#abandoned fic snippet

[mediumgayitalian]

He doesn’t realise how odd it is for the infirmary door to be closed until it is shoved open, wooden frame crashing into the wall, making everyone inside jump to high heaven. Will stumbles in after it, and the sight of him makes startled shrieks and grumbles stop in all mouths; his eyes are red-rimmed and bruised with sleeplessness, staring cloudy and vacantly ahead. He walks like he’s unfamiliar with the shape of the ground, steps clumsy and hesitant, hands picking at bare legs. His faded, oversized camp shirt falls all the way down to his thighs.

He looks sick.

He makes his plucking way to the nurses station, oblivious to or uncaring of the eyes on him. When he finally makes it to the door his hands shake too badly to unlatch it, and he tries for minutes before giving up, hoisting himself up on the counter and stepping over piles of paperwork, half-balanced on the spinning chair. He is barefoot.

“What’re you looking for? Austin is the first brave enough to speak, taking a half-step closer. “...Will?”

“Where the hell are the scissors,” Will mutters. He rifles through folders, opens and slams drawers shut. “I need the — scissors.”

“Second drawer down from the right,” says Kayla quietly.

The second drawer creaks, badly, tiny wheels wailing on their tracks as Will yanks it open, shoves it shut. He half-jumps half-falls off the chair, blades clutched in his fist, and shifts over to the back wall, squaring in front of the mirror.

In quick, thoughtless action, he lobs off the tangled ponytail low at the base of his skull. At the back, near the window, Lacy from Cabin 12 inhales like she’s been stabbed.

In the stunned, heavy silence of patients and healers and people in the wrong place at the wrong time, Will methodically pulls straight coils of hair, snipping them an inch from the root. He takes no care to line up the strands, no care to feather the edges. The office scissors are so dull that in some sections he has to saw through, hairs snapping like guitar strings. In minutes both hands are clenched full of dull gold, wiry snippets dusting his neck and shoulders. He drops them in a wastebasket at they flutter like leaves around the rim.

“Thanks,” he says, belatedly, dropping the scissors back on the counter. He turns without looking to the doorway by the shelves of salves, slipping quickly down the Big House hallway.

Austin is the first of them to move, too, darting past cots heavy with gaping campers He turns to Chiron.

“Should I follow him?” he asks, hesitating by the shadows.

For a moment there is nothing. The Chiron sighs, heavy and long, and puts his head in his hands.

“You can most certainly try,” he says, tired and muffled. “But it is the great failure of my life that Will Solace has spent more time in this building than I have in centuries. You wouldn’t find him with Ariadne’s string.”

[petiolata]

Batcest where they're all biologically related...Bruce was just keeping up his playboy persona when he slept with that star acrobat, sex worker at a party, rich socialite and...well no one disputes he fathered Damian lol.

The truth would never have came out if it wasn't for the tabloids. Bruce's ward and his adopted son being together were scandalous enough to feed the media's invasive hunger, but some brave reporter insists that it's even worse--they're both Bruce's bastards, biologically brothers too.

On top of the media attention, there are endless posts and videos online analyzing their bone structure and coloring, the way they walk, their smiles. Everyone seems to believe it.

It picks up enough that the legal department at Wayne Enterprises pushes them to sue for libel/defamation. WE's stock prices and PR image are not helped by headlines like "Move over Folgers, there's a new incest company" and claims that the Waynes "are a modern-day Targaryen dynasty in the making" or whatever shit line the tabloids are selling that day.

So they go through with it. But to sue for libel, you have to prove that the claim isn't true. That should be easy enough, right? One DNA test will clear that up...

The results are, to say the least, horrifying. Do they stay together, despite the world's condemnation and the sickening knowledge they now possess? Can they? But how could they bear to end it when they love each other so much...

[corazondebeskar-reads]

working on the last chapter for of rage and ruin

(other than the epilogue)

[antebunny]

Babysitter from Hell

Jason changes his mind on never associating with any of the Bats ever again because of one Stephanie Brown. She had absolutely no intention of changing his mind about anything, she just showed up and started talking until Jason begrudgingly accepted his fate as the “I’ll kill for you” member of a “live for me” family. 

(That’s a lie. He’s gotten over 10% of anything that’s ever happened to him in his eventful albeit painfully short life. But he’s working on it, okay?)  

Before Jason knew any better, Steph reminded him of Dick. A cheerful, upbeat personality, a flagrant and equally cheerful disregard for Batman’s orders, an overconsumption of sugary breakfast items, a love for bright colors, and an annoying distaste for brutality, considering both are (technically) violent criminals. 

Really, the main difference he saw was that Steph fucking hates his guts. 

Jason is still sure that Dick will, eventually, after Titan’s Tower. He put his plan to give his Replacement a beat-down on hold after the Bats discovered his identity. It’s hard to maintain his level of hatred for the Bats when they keep soft-speaking at him like he’s some sort of victim they’re rescuing. That’s also why he keeps avoiding Dick. The guy treats all of Jason’s threats against the Replacement like one big joke. Who would’ve thought that the “getting pissed on the Replacement’s behalf” job would fall to his ex-girlfriend?

In summary, Jason thought Steph was a purple-clad, blond-haired female version of Dick with no emotional attachment to the second Robin, and a personal relationship with the third Robin. An enemy, in other words. Someone with every reason to be ideologically opposed to Jason for the rest of time. 

Still, she’s a kid. Jason has promised himself to be nice to all vigilantes, no matter how sanctimonious or annoying, so long as they’re only fifteen years old. So when he finds her perched on a rooftop corner, doing recon on a case that he is working on, he mutters a curse to himself and doubles back to find a good spot to grapple to her rooftop without anyone noticing. He doesn’t want to get in a fight with a kid, but he doesn’t want anyone to think they’re on friendly terms, either. Better that no one knows.

Spoiler notices him coming at the last second and rolls to her feet. Too late if he was actually trying to kill her, and she’s also giving up her position. How sloppy. Jason can’t believe Batman’s letting her out like this. 

“Go run home to daddy,” he growls. “Before I make you.”

That should be enough. Jason has a gun. (A lot of them). She can’t have more than two years of training. She clearly has been instructed not to engage with him, if the way she quietly mutters O, it’s Hood, yes I’m leaving immediately pinky promise means anything. Which is why Jason is utterly floored when she snaps back at him.

“My dad’s in jail, where he belongs,” Spoiler retorts.

“What.”

That’s all Jason can manage when Jason_Todd.exe stops functioning. Several rebooting attempts fail as they run into Bruce is in jail??? then no, obviously not Bruce then I don’t even care if Bruce is in jail then who is Spoiler, anyway? If Jason casts his mind back to who he thought Spoiler was before all this happened, he would’ve said roughly middle class, most likely orphaned, and probably had a parent that was the head of Gotham’s social services before being brutally murdered by some Rogue who hated anyone being nice to orphans. It would’ve been on par for the course, at least. Bruce’s parents were good up until they were good and dead. Same with Dick. Barbara’s dad, despite being the chief of police, was somehow the one non-corrupt cop in all of Gotham. Jason was the only unlucky one.

