#and Roy just has to sit there with the knowledge that his best friend has been so thoroughly abused

[tarucore]

Dick Grayson who is hyper aware of the types of cases the Robins take on and the subjects they are exposed to bc he knows how difficult it was to be treated as a competent adult at 11 years old

vs

Dick Grayson who is very casual about subjects that might be inappropriate for the Robins when they are kids bc he has no frame of reference on what is appropriate bc he was exposed to those subjects at such an early age

FIGHT

[its-time-to-write]

i know now it’ll pass - ch. 1

still me here

You have to understand, working at Nelson Road isn’t what everyone thinks it is. It’s a job. You’re not best friends with Ms. Welton, you don’t share inside jokes with Coach Lasso, and not a single member of the team could pick you out from a crowd. You talked to Keeley Jones exactly one time when she stumbled upon your office, lost in a hunt for Roy.

And none of that is bad. It’s not a bad thing. What it is is  good money and security to get your own one-bedroom flat as well as food on the table and whatever else you might need. You have a few friends there and your direct supervisor is nice and overall it’s a great environment. You’re not sure you could ask for anything more.

It’s just not as glamorous as people believe. 

Your friends think it’s great that you work in the same building as AFC Richmond legends like Roy Kent and Dani Rojas. They bombard you with questions every girls’ night, which you indulge with a laugh. 

As you sip your drink on the couch, surrounded by friends and giggles, you decide you live a pretty great life.

—

You don’t sleep well. You never have, and you’re concerned you never will. You’ve taken to sitting on your front steps with a blanket and a cup of tea in the hopes that it will cause your body to produce melatonin so you can get enough sleep to get through the day. Your “tea time” is usually anywhere from 2am-5am, and you’ve woken up many a morning curled up on the steps.

There are two good things that come out of tea time: the sunrise and your increased ability to cover up the bags under your eyes.

This Monday is different in that it’s worse. Much worse.

You’ve been on the porch for three goddamn hours, since 1am, and nothing is helping. You’re so tired that your eyes feel like little weights, and yet you can’t fall asleep. 

You’re leaning against a support beam with the realization that your work day is going to suck, when you see Jamie run by in the street. He doesn’t see you, what with it being 4:15am and all. Roy jogs by a few minutes later. You wince. You can tell his knee’s killing him by the way he’s running. He’ll probably take it out on the lads at training, and you find strange comfort in the knowledge that you’re not the only one who will be suffering at Nelson Road.

—

Oh god, you’re going to die. This is it, this is the end, death is imminent and you’re going to let the Grim Reaper snatch you with his scythe or whatever the hell he does with that thing. 

See, Mondays are when you get all your steps in because you’re walking all up and down Nelson Road collecting signatures and passing around documents. It’s usually pretty nice and culminates in a stop at Higgins’ office, who will offer you whatever candy he has at his desk or sometimes a cup of tea.

(He has a knack for offering the tea when you’re especially tired. You’re not sure how he can tell, but chalk it up to the plethora of sons he has.)

Anyway, this Monday you’re on your way to meet Higgins with a bundle of papers in your arms and you must have blacked out ever so slightly because you rammed straight into the team coming in from the pitch for lunch.

Documents are flying and you’re wobbly on your feet and now there’s like twenty beefy footballers helping you scramble to pick everything up while you say, “Sorry, sorry,” on repeat. 

“Not a problem, love,” says Jamie Tartt, handing you the completed stack. It’s a little wrinkled and haphazard, but all you can think about is the fact that you revealed yourself to be a klutz to the whole team. 

Girls’ night is about to get embarrassing. Especially because Jamie’s hand brushed yours for a millisecond and it caused literal sparks to shoot up your arm.

You’re frozen as they walk away, silently cursing your stupid screwed up sleep patterns. You had better get some sleep tonight.

—

You don’t. Your mind keeps replaying that touch like you’re a middle school girl who’s just discovered boys don’t have cooties. You wrestle a few hours in between 11 and 3, but find yourself on the steps again by 4, definitely not hoping Jamie runs by again.

He doesn’t.

—

Tuesday is not worse, but it’s not better. You’re eating lunch at your desk because you’ve decided never to leave it again, but unfortunately Jim in HR needs a signature and you’re the one who has to get up so he can collect it. You sigh and close your laptop. 

You’re padding to the other side of the building and congratulating yourself on the decision to wear flats today when you turn a corner and smack into something solid.

You stumble back but catch yourself before you hit the ground.

“God, I’m so sorry,” you say to Jamie Tartt’s blue eyes.

He half-grins. “Little wobbly there, innit?” he says before he’s gone.

Rats.

—

Tuesday night means you’re awake due to sheer humiliation. It’s bad enough that your celebrity crush is now Jamie Tartt, but the fact that you’ve literally talked to him twice and both times have been because you weren’t watching where you were going?

You have half a mind to email in your resignation, but as you put the kettle on for 3am tea you realize you need the stability Nelson Road provides. You’re not sure you can go back to living with three other flatmates.

Your only consolation is that there’s no way Jamie Tartt knows who you are or that his damn blue eyes are seared into your brain. 

You’ve snatched five hours of sleep this time, and you’re hoping you’ll be asleep again before the sunrise, but the odds are not looking good. It’s Wednesday, and you’re going to need all the help you can get in order to make it through the longest day of the week.

Jamie runs by again. Roy notices you under the porch light and gives a two-finger salute as he hobbles by. You raise your cup in return, grateful that he at least will have no idea who you are, much less that you work in the same building.

—

Wednesday is fine except you’re exhausted, and Laughing Liam’s goddamn laugh is making your head pound. You set a timer and fall asleep on your lunch break.

—

You take a breath. Then another. And another. Deep breaths, you remind yourself. It’s not that big of a deal. 

You skipped the porch in favor of staying in bed, with the hopes that maybe a softer environment would be more conducive for sleep. It wasn’t, and the bags under your eyes are not good. They are so not good that you can’t completely cover them. You feel so awful that you forgo tea in favor of coffee, extra strong. You down it in three burning gulps and head out the door, ready to face Thursday.

—

It gives you a headache, but you’re awake. You’re trying to kill the dull, persistent pain with some water but it’s not helping. You rest your forehead on the community water jug for a moment as footsteps walk past you, slow down, then backtrack.

“Porch girl,” says Roy Kent, recognition in his voice. 

You turn your head, still on the jug, and nod. Roy Kent nods back and grunts, “You’re up fucking early,” then keeps walking.

Ah shit.

—

Friday. It’s Friday. It’s Friday and you held off from sitting on the steps until exactly 2:37 at which point you felt that if you stayed in bed any longer, you would suffocate or go crazy. Maybe both.

You set down an empty cup of chamomile and pull your blanket closer as you inhale the crisp air. You feel something like sleep creeping up on you, so you close your eyes and finally succumb to the call.

You wake to someone shaking your shoulder and an urgent voice saying, “Oi, you dead? Can you hear me?”

You blink groggily, aware of the fact that you’ve just gotten maybe an hour of sleep and it isn’t going to be enough to get you through the day. Tears begin to slide down your face, unbidden, as you try to control your sheer frustration at being woken up.

“Oh shit,” says the voice, then Roy Kent says, “You fucking broke her,” and you think maybe you actually are still asleep and this is all a dream.

But it can’t be because the hand is still on your shoulder, and it’s warm and solid and there’s no way your subconscious would be so cruel as to have Jamie Tartt and Roy Kent find you passed out on your front steps.

Your subconscious wouldn’t be so cruel, but the universe apparently is.

