#Why can’t I stop mentioning his missing spleen?

[ditzyredrobin]

Life, Love, and Assassin’s

I can’t begin to express how happy and full my heart is from the response to my last fic. So much so that I wrote my longest fic to date.

Thank you so much everyone and I hope you enjoy this one just as much as I have. 💜

Here another prompt from my BTH Bingo card.

Prompt: Don’t You Dare Pity Me

-

“Don’t you dare pity me,” Jason snarls, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I don’t want to hear it from Dick or Bruce and I certainly don’t want to hear it from you, replacement.”

He’s never seen Jason like this before, not in this state of barely holding himself together, eyes glassy as he tries to fight back tears.

The Joker is intense (even for him), but they did their best to keep he and Jason apart. Truthfully, he’s not sure he has ever caught the aftermath of one of their run-in’s. Jason was normally gone by the time the sitch was handled, off to do whatever one does after coming face to face with your murderer when you couldn’t kill them yourself.

This time had been different. Tim had seen the hit, seen him go down, and struggled to get up. Until he knew he was okay, he wasn’t going to leave. Or, well, didn’t want to leave.

Tracking Jason down had been fairly easy, for him, at least. At this point he had the majority of his sibling’s safe houses mapped out all across Gotham as a precautionary measure. (The few he didn’t have figured out yet, he was working on.)

There had been two about equidistant from the scene, making it essentially a coin of toss as to which he would have gone to.

Apparently luck was on his side because he got it on the first go.

Well, really, depending on Jason’s reaction, he was either extremely lucky or he’d just won himself an all expenses paid trip to pound town. Knowing Jason, either was equally as likely.

When he slipped in, the blinds were drawn leaving a sliver of light from the street lights peaking between the blinds. His eyes were decent enough in the dark due to his extracurriculars, but her still had to squint. Jason was slumped over the couch, with his helmet and holsters on the coffee table, holding an instant to his shoulder.

Tim arches a brow sticking close to the window he’d come in through. Not close enough to make Jason feel cornered in his compromised state, but enough so it was easy to flee, if needed. “Who says I was going to give you it? Because it wasn’t.”

Jason snorts, his face blotchy and red and his breath hasn’t quite evened out yet. “You know I literally died, right? Beat with a crow bar, blown to high heaven, and all shit.”

“So?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘so’?”

Tim shrugged nonchalantly, trying to pretend like his heart was thundering in his chest. If he didn’t play his cards right, this could all go to hell in an instant. “Death is practically a right of passage, just because you died first doesn’t make you special. Steph died too and you don’t hear her complain about it.”

“Dude,” Jason says, deadpan. “She literally fucking brought it up yesterday. You were in the room.”

Tim frowned, “Are you sure? I’m pretty sure I would remember my ex-girlfriend bringing up one of the most significant, life altering, earth shattering events of my life for the lolz.”

“Well, you better build a bridge and get over it because it happened.”

“You must be mistaken because that’s not something Stephanie would do.” (It was absolutely something Stephanie would do.)

“Are you implying I just made up the whole conversation to troll you?” Jason’s voice is starting to lose that brittle edge, dissipating into exasperation.

“No, what I’m trying to say is you’re wrong.” Tim says, shifting on the balls of his feet. “To be fair, it wouldn’t be the first time. Have you had any neuro cognitive testing done recently? Maybe the brain trauma is finally catching up to you ?”

He’s not sure if Jason is going to blow a fuse, laugh, or punch him in the face. “You are not you trying to fucking gaslight me in my own home. ”

Okay, so, maybe it’s option D: All of the above.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Jason asks incredulously. “What I think is you’re a little shit.”

Tim shrugs, “I’m rubber, you’re glue~”

Jason rolls his eyes. “You’re such a dick, you know that?”

“It’s maybe been mentioned once or twice. All I’m saying is dying doesn’t give you special privileges which includes my pity. I won’t give it to Dick, why would I give it to you?”

“Dude, that should get me all of the special privileges. Dying isn’t exactly easy you know and then in a dip in the Pit.”

“Who is this family member who hasn't died in one way or another? Name one.” Tim replies easily. “Again, dying is practically a right of passage at this point. It doesn’t make you special.”

Jason, Steph, Dick, Damian, Bruce, the list goes on. He had lived through them all, grieved them all but he wouldn’t tell Jason that.

“You.” Jason says simply, not even taking a moment to think over his answer. “You are one of the only family members who hasn’t died.”

Not exactly the only one but he wouldn’t correct it. Plus, he had almost died after being stabbed by The Widower. That should count for something.

“That’s because I’m built different.” Tim says easily, earning a scoff from Jason. “Ra’s has my pickled spleen on a shelf somewhere so I think that earns me vigilante points.”

Jason makes a sound like a game show buzzer, “Wrong answer. You earn zero points, trying again next time.”

Tim rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “He wants to make me the heir to the League.” He argues, deadpan. “As in the League of Assassins.”

Jason shrugs, leaning back into the sofa, some of the tension finally draining from his shoulders. He drops the ice pack into his lap. His eyes look more aware of his surroundings and Tim, less distant than when he’d first come in. “Been there, done that, and they didn’t even give me a T-shirt.”

“My spleen, Jason.”

“At least they didn’t take you for a swim because let me tell you, that shit fucking sucks.”

He thinks back on the moment he’d woken up in The Cradle, sore from his splenectomy, the fear that he’d been given an involuntary swim himself. It was a surprise that Ra’s hadn’t taken advantage of him considering all of the pining.

Then again, he’d also kicked Tim out a high rise window, so….

The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

He wouldn’t tell Jason about the shadows Ra’s sent after him periodically as a reminder of what (in Ra’s’ mind) was to come.

He had it handled. If he needed help, he would ask but he didn’t need it. For right that was his little secret, he had it taken care of.

This secret would, perhaps, be his forever (Bruce would lose his shit he found out—it had been a near enough thing when Tim had finally come out about the whole losing his spleen thing). That’s what he hoped for at least.

Jason’s amusement quickly dissipated as he gives a more serious expression, “What’s wrong? You’re giving me that look again.”

Tim frowned, “What look? I’m not giving you a look.” He tells him with as much assurance as he can muster with his stomach suddenly tying itself in knots.

“Uh, yeah, you are.” Jason tuts. “It’s that blank one where you’re looking through me instead of at me. You might be able to hide it from Dickhead and Daddy Bats, but you know better with me.”

Shit.

Tim waves him off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You know what fine stands for right? Fucked up, insecure-“

“Fine, I’m not fine, I’m okay.”

I’ve got it handled.

Jason stares at him for a long moment with scrutinizing expression. “You tell me or I’ll go to Bruce, your choice.”

“You don’t need to go to Bruce, I’ve got it covered—you don’t need my sympathy and I don’t need help.” Tim stresses.

He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need to get anyone else involved—this was between he and the League.

“So, you admit that weird fuck is doing something.”

“I didn’t say that, Jason, I’m-“

“You say it again and I swear-” Jason warns.

“-okay.” Tim finishes. “I’m okay.”

He was…ish. Once he got Ra’s off his tail would be, he had to build a plan things would be fine. Luckily, he was an excellent tactician even if his intelligence rivaled his. He suspected it wasn’t going to be that easy but he wasn’t used to easy.

Nothing about being a vigilante was easy.

Jason rolls his neck, attempting to sit up straight again with a wince. Even sitting, Jason was built like a tank, stronger and bulkier than he was (even without the padding in his suit).

And it seems like his time had officially run out. Tim takes a hesitant step towards the window, his hand creeping towards his bo staff. He may be out of arms length, but not leaping range. His body wasn’t the best in the small apartment but it would at least buy him enough time to holding Jason off and run.

The weight of it in his hand also brought him a sense of security, if he had his bo, he was safe.

But, to his surprise, Jason doesn’t pursue him. He doesn’t move up from the couch or reach for his hand guns as expected. What he does is more threatening.

All while staring him down, Jason reaches into his pocket and pulls out his comm. His heart comes to a dead haunt, eyes widening. “You don’t want to tell me, I’m serious about going to Bruce. I’m not going to let you get yourself killed because you’re too proud to ask for him.”

Tim swallows hard, “You can’t tell him.”

Jason lifts one brow, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell Daddy Bat’s and I’ll think about it.”

Because it’s my fight.

Because it’s my fault.

Because I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.

“I just…I can’t. It’s not pride, it's just my own issue.” Not yours.

Obviously not an acceptable enough answer because Jason places it in his ear and presses the receiver to activate it. “This is your final warning—fess up or I’ll sick Dickie on you.”

Now that was a threat he knew Jason would make good on.

When did this conversation go from Jason’s issues to his own?

Tim was caught between wanting to puke and wanting to scream. On one hand, getting Jason involved might help, on the other Ra’s may take it as a sign to up the ante. This was between them.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Tim concedes softly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure what will happen if he knows someone else is involved.”

“If anyone should get involved, it should be me. I think you underestimate my ability to take care of myself.” Jason says seriously. “Plus I’ve got a bone to pick with those bastards.”

He can’t look at Jason, so he stares at the wall just above his head, not focusing on anything in particular. He lets his vision go blurry. “I have it handled, seriously.”

Jason rolls his eyes, “You said that already. Try again. What has he done to you?”

It takes everything in Tim not to fidget under the intensity of Jason’s gaze. “He-“his voice cracks and he winces, clearing his throat. “He’s sent shadows after me…multiple times.”

Jason’s expression is hard to read, but for a second he imagines he can see a flash of something like disappointment in his eye. “I take it it’s been more than once?”

There’s a pang of guilt in his chest. “Yes.”

There’s something about disappointing Jason that sends a cold wash of shame over him. While he’s alway been Dick’s number one fan, Jason was the Robin he had followed the longest through the streets of Gotham.

He’s the one that taught him to be brave in the face of fears and when he had died, his grief for the dead Robin was insurmountable, washing over him in waves for days.

Forcing Bruce’s hand and taking on the mantle of Robin wasn’t an easy decision. Some days the full force of his grief was almost unbearable, to the point where he didn’t want to run the gauntlet anymore. He wanted to was no Jason—he was just that, a replacement.

But, in those moments, he remembered Jason’s courage and bravery. He remembered how deeply Jason had cared for this city and civilians, and pushed himself.

Jason was his idol and letting him down…it hurt.

“You’re giving me that look again,” Jason sighed. “I’m not mad—okay, well, actually, I’m pissed, but not the point I’m trying to make. How many times, Tim?”

Uh-oh, now he’s done it. He didn’t use one of Tim’s many (many) nicknames, meaning this, this just hit oh shit levels of serious.

“Five in the past three months.”

Jason curses under his breath. “And you haven’t said anything? To anyone?”

“I had it handled.” Tim says simply with a shrug, like it’s that easy. “So far they haven’t been out to kill. An educated guess says they’re only out to keep me on my toes, rough me up as a reminder that they have plans for me.”

“And what if their instructions change? What if you don’t call for help and they actually go for the kill.”

Tim grimaces, “I’ll figure it out.”

“Of course you’d say that, always figuring shit out by yourself.” Jason mocks, pushing himself to his feet. This time Tim does reach for his bo, placing his finger over the release. One swift press of a button and it would spring to its full length. “Je-sus, I’m not going to hurt you. I just—you drive me up a fucking wall, you feel me? This one man act is bullshit. You need help, you call me.”

Tim blinks, “What?”

For the nth time in as many minutes, Jason rolls his eyes. “I said, you need help and don’t feel like dealing with the smother hens, you call me. Don’t call Dick or Bruce, I will always come for you. Got it?”

“No?”

“What do you mean no?” Jason snaps. “You’re supposed to be the smart Robin. I didn’t think you were that fucking dense.”

“That’s not-“ Tim shook his head, taking a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, before starting again. “What I mean is why do you want to help? You could get hurt.”

“Because someone has to. At least, if it’s me, I’ll know someone’s got your back.”

Tim stared at him for a long moment. How they had gone from hating each other's guts to Jason having his back was confusing and…welcome.

It eased his nerves just a little.

“Alright.” Tim says cautiously.

Is he going to regret this decision? Probably but for now… it’s okay. Weird, but okay.

“Good, now get out. I don’t know if you can tell but I’ve had a shit night.” Jason says, and, like a switch being flicked, he’s back to his usual grumbly self.

Without a word, Tim goes to slide open the window. He’s a little flustered and not quite sure what to say.

“Oh, and, Timantha?”

And Jason was definitely back.

Tim rolled his eyes, looking back to Jason. “What?”

“Call me or I’ll kick your ass.”

[goodwriterwithbadhabits]

The Study of Hearts

Master List

Warnings: Hospital talk, minor swearing

~~

“Hey Y/n, what’s been up with you today, doc?” You spare a quick glance over at the nurse who’d come up beside you, glancing away from the patient’s chart for only a second before returning to it. 

“Nothing’s up with me, I’ve just got a lot of patients today.” She scoffs instantly. You should have known better than to try and lie to Nurse Choi. She had been your head nurse during your internship, and your residency, she knew almost everything about you, and you were a fool to assume she wouldn’t notice your sudden drop in mood. 

“Don’t tell me that. We’ve had a fuller ward than this and you’ve never snapped at someone. That resident you scolded is still crying in the nurses station.” You feel a twinge of guilt at her words. The resident hadn’t really done anything wrong, but offered up the wrong medicine when you asked the group a question regarding a patient. You may have laid into them for longer than necessary about checking charts and allergies before handing out meds. “And this morning you actually shouted at the guy who took your parking spot. This isn’t like you.” You’re thankful the patient you’re currently looking at is asleep, recovering from a surgery that just ended. “So tell me what has the calmest, most level-headed doctor in the cardiology department so wound up.” You sigh deeply, setting the chart back into the sleeve at the end of his bed. 

“My boyfriend.” 

“The idol you swear you’re dating.” She huffs, somehow not believing you. You roll your eyes, deciding not to continue and simply walk away. No one ever believed you when it came to your boyfriend of nearly 4 years, and he wasn’t helping his own case either. “I just can’t believe an idol would date you, I’m sorry Y/n.” You spin back to the older woman, rising to your full height. You were sick and tired of people looking down on you for who you were dating as if they had any clue what was happening. 

“It’s Doctor L/n, Nurse Choi. You may refer to me on personal terms when we are outside of this hospital, but seeing as you refuse to respect my personal life, you are no longer privy to it.” She blinks up at you in confusion before nodding. You can almost feel the shock she emits.

“Yes, Doctor.” 

“Room 1134, Patient Kim Seungkwan needs to be prepped for anesthesia. Dr. Song will be here in an hour.” 

“Yes, Doctor.” She bows to you before turning away. 

“And Nurse Choi.” 

“Yes,Doctor?” There’s a hopeful gleam in her eyes when you call for her again. 

“Tell that resident to stop crying, if he can’t handle being reprimanded there is no place for him in a medical field.” Her shoulders slump again, but you can’t bring yourself to feel guilty. 

“Yes, Doctor L/n.” With one last curt nod to her you spin on your heels, stalking down the halls to your office. 

You’ve barely gotten the chance to start your computer before someone is knocking on your office door. 

“Who is it?” You ask, annoyance clear in your voice. 

“Someone told me you’re having a bad day.” The voice of the young Chairman has you standing immediately as he walks in. 

“Chairman Yoon, forgive me, I didn’t know it was you.” You bow, but he simply waves it off. 

“Come on, Y/n, it’s just us. What have I told you about bowing to me.” 

“Sorry Myungsoo, someone could have been behind you.” You chuckle dryly at your friend. “What do you want? I’m in the middle of something.” He holds up a small lunch box, waving it slightly. 

“I brought ice cream, but if you’re too busy I’m sure someone else will help me eat it.” 

“I’m never too busy for ice cream.” You relent, holding out your hands for the box. “And I guess your company too.” He takes the seat across from you, watching for a moment as you dig in. 

“So tell me, how come you’ve been such a bitch today?” His comment makes you choke slightly. 

“Yah, Myungsoo, what the hell?” 

“Come on, Nurse Choi’s upset, you yelled at a resident so bad he had to go home early.”

“He’s a crybaby.” You huff. 

“That’s besides the point. What’s eating at you?” You sigh, stabbing your spoon into your ice cream and setting it on your desk. 

“Mark.” 

“Huh, you’d think Mark eating you would make you happier.” His joke has your cheeks flushing instantly and you throw your napkin at him. 

“Yah! That’s not what I meant.” 

“What about Mark? I heard their tour ended a few days ago.” You clench your teeth slightly, recalling exactly what’s got you so pissed off.

“They got home last night, at least BamBam says they did, only Mark didn’t text, call, anything. I only found out they got back in when BamBam posted a selca.” “So you’re mad because he didn’t come see you?” 

“I’m mad because I’m fucking sick of it!” You explode, slamming your hand on the desk, making him jump. “He refuses to tell anyone we’ve been dating for almost 4 years, so everyone thinks I’m some delusional fangirl. He refuses to talk about the possibility of moving in together, we never go out when he’s in the country, and when he’s on tour I barely get a text once a week. He’s never met my friends or my parents and it kinda feels like he doesn’t even want to be in a relationship with me.” You finish your rant with a huff, raking your fingers through your hair. “He’s been managing to piss me off without even talking to me.” 

“Sugar, I don’t think you’re mad, I think you’re hurt.” He begins, setting his own treat down, “Anger is a secondary emotion.” 

“I know that, I did take psychology.” You grumble. 

“So what’s really making you so upset?” You cross your arms on the desk, hiding your face in them. 

“What if he doesn’t want to be with me any more? What if he just sees me as a burden these days and is trying to make me break up with him, so he doesn’t feel bad?” Myungsoo sighs, reaching out to rub your arm soothingly. 

“I think if you’re questioning the relationship, you should either talk to him, or break it off.” 

“I know, I’m just not sure if I’m ready for that. I really love him, you know?” 

“Chairman Yoon, we have a meeting sir.” A voice announces, knocking on the door. 

“You should go, thanks for the ice cream, and letting me vent.” 

“No problem, sugar, you should call him.” 

“I will.” The moment the door shuts behind him you pull your phone out of your bag, and pull up his contact. He doesn’t pick up, but you aren’t shocked. “Hey Mark, I heard you got in last night, I hope you’re doing alright. Look, I uh, I didn’t call for no reason. I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think it’s going to work out between us. There’s just so much missing between us, like,” You scoff lightly, “Like love. So yeah, I uh, think we should break up.” You look up to the ceiling, blinking back tears. “I get off at 11 tonight, if you want to call me back then. I doubt you will though, you never seem to want to talk to me any other time. Either way, I have Thursday off, you can come get anything you left at my apartment then. Bye.” You hang up quickly, before shutting your phone off and tossing it in your bag. You felt like sobbing, just finally crying and letting it all out, but you knew you couldn’t, you had patients to help, and they were the priority. 

Of course, by the time 10:45 rolled around, you were dead on your feet, your brain hurt and you were about 2 seconds from cracking open the emergency wine you kept in the fridge in your office. 

“Sir, I may not be a pulmonologist, but I can tell you that smoking combined with not exercising are a major factor in why your heart is damaged.” You insist, trying not to roll your eyes at the man as he scoffs. 

“I don’t think you’re qualified to talk to me about this.” 

“Sir, I’m-”

“Doctor L/n to Emergency Care, paging Doctor L/n to Emergency Care.” 

“Mother-” You cut yourself off with a huff, “Sir, while you are in my care, it is my duty to offer you medical advice. You need to cut back on the cigarettes or quit entirely. While you’re in this hospital you are not welcome to smoke unless outside in a designated area, with a nurse present. Good night.” You bow, quickly exiting the room before you lose your cool and punch him. 

“Doctor L/n, you’re needed in-”

“I heard,” You interrupt the resident who ran up to you. “What’s going on?” 

“It’s a patient. He was attacked by a mob. He seems alright but he refuses to leave without seeing you.” The kid explains, holding the elevator door for you.

“Is he having trouble breathing? Shortness of breath, chest pain?” 

“No, I haven’t seen his chart yet, but as far as I’m aware he only has a few cuts and bruises, if there are any internal injuries, it would likely be contusions on his ribs or-”

“Spleen, why on earth am I being called?” You’re racking your brain for some kind of answer when the elevator door opens. 

“Ah doctor, you’re here.” The head of the ER sighs, meeting you only a few steps away from the lift, “Good. This way.” She begins leading you down one of the quieter halls.  

“Jangmi, tell me you have some grasp as to why someone needs a cardiologist here right now.” You bite at the inside of your lip, completely lost as to why someone might need you. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n, he’s insistent and he’s mentioned you by name several times. Besides I’d rather his company continued to send their idols here.” 

“Company?” You ask, just as she opens the door. “Who-” “Oh thank god, the good doctor is here, now will you stop being a baby?” A familiar voice asks, and your heart leaps into your throat as you round the privacy curtain. There, sitting on the bed, looking pitiful in the hospital clothes, was Mark Tuan. You have to bite back tears as you pick up his chart. He had several bruises already forming on the skin you could see, and a split in his lip. 

“Mark Tuan what the hell happened to you?” Blood pressure, normal. Pupillary response, normal. No signs of concussion or brain trauma. 

“Some sasaengs started fighting as we were trying to leave, Mark got caught in the middle.” Jackson explains, toying with the IV stand. “Hey what does this button do, Y/n.” 

“Don’t touch it, Jackson.” Your response is instant and almost habitual, having had to slap his hand away from your tools plenty of times. 

“I’m sorry, Doctor L/n, do you know these men? Personally?” Jangmi asks, noticing the way JB lingers at your shoulder and Jackson immediately stops toying with things. 

“You could say that.” You muse, “Your vitals seem fine, though your heart rate has gone up slightly.” You can’t help the cheeky smile that dances onto your face. No, you broke up with him. You set his chart back down, grabbing his chin softly to turn his face towards the light. “You’ll have a few bruises, but nothing your make up artist can’t cover.” 

“Y/n-”

“So you have any trouble breathing? Shortness of breath, chest pain, headaches?” You ignore his plea of your name in favor of the heart monitor next to him. 

“No I’m fine.” 

“Then why did you beg a cardiologist to come see you?” You snap, turning on him. “If you wanted to finally talk to me, you could have waited fifteen minutes. Instead you’ve wasted the time of not one, but two doctors, at least one of our residents and several members of the nursing staff. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“What do I have to say? What about you? You broke up with me over a voicemail.” He shouted back, and you watch from the corner of your eye as everyone in the room takes a step back from the two of you. 

“Well if you ever pick up your damn phone when I call, I could have broken up with you like that.” Your voice is somehow level, despite how hurt and angry you are. 

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day.” Well, fuck, okay that was on you. “I didn’t want to run into you like this, but I figured ‘fuck it, you work here anyway’ might as well see you.” 

“So instead of waiting to be discharged and coming up to my department you worry me sick by begging me to see you like this? Do you know how scary it is to be paged down here? I was terrified someone’s heart had stopped beating, or I was going to need to perform an emergency surgery and I found you sitting here, beaten up instead.” The dam breaks, and the first tears begin streaming down your face. “The second I heard JB’s voice I was terrified I was about to have to save your life. After everything I told you about my work, about my fears of finding you on my table one day, how dare you use that against me.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Mark jumps up, pulling you into a tight hug as you cry into his shoulder. 

“You’re the worst.” 

“I know. I know I’ve been shitty. I should be taking you out and showing you off and I haven’t been. I’ve been so scared that Aghase might reject you, I never realized I was the one doing the rejecting. Please give me a second chance.” 

“Promise me you’ll change?”

“For you, in a heartbeat.” 

“Um, Dr. L/n.” Jangmi’s voice has you pulling away from Mark, wiping your eyes on the cuffs of your sleeve.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Seo.” You laugh, trying to calm down. “I’ll handle his discharge paperwork.” 

“Of course, Doctor.” She chuckles softly, offering you all a bow before exiting the room. 

“You really broke up with him over voicemail?” JB asks, clearly trying not to laugh.

“I was upset.” You defend. “I also yelled at several people and told one of my closest friend’s to go fuck herself.” 

“Well, I’m declining your break up attempt, you didn’t tell me directly, so it doesn’t count.” Mark decides, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you walk out of the room. Nurse Choi is standing immediately outside the door, discharge paperwork in hand. 

“Oh, Nurse Choi, I thought you were up in Cardiology still?” You greet. 

“Dr. Seo asked me to deliver this personally.” Her eyes are wide as she sees Mark’s arm around your waist and the other boys just behind you. “It seems I owe you an apology, Dr. L/n.” 

“Yes you do. I’ll take those.” She sets the clipboard into your outstretched hand with a bow, moving to walk away. You saw the slump in her shoulders as she walked away, and the guilt crept into your chest. “Before you go,” Your call has her turning back to face you. “Noon, Saturday, come have lunch with me? Please Jisoo?” The smile that erupts on her face is enough to make you feel better. 