Or so he thought.

“So unless you’re gonna put me in jail,” Spoiler prompts. “Which would be pretty hypocritical of you, considering–”

“What the fuck is he locked up for?”

Okay, he could’ve said that nicer. And he said he would be nice to kids. But consider: Jason is just not very good at keeping his promises.

Spoiler stares at him blankly in a way only someone wearing white-out lenses and a lower face mask can. “For…being a knockoff Riddler? Ever heard of Cluemaster? I guess it’s understandable for your average citizen to not but like, this is your job, dude. How can you not–”

“Cluemaster?” Jason interrupts again, even harsher than before. He vaguely recognizes the name from the long list of minor villains that came and went while Jason was away. “Arthur Brown?”

“Yep!” Spoiler springs forward and extends a hand. Belatedly he realizes that he hasn’t lowered his gun. “Stephanie Brown, nice ta meet ‘cha!”

And that’s how Jason learns Steph’s name. 

Jason finally does lower the gun, only so that he can bat her hand away and look frantically around the rooftop for anyone who might’ve overheard. “You can’t just tell me your secret identity!” He shouts, careful to not repeat her name even when he’s losing control over his volume. “That–what the fuck! That’s Vigilantism 101!” 

Spoiler–Stephanie–picks up his hand and shakes it vigorously.

“What the fuck,” Jason repeats blankly while his hand–or more accurately, blood-stained glove–is shaken by an overeager fifteen-year-old idiot. “What the fuck. I’m a–a Rogue. I’m your enemy. How the fuck did B let you out in a mask.”

“Okay, first of all, B didn’t let me do anything,” Stephanie corrects, affronted about all the wrong things. “I was the one running around trying to stop my dad’s–Cluemaster, in case you already forgot–plans. Second of all, I know who you are, I’m not an idiot. B got a hell of a lecture on how it’s very not pogchamp to keep important secrets from us. I wouldn’t just tell anyone. Third, I thought you already knew? Aren’t you obsessed with Robin? How come you didn’t already know?”

Jason steps away from her, mind reeling with memories of two-bit criminal Willis Todd and his reign of terror in that shitty, one-bedroom apartment deep in Park Row. He would bet his (second) life that long before Arthur Brown took to the streets, he took whatever it is that’s so fucked up inside him out on those closest to him. His family, the people that needed and trusted him the most, the people that could not just walk away. 

How many times has Jason thought of Willis Todd and burned with resentment whenever the Bats preached about all criminals getting second chances? They wouldn’t get it, he’d told himself; a hollow comfort, clearly, when Stephanie is standing right in front of him, as bright and cheerful as ever, happy to be working with the Bats even while she spits on her father’s memory. 

(Not memory. His name. He’s alive, albeit rotting in prison. Just one more abuser that Batman refused to kill for someone he l–someone under his protection). 

“I know now,” Jason drawls. “Should’ve listened to their lectures on secret identities. Now leave, little girl.”

And maybe it’s the insult, or O (whoever that is, because Jason does not, in fact, know) telling her to go, but Spoiler gives him one more affronted look and leaves.

It’s not the last he hears of Spoiler, of course. Though someone clearly gives her the mother of all lectures afterwards, because she avoids him for a couple weeks. That gives him the time to do his own research. 

Stephanie Brown lives in the Narrows with her mother, a mere hop and skip from where Jason grew up. She went to public school up until last academic year, whereupon she got a scholarship from Wayne Foundation. She attends Gotham Academy, like the Replacement, like Barbara, like Dick (like Jason before that too was stolen from him).

She’s surprisingly similar to Jason. (He swears he’s not just drawing comparison for his own ego). Her mother is still alive, so she received a scholarship instead of being adopted by Bruce. But both fathers were a joke to the very idea of fatherhood. (Both mothers failed to protect them from the father). Both grew up in poor, dangerous neighborhoods with violent, criminal fathers. 

The thing is–and Jason surprises himself with the revelation–he wants to mentor her. Jason is very sure that he understands, better than any of the Bats, what she has gone through. The same soft streak which hates to see kids on the streets wants to take her under his wing.

I don’t understand, Little Wing. What did he do to you?

It’s impossible for so many reasons that it doesn’t bother stating. Jason isn’t a Bat (anymore), and the lack of trust is mutual even if the hate is not. Really, the most important reason should be the fact that Steph hates his guts, except–

“And I know he means well, but he’s just so…overbearing sometimes, y’know?”

Jason slaps another pancake down on her plate. “Tell me ‘bout it.”

They’re a farce, the two of them. Eating pancakes at midnight on the only clean kitchen counter (the other is littered with disassembled guns) while Jason is half-dressed in military-grade gear. Steph, meanwhile, speaks with her mouth stuffed full. Maple syrup drips onto her fluffy white crop top (Jason didn’t know they made fluffy crop tops), and she brushes crumbs off her purple sweatpants. 

It feels like a joke. The remorseless murderer, glowering at his mixing bowl and the teenage vigilante, resembling nothing so much as a chipmunk. (It feels a bit like having a family again).

“Like, it’s like he’s showing off how many friends he has,” Steph continues, oblivious to Jason’s inner monologue. “Which I know he’s not, but seriously. He’s been doing this so much longer than any of us, and then he gets so excited by someone new and tries to introduce them to everyone and it’s like–he’s friends with Starfire, and all the original Titans, and half the Justice League and half of Gotham’s Rogue gallery, and goddamn Superman. And he has B wrapped around his little finger and doesn’t even know it!”

Jason’s pancake suddenly tastes bland and weirdly mushy. “Yeah. Sucks ass but kinda funny.”

Somehow Jason’s attempts to look after Steph on patrol, to make sure she isn’t too injured, turned into this. Steph bursts into one of his apartments of safehouses at random hours of the day, raids his pantry, and complains a mile a minutes about anyone and everything.

“You gonna answers his calls?” Steph side-eyes him. “I know he keeps getting your number somehow and you know he really misses you.”

Which is not to say that all Steph does is complain and talk about herself. She’s all too happy to prod Jason about his (nonexistent) personal life.

“No,” Jason answers shortly, and throws another pancake on her plate. “Eat or get out.”

Steph shrugs and attacks her new pancake with gusto. She doesn’t push or pry, unlike some people Jason could mention, though she always asks. A Bat who is capable of just letting it go. Jason thought he’d never see the day.

If Jason were an “asks question” type of person instead of a “bottle everything up until you choke on it” kind of person, maybe he’d ask about her father. About what really happened with Black Mask, not just what news reports speculate. (Ask how she can stand to love the Bats when they’ve failed her so terribly, when her abuser draws breath, when her murderer walks free, when the Bats sleep easily knowing both of those facts and have no intention of changing either fact even though they claim to l–)

Jason isn’t an “asks question” type of person.

“Hey, can I bring Tim next time?” Steph asks, just shy of casual. “He’d–”

The wooden mixing spoon cracks in Jason’s hand. “Unless you wanna get him a couple’a broken bones,” he says evenly, “I’d suggest keepin’ that little parasite far away from me.”

