’.”

“I- ahem- If you have the opportunity, tell him ‘likewise’.”

“Heheh. Will do, Roy-Boy.”

Visiting the ruins of Persepolis was a bad idea. Ed knows that now. Of course, at the time, he thought it would be very educational, and it has been, but he underestimated how painful it would be to walk through the barely-recognisable ruins of a city he once lived in and loved.

At least now he knows what happened to the place, thanks to Greed’s explanations and the remnants of the array they’d found. And he knows what happened to Winry’s parents, too. He goes to visit their graves, but only part of his mourning is for them. “We taught you better.” He whispers, aching with a strange sense of loss for all that wasted potential. He’s thinking of Queen Aesara and the King who had gone along with that travesty, and how it hurts to think that he could have been descended from someone so good. Thinking, too, of Empress Nianzhen and her descendants, who are currently enjoying Teacher’s hospitality while looking for immortality for their Emperor father.

The thought almost makes Ed snort. If only the old fool knew just how disappointed his ancestors would be with him. The part of Ed that was once Feng is composing a furious lecture in the back of his mind about the shame being brought upon their house by the Emperor’s behaviour. Xiaoli would undoubtedly have been able to deliver a lecture far more cutting. He half wants to ring Roy up just to see if he could coax something like that out of him, but he won’t.

They have far more important things to discuss, anyway. Like the fact that Amestris is going to go the same way as Xerxes unless they can figure out how to stop the Homunculi and their creator. Like the fact that, with the revelation that a Philosopher’s Stone is made of human souls, Ed suddenly has no idea how he’s going to restore Al’s body.

He shies away from the thought of using human lives as a bargaining chip for his own – or his brother’s – personal gain, but there’s a corner of his brain that wonders… what happens to the souls that get used that way. Presumably the gate takes them. Does that destroy them? Or could it possibly be a way of freeing them, to be reborn again, at last? Is Ed only entertaining that possibility only because he desperately wants to hope that maybe all his years of research haven’t been in vain?

His soul passed through the gate, and he came out the other side alive. A little muddled, but still basically whole in spirit if not in body. It’s different, he knows. He was the bargainer, not the tradable goods. He wasn’t dead, or dying – was he? – he was just paying a toll. There are too many variables to make his own experience anything close to a decent control set.

“Brother… I think there’s someone at Mum’s grave.” Al says quietly.

Ed’s head snaps up, and he looks over and he sees-

He’s three years old – He’s eleven years old – standing in his father’s study – playing in the branches of his family’s orchard – holding up his first alchemical success for his father’s approval – spying on a golden-haired vagabond sleeping under the plum blossoms- He’s four years old – He’s thirteen years old – standing in the hallways with tears stinging his eyes – clutching a letter from the royal court – watching his father’s broad shoulders walk out the door – searching desperately through the house for any sign of his teacher-

“What the fuck-?!” Ed chokes out, staggering a step back. He thought it had been quiet, but it must have carried, because Hohenheim looks around.

“Edward.”

Ed recoils, the dissonance rattling through him like a ricocheting bullet, leaving him feeling torn through and ripped apart and so betrayed. Because- because even through the confusion, he can still figure out what’s going on. He’s been through this before.

Four hundred years, and not a single wrinkle different.

“You look pale, Edward.” Hohenheim remarks, walking closer, his brow furrowed, and that’s the last straw. He doesn’t want his damn concern, and the bastard better not come one step closer to his little brother!

Ed charges.

Al yelps, Hohenheim jerks backwards, but for once, the chaos in his mind is working in his favour. Hohenheim is braced for an Amestrian kid’s idea of fighting, but Ed is more than just one life, now, and he’s more Feng than Edward when he sweeps into range and launches himself into the air. His foot connects with his teacher’s- father’s jaw and sends him staggering back, and Ed spins and flips back onto his feet, and whips around, flesh fist leading, catching him in the solar plexus. Hohenheim doesn’t look very pained by the blow, in fact he looks sternly disappointed, and this time, it’s Proteus who lunges in low and catches him around the knees in a one-armed hold to flip him clean over his shoulder and onto his back in the dirt. Then Ed spins, plants one knee on Hohenheim’s torso, claps, and drives his new automail blade straight down into his father’s- his teacher’s- the homunculus’s chest.

“BROTHER!” Al screams.

Hohenheim looks stunned, but he’s not even bleeding. “You really hate me enough to kill me? Your own father?” He asks, sounding, of all things, disappointed.

“We might share blood, but you are not my father.” Ed snarls. He knows this, knows what it is to have a father who’s actually there, knows what it is to be a father, and a mother, of children who share his blood and children who don’t. He knows what it is to be a teacher, to be a student of a teacher who is as good as family, who is welcome in your home and never betrays that trust. “Nǐ fàngqìle wǒmen! Wǒmen guòqù gěi nǐ hàokè, hé nǐ fàngqìle wǒmen.”

“Shénme?” Hohenheim asks, startled. “Edward, what-? What are you talking about?”

“Oh dear.” Al says. “It’s 1914, brother.”

Ed knows that should mean something to him, but it’s so very far away right now, there are so many disjoined memories clamouring for attention. The memory of the Royal Palace as it was at the coronation of Queen Aesara fills his mind, overlaid by the crumbling ruins half swallowed by the sands, and it’s Ed who saw it but it’s Proteus’s heart that breaks, and there’s hardly any difference in who, exactly, feels the rage filling them at Hohenheim’s confusion. “Ísoun esý? Prodótis! Dolofónos!”