You force your eyes open. Jamie and Roy look concerned.

“You alright?” Jamie asks. “Thought you were proper dead.”

“Jesus Christ,” Roy mutters, turning back to you. “Look, we’re sorry for waking you. We’ll get out of your fucking hair.”

You nod mutely as they turn and jog off. It’s not until they’re well out of sight that you realize they didn’t even ask your name.

Table of Contents

[bowieandqueen11]

🎶 for Roman Roy? ✨😌✨💕 Love your writing!! 🥰

Thank you so much sweetie!! I'm loving all the requests for Roman at the moment :P

Kiss Me / Roman Roy Imagine

Line: 'Silver moon's sparkling / So kiss me'

Writers block is kicking my ass today but I wanted to get this out anyway! Please let me know if you liked it :)

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @ushershiv. Song credit goes to Sixpence None The Richer!)

Warning: strong language and mentions of child abuse!

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Roman Roy nearly scared the shit out of you as you wandered up the moonlit side streets of the Tuscan town.

Shiv, of course, had left you to fend for yourself in unknown territory by storming out from the hen party before it had even reached ten o'clock, scowling as she impassively kissed her mother's cheeks and went straight back to scrolling through her phone as she became a blot in the distance. You had spent the last half an hour wandering around, peering around the edges of sun-kissed cafes and staring quizzically at dust stained cobbled streets that wound round balconies and down staircases you were sure you'd already been down.

So when you nearly tripped over Roman sitting, looking forlorn, at the bottom of one, you were more than delighted to jump out of your skin.

'Romy, oh thank fuck! My sense of direction was dogshit in America, and it sure as hell seems to be worse in Italy.' You laugh and place a hand to your heart, trying to calm its throbbing as you perch on the bottom of the stone railing. Roman sets down his beer by his feet and stands up, turning his head behind him languidly and trying his best to smile at you. You could tell immediately that something had gone wrong while you were out with Shiv: you knew your childhood best friend too long not to be hyperaware of his idiosyncrasies. His smile didn't reach his eyes, but to Roman, it was a relief: he had found you.

It had only taken his own half an hour of quizzing his sister on the phone and wandering around the Tuscan side-passages - but he had found you. Just as he had throughout his whole childhood; no matter if Roman was climbing up the pipe outside your bedroom window and peering his little goblin head eagerly over the edge of your windowpane when you were teenagers, or him screaming and crying, searching the house for you when he was just a toddler confused about why his daddy wanted to hurt him so much, he always sought you out.

It had infuriated him at first, just because he didn't understand why his heart felt such pangs of weakness. But as Remy grew, he started to relax into it, until he couldn’t remember a time when he was just him, instead of you as well.

And by god, if he wasn't going to ever let you out of his sight again.

His own heart begins to pound like an unbroken slap against the side of his ear as he gives you a once over, his eyes lazily tracing your figure, but plainly lovelorn. 'Well, yeah, thanks for fucking - trying and testing that dumbass doesn't change depending on the continent.' His eye sparkles against the graceful hue of dreaming grey as he smirks, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth to try and choke back the words he's spent his life so desperately trying to claw out.

'Fuck off', you reply, but you're beaming as you say it. Reaching out, you run a hand over his collar and do your best to try and straighten it out. Roman swallows harshly as he feels your knuckles brush as light as a lover's kiss against the pulse point on his neck. The touch is one of familiarity, of intimacy, of an intimate knowledge, of a ritual done over and over and over since you were children. One always reaches out, an olive's branch, a desperate cry, and the other stays stoic in a fear that over the years has been beaten into them.

He wasn't allowed this. He didn't deserve this. Roman Roy wasn't allowed love. Not unless it was callous, and course, and being shoved like poison down his throat by the fisted hand of his father, or being struck across his cheek with a chide for being a naughty puppy.

'So', you start with a furrowed brow and a tremble to your fingers, noticing the way Roman's eyes have begun to cloud a little under the thin sheen of starlight. He only blinks again, guiding his gaze back up to look at you expectantly as you continue. 'What's been going on with you tonight?' You pat his shirt, right between the top button and the start of his chest, not expecting him to sigh languidly at the touch. 'Nothing good, from the looks of it. You finally realising mommy's being taken off the marriage market for good?'

'Oh fuck you' he half-scoffs, but he doesn't move away, too desperate in his attempt to keep your palm as flatly and near to his heart as he can. He chews his bottom lip, trying to figure out in the dank recesses of his mind about how to tell you that you're the only person whose ever held it - the only person he's ever felt comfortable with, the only person he's ever fantasised about kissing, loving, spending every moment of his disgusting life with.

His voice cracks as he continues. 'It's fine. I'm fine, fuck, I just- uh, fuckity fuck me, it's just everything, you know? Like, this deal is looking pretty fucked, and it's like my love child so daddy dearest expects me to be on top of it, and-'. Roman's words die away on the tip of his tongue as he notices how eagerly you're watching him, anticipating every word and looking genuinely heartbroken as they tumble out.

He doesn't know how to process it: someone caring about what he has to say.

'And you know what', he whispers. 'It doesn't actually matter.' He reaches up and takes your hand - grasps it tightly and holds it between his lungs as he breathes you in. 'I don't fucking care, about any of it. That doesn't fucking matter to me.'

The ethereal shine of moon rays blink down sleepily from the clouds, and seem to bathe Roman in a light so innocent, and so dreamlike, that you can't help but latch onto his every syllable as being pure truth. His smile falters, and he shakes his head as he looks down at his feet, playing with the sides of your fingers between his own stout ones.

He never could bear to look at rejection head on. Usually he got by, solely because he could turn and look at one of his siblings instead, and pretend, for a moment, that they actually cared. But on his own? He didn't know how to handle it. So he shirks into himself, flaring his nostrils and trying to hide the tide of overwhelming dread that suffuses over his body and turns his neck a sheepish, splotchy crimson.

'Remy, where's this coming from? You've always wanted to be under daddy's heel-'

You're broken off by the sound of Roman's dress shoe stepping forward and the feel of something... strange? Against your lips? You try to take a step back, but an arm winds its way around your waist, as light as a feather but with a bark harsh enough to keep the bottom of your feet on the ground. It takes you a further moment to understand that the pressure that left, and then seemed to return with twice fold the intensity to your mouth, was Roman's itching, scared lips doing their best to caress your own. He's bleary eyed when he finally dares to open them, and it breaks your heart to see how vulnerable, how child like he looks in his fear. As you kiss him again, you didn't mind the tears that slide down his cheeks, a mixture of sadness and new joy mingling. He shakes his head slightly at the way he moans wishfully, latching onto you like a tired puppy as he follows your lips with his shivering body.

To the poor Tuscan locals, the two of you must have looked quite the state: two people, so obviously head over heels in love, kissing each other as if they'd never be granted another chance. As if this final pocket of happiness might tumble away once they wake up back into the real world. As if being so in love might be the destruction of them both.

[bitchkay]

Sherry and Rio are besties.

This is common knowledge--

If Roy and Rio have known each other for a long time so have Sherry and Rio just by default and let me tell you I just know the vibes were just vibing, the vibes were there and they stuck, immediate friendship.

They have sleepovers.

Yes as adults.

It dosen't matter how old you are, doing some fuck shit with your best friend, talking/laughing all night, behaving like a child for just a little while, will always be the best. Fight me.

From gossip, lame jokes, to deep conversations, they sit on the floor talking while Sherry paints Rios nails.