“Of course, Y/n, see you then.” 

[popculturebuffet]

Darkwing Duck: Just Us Justice Ducks

This is it. 7 reviews, 10 episodes, 2 teams,  7 brave heroes, 13 villians but only 5 of which are relevant here. All leading to this. One big final review of one of the most loved, most important and most awesome Darkwing Duck episodes, the ONLY two parter outside of the pilot in the show’s long history. If your just joining us, as hinted at in the opening sentence i’ve been doing reviews of every episode of darkwing duck featuring the first apperances of the Justice Ducks and Fearsome Five. The only exception was Megavolt, but I ended up doing Negaduck instead, so I could cover both Megs and the original version of Negsy in one fell swoop (A great idea and comission from longtime supporter of the blog WeirdKev27). All so I could give this the build up  it deserved and get the background I didn’t have years ago when I wanted to watch this, wanted to see all of the first apperances first.. then just didn’t get around to it, not even finding out the episode order is an utter nightmare.  While i’ve given out about this before, allow me to do so again: Due to prioritzing what got done first over proper order, ALL of the justice ducks first appearances eps were aired after this and while Morgana at least got an episode before this, it was her second appearance. Same with LIquidator and Quackerjack though like Morgana, Quackerjack still got an episode or two before this one. So yeah as a result to most kids it was a bunch of heroes just introduced, up against two new villians and 3 old faviorites. You kinda see the problem. It’s why I watched it in chronlogical order: to have this be a gathering of established heroes against darking’s worst foes... and the debut of the worst of THE worst, the true Negaduck at long last. So with the proper build this deserves and not much else to say, let’s look at this two parter and see if all my effort was worth it and if the hype is real. Let’s, get, dangerous under the cut

We open in St. Canard in Darkwing Duck’s secret HQ over the bridge, where he’s getting ready to go out with Morgana and does... things to his hair. 

Excellently terrible hair do.. seriously I love a good pompadour as much as the next person, probably unheathily more than the next person, but this isa bit much and adding a curl to it is just.. 

I mean Superman’s hair looked better at this point, and for those wondering “Wait superman usually has a pretty good look”.. welll. 

Yeah.. post-ressurection.. he had a mullet. Look there are only 4 people in the world who can pull of a mullet: Brock Sampson, Patrick Swayze (God Rest his soul), Hank Venture and Daniel Cooksy as a teenager. And he ALSO put a curl in it and it still looked okay because that’s one of this things along with being selfless, and idiots calling him bland for you know, being a kind hearted symbol of humanity at it’s best. But man the mullet was just not for you bud. 

Morgana naturally tries to change it while Gosalyn watches and...

Yeah as you can probably guess a LOT has happened.. and all off screen. Morgana is not only fully on the side of good apparently, but she and Darkwing have gone from simply flirting with one another to dating AND Gosalyn has met her and they fought the astro mummies together.. no wait that was the Caballleros yesterday.. but still eveyrthing else is PRETTY important stuff and even with the messed up episode order the kind of thing you’d ASSUME an episode would be made about. I mean this is her meeting darkwing’s kid for fuck’s sake. That’s a big step in any relationship let alone one just starting out. And trust me, I didn’t miss anything: every other morgana ep seems to have them already in a steady relaionship. I DO think it’s stuff like this why some fans aren’t crazy about this relationship. Me I think he’s honestly too good for her. 

But before they can go out for whatever vauge date they were going to have the power goes out and DW notices it’s megavolt and prepares to go after him only for Morgana to question him about their date. 

Morgana.. sweetie.. the entire city is blacked out. Nowhere will be open.  But Gosalyn offers an alternative, Morgana go along with him and while both are reluctant they go with it. So Darkwing confronts Megavolt... and soon finds a bunch of chattering teeth. Yup, it’s Quackerjack as the two have teamed up, and together easily defeat Darkwing, putting him in an electric chair. The two also really get along which makes sense: Both have similar personalities, being kinda nuts indivdiuals with a singular obession , which compliment each other as toys often need electric power after all. THey strap darkwing into an electric chair, that got dark fast and he begs morgana to save him.. only for her to accidently turn him into jello. I mean.. they say pudding but.. their diffrent things. Just because world famous sexual predator Bill Cosby promoted BOTH for the jell-o brand doesn’t mean Jello is magically pudding. If he could magically make one thing 

Point is Darkwing is jello, the villians mock him then set up some kind of device and head off.. while also mentioning a mysterious boss. I wonder who it could be. 

Nah.. too obvious. Darkwing is humilated and of course blames. morgana.. for saving his life.. as while the jello humilated him he’s also you know not dead. 

Anyways Darkwing storms off while Morgana worries he likes her. Morg.. the guy got pissy because you saved his life the wrong way with some bad aim. And before that clearly just wanted you there as a trophy to impress you instead of because he valued you in any way but your looks, because let’s face it he’s shown no intrest so far in any way that isn’t superficial and neither have you in him. You both need to actually try to deepen this or end it.  Anyways enough me ranting at 90′s cartoon characters, it’s time for our next Justice Duck to enter the episode as Stegmutt is selling hot dogs now, but no one stops because they just.. run in terror. Poor guy, good thing he’s too oblivoius to notice. Maybe Dr. Fossil had a point.  Back to the plot and it turns out the next phase in the Fearsome Five’s plan is to take out the police... okay so wait are they the bad guys or not? Questions for later. Point is we get a nice mismatch as Bushroot’s timidity contrasts perfectly with Liquidator’s showman ship and he drowns them out. Darkwing prepares to attack, but gets interrupted by Stegmutt, refuses his help.. and we get the best and most iconic gag of the episodes: Darkwing makes a joke about playing pretend.. and senseing Stegmutt is a dummy have him pretend to “put out the darkwing”.. which equates to pulling a Droopy while saying “put out the darkwing”. So the two villians finsih their job and high five and this is one of the most charming parts of this 2 parter: the camradere between the five minus negaduck. The other four just.. easily bond and enjoy each ohters company, only fighting ONCE, and then being on the same page after that. 

It’s also what makes them so deadly: the go too for ANY superhero team in any medium is to simply get the vilians to fight each other as most vilian teams are built on REALLY shaky ground, a mixture of egos and ambitions that unlike with most superhero teams, can’t really be overcome with the greater good.. because their only in it for what they want. The thing that keeps any of these groups together longterm.. is camradere. I’ts why the Flash’s Rogue’s gallery is easily one of the most dangerous; while there are outliers like the reverse flash, most of them are part of the rouges, and ascribe to their rules and morals.. and thus the camradre and support that comes with it. One guy with a cold gun or a super flamethrower or a weather wand or mirror powers.. is pretty damn tough. All four and more together, willing to bail one another out, having their own tailor and weapons hookups. The four remind me of that: a bunch of guys who have the common goal of beating darkwing but likely just.. hang out when not trying to do crimes. Well except negaduck, hence the four thing. By not being able to just easily turn them on one another, it means you HAVE to take them all at once. Even if you got rid of negaduck as both the comics and the 2017 reboot have shown.. you still have 4 immensley powerful, quackerjack included, supervillians who easily can work together instead of a bunch of angry assholes who tend to work better one at a time and just with a united goal. Point is Darkwing Duck is Darkwing Fucked.  Darkwing once again refuses help and yells at Stegmutt, because he’s been evne douchier than usual, and then makes the mistake of yelling at Neptunia, who promptly has her octopus friend throw him into the distance because .. well he deserves it. So while Darkwing patches up that wound to his pride and his spleen, we finally meet our vilians new boss: NEGADUCK. And... they do not explain why a guy who looks exactly like drake is here, if he has any relation to the other negaduck he was inspired by, or why any of them would trust him. This would bother me more.. if A) it wasn’t too much of a stretch for darkwing to have foes we hadn’t seen given the whole casefiles thing and B).. well okay this isn’t really a logical opinon but since when have that stopped me. 

There’s a damn good reason that Negsy has one of the biggest episode counts of Darkwings villians. The guy is just.. the perfect foil to Darkwing, the Joker to his batman, the reverse flash to his flash, the green goblin to his spider-man, the sabertooth to his wolverine. He’s Drake’s equal and opposite number. While Drake can’t take two steps as Darkwing without wanting some attention, Negsy is happy to avoid having any until the moment strikes. While Drake wants attention as much as he wants to do the right thing, Negsy just simply loves doing what he’s doing. To quote the Spies are Forever song “Somebody’s Gotta Do it” “Can’t you see.. how much I enjoy this, i’d never avoid this, cause buddy i’m a diffrent breed. This is my calling, and though it’s appaling, I love making people bleed.” 

He just LOVES being evil. He’s as comically devoted to being a bad guy as Darkwing is to being a good one. He loves the idea of being able to shoot a bunny, he revels in his villiany and he loves every second. But as I said unlike darkwing he dosen’t let his flaws get in the way of his villiany as much. He still does on occasion, he’s still a version of Darkwing after all, but he has his eyes far more on the prize and is far less prone to distraction. He dosen’t care about toy deals or infamy.. he just wants to watch the world burn and laugh manically over the flames. While his obessions CAN be used against him.. as this episode shows it only lasts for a bout a second and he’s usually ready for it. He’s a Drake with no morals, no connections and few drawbacks. And he’s also every bit as clever, with him winning for most of the two parter. And not because the plot needs him too.. he’s simply THAT good at planning, with his plan here being geninely clever. I’m REALLLY hoping for Frank to lead the reboot because combining ALL of this with his reboot backstory will be divine if he gets to. Negaduck was very much worth the hype. 

So his next plan, itself clever.. is to dress up as Darkwing and inflitrate SHUSH, taking out the next possibly thing that could stop them. And he does so easily, even while Darkwing is there and to show off just how friggin awesome he is predicts what Drake will say. The only thing that trips him up is drake hilarious pointing out a cute bunny, because he and the other Negsy apparently share the same burning hatred, causing him to get out his shotgun. And can I just say how wonderful it is he can use a shotgun?  That’d never pass nowadays, which isn’t the worst thing but i do question why VILLIANS can’t be shown being reckless with fire arms. Their the bad guys, kids aren’t going to see it as a good thing. And they still equate laser guns with guns. They aren’t going to trivilaize gun violence because of Darkwing Duck or Looney Tunes. 

Even being found out Negaduck still acomplishes his goal and floods thing. So now both the cops and shush are down, and things aren’t looking great. Darkwing’s still determined he can do this himself and beat them.. but it’s transparent that not only he CAN’T and won’t admit he’s outnumbered but freely admits he just wants the biggest win of his career by taking them all out 4 to 1. Probablem is.. he’s not spider-man and this isn’t the sinister six. As I said he’s not fighting a villian group whose egos clash so badly , at least whent hey first formed, they have to take turns or in later iterations have some member blackmailed in> Their working in concert. He needs help but as we’ve seen multiple times now Darkwing just can’t accept it. He has to be in the limelight and while he does have to relearn the lesson .. it works better here as personality flaws aren’t the kind of thing that fixes itself overnight. Sometimes never. It feels less like it does sometimes in cartoons, where the character just.. never fucking learns, and more like Darkwing has learned it.. he’s just so very human and thus can’t resist sliding black. Less peter griffin more bojack horseman is what i’m saying. I mean there are still bits of just poor writing, but for the most part his ego is like most of his enimies: he just can’t get it to stay beat. 

So it won’t suprise you that when the national guard and gizmoduck are called he’s not happy. You may recall when I reviewed “Tiff of the Titans” I REALLY hated this verison of Gizmoduck. He was concited as Darkwing but treated like he wasn’t, treating the daring duck of mystery like a criminal for stupid reasons and was generally pretty useless and obnoxious. The fact that hamilton camps gizmoduck voice sounds not like a 20-30 something like Fenton is but like Grandpa Simpson mixed with a dash of dudley doo right dosen’t help. 

It’s not lost on me that Dan Castellaneta’s character is NOT the one that sounds like Abe Simpson either. But while that problem is still around... the rest of them.. aren’t. Gizmoduck’s character development actually stuck from last time, so rather than be a dick to darkwing he’s warm, friendly and happy to accept his help when Darkwing shows up, thinking his old “Buddy” is just volunteering to help instead of screaming at him for doing his job. Not only that but while he still has elements of a standard superman type “Cape” hero parody... their more toned down and actually funny with him giving giant speeches, and that being useda gainst him and being over the top.. but still being the noble, big hearted hero you’d expect from the roll, just wanting to do good not for the Glory he gets anyway, but because people need him. In short.. he’s 100% better thsi go round. Well okay 80.. he still sounds like this. 

Gos also brings Morgana along, because apparently she forgot the entire episode where her father was so obssed with being noticed he tried to upstage his 10-12 year old daughter... and you know the hundred other times Drake put his ego over his job. 

So he naturally wants to shoo her while Gizmo. .warmly welcomes the help because he recognizes that people are counting on them not counting on him.  Just then the villians make their move and activate the electro slave device from earlier which.. does nothing like that’d sound like and just creates a giant electrical wall, cutting off ST. Canard and bringing the plan full circle: The villains have now cut off the town and taken out almost anything that could oppose them. And despite you know everything Darking only gets more pissy when Stegmutt and Neptunia show up., Stegmutt because he still wants to return Darkwing’s change as Darkwing bought a hot dog from him and Stegmutt’s also a really sweet guy and Neptuina because well... .the ocean’s her thing and a bunch of bad guys just put a giant line through it she’s now on the other side of. Gizmo suggests the obvious: It’s a day unlike any other when a threat no one duck, or fish or dino duck, can face alone. It’s time to assemble! And Gos is more than excited about the idea, suggesting the name Justice Ducks which.. is honestly fairly weak in my opinon. Not BAD but very clearly just “Justice League” with Ducks in it. Given how good the series is at names, you think they’d of taken more than five minutes on this one. Maybe it was disney mandate I dunno.  But the concept itself.. is brilliant and I wish it came back in other epiosdes; Taking a bunch of other heroic characters in a setting and making them into a team is always a great idea, it’s why the tmnt unvierses have been using the mutanimals more and more lately, and they do ballance each other out nicely. You have a nice contrast of powers: while multiple have super strength, stegmutt is your bruiser, Gizmo is the tech guy, darkwing’s the strategy, morgana handles magic and Neptuina can swim in anything and is super strong and agile outside and inside water, so as long as she can keep hydrated, she’s useful> Which by the way has ALWAYS been the case for aquaman.. except the superfriends version. 

He really does suck and ruined it for the rest of them till Jason Mamoa and his mighty abs, coupled with Geoff Johns run on the charcter that served as the foundation for that movie, finally rescued the character from a fucking decades old cartoon’s smear campagin.  They have the makings of a great team.. it’s just Darkwing dosen’t want a team and screams at everyone to get out and that he dosen’t need them.. I mean he does try to be softer on Morgana but.. he’s still a dick and she really should dump him. Seriously, their attraction is superficial, at this point at least we’ll see in Feburary if it gets any bettter, he dosen’t respect her as a person, and now he’s having to restrain himself at yelling at her.. for HELPING HIM. When he clearly needs it. Holy shit... I was not prepared for that amount of douche. And this would sink the two parter.. were this not clever setup for one hell of a downfall and not a key part of his character. Like has been said: Ego is a massive part of him, and as Tad Stones has put it his real arch enemy. It’s been the basis for several episodes and as we saw in the pilot was his motivation for getting into crimefighting in the first place. He means well and clearly has a heart.. but this is just as much about thwarting evil as it is the attention. And here it’s used perfectly as in the reverse of the gizmoduck episode, where he wanted attention but for fully understandable reasons and judged Gizmo more on stealing his thunder, which while petty i’ll admit is a bit fair given Gizmo did NOTHING in St. Canard but got the key of the city while Darwing had saved it multiple times at this point. 

Here he’s being petty and selfish.. and he has no good reason. It’s just his own ego wanting the credit for everything when it’s not what he or the city needs. Honestly this feels like an ahead of it’s time parody of how Batman would be written when written poorly sometimes in the years after this episode:  a massive dick who thinks he knows better than everybody else and everything else should be entrusted to him because he’s the goddamn batman, the kind who throws people out as potential parts of his family for petty shit and acts like a controlling ass and okay maybe this is spiralling a bit. But the refusal to see any other way is right? Yeah that defintelyf its darkwing like a glove and eveyrone leaves either bummed or pissed at him. And the most pissed? Launchpad who while agreeing to it, his face and tone clearly mean he’s disapointed in his buddy for acting like this when now is REALLY not the time. 

And I wish.. we got more on this because Launchpad disappears till the ending scene after this. No really. Despite being Darkwing’s best friend and sidekick and despite warranting a spot on the justice ducks and despite having every reason to pitch in. he just vanishes. I mean Ducktales may of gone overboard in not having him around since Let’s Get Dangerous, but at least that’s a valid reason: he has another family, he’s really busy and Scrooge has another talented pilot to do the job for him. Granted he’s clearly still doing it offscreen at times but he was both a major part of an hourlong and will be part of any possible spinoff. And hell even back in season 1 when the character ballance was at it’s worst... Donald and Beakly at least HAD reasons for not being in a whole lot of episodes: Donald HATED his uncle, HATED adventure, and HATED the fact his kids were following in their mothers footsteps as he only saw death at the end of it. While they SHOULD have found ways to include him more and his exclusion was pretty bad... he at least had a reason. Here launchpad just has to go now his home planet needs him. And he’s not the only one Gosalyn gets more, she’s worried about darkwing, we’ll get to why in a second and wants to go but Gizmoduck refuses.. and then ALSO vanishes. Which makes even less sense as when has Gosalyn EVER listned to an authority figure? Especially when her dad might be dead? It’s just grossly out of character for her to agree to sit things out and not just tag along with steggmutt anyway once gizmo can’t stop her. I do get this is about the justice ducks but there’s no reason to neglect the other main characters. At least have Negsy capture them too or something. Cripes. 

So yeah the “thinking he’s dead part”. Darkwing sets out to find the five’s lair and misses the big honking flag Negaduck set up, but finds a crumb, puts two and two together and finds them.. as Negaduck planned. Down to the crumb thing as, in my faviorite line of the episode, he planned on Darkwing missing the flag and focusing on the flimisiit clue instead. Naturally they kick his ass, EASILY, and throw him out a window to his death and in classic bond villian fashion don’t check for proof of death. Krakoa would be ashamed. So part one ends with darkwing duck getting thrown to his possible death...

Only for part 2 to pick up with him landing in a trash truck before exiting. And this.. is what makes the ego parts tolerable.. Darkwing.. earnestly reflects, depressed he let his own ego get in the way of things and shoo off his only hope, and thus let the villians take over the city, with Bushroot’s plants harassing people, quackerjacks teeth running the police, and Megavolt having taken the power company and using it to shake down locals and Liquidator flooding part of the city for a plan we’ll get to in a moment. He’s at his lowest point and tht’s while it work: his hubris DOSEN’T get unpunished, he’s fully sorry for it and while he dosen’t out and out apologize to them, he’s not only genuinely contrite but does work well with them and evenly when he finally does get back to them.. but we’ve got a bit to go before that.  So with Darkwing missing Gizmo takes over as big good and not bein ga prick eagerly takes the others help Neptuina nopes out of helping, which fits her personality, so with only three left because he dosen’t consider children useful  which shame on you. I mean i’ts responsible from a real world standpoint but not from a cartoon show standpoint. But anyways they split up gang: Gizmo will go take the power plant back, Morgana will try and use her spells to find the lair and Stegmutt will find darkwing. I do like despite how they neglect Gosalyn that her friendship with Stegmutt was remembered and used as a plot point here. 

So we then get to a rather repttitive part of the two parter. It’s not lacking in good gags or character moments but it’s basically the same scene repeated 4 times just with a diffrent scenario and gag for each of the justice ducks and the fearsome five member they encounter. They do their respective schicks the hero is defeated.. this is 5 or so minutes of a 20+ minute episode. Not TERRIBLE stuff, iv’e seen worse repttition, but not terribly intresting compared to the rest of the four parter.  So, Neptuina encounters Liquidator, whose scheme is selling rafts to people to not drown in exhange for a millioin dollars.. or whatever they have he’s not picky, and they fight but Liqui ultimately wins, Gizmoduck, in the best of the four sequences, swoops in to stop Megavolt and not only lands on his foot.. but spends so long speechifiing Mega gets him from behind, phrasing. Stegmutt hilariously tries disgusing himself with Groucho glasses and is bested by Quackerjack, and Morgana finds the lair but gets taken out by bushroot, though her pet spider archie escapes to go warn the others. 

So after all that Archie makes it back to darkwing’s hq.. only for launchpad to squish him. “ew a bug!”.. just a great quick laugh. Thankfuly he’s more resilent than the average spider and is fine once Gosalyn scrapes him off and they now know the five are in trouble. Also I was wrong Launchpad does return.. for this one scene. And neither get into action once Darkwing returns and after an overly long bit of him deflecting blame to the point I was screaming. 

That being said it is nice when once Darkwing is aware of the situation he gloats a little.. but still goes to save them without any hint of caring about doing it all himself. He learned his lesson.  So at the Lair of the five, Negsy shows what a sadsitc bastard he is, another great side of him.. from a writing standpoint at least. It shows that like darkwing despite a comedic exterior.. he’s VERY dangerous. And he’s set up speciic tourtures for each of the five he has: He’s hooked up Gizmoducks armor to a device that lets him control it’s power flow, so right now it’s entirely drained.. but he can overload it and electrocute him to death when he flips THE SWITCH. Neptuina is stuck under a heat lamp and will fry when he hits THE SWITCH. Stegmutt is stuck in a weightless enviorment that will also loose air when he hits THE SWITCH and morgana is in a chair that will crush her tod eath when he hits.. THE SWITCH... he really loves THE SWITCH and props to him. A lesser villian would’ve had all the traps have a diffrent trigger which while making it harder on any rescuers is just a time waster asking for the heroes he hasn’t gotten to yet to break free. And while it is based in his sadism he still fully intends to watch the deaths personally. Seriously he’s got all his bases covered.. and would’ve won.. if it wasn’t for the rest of the five.  The rest of the five are fighting over territoiry: Buddies they may be but they all want the pie. Negaduck, in his most badass scene shuts them up by pulling out his signture chainsaw for hte first time and scaring the crap out of htem, then using it to carve up the model of the city: They each get a quarter.. and he gets all the loot. Which they dont’ like but agree to to not die today. Though really... what’s the value of that? They have a full city held hostage, control over a quarter each, and no real way to SPEND the loot without letting someone else, say scrooge mcduck, in to stop them. Just give him the money and let him sit on it Smaug style. You get a quarter of a new york sized city to yourself to live out your dreams. I’d love that... maybe nto become a supervillian for that but still, point is you have carte blanche jsut take the W.  Darkwing meanwhile uses Nega’s scheme against him and plans to be delivering skulls, after flowers only piss nega off, and then knocks the guy out.. though his attempt at playing Nega fails as the Four have wisely decided that since they outnumber him and a four way split of the loot is better than none of it, to kill him. Nega.. is not pleased and just wants them to attack him, and they do, and it seems darkwing’s going to have a front row seat for THE SWITCH. But Darkwing recovers, and we get a great tug of war between him and negsy as the switch is turnd on and off on and off till Darkwing finally wins, and then frees Morgana and apologizes and has her free Gizmo, and so on and so on. So our team is reunited, Darkwing’s finally ready to lead and thus we get our battle cries “Justice Ducks, ASSEMBLE!” “Fearsome Five, GET OVER HERE!” And the two face off

And the battle.. is fantastic. Easily the series best so far as everyone gets a moment to shine. Neptuina takes out both Liquidator and Megavolt, this time beating liquidator by creating a whirlpool inside him and turning him into a watery tornado and crashing him into megavolt before he can get stegmutt. Gizmoduck beats Quackerjack handily by using a drill on the teeth, great gag then giving Jacky some ansteic.. a boxing glove to the face. And Stegmutt takes on bushroot and when unsure of what to do.. we get a truly wonderous callback as Stegmutt.. honestly dosen’t know what to do.. so Darkwing gets some payback and tells him to “put out the bushroot, put out the bushroot” you can guess what happens next

Or if you want the more recent versoin

Point is three down two to go, and we get a call back to the pudding thing with Morgana trying to hit liquidator.. before Darkwing in a show of how much of a team player he is now, offers his help, simply having Morg teleport some instant pudding mix over the guy... I mean at least it’s brown this time even if i’ts still  in a jello mold. And to finish it off he and gizmo awesomely use a mixer on both sides. So our heroes have triumphed.. almost. Negs has the controls for the barrier and runs out planning to destroy st canard if they refuse.. then being Negaduck decides fuck it i’ll do it anyway... but Darkwing stops him and we get a slapstick beatdown as DW uses an anvil a pie and other classics and utterly curbstomps his nemissi in an wesome scne. The day is saved, the generator shut down and the city freed.  So we wrap up with the Justice Ducks celebrating.. with Gos and Launchpad. I have an inlking how that conversation went. 