At that, Hohenheim flinches, and looks up at Ed with sudden fear. “Ochi, den- Who are you?” He whispers in horror. “What have you done to my son?”

His mind is a battleground, a dozen answers to the first question swarming his mind and leaving him more confused than ever, but at least every inch of him knows he doesn’t like being called ‘son’ by this man. He snarls wordlessly, and shakes his head, scrambling for coherence so he can demand answers. “How dare you?! What have you done to our people?”

A giant metal hand scoops him up by the back of his jacket like a misbehaving kitten, and Ed goes limp in confusion. A metal hand? Since when has Lyco had- Since when was Shan- “Brother, I know you’re upset, but you need to calm down. Dad, are you alright?”

Hohenheim pushes himself up and rubs at the place where Ed stabbed him. His shirt is torn, but there’s not a mark on him, otherwise. He peers up at them with confusion still writ large across his features. “Alphonse?” He asks in bewilderment.

“Yes.” Al says, simple and short, but it’s enough to make Hohenheim’s expression fall into pained lines. He looks between them both as Al finally sets Ed- Feng- back on his feet.

“What…?” Hohenheim chokes out.

“I think we’d all like answers.” Al says, perfectly cool and reasonable. “But perhaps not in a graveyard, hmm? Let’s go back to Granny’s.” Proteus shakes his head, because their grandmother is dead, and her house is a ruin. “Pinako’s.” Al corrects. “Mrs Rockbell’s.”

Right, the automail mechanic. Lexi nods, and lets Al guide them down a street that is painfully familiar, even though she knows she’s never been to Risembool before. Which is a ridiculous thought, she grew up here- No, she grew up in Rush Valley, where Winry is at the moment. Ed knuckles at his temple with his automail hand, even though he knows the ache building behind his eyes isn’t physical.

“Do you need to call Roy again?” Al asks, as he nudges Ed up the steps to the porch of Granny’s house. Ed suffers a moment of complete disorientation, the wooden house overlaid with sandstone and marble, and the memory calls up another surge of grief and rage. He forces his head clear by orienting around the memory of Roy. Roy was the one who’d been here, lifting him half out of the wheelchair to shake some sense back into him, not Huang.

“Probably, but I want answers first.” Ed growls.

“…Alright, brother. If you’re sure.”

Ed just stomps into the house and throws himself at the couch, setting his automail on the arm of the couch, still pointedly weaponised as he glowers at Hohenheim. “Are you boys back alrea-” Granny calls, sticking her head out of the workshop, and cutting herself off mid-sentence when she spots Hohenheim. “Ah. I see. Is everything alright?” She asks carefully.

“Not in the slightest.” Ed replies frostily, not taking his eyes off Hohenheim.

Hohenheim looms forwards, looking down at Edward with a deep frown, and Edward stares right back, not hiding an inch of his betrayal and rage. “Who are you?” Hohenheim asks, choosing not to sit. Al has perched himself carefully next to Ed on the couch, all his huge metal limbs tucked in to make himself seem smaller.

“You first.” Ed retorts.

For a long moment, there’s silence, and then Hohenheim sighs. “For the first part of my life, I was known only as Slave Twenty-Three.”

Ed can’t help but snort. At least Huang had managed to hang on to his name, even if he’d admitted once that most of his masters had never bothered to try and pronounce it. “Pretentious, much? Geez, how up your own arse do you have to be to want to gloat that badly about owning twenty-three people?”

Hohenheim blinks at him, and then sort of almost smiles. “Quite. Clearly you know more than- How much do you know about how Xerxes was destroyed?”

Ed grits his teeth. “I know that the people were slaughtered and turned into a Philosopher’s Stone. I know it was done to make some of the court immortal. I know that one of them came here because they thought it was a great lark and wanted to do it again. I know that that wasn’t you, because you were Xing, running out on people who relied on you, big surprise.”

“Oh.” Al breathes, and then cringes, which is a fairly noisy affair in the armour.

“How do you know that?” Hohenheim asks, frowning deeply again.

“You first.” Ed repeats impatiently.

Finally, Hohenheim deigns to sit, and Granny appears a moment later with drinks and sandwiches. Ed doesn’t touch his, too busy watching Hohenheim as he explains all about the Dwarf in the Flask and what had happened to bring about Xerxes’s destruction. “When I woke up I found that the Dwarf in the Flask now appeared identical to myself, and that every single person in Xerxes was… gone.” Hohenheim concludes awkwardly.

Ed scowls. He feels a little bad, now, for assuming Hohenheim had been a willing participant. His story is similar enough to Huang’s that Ed feels an unwilling kernal of sympathy lodge itself in his heart. “That’s awful.” Al says quietly.

“Yes.” Hohenheim agrees solemnly. Then he draws himself up, reabsorbing some of the strength telling his tale appeared to have sapped from him, and looks at Ed. “Now it’s your turn.” He instructs, before asking, yet again; “Who are you?”

It takes Ed a moment to sort his brain out, because there are so many answers to that question, and he needs to get them in the right damn order for this, but his head is still in chaos, and it’s hard to remember who was when. Hohenheim opens his mouth to press, but Al interrupts before he can. “Give him a minute, Dad.” Ed has never been more grateful for his brother, and he closes his eyes in an attempt to focus and not get distracted by Hohenheim’s unchanging face.