Steph scowls, suddenly remembering that she doesn’t like Jason. “I don’t get why you hate him.”

Why wouldn’t he. The Replacement represents everything Jason loathes. It’s almost too perfect, how hateable he is.

“I don’t get how you dated him,” Jason retorts, which is maybe a little beneath him. Whatever. 

“Oh, we are not talking about my dating history,” Steph hisses. She shoves her stool back as she stands, fork clattering to the counter. “Bros before hoes. You’re the hoe. Tim’s my bro.” 

Jason is trying to decide whether or not to take offense while she produces a takeout box out of nowhere. For her next trick, she disappears all the remaining pancakes on her plate into the box, seals it smartly, and disappears the box. 

“Thanks for the food. Asshole.” Steph scowls, upset at her own manners and upset at Jason for not simpering for the little leech who wormed himself into Jason’s f–the group of people Jason would’ve once called family. 

Jason is no expert, but when someone makes pancakes for you at midnight, it’s an act of love. Or something. He could never say it out loud, but Steph gets it. She knows what going on here, beneath Jason’s harsh words (and threats, and firearms, and–you get the point). 

It almost feels like having a little sister, or a weird little cousin. Steph isn’t remotely scared of him. She inexplicably wants to spend time with Jason, as rough and unpleasant as he is. Jason doesn’t believe for one second that the other Bats don’t know about her visits, so somehow, they’re fine with it too. The only thing chasing Steph away and flaring Jason’s temper, is, once again, the fucking Replacement.

The next Bat to successfully land a standing invitation to Jason’s (nonexistent) dinner table is also one of the first. Barbara Gordon rolls up to his doorstep one night, armed only with whatever rocket launchers she has installed in her wheelchair (which probably doesn’t sound like “only” to anyone but Jason). The arched frown she levels at him from over her glasses is so familiar, so lovingly judgemental, that Jason tears up a little.

He slams his front door closed and starts dumping his gear, back to Barbara, so he can hide his face until the wetness around his eyes goes away. When he turns around, Barbara is a little closer and a little further to his left, by the kitchen counter stools.

“Hey Babs,” says Jason, at a loss for what else to do. “What the fuck happen’a you?”

“Nice to see you too, Jason,” Barbara replies dryly. “Or should I say long time no see. Since it’s been years.”

Jason meanders toward the kitchen counter, noting a few new visible scars on Barbara’s face and arms. When she leverages herself out of her wheelchair and into one of the kitchen chairs, he realizes just how much taller than her he is now. In his last vivid memory of her, he looks up to her free-flowing red hair, her smirk. Now he cants his chin, staring her down as she laces her fingers together and raises an extremely judgemental eyebrow.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were alive,” Barbara demands. 

Jason shrugs. “Well, I wasn’t. ‘N’ then I was and you didn’t care, so.”

Barbara scowls, an action so perfectly familiar that Jason tears up again. What is up with him tonight? Just seeing someone that he knew years ago is enough to make him lose it. Jason busies himself with the cupboards, once again hiding his face from her.

“That’s not even remotely funny, Jason.” 

Somewhere underneath the lecturing is genuine hurt. Shame she can’t admit to it, maybe then their conversation would be easier to swallow. (Shame Jason can’t, either).

“How would you feel if you grieved someone you cared about only to find out years later that they were alive and never bothered to tell you? I don’t think I’ve seen Dick smile once since w–”

Jason slams a half-drunk can of soda down on the counter. He’d meant to find something better in the fridge, but right now he can’t even remember taking anything from it. 

“‘Course this is about fucking Dick.” Jason loses sight of Barbara’s scowl as his vision swims in radioactive green. “You never gave a damn ab–”

“Just because I love him doesn’t mean I don’t care about you!” 

Barbara’s interruption is the sort of truth that couldn’t be tortured out of Jason. Despite everything, he smiles. Just a quick tug at the right corner of his mouth, but a smile nonetheless.

“You tell him that?”

“Shut up.” At least Barbara sounds exasperated, not mad. “His ego’s big enough as it is. Don’t try and change the subject. I don’t get what sort of game you’re playing, letting Steph stay over while running Dick and Bruce and ragged, and avoiding me and Alfred, and threatening Ti–”

Just half-mentioning the Replacement’s name floods Jason’s head with violent green rage. The can of soda crumples in his hands. Whatever soda was left spurts onto the marble countertop, fizzing sadly. 

“How can you even pretend to care,” Jason challenges, “when the Joker is still alive?”

When Jason’s vision clears fully, Barbara is watching him knowingly from across the counter, over the plastic frame of her glasses. It’s almost pitying, but Jason knows her just a little too well to believe that. 

“Why do you think,” Barbara asks, “I haven’t killed the Joker? For what he did to me. It wasn’t even about me. It was all about getting to Bruce.”

For the first time since Jason came back to Gotham, he falters. There’s so many right answers to that question, but none of them feel like Barbara’s answer. Life-changing injuries, for vigilantes, strip away their identity, their sense of worth. How do you remake yourself in the aftermath? How did Barbara do it without ever seeking revenge? Jason genuinely has no idea.

“You didn’t die,” Jason answers gruffly, feeling every ounce of asshole he is.

“There were times I wish he’d killed me,” Barbara counters calmly. 

Biting, helpless fear that Jason has not known since he saw his mom’s last needle billows in his lungs. Not Barbara Gordon. Never. She means too much to too many people. She’s survived too much to just give up.

“Fuck that.” Jason grabs two cans of soda from the fridge and slides one over the counter to her. “Don’t let that sack of shit win.”

Barbara cracks open her can, then lifts it to hide a tired smile. “You know that’d be what Bruce killing the Joker would do. Letting him win.”

“Fuck that.” Jason places both palms flat on the counter so he won’t spill this soda. He breathes deeply as the green surges. “They’re not fuckin’ comparable. What Joker’s done and just killing the Joker are not the same. That’s not sinkin’ to his level or whatever bullshit, that’s doing this damn city a favor.”

“Let me ask you a question.” Barbara rubs one hand underneath her glasses, scrubbing a loose eyelash off her face. “I’ll probably never fight again. There’ll be experimental technology holding together my spine for the rest of my life. Do you think he should kill the Joker for that?”

“I’d kill him for you,” Jason answers unthinkingly.

(The thought, if Jason had taken the time to think it, is this: Jason can never say I care about you out loud. Todd men love expressing love through acts of violence. Wayne men love unflinching righteousness and devastating justice. Jason is a little too much of both). It’s the truth, though. There aren’t many people he wouldn’t kill if they’d hurt someone he cares about and if said person would appreciate it. He has a short mental list of people to kill for Dick if he ever thinks it would make Dick feel safer and wouldn't make him feel guilty. He’ll kill all of them before returning a single one of Dick’s calls. 

“So. Yes.” Barbara taps a finger against her soda can. “So he should die for causing someone Bruce cares about severe injuries. Then he should kill his old friend Harvey Dent, for what he did to Dick. And Black Mask, for what he did to Steph.” Her gaze drops to the red bat defiantly splayed across Jason’s chest. “The Joker, for you. And then he’d kill you, for what you’re planning to do to Tim. And then himself, for killing you.”

