#this fic is everything to me btw

[vadergf]

- c!georgenap | 6k | no warnings

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (pt. 2)

—

Tw: N/A

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) - (Pt. 3 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was a beautiful morning. Somehow, against all odds, the sun was shining through the thick smog perpetually covering Gotham.

And Danny hated it.

He was in pain, he was exhausted, he was grieving, and all he wanted to do was sleep for at least a week.

In an act of celestial mockery, the sun shone regardless.

After around twenty minutes of tossing and turning in bed, trying to get back to sleep, Danny gave up and pried himself out of bed.

He stumbled through the hallway and into the living room, staring openly at every splash of color he saw in the small apartment. He hadn’t forgotten what color looked like in the time he was in the lab, but it was comforting to see.

Someone cleared their throat. Danny whipped his head around, eyes falling on a scrawny, gangly man sitting down in a worn armchair, hunched over a laptop. He was looking at him with a dull, bored expression.

Right. Scarecrow.

His escape.

The chase.

His mom.

“You look a lot less terrifying without the mask,” Danny blurted out, slapping his hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t call my normal appearance frightening,” Scarecrow hummed, focusing his attention back onto the laptop, “that’s what the costume is for, after all.”

“Oh.”

After a brief moment of excruciating silence, Scarecrow spoke.

“You any good with computers, Danny? Hacking, and all that?”

Danny jolted. Scarecrow needed his help with something! This was great! Now, he’d have more of a reason not to get rid of him!

“Oh, uh, yeah! Not as good as my friend Tucker, but I think I’m pretty good.”

“And you’re familiar with the GiW’s systems specifically,” Scarecrow continued, beckoning him over. Danny complied, shuffling over awkwardly. “Right?”

“Well, I guess? My friends and I got into their stuff a couple of times before they…”

“Wonderful,” Scarecrow said, standing up with a stretch. He shoved the laptop into Danny’s hands and gestured for him to sit down on the couch. “Then you can hack into their system and extract whatever files you can find.”

Danny stared at the man like he’d lost his mind. He looked back at him expectantly.

Danny sat down.

“Yeah, I-I can do that. Tuck and I built a back door into their system ages ago,” he said, checking the screen. It was clear that for all the skills that Scarecrow had, hacking was definitely not one of them. “But, uh, don’t you have someone else that usually does this sort of thing for you? Not that I’m complaining!”

Scarecrow scowled, and Danny felt his heart fall into his ass.

“Usually, I do,” Scarecrow huffed, “but I chose to leave my most recent job with the Penguin early, so now there’s no way that he or Eddie will help me with anything until I make it up to them somehow.”

“Oh,” Danny said.

He had no clue whatsoever who Eddie was.

Danny got to work quickly, hoping that if he ignored the gangly man, he would leave him be. Luckily, he did just that, leaving to go work on something in another room.

Danny checked the laptop’s security before continuing Scarecrow’s progress, making sure that the GiW wouldn’t be able to grab their location.

It was…threateningly good. Whoever Eddie was, he had somehow crammed the functionality of a top-of-the-line PC into a tiny, beat-up old laptop. It almost reminded Danny of Tucker and his terrifying competence with his PDA.

Tucker.

Amity park.

Home.

Danny snapped himself out of his thoughts, tabbing back into the application Scarecrow had up and began to work his magic.

He had near full access to the entire GiW database within half an hour.

Mumbling out a quick thank-you to Tucker, he called Scarecrow over to appraise his work.

“Fixed up some food for you while you worked,” the rogue said, handing him a bowl of oatmeal, taking the laptop into his lap as he did so, “didn’t know how well you could eat, considering you’re recovering from… surgery, so I decided to stay on the safe side.”

Danny had no clue what this guy’s deal was.

He definitely did not tear up at the first genuine thoughtfulness he encountered in weeks, and he did not look away as he ate so that Scarecrow couldn’t see his face.

At least Scarecrow was too focused on the laptop to notice or care.

Or, maybe, he was just mercifully ignoring him.