“I am Edward Elric, the FullMetal Alchemist.” Ed states. “But I’m also Proteus of Atossa, Tutor to Crown Princess Aesara, Savant and Professor of Architectural Alchemy at the Grand Persepolis University.” He hears Hohenheim suck in a sharp, shocked breath, and presses on before he can be interrupted, and lose the thread of his lives. “And I am Yi Feng, Chief Healer of the Royal Court of Xing, First Consort to her Imperial Majesty, the Divine Empress Liu Xiaoli, Daughter of Heaven, Sovereign of the Stars and All Beneath Them.” It’s easy to rattle off the titles – he heard them so many times at the Imperial Court – and it settled him a little, to think of Xiaoli. Because as much as they had a passing resemblance, she really hadn’t looked all that much like Roy, and it made it easier to pull the two lifetimes apart in his head.

He opens his eyes to look at Hohenheim, and finds him staring slack-jawed and shocked. It’s kind of funny. With a snort, Ed finally grabs his sandwich and starts devouring it. The sound seems to knock Hohenheim out of his stunned reverie, and he shakes himself. “I- This is- How? You…” He shakes his head, and just stares at Ed with a pleadingly bewildered expression.

“Huh.” Ed muses, frowning at Hohenheim. “So you don’t remember, either.”

“Re-remember what?” Hohenheim asks, bewildered.

“Huh.” Al says, sitting a little straighter. “Fascinating. I wonder why…?”

“Why what?” Hohenheim presses.

“Did, um… Did Granny tell you about…?” Al asks, gesturing awkwardly at himself.

Hohenheim gives them both a deeply disappointed look, which makes Ed want to stab him again. “She told me you tried to bring your mother back, yes.” He states, in a tone that matches his expression.

“Yeah, well. Turns out that some people who pass through the gate come out the other side with the memories of everyone they’ve been before suddenly awake in their heads. Still haven’t figured out why Teacher and I remember, but Al and apparently you don’t.” Ed explains flippantly.

“Everyone you’ve been before?” Hohenheim echoes, distracted from his attempt at paternal disappointment by academic curiosity. “You’re talking about reincarnation.” He realises.

“Yup.”

“And you…” Hohenheim blinks at him rapidly. “You were Feng?” He asks.

“Yup.” Ed says again, with a vicious sort of false cheer in his voice. “It was really fucking shitty of you to wander off in the middle of a plague, you know.”

“I was going to help.” Hohenheim told him, frowning.

“Yeah, but it sure would have been nice to know that then, asshole.” Ed shoots back. “But whatever, fuck if I’m going to waste my time explaining shit like common courtesy to you. If you desperately need to know anything else, I guess Al can tell you. I’m going to give Roy a call.”

Ed stomps off toward the phone, but he’s not quick enough – or loud enough – to drown out the sound of Hohenheim asking; “Who’s Roy?”

Nor Al’s very awkward response of; “Oh, well, um, you see…”

[zephfair]

Day 5 Bleach ficlet ridiculous

Day 5 of the 30-Day AU Challenge

Day 5: Pirate AU

I am not proud of this. It brings shame on my house and my family.

I am not a super-fan of the pirate trope, and all I could picture is Grimmjow the Blue fighting and drinking and wenching (as my imaginary pirates do). Oh, and there has to be a ship. And a treasure.

And so this unholy piece of crap was made. Also, I find it really funny to think that the rest of the Espada have a low-key love of putting one over on Grimmjow.

Grimmjow the Blue, terror of the seas of Hueco Mundo, slammed down his mug harder than necessary, but he was pleasantly drunk and he did not care. The din of the tavern was a steady rumble in his ears that he had to shout to be heard over.

“I call,” he yelled and prepared to slap his cards down into the spill of alcohol that puddled across the table.

“Wait,” said the quiet voice of Tier Harribel, another pirate captain renowned for her fighting prowess (as well as the beauty of her all-female crew, but no one said that twice and lived to say it again). “I offer one more wager.”

“But I’ve already called!” Grimmjow waved for more alcohol then didn’t even notice that his first-mate Shawlong intercepted his mug before he could drink.

“I will let everything ride on this last hand,” Harribel said, still so quietly that Grimmjow and the rest of the pirates around the table had to lean in to hear. “I have one more stake—the treasure from our last raid on a Shinigami ship.”

Grimmjow’s head swiveled toward her and he licked his lips. “Shinigami treasure? Truly?”

Harribel nodded once. Nnoitra barked a laugh. “Bullshit. I heard that all you got from that raid was—mmph.” Nnoitra suddenly folded over the table as if someone had kicked him very hard in the groin from underneath the table where no one could see.

No one else moved except Grimmjow who drummed his fingers on the table. He stared into Harribel’s eyes and wasn’t even alarmed when they seemed to double then triple. He could hold his liquor. He prided himself on that. He also prided himself on his ability to read his fellow captains. And now he was about to win a shipload of Shinigami treasure because there was no way in hell Harribel could beat his hand.

“Fine,” Grimmjow said. “I still call.”

Harribel threw in a pair of twos and a pair of fives, Nnoitra’s first-mate Tesla reached over his groaning captain to turn over his three tens, and Grimmjow proudly slapped down his full house. “I win!”

Harribel nodded solemnly. “So you do.”

“Shinigami treasure!” Grimmjow cheered and reached for his mug to toast them all. But then he looked around, confused that it had disappeared.

“I will have my crew bring your winnings to your ship. I believe you sail in the morning?”

“With the tide,” Shawlong agreed, and started to help Grimmjow to his feet.

“Then I will see it delivered safely so you can take it with you when you go. Far from Las Noches?”

“If the winds are willing, yes, captain,” Shawlong bowed to the table and slipped Grimmjow’s arm over his shoulders.

“Shinigami treasure!” Grimmjow called out again and smiled widely.