He’d kill you for the Replacement. 

Time stands still in that little apartment. Gunpowder, Febreze and sticky sweetness emanates from the sweat-slick surfaces. Jason struggles to breathe, but for once, he doesn’t see green. For the first time, he regrets telling them his ruined plan to teach the Replacement a lesson. It made them change the security of Titan’s Tower, for starters. And it makes him sound like a monster. 

“It goes nowhere.” Barbara spreads her hands. “It never ends. Please, Jason. Stop hurting yourself. Stop hurting all of us.”

You know he really misses you.

Please, Little Wing. Come home.

Please, Jason. Stop hurting yourself.

Finally, Jason raises his soda can. “To not letting that sack of shit win.”

“To not letting that sack of shit win.” Barbara quirks a crooked smile and raises her own soda in reply.

They throw back their heads and start chugging in unison. Barbara immediately doubles forward, coughing and choking on soda. She slams the can down on the counter and wipes her mouth clean with the back of her free hand.

“Where’d you find this, the League of Assassins? This tastes like ass.”

“Fuck you! It’s a delicacy!”

So maybe Jason can accept his fate as the “I’d kill for you” member of a “live for me” family. It’s more bearable than the alternative: being alone while they worry over him from afar. He’ll even put his plans for the Replacement on indefinite hold.

Steph continues crashing his midnight angst sessions. Barbara adds him to the system she has set up and makes him swear to call for backup if he needs it. (He agrees, but need is a strong word). Jason doesn’t apologize for not telling them he was alive–he doesn’t know how–but he makes up for it by visiting Dick out in Blüdhaven. He even agrees to meet with Alfred in a popular cafe and returns with his head ringing and an armful of teas and snacks.

Best of all is the (unintentional) chokehold he has on Bruce. All he has to do his bat his eyelashes and say something wistful about never graduating high school and Bruce is falling over himself to make him fake identities. The others are all too willing to keep Bruce out of his business. It’s the perfect set up. Jason never would have guessed, when he first came back, that there was family–new family–waiting for him in Gotham. But between the comforting steadiness of Barbara, her willingness to ream him out, his begrudging fondness for his new hellion little sister, and his tumultuous relationship with a brother he loves, Jason thinks he just might stay. 

Sometimes Jason even thinks he might forgive Bruce for not killing the Joker. Maybe not soon, and not for many other flaws that Bruce has yet to sort out, but maybe. All his recent musing on Willis Todd and whether that man ever loved anyone has forced Jason to reconsider his stance on love as violence that he didn’t even know he had. 

Maybe he and this crazy family idea will be alright. Maybe he’ll forgive his dad. Forgiveness or lack thereof aside, they’ll always be some kind of father and son, for better or worse. 

But the one person who Jason will absolutely not forgive is the Replacement. 

Jason still has to deal with the Replacement occasionally. By ‘deal’ he means, of course, that he went to the Replacement’s ugly-ass manor house just to mess with him. Being on good-ish terms with Dick, Steph and Barbara doesn’t mean Jason can’t have some fun. He won’t go through with something like Titans’ Tower, not anymore, but he still can’t stand that arrogant, selfish, entitled little rich brat that wriggled his way into Jason’s family, alright? So he’s going to see for himself just how self-deluded that jumped-up Replacement of his is, sue him. 

No matter how entitled, the Replacement still has school. He goes to Gotham Academy, the school Jason died attending, and he’s in the grade Jason never got to finish. It’s not until about 4 pm that the Replacement actually gets home, so Jason shows up at 6 pm, expecting to find the Drakes having dinner. Instead, the parents are absent, and the Replacement is eating takeout in one of the many living rooms, while in the middle of a game of cards.

“Ooh! Burn a card! Burn a card!” The Replacement taunts his opponent, a girl Jason just barely recognizes as Bruce’s newest adopted kid. 

The girl–Cassandra, Jason thinks, though he hasn’t learned what her traumatic backstory is yet–scowls and slides a card from the bottom of her hand to the bottom of the pile on the rug.

“Your turn,” the Replacement adds.

Cass plays her top card without looking–an eight of spades–and Tim places a ten of diamonds. Then the game accelerates to a pace Jason struggles to understand. There’s a lot of slapping involved. Mostly it looks like they’re just playing cards one after another, until Cass slams her hand down on top of the pile.

“Wait, what?” The Replacement pushes her hand away and checks the top cards. A three of hearts and a three of spades. “Damn, you’re right. Double.”

This time Cass smirks as she scoops up the whole pile. Jason should probably stop spying from the doorway now. He only came to harrass the Replacement a little, not meet Bruce’s new kid. But then she turns her head and stares directly at him, so Jason shrugs mentally and saunters into the living room. He dumps his gun (one of them) on a comfy looking armchair as a sign of peace. 

“So. Bruce’s new kid, huh?”

Cass nods once.

Jason plonks himself down on the coffee table. Legs sprawled, his shoe almost touches their playing cards. He ignores the Replacement staring at him in something akin to awe. It’s in turns enraging, confusing and uncomfortable. 

“Lemme guess. Dad was an ax murderer, Mom died when you were young?” When Cass just stares at Jason blankly, the faintest hint of embarrassment creeps up on him. He tries again. “How’d you end up with this band of lunatics?”

Cass shrugs. She looks at the Replacement.

“Her bio dad is David Cain,” the Replacement explains, having the audacity to look something akin to sternly at Jason. “Her bio mom is Lady Shiva and she gave her away at birth, but after she escaped Cain–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason snaps, through the roaring green the Replacement’s stern look conjures. “What are you, her social worker? She can tell her own story.”

“Right,” says the Replacement, looking satisfyingly ashamed. “Yeah, of course.”

After a beat of silence, with both boys staring at her, Cass raises her hands. It takes Jason a beat too long to realize she’s explaining her story in ASL. Though explaining is a strong word. She makes the sign that Barbara came up with all those years ago, a combination of the sign for bird and the sign for bat, to mean broadly the Gotham vigilantes. Batman, Robin, all the bats and birds who call Gotham home and each other family. Then she makes the sign for good. 

Bats good, Cass says. Then she gives Jason this dead-eyed stare that feels like it’s poking around his soul and seeing all his cringe-fail moments, and asks: Why are you so–? But Jason doesn’t recognize the actual adjective. 

“She’s asking why you’re so angry,” the Replacement supplies, since he apparently knows more ASL than Jason does. A fact that Jason definitely does not care about at all. 

“I’m not angry,” Jason says, you know, like a liar.

[wizardandpirate]

Guys I caved. I caved and I have 4k words of writing about a version of the lil' Doey AU where the player manages to get them all out of the factory. I caved and I'm writing angst. I'm weak. I'm screaming. This piece of dough has taken over my life you have no idea. Bro is levels of relatable I can't describe. I need to hug him before i launch myself into space via explosives

[bookinit02]

well. maybe eddie pov is my place to shine actually

[lbibliophile-sw]

Rearguard

Also on AO3 [180w] @corrieweek - day 3: "you shouldn't be here" @ailesswhumptober - day 6: multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

“It’s almost time. You’re not coming?”