Either way, Danny ate slowly, not wanting to make himself sick. He allowed himself to absentmindedly look around the room for the first time, taking everything in.

It was strangely homey. The space was filled with warm browns and yellows, a few splashes of color on the wall in the form of (obviously gifted) paintings. There was a beat-up bookshelf against the wall, clearly second-hand, filled to the brim with psychology books. On every available surface there was a different colored candle, all at different stages of use, clearly collected over the course of years.

Danny knew that the man next to him was a crazed, murderous criminal, but his home was oddly reminiscent of Jazz.

He was not about to cry.

“Danny,” Scarecrow hummed, snapping him out of his spiraling, “can you explain this to me?”

He looked over. The rogue was pointing to a new report, seemingly posted only a few hours ago.

Nodding, he took the computer into his lap, pouring over the contents.

He read the report again.

And again.

And again.

Danny swore loudly, crumpling like a wet paper bag, head in his hands.

“What?”

“It’s…” he swore again, glancing back at the laptop, “they…since you became liminal from synthetic ectoplasm, when we’re within about 500 meters of one another, our ectoplasm signatures resonate, and they can’t track us with any of their technology.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“If we’re not that close to each other, they can track us down from anywhere in the world.”

Scarecrow went dead quiet. After what felt like the single longest minute of Danny’s life, he let out a truly exasperated sigh, slumping over in his seat.

“Yeah, me too,” Danny mumbled, utterly miserable.

“…I’ll have to move my plans back a little,” Scarecrow sighed, “I can’t drag an injured child with me when I attack the Gotham GiW base, you’ll just get in the way.”

“Oh come on,” Danny whined, “I can take care of myself just fine. Besides, Batman brings kids with him to do dangerous stuff all the time, and he’s fine!”

“Might I remind you that the second Robin died violently,” Scarecrow snapped, “and that Batman most likely has more traumatic brain injuries than all of the Gotham rogues combined. That really isn’t the winning argument you think it is.”

Danny paused, trying to think up some way to win the argument. Then, he realized what he had ignored before.

“Wait, Scarecrow, you’re gonna attack the GiW?”

“That’s the plan,” he nodded, “and call me Dr. Crane. I’m only Scarecrow when I’m in the mask.”

But,” Danny sputtered, “Sca—uh, Dr. Crane—that’s insane! The weapons they’ve got- they’ll rip you apart!”

“Not my first time,” Crane said, making Danny wince. “Besides, I have plenty of experience avoiding gunfire. I’ll live.”

“You…” Danny was silent for a while, trying to think of something to say, “fine, but you have to take me with you wherever you go. As soon as they see either of us on their radars, they’ll hunt us down.”

Dr. Crane sighed.

“…Fine. I need some time to plan anyways. Now, you’re going to help me download these files, properly format them, and send them out.”

“…Why?”

“Well, some of the other rogues might appreciate the heads up, and I’d quite like them to be indebted to me. Besides, I still need to pay back the Penguin for ditching him, and he loves knowing things that other people don’t.”

Danny paused.

“That’s an awful idea, no offense. If any of the rogues know our weaknesses, they—”

“Danny, we’re censoring everything. The only things they need to know about are the GiW specifically, and any sort of laws surrounding them.”

Danny snorted.

“You care about laws now?”

“Yes, because if we get taken to Arkham, they’ll hand us off to the GiW the moment they ask, and it’ll be completely legal.”

Oh. Danny had honestly forgotten that Arkham was an option.

“…Ok. I’ll help you. Who are we telling?”

“I don’t think you really need to know,” Dr. Crane said, the faintest shadow of an amused look on his face, “but I’ll humor you for now. We’re sending the files out to the Penguin, Riddler, Poison Ivy via Harley Quinn, Two-Face, and Red Hood.”

Danny nodded. He could live with that.

“Alright, then let’s get to work.”

—

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

(Small, frivolous rant incoming, apologies)

One thing I wish the Destiny fandom did more of was dabble in the utter horror this universe holds, especially when it comes to portraying the vile atrocities committed by many of the cosmic level characters.