“Yes, captain, come along now.”

“Good luck,” Harribel said and when Shawlong glanced back, he could have sworn the captain winked at him.

********

Shawlong had a time getting Grimmjow back to the ship Pantera and pouring him into his bed. He had a bad feeling about the evening’s outcome. Grimmjow rarely drank to drunkenness, and the few rare times it had happened, he’d had to imbibe much more than he had that night.

And there was something about the strange wager and the way Hallibel had seemed almost too eager to lose. Shawlong himself was not a betting man, but he would have wagered right then that she was up to no good.

That feeling was only reinforced when a rowboat pulled alongside them in the early morning hours. One of Harribel’s mates shouted up to them, and Shawlong ordered a ladder dropped down. Harribel’s mate swore and called out instead for a sturdy rope and winch.

Shawlong looked over the side and understood. The Shinigami treasure was in a large wooden crate, so the only way to get it aboard would be to use the crane and winch. His experienced crew loaded it onto the deck in no time.

But when Shawlong went to toss the ladder down to the rowboat, he saw they were already stroking their way back to shore. When one of the crew saw him watching, she saluted and yelled, “Good luck, sucker!”

That only made him more nervous. He ordered Nakeem to carry the crate directly to the captain’s quarters. Nakeem reported it which wasn’t heavy enough to be full of gold or silver and wasn’t crafted sturdily enough to carry anything heavy safely besides. Yylfordt pointed out the slits where the hastily nailed boards didn’t even meet and the helpful arrow and word “UP” scratched on one side.

Shawlong directed them to lift anchor and prepare to sail.

Let the captain figure it out when he finally sobered up.

*******

Whoever was taking the hammer to his head was going to be drawn, quartered, drowned and then set on fire as soon as Grimmjow could open his eyes and find him. It took some long moments of groaning and holding his aching head before he realized that he was facing the worst hangover of his life, and not a mortal attack by an unruly crew member.

He sat on the edge of the bed and swallowed back his bile. He had never before succumbed to a hangover and he refused to do it now.

Once he felt he’d conquered his wayward stomach, he lurched over to the corner with the necessary utensils to do his business. Thus relieved, he looked around his room, feeling like something was different.

It was the large crate standing vertically beside the door. Grimmjow approached it cautiously, running his fingers over the splintery boards. Whoever had built it was a piss-poor craftsman; the cheap boards were sloppily nailed with slits large enough for him to slide his fingers into. What the devil was it doing in his quarters?

Then he remembered. The poker game. The last bet. His stunning win. “Shinigami treasure,” he muttered excitedly and then jumped when a knock sounded on his door.

“Enter,” he commanded but didn’t turn from contemplating the crate as Shawlong entered.

“Captain, we are underway.”

“Excellent job,” Grimmjow rubbed his hands together in glee. “Shinigami treasure, Shawlong! Get me a crowbar.”

“Captain, are you sure—”

“What’s the matter?”

Shawlong cleared his throat. “I fear that there is something nefarious in Captain Hallibel’s offer to you.” At Grimmjow’s blank look, he explained, “I fear that she is tricking you somehow. You were awfully...distracted last night.”

“How can it be a trick? I won fair and square, now get me a crowbar. I have to see what the treasure is!”

Grimmjow paced with anticipation until Shawlong returned with the promised tool. Still, he didn’t hand it over immediately. “Shawlong, what is your problem?”

“I have a terrible foreboding, captain,” he admitted but Grimmjow pfffed.

“I should gather the men so they can all bask in the wonder of a Shinigami treasure, but I am too excited. I cannot wait!” And Grimmjow sprang into action, wedging the crowbar into one of the top seams of the tall vertical side and prying it outward. Normally a well-built crate would take some work to open and require all the edges to be loosened before it opened, but the rickety structure creaked once and then in the face of Grimmjow’s excited strength, the entire side fell down.

Grimmjow stuck his head into the shadowy depths.

All Shawlong saw was a fist meet Grimmjow’s chin and his captain went down in a heap. Then a tall figure in a frilled and ruffled gown stepped over him and quickly took in the room, chest heaving with anxiety, eyes darting around the quarters.

Shawlong stepped forward and bowed. “Excuse me, my lady?” His voice went up when he got a closer look at the captive.

“What the fuck is going on? Fuck!” The captive spotted the door and threw it open, running for the ladder at the end of the short hall.

Shawlong sighed and bent over his captain instead. “Captain. Grimmjow.” He administered a purely medicinal slap that brought Grimmjow back to consciousness.

“Whazzat?” Grimmjow sat up with some help and looked blearily around the room. When he saw the crate, some recognition cleared his eyes. “The treasure! Wait, was there a wench? There was a wench! In the crate! Where did she go?!”

Shawlong sighed again and jerked Grimmjow to his feet. “I’m still not sure what’s going on, but I think you’re going to want to get up on deck immediately.”

“Yes! I must save the wench!”

“No, but you might have to save the crew.”

Grimmjow was stumbling toward the door. “Surely she won’t attempt to jump overboard!”

“I don’t think that’s going to be the problem.” Shawlong was getting too old for this shit. He was going to take his next share of the plunder and retire. Especially now that he knew he never wanted a piece of that particular Shinigami treasure.

******

There was a lot of shouting on deck as Grimmjow climbed. He forced his pained body to move faster. He had to save the wench from his crew and whatever they were attempting to do to such a frail and precious flower of womanhood.

It was with great surprise that he saw the back of the wench first. It surely looked like she was wielding a sword and, to his amazement, swearing as heartily as one of his crew. Some of them were standing also looking amazed, some were laughing and several were attempting to circle around her.