“Thire. For this to work, we all knew a handful of us would have to stay behind to make sure the rest can get away cleanly. It’s my duty as Marshal Commander to see this through. Besides, I’ve known since the first year of the war that there’s only one way I’m escaping Coruscant. Thorn tried to convince me otherwise, but… well. He can yell at me when I catch up.”

“And he’s not staying entirely alone. There are the other volunteers. And me.”

“Stone…”

“No, we’ve discussed this. He’ll be watching you, that’s the whole point. So you need someone else here with the system over-ride clearance codes to direct the evacuation. We started this together and we’ll finish it together.”

“Then shouldn’t I also –”

“No!”

“Thire, you’re a Commander – the last Guard Commander. Our vod’e will need you to lead them to the stars.”

“And you’re our vod’ika­. We need to know that you’re safe.

“I don’t like it, but I understand. Ret’urcye mhi, Stone, Fox.”

“K’oyachi, Thire.”

[belovedsteelandmoss]

Light Passing Through

Sanji dreamed of a love he could hold with both hands and a worn wooden table and children all around it.

By now, Sanji had thrown away his chances at such a life.

He was a pirate and a chef.

He loved both his captain and his job.

He dreamed of a sea of abundance and life.

He was not stupid enough to long for more.

He tried to remember not to long for more.

But sometimes he wondered, what were the chances of meeting someone like that anyways? Someone you could love, and who would love you equally in return? Sanji wondered how anyone was supposed to know what love looked like. Was the woman selling him tomatoes in the last port the one who would love him in all his inadequacies? The math of finding true love was impossible, surely.

-

Zoro gets hurt and Sanji carries him back to the ship and watches over him.

Named after Visible World by Richard Siken because no one gets Sanji like Siken does.

1,438 words, General Audiences, Blood/Injury Mention

Link to read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60057658

Or read below the cut

It was supposed to be a simple mission, especially for the two of them. Go figure that the swordsman would find a way to get his abdomen slashed open the one moment Sanji wasn’t watching. Which led them to the situation they were in now.

“I’m bleeding on your prissy clothes” Zoro murmured against his neck, puffs of air, rough and broken by pain.

“Don’t worry, I’ll beat your ass later, Mossy.” Sanji’s voice was stained with dread and agony. The forest ground was smooth and he moved swiftly, trying not to jostle the swordsman on his back.

“Cook” Zoro said, voice wavering and sounding more distant by the second.

“Woah there, Marimo, stay with me,” Sanji huffed, gripping the white sheath of Wado with renewed vigor. He knew he was pressing bloody prints into the delicately engraved wood. Zoro would surely try to kill him later, when he realized that Sanji had grabbed the first sheath that would come off of Zoro with an easy yank. He would probably even kill Sanji from the grave if he heard the quiet groaning of the sheath where it was tucked beneath the brutish man’s ass.

Sanji thought of the brand new suit jacket he had tied around the swordsman’s bleeding torso. He didn’t feel that bad.

“Talk to me, shitty swordsman” Sanji prompted, squinting through the patterned shadows the trees threw on them, trying to estimate the distance back to The Thousand Sunny.

The man stayed silent, slumped forward with his nose pressing sharply into the back of Sanji’s neck.

“Hey!” Sanji hollered, trying to resist the urge to jostle the dying man.

“Hmmmm” Zoro groaned, one leg briefly kicking the air as if Sanji was waking him up from one of his naps on deck and he was being mildly inconvenienced.

“Hey Mossy, why three swords?” Sanji asked, not knowing where the question had come from and not caring. The ship was going to come into view any second, once the trees broke away to the shore. Anything to keep Zoro awake until then.

“Sanji-“ Zoro said quietly, causing Sanji to stumble, nearly sending both of them falling into a bank of thorny bushes. Zoro grunted with pain at the sudden movement but continued his low murmurs.

“Three, get it? Ichi, Ni, Sanji-“

Sanji shuddered despite himself. The swordsman was incoherent and was continuing to mumble about numbers and swords and Sanji. Sanji hated hearing about the number three and swords in the same sentence as his name.

As if by some kind of fate, the tree line appeared and in the distance, the Thousand Sunny glowed in the late afternoon sun. Sanji immediately kicked them upward, skywalking them straight to the infirmary doors on deck.

“Ok got it, we are almost there, hang on a little longer.” Sanji twisted, kicking the air with efficient pushes. In the distance, he saw movement on deck as the alarm was raised.

Behind him, Zoro whispered just barely loud enough to hear over the sea breeze and Usoop screaming for Chopper across the remaining beach.

“Two swords for my dream. And one sword for Kuina’s.”

With that, Zoro promptly passed out just before Sanji’s feet met the deck.

-

Sanji brushed the short spikes of green hair plastered to Zoro’s forehead back. His golden skin was pallid and wet with cold sweat. Sanji watched in the darkness of the infirmary as his own hand shook. He felt wrung-out and hollow, like the moonlight might pass right through him as it shone through the portholes.

Chopper snored quietly, head down on his desk, having collapsed after Zoro was stable and Sanji had brought him his late dinner. The young reindeer had eaten and turned back to making notes on the exact treatment Zoro had undergone. He had made it only a few more minutes before Sanji watched his head dip down with sleep.

Sanji glanced at Chopper now, chest tight with something like fear.

Sanji raised his hand, turning it slowly, watching the way the moonlight shone blue through his flesh. Illuminating him from within. The delicate bone of his hands, which he was always so careful to protect, were the only things capable of stopping the light. That didn’t seem right.

If anything should keep the light from passing through, it should be the ache in Sanji’s chest. Robin had once told him that moonlight was light from the sun rebounding off the moon’s surface to reach Earth. It seemed like a waste to block the light that had traveled all that way just before it landed on Zoro’s bandaged chest. Sanji dropped his hand to the cot, fingering at the worn blanket that was draped over Zoro’s legs. The moonlight shone on stark white bandages against golden skin.

Sanji thought of Zoro bleeding out on the deck of the Baratie. Clutching his sword, floating in a pool of tears and blood. His chest stretched open, singing death's sweet call into the salty morning air. Sanji had watched it all, stricken as a practical stranger danced the edge of life but still proclaimed his dream in spite of his suffering. All for a dream he was too inexperienced to realize. And yet, Sanji still remembered how he felt that morning. That was the morning he had decided to leave the only home he had ever loved enough to miss in favor of the All Blue. All this time, his journey had begun with the swordsman’s blood.

In Sanji’s lap, Zoro’s three swords lay, sheaths scrubbed suspiciously clean. He did not dare to breathe it out loud, but Zoro had taught him something he would never again forget.

He did not need permission to chase his dream.

Sanji melted into Zoro’s side, three sheathed swords clanking softly. Sanji was desperate and cold and Zoro was warm with fever. Sanji leaned close, turning his face away from the portholes, as if the moon itself was watching. And gently, slowly, he pressed his lips against Zoro’s forehead.

-

For all the memories Sanji had of his mother, he couldn’t remember a single time she talked about his father.