Destiny‘s T rating holds it back so much in my opinion (but it still manages to lay down excellent foundations for horror and more mature themes!!) and I really wish there was more fan works that explored the unimaginable tragedies that occur in lore!!

When you really dwell on the scale of many of the disasters that happen in lore, it really dawns on you just how sinister and monstrous many of the larger villains are. Antagonists like Eramis are much more grounded, certainly not saints though, but some of the antagonists we have encounter are truly odious in their behaviors, even if they are deluded into thinking what they are doing is correct (like the Osmium siblings ravaging whole star systems in pursuit of the sword).

For example, it’s no secret that I LOATHE the Witness like no other. This wicked entity has me fighting bile at the mere thought of it and I truly think the way it delivers cruelty with such a sense of compassion and righteousness to be the most stomach wrenching form of being baneful. I could not think of an entitlement more deplorable than the Witness‘ and it’s existence is a travesty that has caused irreparable harm that spans EONS.

Yet, in my experience, I never see much content that taps into the horrors experienced by those touched by the Witness and its pawns, such as the Noesis and humanity during the collapse. There are INCREDIBLE artistic and written works that tap into the psychological horrors of exos and the unethical hell Clovis was putting people through, but not as many on the more cosmic horrors from what I have seen!!

This may just be a me thing and the personal reasons why I want the Witness put under a hydraulic press speaking, but I often see plenty of depictions of the Witness being uncharacteristically soft and having deeper feelings towards its disciples, but works about its vengeful rage, simple mindedness, violation of the autonomy of others, and predatory grooming are quite barren.

I wish to see just how HEINOUS it is displayed in all its turpitude and how it leaves a festering rot on everything and everyone it touches. I love the Witness because it is so evil in it‘s actions and my heart SINGS any time I see people tap into the trauma it causes, especially for characters like Rhulk or Savathûn!!

There is so much room for exploring just how vast the Destiny universe is when you decenter perpetrators in stories and focus on the incomprehensible number of victims.

Destiny genuinely has a character running around with the title „The Final God of Pain“ haunting people and refusing to permanently die, but there is only so much a T rated game can do and I feel like Destiny enjoyers can go beyond what’s in game in such creative ways!! Just thinking of the fall of Torobatl has me going „Wow, I’m actually so sick to my stomach, I need to honor Caiatl and really capture the pain of such an event!“

The latest lore on the Qugu? My chest HURTS.

Some of the hive experimentations? The hive in general? Hell is not hot enough for what the Witness lead them into.

But you know what they say, be the change you want to see in the world! Create the content you want to enjoy and promote the content you do enjoy!! I wish to dabble into the darker areas of lore, and of course, promote Witness hatred any chance I get!! Hopefully I get more time to write about these things and really value the work the Destiny writers have put into portraying such strong feelings of loss time and time again!!

And also!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read The Garden‘s Witness by Titanmaster_117 !!! ESPECIALLY THE FIRST CHAPTER, I COULD RANT ABOUT THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF PROSE ALL DAY, IT GENUINELY MADE ME CRY!! PROMOTE THE CONTENT YOU ENJOY ALL DAY, EVERYDAY!!

But this is just something I’ve been thinking for some time now. This isn’t condemning anyone in the fandom or saying there is an issue, just a desire I would love to see (and hopefully fulfill if I ever get back into writing for Destiny!) If you guys have any recommendations for Destiny works that are horrific, focus on themes of loss and devastation, or hate on the Witness, feel free to mention them so other people can find them!!

Not enough Witness hate going around for my liking… this looks like a job for me.

[royalarchivist]

Richarlyson: You're skinny sir, are you eating well these days?

Pac: Not really. To tell you the truth, I've been eating... I stole, together with my son, we stole some cupcakes from the Federation. I ate some, but I know chocolate isn't the best thing to eat, right?

Richarlyson: 12 kilos D:

Pac: 12 kilos?!? No– what? My god. My god... Am I malnourished, Doctovo? Am I- Am I malnourished?