Darkwing relcutnatnly is forced to eat his own words and admit he both enjoys the team and needed their help, before heading off on that Date with Morgana.. though Gizmoduck tries to make it a group thing. Dude no one likes a third wheel.. not even when i’ts ninja brian. So Darkwing uses the iris out to escape, but Stegmutt does try and give that quarter back first, with Darkwing, in a genuinely sweet moment, telling him to keep it and then going off, having earned his happy ending and grown as a person.  Final Thoughts: This episode was WORTH the build up I gave it. It turns out I really didnt’ need most of the intro epsidoes, as while it enhances the villians the heroes are all given decent enough introductions apart from morgana so tht even without the context of how darkwing knows these people it still works. It’s a thrilling, tightly paced for the most part, hilarious and wonderful two parter that ties a huge chunk of the show together into one hour long masterpice. I had my issues of course and i’ve stated them: Gosalyn and Launchpad doing nothing, the pacing towards the middle of part 2.. but otherwise.. it’s perfect. It’ has a great character arc for darkwing on top of everything, once again having his ego bite him in the ass but in a unique enough way it dosen’t feel like a retread of the pilot, and having him genuinely feel bad about it and grow. a bit smug when he learns he has to rescue them sure but he’s never smug to the heroes themselves. And ironically.. he gets his big moment. While he dosen’t beat the five himself he still infliatrated their hq, beat up their leader, saved his friends and then beat negaduck all by himself AGAIN. It may of not been the big moment he wanted.. but it’s the one he needed.  As for the road to the justice ducks itself.. it was a fun ride. Only one honestly two bad episodes; Tiff otf the Titans and Paint Misbehavin and even those had their moments, paticuarlly Misbehavin’s art sequences. The rest of the episodes ranged from alright to standout and overall it was a hell of a time.. so i’m going to rank all the ones i covered leading up to this review. Just Us Justice Ducks (Both Parts) Negaduck Beauty and the Beat Dry Hard Jurassic Jumble Ghoul of My Dreams Something Fishy Fungus Amongus Whiffle While You Work Paint Misbehavin Tiff of the Titans And i’m proud to say this is the first ongoing project on the blog, the first story arc or what have you, i’ve completed. While I DID do a four parter of catch as cash can, this is the first one i’ve done over several months that i’ve completed and i’m proud of it. Does this mean i’m done with Darkwing?

Next week we’ll be wrapping up some more unfinished buisness with another Darkwing Double Feature, this time covering the short career of Quiverwing Quack and in Feburary, and the reason I spent so much time catching up, we’ll be seeing both Morgana and Negaduck again just in time for Valentine’s day. After that?

We’ll just have to see won’t we? So until there’s another rainbow, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. 

[yenslilac]

Daenerys Targaryen and Ophelia: An Essay

I wrote this a while back, just after Season 8 ended. After a few edits, I decided to share it with you! Disclaimer: I wrote this fueled with rage at 11 at night for two weeks straight. Don’t judge. 

Part 1: The Heroine Goes Absolutely Bats**t Crazy

Ophelia. Known throughout time as That Crazy Chick Who Drowned Herself. What a legacy. And Daenerys: She Who Toasted A City Like Marshmallows And Then Was Offed By Her Nephew/Lover. The sad thing is, these are my heroes. What a life. But the ‘Insane Heroine’ trope is prevalent in many forms of media – Dark Phoenix is another example. At first glance, Daenerys and Ophelia have very little in common; Daenerys is a powerful and assertive leader, and Ophelia is a background love interest. The one thing that unites them – they go crazy because of rejected love. While their descent into madness is slightly different; Ophelia is pitiful, Daenerys aggressive, both end up dying indirectly or directly as a result of their lover. Lovely. Let’s talk first about Ophelia – She is rebuffed Hamlet, the original pathetic sad boy, and at the death of her father, goes insane. After several performances of her insanity, she makes her way to a river where she falls (or throws?) herself into the water and drowns. This is witnessed by Gertrude, who then goes on to tell her brother Laertes of her death. It’s a pretty monologue, describing the flowers and plants growing along the riverbank, and how pretty and peaceful she looked as she sank under water and DIED. Remember this. Then my girl Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men etc. etc. Oh boy. Ohhhhhh boy. What can I say except **************** ***** ** **********. Thank you for your time. But she like Ophelia, was scorned by her Boyfriend Who Felt It Was Just A Little Weird That She Was His Aunt. But like, your paternal grandparents and the rest of your great-whatever grandparents were siblings, and your maternal grandparents were cousins so… But I digress. Wait no, this is what it’s all about. I’m back! I un-digress! So, she goes ‘insane’ cause she can’t get laid (don’t we all?) and roasts a whole lot of people and becomes… Hitler for some reason… So, Boyfriend Who Felt It Was Just A Little Weird That She Was His Aunt And Really Wishes He Can Just Catch A Break For Once Is It Really Too Much Too Ask is egged on by Murder Sister™ and Smarty Pants McGee to kill her. Just like my friends! He makes out with her and stabs her (best of both worlds!) and she dies. Very prettily. Remember this. You know. YOU KNOW I’m going to rant about this.

Part 2: Heroic Man Kills The Crazy Lady Like The Feral Dog She Is (But Feels Sad About It) 

Trope as old as time… why is this still fine… surely there’s a better plot deviiiiiice. “Duty is the death of love…” Shut up. Shut up. No, it isn’t. There is a thing called multitasking. You should try it. But let’s recap. Woman goes crazy because of lover/hero of the story rebuffing her because he’s got issues of his own that he doesn’t care to share with her, and close friend/family member is killed. This is when the paths of the Hero diverge. Hamlet does not actually kill Ophelia himself, but his careless actions towards her eventually drive her to suicide. Jon, on the other hand, does kill Daenerys, (no, I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed) by a knife to the heart while snogging her. (I’d like to take the opportunity to say that this was ridiculous and yes, I will die mad about it.) What else is similar? Hamlet holds Ophelia’s (or in some adaptations tries to) dead body in his arms as she is about to be buried and Jon holds Daenerys as she dies. They cry and wish it didn’t have to be this way, but really guys, this is Your Fault.

The problem with this trope in particular (and I’m talking about a lot of other examples here, like Dark Phoenix and Wolverine) is that it renders the killer sympathetic. They didn’t want to do this, but it was for the good of humanity, it was a mercy, blah blah blah. Really? Did someone make you kill her? No, a sense of moral justice does not count. Hamlet abuses and humiliates Ophelia then claims he loved her so much that ‘forty thousand brothers could not…” Creepy. I have to say, creepy. And Jon Snow. “Was it right? It doesn’t feel right…” I’m glad you came to that conclusion. I really am. But I knew this from the moment you stuffed that butter knife into her spleen, so honestly you don’t have any business feeling sorry for yourself. If there’s one lesson that Game of Thrones and Shakespeare has taught me, it is:

(not an artist, don’t judge)

Part 3: Someone Died And The Director Said, “Cool But Like… Make It Fashion.”

Do you remember what I told you to remember? Did you? Cause I’m about to RANT.

Throughout time (like 500 years) men have been painting Ophelia’s drowning – the probable suicide of a tormented young woman – and made sure she looked hot while doing it. True, the description of her death is pretty and all, but depictions of her floating just below the surface, a dramatic and lovely pose and flowers strewn around her glamorise her death – something many other people have taken note on – and give her death something of a peaceful, serene departing note, rather than the death of a woman so deranged she did not appear to understand the gravity of her situation as she sank under water. Daenerys suffers a similar case of SDPS (Sexy Dead Person Syndrome). Let’s go through it step by step, shall we? While in an embrace with someone she loves and trusts, she is stabbed in the heart area (I guess?), and she dies. The End. My respect for white men flew off with Drogon. But I haven’t complained properly yet! Compared to other characters, like Myrcella, Joffrey and Catelyn Stark to name a few, her death was very clean. In these other examples, blood runs down their faces or spurts out of their neck in suitably graphic fashion but Daenerys’ case, two thin lines of blood trickle from her nose and mouth. Pretty, pretty. We get a brief shot of a pool of blood on the snow as Drogon picks her up, but blink and you’ll miss it. She looks shocked and confused as she dies, yet the next shot of her face shows her eyes are closed and an almost peaceful expression on her face. Not only this but we don’t actually get any proper Last Words, when she knows she is about to die. She makes no sound at all. She dies prettily and quietly. We also don’t see the knife at all until she is dead, removing any very graphic nature from the scene. A lot of the camera shots are of Jon’s face. This scene is not about Daenerys Targaryen’s death; This is about Jon Snow’s inner turmoil as he selflessly sacrifices the woman he loves to save the rest of the world. Hold up one second I gotta……

I mean, come on. Daenerys is barely mentioned after her death. She, a woman who freed hundreds, no, thousands of slaves and worked hard to reach her goals (albeit a little dragonfire-y) yet she dies without a whisper and is forgotten almost immediately. She becomes less of a central character and more of a catalyst for other men’s rise to power (see Bran the Broken). Wait, what about Sansa, you cry? Well, at this point, she was so out of character I’m striking her from the narrative. Bye bitch 😊 The same goes for most of the other women in the last season. They become plot devices with a little agency and that’s about it. Missandei? Unnecessarily killed to create the “Mad Queen”. Cersei? A compelling villain reduced to a ‘crying girl who wants to be comforted’. Arya? Kills the Night King and then, I dunno. Sansa? Suspicious of Daenerys because of reasons, betrays her brother/cousin because she doesn’t want Daenerys on the throne, then just ‘forgets’ about this whole thing to become Queen in the North. Brienne? Honourable knight left sobbing after her one (k)night stand left her. Another thing that many of these women have in common (the ones who survived to the final episode anyway) is that none of them have romantic endgames despite this being set up. Arya and Gendry have been close friends in Season 2 and 3, then <3  and everyone (i.e. me) thought that you know, they get together and stuff, because that’s what the writers seemed to be setting up. But nope. Arya’s all like ‘I wanna kill the queen’ (which she never does) and throws all that out the window. (But Gendry was totally on that ship at the end). Brienne and Jaime seemed to finally stop eye fricking and then got straight to the actual fricking but nooooo. “I lOvE CeRseI! WE’re bOTh tERrIble PeOple!” And of course, the crowning glory:

And the woman who actually does come out on top is Sansa, a largely unemotional, suspicious woman whose brother is now the king and made her a queen because she’s his sister. Riiiight. That’s totally not nepotism or anything. 

The End: But Boy, Am I Just Beginning

To conclude, the ending of Daenerys Targaryen was largely misogynistic as it painted a brutal and dishonourable murder as an act of mercy and gave the killer (sorry man, I feel like I’m throwing you under the bus here, but it must be said) a sympathetic angle as a heartbroken martyr sacrificing for the greater good. I had high expectations, I really did, but you just took it anD THREW IT IN THE DIRT. Good god. But it’s fine, I have fanfiction anyway.

Thank you for reading this, if you stuck around this far!

[elyreywrites]

hips don’t lie (shakira shakira)

a crack fic born of a typo, and enabled by discord (shout out to the C&C discord server!! y’all are amazing.) also, it was a motivational gift for a friend. and a huge thanks to Bumpkin for being my beta on this fic!

title from Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie”.

please REBLOG -- DO NOT REPOST

AO3 Link

Teen 1,895 words Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne part of my batkids shenanigans series

Summary:

Tim breaks a hip. Dick and Jason fight for the right of sitting shotgun. Barbara is the Actual Best. And Bruce is Suffering.

- - - - -

Tim leaned back against the wall in his cell and waited. He certainly wasn’t going to escape at the moment – not after some goon had slammed a metal bat into his hip. Standing wasn’t going to happen, much less fighting. As it was, Tim could block out the pain while sitting down and not moving. He’d dragged his body out of the desert after he was stabbed in the spleen, he could ignore this pain.

The sound of shattering glass and indistinct yelling brought a grin to his face. Ah, his rescue had arrived. Who did they send this time? The gunfire that broke out could mean Jason, or the goons had guns. Maybe both. The only guarantee was that it wasn’t Damian. He had a final paper due in the morning for school and Bruce ordered him off patrol.

The commotion lasted all of ten minutes. After another couple of minutes, something banged on the other side of the door.

“Hey Red, yell if you’re in here,” called Dick. After a second, he squawked, “What was that for?”

“He might be unconscious and can’t fucking answer,” Jason snarked.

Huh, both of them to the rescue. “I’m conscious,” he yelled. The lock clicked and his two older brothers strolled in, the keys dangling from the lock.

“Oh good,” Jason drawled, “then you can explain why the fuck you didn’t escape on your own.” He tossed Tim an extra comm, which he immediately put in.

Tim hummed. “I mean, it might have something to do with the metal bat that some asshole caught me in the hip with.”

Both men paused, just as Bruce appeared in the doorway. Tim knew his eyebrow was raised expectantly under the cowl. Tim looked straight at him and said, “I’m not very hip.”

In the background, Dick started snickering as Jason choked on his laughter. Bruce, though – Bruce went still. Bat still – the kind he only got in two situations. One, if he was about to drop into a fight. Two, when one of his kids made an exceptionally bad joke. The second often came before the Heavy Sigh of Exasperated Dad. “Your hip is injured,” he inferred, returning to the matter at hand. “What else can you tell us about the injury?”

Smirking, he complained, “Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”

The snickering turned into near-hysterical giggles. Jason was wheezing under the helmet. And there was the Heavy Sigh of Exasperated Dad.

“Someone call Life Alert!” Dick gasped out through his giggling.

“Fucking hell, kid,” Jason managed. “You little fucking shit. We were worried about your goddamn ass, and here you are, making shitty jokes like you’re Nightwing.”

“Hey!”

Bruce shook his head. “Your hip might be broken. Let’s–”

Dick cut off their father. “That’s so sad,” he choked out past his widening grin, “Oracle, play ‘Hips Don’t Lie’.”

Bruce froze. Tim watched with glee as Jason sunk to the floor, his wheezing turning into the high-pitched keening of someone laughing without air. And then – because Babs was the Actual Best – the song started playing over the comm line.

Ah, there it was: the second Heavy Sigh of Exasperated Dad, almost entirely drowned out by Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie”.

“Why,” he asked, long-suffering. “Why do you do this to me? Just… you two, get to the Batmobile. I'll get Red.”

Tim raised an eyebrow behind the mask. “You’re the one that chose to be a father. Really, you should have expected this.”

Bruce tilts his head, his own equivalent of a raised eyebrow when he’s in the cowl. “Oh, I’m supposed to expect my children to reference memes and make jokes when one has broken a hip. That’s what I was supposed to be prepared for, when I decided to take in a grieving child. The parenting books never warned me about that.” He leaned down and tried to carefully pick Tim up, as Tim gritted his teeth against the pain. In the background, “Hips Don’t Lie” faded away.

Over the comm, Jason scoffed. “As if you ever read any parenting books.”

“I know for a fact that you didn’t,” Dick added. “Agent A made enough pointed comments about it that I know you didn’t. Also, I call shotgun.”

“You can have shotgun over my cold, dead body, you dick!” Jason snapped.

“First of all, stop joking about your death! Second of all, fuck you, you know the rules! Hood, get back here! I fucking called shotgun as soon as the Batmobile was in view, respect the fucking rules!”

“You’ll have to drag me out!”

“Red Robin gets shotgun,” Batman cut in.

Tim looked at Bruce blankly. “One, Red Robin is staying out of this, as one of them has already tried to kill me before. Two, Red Robin has a broken hip and needs to be in the backseat, because there is no way in hell I can sit upright very well right now.”

“For shame, B,” Dick sighed. “Hood, I swear to fucking god, get the fuck out of shotgun! Batmaaaaan, Hood isn’t following the ruuuules!”

Tim felt the Heavy Sigh that time. Damn, three in one night? They were doing pretty well. “That’s not really anything new, though, is it?” Tim snarked.

“You wanna fuckin’ go, punk?” Jason called back.

Closer now, Tim could see as Dick shook his head in over-dramatic disappointment. “I can’t believe you, Hood. Breaking the Sacred Rules of Calling Shotgun. Threatening to fight a kid with a broken hip. What would Agent A say?”

“Oh shit.” Tim whispered, grinning, “you’re gonna be in trouble.”

Jason growled back over the line, apparently kicking out at Dick from his spot in shotgun. “Fuck you, I’m an adult!”

Someone hummed on the comm line. “Would you care to repeat that?” Alfred said, as calmly as ever.

At the same time, Dick grabbed Jason’s leg to pull him from the Batmobile. Both things caused Jason to squawk as he landed on his ass on the ground. “No, Agent A. Sorry, Agent A. Hey, that is not fair, I got there first! I have longer legs, and you’re gonna stick me in the back?!”

Bruce stopped for a second, watching the chaos of Dick trying to get into the passenger seat by climbing over Jason, who was still laying on the ground, while Jason kept grabbing his legs and pulling him back out. Tim watched Bruce, waiting. Wondering.

Bruce inhaled and–

Jason and Dick both froze as they heard the fourth Heavy Sigh of the night.

“Is… is that a record?” Jason asked, in a reverent whisper.

“I don’t know,” Dick replied, just as awed.

Tim smirked. “Robin and I have managed seven in one night.”

“What?!” Dick shrieked.

“How?!”

Bruce only looked tiredly upon his eldest sons. “Robin and Red Robin,” he said, as though that was enough explanation. Tim had to admit, it kind of was. No need to mention that it was only for show now, more for the purpose of antagonizing their family than anything else. Cass knew, because Cass always knew, but she only giggled whenever she witnessed their fights.

Jason and Dick stared at each other, Dick’s leg still caught in Jason’s grasp. “We can probably get at least five before we get back to the Cave,” Dick muttered lowly, as though the comm wasn’t picking up everything he said.

“Done,” Jason said. “But I still got here first so stop trying to claim shotgun.”

“Hmmm, nope. I called it as soon as the Batmobile was in view. Them’s the rules, little brother.”

Jason snarled. “I’m taller than you! I need the extra leg space more!”

“You are barely taller than me, and not enough to really matter for leg space.”

Batman carefully put Tim down so he was stretched out along the length of the backseat and climbed in the driver's seat. “How is it,” he began, “that Red Robin, your younger brother, is acting more mature than both of you.”

Jason and Dick both stared at Bruce in utter betrayal. Then Jason looked back at Dick. “Go share the backseat with Red, you’re the oldest. He’s in pain. He needs his big brother to tell him it’s okay.”

“God no,” Tim muttered. He did not want Dick’s smothering right now.

Dick gasped, head snapping to stare at Tim. “Holy shit, I didn’t even think about that! Red, does it hurt a lot? You need a hug.”

Plans for revenge were already forming in Tim’s mind as Dick climbed in the backseat with him, letting Tim lean back against him. Dick’s arms wrapped around Tim in what some considered a hug and others considered an inescapable hold. A hand was already carding through his hair and his oldest brother reassured him that they’d be back at the Cave soon. Jason was snickering from the passenger seat.

Dick needed a distraction.

“Hey, O?” Tim asked, “Can you connect to the Batmobile? You probably already know what I’m thinking.”

“Sure thing Red,” Barbara smirked. He knew she did – he could hear it. Through the speakers in the car, “Hips Don’t Lie” started playing, again.

Tim didn’t miss Bruce’s hands tightening on the steering wheel, probably refraining from sighing again. Of course, now that he knew they were actively trying to antagonize him, it was going to be a lot harder.

As Tim expected, with Shakira blaring out of the speakers, Dick and Jason joined in on the singing. Loudly and off-key. A grin stretched across his face. Normally, he’d join in, but the pain was a bit too much for him to do that. That was fine, Bruce was getting twitchy enough as it was.

There was still no sigh yet, though. No matter how terribly Dick and Jason sang along, even going so far as to be off-beat, Bruce only twitched. At least, until the Spanish came.

“You know Spanish,” Bruce whispered, pained, as Jason sang English words that sounded just similar enough. Dick was doing the same, but without coordination, they were singing different words, creating the sound of pure chaos. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You only have yourself to blame,” Tim snickered.

The fifth Heavy Sigh of Exasperated Dad cut the awful singing off so Dick and Jason could scream their victory. Tim regretted nothing as he slammed his head back into Dick’s chin.

“Ow! Reeed, whyyyy?” Dick whined, leaning his head back away from Tim.

Tim would have twisted around to glare at him if that didn’t seem like a Bad Plan. “You yelled in my fucking ear! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“We’re here,” Bruce called desperately, dragging himself out of the car. “Please, boys, please. Just… stop. It’s been a long night. Take pity on your old man.”

“Eh, I’m gonna go the fuck to sleep anyway,” Jason shrugged as he climbed out. “We succeeded in our goal. Have fun with the broken hip, Timmers! Night!” Tim watched him go, incredulous. A broken hip wasn’t what he’d call “fun” – despite the jokes and references that could be made.

Dick helped Bruce get him out of the car, and then smirked. “Your new ringtone is ‘Hips Don’t Lie’, just so you know. Night, Timmy!”

Tim watched his brothers leave, beginning to twitch himself. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“You’ll never be hip again,” deadpanned Bruce.

[reverseblackholeofwords]

Bo and Yancy

Guess what story is finally back after like two weeks!

Yancy has returned to Happy Trails after a brief month spent with Professor Beauregard, but the Warden wants to know what he’s been up to while he’s been gone. And he’s willing to push Yancy to the brink to get the answers he wants. But the other inmates of the penitentiary won’t just stand idly by...

Part Five: Break My Face

“Now, Yancy, you’ve always been like a son to me, you know,” the Warden begins as the guards lift Yancy from the floor. “I don’t particularly enjoy seeing these guys bust you up, but children need to be disciplined when they misbehave. You understand that, right?”

He tilts Yancy’s chin up. “Answer me.”

Yancy, blood dribbling down his jaw from his busted lip, tries to open his swollen eyes. “I understand.” He hangs his head when Murder-Slaughter drops his chin, and something in his stomach twists. Yancy always tried to do right by the Warden, so why was he treating him like this? “I just... don’t understand what you wants me to tell youse.”

The Warden wipes the blood from his hands on the shoulder of Yancy’s white shirt. “I’ve told you, Yance. I just want to know what you and the professor were up too while you were gone. That’s all.”

“I tolds youse,” Yancy whines, his head lolling to the side, “she did all these tests, and I don’t knows why. A few weeks in she saids I wasn’t what she was looking for! Then I came back here. This is where I belong. This is where I’m hapy.” He looks up at the Warden and flinches.

This was the wrong thing to say.

Murder-Slaughter clicks his tongue. “But why would she take you at all? There is nothing special about you. Aside from that exceptionally thick skull of yours.” He rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles. “Alright, Yancy, alright. I think we’ve talked enough for today. You’re obviously not going to tell me what I want to know... yet.”

“That’s all I knows!” Yancy struggles against the guards, and one of them cracks him in the back of the head. The world spins. His heart his hammering in his chest. “Warden, I swear. That’s all I knows... I don’t knows what else to say!”

The Warden smiles and leans his hands back against his desk casually, as if he and Yancy are just having a chat over drinks, like old pals. “It’s okay, boy. I know you’re trying, but maybe after a few days in solitary, you’ll try a bit harder.”

“No!” Yancy shouts as the guards drag him towards the door. His shoes scrape the floor. He tries to grab for the door frame, but his hands are cuffed behind his back. “No! I’ll tell youse anything, anything youse wants to know!” He’ll make something up. He’ll sing like a canary. Anything the Warden wants, but not solitary, anything but that. “Please, Warden, please!”

But Murder-Slaughter just gives a tiny wave as they take him away.

Maybe he deserves it. Maybe he shouldn’t be raving and screaming and throwing himself against the walls. Maybe he should sit there and take it because he killed people, and he deserves to go crazy sitting here in the absolute darkness with nothing but the sound of his own guttural cries to listen to.

But Yancy remembers her, and how sweet she could be when she was too distracted to realize it. When she wasn’t threatening to remove his spleen or feed him to the zombies, she could be genuinely kind. And he’d left her for this.

She probably doesn’t even miss him.

Curling into the corner of the room, he traces the tip of his tongue along the scab on his lip and tenderly pokes the bruise on his cheek. The guards haven’t been back since they locked him up in here a few days ago--he guesses days based on the sparse meals he’s been brought--and he hopes that doesn’t mean Murder-Slaughter has forgotten him in here. He’s been known to do it in the past.

That’s how they lost that Barnum guy from a few years ago.

So he sings to himself to try to forget how terrified that thought makes him, but as he’s singing, he feels that weird shift in the air that he felt before with Professor Bo. The shift that got him out of the cell she was keeping him in. The shift that suddenly brought him into her kitchen. Was that why she had taken him? Is that what made him special?