Sherry gave him a makeover one time and Rio was so shook he almost didn't wanna wash his face, as soon as he looked in the mirror his jaw dropped, bro looked gorgeous, she done did his hair too. Rio felt so pretty♡

Imagine walking into Sherry's room and you just see her and Rio sitting on the floor in pajamas, Rio has curlers in his hair, press ons on his finger nails, and Sherrys putting false lashes on his freshly makeup face. Legendary.

Rio lets Sherry use him to practice makeup, he has no problem with it cus girl is talented with a makeup brush. If Sherry can't cook best believe she can do makeup.

Rio let her pluck his eyebrows and he started sobbing.

Rio comforted her the first time a man broke her heart. Stayed with her the whole time, let her cry it out on his shoulder, didn't force her to talk if she didn't want to but listened intently as she vented, gave her the backbone she needed when her self esteem was at its lowest. Even if he doesn't understand fully, he knows shes in pain and just wants her to be back to her usual self however long that takes. We stan😤😤

Rio told off the dude and it was quite the scene. Lil baby dick couldn't even get a word in, Rios mad now. How dare you take a away Sherrys smile, Sherry is amazing but I guess you're too blind to see it, now her hearts broken left for Rio to pick up the peices.

He didn't have the Rio stamp of approval anyway🙄🤚🏽

Sherry prefers to hangout in her room cus she thinks Rios room smells like cheese

They never let Thoma feel left out, come join the fun bestie😁

I can imagine Rio visiting Invidia for some important reason but in the middle of the night him and Sherry are running through the sprinklers in the royal garden in their pajamas just playing around. It's the middle of the night we off duty royalty right now

But everyone would be so worried cus why did you leave your rooms, we were looking for you, look and your all wet, do you know what time it is, is that grass in your hair, what were you doing

Everyone other day they're responsible, but you gotta have one day to be reckless yk, well forgivably reckless, they're still royals

Everyone thinks they're courting and it's always met with grossly hysterical laughter, cus the thought of becoming paramours has never crossed their mind, it's so funny to think about. 'What kinda drugs you on to think we together, I know you smoking that pack🤨🤨'

And it always comes off as insistent denial, nah they not romantically inclined nor will they ever be, like it's to the point where it's just become some kind of joke between them now lol

They were each others first kiss tho but it was the weirdest experience ever 'ew you taste like cheese what the fuck, I'm never doing that again😟' then Rios out here licking his lips cus apparently he tastes like cheese, he wanna get a taste, then it hits him that hes been insulted and he like 'damn I'm kinda offended😕'

When ever one of them is down they go to the other one to cheer up, whether that's be laying on the floor counting the lights on Sherrys chandelier or helping Rio make a sky apple pie(Rio doing most of the work) they got each others back frl😩😩

'Aye what we is? For lifers😋😋'

Sherry and Rio platonic besties supremacy‼‼

[moon-light-jukebox]

“If you want me to, I will.” [Hotch x Reader]

masterlist

Summary: Reader has worked for Aaron Hotchner for the past 6 months as the babysitter to his son, Jack.

Pairing: Hotch x (Female) Reader

Word Count: 7.4k – she thicc

Category: Smut/Fluff…and some angst because of who I am as a person.

Content Warning:

A/n: We all know that Hotch’s favorite album is the Beatles "White Album." And I have odd choices for songs that I use as lullabies. This idea came into my head and never left. This video of Billie Eillish singing part of the song is the closest to the structure of how I imagined it. Okay, okay, look, I know Roy wasn’t diagnosed until season 10. But I am taking creative liberties because I needed Jack to be younger.

Meaning this would be set around season 7. Hotch would be about 41, Jack is around 7; so, I made Reader around 26, giving them a 15-year age gap. Please don’t check my math. 😌

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized texts are Reader’s thoughts.

-- If you want me to, I will. --

I was disoriented when I woke up. This isn’t my bed, I thought groggily. Wait…this isn’t even my house.

“Y/n,” a deep voice rumbled beside me.

I jackknifed up into a sitting position, eyes wide and my face flushed with embarrassment. “Mr. Hotchner!” I quickly brought my hand up to my cheek to make sure I hadn’t drooled in my sleep. Because that would really be the cherry on top of my embarrassment. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to fall asleep. This is so embarrassing.”

Mr. Hotchner had been crouched down, putting himself level with his living room couch; the same couch he came home and found me sleeping on. In all the months I’d worked for the Hotchner/Brooks family, I’d never seen Mr. Hotchner smile anytime he wasn’t talking to his son, Jack. He always looked incredibly serious and sometimes incredibly sad; but the normal scowl was missing from his face as he looked at me, I noticed, watching him rise to a standing position.

“It’s fine, y/n. It’s after 1 o’clock in the morning.” He shifted, turning to go open the gun safe he kept in the part of the living room where his desk sat. Mr. Hotchner, or Hotch, as he kept telling me to call him, was the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit with the FBI. Which was just a very fancy way of saying he was a profiler that was in charge of all the other profilers. Some people just look like the jobs they have; Mr. Hotchner was one of those people. “Thank you for staying late, I didn’t think things were going to run this long. I didn’t even know you were here until I called Jessica a few hours ago.”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled as I began to gather my things from the coffee table and put them into my bag. “She called me a little after 4; something happened with her dad, I think.” I zipped my bag shut, standing up quickly. “I didn’t mind helping out, Mr. Hotchner.”

He made a sound that was almost a chuckle. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Hotchner, y/n. I know I’m a lot older than you, but that makes me feel ancient.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” I protested.

He looked incredulous. “Y/n, you’re still in college.”

Well, that stings a bit. “I’m in graduate school,” I said, my voice dampening a little bit. “I’m almost 27.”

Mr. Hotchner blinked at me. “Really? I thought you were younger than that…”

“My age didn’t come up in the numerous background checks you did on me?” I scoffed, immediately wincing as the words flew out of my mouth. “Oh my god, I just keep making this worse.” I slung my bag over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hotchner. For falling asleep on your couch…and for every moment after that. I’ll just go now.”

"Y/n," he called. "hang on, it's really late, and…I still need to pay you."

Jesus. “It is late, Mr. Hotchner, that’s why I need to head home.” I forced an awkward laugh. “I have class at 9 am.”

He pushed his hands into his pockets, regarding me in a way that made me squirm. I wasn’t used to a person paying attention to me the way Mr. Hotchner did. It didn’t make me uneasy; I just felt like I couldn’t hide anything from him…which made me uneasy. “What classes are you taking this semester?”

I don’t know why it stung so much that he knew virtually nothing about me. I’d worked for him for 6 months; he wasn’t obligated to know anything about me other than how I took care of his son. “I’m actually done with my course work this semester,” I mumbled. “I’m a TA…in a class that starts at 9 am.” It doesn’t matter, you’re just tired. “You-you can just pay me for tonight the next time I’m over. It’s not like you’re gonna stiff me.” I walked over to the door and threw a very quick “goodnight, Mr. Hotchner” over my shoulder before I scurried out.

I missed the quiet “Aaron. You can call me Aaron.”

--

The entire drive home, my thoughts were on Aaron Hotchner. None of this was what I expected when I took this job. I had been in graduate school for 2 years now. I had already gotten my master’s degree and had been accepted into the Ph.D. program. There are many branches of psychology, but I had always been fascinated with cognitive psychology; it seemed only natural that that is what I would pursue in graduate school. Once it became time to focus my interest in preparation for my dissertation, I decided to study the cognitive decay in Alzheimer's patients. We knew that they lost memories, but I wanted to explore how their basic cognitive functions were affected in certain settings.