Richarlyson: You weigh less than a pitbull, sir.

Pac: Less than the singer? Damn... [Laughs]

Richarlyson: [Hits Pac]

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

tiny little puppet 🩵 [x]

[crimsonconstl]

Halloween time I guess

An alt greyscale version (my fav) and some coraline pidge + classic werewolf Keith & vamp Lance

[triglycercule]

can the mtt commit more crimes that just murder please i know theyre the MURDER time trio but ppppleasse,,,, please,,,,,,

they'd be terrible to be next to on the highway. horror's going 160 mph amd has long past gone over the speed limit. dust's out for BLOOD and by blood i mean your tires. he's somehow sniping those round rubber wheels from the high moving vehicle with the precision of a master fruit ninja player. if your car explodes or flips over in the process that's not his fault. and then to make matters worse for everyone on the highway killer's in the backseat scratching up the doors and windows of your car with a knife everytime horror gets close to another car and oops he accidentally just disfigured your face also did i mention theyre all drunk during this

ok so theyve all got the classic face WHY DONT THEY ABUSE IT!!!! horror gets to do a little paper mache to cover up his head hole and then wearing glasses. killer i dont know what the FUCK he can do to get rid of his perpetual tears but let's just pretend that theyre conveniently gone for now. and then all dust has to do is put down his hood! anyways identity theft is cool. imagine how much they could totally fuck up classic's reputation with this. set up fake tinder profiles and then scam people for their credit card info/free dates (while ordering every expensive thing) and stealing wallets. walking into various grillby's's around the multiverse and telling terrible jokes. like ACTUALLY bad jokes. and then of course just being a huge piece of shit at the bar. god theres so many things they could do pretending to be classic. which one of us is hikaru looking ahh except the only difference between the three is the color of the stains on their clothes (either gray (dust) black (killer) or red. well faded red (horror))

ROBBERY!!!! ROBBERIES PLURAL!!!??? train robbery gas station robbery bank robbery GOVERNMENT robbery (what would you rob the government for?? documents??? idk) anyways. mtt robbing a train except its just a really shitty plan and they dont know jackshit about what theyre doing. killer's taken over the conductor's cabin and now he is booking it. how fast are trains allowed to go idk but the maximum. anyways meanwhile horror's on the tracks fucking up the rails with his strength or whatever (listen i know he's weak but picking and choosing what hcs i believe in is my art) and dust is there to teleport him away before the train crashes into him and turns him into a trolley problem victim. and then of course that shit doesnt fucking work and the train just ends up flipping over and catching on fire or something (killer survives because of course he does he's killer). and then in the end dust just has to flip the entire train over and they just stroll into the part that actually HAS the money

and then they go out and get ice cream. sometimes the murderers need to take a break from murdering and just do NORMAL crime yk???

[sapphic--kiwi]

gustholomule week day 1: beach

inspired by some vintage beach photos i found, here’s 18/19 y/o gus and matt enjoying a rare day off work and school together 💙🤎

(@emsprovisions wrote a fanfic inspired by this art!!)

[isinuyasha-art]

[lunarharp]

pretty & cute witch men

[wikiangela]

🥵🥵🥵

9 sentences of the bucktommy smut for you! still not really sure about anything in this fic, but hopefully it's turning into something semi-good lmao

 “Can I blow you?” he adds, and it’s so sudden and quick, for a second Buck doesn’t even register it, too lost in Tommy’s touch. But when the words catch up to him, he releases the loudest moan. “God, please,” he whimpers, the thought of Tommy’s lips on him filling him with so much more needy desire, he just needs more more more. More Tommy, more of this, just more. “I think- I think I might die if you don’t.” He says and hears Tommy bark out a breathy laugh. “Well, that’s a little dramatic,” he teases, but he lowers his head, closer to Buck’s dick, the movements of his hand slowing down. When he speaks next, his hot breath ghosts over Buck’s flushed skin, his cock twitching with anticipation. “But we can’t let that happen, can we?” he purrs, and then his tongue is darting out and licking the pre-come off the slit, and Buck’s pretty sure his moan can be heard in the whole building.

tagging people who were also interested: @bidisasterevankinard @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus

[tinseltownie]

The thoughts I am thinking

[lexosaurus]

god i love writing unreliable narrator danny with every fibre of my being

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 21

PREVIOUS

“What made you think taking on a mafia hitman was a good idea?” Andrew asks as he and FF were positioning themselves the best the could for an ambush on Romero.