Grimmjow realized that Di Roy was on the deck at her feet, apparently unconscious, and swordless which would explain where she got her weapon, if not how.

He motioned to the crew to be quiet, and, when the wench had turned away slightly, he crept up behind her and grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides.

And so he was shocked when she elbowed in just the right spot and kicked back at just the right instant and took him down again. He gasped for air when his back hit the deck but froze when the sword was held unwaveringly at his throat.

He looked up the length of the steel, up the steady arm, across the shapely shoulder exposed by the gown, up the swan-like neck to the pretty face, all scowling mouth and dark eyes that were seriously pissed off. Then he looked back down to the Adam’s apple in the neck and down further to the flat folds of the chest of the gown.

“You’re no wench!” he pointed accusingly.

“No shit!”

“You’re no Shinigami treasure!”

“Again, no shit! Who are you?!”

“I’m Grimmjow the Blue, the terror of the high seas of Hueco Mundo. But who are you? And how did you get in that crate?”

The not-a-wench ran a hand over his face. “I was on a Shinigami ship when it was captured by some female pirates. It just didn’t feel right, fighting women.” The not-a-wench shifted with an embarrassed expression and Grimmjow took the chance to pounce. He pushed the sword aside with his leather-covered forearm and jumped to his feet before not-a-wench could slice his neck.

“But you’re perfectly fine fighting us?” Grimmjow taunted and not-a-wench jabbed the sword toward his belly. “Ah-ah, if you kill me then there is no one here to defend you when my crew rightly avenge me. Right, men?”

A chorus of “Eh” “Sure” “Ha” came from the men surrounding them.

“You’re really the captain?” not-a-wench didn’t give in but continued to hold the sword threateningly.

“Yes,” Grimmjow puffed out his chest but not-a-wench didn’t seem impressed. That reminded him, “What is your name then, Shinigami?”

“Ichigo. And I’m not a Shinigami.”

“Then you’re just a stowaway with a penchant for fine gowns?”

The scowl deepened. “This was not my idea.”

“Did Captain Harribel put you up to this? Did she dress you up so nicely as a special gift for me?”

Ichigo’s scowl took on a more nauseated look. “I don’t need to know about your kinks. I’m not sure how I got here. I’ve been captive on that ship full of women for days. I figured they’d just try to ransom me back to the Seireitei, but then last night they slipped something into my food of drink. I felt like I was drunk and then I woke up in that crate. I’ve been jostled around long enough. I demand you put me off this ship now.” He thought for a moment. “And give me some pants.”

“That doesn’t explain your current attire,” Grimmjow reminded then grinned as Ichigo’s expressive face became angry again.

Ichigo mumbled something and Grimmjow held a hand to his ear in an exaggerated gesture. “I’m sorry, what? I didn’t catch that.”

Ichigo met his eyes and growled, “A couple of the mates let me use a bath chamber one day. I should have been more suspicious of them but I wasn’t and they stole my clothes.” Grimmjow watched in fascination as a blush bloomed across his cheeks. “They told me I was free to go naked but when I refused to move, all they would give me to wear was this blasted dress. Now unless you want me to fight each and every one of you, put me off this ship right now.

Damn Captain Harribel. Grimmjow knew he shouldn’t have trusted her. He always had a hard time reading her when they played but last night he’d been so sure that she was holding a losing hand. It was hard to get a read on her with half her face hiding in her collar, but he’d been positive.

And then it hit him—she’d wanted to lose. She’d wanted rid of the so-called treasure.

“First of all, we can’t put you off the ship,” Grimmjow finally answered, distracted by his buzzing thoughts. “If you hadn’t noticed, we’re already in the open sea. Second, there must be something special about you. Even if you don’t want to say it, there was a reason you were on a Shinigami ship.”

From the way Ichigo tightened the grip on the stolen sword, Grimmjow was sure he was correct.

“Third, I don’t—”

“Ahoy, Captain! There’s a ship!” at the call from Edrad in the crow’s nest, the crew started scurrying to their stations.

“Friend or foe?” Grimmjow shouted to his man high above.

“It’s the Santa Teresa, Captain! They’ve raised the battle flag! I can see their cannon!” Edrad reported quickly.

“Damn it, Nnoitra!” Grimmjow snarled. “Shawlong! Do you think he thinks there’s real treasure here?”

“Undoubtedly, captain.”

“He’s always been a backstabbing, underhanded bastard, damn him. And he knows we’re short-handed.”

“I heard he hired the best men in the port to restaff his ship,” Shawlong said.

“Fuck,” Grimmjow surveyed his crew for a moment, watching them take their well-practiced positions. Then he turned to Ichigo. “You seem handy with a sword.” Grimmjow drew his own cutlass and Ichigo’s eyes gleamed. “You wanna join us and fight?”

While Ichigo looked him up and down and then around the ship, Grimmjow offered, “The position comes with a pair of pants. Hell, I’ll even throw in a shirt if you can fight as well as you seem.”

Ichigo looked him right in eye and said “I’ll join you.”