When he was younger he thought that surely they had loved each other once. Sanji was never quite sure what had changed.

Sometimes though, in the years after his mother’s death, he would imagine what his parents had been like in love. He imagined that Sora made Judge soft, and that Judge made Sora brave. He dreamed of his family impossibly together, of tripping over his brothers when his mother called them all to dinner. He dreamed of a warm kitchen with a wooden table, crowded with chairs to accommodate a gaggle of children. He dreamed of his father resting a gentle hand on his mothers knee after she had finished serving the meal and sat down. Of the soft and knowing smile his mother would reply with.

When Sanji shook away his nightmares, clawing at his iron helmet, he would hold the image in his mind until it was worn like an old photograph.

When Sanji woke to the feeling of his stomach eating itself, he would imagine a warm kitchen with a love for himself.

When Sanji gasped awake in the men’s bunk room, he would drown out the sound of his captain's snores with his thoughts of children’s laughter.

By now, Sanji had thrown away his chances at such a life.

He was a pirate and a chef.

He loved both his captain and his job.

He dreamed of a sea of abundance and life.

He was not stupid enough to long for more.

He tried to remember not to long for more.

But sometimes he wondered, what were the chances of meeting someone like that anyways? Someone you could love, and who would love you equally in return? Sanji wondered how anyone was supposed to know what love looked like. Was the woman selling him tomatoes in the last port the one who would love him in all his inadequacies? The math of finding true love was impossible, surely.

So he did not long for more.

Instead, he bounced from place to place and found his meaning elsewhere.

This kiss has to last me the rest of my life, Sanji thought.

Surrounded by darkness, propped over Zoro’s unmoving form, with the scent of steel and blood in his nose, Sanji thought that he had never been so lucky. He could live out his life with just his dream and his crew if he just had this one kiss.

It was something new to remember when he woke up in the middle of the night.

[nemaliwrites]

surprising absolutely everyone, i have not forgotten about the kwami swap fic - here is a lil bit of chapter 3

He hears her before he sees her. 

In the night, Lady Noire is invisible. When she’s hunting something — someone — down. Silent, especially when she wants to be. Right now, she doesn’t. Mister Bug hears the way the wind rushes by each time she leaps. Feels the prickle of eyes on the back of his neck. 

“Didn’t I give you the day off?” he asks. 

She lands neatly behind him, his shadow returned. “Yeah,” she says, “but you didn’t give yourself a day off. Only fair.”

Fair. Strange she uses that word, that it doesn’t make her skin crawl like it does his. Two sides of the same coin, and yet so unbalanced. Is what is fair to the sword fair to the shield? Why is it that they are so inherently uneven? 

He wishes, sometimes, that she was as bothered by this as him. That she would ask for more. Then again, maybe it’s good that she doesn’t. 

They both know the moment she does, he would give her whatever she asked for. Even if it wasn’t his to give. 

“How did you find me?” Mister Bug asks, turning to meet her eyes. 

“You think I don’t know when my partner’s avoiding me?”

Lady Noire sounds sad. So, he realizes, does he. Tired, both of them. Like they would rather be anywhere in the world than here. With each other. 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She tilts her head. “I thought I did. You’re my partner.”

A word — a bond — that speaks for itself. The way she found him; the same way he knew it was her. Could have been anyone, really. Hawk Moth himself, leaping after him in the middle of the night. Staff reaching out to strike him on the back of the head. 

It must have been the same for her. Too dark to see the red of Mister Bug’s suit — though maybe not with her night vision. He can’t help but wonder if Lady Blanche has that, too. If the white of her world hurts her eyes. 

[blushweddinggowns]

Nancy furrowed her brow as she went to answer it, just as confused as everyone else, “Hello? What? I-Fred please be quiet for one second! How did you know I was here- I know the article is due but I’m in the- why call me if you aren’t going to let me talk!”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, “You know what? Yeah, just wait for me at school. I’ll be there in a few hours. Yes, hours! I’m hanging up now.”

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before addressing everyone, “It wasn’t important. I just have to stop at the school at some point today. But for now we should get going-”

But Wayne wasn’t having it. He turned back to the duo, pointing an accusing finger their way,“If either of you think you’re stepping out of this house you have another damn thing coming-”

“Okay!” Eddie interrupted, reaching out to grab Wayne’s arms, “It’s time to talk in private. The rest of you stay here.”

Eddie dragged Wayne into the back room, Steve following meekly behind. They could still hear them in such a small space, hushed voices arguing in Eddie’s room.

It made Chrissy feel weird, like she was intruding on a family moment. She knew she was, they all were. Dustin even went as far as to turn on the TV, effectively giving them the noise they needed to keep their conversation private.

“Oh my god,” Dustin breathed after a few seconds, “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

Chrissy glanced at the screen, her stomach dropping when she saw what it was. It was her school photo. Followed with a reporter’s voiceover, “...following a cryptic voicemail, that police suspect was a forced call. Considering the untimely deaths of multiple young women in the town of Hawkins, we need a prompt and quick response in regards to finding this young lady. If anyone knows the whereabouts of Chrissy Cunningham please call your local authorities immediately. 

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. She should have known. Of course her mom would go straight to the police. She knew that call had been pointless. Worse than pointless. If she had never said anything then she probably wouldn’t have even realized Chrissy was gone until today. 

“We can’t stay here,” Chrissy said suddenly, already feeling frantic.

“Why not?” Dustin asked, his brow furrowed, “No one else even knows you're here!”

But Robin was already moving, cursing under her breath as she got her shoes on, “Because if anyone looking for her has a single working brain cell they’ll look for me. And how do you find me?”

“You find Steve?” Dustin asked, still watching in confusion as the rest of the girls got ready to go.

“And if you’re looking for Steve,” Robin asked, “Where would you go?”

“Here,” Dustin grumbled, finally catching on. 

“There you fucking go,” Robin sighed, before calling down the hall, “Steve, Eddie, we gotta go. Now!”

“Give us a damn minute!” Eddie yelled back, but Robin wasn’t having it. She marched back there, dragging a confused Chrissy with her. 

The three men stared at them as Robin dug around, talking as she searched, “They reported Chrissy missing so that means cops are almost certainly on their way here. We need to go now-aha!”

She held up Eddie walkman, before waltzing over to Chrissy to put the headphones over her ears. She hummed the melody as she snatched the tape out of Eddie’s player, snapping quickly into the walkman and pressing play.

“There,” She said with a gentle smile, interlacing Chrissy’s fingers with her own, “Now you’re mobile.”

She turned back to Eddie and Steve, her voice softening at the kicked-puppy look on Steve’s face, “We’ll wait outside, but we need to think of a place to hide. Fast.”

“I already know a place,” Eddie sighed, waving them off. He threw his keys in their direction, Robin just catching them in time as he kept his eyes on Wayne, “Go to the van and hide in the back. We’ll be out in a minute.”

Chrissy nodded, and then Robin was dragging her off. She chanced one look back at them, her heart breaking a little at the devastated look on Wayne’s face. She felt so bad. Yes, whatever this was had started before her, but she was the brand new reason she was involved. Why all of these people were now risking themselves for her of all people. 