Since, they APPARENTLY had time to talk.

Romero had gotten the text Andrew had sent him and INSTEAD of coming out right away to progress the whole SCHEME to kidnap and murder Andrew’s Junkie like any sensible goon Romero went to the BAR. Romero went to the Bar to get him and Jackson a round of CELEBRATORY drinks. Romero is still there at the bar waiting to be served by an INCREDIBLY nervous Roland if the number of exclamation marks and puking emojis is to be believed.

What the FUCK is there to celebrate?

These two idiots want to kidnap NEIL and so far the only thing Romero knows (thinks) that they’ve caught are two people that Neil would come for but even in Andrew’s text he’d been clear that he needed help getting ‘The boyfriend and the new friend’ to talk let alone getting them to call ‘The Wesninski Brat’ out. Andrew had hated typing the name in reference to Neil but it was the only thing the two ever referred to him as in their chats.

Is it some insane mental game that Romero thought he and Jackson were going to play on Andrew and Smith? Toasting to their torture so they’d give up Neil? Who knows.

He realizes that FF hasn’t answered him, his eyes focused on the door when Andrew’s thoughts had drifted. A reliable guy, steady in a pinch, and focused like most the others weren’t.

(Andrew does not know that FF is thinking about how one would go about becoming a Mafia Hitman. What is that career path like? Do they show up at job fairs? Do you get a job as a short order cook at a business that acts as a front and see to much but you’re also the only one that knows the secret spaghetti recipe the boss likes so you have to sign yourself to the family? Are you out doing your own freelance crime and someone higher up sees your work one day and literally head hunts you? Is it like in Saw where you survive an ordeal and then-)

“Smith?” Andrew draws FF’s attention away from the door.

“I didn’t think it was a good idea at any point.” FF says and Andrew is surprised by the admission and is more surprised by the twist of FF’s lips into a frown, “I just did what I thought I needed to do.” He adds.

(Andrew does not know that the twist of FF’s lips has more to do with the fact that he is realizing that Romero likely STILL has not washed his hands. Romero hasn’t washed his hands and he is going to hand Jackson a DRINK with those hands. Ugh. Honestly a contract killer AND someone who doesn’t wash his hands? Who RAISED him? What does his grandma think of this? FF hopes she’s disappointed in him.)

“You thought you needed to lure a hitman into an alley?” Andrew asks because the plan is stupid even if so far it has worked out for FF. The fact that Romero hadn’t just come out when he sent Jackson the signal is only due to FF’s good luck and their stupidity.

“I didn’t have a lot of time to think up anything more than the first plan I thought of. I saw him looking at Nicky on the dance floor.” FF says with another twist of his lips as he self-consciously rubbed at his cheek. It’s never fun to have someone who has time to pick apart a plan that you barely had time to form. Andrew can understand the irritation and is glad that FF isn’t lashing out at him for it.

(Andrew does not know that FF is not irritated he is just remembering that he had held up his broken toilet bowl phone to his face to pretend call Captain Neil. He’s contemplating asking if Andrew maybe possibly has a wet wipe? Actually the murder van probably has bleach to clean up evidence, maybe he can just dip his face in there for like a minute.)

“Don’t use a plan where you martyr yourself. I already have to deal with Neil’s bullshit tendencies.” Andrew says instead of thanking him. “You should have just called me.” He says.