Is that what the Warden wants to know about?

So Yancy stops singing. He doesn’t want to disappear and pop up somewhere else. He doesn’t want to make the Warden mad anymore. He just wants things to go back to the way things were before Miss Bo took him. He wants to forget her completely. He’s done it before, forgotten things.

Yes, that’s for the best.

Beauregard slides a hundred dollar bill across the table. The coffee shop is crowded, loud with music and talking and the hiss of the espresso machine. The man sitting across from her is well-dressed but quiet. He snatches up the money and drops a file onto the table.

Yancy’s name is written on the tab. His picture is pinned to the inside as Bo skims over the therapist’s notes. “Memory loss?”

“He suppressed the memory of killing his parents, only knows what other people have told him about that night.” The therapist adjusts his collar like his tie is on too tight. “Can I go now? I gave you what you want.”

“Not yet,” Bo snaps. She smacks the file closed. “I want to know about him. How is he doing since he came back? Have you noticed any... changes?”

The therapist, Dr. Flemming, Bo thinks he said his name was, shakes his head. “I haven’t seen Yancy since he returned to the penitentiary. He’s been confined to solitary by the Warden. It’s apparently caused a big fuss with the other inmates. Yancy always was a favorite.”

Bo is only vaguely aware of the coffee cup scalding her fingers and palms as she clutches it tight. “What? How long has he been in there?”

“Nearly two weeks at this point.” Flemming rubs his temples. “If this goes on much longer, it’ll be considered a violation of Yancy’s rights. Not to mention the hunger strike.”

“Hunger strike?” Bo finally releases her coffee cup and looks down at her reddened hands. This is all her fault. A whole prison full of inmates starving themselves over one sweet, naive idiot all because she was too curious for her own good. “Thanks for the information, Flemming. It was good doing business with you.” She gets up, taking her coffee and slipping the file under her arm as she goes.

She’s got some calls to make.

Yancy is poking at the dry spots on his tongue when the door to his cell opens. He curls in on himself as the light assaults him, and someone drags him to his feet even as he tries to shield his eyes, shield his face from another attack. “Yancy!” It’s the Warden.

Tears slip down Yancy’s cheeks. “Please, let me out. Please, I’ll be good. I will.” His accent is softer after so long in the dark. It always is. Something about the dark and the quiet smooth out Yancy’s personality until he’s just a nobody at all.

“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, boy,” Murder-Slaughter mutters. “The whole prison is on a hunger strike because of you, do you know that?”

Yancy’s heart squeezes so tight that his toes curl up. “A-a what?”

“They refuse to eat until I let you out of solitary!” the Warden barks, and Yancy winces at the loud noise. Everything is loud. So loud. “So they won’t eat until you tell me what I want to know. Are you really going to be the reason that your friends starve?”

No, Yancy doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want anyone to hurt because of him. “Tell ‘em... tell ‘em not to do that. I’m okay. I’m...” He shakes his head. His brain keeps fading out like a radio station turning to static. “I’m okay.” He hangs limp in the guard’s arms.

“Tell me what I want to know.”

But he can’t. Because then the Warden will only be even more mad. He’ll want Yancy to show him how he did it, how he disappeared from one place and reappeared in another, but Yancy himself doesn’t even know how he did it. So instead, he tells him something between the truth and a lie. “Something about my tattoos, Mr. Warden, sir. She said something about a temporal map, I think. Whatever that means.”

The Warden grabs Yancy’s face and strokes a thumb over his bruised cheek. “And that’s all?”

“That’s all,” Yancy sobs. He resists the urge to lean into the Warden’s hand. “That’s all I swear.”

Murder-Slaughter kneels down so that his eyes are level with Yancy’s, and he smiles. He really does have a nice smile. “I know you’re lying to me, and for that, you can stay in this hole. Your friends will get tired soon enough. They’ll eat again before long. And everything will go back to normal, only without you in it.” He tilts his head to the side and watches Yancy’s eyes break with fondness.

“And you can rot in here for all I care until you decide to tell me the truth.”

[fan-imagines]

Jackson Avery ~ Bleeding Out

MASTERLIST

<follows storyline, so may contain *spoilers*>

Jackson Avery x NeutralReader

Synopsis - You leave the OR to get blood and run into Mr. Clark. He shoots you and you fight to stay alive in the small supply closet.

Word Count - 2.3k+

**Warnings** mentions of mass shooting

“Dr. Y/l/n, would you mind going to get more O negative blood and also more gauze, please?” Dr. Altman asks me. I am scrubbing in on a surgery with Dr. Altman, Dr. Hunt, and Dr. Avery. Normally a nurse would do this, but I find It better for me to move around in surgery, even if it’s just for two minutes. All the doctors believe I shouldn’t, but Dr. Altman understands and only asks me to do so when we are at a slow moment in the surgery that she knows I can do.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.” I smile, but she can’t see through my surgical mask.

“Thank you.” I nod and leave the OR. I take off my gloves and take off the additional protection I have on for surgeries.  

I go to the blood supply room, and I don’t see O neg blood. I groan, annoyed because I’m missing the surgery. I continue walking down the hallway, and start to wonder why I don’t see anyone. I make It to the other blood supply room, and I look around. I hear the door open and close behind me. I turn to the sound, expecting to see a doctor, but instead I see Mr. Gary Clark.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clark. You can’t be in here. This is private for staff.” I tell him as nice as I can. I was one of the residents on his wife’s case. She turned out to be brain dead, so we had to unplug her.  

“You were one of the people on my wife’s case. One of the supposed ‘doctors’ that should have saved my wife. You killed her.”  

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clark. I don’t specialize in neuro, Chief Shepherd does. If I saw anything that I thought was remotely suspicious, and could have saved her, I would have spoken up. I’m so sorry, sir.” I tell him, totally genuine.

“It’s too late for sorry.” He pulls out a gun, and my eyes go wide. He points it at me, and shoots it to my stomach. I fall to the ground, and grunt. He leaves the room, but I can only hold my stomach. It feels like I got stabbed with fire. I feel hot tears fall down my face as I squeeze my stomach to stop the bleeding. The bullet hit me in more of my spleen area. If it hit any major organs, I could very well bleed out from the inside. I grab a kit I can use to give myself a blood transfusion. I attach the O neg bag to a needle, and IV. I can easily see the veins in my arm, and I put the needle In. This should help a little, and hopefully buy me some time. I look around for something I can use to hold pressure. I know I will get weak soon, If someone doesn’t find me. I see a thick book, it probably has medical things inside. I reach up and grab it. I also see gauze that I can use to keep the pressure applied. I lay flat on the ground, and wrap my body with the gauze, then put the book on it, then wrap it in gauze again.  

“Ahh.” I cry out, but not loud enough for Mr. Clark to hear me if he’s near. I keep squeezing the gauze, and blood runs down my stomach, onto the floor. It hurts, but I have to make sure I don’t bleed out. I tie the gauze, and it stays in place when I let go. I try to continue to breathe, and stay awake.

!Jackson’s POV!

The door to the ER is opened, and Chief Shepherd comes in.

“Could I speak to Dr. Avery, please?” I hand the clamp I’m holding to a nurse next to me, and walk over to him.

“Yes sir?”

“How is the surgery going?”

“It is going fine. The patient is stable. They are almost finished.” I tell him.

“Once you are done, do not leave this room. There is a shooter in the hospital, we are on lockdown. Do not tell Dr. Altman and Dr. Hunt until the surgery is over. Can you handle this?” I nod, in so much shock. Then i remember that Y/n left to get blood. 

“Y/n left to get blood.” I tell him, trying not to panic too much

“I will keep an eye out and have someone let you know of any updates. Get back to surgery so they aren’t too suspicious.’’ I nod and walk back over.

“What did the chief want?” Dr. Hunt asks me.

“He was just asking how long the surgery was going to take. He needs the OR next.” I go back to my spot.

“Okay. Could you please take back the clamp.” I nod, and I notice that my hands are shaking. “Keep those hands steady. You can’t be a good surgeon If you can’t steady your hands.” I sigh, and nod.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” I try to steady my hands, but I can’t stop thinking about Y/n, and all the other doctors, patients, nurses. I can’t think about that now, I need to concentrate on this surgery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, we’re done here. I need to get him to ICU. He is still critical.” Dr. Hunt says.

“You can’t go anywhere.” I tell him.

“Why not, Dr. Avery? This patient still needs intensive care.”  

“You can’t because we can’t leave this room. There is a shooter and we’re on lockdown.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Shepherd said-.” But I’m cut off.

“I need to take him. I’m going to take him.

“But Shepherd said-.”

“We can’t stay here. The patient is critical.”

“Well, Shepherd said-.”

“I know what Shepherd said. I’m still taking him.” He says.

“I’m going with you.” Dr. Altman says. They continue before they leave. I sigh, and take my gloves off. I rub my hands on my head. This can’t be happening. I can’t do this. I can’t just sit in this room, but I also can’t leave.  

About thirty minutes later,  I hear people talking outside. I go to the door and open. I see Cristina and Meredith sitting on the floor. They jump when they see me.

“What are you doing? You know there’s a shooter, right! Get in here.” They come into the room and they tell me Chief Shepherd was shot. “We have two nurses, and two anesthesiologists.”

“But we need a surgeon.” I look at Christina.

“We have a surgeon.” Christina says, and I nod.

!Your POV!

“Rising up… back on the… street. Did my time… took my chances. Went the… distance now… I’m back on… on my feet.” I sing so I don’t fall asleep, but I can’t remember all the words right now. My brain is so cloudy. I look at my stomach, and see that I’ve bled through the gauze. I reach to it, but I don’t have the strength to fix it.

“Someone… help me.” I whisper, and close my eyes. I quickly open them back up, not wanting to fall asleep. I turn my head to look at my watch. It says two-fifteen, which means I’ve been laying here, bleeding to death for four hours. I’m lucky I’m still awake. That I am still even breathing. We went into surgery at ten o’clock, they should be done by now. That reminds me of Jackson. His face. If he could just come into the room right now, that would be amazing. I take the deepest breath I can, and continue singing.

“Rising up back… on the street… did my time… took… my… chances.” I feel my eyes close, and i can’t even make myself force them back open.

!Jackson’s POV!

I sigh and walk into the on-call room. We just got out of surgery with Chief Shepherd, after having a gun out to our heads. The man has been taken care of, and the Swat team has cleared the hospital. I need to go find Y/n. I change out of my clothes, and walk out of the hospital. I see lots of people, the police are questioning doctors and nurses. Most of the patients have been transported to a different hospital. I see Chief Webber, and I go over to him.

“Hello, Dr. Avery. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Do you know if Dr. Y/l/n has gone home?” I ask him

“No. I haven’t seen, Y/n.”  

“Has anyone seen Y/n?”

“No one has said anything to me.” I look around, and I see Dr. Torres and go over to her.

“Dr. Torres did you see Y/n? When you were in the halls?” I ask him, getting worried.

“No, I’m sorry.’’

“Has anyone seen Dr. Y/l/n!” I shout into the crowd of doctors. They all shake their heads and say no. I run back into the hospital, and run straight to the blood supply room that was closest to the OR we were in. I open the door, but there is no one in there.

“Oh god. Y/n!” I shout as I jog through the halls. I hear something clatter, and I see another blood supply room. I open the door, and I see Y/n lying on the floor. There is a book strapped down with guaze. There is blood all over the floor.

“Avery.” I hear a breathy voice.

“Hey, you’re going to be okay. I’m here. I’m sorry it took so long, but you’re going to be okay.” I grab some more gauze and unwrap the book. The blood starts to flow a lot faster, and I quickly apply pressure with the gauze.

“Dr. Avery!” I hear Dr. Torres shouting my name.

“I need help!” I shout back at her. I turn back to Y/n, and keep applying pressure.

“Oh my god.” She says and comes next to me.  

“We have to get her to surgery, Dr. Torres.” He nods.

“Pack that gauze on and I need you to run to an OR Try your best to not move too much. I’m going to get the doctors we need. When you get to the OR, I need you to get an ultrasound, so we can get that bullet out. We can’t wait for a CT. Okay? Go. Now.” I grab some tape, and quickly pack that on the wound. I run to the OR, following Dr. Torres’s advice in not moving too much. 

“Come on, Y/n. You’re going to be okay. Just hold on.”  

!Your POV!

I wake up in a hospital bed, and to the sun. I feel weight on my hand, and I turn to it. I see someone holding It, and I follow the arm to see Jackson Avery. He’s asleep, but his grip is still strong.

“Mhmm.” I groan when I feel a headache and pounding in my stomach. I see Jackson look up and look at me.

“How you feeling?”

“Pretty good, considering I almost bled to death after laying on the ground for eight hours.” I say sarcastically. He chuckles.

“I bet. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

“Well, I’m glad you found me at all. Don’t worry about when you found me. At least you did.” I squeeze his hand, and he smiles. He leans up and kisses my cheek.

“Is everyone okay?” I ask him. He looks down and shakes his head.

“Reed and Charles are dead. Karev, Shepherd, and Hunt got shot.” I sigh.  

“I’m so sorry.” I tell him. His people from Mercy West got shot and killed because of one man.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I was just worried about you the whole time.” I lightly smile. So many people got hurt, because of Mr. Clark. I see his face again. I see when he took out the gun. I see the ceiling that’s not as white as I always thought as I try not to die. Tears fall from my face, and I cover my face with my hand. I hear Jackson move, then I feel my bed dip on my non-injured side. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him. I grab his shirt, and cry Into it.

“How did this happen?”  

“I don’t know. I don’t know, but we’re going to be okay, Y/n.” He rubs my hair and I slowly fall asleep.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wake up a few hours after I went to sleep. I had terrible dreams the whole time was asleep, so I just don’t sleep. I sit and look at the clock. Jackson starts to move, and I turn to him. He looks like he’s having a nightmare, like I did.

“Jackson. Jackson.” I shake him, trying to wake him.

“Ahh!” He shoots up awake.

“Hey. Hey. You’re okay. I’m here. You’re okay.” I whisper to him. He looks at me, and closes his eyes to calm himself. “Tell me about what happened with you.”

“I was in surgery with Dr. Shepherd and that man came in and held a gun to mine and Christina’s head. He told us to stop operating or he would kill us. He shot Dr. Hunt, and almost shot Meredith and Christina. I had to unplug Shepherd from the machine so it would flat line. Then I got out of surgery, and I found you in a pool of blood. I was so scared, Y/n.” He says, and I see a tears land on his shirt. I pull him to me and kiss him.  

“All those people are alive and okay because of you. Me being one of them. I had nightmares too, and I don’t think they are going to go away soon. But, I’m here if you need me. I need you so, you don’t really have a choice.” I chuckle, and he smiles.  

“I need you.” He says to me.  

“Want to watch terrible daytime TV with me?” He nods, and I grab the remote from my bedside table. I turn on the TV, and get more comfortable with Jackson.

[hxxgxx]

Picking Up The Pieces - Chapter 38

Mingyu x Reader

Chapter 38

Warnings: mentions of blood

It was a long, silent ride to the hospital and Mingyu just held your hand as tight as he could as he watched the paramedics work on stabilizing you. The panic he was feeling stayed bottled inside, he had to keep it together until he knew you would be okay. He looked over you once again, taking in the blood soaked clothing that was being cut away by the paramedics, revealing the deep bruising all over your body. 

Everyone froze momentarily seeing the vast extent of the bruises, not one inch of regular coloured skin visible. The paramedics quickly exchanged a concerned look and glanced towards Mingyu who’s eyes were tracing over each bruise. 

“Stay calm, okay? We’ll fix her up, just breath,” one of them said, sensing the anger that was rising in your boyfriend. Mingyu looked up and nodded, wincing as he saw your body jolt under the touch of the medic. 

“Please save her....she’s all I’ve got,” he pleaded, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Just then the ambulance pulled into the hospital and a flurry of camera flashes erupted as soon as the doors were opened, stunning the medics. They quickly covered you with a blanket and rushed inside, Mingyu never letting go of your hand, ignoring the bombardment of questions from the reporters. 

Once inside, the medics quickly ushered you into the emergency room and Mingyu finally had to let go.

“We’ll come right back once the doctor gives us an update, just wait here,” a medic said over his shoulder as the doors to the emergency room shut behind him. Flashes surrounded Mingyu as hospital security tried their best to push reporters away from the door. He looked down at his hands. They were covered in your blood and began to tremble. Mingyu could feel himself crumbling and sank to the floor. 

The rest of the boys were racing to the hospital and pushed through the crowd, ignoring all of the flashes. They could see Mingyu slumped on the floor and pushed forward, needing to comfort their brother. 

“How did they find out?” Hoshi yelled, pushing a reporter away from his face.

Finally, they broke free and got into the hospital, slowing as they got closer to Mingyu. They gingerly walked towards him, noticing his trembling, blood-soaked hands. 

“Mingyu, she’ll be okay,” Seungcheol whispered gently, sitting down beside him. 

Mingyu couldn’t hold it in any longer and began to sob uncontrollably. Seungcheol quickly pulled him in for a hug, trying his best to comfort him. The boys’ hearts all breaking seeing how hurt and worried Mingyu was. 

Seungkwan and Vernon were doing their best to hold back their tears, but you were one of their best friends. They knew how much you meant to Mingyu and how much he was hurting, but they were in just as much pain. Soon they sat down beside Mingyu, soft sobs coming from each of them. 

“Seungcheol, can I talk to you,” their manager said as he arrived. Seungcheol nodded and got up quietly, Wonwoo taking his place pulling Mingyu into a tight hug. 

Jihoon sat down in a chair, looking out towards the flashing lights outside the hospital. He sighed, rubbing his temples, “How did they know where we’d be? How did they find out!?”

“Can’t they just have an ounce of respect...someone is hurt and all they care about is getting their damn pictures...” Minghao said angrily. 

Joshua had been silent, scrolling through his phone. “They’re already writing articles...” he said quietly.

That was the final straw for Jeonghan. He couldn’t believe that they were being so insensitive and he stormed towards the doors. When they opened he yelled, causing everyone to stop and look at him.

“STOP IT! Our friend is hurt and fighting for her life and all you care about is your damn pictures! How could you be so heartless!?! Think about if this was your friend, your sister, your family member! Would you want someone shoving a camera in your face as you are hurting! GIVE US SOME FUCKING PRIVACY!”

Silence fell across the crowd of reporters and Jeonghan stormed back inside, but not a single flash went off. The boys watched, wide-eyed as he walked back in, the strong act crumbling with each step he took before he collapsed into a chair crying. 

Dino wiped his own tears away and quickly sat down beside his friend. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. That was amazing. Shhhhh shhhh,” he whispered, trying to comfort Jeonghan. 

Silence fell and the only sounds that were heard were soft sobs coming from the boys. Seungcheol and their manager returned and Jihoon, who was trying to keep himself together, got up to talk to them. 

“What do we do now?” he questioned.

“Well...Jeonghan’s outburst has already made its way online, but the fans are supporting him and calling the reports disgusting. The company has already put out a statement explaining the situation and is asking for privacy. You’re schedules for the next while are all cancelled. They realise how hard this is for all of you and don’t want to force you to keep going. The fans were already asking for that and trending it as soon as the first picture of the ambulance hit the internet.”

Jihoon nodded, not being able to really say anything more. He returned to his seat with Seungcheol following and the waiting game began. 

It had been hours and the boys had had no update on your condition. Dino had fallen asleep using Jeonghan’s lap as a pillow and Mingyu had blocked everyone out, sitting like a shell on the floor. Seungkwan was pacing around worriedly, while Vernon just sat with his head in his hands. Dokyeom and Jun had mustered up the energy to go and get food for everyone. Wonwoo still sat right beside Mingyu, arm around his shoulder for support, but said nothing. Hoshi kept talking to himself, panicking and Minghao was trying to calm him down. Jihoon and Seungcheol kept monitoring the internet alongside their manager, making sure that nothing was being spread that shouldn’t be. Joshua had been tasked with calling your family and had spent hours on the phone with your mom, promising to update her as soon as they knew anything. Each of the boy’s was doing their best to keep it together in their own ways, but all of them couldn’t help but worry. 

After six hours of sitting and waiting, a doctor finally emerged and the boys all jumped up with pleading eyes, waiting for an update. 

The doctor sighed taking in the looks of worry on each of the boys’ faces. “I assume you are here for Miss Y/n?”

“H...how...is she?” Mingyu stuttered, fear filling his voice. 

“She’s finally stable. However, she has lost a lot of blood and had extensive internal and external damage. Externally, Y/n had numerous broken bones including ribs, collar bone as well as fractured bones in her face. Internally, there was a lot of damage. Due to abdominal trauma, Y/n has a ruptured spleen and required surgery to repair it. She also suffered from a punctured lung due to the broken rib. We were able to repair these injuries, but she will have a long road to recovery. I have to be honest and say that the extent of her injuries are vast. She is very lucky she was rescued when she was as I do not know how much longer she could have continued on.”

“Can...we see her?” Wonwoo questioned.

“At the moment she is in a medically induced coma to help her recoup from the initial surgery and is unconscious. I am only allowed to let relatives in to visit her,” the doctor replied. 

Mingyu spoke up, “She does not have blood relatives here. We are her family....please sir...”

The doctor looked around before Joshua added, “She’s from America sir, her mother is on her way to the airport, but won’t be here for another 24 hours. She can’t be alone, can perhaps a few of us sit with her...so she’s not alone?”

“Only 3 people may go in, okay?”

“Thank you....thank you so much,” Vernon replied. 

“She’s currently in the ICU, room 4,” the doctor said. “She’s got a long road ahead, but she’s a fighter...stay strong for her, okay?”

“Yes sir, thank you,” Seungcheol said as Mingyu was already making his way to the elevators.

Seungkwan and Vernon quickly following behind them. 

“Just let them go,” their manager said as a few of the boys began to follow. “Those three are the closest with Y/n...you will all get a chance to see her, but let them go for now...”

There was a big sigh of relief that washed over the remaining members, knowing that you were going to be okay was enough. 

“I’ve booked out guest suites in the hotel across the road...why don’t you all go get some rest? I’ve had a call from the police and tomorrow they will want to get a statement from all of you about the situation, okay?”

Nodding the ten boys, tiredly dragged themselves over to the hotel. The remaining group of reporters watching, but not documenting. Jihoon was stopped by a little girl who tugged on his sweater. Her eyes wide as he knelt down beside her. The rest of the boys stopped and watched curiously.

“Is your friend okay?” she asked quietly. Jihoon smiled tiredly at her and nodded, causing her eyes to light up. “That makes me happy. I made her a card to hope she feels better, can you give it to her?”

Jihoon looked down at the card the little girl held out for him, raising his eyes to find her mother, who looked at him kindly. 

“Thank you sweetheart. I will make sure she gets this, it will make her feel much better.” 

“Thank you,” she squealed as she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck in a hug. Jihoon was shocked at first, but slowly wrapped his arms around the little girl, finally feeling more at peace after the chaos of the day. 

Once again he whispered a quiet thank-you to her and she ran back to her mother waiting. The boys were all speechless and each took a turn looking at the card from the little girl. 

“She’s going to be okay,” they all thought and made their way inside the hotel. 

Previous / Next 

Masterlist

[redrobinfection]

(14) Chills

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 14 “Chills”

JayTim | Established Relationship | Food Poisoning | Foodborne Illness | Vomiting | Mentions of other bodily fluids | Sick fic | Want to write with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"Hey! You alive in here?" Tim calls as he enters Jason's safehouse, carefully balancing a shopping bag of 'goodies' on his hip and ducking low to avoid snagging his backpack on the frame as he steps through the window.

A bedraggled head sticks out of the bathroom doorway at half the height one would expect. "Tim? You shouldn't be here," Jason croaks, hauling himself to his feet with the support of the door frame. He looks awful, face pale, cheeks flushed, and dark circles under his eyes. It's only been a day and a half since his symptoms appeared, including copious vomiting, but he already looks gaunt and hollowed out.

Tim ignores him, continues on into the little kitchen, and begins unloading his supplies onto the counter. He's brought an arsenal of medical supplies: anti-nausea meds, antibiotics, fluids and electrolytes - both IV and oral - various disease test kits, portable diagnostic equipment, as well as broths and soups sent straight from Alfred along with saltine crackers, sports drinks, ginger teas, and ginger ale for when Jason’s appetite comes back. He loads the soup containers, drinks and antibiotics into the fridge, keeping his back turned even as he hears Jason shuffle into the kitchen.

"Let me rephrase that: you can't be here. I'm sick. I've got a fever and chills and I've been hurling my guts out of both ends all night and all day. It isn't safe for you," Jason tells him, hovering at the edge of the kitchen like he wants to step forward and shake Tim by the shoulders but knows he shouldn't.