“This isn’t your fault, y’know,” Robin said quietly as she unlocked the van’s door, the rest of the group talking quietly amongst themselves in front of the beemer, “I can see your brain working over there.”

Chrissy shrugged as she climbed inside, settling in the back. Robin sat beside her, close enough for their shoulders to touch. Chrissy wished Robin would think about stuff like that, how often she touched her. Or maybe Chrissy wished she could start thinking of it less.

“Maybe not everything,” She mumbled, “But it’s my fault you’re involved now. Maybe you guys could have been the bystanders for once if I never happened.”

“I doubt it,” Robin laughed softly, giving Chrissy’s hand a comforting squeeze. ``I got involved by working at an ice cream shop. Don’t underestimate the randomness of this crap. Besides…”

She trailed off, scooting closer to lay her head against Chrissy’s shoulder. Close enough for the warmth of her breath to tickle Chrissy’s neck, “Getting to know you is more than worth the trouble.”

From the latest chapter of this fic

[ultravioletbrit]

new year new snippet

Thank you for the tag @arviyya 💜 snippet from my new jealous james fic. jealousy should not look as good as it does on james potter.

‘Don’t punch him in the face. Don’t punch him in the face. Don’t punch him in the face.’ James is repeating it like a mantra in his head hoping it will prevent him from leaving his spot at the bar to go punch that smug look off the redhead who’s pressing his chest against Regulus’ back as they move their hips to the beat of the music. He’s dangerously close to doing just that when Sirius leans on the bar beside him. “God, I want to punch that guy in the face.” Sirius says as if he can read James’ thoughts. “Yup.” James says with more disdain than should be possible in such a small word.

 np tags: @messymoony @calamitoustide @thebibutterflyao3 @ecstarry @snarky-magpie

[aeoneskova]

A snippet from the next chapter of Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy :)

Dear Penelope’s boyfriend,

What a shame it is to hear you’ve run off with another woman, Mr Weasley. Doth thine heart not think of me? Barely a week has passed without you and already I yearn! Penelope’s a lucky girl, though I’m sorry she’s stuck with a man who folds his socks and washes his hair with coconut-scented shampoo. Such sweet sorrow.

I’ve took a bow, encore, etc. Hope that helped, Perce. You could convince Ginny it was just a bro kiss. Y’know, like mates do. Not that I’d know, but I reckon Charlie would back you up on that one. Don’t worry about souvenirs, seeing you again when you come back will be more than enough. Not to be sappy.

[ruiniel]

...

“You will not be a queen you will be a king,” Sauron whispers, hand pressed into hers, fingers weaving together. The words strike like an oath, a curse raising her to dizzying spires of delight though he is not gentle. “... mighty as the Night, all shall flee before your face…”  The metallic scrape of that voice glides through her, turned molten, drowning Míriel like the crumbling lands in her dream; somewhere in the distance, there is a dim cry for release—hers.

The ring, the ring he'd slipped on her finger tightens and sears like a hot iron shackle, and a moan of pained pleasure tears itself free. Numb with horror and drained, Míriel meets the embers of his eyes. They burn, narrowed in triumph through the long, gilded strands shivering on her skin. “... and Mine.”

...

[blacksurvivalnostalgichanges]

gonna start letting out a few ~secrets~ on that fanfic since i've been taking infuriatingly long to finish the last chapter of this arc, between inspiration slipping sometimes and also college

i'm renaming it soon to wheel of infinity

but i'm only gonna actually do that once i finish that chapter and post it. thank god for that mass tag replacer i ain't going through all that

meaning this will be tagged eternal things until then also

anyway

om nom nom delicious horrors

[bleedingcoffee42]

I had to bury you- WIP

A while ago I responded to a comment on my own smut fic with this bullshit ---> "We were married the whole time" Winnix Angst where one of them disappears during/after the war for years and comes back and finds out the other one is re-married. The betrayal of seeing someone else's wedding ring on their finger. The 'i thought you'd wait for me', the ' we were forever' just internalized with a ' i wanted you to move on and be happy' that comes out of their mouth. 'I had to bury you and it almost buried me' in a tearful excuse for why they have to not run into their arms and thank God they are back, because God just twisted the dagger in their heart and shattered their world again.

And I immediately opened Docs and wrote down whatever came to mind. I'm never going to make anything of it so I'm just going to say it's a writing exercise and just leave it here.

A)It could not have been more perfect, to be reunited in Paris.   Seeing him again, seeing Lewis Nixon walk out of a hotel and thinking it was a mirage; convinced he was seeing things because there was no way after five years that they could be in the same place by accident.   After five years of fighting to find a way to get home to him, he was here and looking straight at him like he saw a ghost.   Dick was still in ragged fatigues from a war that had been over for too long, he was certain he looked like he was a ghost so he waited for Lew to approach him.    And as Lew put his hand over his mouth to muffle whatever cry had to be aching to leave his throat, Dick saw the light catch a ring.  A gold ring.  Theirs had been silver.  And in that moment Dick felt his heart collapse in on itself because he knew it was too late.   Lew moved on, because of course he did.   He was never good at being alone, he always needed someone.   It took everything to not turn around and disappear into the crowd as a single tear slipped from his eye.

B)The farmhouse was just about what he pictured it would be, simple but well taken care of.  Even the fence around the front yard was without a speck of peeling paint and there was a flag flying on the pole, fluttering in the wind like a picture perfect American Dream.   A milk cow mooed at him and Lew smiled, because it was the perfect way to open a conversation he didn’t know how to have, with a joke about Dick Winter’s being Amish.   He walked up the steps to the wrap around porch and knocked on the screen door, hat in hand.  Years, years he had struggled to stay alive, and care about staying alive, so he could have this moment:   The homecoming.   So when the door opened and Dick’s face appeared, his expression going from ‘I don’t want your religion I have my own’ to ‘that’s impossible’ to ‘I’m seeing a ghost’ to…

 “Honey, who is it?” from a very feminine voice as two red headed toddlers and a golden retriever appeared at Dick’s feet, Lewis Nixon wondered if this was what it was like to climb the stairway to heaven only to be rejected at the gate and thrown into hell.   

C) The one where the do make it to the Pacific from the ETO--

“There was nothing left.”  Lew choked out as he fumbled with his cigarettes and his hand shook.  “Not even dog tags, just a crater where you two….”

Dick held his breath as Lew felt apart in front of him, and to his absolute amazement Lip pulled him into an embrace and muttered all kinds of things as sobs wrecked Lew’s body.  He was caught in that moment, unable to breathe, unable to think , unable to process the tenderness and familiarity of it.  Thankfully Ron Speirs wasn’t frozen in place, never was.

“What the fuck?” Ron spat.  “You two are thing?”

“We buried you.” Lip explained.  “Or what we thought was left of you.  You have no idea what it took to keep him out of that hole…to keep going.”

Ron stood up, pushing his chair back loudly and looked at Dick.  “Well, that settles that.  Ready to go?”