FF just holds up his phone, “Dropped into a club toilet. Completely unusable.” He says and yeah that makes sense. FF would have probably just texted Andrew but coming out and seeing a hitman going after Nicky probably made it impossible for the freshman to go get help without drawing all the attention to himself first if he wanted to make sure Nicky stayed safe.

Still.

“You dropped it into a toilet? You haven’t even had anything tonight.” He says because that clumsiness is not something he expects from FF.

“You try taking a pee next to someone on the FBI’s most wanted list and see how dry your palms remain when he’s talking about grabbing one of Captain Neil’s friends to lure him out.” He says with a brow raised.

That’s fair.

He figures that Romero hadn’t even noticed FF standing there. FF was incredibly good at just making himself unnoticeable (to Andrew’s occasional great annoyance and to Kevin’s great desire to study him for Exy related purposes).

“You recognized him?” He asks.

FF’s gaze slides to him, “I looked up a lot about the Foxes after I signed.” FF answers before his gaze slides back to the door. Roland had just texted Andrew that he’s getting Romero’s drinks ready (Two bud lites. Those are the celebratory drinks he waited for?? Embarrassing.) “I really looked up to Captain Neil. So, I read a lot more about him than anyone else.” FF admits but the fact that FF looked up to Neil was not in any way shape or form a secret.

FF was the only one who was ALWAYS paying attention to whatever Neil was saying and never argued with it. Even Andrew tended to just get lost in the sound of Neil’s voice when he’s going over Exy plays and not actually listen to the plan. FF’s eyes were always right on Neil and his actions on the court showed that he had been paying attention and knew what he was doing. Kevin also listened but he tended to fight Neil on the finer details of plays, strategy or anything else. FF was the one who would just nod and do his part in whatever possible play Neil had broken down for them.

FF was also categorically incapable of referring to Neil as anything other than Captain Neil.

Neil had bristled early on at it. He had thought it was a mocking title, something FF was saying to rile him up because that’s what Freshman Foxes did. That’s what Freshman Foxes always do. FF slid into the team without a whisper of rebellion and it hadn’t taken long to realize that FF was using the title with sincerity even if his monotone did not perfectly convey that.

It’d been that sincerity and that ease that had FF be the only option he’d considered when Bee said he should consider expanding his friend pool.

So if FF looked a little deeper into Neil’s past and sees Neil’s part in it as something to respect, something to admire?

Well, he personally thought he always had great taste in people. (He ignores the voice in his head that sounds like Nicky complaining about Kevin still not knowing German despite it being the family language.)

“You sure you don’t want one of my knives or the knife Jackson had?” It was pretty big and Andrew didn’t think it would work well with his general style but maybe FF could use it somehow. He was uneasy that FF was going into this fight unarmed. FF still hadn’t talked about how he’d taken out Jackson when the man had a knife like that.

“Do I look like Crocodile Dundee to you?” FF asks with a raised eyebrow and Andrew has to pause a moment for the movie to load into his brain before he offers an amused quirk of his own lips.

FF is a funny guy.

His phone dings. “He’s on his way.”

***

Aside from thinking about how nice the conversation he was having with his friend Andrew (his friend! His friend Andrew! God how is he going to admit to Gran that Andrew was never planning on stabbing him? She threatened to come over and square off with the ‘mean young man’ bullying him. He’s gotta go grab the makings for a secondary pie to even start to make up for this. Maybe Andrew would prefer a cobbler? He should ask his friend his preferences.) he was thinking about how he really wished they hadn’t had a cut away from Gracie Hart showing all the various forms of self defense she knows in the movie.

He had no idea if he could do a repeat performance of S.I.N.G. with Romero.

It’d be nice to have a few more things in his repertoire because all he has is striking Romero with the heel of his hand in the nose, getting grabbed from behind to throw him over his shoulder (which what if Romero is shorter than him? How will THAT work. Gracie Hart guide my steps!), and of course S.I.N.G.

If he survives this he might write a letter to the writer.