As part of my program, I was a TA in an intro psych class, and I conducted my research at the hospital connected to the university. That’s where I first met Jessica Brooks. Despite getting a stipend for my teaching assistant work, I had been taking odd jobs to help make ends meet; D.C. wasn't cheap. When I mentioned that I had experience with kids, Jessica had immediately told me that she was needing help caring for her nephew in the wake of her father, Roy's diagnosis. She wanted to keep him at home, which was both admirable and time-consuming.

I wasn’t prepared for the gigantic background check that I was subjected to. I very quickly learned that my potential employer had some power at the FBI. Jessica had raved to him about me, so he agreed to meet with me. When Jessica told me he worked for the FBI, I was expecting a bureaucrat, kind of short, receding hairline, soft from sitting behind a desk all day.

Aaron Hotchner was none of those things. He was a total cliché; he was tall, dark, and handsome. His eyes were such a deep brown they were almost black, his hair was black, and he towered over me. His hand was firm when he shook mine. I initially thought he didn’t like me because of the scowl he wore on his face; now I knew that was just his default expression. I’m pretty sure he invented Resting Bitch Face. I think it was my meeting with Jack that sealed the deal. We had clicked right away. The 7-year-old was impressed by my knowledge of both DC and Marvel comics. I could still remember our first meeting so clearly; when in a move that I now know is so much like his father, he had asked me an interview question of his own.

“What is Spiderman’s middle name?” the boy had asked with a suspicious squint of his eyes.

This kid is poser checking me, I had thought with amusement. “That would depend on which Spiderman you’re referring to. Assuming it’s Peter Parker, his middle name is Benjamin.”

We were best friends after that.

I loved Jack; I really did. And I was paid well enough that he was the only child I babysat for, the rest of my time spent working on my research and plotting my dissertation. It was clear that Aaron Hotchner loved his son, and he felt guilty for not being around more. He was fierce and intimidating any other time, but once he was with his son, his entire face would transform. His smiles came easier, his eyes twinkled, and he didn’t seem so scary anymore.

None of that is why he made me nervous, though. What made me so nervous is the fear that one day I was going to spend enough time with him for him to see the feelings I had so stupidly developed for him.  

--

The very next night, I was hiding in the kitchen floor in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment.

“Ready or not, here I come!” the little voice called out before his feet started stomping loudly across the floor.

From my position behind the kitchen counter, I tried very hard to remain silent, despite my amusement. Jack Hotchner was many wonderful, wonderful things. Sneaky was not one of them. Which is why I wasn’t surprised when I heard his little feet hurry towards me, and I didn’t lose my balance when he turned the corner and launched himself at me. “Oomph!” was the only reasonable sound to make when a tiny human slammed into you.

Jack was delighted. “I FOUND YOU!”

My response was cut off by the sound of the front door opening. Jack was off me in a flash, barreling towards the living room. “Daddy!”

Mr. Hotchner made a similar “oomph” noise when Jack jumped on him, confirming my theory. I rose to my feet quickly, smoothing down my clothes.

“We were playing hide and seek, Daddy!” Jack informed his father. “I found y/n every time! She never found me once!” His chest puffed out with pride, making my face break into a smile.

“You’re just an excellent hider, Jack-attack.”

Mr. Hotchner’s eyes settled on my face then, for just a moment I saw something so sad in those eyes that the breath seized in my lungs.

He cleared his throat, seeming to shake off whatever he was thinking before smiling at his son. “I’m glad you had a good time with, y/n, buddy.”

Jack nodded vigorously. “I helped make dinner!”

“You did?” He questioned in fake astonishment. “When did you make dinner?”

“Tonight!”

Mr. Hotchner looked at me quizzically. “Oh, um, I wasn’t actually supposed to watch Jack tonight…but Jessica called and asked if I could. It was really last minute, and she’d already bought some stuff to make dinner…” I trailed off. “I hope that’s okay. Jesus Christ, y/n. You’re a 26-year-old woman, get it together.

His attention moved from me to his son. "Jack, go get changed into your pj's. It's almost bedtime." When Jack's mouth opened to protest this great injustice, his father went on. "You can tell y/n bye when you're done."

So much for a speedy escape, I thought. Instead, I just smiled at him. "Yep, I'll be right here, little man." Satisfied with this, Jack jumped out of his father's arms and ran towards his room.

“Why did Jessica need you to come over? Did something happen with Roy?” He looked genuinely worried, walking into the kitchen to stand near me.

I reached out and put a hand on his arm without thinking. "Oh, oh god no, nothing like that." Realizing I was touching him, I snatched my hand back like he'd burned me. "Sorry. She…she-um had a date."

His eyebrows rose so high they almost hit his hairline. “A date?” he asked, disbelief dripping from his words.

I chuckled. “That’s what she told me.”

He walked back into the living room then, leaning back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he focused his dark gaze on me. “What about you?”

“…What about me what?”

“Does Jessica ever have to cover for you when you have dates?”

If Aaron Hotchner hadn’t made me so nervous, I might have picked up on how he phrased that question. As it happens, all I could do was fidget under his gaze. “Oh,” I chuckled nervously. “Ah, no. She doesn’t have to do that. I don’t really date.”

That had one of his eyebrows rising, his arms crossing across his chest. "Why?"

Because I want you to crack my back like a glowstick. “Um…you know, it’s hard to find the time.”

Thankfully Jack chose that moment to come barreling out of his room, charging full force at me. “You’re still here!” he exclaimed.

I smiled down at him when his arms wrapped around my hips. I put one hand on the back of his head, the other on his back, giving him a squeeze. “Of course I am! I couldn’t leave without telling you goodbye.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he mumbled.

My throat worked as a sudden wave of emotion hit me. "Oh, Jack," my voice was thicker than usual when I spoke. "I don't like leaving you either, but you'll see me before you know it. I promise."

Once we had finally pried Jack off me, Mr. Hotchner went to take him to bed. He turned to me when he scooped Jack up in his arms. “Thank you for today.”

“It’s no problem, Mr. Hotchner.”

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Most people call me Hotch. Or you could call me Aaron.”

I didn't know what to say to that; all I could do was give him an awkward smile. I was gone before he came back into the living room. I didn't want to leave, I never did, but I couldn't risk being alone with…Aaron.

--

The following Thursday night, my phone started ringing just after 11:30. Glancing at it, I saw it was Jessica. “Hey,” I said in greeting.

“Hey, y/n,” she said, sounding frazzled. “I have a huge favor to ask. Dad’s home health nurse had to leave early tonight.” “Is something wrong with Melinda?” I hope not. She’s the sweetest.

“No, I don’t think so. But she needs to go home and there’s no one to sit with Jack. But Aaron isn’t home yet…”

“I’ll be there in 20.”

Which is why I was now in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment after midnight in a pair of shorts that were so short I only ever wore them at home and a t-shirt that I had had for forever. Jessica had sounded so upset when she called, I hadn't even thought to change. She had promised to be back as quick as she could; she said that Mr. Hotchner was flying back from a case, and she didn’t expect him until 5 a.m. at the earliest.

When I first arrived, I had tried to watch TV, my mind too wired to sleep, even though I had class at 9 am in the morning. Sighing, I glanced over at the clock to see it was just after 1:45 in the morning.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I whined out loud. I have to go to sleep; even if it’s just a little nap. I remembered Jessica had left some chamomile tea here for the nights she stayed over to watch Jack. Finding the kettle and the tea itself was no problem; the problem presented itself when I had to get a mug to put the tea in.