Tim turns and closes the distance between them in two quick steps, raising a thermometer to Jason's temple while laying the back of his hand across his forehead. Jason startles a second too late.

"T-Tim! What are you doing?! Get away!" He tries to back up, but bumps into the wrap-around counter, knees buckling. Tim grips his forearm firmly to bolster him and follows diligently, holding the thermometer steady until he hears a beep.

"One hundred point nine," Tim reads off, nodding sagely. "That's not too bad. Overall, how are you feeling? Have you been able to keep down any fluids in the past twelve hours?" he asks as he pinches the skin of Jason's forearm to perform the skin elasticity test for gauging dehydration. "Mmm, from that I'm going to say 'no' or 'not enough', huh?"

Jason swats away his hand wildly then leans back over the counter away from the other hand Tim lifts undeterred to pull down Jason's lower eyelid in order to gauge the sunkenness of his eyes.

"Wha-wha-what are you doing?" Jason pants, eyes wild. "You can't be here, I have the flu; you can't touch me, I'm going to get you sick!"

Tim shakes his head, but takes a step back, making soothing motions with his hands. "It's fine, Jason, I made sure to--"

"It's not f-f-fine!" Jason hisses, teeth chattering with a full body shiver. "You could die, Spleen-less Wonder!"

Tim raises his eyebrows. "If you would stop running away from me for five minutes, or stop to answer my calls then you’d--"

"I w-was ru-ru-running to protect you!"

Five minutes after his first episode of vomiting, Jason had run out of Tim's apartment like the building was on fire, and then proceeded to lead Tim on a very bizarre game of tag through five separate safehouses over the past day and a half. Tim had been half convinced their wild chase would end with him finding Jason passed out in the street, or on some rooftop, between one place and the next. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or tear his hair out over the whole thing. Probably all of the above.

"I th-th-thought you'd given up by now!"

No, he hadn’t given up, but Tim also hadn't wanted to find Jason passed out in the street somewhere, so he had given Jason space and watched from a distance while he gathered evidence and ran tests.

He reaches into his back pocket, unfolds a Batcomputer print-out and shoves it into Jason's face. Jason frowns as he leans in to read the fine print.

"These are the results of comprehensive pathogen testing on a sample of stool and a sample of the foods we consumed the other night," Tim explains to him. "The tests are conclusive: you have food poisoning, not the flu. The food you ate and your stool both test positive for salmonella."

Jason blinks and his eyes dart to Tim with a flash of worry. "But... but you're okay? You didn't eat any of the contaminated foods?"

Tim smiles warmly at Jason for his concern and shakes his head. "No. Alfred and I are pretty sure it was contained to the sausage on your pizza. We didn't find salmonella in anything else and I didn't eat any of yours, only my own."

"Oh, thank fuck," Jason sighs in relief, sagging back into the counter. "Wait," he freezes, pinning Tim with an odd look, "Did you say stool? How the hell did you get a sample of my shit! When?!"

Tim snorts. "I mean, you did leave an incredible wake of contamination in your path as you fled from place to place." Jason glares and Tim shrugs. "You, uh, forgot to flush the toilet at your second stop. I collected it there."

Jason narrows his eyes. "Even if this is food poisoning, you still have to be careful collecting food samples, touching me, touching my shit--literal and figurative... Jeez, if you get a salmonella infection, that could fuck you up for the long term, Babybird."

Tim nods. "I know. I brought gloves, disinfectant, and plenty of hand soap. I plan to be careful. Alfred will never let me hear the end of it if I'm not."

Jason doesn't look happy about it, but he nods his acceptance, trembling as another chill wracks his body with violent shivers. Tim's brow crinkles in concern. He turns to scoop up some of his supplies then steers Jason toward the couch with a light touch on his elbow.

"Why don't you go get settled on the couch while I prep some fluids for you. I'm guessing you haven't been holding much down--or in--for more than a few minutes at a time?"

"Try not at all," Jason croaks as he subconsciously pulls his elbow away and shuffles to the couch on his own.

Tim grimaces in sympathy. "The diarrhea hasn't let up either?"

"Nope."

"Has there been any blood in your stool?"

Jason makes a face. "No," he gasps, gagging slightly. "Ugh. Can you grab me a bucket or something while you're at it?"

"On it."

Tim brings Jason his sick pail, then proceeds to take more vitals and pulls a blood sample to send along to Alfred. Jason suffers through it with as much grace as he can summon between breaks to gag and retch into his bucket.

"The last thing we need is for the infection to get into your blood, so I brought antibiotics along just in case," Tim tells him.

"The last thing we need is for the infection to get into your blood!" Jason shoots back hoarsely as he comes up from another round of vomiting.

"Don't worry, besides taking sanitary precautions, Alfred started me on a course of preventative antibiotics, just in case I did ingest contaminated material and haven't begun showing symptoms," Tim reassures as he begins prepping Jason’s forearm for the IV.

"Wha-what if you get sick? What am I supposed to do then?"

"Alfred will be by shortly to pick up the blood sample and check up on us, and if at any point I start to show symptoms, you or I are supposed to call Leslie immediately. The alternative is for you to return with me to the Manor." Tim wrinkles his nose to say what he thinks of that alternative.

"Nope. Here s-sounds g-g-good," Jason replies, teeth still chattering. Tim finishes inserting the catheter, starts up the fluids, tapes and then wraps the IV site.

"Okay, that should be good to go for a while. We'll know in a few hours if you'll need the IV antibiotics. For now…" he trails off, taking in the small, nearly empty safehouse and then the shivering form of one miserable Jason Todd. "How about we cuddle up on the couch and binge some Netflix?"

"I don't have a TV."

Tim smirks. "Do you think I go anywhere without my laptop and an unlimited 4G data plan?"

He sets up his laptop on a tray table in front of the couch and retrieves several clean blankets from the hall closet. He drapes two of the blankets across Jason's shoulders, which he accepts with a murmur of appreciation, then seats himself beside Jason and spreads another across their laps. He cuddles up to Jason and attempts to wrap an arm around him, his shorter stature be damned.

"Wh-wh-what are you doing?" Jason stutters, leaning away with a comically alarmed expression.

"You've got the chills, so I brought you some blankets and I’m snuggling you?”

"No, why are you practically on top of me! What if I throw up on you?" Jason wails, attempting to push away. Tim pulls him close and hands him the sick pail.

"You're a crack shot, Jay, so I trust that you won't miss at point blank," he teases.

Jason glares balefully, but gives up trying to pull free. "You're still gonna get sick…" he grumbles.

"I doubt it, but if that's a risk I have to take to snuggle you, then I'll take it."

Jason sags into him and grumbles under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said you're an idiot with a d-d-death wish," Jason growls between shivers.

Tim chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. "Whoa, there, Jay, I think you need to chill out."

"Tim."

[warriorofdragons]

Mother To Be

Kandomere reaches his apartment door and unlocks it and steps into the dark interior. He rolls his suitcase forward and then shuts and locks the door behind him.

He lets out a sigh and then he hears a footstep from behind him and his ear twitches.

He turns and stares out his into his darkened apartment and he lifts his head slightly and sniffs the air. The only person he smells is…his mate.

“Mi Amor?” he calls softly.

“I’m home, it’s me,” he continues.

There’s a small shift and then a face appears around the hallway corner and he smiles at her.

“Kandomere?” she questions softly.

He nods at her and she slowly leaves her hiding spot and creeps towards him carefully. He waits patiently for her, her eyesight being poorer than his in the dark, and on more than one occasion she’s been startled to see his silver eyes in a dark room. She’s wearing a dark blue, cotton nightgown and instead of her satin robe she’s wearing one of his white dress shirts draped across her shoulders.

It’s unbuttoned, because she’s grown far too big to close it comfortably anymore.

She gets within a few feet and her eyes widen and she smiles at him, “My Love,” she says fondly. Then she sets a heavy candleholder she had behind her back on the nearby table, and Kandomere notes that it’s covered in a thick layer of ice.

He opens his arms to her and she steps forwards and he envelops her in his embrace. He buries his face in her hair and he’s careful not to squeeze too tightly. As they both pull back from one another she leans up towards him and he leans down to meet her as she presses her soft lips to his. She pulls away from him and places her hands on his neck and kisses his jaw and his cheek and then she kisses his neck a few times. She pulls away from him and it’s his turn.

He presses a soft kiss to her cheek and then trails down her neck and as his teeth graze lightly across her neck there’s a subtle inhale. He sucks on her skin and then nips gently. Her hands move to his hair and she scratches her nails against his scalp. As he moves to a new spot he starts to hear her breathing come in little gasps and he stops. He presses a kiss to her neck and then pulls away. Her eyelids flutter and she stares up at him with her lust-filled eyes and he presses another kiss to her lips.

“Darling, what are you doing up so late?” he asks.

“Oh…um I had to pee, and then I was thirsty so I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water,” she says softly.

He smiles at her and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“You should probably head back to bed, you need your rest,” he says.

“Are you coming?” she asks.

He nods and grabs his suitcase and places a hand on her lower back and the two of them walk back to their bedroom. The elf leaves his suitcase by the dresser and then he helps his wife back into bed.

“Maretha, told me she took you to your doctor’s appointment?” he asks.

“Oh yeah, she did,” she says sitting on the edge of the bed.

He helps pull the covers back and then grabs both of her feet with one hand and lifts them up onto the bed. He had his oldest sister take her, because he was out of town. He’s taken her to most of them, but sometimes work interferes so his sister and his mother take turns caring for her and watching out for her.

“She was telling me all about how her son was during her pregnancy and when he was born. She mentioned he cried a lot because of all the noise hurting his ears and I’m a little worried that might happen to our baby,” she says placing her hands on her stomach. The elf runs his fingers through his hair, “Well, her ears will be more sensitive than yours, but it’s not as though she doesn’t hear it already,” he says gesturing to the window. She looks to the right at the window, “I suppose,” and then she looks down and pats her abdomen, “Although it is a little muffled I’d imagine.”

He chuckles and she laughs a little too.

She rearranges her pillows around her and he stares at her and wonders how he was so lucky as to have someone like her marry him and carry his child.

“How are you doing? You and the baby?” he asks.

She stares up at him and smiles, “We’re both great, My Love, I wish she’d stop kicking my spleen,” she grimaces and then her face softens, “But we’re both healthy and we’re doing good. We’re doing so good,” she adds tears forming in her eyes at that last part. He steps closer to her and cups her face with his hands and presses a kiss to her forehead to quiet her, before she can’t stop.

“Are you coming to bed now?” she asks.

He sighs, “I’m going to shower first and then I’ll join you, Mi Alma.”

She pouts a little at him, “But I missed you.”

“And I, you,” he says, “I won’t be long, promise.”

She sighs and lies down on the bed and makes herself comfortable.

He then takes off his gun and sets it in a drawer along with the holster. Then he removes his jacket, tie, and shoes and heads to the master bathroom finally.

He showers and occasionally he tilts his head in her direction to check in on her.

He finishes up, and then dries himself off and walks out of the bathroom, completely nude. He reaches into his drawers and puts on some clean underwear and a pair of blue pajama pants. The elf then walks over to his side of the bed and pulls the covers back carefully, trying not to wake his sleeping mate.

But the moment he sits down he hears her stir.

“Kandomere?” she whispers.

“Shh go back to sleep,” he whispers back.

But instead of doing that she starts to sit up, and he crawls into bed next to her, “I said go back to sleep.” She reaches for his face and presses a kiss on his jaw and he closes his eyes and relents and she continues kissing down his neck. She even leans down and kisses his bare chest a few times and her left hand moves down his neck and across his chest to his shoulder.

“Did I mention I missed you, My Love,” she asks softly.

He swallows, the elf knows what she’s up to, and how she manages to arouse him with only the simplest of phrases and touches is something he’s always loved about her. Or perhaps it is because he loves her.

She trails her lips lightly over his chest again and he’s glad that he waxed his chest before he came home. Her lips trail up to his throat and she nips him hard and he gasps. That’s another thing he loves about her, her teeth are not as sharp as his and as such, she’s free to use more pressure. Something he greatly encourages.

She moves up to his ear, “You won’t even let me blow you,” she whispers.

“I don’t want you to hurt your knees, Darling,” he says.

She kisses his cheek, “I’m sure we could find a position that works.”

The elf had been very careful with his wife once she had become pregnant, due to his considerable strength he feared he might hurt her or the baby. A fear only heightened due to his wife being human and the fragile nature of half-elven babies. They had discussed at length with each other and the doctors the possibility of losing their baby at any time. It had even been believed they might not be able to conceive at all by doctors, despite both of them having evidence to the contrary.

His mate simply missed his touch, he cannot fault her for that, he missed hers as well. It is why he’s allowing her to get her fill of him, even though he’s tired.

“What if I sit in your office chair? And then you could stand while I do it?” she asks kissing his neck. He ponders that for a moment his home office chair is very comfortable with plenty of back support…and it adjusts to raise or lower…

“Alright, tomorrow then?” he asks.

Her eyes light up and she kisses him and when she pulls back her fingers caress both of his ears and he lets out a small groan as his eyes slip shut.

“I’ve missed the sounds you make my, Gentle Elf,” she says softly.

“You made me make plenty last week,” he mutters opening his eyes.

“Yes, but that was last week,” she replies.

“True,” he admits.

“How about tomorrow you join me in the shower so I can show you how much I missed you?” he asks playfully.

“Didn’t you just take a shower?” she asks also playfully.

“Yes, but you weren’t in there with me,” he says.

She nods, “A shower it is then,” and she presses her lips to his again.

Then she starts to settle back onto the bed finally and he helps her place her pillows again and then lies down next to her, and when he does she shifts so that her head is on his shoulder. He moves his arm and she lifts her head as he wraps it around her and holds her close. She rubs her face against him and he presses a kiss to her forehead. She grunts suddenly and her hand moves to her stomach, “That was a good one,” she mutters. The elf moves his right hand to where hers is on her abdomen and after a moment he feels another kick.

“She’s quite strong,” he huffs with a smile on his face.

“I’ll say,” his wife replies.

She settles against him again, “Do you think she’ll have your ears?” she asks looking up at him.

“I don’t know,” he replies.

“I hope she has your ears, I love your ears,” she says.

“Oh I’m quite aware,” he says and she lightly smacks the back of her hand across his chest. “You know what I meant,” she huffs.

And then she’s silent for a moment and he starts to close his eyes.

“Kandomere?” she asks.

“Hmm?” he hums and opens his eyes and turns to look at her.

She has both of her hands placed on her abdomen as she rubs it slowly.

“Do you…think she’ll be like me?” she asks.

And the elf knows she’s not referring to her personality.

“Do you think she’ll be a Bright?” she questions.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

“I mean there’s a 50/50 chance right?” she asks.

“Do you want her to be?” he asks, she just shrugs staring up at the ceiling.

“Regardless, as long as she’s safe and healthy, we’ll both love her with all our hearts,” Kandomere whispers. She turns to him and smiles at him and he kisses her.

“Now get some sleep, Hermosa,” he whispers.

She places her hand across his chest and closes her eyes and the two of them drift off to sleep together.

[critical-derolo]

sweet dreams

It's nice being back home. Well, mostly nice. It's probably ninety per cent nice and ten per cent less nice, but that's still pretty nice. Pretty good. And Jester likes her home, she loves her home, and especially her Momma. She missed the birds when she was in the Empire, waking up every morning to a dockside song with salt on the air and chatter of the port in the distance. She had missed that, missed how good the coast felt on your sky - not so dry and itchy like the Empire.

She just, you know, maybe didn't miss sleeping back home. Alone. In her room. Four walls and only herself. The Traveler is so busy these days, he must be so busy. He doesn't visit nearly as often as he used to - and Jester tries to remember all the nights they stayed up late whispering and giggling to each other. Learning magic and hatching plans for epic pranks.

But she can't.

All she can remember are the lonely nights spent in the dark. The endless hours, the tick, tick, ticking of her bedroom clock. Oh, how she hates that clock but it's nice - too nice. Her Momma's Momma's. She can't wreck it, can't silence it, can't scream at it to stop, stop counting the seconds she spends alone. There's too many, they never end, they will never end, she will always... always... end up alone.

Someone knocks on her door and Jester jolts up in the bed. Her heart hammers in her chest and she tells herself to stop being so silly. Even if it is a monster, well, she fights monsters almost every day now. She could definitely take it.

Turns out, though, it's not a monster. Instead, she finds a half-asleep Beau swaying on her feet behind the door, rubbing her eye with a fist and stifling a yawn. "Beau!" she whispers and looks across the hall to the shadows moving under her mother's door. "You're not supposed to be up here, Momma is right next door!"

Even only semi-conscious, Beau grimaces and hunches her shoulders like that action alone will silence any noise she makes. "Shit," she mumbles in that rough voice of hers that maybe sometimes makes Jester shudder. "Sorry. I just wanted to check on you, I know you don't like sleeping by yourself that much."

Affection swells in her chest but Jester glances at the shadows beneath her momma's door again before she yanks Beau inside her room and eases the door closed. "That was very sweet, Beau," she says quietly.

The monk is already settling herself in the small twin bed - not that much of a problem, they've shared smaller and Beau takes up such little room. "Mmkay. Goodnight."

Jester shakes her head, a fond smile curling her lips, her tail swishing behind her head happily - and winces when there's another knock. She sighs, opening the door, and sees Fjord wrestling with his bedhead. "Hey, Jester, didn't mean to wake you."

"Then why did you knock?"

He falters, shoulders slumping. "Right. Uh, so I know you don't like rooming alone and Beau... oh, there she is. Okay, well that's all I-"

He's quickly dragged into the room and the door is closed before he can disrupt momma. "Fjord, that's very nice of you-"

Big yellow eyes pop up in the window and she has to reach up to slap a hand over Fjord's mouth and muffle his shrill scream. Nott snickers on the other side of the glass, sliding a dagger in the crack between the wall, and unlatching the window. "I saw that!" she crows quietly.

His scowl deepens but goes over to help her inside, grunting when Caleb flops over his shoulder. "Apologies, Jester," the wizard says quickly. "I was up late and I do recall you mentioning lonely nights in your room as a child, I thought..." He looks around the room, watches Nott and Fjord start grabbing pillows and blankets from a cupboard and toss them on the floor. "I suspect we all must have thought the same thing, actually."

The door opens on its own, the two looming frames of Caduceus and Yasha poking their heads inside. "We're here for the sleepover," she mumbles quietly, a little bashfully.

Caduceus lifts his long arm, letting the pillows and blankets from his room drop onto Fjord's pile. "I've never had a sleepover before," he muses thoughtfully. "Besides the ones in the bubble, that is. Do they count?"

"No, this is special," Nott tells him absently. "Why does Beau get the bed?"

"You kick anyone but Caleb in your sleep," Jester tells her sweetly, patting her shoulder as she tiptoes by, leaping onto her bed. Beau groans and Jester quickly lifts her knee. "Sorry, Beau!"

"My fucking spleen."

By the time everyone manages to settle down into their spots, Jester's room is crammed full of her friends. Some of them snore, no one quite as loud at Caduceus, and Nott mutters gibberish. It takes a little while before Caleb rolls and finds himself tucked into Caduceus' soft side, Yasha's protective frame behind him. Fjord twitches his lips, turning his head away from Nott's foot on his cheek.

Jester's eyes droop though her smile never fades, never falters, and she finally drifts happily when Beau flops over to wrap herself around the tiefling.

[lozenger8]

in awe of somethin' so flawed and free

Written for @scottappreciation week, Days 5, 6 and 7 (Heartbeats Rising, The True Alpha, Road Ahead). Scott/Stiles, G except for all the swearing. Title from Hozier because I am nothing if not predictable.

There’s an old adage in storytelling of ‘show, don’t tell’ which people frequently try to apply to real life, but Scott doesn’t know how to explain how deeply he’s fallen in love with Stiles without saying the words, because nothing being shown is new. He’s always wanted to be this close to Stiles, always put his life on the line, always imagined a future of them together. Scott has pulled himself apart for Stiles and sewn himself back together, and when he did that, he loved him, but not in the same way. Before, the love felt deep inside him, a tiny ball of warmth beneath his rib cage. That sensation is still there, but now it stretches all through him, radiating out beams of light that skitter over his skin.

Stiles has been back in Beacon Hills for four months and five days. Scott’s not truly back, yet, still commuting to graduate veterinary medicine classes at Davis. And every time they’re in the same room, Scott thinks this is the time he’s going to tell Stiles, this is when the truth will finally slip out. But somehow, some way, he always manages to contain himself.

The thing is, Scott loves the person he can be when Stiles is around, loves who Stiles brings out with a well-timed in-joke, fond smile, raised eyebrow, squeeze on the shoulder, handshake, hug. Only his mom knows him the same way Stiles does, and sometimes that’s a curse as well as a blessing, but there’s such relief in being known. However, he loves Stiles for Stiles too, for being funny and loyal and the parallelogram to his square. Scott’s in awe of how he’s grown, how they both have. Scott thinks, together, they’ve become something to be admired rather than feared, a force of calm and confidence.

Plus, Stiles is objectively hot, there’s no denying it. When Stiles sits close to him, Scott’s pulse races and his tongue goes dry, and he can’t stop visualizing how they’d look together, because damn.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks him on one such occasion, because he does that now, he checks in. Sometimes it’s a little on the condescending side, but Scott still likes it, because for Stiles to be making the effort, he must really care about the answer.

Scott pauses for a moment, because how could he tell Stiles he’s fine, he’s good, he’d just be better pressed all up against Stiles, limb against limb, lips against lips?

Like that, probably, using those precise words, but they’re lodged in the back of his throat.

Better to show him, maybe, but what if Stiles doesn’t reciprocate these feelings? Sometimes, Scott thinks… maybe. But then that air of suggestion dissipates and he assumes it was imagined.

“Honestly? I’m kinda exhausted. Finishing off my degree is kicking my ass,” Scott says, because he has learned to both accept and mention his limitations more frequently and it’s been very useful, especially in moments like this when Stiles frowns in commiseration and rubs a comforting hand up and down his arm.

“Skip the pack dinner and movie night, go straight to bed?” Stiles asks, and Scott knows he doesn’t mean to make it sound like it’s something they’ll be doing in tandem, in the same bed, but his nervous system doesn’t.

“No,” Scott says. “I wanna see everyone and when we’re all together I feel energized.”

“I asked Alan about that and he said it’s purely psychosomatic. There’s no mythical True Alpha pack boost magic.”

“I don’t care. And the great thing about placebos is that you can know they’re bullshit and yet they still work.”

Stiles graces him with a wide smile, which he does a lot more now; half-knowing, half-skeptical, and he moves his hand from Scott’s upper arm to his shoulder. The touch lights up every single nerve on his right side and Scott’s spine shivers.

“Tell me if it gets to be too much.”

“I will,” Scott replies with a dramatic roll of his eyes. He might even be telling the truth.

*

Scott wasn’t lying about wanting to be with the pack. He can and will listen to hours of Liam and Mason debating the latest movie to watch, likes watching Corey and Hayden mocking them with love-filled expressions, and will sit behind Malia alongside Kira and braid her hair. Sometimes, Lydia video calls from Oxford. Stiles talks shop with Noah in the kitchen, ostensibly preparing food and usually bringing far less than Melissa and Scott bought into the living room. Scott will attempt to pick Alan’s brains in some covert study revision in the guise of casual conversation and never get away with it. When they play the movie, Stiles will sit so close to Scott he’s practically in his lap. And it’s good.

This night, he really is so tired his bones ache, so Scott says his goodnights halfway through the second movie and goes to shower before tucking himself up in bed. This ability to cast himself loose when he needs to is one of the many benefits of still living with his mom when he stays in Beacon Hills. He’s going to get his own place, eventually, when he makes a living wage and isn’t pulled pillar to post. Luckily, his mom seems in no hurry to push him out.

An hour later there’s a knock on his door. Scott awakes, flicks on his lamp, mumbles, “Come in.”

“Oh, you really went to sleep, shit, sorry,” Stiles says, looking poleaxed.

“I did tell you I was tired,” Scott says, sitting up against his headboard and tugging his sheet so it covers him to his waist. He’s wearing boxer briefs and only boxer briefs, and even though he’s been naked around Stiles before, these days doing so feels charged.

Stiles shrugs a shoulder. “That’s my go-to excuse when I need me-time.”

“I would not being doing that in a house full of supernatural and extraordinary humans,” Scott states, emphatically.

“I did not mean it like that, oh my God,” Stiles replies, giving a shocky little laugh. He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll go.”

“No, stay. I think that power nap did me a world of good.”

Scott gestures to the side of his bed and after he closes the door, Stiles settles there on top of the sheet, shoulder nudging into Scott’s. His sleeves are rolled up and Scott reminds himself to take slow, deep breaths to calm his rapturous excitement at the possibility of skin meeting skin.