The door opens and honestly FF and Andrew agreed that surprise and speed were going to be their best weapons. The two of them go in for a full body tackle but Romero must just be a higher class goon than Jackson was since he manages to body them away. The door shuts which is mostly what they wanted anyways. Romero can’t go back in and grab someone to use as a shield.

He sees Andrew pull out his knives and now FF realizes that any level of threatening Andrew had done before must have mostly been in jest or just as intimidation. When Andrew wants to stab someone it’s obvious that he’s aiming to stab them.

Romero manages to parry Andrew’s first stab with a move that FF had seen on the ‘how to handle someone coming at you with a knife’ videos. FF sees Romero go in to bash one of the Bud Lite bottles over Andrew’s head so he launches his water bottle at Romero’s hand. The bottle falls and shatters harmlessly on the ground.

He kicks Romero’s other hand since the water bottle bought him time to get close. “You fucking brat!” Romero hisses.

He sees Romero reaching for something at the same time Andrew is going in for the second round of stabbing. Romero dodges out of the way but FF can see what might actually for real be an entire gun concealed in his jacket.

He can see Romero going for it. Sees the same smile on his face he’d seen inside as his hand wraps around the handle.

FF doesn’t think.

FF doesn’t think because if he does he’ll freeze.

So FF acts.

“Gun!” He yells and runs full force tackling Romero as hard as he can but unfortunately he tackles Romero into Andrew.

The three of them grapple on the ground. It’s hard to keep track of what limb is who’s and he’s pretty sure he’s accidentally hit Andrew a few times instead of Romero but he’s also pretty sure that Andrew punched him in the stomach so he thinks they’re equal. Finally FF gets a hand on the gun that Romero had been trying to get the safety off of and he knocks it out of Romero’s hand. “You kids will-“

Romero doesn’t get to say anything else because Andrew manages to land a punch right to his jaw that has Romero go limp under the two of them. They look at one another and Andrew manages to pull the handcuffs they’d purloined out of the Van while they were waiting off of the belt loop they were hooked onto and gets them around Romero’s wrists.

They stare down at the second unconscious man on the FBI’s most wanted list in the alley.

Then they roll off of him and onto their backs. Both of them wheezing from a combination of exertion, adrenaline, and (at least in FF’s case) a fair amount of pain (Christ Andrew packs a PUNCH his stomach is already sensitive. It’s a miracle that punch hadn’t made him puke.)

“That was…so stupid.” Andrew pants.

“Yeah probably.” FF admits.

They lay there for about a minute and FF thinks that maybe someone will need to carry him because his stomach is KILLING HIM with all this.

“Alright let’s-“

Andrew is sitting up and looking at him when he stops talking.

FF doesn’t really know what the issue is but starts to sit up, “Don’t you DARE.” Andrew hisses and FF finds himself being pushed back down to the ground to lay flat. “Don’t move Smith.” He demands and is pulling his phone out of his pocket as he keeps a hand on FF’s shoulder.

FF doesn’t really understand what’s got Andrew so upset all the sudden. “Andrew, what’s-“ he tries to sit up again. Is there a third person and Andrew wants him to keep down? There’s not really cover here they should move towards the dumpster maybe?

“Smith, I told you to not move.” Andrew hisses before whoever he’s calling seems to pick up. “I need police and an ambulance. We’re at Eden’s Twilight in the back alley.” He looks to FF, “What’s your blood type?” He asks.

FF has NO idea.

“I don’t know.” He answers and Andrew makes a disgusted sound. “Andrew, what’s-“

Then he sees it.

He doesn’t quite get how he missed it before now.

“Huh.” He hears himself say.

That’s Andrew’s knife handle sticking out of his stomach.

It appears that Andrew Minyard may have stabbed him in the stomach.

“Well, that’s about what I expected.” He says and lets his head rest against the pavement.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

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The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[fraudulent-cheese]

Will never understand why nowen isn't more popular. Not even in a shipping context, even in a friendship context (ESPECIALLY in a friendship context). Guys please their friendship is fucking AWESOME what are we doing. We were handed them on a silver fucking platter and were putting one with Cody and ignoring the other instead