**I sincerely apologize to anyone who actually read this for wasting your time.

[cwdcshows]

Arrow - S8 E7 - Purgatory

Well this just proves my theory, I think, that Oliver isn't going to die in Crisis - I had to double check what number episode this is, because it's honestly hard to remember between all the different show, even though they air clustered together bit, some take breaks at different time. I knew this was close to the end of the run, but I figured this must be episode 9 with Crisis coming up, but it's episode 7. Depending on whether the 5 episode arc counts towards the individual episode count for a given series or not, means there are 3 episodes left after this one; which may or may not include the "Arrow contribution" to Crisis, meaning there's at least two episodes after Crisis which finish out the series and it seems implausible that Stephen Amell wouldn't be in the last two episodes.... And here, I thought half the reason they planned this out the way they did was to basically end the series with Crisis - although I couldn't quite reconcile how they were going to give the series its due with a proper finale, without it being overshadowed with the crossover event.

Wait, what fuckery is this; how was what happened in the last episode meant to teach Oliver to "work with the Monitor to save the multiverse"??  Fuck you.  Last week you said the lesson was to learn to accept your fate or whatever bullshit. And again, I repeat, this should arguably have been Barry's story.  I get that Arrow is the grand-daddy of the Arrowverse and this is its final season, but one of the reasons I feel this way is that there's something dissonant about hearing Oliver Queen talking about saving the multiverse.  Obviously exists in such a world where travel between universes and metahumans and all that shit is a thing, but this isn't his jam, it's Barry's; Oliver is ultimately just a regular guy with good aim.  Obviously he's going to play some type of role in all of this, but for a series that started out so earnestly, grounding itself more in reality, before giving in to the more surreal elements of the comics in order to pave way for the spin-offs, a cosmic journey doesn't seem like the right arc to go out on.  Yeah, do a victory lap and revisit your places your greatest hits took place in, but this shit just seems weird. Add to that, that both Oliver and Barry have spent this whole season assuming themselves to be dead men walking, it makes the two personal arcs for the two main characters of the respective shows seem redundant.   If the Monitor was going to ask anyone to go on missions for him around the universe or expose him to an alternate reality to teach him to trust the Monitor and agree to help him, it arguably should have been Barry.  I'd like to think it would have been more entertaining than the shit we've been watching for the last two months with Bloodwork, but honestly, having watched the way they played some of this shit out on Arrow, I just don't know. I don't know what that would leave for Oliver and crew, but arguably they could have taken a page from Supergirl, which has been to largely ignore that a Crisis was coming; which apart from the meandering stories they chose to tell in the interim, was largely a refreshing choice.  Who knows, maybe Barry could have fought Rama Kahn - Supergirl sure as hell didn't need both him and Lena to deal with at the same time; and the whole Rama Kahn/Leviathan thing seemed half-assed.  It's probably not done, but God I hope it is. Whether that would have meant the brat pack still arrived from the future when they did, I don't know.  It was such a deus ex machina, it really doesn't matter if it would have fit with any other story, because it didn't really fit with the story they did end up doing; and given their role in the last episode or two, it probably could have waited until it got closer to Crisis and worked it in as the early indicators of the Crisis and anti-matter wave, where the walls of time weaken. Wait, what? I swear Oliver already told them that he wasn't meant to survive Crisis.   You know what they say, showing is better than telling - with all the pointless filler bullshit we've had this season of Arrow, the least they could have done was take 5-10 minutes to give us a flashback of Lyla encountering and joining forces with the Monitor to fill int he blanks.  Her explanation of it just lacks any substance to care or believe that she made the right decision.   Plus, I don't feel like it does Harbinger's character from the original Crisis justice.  She was devoted to the Monitor for saving her life, which made her being infected by the Anti-Monitor and betraying the Monitor that much worse for her.  I don't know if they'll still have that plot line play out, but I figured I'd use spoiler tags to be safe. Oh, no, the B Team and Roy's plane is being shot down....?

"Gee, thanks." Fucking William.... "I was raised by Felicity too." Fuck you, William wasn't fucking raised by Felicity.  She was in his life for like, two year, tops; and that's cumulative, not even consecutive.  That includes Felicity tutoring him before she and Oliver got back together. Can I say how much I'm enjoying the lack of Felicity?  I don't say it enough, because it's so easy to overlook, but it is perhaps the best part of the season. Well that was the stupidest fucking thing to ever be fucking stupid.  Why the hell did the mercenaries even let Oliver draw his weapon, let alone do whatever bullshit he was doing putting his hands over his head and turning around first?  The second he reached for his own gun every single one of those mercs with a gun trained on him should have emptied their ammo in him.  Why?  SO HE CAN'T SHOOT THEM FIRST!  You know, the thing he was able to do, because they didn't fire as soon as he went for his weapon. I'm not saying I want Oliver dead, but come on; the only reason he isn't is because the writers made his opposition too fucking stupid. Huh... I hadn't necessarily forgotten that Roy lost his arm in the comics, but I hadn't really thought about them adapting that on the series.  Bold choice, maybe a little forced here, what with enemies on the way and sparks near jet fuel... could be worse, I suppose.  Kind of feel like maybe Oliver should have been the one in Diggle's position, but on the other hand (no pun intended) I'm not sure which of them, Oliver or Diggle, had the closer relationship with Roy.  I want to say Oliver, since he invariably provide his major training for a very brief period, but man, it's been a long time since Roy was part of the core group. Augh....Fucking Mia.... I'm really not looking forward to Green Arrow and the Canaries or whatever they're calling the prospective spin-off series.... So the nets they're caught up in are braided steal, but the one rope securing both of them is apparently made out of match sticks... When given the order to kill Team Arrow, why the do some of the bad guys start rushing them instead of firing the guns they all presumably have; especially when some of them do start firing and those rushing towards Team Arrow are putting themselves in the line of fire? Also, lining up like they did might look like a novel display of force, but it also seems like a tactically bad idea, seeing as if the bad guys were half-way competent they would have all started firing and mowed Team Arrow down before they could pull an arrow or do whatever they were going to do.  Here again, the heroes live only because the bad guys are too fucking stupid to kill them. Fucking William.... Why the hell didn't you check and confirm whose DNA sequence was needed to activate the weapon, before pulling Oliver (and inexplicably Diggle) from the battle?? "How much time do we have before the Crisis?" Well, it apparently starts at midnight in Central City.  Looking up where Central City is in the comics, it might be in Kansas or Pennsylvania.  Interestingly enough, there's a real Central City in Kentucky and in Colorado.  Lian Yu is in the north China sea, so spit-balling the time difference between China and Pennsylvania is 13 hours and China and Kansas is 14 hours - so around 1-2 pm.  Seriously, he's giving Rene and Dinah a farewell before talking to Mia?  That's cold, Oliver.  Especially seeing how, when he addressed "you two" I was looking away from the TV and assumed, naturally, that he was finally talking to William and Mia - you know, like how that was a plot point earlier in the episode, that he needed to do that? "Something tells me you're going to create your own stories." I half expected a scrolling promo or something to appear on screen saying, "Green Arrow and the Canaries, coming this fall!" "Lyla?" "Not anymore.  I'm not a harbinger of things to come." Fuck you writers. That was so fucking forced......