“Are you sure it’s just you being tired?” Stiles asks. “There’s been something different about you lately I can’t pinpoint.”

Scott wants to tell Stiles the truth, but he also doesn’t want to put this barrier between them. He knows they won’t break, they’ve been through too much, but they’ll definitely change, in small yet significant ways. Stiles will stop touching him so much, and that little piece of familiarity, or home, will disappear.

“It’s nothing bad,” Scott says, because it’s not. He refuses to think of his feelings as something to discredit, diminish or degrade.

“All right,” Stiles says, though every tone is grudging.

“You trust me, right?”

“Always. With my life.”

“Then please trust me on this.”

Stiles nods, picks at the hem of his shirt. In the half-light of the room he’s all angles and shadows, and Scott’s heart rate picks up to astronomical heights. The heat he always feels where Stiles is concerned burns inferno hot. There’s tension between them, taut as one of Stiles’ yarn threads.

“You want a run-down of the rest of the movie you missed?” Stiles asks, taking that tension and cutting it, short and sharp.

“Yeah, go on, spoil me.”

For the next hour, they chat, until Scott’s woozy again and Stiles is fully slumped against his arm, head cradled on his shoulder. Scott’s the most comfortable he’s been in a long time, with the weight and heat of Stiles on him, the scent of him in his nose.

“I should let you sleep again, but I don’t wanna,” Stiles says, quiet. They turned Scott’s lamp off a while back so they’re shrouded in the dark.  

“Cruel. I thought you cared about my best interests?”

“I do, but I care about mine too and every part of me wants to be near to you.”

Scott tries, really hard, not to read too much into that, but it’s a pretty suggestive declaration. “Even your spleen?”

“You fuckin’ nerd. Especially my spleen. My lungs. My skin. My heart. All my organs, really. Nope. I just heard what that sounds like. No need to say it.”

In the interests of ‘show, don’t tell’, Scott reaches over and takes Stiles’ hand. He twines their fingers together, strokes his thumb in soft circles against Stiles’ delicate skin. It feels so right and he wonders why he never tried before.

In the interests of really needing and wanting to tell Stiles, he speaks too.

“I feel the same way. That’s the difference you’ve been noticing. I realized I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Scott can only see an impression of Stiles’ expression, but all fear he held evaporates as Stiles snuggles even closer to him and sighs. “Thank God. I thought I was the only one.”

They hold onto each other a little longer and then Stiles shifts position. Scott can feel him a few inches away, can just about see the whites of his eyes.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” Scott asks, hopeful.

“Actually, I was waiting for you to kiss me.”

When they kiss, it’s a mutual movement. Stiles’ kisses are all-encompassing. He has a way of mouthing at Scott’s bottom lip with a sweet suck. Scott’s whole body is set alight and he embraces it, embraces Stiles.

And this, this is new, this way of expressing the love he’s always felt. Scott smiles into their kisses and thinks about all the other ways he can show Stiles how thoroughly he has his heart.

[welllpthisishappening]

Have Your Cake [And Eat It Too] (Part 1)

Killian can't seem to stop moving. It's a nervous habit. He's a little nervous. Because they've been waiting forever and he's been waiting forever and he really just wants them to be a family. Officially.

Emma needs to keep moving. To win. She's very competitive. And she's needs a distraction. Because they've been waiting forever and trying a bit longer and she really just wants them to be a family. Officially

Or: Another quasi Out of the Frying Pan sequel with the legal system and Kitchen Stadium.

Word Count: Like 8.5 KILLIAN’S GOT PATERNAL FEELINGS, OK Rating: A pretty low T, but with kissing! AN: Oh hai, internet! I have a lot of fic in my docs that’s been sitting there for months (I wrote this in July, ha) and I’ve just decided to...start posting it. This is another Out of the Frying Pan two-shot sequel-type thing and timeline-wise, it kind of happens during The Anti-Pumpkin Brigade. Like after Henry helps Killian bake, but before it ends. This will make sense once you read it, I swear. Thanks for reading if you do. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll, with Emma’s POV on Friday. 

His tie felt like it was going to strangle him.

He kept tugging on it, yanking and twisting and it wasn’t really helping that whole breathing thing, but Killian figured that was a lost cause as soon as they’d been told to wait in the hallway. They weren’t given a timetable.

That felt unfair.

But that might have just been whatever his tie was doing to his windpipe.

He’d definitely knotted it too tightly.

And he hadn’t even knotted it – Emma had, far surer fingers that morning and they’d shook a little, but it was less than him and they were both nervous and Killian couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d taken a deep breath. It might have been before they got in the car.

Regina had ordered them a car.

Killian licked his lips, feet following the same path they’d been marching for however long they’d been in that hallway and he could feel Emma’s eyes on him, gaze following every turn and twist and there was another set of footsteps just behind him, like they were trying to imitate him or something decidedly familial and only a little overwhelming.

He turned, a quick twist of his hips and a far too loud squeak of the dress shoes he’d actually gone out and bought a week before and it was a miracle they hadn’t run into each other before, so it only served that they ran into each other then. Henry’s body was impossibly solid when it collided with Killian’s front, Emma’s gasp sounding impossibly loud in that hallway once they both stopped pacing.

Killian groaned and Henry let out a noise that might have be some kind of grunt, forehead colliding with several different body parts. He, somehow, managed to step on Killian’s right foot as well, an elbow digging into something that may have been his spleen or possibly one of his kidneys, but he didn't need both of those so that seemed like a moot point.

And fatherhood probably required some kind of kidney sacrifice.

Killian would have been willing to go that far if it got them out of the hallway with a concrete answer. Or, at least, let him take off his goddamn tie.

But all of that felt kind of extreme and his arm wrapped around Henry’s middle on instinct and maybe that was more important than invasive surgery.

“God, why are you so immobile?” Henry mumbled, not lifting his head away from Killian’s collarbone. They’d both taken their jackets off at some point, and Emma was wearing one of them, the other tossed in the corner of the bench they’d both ignored for the better part of the last hour.

They’d been in that hallway for an hour.

“You were following me, kid,” Killian argued. He could feel Henry’s answering laugh as easily as he heard it, and it felt wrong to hope that there was a smile there too, but he knew there was and that happened pretty consistently.

Family Court should consider that.

There should have been a teenage-smile quota or something that sounded way better than that did. Killian was obviously going insane. He was going to blame his tie.

And how the walls in that hall seemed to be closing in.

Henry was still standing on his foot.

“Small space,” Henry muttered.

“We should have asked for multiple hallways.” “So we could all pace. I know Mom wants to, too.” Emma snapped her head up at the accusation, eyes bright and smile only slightly incredulous, but Killian knew she wanted to pace too and she really was absolutely heinous at lying. That was probably good for Family Court too.

She wouldn’t have lied about how much Henry wanted this.

“I’m sitting here,” Emma said, waving a hand through the air like that proved her point. Henry hummed, lower lip stuck out slightly and disbelief practically radiating off him. She clicked her tongue. “And it’s a miracle neither one of you sustained any broken bones.” “I don’t think either one of us is quite that brittle, Swan,” Killian countered.

Emma’s mouth twitched, and he hadn’t said it for anything except the habit and the instinct it absolutely was, but it wasn’t quite right either and they hadn’t gotten married to help make all of this easier, but it did help and being married was...kind of fantastic.

Actually.

There were probably better words for it, more detailed adjectives and things that didn’t sound quite as juvenile as fantastic, but Emma’s fingers had absolutely shook when she tied his tie that morning and Killian couldn’t really breathe and the teenager still standing in the same few feet of space as him desperately wanted them all to be a family.

Officially.

Family Court should consider that as well.

Because it really was just a technicality. That apartment three blocks away from The Jolly was their home in the way home was supposed to be, with dirty dishes in the sink that consistently drove Emma insane and her shoes in a pile behind the door that consistently drove Killian insane and they regularly just closed Henry’s bedroom door so they didn’t have to acknowledge what was going on behind it. But there were also Sunday morning breakfasts and handwritten recipes hanging on the refrigerator and Henry had come up with a color-coded scheme on the calendar in the kitchen, with filming schedules and cooking schedules and soccer practices.

He’d made varsity that fall.

Killian baked every home game.

“I’m not suggesting either one of you has brittle bones,” Emma laughed, smile still on her face and Killian shifted his arm away from Henry’s middle to wrap around his shoulders.

Killian arched on eyebrow. More instinct or something. Possibly making sure Henry made that noise he consistently made whenever he saw Killian and Emma kissing in the kitchen of a variety of restaurants and apartments and near his painstakingly accurate schedule. “That’s certainly what it sounded like,” Killian said. “What do you think, kid?” “Totally what it sounded like,” Henry agreed. His hair moved when he nodded, far too long and it was always too long and maybe that’s why they’d been in that hallway for so long.

If that was why they were in that hallway, Killian was actually going to break something.

Possibly the bench Emma was sitting on.

That looked almost brittle.

“It wasn’t,” Emma sighed. She slumped slightly, shoulders dropping and the expression on her face was somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“I played soccer, Mom.” “I know, I was there.” “And my foot is like...stronger now or something.” Emma tilted her head, smile shaking a bit and Killian felt like someone had throw ice in the pit of his stomach and let it slink up his spine and maybe they should have mentioned that in the hearings too. Because he’d totally lost his mind.  

Henry had only just gotten off the crutches a few weeks before, a high ankle sprain that looked decidedly awful when it happened, the sound of his cry echoing in Killian’s head for days after. It had happened quickly, everything in soccer happened quickly, but he and Emma had been sitting in uncomfortable metal bleachers and suddenly Henry was on the turf and clutching his foot and the kid who’d been trying to defend him was waving for a trainer.

Killian had tried to get on the field.

Emma had tried to get on the field.

And they’d both paced in a different hallway that night, what felt like several thousand x-rays and discussions with a doctor who promised it’d be fine because he’s young and healthy and Henry had mostly been upset he’d miss the run at a city title.

That made some of the ice in Killian’s stomach melt, but he’d never felt quite that terrified and they’d been in the middle of this whole process and he’d been certain someone would see it as a reason he was unfit and Emma’s laugh was watery when he told her exactly that. And then promised it was the opposite.

“You tried to kill that trainer,” she’d said. “I think that qualifies as pretty dominant dad status.”

Henry asked for pecan pie the next day and hopped into the kitchen on one foot, perching on the counter despite Emma’s objections and he knew the recipe by heart.

“I really don’t think that’s how it works,” Killian said, tightening his arm around Henry’s shoulders. He made a teenage noise.

“Nah, nah, I think it is. Like...I’ve got ankle immunity now.” “Those words don’t even make sense together.” “I think you’re jealous of my ankle immunity.” “You didn’t break it, kid,” Emma reasoned, but that just earned her another teenage noise and a wave of both hands and Killian’s smile felt as natural as the breathing he was supposed to be doing.

Henry tugged on his tie, twisting his wrist and loosening the knot until the fabric was hanging around his neck instead. “Super ankle,” he said. “Back with a vengeance, more powerful than anything or ever before.”

They were not talking about ankles, super otherwise, anymore.

Emma stared at them for a moment, lips pursed and Killian swore she was trying to read both of their minds at the same time. He was breathing easier now.

That was weird.

Henry finally moved off his foot. He didn’t move away from his side, though.

That was less weird.

“Are we all collectively freaking out then?” Killian asked lightly, Henry sagging next to him. His head landed painfully on his shoulder, but Killian didn’t make any noise and Emma’s eyes were far too glossy to be entirely comfortable.

She nodded. “I have no idea how bones actually work. I mean Henry drinks milk right?”

“I’m standing right here,” Henry muttered. “What does milk have to do with anything?” “Calcium.” “Is an...element?” “Why is that a question?” “Because I honestly don’t know.”

Killian laughed, some of the tension disappearing from his shoulders and his fingers tapped out a quick rhythm on the fabric of Henry’s shirt. “Definitely an element,” he said. “Right?” “You asking for confirmation makes me think you don’t know either.” “Mary Margaret would probably know,” Emma shrugged.

“I think it’s an element,” Killian answered. “Picture the periodic table or something. Is that what it’s called?” Henry laughed. “You don’t know either, do you?” “I didn’t major in science.” “But like...cooking. Is science. Kind of.” “The kind of is the very important part.” “And he was way too busy being a history nerd,” Emma added. Killian blinked, not entirely prepared for this deep dive into humor as a means of coping with worrying, but that was probably for the best and maybe if the judge heard them laughing he’d hurry the fuck up.

Or something.

“That history knowledge has led to several well received high school papers,” Killian pointed out.

“I’m still standing here,” Henry muttered, but he sounded like he was trying to stop himself from laughing too loudly. “And don’t say it like that, Killian, it makes it sound like you wrote them.” “You wrote them.” “I know I did, but I just want the record to show that I did.” “Very official.” “I mean, play to your setting or something, right?” “I don’t think that’s the phrase you were looking for at all.” Henry deflated slightly, chewing on his lower lip in a move that was all Emma, but he ran his hand through his hair when he looked up and that was all Killian and, honestly, the judge should have just been watching this.

It was like family in flashing, neon letters that were also bolded and underlined and there were probably a few exclamation points.

“Let’s just agree that cooking is not a science,” Emma said. “At least not in a...science way.” Henry’s whole body twisted when he started to laugh, and Killian wasn’t sure he could support his weight while trying to keep his own legs upright, but an admirable effort was made and that felt like a step in the right direction. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Ok, that’s not what I meant at all,” she hissed. “You know what I meant.” “I really don’t, Mom.” “Swan, can you please explain to the jury how science is a science, but not in a real science way?” Killian asked, the words barely audible when his voice shook so much and Henry buried his face in his shoulder blade again.

Emma stuck her tongue out. “You guys are jerks. And collective history nerds as a unit.”

“Ok, but seriously,” Henry continued. “What is a not science way?” “You want to get grounded?” “No, but I really want to know what a not science way is. And to point out that Killian tried to make a law joke. So really we’re all incredibly lame.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Killian said. “That was funny. And timely.” “And you’re freaking out.” Killian swallowed back his laughter and slightly out of place retort because he’d been living in that apartment for years and he and Emma were married and this was a family that knew each other in a way he’d never believed was possible.

God, he wanted this so much.

“Not really,” he lied, but his eyes flickered to Emma and he could almost hear Henry’s disagreement.

“It’s going to be fine,” Emma whispered. “And it’s…” “Fine,” Killian echoed. “It’s going to be fine. No matter what happens.”

“And we can totally ask Mary Margaret about calcium. It’s got to be an element. Right? What else could it be?” “Why are we all looking for constant confirmation?” Henry asked. He hadn’t actually lifted his head off Killian’s shoulder yet, a heavy, but almost pleasant weight there and the walls had stopped moving at some point.

It probably had something to do with the whole breathing easier thing.

Maybe Killian should have taken his tie off too.

He wasn’t sure if the judge would like that.

God, there was a judge.

“That’s a loaded question, kid,” Emma muttered, scrunching her nose. Henry made a different noise, not quite teenage, but a bit more understanding and one of his knees bent when he tried to slump the same way she had. It was harder while he was still standing up.

“Yeah, I know. I just...I mean we did everything right, right?” “More confirmation,” Killian murmured. It worked a scoff out of Emma and half a smile and he couldn’t actually see Henry, but if asked to go back under oath he would have promised he felt his smile as well. Even through his shoulder.

“You know what I mean,” Henry grumbled.

“I do. And we did. Plus some.” “David absolutely did not have to wear dress whites,” Emma said. The smile on her face was as honest as it had been all day.

“That’s still not what they’re called, love.” “I know, but I really love seeing that little pinch in between your eyebrows when you get annoyed.” Killian laughed, resting his chin on the top of Henry’s head. Emma’s smile widened. “That’s diabolical. And maybe even a little rude.”

“You get very defensive about dress whites.” “It’s the principle of the thing.” “Please,” Emma laughed. “Tell me some more about the principle of it. I’d love to hear it.” Killian sighed, but there wasn’t much frustration to the sound and Henry laughed against his side again. “Is there principle to it?” Henry asked. “Isn’t it just...the rules of the army or something?” Emma threw her whole head back when she laughed, an arm wrapped tightly around her waist so she didn’t slide off the bench and Killian resisted the urge to circle the conversation back around to brittle bones. That felt redundant. And he was far too busy being charmed by his own wife and family and, like, his entire life in general.

He’d lost track of how long they’d been in that hallway.

“Oh now you’ve done it,” Emma said. She glanced at Killian, fingers toying with the ring on her left hand and that felt a little like cheating, but it had been a very involved conversation with far too many metaphors and he kind of wanted to keep flirting. “At least he didn’t say Coast Guard.” “Aw, c’mon, I wouldn’t do that,” Henry shouted. “That’s just...disrespectful.” Emma nodded, a look of complete disbelief on her face and something that felt a little like the expression she made when Henry promised there’d be parents at several different weekend parties. “Sure it is, kid.” “It is! Killian, I need you to back me up on this.” “On how much better and more efficient the Navy is than the Coast Guard?” Killian asked.

“Yes, exactly that. And to ignore my Army joke.” “Ah, it was a joke then?” “A better one than Mom’s, honestly.” “Grounded,” Emma yelled, throwing her arm into the open space in front of her like pointing made it more official.

“The joke didn’t even make sense,” Killian added.

Henry blinked. He didn’t seem all that worried about being grounded. Maybe that was why the judge was taking so long. “Wait, why? Whose? Mine? Or Mom’s?” “Either or.” “Why not?” Emma asked.

“It’s winter.” “And?” “And,” Killian repeated. “You wear dress whites in the summer, Swan. Because they’re lighter and...summery.” Henry made a noise, something that sounded like a laugh and a snort and Emma’s nose was probably going to stay scrunched for the remainder of their hallway encampment. “We are all lacking in some pretty basic knowledge, aren’t we? Is summery even a word?”

“You know what I meant. So, really, everyone was wrong. Dress blues in the winter, which is exactly what David would have worn if he wore an actual uniform to his testimony.” “Do we not know what he wore?” “I didn’t think to ask, honestly.” “Yeah, that’s fair.” “Generous of you,” Killian mumbled, but Henry laughed again and he kept tugging on his hair and that had to mean something.

Maybe they’d make pecan pie later.

They had a party to go to later – some kind of no matter what happens extravaganza that Mary Margaret and Ariel had come up with when they first got the letter about this and the day and one of them had cried or maybe both of them had cried and that might have been the last time Killian had taken a deep breath.

“Ah, whatever,” Emma mumbled. “I’m still not hearing anything about the principle of dress whites and how you’re the only one who gets ‘em.” “I think it had something to do with that previously discussed history degree actually and several rather large ceremonies and ships.”

“Mmmhm.”

He kept drifting back to oaths and Bibles and right hands lifted in the air, but Killian figured that had something to do with the ridiculous amount of time they’d spent in that courthouse and the teenager plastered to his side and how much they all wanted in some great big overwhelming way and he swore Emma’s eyes got greener when they met his.

He smirked.

“I think you’ve got quite a few opinions on dress whites, love,” Killian muttered. He pressed the tip of his tongue onto the edge of his mouth, appreciating the slight rush of color in his wife’s cheeks and that was a very appealing sentence.

“I never said that.” “It was implied.” “That’s not how this place works,” Emma objected, waving her hand again like the far too ornate ceiling above them proved her point. "Gross,” Henry groaned, dragging out the word until it sounded like testimony in some kind of federal case. They were in the wrong courthouse for that. “This is super gross.” “Ah, but this is what you signed up for, my boy.” The words were out of Killian’s mouth before he’d considered them entirely – vaguely possessive and even more honest and he hadn’t been breathing all that consistently, but his tie suddenly felt even tighter and he was only a little concerned about the oxygen levels in that hallway. His eyes practically flew to Emma, her mouth open slightly and it didn’t appear she was breathing much either, but she blinked and there were tears on her cheeks and a wobble to her lower lip that was only kind of disconcerting because it ensured Killian started thinking about her lower lip.

Killian tried to swallow, to get rid of the wad of whatever that had taken up residence in the back of his throat, but everything felt a little impossible and he desperately needed to blink.

The room felt like it was starting to spin.

That might have been the Earth – flying off its axis with less gravity involved or something else that was far too scientific for a family of TV personalities with absolutely no knowledge of the periodic table of elements.

And the door opening down the hallway sounded impossibly loud.

“Swan-Jones?” a voice called, far too confident and far too even and Killian didn’t look away from Emma, certain the moment he did he’d realize every single inch of him was actually on fire. That was probably just his lungs.

Oxygen was important.

Science.

He’d started reciting recipes in his head at some point.

He was going to bake pecan pie and then eat the entire, goddamn thing on his own.

The voice was also wearing heels and a cautious smile when she moved into the hallway, expression unreadable when she took in the scene in front of her, which, really, was fair because Henry’s tie was still hanging around his neck and Killian’s face was probably blue from a lack of air and Emma was still wearing his suit jacket, one of her feet halfway out of her shoe.

They’d done everything right.

David definitely hadn’t worn dress blues to his testimony.

But Robin had promised it went great and Mary Margaret probably burst into song during hers and they had written statements and they were famous. And that was kind of an unfair reason for any of this to work when plenty of not-famous people deserved to get their adoptions recognized by the state of New York as well, but Killian was almost willing to be a selfish asshole if it meant he got to call Henry his in a way that didn’t seem totally strange.

“Swan-Jones,” the woman repeated, not a question that time and Killian hoped he nodded. He couldn’t actually feel his head move though, so maybe he hadn’t. Emma definitely hadn’t.

“Yeah,” Henry said quickly, when it was clear that neither of the adults in this situation were going to do anything. “That’s us.” The woman smiled, encouraging and hopeful and Emma’s eyes widened. “We’re ready for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

He started walking as soon as the heels did, only stopping when he realized Killian and Emma were still frozen and his suit jacket was on the ground. His eyebrow did something absurd. Killian had more or less resigned to simply dying of oxygen deprivation in the hallway.

“So, you guys going to move or, like, what’s your deal?” Henry asked, tugging on the hair behind his ear and Emma let out a strangled noise. Her hand found Killian’s as soon as she stood up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma stammered. “Of course we are.” “Should we all put our hands in or something? Go team?” “We’re not doing that,” Killian said.

“Good, because that would have been totally lame.” Killian nodded, next to Henry in a few quick steps and Emma’s hand tightened or his hand tightened, but it didn’t matter because they all kind of moved as one unit when they walked towards the room at the far end of the hall and that felt a bit like a sign.

It all happened fairly quickly.

He didn’t remember it happening that quickly when he was a kid, but he’d been a kid and Killian assumed the justice system had evolved in the last few decades, but he refused to linger on any of those thoughts when he was so goddamn happy.

Emma cried.

Henry might have cried. Killian absolutely cried, blinking quickly and breathing almost evenly, holding onto the very solid teenage body that collided with his front when a judge he couldn't remember the name of told them congratulations or good luck or something. It all sounded a bit like white noise, a buzzing in the back of his consciousness that wasn’t nearly as important as the feeling of his heart – possibly expanding or bursting through his chest.

Henry’s arms wrapped all the way his middle, face pressed into Killian’s chest and he wouldn’t have minded if the kid stepped on both his shoes.

His kid.

“I knew it’d work,” Henry said, barely loud enough for Killian to hear, but he did and there was probably something to that. Some kind of emotional reason or adrenaline and he really needed to stop thinking about science he didn’t understand.

Killian held on tighter, like he was trying to preserve the moment or push it into every single dark and dismal part of his brain that still inexplicably existed, that was still worried this whole thing was some kind of long con. He squeezed his eyes closed, letting his cheek rest on Henry’s head and there was hair everywhere, muttered voices in the background that were probably saying something important, but neither one of them let go.

That was way more important.

Emma nearly knocked her chair over when she moved, ignoring a different official voice, and it took a few moments, but Killian moved his arm and kissed the top of her hair and it sounded like someone took a picture.

“Figured it was a good moment,” the voice from the hallway explained, shrugging slightly with half a smile on her face.

Killian’s laugh felt like it shook its way out of him, blinking even more. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It absolutely was.” They did, eventually, sign more paperwork and listened to more voice and Killian briefly wondered if it was safe for all of their necks to move that much, but they just kept nodding and smiling and wiping away tears and neither he nor Emma could seem to move more than a few feet away from Henry.

He made the picture his lock screen in the cab uptown.

Henry nearly climbed over Killian when they stopped in front of The Jolly, sprinting into the restaurant with cries of I’m starving on his lips, and it wasn’t quite that cold out yet, but it looked like it might snow later and Emma’s breath caught when he wrapped his arm around her waist.

She slammed into him.

“Your bones, Swan,” Killian mumbled, but he hadn’t stopped smiling in hours or days and probably wouldn’t for the rest of his life and there were still tears in her eyes.