I had never considered myself a particularly short person; sure, I had to stretch to get things from time to time, but everybody did that. Looking up into the upper cabinets in the Hotchner house had me reconsidering that. The mugs were on the very top shelf and try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to reach them; my fingers kept grazing over the ceramic.

“Goddamnit,” I mumbled in a huff. What is the point to put mugs way the fuck up there? Some of us are a perfectly normal height…but noooo I have to work for giants. I braced my hands on the countertop as I heaved myself up on to said countertop. Once my knees were in place, I got the offending cup without further problems.

I blame how focused I was on my task for my not hearing the front door open, or the footsteps that followed. Which is why I had a mild heart attack when I heard a voice that sounded highly amused say from behind me, “What are you doing?”

Several things happened all at once, and very quickly. I let out the most embarrassing squeak in all of history, I lost my balance on the counter and the cup fell from my hand. The cup crashed to the floor and shattered. My fate might have been the same but two large hands caught me, gripping my hips from behind. I looked down to see his long fingers wrapping around my waist, gripping me tightly; my difficulty breathing then had nothing to do with how scared I was.  

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said softly, still not releasing me. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, I get it,” I said lightly, attempting to act like I wasn’t going into cardiac arrest because he was touching me. “You’re a very stealthy FBI agent. It was bound to happen.”

He chuckled before his hands pushed my hips so I was twisting around, my legs shifting until I was sitting on the countertop, staring into the same dark eyes I thought about far too often. They weren’t as harsh as they usually were; tonight, they were soft and warm, and they made my pulse race a bit faster.

I moved to get off the counter when the hands that were still on my hips stopped me. “Hang on, let me clean this up first. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Fantastic, I thought, hiding my face in my hands. It seems I was incapable of not making a fool out of myself in front of this man.

He worked quickly while I debated changing my name and fleeing the country; in the next moment, he was standing in front of me again. "What's wrong?"

“Oh, nothing,” I said, not moving my hands. “Just dying of embarrassment.”

Aaron actually laughed at that, moving closer to stand between my thighs, his hands coming to rest on the countertop on either side of my hips. “Why are you embarrassed?”

I dropped my hands then. “Because this is becoming a pattern! First, I fell asleep on your couch, then I almost fell off your counter and cracked my head like an egg.” I bit my lip, shifting under his gaze. “I’m sorry and thank you for catching me.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said softly.

He still had that soft look on his face, but he was smiling too like he was enjoying my embarrassment. He probably is. I had never been this close to him before. I didn’t know his eyes weren’t just one flat color of brown, but that lighter shades of brown whirled throughout. I had never felt the heat of his body before, but now I was so close I could smell him. Why does he have to smell good? I whined internally. If he just stunk, I could get over this.

This was exactly why I tried very hard to stay as far away from him as possible because I lost the ability to think clearly whenever I was with him. I couldn't stop my eyes from moving down to his lips. I was eye level with him from my position on the counter; all I had to do to brush my lips across his was lean forward, so that’s exactly what I did. His body stiffened slightly at the first touch of my lips to his. I pulled back, ready to apologize when his hand wrapped around the back of my head and pulled me back to him. There was nothing soft about this kiss. His free hand gripped my thigh, my hands held on to his shirt, trying to pull him closer. My tongue brushed against his mouth before he sucked on the tip of it, causing me to shudder. He took a step forward as his tongue twirled around mine. I could feel him when he settled against me; he was hard, and I found myself shifting my hips to rub against him.

The shrill ringing of his phone broke us apart suddenly. He was panting, his cheeks were slightly flushed. I thought I heard him let out a “fuck” under his breath as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone.

“Hey Jessica,” he answered.

Now that our moment was broken, I felt very self-conscious. What the fuck did I just do?! He is my boss. He is Jack’s dad. Aaron took a step back and I slid off the counter. This turned out to be a very bad idea on my part; my body brushed down the front of his, causing me to bite my lip to silence the moan that threatened to escape.

“Yeah, I landed a little while ago,” he said as I left the kitchen.

WhatthefuckWhatthefuck. I heard him end the call with Jessica before he quickly walked into the living room. A look of relief washed over his face when he saw me. “I thought you’d try to slip away.”

“I thought about it,” I told him honestly.

“Listen, y/n, about that in the kitchen,” he began.

I held up my hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hotchner. I don’t know why I did that; I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” I was giving him an out because I couldn’t handle hearing the rejection I knew was coming. “I just…I guess we got caught up in the moment? And you’re really tired, I’m sure. I’m so sorry.” I was rambling now. “If you don’t want me to watch Jack anymore-“

“Y/n, no,” he interrupted. “No, this…you’re right, it was just a heat of the moment thing. It happens. I’m sorry I lost myself for a moment.” He cleared his throat, his face still set in softness. “Jack loves you. He doesn’t need to suffer for any more of my mistakes.”

Mistakes. The word hollowed me out and left me cold. I just nodded. “Right,” I said in what I hoped was an even tone. “Just a mistake. I should get going. It’s really late.”

Which is how I found myself driving home at almost 3 in the morning with tears running down my cheeks. A mistake.

--

Things went back to normal after that night. I continued to avoid Aaron Hotchner at all costs and he…did whatever he did. I tried to hide the hurt whenever I did happen to see him, but it was so hard when I could still feel the tingle from his lips on mine.

A few days after the “mistake,” I was babysitting Jack again. He’d went to bed at his normal 8:30 and all was quiet. I decided to do some TA work while I waited for Mr. Hotchner to come home. I was halfway through grading an essay when I heard the first noise come from Jack’s room. Lifting my fingers from the keys of my computer, I waited to see if I heard another sound. I didn’t have to wait long; not even a minute passed before I heard a strained cry. Jumping up, I hurried down the hall to Jack’s bedroom.

Cracking the door open I called, “Jack-attack? Are you okay, little man?” I didn’t see him right away; he had hidden under his covers and curled up into a little ball. “Hey, Jack. It’s just y/n.” I sat down on the edge of his bed. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

I saw the lump under the blankets start to move hesitantly before I saw his brown hair peak out of the blanket near his pillow. His eyes were wide and with the light shining in from the hall, I could see tears gleam in them. “Oh, buddy,” I cooed. “Did you have a bad dream?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah…there was a bad man…and my daddy didn’t come save me.”

I felt my breath seize in my chest. Jessica had told me a brief version of what happened to Jack's mother a few years ago. "Jack, you know your dad would always do whatever he had to do to come to save you." I shifted my position on the bed until I was sitting beside him. "He'd never let anything bad happen to you." Jack started inching closer to me. I held out my arms and smiled when he lunged for me; I wrapped him in a tight hug, rubbing circles on his back.

“My dad just isn’t home a lot anymore. He has a lot of work to do,” he mumbled into my shirt.  

“Your dad would be home if he could, Jack.” I couldn’t quite keep the sadness out of my voice. It wasn’t fair to either Jack or his dad that he had to be away so much.

“I know,” the little boy whispered. “I just miss him sometimes.”

“Do you want to call him?” I offered. “I don’t think he’d mind.”

Jack just shook his head. “No, it’s okay.” He turned his face up to look at me. “Will you stay with me?”

I moved so he lay beside me with my left arm still squeezed around him. “Of course, bud.” I scooted down the bed so I was reclining instead of sitting straight up, pulling the cover-up over him again. "Do you want me to read you another story?"  

He just shuffled under his covers, looking at me with the bashful innocence of childhood. “Can you sing to me until I fall asleep?”