[thepartyresponsible]

another fill! this one is for @plantgrapes, who asked for a bodyguard and rockstar au with clint and jason. i got a little carried away, so i’m just posting a snippet of it now. i’ll post the rest of it on ao3 later.

“No, come on,” Clint says, horrorstruck, betrayed. “Coulson, please. Come on.”

“You have your assignment.” Coulson doesn’t even blink as he pushes the folder another inch or two across the desk. “I’d focus on packing, Barton. Your flight leaves in an hour.”

Clint hunches forward in his chair, buries his head in the hand that’s not currently wrapped in a brace. Beside him, he can hear Natasha doing that thing she does, where she politely clears her throat instead of laughing in his face.

“Too bad, Barton,” she says. “Maybe you should stop jumping off buildings.”

“Yeah,” Clint mumbles, “or maybe I should aim for the sidewalk instead of the dumpster.”

“We’re all very sorry,” Natasha says, not quite rolling her eyes, “that you have to spend the next four weeks hanging out with rock stars instead of hunting war criminals in Somalia.”

Coulson drops another file on the desk. “Don’t be too sorry,” he says. “You’re going too.”

The smile evaporates from Natasha’s face. “What,” she says, flat, disbelieving. For that one, beautiful moment, this whole clusterfuck is almost worth it, and then Clint remembers: rock stars, tour buses, bodyguard duty, and it’s not worth it at all.

Clint skims the file, but reading while flying always gives him a headache, so he decides, as usual, to let Nat take care of all the complicated interpersonal bullshit. He knows all he needs to know. Someone with money is trying to kill at least two members of The Outlaws, and SHIELD’s involved because someone, somewhere, called in a favor.

Or maybe because someone, somewhere, is holding a grudge. It’s difficult to tell if their primary objective is supposed to be protecting the band or eliminating the hitman. Even Coulson hedged, when Clint asked.

“Well, here’s something redemptive,” Natasha tells him, as Clint fusses with the tray table and considers faking a heart attack. “They’re French history scholars.”

“No,” Clint says, “stop it.”

“Their latest single,” she continues, holding up her phone, “is about guillotines.”

Clint squints at the cover art on the screen. “Is that the president?” he asks. “Is that the president’s head in a basket?”

She nods, mouth curling up. “It’s called ‘Let Them Eat Debt.’”

Clint considers that for a long moment and then nods. “Listen,” he says, “about our suicide pact.”

“We don’t have one,” she says, as she reaches into his hoodie pocket to steal his headphones.

“Yeah,” he says, “that’s what we need to talk about.”

She shakes her head, still smiling, and hands him one of the earbuds. “Calm down,” she advises. “They’re not that terrible.”

“Nat,” he says, as she starts the first track, “I can already tell this is shit. You can’t dance to this.”

“You can’t dance at all,” she reminds him, because she’s cruel, and merciless, and can dance to anything, at any time, no matter how much vodka she’s had or how much blood she’s lost. “Now, stop whining, and listen.”

They aren’t terrible. They’re just young, and pissed off, and loud about it, and Clint has no patience for that kind of thing.

“I was right,” he says, when the song ends. “You can’t dance to that.”

“You can’t,” Natasha repeats, as she scrolls through the available albums. “I’m going to play this the next time we get a raid. The only thing it’s missing is gunfire. And arterial spray.”

Clint is assigned to the lead singer. Nat gets the drummer, a nervy combat vet who voluntarily goes by “Bucky,” has a prototype prosthetic, suspiciously nice hair, and PTSD.

“Can we switch?” the singer asks, hand in the air like they’re in high school. He’s Jason Todd, and, as far as Clint could tell from his file, his hobbies are limited to playing music, being unfairly attractive, and getting into fights with anyone who holds still long enough.

“Depends,” Natasha says, with a shrug. “Why?”

“For symmetry.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, toward Barnes, and then nods toward Clint. “They’d look great together. I mean, they even fucked up the same arm.”

“Jesus,” Barnes says, closing his eyes. “Jason, come on.”

“He might as well look good,” Jason says, shrugging. “Because he’s sure as fuck not needed for anything else.”

“Hell, Nat,” Clint says, shoving his good hand in the pocket of his jeans so he won’t be tempted to throttle this guy where he sits. “It’s almost like we’re not wanted here.”