“I’m sorry.”  Dick said and stared at them and Ron started to pull him out of the chair and he looked at him knowing he didn’t want to be here when he blew up.   Because they had survived, they got left behind, they had watched an explosion the likes of which they never could imagine take out Japan and gave up trying to be rescued.   They thought the world ended and just survived.  They had each other, so it was only fitting that….  “We….”

“Are leaving.”  Ron said and yanked him to his feet before Dick could give some stupid speech about how great it was they had each other.  And how Sink had told them Captain Lipton took over Easy and led them out of the PTO when their idiot commanders got blown to hell standing next to each other.   How the world didn’t really end, they just dropped an atomic bomb to end the war, but….the world really did end.   Dick had to be feeling his hand shake in his fatigues–had to– because his glassy eyes looked to him and said ‘I’m sorry’.   

“Glad they had you, Lip.”  Dick said and let Ron pull him away, get him out of the room, make some excuse to Sink about digestive upset from having real food, and left the building.    Then Ron left him leaning against the side of the building while he destroyed some crates that were being cataloged by a few baby faced privates who knew better than to stand in the way of this pissed off captain.   Dick sank down the wall and put his face in his hands and let the weight of it all crush him.  He wanted to be happy Lew had Lip, God he was surprised even Carwood Lipton could save him, but he felt like he just lost him all over again.  And they had just inflicted the same pain on the people they loved.   It was no surprise to him that Lip came looking for them as Ron obliterated some ordinance crates and probably injured himself in the process.

“We’re so glad you’re home.”  Lip said and watched a shard of wood go flying.  Blood was splattered on the wall of the building, Ron was standing there, hands on hips with blood dripping off hands.  

“We don’t need any of your placating bullshit right now, Lip.” Ron snapped.  “We fucking gave up and gave you both up, so like Dick said.   Glad they had you and we mean it.”

Lip swallowed hard, Ron turned and looked right past him to Dick.  So now it was Bastogne all over again, anyone who didn’t experience what they had was now unable and unwelcome to be a part of their circle.   He looked down at Dick who really never needed to know how bad Lew got after losing him, and realized that was exactly the situation they were in- Bastogne all over again.  It was, however, unacceptable to give up.  “Are you staying on base?”

“Yeah.”  Ron said and looked at him.  Lip as Captain Lipton was perfect.  It really made up for all the other bad decisions the army made if someone finally saw what a damned good soldier he was.    In reality, he probably got the job because everyone else was dead, but it didn't mean it wasn't deserved and earned.  “Probably sign up for the next war.”

“Can you at least try to…”

“No.”

“Then I’ll beg.”  Lip said and looked at Dick because Dick Winters knew what it took to save Lewis Nixon. “Please, we’re living with Lew’s Mom and sister.   Doris has been going downhill and Blanche isn’t mentally in the best place.  Bill Guarnere is visiting, helping me with the reunion.”

Dick looked up at him.   Why Carwood Lipton was always asked to hold together a damaged family was a question he wanted to scream at God right now.

Ron huffed.  A reunion.   Of course Lip would organize a gathering for the company, he'd keep them together and in touch after the war.  It had been two years, time to check on everyone.   Well, at least they'd have something to talk about.  

“I can’t handle watching you both disappear at war again, so please, can we take this conversation home?” Lip could see Dick processing it, Lew was his weakness and the last two years had to be worse knowing how poorly Lew handled loss.    

“What conversation?  It’s over.”  Ron said and it was cold enough to get Dick to snap out of his moment and give him a nasty look.  

“Far from it.”  Lip said.  Ron's moods never bothered him, he just didn't expect him to be protective over Dick Winters.    But two years alone together with nobody else, well he was happy they had each other.   Hurt, but everything about this was going to hurt.   “The house is big enough for two more and our hearts are still missing the pieces of you that we…”

Ron softened as Lip choked up.

“Buried.  We didn’t even try to look for you, we just gave up and moved out and…”

Dick got to his feet, to put a hand on Lip’s shoulder.  “In combat, you can’t pause to memorialize anyone.  You have to keep moving.”

“It’s not over.”  Lip said and wiped away tears.   “You’re alive and it’s not over. I am begging you both to come home.”

“And now every morning we all wake up to the reality that we all gave up too soon.”  Ron said and shook some blood off.  “No thanks.   Dick, I’m going to the infirmary.  Let me know what you decide.”

“I’m coming.” Dick said let go of Lip’s shoulder and attached himself to Ron’s side, where he had been for the last two years. 

Xxxx

Every time they looked at each other, it was as if their hearts shattered again.   Shrapnel flying and raw feelings of betrayal.  Betrayed by the man they loved, betrayed by God,  betraying the man they loved.  The pain of everything hitting everywhere at once, and they retreated every time.   Watching Nix and Dick together, was downright painful.

Now with him and Lip, it was more of a soul being ripped from your core.   A heart beating with pride for how he continued on, how he took charge.   Fury that he was now bound to someone who took and drained him, even if Lew was generous with his money.  If it had been him, he would have doted but yielded when needed.    They both had someone to watch over now, someone who had shared something so devastating that it changed who they were.   The pain was of what could have been instead of what was lost.

And God, did Lew and Dick lose each other all over again each time they made eye contact.   So, it was time to move. Anywhere.  Anywhere but here.   

“I'm going to take him to see his Mom.”. Ron said and waved away the offer of a smoke.   Those ran out long ago, he wasn't sure he could stomach them again.   “My parents are waiting for me.   Wife already moved on.”

Lip felt that sting, he knew it was about Edwyna but it was also about him.  “You know how things are.  Tough situations, time works differently.”

“Nix is a tough situation, probably would be dead without you.”

Oh how true that was.  “And Dick?”

“Those two got married.   Fucking married.   That was what bound them and now it's what destroys them.”. Ron crossed his arms.  “So, Guarnere and Nix's sister, huh?”

“He makes her laugh and in two years I haven't seen her laugh.  The Nixon kids, they have a tempest inside of them that rages and tries to drown them.   Bill, well he's pretty happy too.  Didn't see it coming.“

“Yeah.”. Ron said, none of them saw any of this coming.  “We are leaving in the morning.”

“Come to the reunion.  It's next month.”

“No.”

“Ron.”

“No.”

“I can't watch you walk off and disappear again, Ron.  I can't.”

Ron saw him shake a little, a crack in the damn holding back everything.    And he was holding back the floodwaters for everyone.    It wasn't fair, one man shouldn't shoulder the burden for everyone he ever met.  

[heartfeltletters-written]

As she made her way in he saw the red skin around her throat, it was clear they were a man’s handprints, huge and rough on her soft skin. The sight made him want to break his promise to Sgaeyl by going after Aetos and kill him personally. He had sent the assassin to her, he was the cause of her pain and discomfort. Xaden could see by the furrow of her brows and her tight expression that she was hurting, more than she would be willing to admit. He approached her in three quick strides ready to cup her face into his hands and inspect the damage himself, but stopped short. He wasn’t allowed to touch her freely, he had lost that privilege, and they were alone, no reason for her to endure his touches. He took a breath and with fear of rejection, he asked. “Can I touch you?”