I wasn’t the biggest fan of singing in front of people, but how could I turn this little face down? I just nodded. “Do you have any requests?”

“Nope,” he answered with a little grin on his face.

Unfortunately, at that moment every single lullaby I had ever know left my head. I couldn’t think of a single traditional lullaby. So, I decided to improvise. I started singing slower songs I knew, some of them might not have been appropriate for a 7-year-old’s lullaby, but I don’t think Jack cared that much.

He was almost out, drifting on the edge between deep sleep and awake. My arm was still around his shoulder, he was still snuggled to my side. I decided one more song would be enough, which meant I pulled out my second Beatles song of the night.

“Who knows how long I’ve loved you?

You know I love you still.

Will I wait a lonely lifetime?

If you want me to, I will.

For if I ever saw-“

I glanced up, immediately sensing there was someone else in the room. To my horror, Jack’s father was standing in the doorway, staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I swallowed nervously, then I turned to press a kiss against Jack’s soft forehead before I gently detangled myself from him. I straightened my clothes that to my further embarrassment had shifted around because I was laying with a wiggly child, then, attempting to keep my face impassive, I walked to the door, moving around his father as I exited.

Mr. Hotchner walked into the room and checked on his son, while I moved into the living room to gather my things. I wonder if he just left the money by the door, I mused. If he did, I could just make a dash for the door. I mean, if he didn’t, he could always just pay me next time. Sadly, my plans were escape were foiled yet again by the man in question entering the room.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I know he was up past his bedtime. I put him down at 8, but he had a nightmare." I was babbling, not meeting his eyes, my gaze very intently focused on my bag. "He asked me to stay with him until he fell asleep…" I finally looked up, shrugged, and said, "He's very hard to say no to."

“You don’t have to apologize for being nice to my son, y/n,” he said softly. “That’s one of my favorite songs on the White Album, you know.”

I hadn’t known that. “Mr. Hotch-“

He took a step towards me before I finished speaking. “Y/n, please, I can barely handle this as it is. Please call me Aaron.”

I just blinked up at him. “So, ‘Hotch’ is off the table now?”

That had a soft smile curving his lips upward. "That was a limited-time deal. You should have been quicker." I saw his hand rise up slowly, so slowly that I would have had time to move away…but I just couldn’t. He brushed my hair back from my face, his eyes were two pools of black in the dim light, they were swirling with something that made my stomach flutter.

“Aaron,” I breathed, having no idea what I was going to say.

He let out a soft sigh, turning his eyes upwards. When he brought them back down to mine, his hand slid from its place near my ear to cradle the back of my head. His eyes searched mine for a moment before his shoulders dropped slightly. “Fuck it,” he muttered before he leaned down and sealed his lips over mine.

I might have thought this kiss would be questioning or unsure, but there was nothing unsure about it. Aaron kissed me like he was starving for me. His teeth caught my bottom lip and tugged as he pulled away. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he breathed before bringing his lips more firmly against mine.

My hands began to move over his body; one of my hands grabbed his tie and used it to pull him closer to me, the other reached up to brush against the short, soft hair on the back of his neck. “It wasn’t?” I questioned when we broke away for air.

Aaron’s lips moved across my cheek, leaving soft kisses until he reached my ear. “No, sweet girl, it wasn’t.” His mouth moved down to my neck; his kisses turning into bites that were sure to become brushes. I didn’t care, I needed him. My hands moved to his shirt, quickly trying to undo all the buttons.

His hands moved down to the waist of my jeans, deftly flicking the button open before sliding the zipper down. “Is this what you want?” he asked as his hand touched my lower stomach, his fingers brushing over the elastic band of my panties.

“Yes,” I said, still working to free him from his shirt. “I want this so much.”

The fingers of his free hand rose up to tap my chin, forcing my eyes up until I met his gaze. "I want to hear you say my name again." His other hand lifted from my stomach to slide over the flair of my hip until he was gripping my ass. "Whenever I laid in bed that night after I had you pressed against me in my kitchen when I stroked my cock, I thought about you moaning my name.” The hand that was on my chin pulled away, skimming down my body until he was grabbing the other side of my ass. “So, say it. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you, Aaron.” So, so much.

His hands moved to the backs of my thighs, then he lifted me up his body, startling me. Jesus Christ, how strong is this guy? I threw my arms around his neck as he started walking us down towards his bedroom. A giggle escaped my lips. “I could have walked, you know.”

We had already entered his room; he tossed me gently on the bed before he turned to close and lock the door. He walked to stand at the side of his bed, his eyes devouring me. “I couldn’t give you a chance to sneak away again, sweet girl.” Aaron pulled off his tie before he finished unbuttoning his shirt, shedding it on the floor.

Fuck. Fuck, he’s hot. I pulled my own shirt over my head, and his body was on top of me before it even left my hands. Aaron's mouth moved down to my collarbones, his hand slipped behind my back to unhook my bra. Once the straps were down my arms, Aaron lifted himself up on his arms to toss it away, his eyes running over my body. "You're so beautiful," he said softly like it wasn't the sweetest compliment I'd ever been paid. He leaned over again, his lips skimming down to my chest before he wrapped his lips around one of my nipples.

“Fuck, Aaron,” I moaned.

He gave my nipple a flick with his tongue before he lifted his head. “Ssh, sweet girl. You have to be quiet. Can you do that?” He kissed his way over to my other breast. “I can’t do this if you won’t be quiet.”

“I can be quiet,” I whispered right before I bit my lip to smother my moan at the feeling of his mouth on me. “Maybe.”

His breath puffed against my skin when he laughed at me. My hands threaded through his hair when he brought his face back up to mine. My mouth opened eagerly for him, my tongue slicking over his while I tried to grind my body against him. Aaron was smiling when he broke the kiss, shifting up onto his knees. “Well, I appreciate you trying to be quiet at any rate,” he teased.

My response died in my throat when his fingers yanked my jeans off my legs, bringing my panties with them. I was totally bare in front of him. His eyes raked down my body in a way that would make me self-conscious with anyone else. How could I ever be self-conscious with a man who looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world?

But when he started to kiss further down my body, I grabbed his arm, attempting to pull him back up to kiss me. “Aaron,” I whispered.

He pressed a soft kiss to my collarbone. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“You don’t…you don’t have to do…that,” I mumbled, feeling my face heat up.

Aaron braced himself on his arms and stared down at me. Enlightenment dawned on his face a second later. He leaned down to kiss me softly. “Do you not want me to?”

I bit my lip, feeling more flustered. “It’s just…I’ve never…and I know that guys don’t really like-.“ My words were cut off when he placed another kiss to my lips, still incredibly soft, but with more force than before.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't," he said quietly. "But I can assure you, I can't think of anything more I'd rather do than lick your pussy until you cum all over my face." He skimmed his lips over my cheek to my ear. "And once you've come down, I want to slide my cock inside you and feel how soft and wet you are." His kisses moved down to my neck, his mouth sucking on my pulse point. "Then I want to fuck you until you're whimpering against my lips to make you cum again.”

I felt my core throb at his words. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. He lifted his gaze when he got back to my breast, flicking my nipple with his tongue. “Is that what you want too, sweet girl?”

I have never wanted anything more, I thought; but I was so far gone that all I could do was nod.

He gave me a soft smile, moving down the bed further to settle between my thighs, pulling them further apart. I felt a kiss pressed to one thigh, then the other. His hot breath washed over the part of me that was already so wet for him. “You’re beautiful here too,” he murmured before he pressed a kiss to my clit. I lifted my hips at the sensation, causing him to chuckle and move his hands to wrap around my thighs, his arms anchoring me in place. A second later I understood why he braced my hips. The second he flattened his tongue and licked the length of my pussy, my hips started moving involuntarily and my fingers tangled in his hair.