“We were hired to do a job.” Natasha smiles at the singer, flashing teeth. “We are going to do that job,” she says, “and you are going to survive until the end of our contract.”

“You can both look after Bucky,” Jason says. “I’m fine on my own.”

“Jason,” Bucky says, quiet. He’s got that exposed nerve look to him, the listlessness that comes from being burned out, hyperaware for too long. He presses his lips together, gives Jason a look that’s a little too raw, edging toward pleading.

Jason stares back for a long moment. Clint reflects on how it’s going to be a real bitch, explaining to Coulson that he beat up Jason Todd for being mean to his own bandmate. And then Jason sighs, deflates, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Alright,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Clint. “But if you fall in love with me, I’m not singing you any Goddamn Whitney Houston songs.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, rolling his eyes. “That’s really not going to be a problem.”

Jason, somehow, gets to introduce them to the band. Allegedly, they’re undercover because there’s a chance some member of the crew is responsible for the murder attempts. Clint thinks it probably has more to do with Jason not being ready to admit that he can’t fight the whole world by himself.

“This is Natalie,” Jason says, pointing at Nat. “She’s a photojournalist. She’s working with Bucky. And Artemis, for the record, I already asked, and she’s in a committed relationship, so we’re preemptively enforcing the three-foot rule.”

Artemis looks up from her laptop. She eyes Natasha thoughtfully for a moment and then refocuses on her screen. “The three-foot rule is only for Harper,” she says. “About you.”

“Bullshit,” the last bandmate says, dragging himself off the couch. He’s Roy Harper, redheaded, gangly, and allegedly in recovery, although Clint hasn’t seen a sober man wear a backwards trucker hat since the early 2000s. “Jay loves it when I get handsy with him. The three-foot rule was about you and the paparazzi. And also those girls who followed Bucky into a bathroom once.”

“Into a bathroom?” Clint tips his head, feigns contemplation. “It sounds like you guys need some kind of security team.”

“What for?” Roy asks, blinking. “We’ve got Jay.”

Jason gives Clint an absolutely insufferable smirk and then says, “This is Clint. He’s, I dunno. My assistant, I guess.”

Roy assesses Clint, and his eyes stall out on the brace around his wrist. “Shit, what happened to your hand?”

What happened is Clint broke his wrist after he dropped from a three-story building and had a disagreement with the fire escape on the way down. What happened is Natasha was in the street, vulnerable, and he drew fire from two separate helicopters armed with machine guns.

What happened is classified.

Clint opens his mouth to give some kind of bland, believable lie, and then Jason starts talking.

“He’s, just.” Jason waves his hand, dismissive at first and then oddly graphic at the end of it. “He’s really bad at jerking off.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause. Clint spends most of it fantasizing about punching Jason in the back of the head. Bucky levels a glare Jason’s direction that suggests he’s having similar thoughts.

“Wow,” Roy whispers, staring at Clint. A curious, considering look crosses his face, and then he runs his tongue over his lip and gives him a weird little wave. “Well,” he says, “if you need any coaching--”

“Three-foot rule,” Jason says, immediately. “Jesus Christ, Roy.”

“I can just talk him through it,” Roy says, wide-eyed and earnest. He looks at Clint, and, somehow, he’s just sincere enough that it’s impossible to take offense. “From however many feet away you want,” he says. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Thanks,” Clint says, nonplussed.

“Don’t give up on your dreams,” Roy tells him.

“Okay,” Jason says. “We’re done.”

“I’m sorry about Roy,” Jason tells him, later, in a tone that implies he’s sure as hell not sorry about Roy, and, also, Clint can go fuck himself if he has a problem. “He’s not always—it’s been awhile since he had to talk to strangers when he wasn’t high out of his fucking mind, so. He’s not great at it. Sometimes.”

Clint’s faintly surprised that Jason made it all the way through that explanation. He’s seen people spit out teeth with more grace and good cheer. “Honestly,” he says, “Harper’s fine. You’re a bit of an asshole, but I don’t have a problem with Roy.”

“Good,” Jason says. He squints at him, chin ducked, jaw tight. Clint keeps his hands open and relaxed at his sides, can’t for the life of him figure out if this guy wants to fight him or not. “He’s my best friend,” Jason says. “I mean, there’s Bucky and Artemis. Who are also my best friends.”

“Sure,” Clint says. “Look, I just told you. I don’t have a problem with any of them. You’re the only one who’s pissing me off.”

Jason stares at him for a beat, and then another, and then, finally, he relaxes. “Fine,” he says. “I don’t give a fuck what you think about me.”

The fact that he cares what Clint thinks about the others is the first thing about Jason Todd that Clint’s actually liked. Other than his jawline, and how tight he wears his jeans.

“Good talk,” Clint says. “Now let’s talk about those unlicensed firearms I found in your tour bus.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about those. They won’t trace back to any of us.” Jason raises his eyebrows at Clint’s expression and seems to think further explanation is required. “I stole them,” he says, “from a bunch of drug dealers in Gotham.”

Usually, when Clint accuses someone of illegal activity, they have the decency to deny it once or twice. He’s caught, wrong-footed, because he hadn’t actually found any guns, hasn’t had any opportunity to search the tour bus, and what the hell did he mean he stole from them drug dealers in Gotham.

“Shit,” Jason says, narrowing his eyes. “You aren’t law enforcement, are you?”

“You know,” Clint says, philosophically, “the hardest part of being a bodyguard is protecting the client from themselves.”

“Oh, suck it up, Costner,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. “At least you didn’t work for any of those dealers.”