“You were the one who started yanking on things.”

“There was no yanking.” “No?” “No. There was...just….” She lifted her eyebrows when he trailed off, mouth twisting as she tried to do the mind reading thing again and her hands were warm when they rested on his chest. He’d never actually put his suit jacket back on, the fabric hanging off Emma’s shoulders with her own coat in her hand. He hoped she couldn’t feel whatever his heart was doing.

That was a losing battle though.

He was more than prepared to admit defeat.

“You’re usually far more articulate, Lieutenant,” Emma muttered, tilting her head up so her hair fell down her back and he wished his laugh wasn’t so unsteady.

“I’m going to go ahead and blame it on several different and rather large emotions.” “Good ones?” He leaned back at the tone of her voice, still a little cautious and a lot concerned and Emma bit her lip when she stared at the minimal amount of space between them. “Swan,” Killian started, tucking his thumb under her chin. “Emma, love, c’mon, look at me.” It took a moment, but she finally lifted her gaze and not kissing seemed absurd and a little irresponsible. He wasn’t irresponsible.

He was someone’s dad.

Officially.

Killian had to bend his knees to reach her, arm falling back to her waist to tug her against him like occupying the same few inches of space would make this even more official than it already was and one of her feet did land on his.

They started laughing – joyful and easy, the air around them mingling together because neither one of them had been willing to actually pull away and Emma’s fingers brushed through the back of Killian’s hair. She peppered his face with kisses, quick brushes of her lips across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and just under his eyes and it wasn’t like being branded, but it felt a little bit like being chosen and that was ridiculous.

They were married.

They were a family.

There were rings and partnerships and two restaurants that were thriving, but this felt like all of that and then some – a step in a direction Killian had always been sure he’d never take, a family and a home and everything all together with really delicious pecan pie.

“First names and dramatic sidewalk makeouts,” Emma mumbled. “Pulling out all the stops, huh?” “If it’ll prove my point, I’m willing to circle back around to the sidewalk makeouts.” “Oh, that was smooth.” “That was the goal.”

“I’d say it definitely worked, but that might have been partially the whole adoption thing too and I just--” “--I am, Swan,” Killian promised, appreciating her slightly scandalized look when he interrupted her. He kissed her before she answered.

“That is really, really unfair. I’ve been trying to read your mind all day and then you go and pull that? Super lame.” “Well, you were the one throwing out nerd-based insults, love.”

She laughed, something that was treading dangerously close to a giggle and more feeling and other emotions, the warmth of it all seeping through his shirt and possibly into his soul and his fingers started tracing patterns on his back. “That was flirting,” Emma muttered, poking her finger into his side before twisting it through a belt loop.

“Was it?” Emma swatted at his shoulder, scoffing when he caught her around the wrist and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “God, you are on a roll here.” “Why did that sound like an accusation?” “It wasn’t. It was just…” “You’re usually far more articulate, Swan,” he grinned, ducking his head to drag his lips along the side of her jaw and it was a miracle no one had come looking for them yet. Henry had probably told them not to.

“I mean, that’s an enormous lie, but apparently we’re way worse at flirting than I thought so who knows what’s happening.” Killian chuckled, more kisses and more laughter and several passersby on the sidewalk had been vocally displeased by their loitering in front of their own restaurant.

Their restaurant.

Their kid.

Theirs.

“You going to finish your thought, Swan, or do you actually want me to guess?” “This flirting sucks.” “I’m really not opposed to scandalizing more tourists or the peanut gallery that’s probably going to press their faces up to the glass sooner rather than later.” “Nah,” Emma objected. “There’s food and Henry doesn’t want to see his…” She bit her lip, drifting off again, but he’d signed all the papers and she’d signed all the papers and they were a collective pronoun in a way that Mary Margaret probably taught all her classes.

Maybe they were also as lame as advertised.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Emma said quickly, rushing over the words like that would make them easier to say and Killian tried to nod encouragingly. “One way or another. It wouldn't have...Henry wouldn't have cared, he still would have thought you made the Sun come up every morning.” “That’s only because I help consistently feed him.” “No, it’s not.” It wasn’t. Killian knew it, as much as some misplaced sense of modesty didn’t want him to. Because he kind of thought Henry made the Sun come up every morning too and he’d never actually objected to the endearment in the hallway and he couldn’t understand how he still wanted more.

Theirs might have become his new favorite word.

“It’s not,” Emma repeated softly, tugging on his belt loop. “God, I can’t keep saying the same things over again, but it wouldn’t have mattered and I know it’s, shit, it’s not a technicality. It’s not. It’s a lot and more than that, something bigger and important and everything. It’s…” She sighed, pressing her lips together and Killian waited, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears. “I wanted this,” Emma whispered. “As much as I’ve ever wanted anything and Henry did too and I just…” She growled, actually growled, throwing her head back and Killian’s laugh wasn’t really that, but his body didn’t know what noise to make when it also knew it probably shouldn’t be kissing her in time of emotional turmoil.

He really wanted to kiss her again. 

“It’s not a technicality,” Killian agreed, voice clipped and he hoped his heart didn’t bruise his ribs. “And I know nothing would have changed if that judge was actually an asshole.” That got a laugh out of Emma, head resting on his chest and arms around his middle. The same way Henry’s had been. “But I wanted the label, Swan,” he continued. “I wanted the name and the paperwork and the legal responsibility. I love you, and I love Henry and I...I wanted to be his dad. Officially.” “Good word.” “I like it.” “It’s really not because of the food.” “I know it’s not.” Emma sniffled, nodding half to herself and half to him and it took several pointed coughs from the open doorway for either one of them to notice. “You guys going to come in or what?” Robin called. “Because there’s honestly a ton of food and it’s freezing out here.” “Those are the only reasons we have to come in there?” Killian asked.

“Also because we’re throwing you guys a party. Congrats, it’s a boy!” Killian laughed, Emma’s body shaking against his and Robin made a contradictory noise when they didn’t immediately move. But he really couldn’t blame the day’s emotions for kissing his own wife and Killian glared when he heard several other calls for their immediate arrival inside.

“How much food is a lot of food?”

“You worried about your inventory, Killian?” He shrugged. “I mean...a little. And also Eric’s blood pressure if he had to make all that food.” “Still in Brooklyn.” “Who made the food?” Robin widened his eyes meaningfully, Emma clicking her tongue in something that sounded like frustration. Killian’s lungs were never going to recover. “When?” he asked. “How?” “How?” Emma asked. “Did you just ask me how I made food?” “None of that was on the color-coded schedule.” “That’s because it was kind of a surprise, Lieutenant. That’s usually how that works.” “Also,” Robin added, leaning around the doorway. “The rest of us do have a general idea of how to feed ourselves. Capable of helping or whatever.” “At least of reheating,” Emma mumbled.

“And you were way too busy filming those last few IC episodes to even notice. Plus you were worried this was going to get messed up.” “I wasn’t,” Killian argued, but the words were pointless in the face of two very disbelieving expressions.

Robin hummed. Killian glared again. “Sure you weren’t. Anyway, this is a good thing and was always going to work because as promised I gave a fantastic character witness. So if you guys could come inside and celebrate, Will came up with a drink that I’m sure Killian will hate and Gina wants to talk about the IC filming next week.” “She can’t wait two seconds? I just adopted Henry.” “She asked you about IC in the same sentence as telling you that she’d adopted Roland.” “Ah, yeah, that’s true.” “Exactly. Also it’s seriously freezing out and I don’t know enough about medicine to save either one of you from frostbite.”

“Oh, well, that’s a totally fair reason,” Emma said, pressing up on her toes to kiss Killian quick and someone in the restaurant gagged when he chased after her. “Let’s go, Lieutenant. I really made a ton of food. Maybe if we’re eating Regina won’t ask me about filming for IC.”

The entire dining room exploded when they walked in – cheers and shouts and Roland standing on the bar despite both Regina and Will trying to get him down and Killian had some fairly strong suspicions that the handwritten sign hanging above the hallway in the back had been done by him. And Leo Nolan. And possibly Sebastian. Neither of whom, it appeared, quite understood how to color in the lines yet.

“If you guys don’t immediately compliment me on my fantastic drink concoction, I’m absolutely refusing to be a good godfather to Henry,” Will announced, brandishing a bottle of incredibly expensive champagne.

“I need you to backtrack on that immediately,” David muttered. “Also pour the champagne before Killian comes behind the bar and strangles you.” “I’m not going to strangle him,” Killian promised, but that only earned him several different objections and it was difficult to hold onto Emma when Ariel flew at him. The kid in her arms clung to his side, gripping at his collar and Killian was only a little worried about the state of the buttons on his shirt. “C’mere, Seb,” he muttered, pulling the toddler away from the woman who wasn’t really just his hostess. She’d probably made some of the food. “Before you’re an unwilling casualty to your mom’s celebration.” “That’s incredibly rude,” Ariel said. “Also, like, hug me back.”

Killian laughed, but did as instructed. He didn’t let go of Emma, though, one arm around her and kind of around Ariel and Seb didn’t appreciate any of it, kicking several adults in the process. Killian groaned when a pair of knees slammed into his, knocking the air out of him and there were tears in Ariel's eyes and tears in several other pairs of eyes and, possibly, his own because Killian wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually stopped crying yet.

“Is congratulations the right sentiment?” Ariel asked. “It feels weird to say that.” “Why is that weird?” She tilted her, staring at him with something that felt like a jumble of pride and exasperation and joy because she’d been there since the start and knew and wanted, maybe, as much as Killian did, if only so he’d be as happy as she was.

Ariel was far too nice.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I just...that kid thinks the world of you and a few sheets of paper weren’t going to change anything, but I’m glad they did.” The whatever was back in his throat, tongue darting between his lips and tongue feeling far too big for his mouth.

The restaurant seemed to freeze.

“Told you,” Emma whispered.

Ariel beamed. And tried to wipe the tears off her face. “He was stupid in love you with from like...the first time he saw you, you know that?” she asked, the flush in Emma’s cheeks only slightly distracting. “And totally terrified to do anything about it. You want to know why?” “Why?” “Ari,” Killian muttered, but she was on a roll and in story mode.

“He was worried about Henry.” Emma jerked back, eyebrows pulled low and Killian gritted his teeth. But that might have been because of the kid in his arms. He had very active feet. “She’s being vague on purpose, Swan.” “I’m not,” Ariel argued sharply. “Really, Emma. I’m not. I...damn, this was supposed to be nicer.” “We agreed on nice,” Robin promised, sitting on top of the goddamn bar with an arm around Roland’s legs. “There was a vote.” “What?”

Ruby nodded, Henry between her and Mary Margaret with tears on both their faces. Henry was holding a plate. “There will be a list of speeches,” Ruby said. “But Ariel got to go first because, as she said in her campaign, she was here for the start. M’s and I get to go after we toast because we claim seeing Emma’s start. She was totally in love with you too. From the get.” “That’s pretty true,” Henry added.

“Oh, my God,” Emma sighed, head lolling onto Killian’s shoulder. It wasn’t an objection.

Mary Margaret looked like she’d just seen seventy-six rainbows. “She made French toast before Cutthroat Kitchen.” Killian’s internal organs had dealt with quite a lot that afternoon – fairly certain several of them were still sitting on the floor of the New York Family Court – but nothing had prepared him for that, which, really was kind of absurd. Ariel was tapping her foot.

So was Regina.

She definitely wanted to ask about Iron Chef.

“Anyway,” Ariel said pointedly, nodding at Will when he started passing out champagne flutes. “Killian was totally in love with Emma and Emma was totally in love with Killian, but he was worried that he’d get too involved and he’s...is it super embarrassing if I talk about how much you’ve always wanted some picket-white fence family?” “I mean, you just did it, A,” Will reasoned.

“You’re an incredible orator, Ari,” Killian sighed. He couldn’t actually get angry. That was nice.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, whatever, it’s true. Killian wanted it and didn’t want to get his hopes up, but then Emma showed up here after filming Cutthroat Kitchen and the rest is history.” “Is this your speech?” Robin asked. “A, this is not great.” “God, will you guys give me two seconds, please?”

“You’re losing your crowd,” David muttered, half his drink gone already. He had a phone in his hand, the screen pointed up and a noise that sounded a bit like a crying Ruth Nolan coming from the speakers. “And we’d really like to eat.” “No one was stopping you from eating!” “Can we eat?” Roland asked. He almost jumped off the bar, several adults lunging towards him and Regina actually gasping.

Ariel tried to kick Killian's ankles when he moved, but Emma went with him and Roland didn’t actually jump off the bar, so that was another victory. He really was on a roll. “Hold on a second mate, ok?” Killian asked. “Ari’s got to keep giving a horrible speech.” “Seriously, Killian!” He flashed a grin over his shoulder, Seb moving to sit there and all the fight went out of Ariel. “Seriously, Ari.” “God, you’re heavy handed. Alright, alright, alright. If everyone is done interrupting then, the gist of it is that Killian loves Emma and Emma loves Killian and they both love Henry a lot and we’re all really excited about that and you guys all deserve several picket fences and we made Gina promise she wouldn’t ask about filming for, like, ten seconds at least because she’s going to ask Emma again.”

It had been going on for years – Regina asking Emma to guest on Iron Chef and Emma regularly turning it down and it never really fit in the color-coded schedule and she had her own show and a cookbook that said Emma Swan-Jones on it and Killian couldn’t think about that too much or he was sure his brain would short circuit.

Killian groaned. “We just got here, Gina. Let us eat first.” “I haven’t said anything yet,” she snapped, the heel tap getting louder by the second. “But we do have an opening in a couple weeks when you film because someone cancelled or their restaurant closed or something and--” “--I’ll do it,” Emma said suddenly, and all these changes to the Earth’s oxygen levels could not have been good for the planet.

“Wait, what?” Killian balked.

Ruth Nolan screamed very loudly from Storybrooke, Maine.

It was almost difficult to hear, however, when David dropped his phone.

“Ah, babe, I win,” Will shouted, grabbing another bottle of champagne that they probably should have been selling to customers instead of drinking themselves. Killian’s brain couldn’t process that though, and Belle blushed.

“Let the record show that this was not a nefarious bet,” she said. “It was just...Will thought it was only a matter of time before Gina wore Emma down. His words.” “Aw, c’mon.” “You just announced our bet to the whole restaurant! And it wasn’t really even a bet.” “No?” Ruby asked, laughter clinging to the words. Killian still hadn’t moved. It was way too much for one day. “Please, tell us what it was exactly.” “An agreement,” Belle said.

“For what?” “Gina’s super intimidating,” Will reasoned. “Look at her. Look at that toe tap. Plus, Emma really likes winning too and neither she nor Cap can ever walk away from competition. You should have included that in your speech, A.”

“Oh, shut up, Scarlet,” Ariel muttered. “Make me more to drink.” “And what do you get since you won the agreement?” Mary Margaret asked. Will must have answered, but Killian barely heard them, eyes trained on Emma and the small smile on her face, the way her tongue darted between her lips and her shoulder shifted when she inhaled.

Ruth might have still be screaming.

“Swan,” Killian breathed, and something that sounded exactly like a boulder landed on top of the bar. He hoped it wasn’t Roland.

They both snapped their heads to the noise, Henry already running towards them, food forgotten when he realized what was going on and he was already talking a mile a minute when he landed in front of them.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Henry yelled, jumping up and down and Killian was still holding Sebastian. “Mom, are you serious?” Emma shrugged, eyes flitting towards Killian and his heart promptly exploded. It felt that way. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Could be fun,” she said. “Fun,” Killian said, testing the word and the feeling and Henry was still jumping. David kept trying to get Ruth to calm down. It wasn’t working.

“Could be.” “You keep using the same words, Swan.” “That’s how the legal system is supposed to work, isn’t it? Specific. And science too. All very finite and definite and...official.” “Oh, my God,” Henry grumbled. “This is so gross. You guys are so gross. Were you kissing on the sidewalk? Is that why it took forever to come inside?” “Absolutely,” Killian grinned, tugging him against his side and Henry didn’t argue that.

“Ugh.” “So, like, none of us are articulate in this family, huh?” Emma asked, smile wide as she said the words and Killian’s previously destroyed heart knit itself back together, returned to its proper place in his chest and beat out a staccato rhythm that he could probably conduct science experiments to.

They’d harped on that metaphor for too long.

“Nah,” Henry said, an agreement in the opposite and words apparently had no meaning anymore. “Not really. It’s not bad though.” Emma kissed the top of his hair, a hand resting on Killian’s chest when she leaned forward. “No, it’s not bad at all.” “You really want to cook in Kitchen Stadium, Swan?” Killian asked.

“I mean, maybe not if you’re going to refer to it as Kitchen Stadium.” “That’s what it’s called!” “That’s what Ruth calls it,” Henry mumbled. “You calling it that sounds like you’re trying to impress Mom.” “Should I not be doing that anymore?” “Not unless you want an excessive amount of teenage type groaning for the rest of time.” Killian laughed, tightening his hold and letting his chin rest on Henry’s head again. “Yeah, that sounds awful. You help your mom cook before?”

“Maybe.” “You’re an even worse liar than she is, my boy.” He’d done it on purpose that time. And everyone in that restaurant absolutely knew it. Mary Margaret aw’ed in tandem with Ruth.

“I’m going to make fun of her for that later,” Emma whispered. “But this is...God, you guys keep making me cry, you know that?” “Sorry, Mom.” “Sorry, Swan.” “Man,” she muttered, leaning back to stare at both of them. “That’s going to be problematic. Teaming up against me with cute.” “Swan,” Killian sighed, Henry mumbling several choice words under his breath.

“No one’s teaming up against anyone, Mom,” he said. His voice didn’t shake when he spoke. Killian blinked. Several times. “It’s not...you really want to cook on Iron Chef?”

Emma didn’t answer immediately, and Killian ignored the burning in his lungs, eyes focused on his wife and his kid and his family. She nodded. “I think it’d be fun, don’t you think? Force your parents to battle in Kitchen Stadium. A Swan-Jones family extravaganza.”

“We’ll probably use that tagline,” Regina muttered.

“It’s good, right?”

“Better than.” Killian exhaled.

“I told you that was what it’s called,” Killian said triumphantly, moving to rest his chin on Henry’s head and the laughter in the restaurant was catching, more shutter clicks and sniffles and they’d probably frame that goddamn sign.

“Don’t call it that again,” Henry chuckled. “Does this mean I can help judge? Gina, can I judge?” Regina shook her head. “Probably not. But we can absolutely get you on set. Make them give you some food when they’re not too busy flirting on camera.” “We don’t flirt on camera,” Killian said, but that was the worst lie he’d told in several years and he’d spent part of the day under oath, so it felt even more wrong.

“We flirt a lot on camera,” Emma corrected. Henry groaned again. “Kid, you were very excited about this two seconds ago.”

They might not have been talking about Iron Chef anymore.

Emma’s fingers wrapped around Killian’s left wrist. Henry shrugged. “Yeah, I know,” he grinned. “And I don’t...I mean it’s good when your parents are super, obnoxiously in love, right?” “Confirmation, again?” “Nah, I don’t really need it.” “Good,” Killian said, another hug and more meaning behind the movement and neither one of them said anything when Henry pulled away, leaving a slightly damp mark on his shoulder. “What’d you make? I want to try that first.” Henry beamed. Emma kissed Killian’s cheek. And they ate far too much food, walking back to the apartment far later than they expected with Henry in the middle as both of his parents supported most of his weight.

It took a few moments to get Henry out of his jacket, eyelids fluttering and shoes landing in a heap that Killian didn’t say anything about, but then he mumbled love you guys and Emma breathed out softly and nothing else had ever really mattered except that.

“Love you too,” Killian said.

He woke up the next morning to Iron Chef – mom and dad on the color coded calendar.

[douxreviews]

Jessica Jones - ‘AKA Everything’ Review

Jessica: "Don't try to be a hero. It's a shitty job."

It is indeed a shitty job, full of sadness and loss. But it would be completely out of character for the series finale of Jessica Jones to end in sweetness and light.

Trish was so certain that she was a better hero than Jessica, that killing poisonous bad guys was the right thing to do. (Maybe she should have just moved over to The Punisher.) Jessica said that when Trish killed Jessica's mother Alisa, she could see the evil in Trish. But it took until the very end of this episode, when Detective Costa was listing the charges against her, for Trish to accept what she was. "I'm the bad guy."

Jessica cried as she watched the guards put Trish in the helicopter for her trip to the Raft. Trish looked back at Jessica with an odd expression – acceptance, I think. It was much the same expression Jessica had on her face in the train station when she turned her back on a ticket out of town. Acceptance of who she is. Rejection of the voice of Kilgrave in her head telling her she was right to give up. There's no running away for Jessica. "Keep on living," as the song said. What else can a hero do?

Let me pause for a moment and say that Krysten Ritter has been absolutely perfect as this character: beautiful and shabby, angry and empathetic, strong but vulnerable. Her eyes are so huge and expressive like a comic book character, but everything Jessica is feeling is always right there in those eyes. It's hard to look away when she's on screen. Ritter's Jessica Jones is the embodiment of noir.

Thank you, show, for bringing Luke Cage and his three piece suit back for the final episode; I still think they make a striking couple and I'm sorry they're not anymore. Luke came as a friend to help her finish her hero journey, sharing the pain of sending his own brother to the Raft. Luke thinks that going too far someday is inevitable. That's so sad.

So is the fact that Jeri ended up alone. I wish I could say I was surprised; it would be totally contrary to the laws of comic books if she had managed to procure a happy ending for herself. Not that her ending with ALS would have been happy, even if she had acquired Kith to see her out. Jeri's story line in this final season paralleled Trish; Jeri even mentioned that her body would become her prison.

Kith was not unmoved when Jeri told her the truth, when Jeri offered herself as a hostage in place of Kith. But Kith saw Jeri for who she was, that while Jeri might have died for Kith, it was still a situation that Jeri's choices had created in the first place. In truth, Jeri couldn't sustain her redemption arc for even a day.

There is hope for Erik, though. He went with Jessica to Trish's place and touched her, confirming that Trish was lost as he bled painfully from the eyes – an effective physical manifestation of measuring evil. In their final scene together, Erik brought Jessica kung pao chicken and offered to help her in her work.

Jessica said no. She doesn't trust Erik. But what's lovely is that the last thing Jessica did was bring Erik and Detective Costa together, a nudge pushing Erik in the right direction. It was a good place to leave Erik. He could be a hero if he tries, if he wants it badly enough. It depends on his choices. Definitely the message of this final season.

Ditto Malcolm. Jessica left him her business. Malcolm was with Berry when Zaya came to the door. Malcolm told Zaya the truth – that he loved her, but that he couldn't help sabotaging their relationship, as he was there with Berry, outright advertising that sabotage.

Malcolm has a hero journey to take, too. He might make it, like Jessica did, or fail, like Trish. It's nice to think that he'll succeed. Will Jessica return to her office after all? Will they be partners?

I wish they'd told us. But it's okay that we won't know.

Bits:

— When Trish went to the warehouse, she was wearing a wig. She was Patsy, one more time. Okay, she was always Patsy, pretending to be someone she wasn't. The masked vigilante was Trish's ultimate truth.

— Come on. Seventeen hours in a tiny metal coffin stacked under other coffins, awake, conscious and unmoving? That was so incredibly creepy and claustrophobic that it made my stomach hurt. It also made me think Trish would die in this episode. You can't give an audience more foreshadowing than that.

— Patseras was a tax evader and wife beater, not a killer. The only thing that stopped Trish from killing him was the entrance of his twelve-year-old daughter. Again, that made me think of Patsy, or possibly who Trish was before she was Patsy.

— Jessica seemed to just blow off getting shot in the leg and stabbed through the hand. So much for spleen vulnerability.

— The train ticket Jessica bought in the station was an obnoxious purple, Kilgrave's color, right before she heard his voice in her head. Great detail there.

— "In loving memory of Stan Lee." Sigh. Everything ends.

Quotes:

Jessica: "I'm supposed to fix this. Fix everything. It's my job. No wonder people just look the other way. I want to look away, too. It's all I want." "Everything" is the title of this episode, because Jessica cannot fix everything.

Luke: "He made a decision. And forced me to make one, too." Jessica: "The only decision I'm qualified to make is bourbon or more bourbon."

Jessica: "Are you just sitting here in the dark?" Trish: "It isn't dark for me." Metaphor alert.

Kith: "How long do you have?" Jeri: "It's progressing slowly. My hands, they're not mine anymore, and eventually my entire body will become a prison."

Jessica: "You're not fast enough, and you can't beat me." Trish: "Not in the light." Again, metaphor alert.

Trish: (re: Jessica) "She can't make the ultimate sacrifice." Jeri: "Which is?" Trish: "Everything."