I felt a puff of air against me when he laughed again, and it made me smile. I didn’t expect Aaron Hotchner to be fun…or dirty in bed. All thought immediately left my head when he parted me with his tongue, dipping into my entrance before spearing his tongue into me. I felt the vibration when he moaned against me. "You taste so fucking good, y/n," he said, his voice still hushed. Giving my entrance one last lick, he moved up to my clit.

He spent time moving his tongue around me, learning what made me squirm. When he started fluttering his tongue quickly over my clit my hands started tugging on his hair and my thighs tried to snap together.

“Aaron,” I whined, attempting to rock my hips against his mouth.

I think he understood what I needed better than I did. His left hand released my thigh and moved down to my heat, just below his mouth. I felt his fingers brush over me before he pushed on inside me, causing my back to arch off the bed. “Aaron, Aaron, fuck.” He added a second finger, pumping them in a rhythm that complimented the movements of his mouth.

I wasn't prepared for when his lips closed around my clit, sucking lightly, while his fingers started to curl inside of me. “Oh my God," I moaned out, louder than I should have. "Aaron, I'm going to cum." I started pulling on his hair so hard it must have hurt, but he just moaned against me, never slowing his pace. "Aaron, fuck, please. I think…I-I-“

My words broke off as the band inside of me snapped, my pussy clamping down on his fingers and my back arching off of the bed, my mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

Aaron slowed his motions, slowly bringing me through the orgasm and back down to Earth. With one final kiss to my thigh, he rose and moved up my body until his face was hovering over mine. His lips were shiny with my arousal, they also looked a little swollen, but more importantly, they were smirking at me.

I’ll give him that one. Reaching up I cradled his jaw in my hands, bringing his mouth down to mine. I tasted myself on his lips and tongue when he licked into my mouth. Despite the powerful orgasm he had just given me, I was still desperate for him. I broke away from his mouth. “Aaron, I need you.”

He pressed another kiss to my lips before he lifted up and stood at the side of the bed, undoing the buckle of his belt. My eyes were fixed on his movements, watching as he unbuttoned his slacks and slid them down his legs. His cock was a thick pipe outlined in his underwear. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband before he spoke again. "I'll give you everything you need, greedy girl." Aaron pushed his underwear down, his cock springing free before he climbed back on the bed.

He was so much thicker than I expected he would be. I moved my hand down to wrap my fingers around him, pumping his length. He let out a groan and lowered his forehead to mine. “Baby,” he muttered. “I…fuck. I have to get a condom.”

“Aaron,” I whined. “I want to feel you inside me. I’m on birth control. Please?” The thought of anything separating me from this man was abhorrent to me in that moment.

I saw his willpower crumble. “Are you sure?”

So sure. “Please,” I begged lifting my head to kiss him. “I want you to fuck me.”

With a groan that I will remember for the rest of my life, he shifted his hips forwarded, allowing my hands to guide him to my entrance. Aaron kissed me then, slowly and deeply has he started to push inside me. My hand flew away from his cock, both my arms wrapping around his body to pull him closer to me. I felt my nails digging into his back.

Aaron broke our kiss with another soft moan that sounded like my name. “I knew you’d feel like this,” he whispered, pressing deeper inside me. “I knew your pussy would be this fucking tight, this fucking hot, and so fucking soft." He started moving in and out of my pussy, going in a little further each time. “You still have to be quiet, sweet girl.”

“I’m trying,” I moaned, my pussy already starting to flutter around him when he finally pushed all the way inside of me. “Aaron, fucking Christ.” I felt him everywhere, and I somehow still craved more.

He grabbed my thigh, pulling if further up his side, allowing himself to sink deeper inside of me. “I know, sweet girl. I know.” He started a slow pace, pulling almost all the way out of me before slamming back inside me.

My head was thrashing against the pillows, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. “Aaron, I need you to fuck me harder. Please.”

He groaned at my words, placing a sloppy kiss to my mouth before pulling back. He pulled one of my legs up until it was over his shoulder, the other still wrapped around his waist, and then he started to move faster inside of me.

I braced one hand against the headboard as he pounded into me. “Oh my god, Aaron,” my voice was a low whimper as I looked down to see his cock sliding in and out of me. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Baby, I want you to reach down and rub your clit for me while I fuck your tight little pussy.” His pace started to speed up as he spoke. “Can you do that for me?” He groaned when I complied, the stimulation to my clit causing my pussy to flutter around him. “Good girl.”

My fingers began to work frantically. “Don’t stop, Aaron. Don’t stop,” I begged. “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweet girl, I can feel you. Your pussy feels so good squeezing around my cock. You’re going to make me cum.” His thrusts were starting to get choppier, one of his hands braced on the top of the headboard while the other held my leg on his shoulder. “Do you want me to cum inside your pretty pussy, sweet girl?” He groaned loudly when my walls clenched around him. “It feels like you like the idea of that, don’t you baby?”

My fingers continued their pace, my head thrashing, my body trembling. “Yes. Fuck, Aaron. Please cum inside of me. Please.”

Aaron felt it first and acted quickly; his hand moved from my leg to cover my mouth. “That’s it, cum for me, baby.”

I thought my orgasm earlier tonight was powerful. It was nothing compared to how I felt when I came around his cock, only to feel him find his own release a moment after.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, y/n,” he breathed, giving a last few jerks inside of my body, pushing against the fluttering aftershocks of my orgasm. He rolled off me, careful not to drop all of his weight on top of me. To my relief, he quickly gathered me in his arm, pulling me against his body, pressing a soft kiss to my sweaty forehead.

My ear was pressed against his chest, allowing me to hear his heartbeat slowdown from its frantic pace and his breathing even out. I turned my head and pressed a kiss to his chest while his hand continued to stroke my back.

“That…that was amazing,” I said, looking up at him. “If I knew you had that in you, I wouldn’t have run out of the room every time I was alone with you.”

He laughed softly, his eyes sparkling. “Well, at least you’ll know for next time.”

My thoughts sobered at his words. Next time

“Hey,” he said, his hand cupping the side of my face. “No, don’t go away. I just got you.” He kissed my forehead again, then the tip of my nose, then both of my eyelids, before he tilted my face up further so he could press a kiss to my lips. “We’ll figure this out. We have to. I care too much about you to let you go.”

“I care about you too,” I replied, snuggling against his chest, my eyes suddenly feeling heavy.

I was almost asleep when I heard his voice rumble again. “Will you sing Beatles songs to me when I can’t sleep too?” His voice was sleepy and teasing.

I smiled into the darkness, not bothering to open my eyes. “If you want me to, I will.”

--

Permanent Taglist: @rachelxwayne​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace​ @nanocoool​

[miss-choco-chips]

Robin and Red X

Just a silly thing I wrote for @animemangasoul. Hopefully this makes you laugh a bit, hon! No edit whatsoever.

The titans were having a difficult time reconciling their easy going, funny, sure of himself leader with the hot mess in front of them.

“Uhh…”Wally, the bravest of them all, places a careful hand on his shoulder. “Maybe we should… call your dad?”

Robin turns to look at him so fast it almost looks like his neck broke. Beast boy screams, turns into a rabbit and jumps into Raven’s arms, because the sound that came from Rob’s mouth wasn’t human at all.

“If any of you call Batman, I’ll personally ensure living hell for everyone in the Team. This is MY case!”