Trish: "Why can't you just let me go?" Jessica: "Sallinger, Nussbaumer, Montero..." Trish: "They won't hurt anyone else." Jessica: "No. But you will."

Trish: "I'm the bad guy."

Jeri: "I need you. I need you." Kith: "I know. You don't want to die alone. But you're going to."

I'm sad to be posting a review of the final episode. I really enjoyed this series, even though the last two seasons weren't quite as strong as the first. I'd like to thank the fourteen Agents of Doux who have written reviews of this show, making it our most shared project to date. I'll miss Jessica Jones. It was my favorite Marvel Netflix series.

Three out of four purple tickets to El Paso,

---

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter Seven The Boggart in the Wardrobe

“Orange, Longbottom,” said Snape. He dipped his ladle into Neville’s potion and let it splash back into the cauldron so everyone could see.

Neville went very pink, and started trembling as badly as he had in Professor Trelawney’s class. Potions might’ve been Harry’s least favorite class, but he wasn’t sure he dreaded it half as much as Neville did.

“Does nothing penetrate that thick skull of yours?” Professor Snape went on. “Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

Harry thought Neville looked like he might start to cry.

“Please, sir,” Hermione began, “please, I could help Neville put it right —”

“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” Snape said.

The Slytherin table laughed. Harry shot them a glare, but they only laughed harder.

“Longbottom,” said Snape, “at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

Snape moved away, and Harry stared after him. His own Shrinking Potion glittered dangerously close to red, and he quickly added his shrivelfig.

“Help me,” Neville mouthed to Hermione, his face the epitome of utter desperation.

Seamus Finnigan leaned over Harry’s cauldron to borrow his brass scales. “Hey, Harry, have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning — they reckon Regulus Black’s been sighted.”

“Where?” Harry and Ron asked quickly.

Neville dropped an extra caterpillar in his cauldron. Hermione quickly hissed at him to grab it before it dissolved into the potion.

“Not too far from here,” said Seamus. His eyes glinted with excitement. “It was a Muggle who saw him. ‘Course, she didn’t really understand. The Muggles think he’s just an ordinary criminal, don’t they? So she phoned in the hot line. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone.”

“Not too far from here….” Ron looked between Harry and Neville. Then he noticed Malfoy watching them from across the classroom, so he made a face at him.

“But he can’t get into the castle,” Harry whispered to Ron. “He has to know that.”

“There’s dementors everywhere,” Ron agreed.

“And Dumbledore,” said Harry. There was no way anyone could get past Dumbledore.

“You should have finished adding your ingredients by now,” said Snape. “This potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we’ll test Longbottom’s.”

Harry took his scales back from Seamus and started packing his things. He looked over to Neville, whose potion was now a yellowish-green. Hermione was still muttering instructions to him while she packed up her own very large bag.

Then Snape went and stood by Neville’s cauldron. “Everyone gather ‘round, and watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”

Harry had to bite back at least seven foul things he wanted to say to Snape. He couldn’t understand why Snape always picked on him and Neville, but he thought it was a bit too early in the school year to start earning detentions. Especially detention with Snape.

It was so silent you could have heard a quill fall from a desk as Snape picked Trevor the toad up. He dripped a small spoonful into Trevor’s mouth and when the toad swallowed, he turned into a tiny tadpole in Snape’s hand.

Snape’s face was sour as he dripped another potion from his robes onto Trevor and Trevor returned to a regular-sized toad again.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Snape said. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.”

Harry shoved his things into his bag and helped Neville clean up the potion. He, Neville, Ron, and Hermione climbed the steps back up to the entrance hall.

As soon as they were out of the dungeons, Ron said, “Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was alright!”

“Snape’s a jerk,” Harry agreed. “How’s Trevor?” he asked Neville.

“Alright, I think,” Neville said, and put Trevor back into his pocket. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble, Hermione —”

But when they turned around, Hermione wasn’t there.

“Where’d she go?” Ron asked. “She was right behind us.”

But the only people coming up the steps were Malfoy and his cronies.

“How’s your toad, Longbottom?” Malfoy sneered. “Good thing you have Granger around to do your potions for you. Expect her to stop Regulus Black for you, too?”

Neville went very pale and Harry stood between him and Draco. Ron did the same.

“Back off, Malfoy. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said.

Malfoy’s eyes glittered. “No? So, I take it Longbottom’s going to catch Black single-handedly, then? Are you going to help? Don’t you think you’d just pass out at the sight of a dementor?”

“You don’t know anything, Malfoy,” Neville said suddenly.

Malfoy scowled at Neville. “I know enough to know that if Regulus Black did to my family what he did to yours, I’d have gone after him myself by now. I wouldn’t be hiding in the castle like a —”

They never found out what Malfoy was going to call Neville, because he was cut off by a gasp that sounded like Hermione. Ron, Neville, and Harry, pushed past Malfoy and found Hermione at the bottom of the stairs, bag ripped open, and books spilled out on the stone floor.

Harry, Ron, and Neville helped her pick them up. Ron turned over a particularly large Ancient Runes book to look at the cover.

“Why do you have all these books?” he asked.

“You know how many subjects I’m taking,” she said as she mended the seam on her bag.

“But it’s only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon.”

“Oh, yes,” she said and took her books from Neville. “I hope there’s something good for lunch. I’m starving.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

When the Gryffindor students showed up for Defense Against the Dark Arts, their teacher wasn’t present. The students sat down and took out their parchment and quills. Harry realized he hadn’t seen Uncle Remus at lunch, and he wondered if Remus had slept in late.

But Remus was only a few minutes late, and Harry was relieved to see how much better he looked today than he had on the train.

“Good afternoon,” Professor Lupin said. “Go ahead and put your books away. Today’s lesson will be practical.”

The class packed away their books excitedly. They’d never had a practical lesson, even with Professor Potter. The closest they’d come was Professor Lockhart’s pixie disaster last year, in which Ron’s wand had broken.

Neville and Pavarti seemed appropriately nervous. Seamus and Dean, however, followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom eagerly. Harry was right behind them.

Professor Lupin took the class down a deserted corridor and then around a corner. They came across Peeves the Poltergeist, stuffing chewing gum into a locked door. Then the ghost took note of Lupin and blew a loud, wet raspberry at him.

“Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves sang loudly. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin.”

Harry, who had grown up with his father and Sirius jumping to Remus’s defense over everything, felt incredibly angry with Peeves. If James had heard anyone call Remus “loony” there would have been an all-out brawl. And then Remus would have chided him for making a scene. Harry wondered if Peeves knew Remus’s secret. He wondered if Remus was nervous about it at all.

But Uncle Remus was still smiling at Peeves and said, “I’d take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves. Mr. Filch won’t be able to get into his brooms.”

But Peeves only continued with his song. The only people Peeves listened to were the Bloody Baron, Professor Dumbledore, and on occasion, Professor McGonagall. Peeves never listened to even Snape, so it was no surprise that he ignored a request from Professor Lupin.

But Remus, still smiling, took out his wand. “Pay attention, class. This is a very useful spell.” He pointed his wand straight at Peeves and said, “Waddiwasi!”

The chewing gum bolted out of the keyhole and straight up Peeves’s nose. The class erupted into laughter.

Harry’d seen Sirius use that spell on his father once. His mother hadn’t been pleased to come home and find the kitchen torn apart.

“Cool, sir!” said Dean.

“Where’d you learn that?” asked Seamus.

“A good friend of mine invented it. Shall we proceed?” He tucked his wand back into his robes and led them further down the corridor, all the way to the staffroom. He opened the door and ushered them inside.

Harry had been in here once before, last year, when he’d come to tell the teachers what they’d learned about the Chamber of Secrets. The wardrobe he and Ron had hid in was in one corner, and at the table of mismatched chairs sat Snape. Snape did not look very pleased to see the class and stood.

“Leave the door open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.” When he reached the door, he paused and turned around. “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

Neville went red, and Harry watched something tighten in Remus’s jaw, but his smile didn’t waver.

“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation, and I’m sure he will perform it admirably.”

Snape’s sneer sharpened, and Harry suddenly remembered his first year, when Sirius and Remus had mentioned some sort of history with his parents and Snape. He’d forgotten about it, because his mother had seemed to get along with Snape so well when she was here. But it all came back to him now, as Snape closed the door with a relatively loud bang.

“Now then,” said Remus, and he led the class to the old wardrobe Harry had hidden himself in just three months earlier. The wardrobe wobbled against the wall.

“Nothing to worry about,” Remus said as some students stepped backwards. “It’s only a boggart in there.”

Harry thought a boggart was definitely something to worry about. In fact, about half the class took another step away from the wardrobe. Even Harry thought this might be outside their ability to manage. He didn’t know why Uncle Remus was giving them this for their first day of class.

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” Remus explained. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock.”

Harry had heard that story. He’d been too young to remember it himself — only a few months old. The clock that he’d grown up with, chiming every hour and at odd intervals in-between, had become home to a boggart. The story got retold a lot because apparently Sirius had discovered it and refused to fight it. He’d held Harry in the kitchen while James, Lily, Remus, and their friend Peter finished off the boggart.

Harry was not particularly excited to fight anything Sirius was terrified of.

“Firstly,” Remus began, “What is a boggart?”

“A shape-shifter,” Hermione said. “It takes the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”

“Very good,” Remus said, and Hermione beamed. “So the moment I open that wardrobe, he’ll immediately become whatever each of us most fears. This means we have a huge advantage before we even start. Have you spotted it, Harry?”

Harry eyed the wardrobe warily. He tried to think of the story he’d heard from his parents, and how it compared to their situation now. “Er — because there are so many of us, it won’t know what shape it should be?”

“Precisely,” Remus said. “It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a boggart.”

He then explained to them how to use the spell necessary to fight the boggart. The class repeated, “Riddikulus,” until Remus was sure they had it right.

Then he called Neville forward. “The spell is the easy part, I’m afraid. This, Neville, is where you come in.”

Neville looked as white as he’d looked in Potions just hours earlier. Harry wondered if he should tell Remus that maybe Neville wasn’t the best person to single out in a classroom, but ultimately Harry trusted Remus, so he said nothing.

“First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?”

Neville’s answer was so quiet, Remus bent down closer and said with a smile, “Didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry.”

In the barest whisper, Neville said, “Professor Snape.”

The class laughed. Even Remus looked amused. “I see. And, I believe you spent part of your summer with your grandmother this year?”

“Er — yes, but I don’t want the boggart to turn into her either.”

“No, of course not. I’d like to picture your grandmother’s clothes very clearly in your mind. Can you see them, Neville?”

“Er — yes.”

“When the boggart bursts out of the wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape. And you will raise your wand — like this — and say, ‘Riddikulus,’ and concentrate hard on your grandmother’s clothes. Can you do that?”

Neville nodded nervously.

“Alright then.” And Remus, with a flick of his wand, opened the door of the wardrobe.

Out stepped Professor Snape, a little taller than Harry remembered, nose a little larger — clearly the boggart was merely reflecting all the things about Snape that terrified Neville, including his intimidating glare.

Neville took a step backwards, wand arm shaking. “R-riddikulus!” he squeaked.

There was a loud crack and Snape stumbled. Suddenly, he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress, an enormous hat with a stuffed vulture on top, and he carried a large, bright red purse.

The class erupted into laughter and the boggart paused, terribly confused.

“All of you,” Remus said, “picture what you fear most and find a way to make it comical. Parvati, your turn.”

Parvati stepped forward eagerly. The boggart turned to her and changed into a mummy, blood-stained and bandaged. She raised her arm and said, “Riddikulus!” and the mummy became tangled in its wrappings. It tripped and its head rolled off.

“Seamus, you next!” Snape called.

Harry watched Seamus turn a banshee silent and wondered what he should do about his boggart. His first thought, of course, was Lord Voldemort. He remembered the terror he’d felt facing the dark wizard when he was eleven, and again, at the age of twelve, destroying the diary. He thought maybe he could make a basilisk funny by replacing its fangs with false teeth, but he wasn’t sure the boggart would turn into a basilisk. How did he make Vol — but then he remembered the dementor, and the cold fear that had taken over him while he was on the train. He remembered the scream and the flashes of light. Harry had no idea how to fight that.

The boggart shifted quickly as each student stepped forward. Ron’s greatest fear was spiders, and Ron turned it into a spider without legs. The spider rolled towards Harry. He raised his wand, still not sure what he would change about a dementor to make it less terrifying, but Remus suddenly came between him and the boggart.

For a brief moment, the boggart became a silvery-white orb, then Remus said, “Riddikulus,” as easily as he might ask Lily to pass the salt.

There was a crack and Remus called Neville forward to finish the boggart off.

They had a brief, final glimpse of Snape in a lacy dress before Neville laughed and the boggart exploded into a smoke and was gone.

“Excellent,” Remus said. “Well done, everyone. Five points for every person to tackle the boggart — ten to Neville who did it twice… and five each to Hermione and Harry.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry said, a little put-out that Remus hadn’t let him fight the boggart.

“You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of class. Alright, everyone, kindly read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me. Hand it in at your next class. That will be all.”

The class gathered their things excitedly, but Harry was not quite as thrilled.

“Did you see me take that banshee!” Seamus shouted.

“And the hand,” Dean said eagerly.

“Snape in the hat,” laughed Pavarti.

“I wonder why Professor Lupin’s frightened of crystal balls?” asked Lavender as the class left.

Harry knew what that shining orb had been, and he was glad everyone else had misinterpreted it. He waited at the door for Remus instead of following his class.

“Uncle Remus,” he said.

Remus smiled at him, “Professor Lupin, Harry.”

“Er — yeah, sorry. I’ll adjust. I was just…. Why didn’t you let me fight the boggart?”

Remus laughed gently. “I thought it was obvious. I assumed it would turn into Lord Voldemort. I didn’t think Voldemort materializing in the staff room was a very good idea.”

“Er — no, I suppose not.” Harry wondered if he should tell Remus that it wasn’t Voldemort he was so terrified of, but the dementors instead. He was still ashamed of passing out on the train, and he didn’t want Remus to think he was afraid of anything, really.

“I believe you have a History of Magic class to get to? And I have some first years to instruct. We can talk more about this later, Harry.”

“Okay, yeah.” Harry picked up his bag, not feeling much better.

As Harry and Remus walked to their respective classrooms, Remus paused before they split corridors and asked, “Before you go — was Draco Malfoy in class this morning?”

“Yeah. He was particularly mean to Neville about Regulus Black being spotted. Why? Can you give him detention for me?”

Remus laughed. “I will do my absolute best to. I’m just glad Madam Pomfrey got him all fixed up.”

“It was just a cut. Buckbeak wasn’t trying to hurt him. Malfoy just wasn’t listening —”

“I believe you. However, Draco reminds me of his father in some ways, and I couldn’t help remembering — Ah, we’re both late now, and I shouldn’t be making a habit of this. Go on. I’ll see you soon.”

Harry had never left a conversation so confused and bewildered, and still disappointed he didn’t get the chance to prove himself with the boggart.

[locitarose]

I’ve officially started rewriting that HP AU and Leonard’s barely even gotten to Gringotts and the word count on this is already more than half of the entire original series so I’d say it’s definitely more detailed. And because I like posting sneak peeks at stuff, here’s a bit of what’s been written so far:

           While most boys would probably shy away from holding their mother’s hand, Leonard didn’t mind. He had been worrying about her and Lisa since she’d convinced his dad that Leonard needed to go to Hogwarts.

           He wasn’t worried about the fact that Lewis had said nothing other than “good riddance” and “at least I’m not paying for that crap”. No, Leonard worried about what Lewis would do when he realized that his mom had taken sixty pounds out of the account so that Leonard could get extra things if he wanted. (Books, he thought, might be his best bet. Books might not be perfect but it’d give him a place to start at the very least.)

            “Mom, we don’t have to convert all—“

            “We do,” she said, interrupting him with a smile as she pushed Lisa’s stroller. They weren’t far from the area that Professor McGonagall had said they’d find The Leaky Cauldron. “I want you to do well at this school, Leo. That means learning as much as you can before you get there. If that means your father gets a little upset, well, then he gets a little upset. I only took out what I deposited from some of my side jobs anyway.”

            Which was even worse, Leonard thought. Mom needed that money. Just in case.

            “Mom—“

            “Leonard Snart, that’s enough.” Her expression softened and she briefly let go of him to run her hand over his hair—what little he let remain at least. Her son had taken to keeping his hair cropped very close to his head two years ago. “I won’t hear any more arguments from you on this. We can afford this much and you need it. That’s final.”

            Leonard stared at her for a few moments and then nodded. “Okay,” he said eventually. His hand slipped back into hers, remembering that Professor McGonagall had said that to see the pub they would go through, his mom would have to be touching him though they’d be fine once they were in Diagon Alley.

            It wasn’t even ten minutes later before Leonard tugged on his mom’s hand. “There,” he said, fighting down the feeling of giddiness that wanted to come over him. As excited as he was, he also knew that he needed to be careful. He had no idea what this new world was like or whether the people were decent or not.

            He’d learned a long time ago that while most people might not be abusive like his dad, they were definitely blind to the abuse. Or they just didn’t care.

            He still hadn’t decided which was worse.

            “Oh,” his mom breathed as she took in the grubby looking pub between the book shop and the record shop. She watched as people walked by as if it didn’t even exist and smiled slightly. “Well, let’s go in.”

            The inside wasn’t very crowded. There were a few people at tables here and there though it wasn’t exactly easy to see inside with how dark it was. There were candles lit throughout the room along with a few lanterns giving off just enough light that a person wouldn’t have to strain their eyes to read anything. Leonard wondered why they didn’t just use lamps but decided against asking just yet. He paused as he caught a glimpse of a newspaper called The Daily Prophet and noticed the picture on the front was moving.

            He glanced away before the person reading it noticed him watching and allowed his mom to tug him towards the bar as she carefully maneuvered Lisa’s stroller between the tables.      

            “Excuse me,” Natalie said once they reached the bar, “but would you happen to be Tom?”

            The balding man blinked at the sound of an American accent before smiling. “That I would, miss! How can I help you today?”

            She smiled. “Professor McGonagall said you’d be able to help us get into Diagon Alley. My son is going into his first year.”

            “Is he now? I’d have thought Ilvermorny with your accent,” he said. Off of Natalie’s confused look, he added, “Ilvermorny is the magic school in America.”

            She nodded in understanding. “We moved here a little over a year ago due to my husband’s work,” she said.

            “Aye, that would explain it,” Tom said. “Come along, let me show you how to get in the alley.” He motioned for them to follow him and led them through the bar and out into a small courtyard with brick walls. There was nothing but a trash can (dustbin, Leonard reminded himself) and a few weeds. He smiled down at Leonard and pulled out his wand. “Now pay attention to this, lad. Once you get your wand, you’ll be able to enter the alley with it. You’ll always use the wall that the dustbin is in front of and count from the top of the dustbin.” He pointed at the bricks. “Three up and two across and then tap three times. You’ll do the same thing on the other side to come back.” As he tapped the brick a third time, he moved to the side. “Welcome to Diagon Alley, folks.”

            Leonard watched, unable to hide his amazement as the brick Tom had tapped quivered and then a small hole appeared in the middle and grew wider, turning into a large archway that led to a cobbled street. Leonard followed its path with his eyes, taking in the way it twisted and turned until it was out of sight and let out a breath. The alley was packed with people, some in colorful robes and others in Muggle clothing like he and his mom were. He felt something loosen inside him.

            It was real.

            Tom smiled at them. “Follow the path all the way to the end. You’ll see a large white building. That’s Gringotts.”

            “Thank you, Tom,” Natalie said absently, staring at the alley with just as much amazement as Leonard. They moved forward and behind them they heard the brick shifting, glancing back to see that the archway had become a solid brick wall again. Leonard allowed himself a grin and turned back, noticing the way his mom was smiling down at him.

            They made their way slowly down the path, taking in the different shops. There were cauldrons—Leonard couldn’t believe they used actual cauldrons—piled high outside the nearest shop.

            “Mum, Dad, look! There’s a new Nimbus,” a boy with messy black hair and glasses practically shouted as he ran by.

            “James, get back here,” his mother called. She frowned at a man that Leonard assumed was her husband. “He gets this from you.”

            “Of course, dear,” the man said with a smirk as he began to pull her in the direction of the shop the boy was standing in front of. “Now come on, there’s a new Nimbus!”

            “I’m only going so that you don’t walk out of there with two new brooms, Monty. Honestly, there’s still Christmas and his birthday to think of and he can’t even take a broom this year.”

            “We can still look, Mia, my love.”

            She sighed. “Fine. But we’re going to the apothecary afterwards. I’m nearly out of asphodel.”

            As they moved passed them, Leonard looked over to the right and took in the sights of all the shops. A place that had to be the apothecary the woman from before had mentioned had a barrel of bat spleens outside. He wrinkled his nose a bit at the smell coming from the shop as they passed. Another was selling robes while the sound of soft hooting could be heard coming from Eeylops Owl Emporium. Another shop had telescopes and a bunch of other instruments that Leonard couldn’t identify. Flourish and Blotts had stacks of books outside around the entrance and the store itself was two stories high. A stationary shop had parchment and quills, across from that was a shop that sold trunks. Leonard thought that’d be a good place to start. At least they’d have a place to put everything they’d need to buy.

            Finally, they reached a sparkling white building with bronze doors that towered over the shops. Leonard fought to keep the surprise as he saw the guard at the door, remembering that Professor McGonagall had told them that goblins ran the bank and it was never a good idea to cross them. As the goblin bowed, Leonard nodded in reply. He wasn’t sure if he was even supposed to acknowledge the goblin but it couldn’t hurt.

            Leonard paused as they reached a second set of doors though these ones were silver and had a poem of sorts engraved on them.

 Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

            Leonard paused as Natalie entered the bank, moving off to the side so that he could read the words again. He briefly considered telling his father about this bank just what would happen when he got caught. He dismissed the thought almost as quickly as he’d had it. While Lewis had stopped taking him on jobs due to all the cameras that London had, he was sure that his father would make an exception so that he could use his wizard son to try and rob a wizard bank and Leonard wasn’t about to get busted for his father’s crimes.

            Besides, if Lewis got arrested, it’d leave his mom in a bind. She’d have to try and find a full-time job just to support the three of them and that would mean having to find someone to watch Lisa during the year while he was at school.

            So, as tempted as Leonard was to set Lewis up, he wouldn’t do it. But it was nice to imagine.

            “Trying isn’t worth whatever the goblins would do to you.”

            Leonard turned to find a kid with dark hair watching him, not even bothering to hide his curiosity. He tilted his head.

            “I wasn’t considering it for myself.”

            “Then you must really hate whoever you were considering it for,” the kid said.

            Leonard paused. “Yeah,” he said, not bothering to explain further.

            The kid shrugged. “Long as it’s not me, I don’t care. I’m Mick Rory.”

            Leonard studied him for a few moments and then nodded. “Leonard Snart.”

            They stared at each other for another few moments and then, as if they’d reached some sort of unspoken agreement, headed inside together. A pair of goblins bowed at them as they went through the doors and entered a marble hall. There were hundreds of goblins sitting on high stools behind a long counter. More doors than Leonard had ever seen led off the hall and even more goblins were leading people in and out of those.

            “My parents are already inside but I got distracted by the brooms,” Mick said, scanning the room for his parents. “Ha! There they are.”

            “Leonard!”

            Leonard glanced over to find his mom coming towards him. “Hi, Mom,” he said.

            “Hi, Mom, he says,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Don’t wander off.” She focused on Mick. “Sorry. Hello.”

            “Hi,” Mick said brightly. “Sorry, I distracted him.”

            Leonard fought not to show his surprise at the blatant lie.

            His mom smiled. “Well, I suppose I can’t be mad if he was making a friend. I’m Natalie Snart, Leonard’s mom.”

            “I’m Michael Rory but everyone calls me Mick,” Mick told her. “I sort of got distracted by the brooms instead of coming in here with my parents.”

            “I’m sure we can find them.”

            Mick nodded. “I know which lines they’ll go to.” He paused. “Do you need to convert pounds?”

            “Yes,” she said, not mentioning that they’d need to talk to a goblin about fund that helped students pay for Hogwarts as well.

            “That’s the lines furthest over. If you want to open a vault for Leonard, you can ask one of the goblins over there about it too. It takes a bit but I bet my parents wouldn’t mind waiting for you guys.”

            Natalie blinked in surprise. “If they’re okay with it, then we’d love to join you.”

            “I’ll ask then find you,” Mick said. He glanced at Leonard and grinned before moving off towards a group of lines not too far from where they were standing.

            “He seems nice,” his mom said as they headed towards the lines that Mick had indicated before.

            Leonard nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, thinking of the way Mick had lied to his mom about being the reason Leonard had fallen behind. “He does.”