Wally hastily retreats, hands up in a surrender gesture. 

“Okay, okay! I’m just saying, chill. This Red X dude has been giving us all too much trouble, maybe Bats could point us in the right direction or…”

They think Dick said ‘no’, but it was more of a demonic screeching.

“But we’ll respect your wishes! Because you are our friend!”, and you scare us shitless, he added in his mind. 

Roy signaled at Wally, the moment Dick turned his back to them again. Something like ‘are we calling the Bat anyway?’, to which Wally replied ‘I don’t have a death wish, fuck no’.

They never really get around to capture Red X, but no one dares to bring up asking Batman for help again. The mysterious anti hero keeps kicking all their asses each and every time they face him, always having a countermeasure for their specific powers or abilities, but honestly? He’s not as scary as an unhinged Dick could be, so they’d rather fight him than wait for bathed breath for Dick’s revenge if they went behind his back to solve the case with his old mentor.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Jason hasn’t inherited the Robin cape from his predecessor. Dick wasn’t happy, seeing a new kid using his suit without permission, when he himself apparently hadn’t been ready to let it go.

But Jason wanted to be Robin. Needed it. All the good he could do… the people like him he could help… This was his chance of doing right. Of proving the world (proving himself) he was not like his father, a complete and utter trash that belonged in the dumpster that was Arkham. That he, a street rat, could be a hero.

So he fought for his right to the mask, even if he sometimes felt the itch to go wild and do his own thing. Because honestly, being Robin was awesome, but having Batman constantly breathing down his neck? Yeah, not so much.

So when Dick, now Nightwing, approached him one afternoon while Bruce was out on business, he was both weary and desperate for some distraction.

Which was exactly what the dude provided.

“What I’m going to show you”, Dick starts, slowly, after he’s checked there are no ears on them, ”it’s Robin’s secret. The only one we manage to keep from Batman. What our ancestors saved for us, our legacy.”

“We are the only two Robins, dipshit.”

“Shut up this is a formal process. Do you wanna know or not?”

“Just… tone down the roleplaying.”

“Fuck off, that’s the best part.”

Curiosity trumping annoyance, he watches as Dick places a briefcase in the coffee table where he was doing his math homework.

“This right here, it’s all the information, anything you ought to know about our mantle’s most important endgame. This is Robin’s never-ending mission. Our Moby dick. Red X.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Jason approached Tim with the briefcase, Tim’s first thought was ‘he’s going to bribe me’- an automatic response after working on Wayne Enterprises for months now. 

The second was ‘he has someone’s head there hasn’t he. Am I going to be an accomplice? What crime was this, and can I hide it from Bruce?’.

The third and final ‘maybe I should ask him first’.

His -thankfully sane now- predecessor reached the little nook where Tim had tucked himself, in hopes of staying hidden from Damian long enough to enjoy the mannor’s wifi without having to stand his bitching. He sits cross legged in front of him.

“So. Give me all you have on Red X.”

This was… unexpected, but not unprecedented. The family tends to think of him as a convenient alternative to some criminal wikipedia sometimes. 

Obediently (because then he’ll get to go back to his research sooner), he rattles out what little he could scrounge on the antihero. It was, admittedly, not much; any younger hero had not heard of Red X, as he’d been dormant for some years now, and the older ones were forbidden to talk about him by Dick himself. The first Robin had claimed ownership of the antihero, and anyone caught working on his case without his permission would find themself with their life turned around  in the most inconvenient of ways before they could even finish burying the evidence. With Bruce taking a neutral stand on the matter, merely respecting his son’s wishes, no one was willing to risk the fury of someone with Batman’s resources and knowledge.

Except, apparently, Jason, because he was opening the briefcase and turning it in his direction.

“Let me tell you a lil story, that Dickie shared with me some years ago. I wasn’t a good predecessor for a long time ‘ere, Timmers, and I wanna make it right by properly passing this on. The true legacy of Robin; the mystery of Red X.”

“I… I’m not Robin any longer”, he blurted out, though his fingers twitched to touch the contents of the briefcase, to go through all that juicy, sweet treasure.

“Doesn’t matter. Dickie gave Robin without your permission, but this… this only I can pass on, just as you can only pass it to the brat when yer ready. No one can take this away, or Dickie loses the claim he has on Red X.”

Jason opens the briefacase all the way, then.

Tim drops his coffee.

Suddenly, there was something way more important. As unholy as it sounded.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Damian was invited by Drake to their own private ‘bonding night’, he was weary but hopeful. He’d been trying to fix their bond for some time now, so he could not ruin this chance, as suspicious as it sounded.

So they watched a movie, ate vegetarian pizza (Damian felt emotions when he realized Tim knew, paid attention) and complained about their older siblings and their role as Robin.

“It’s just… a heavy burden”, he admits. If someone can understand his feelings, it’d be Timothy after all.

“I get you. There’s also the matter of Dick’s and Bruce’s expectations on you.”

“I have to be perfect for them, all the time. The smallest mistake and… I could lose my family. But I feel so trapped…”

Tim’s hand found his and squeezed it. When Damian looked up, the older teen had a compassive look on his eyes.

“I might have the solution for that.”

As if he had planned this (perhaps he had), Tim retrieved a briefcase from under the couch they were occupying.

“Dick gave this to Jason, and he to me. Now, I’m passing this on to you.”

Damian tilted his head, a bit confused.

“I.. am already Robin.”

Tim smiled and pushed the case closer to him.

“This is even better. The freedom to the bindings that come with the suit. Open it.”

Curious, still weary but unwilling to lose any ground he had gained with his brother, he obeyed.

And promplty dropped it to the ground.

“What is this?!!”

“This”, Tim smiles, cheshire-cat-like, “is the Red X costume, and all his toys. Including, but not limited to, a perfect holographic devise, to use to make people think you are fighting Red X, to clean your name should anyone suspect the truth. I’ve been using it all this last few months, to…”

“Ruin my life?!”, he yells, because it’s not a secret Red X had came back from dormancy to utterly fuck with Robin, taunting him and beating his ass at every turn. It had been doubly frustrating, because everyone refused to speak about the antihero to him, so he had no information on the man to hunt him down properly.

“Chill. I just.. needed to vent a bit. And this suit helped me, which is the entire purpose of Red X.”

“I...don’t understand.”

Tim placed the briefcase in the coffee table and inched closer to Damian.

“Dick created the alias back in the day, when the pressure of being a perfect Robin became too much and he just… wanted to fuck shit up. Unwind a bit. He couldn't do it as himself and lose all the respect from the other heroes he had managed to amass, so he needed a scapegoat for it.”

Damian felt a tug of interest in his gut. He tried to surreptitiously look at the briefcase. 

“Being Robin is tiresome. It’s too heavy a burden. Always perfect partner, always a goodie two shoes… Red X allows you to go wild, be gay-do crime sort of thing, without meddling from any other hero in the community. Burn a warehouse. Use the rocket launcher B has under lock and key. Fuck whoever dumb crimefighter  you dislike the most up. Stir shit whenever you feel life’s been too quiet. Let go and have fun... Damian, aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you just want to go ape shit?”

His fingers were digging into the suit before his older brother could even finish talking.

[starkatana]

All You Need to Know

Jason Todd X Female Reader

WordCount: 2813 (it’s long!~)

Summary: Jason proposes to you and you two have a smaller wedding with the BatFam in attendance at your Vegas wedding.

Author’s note: So, here begins my various one-shots of Jason Todd/Red Hood x Reader//y/n AKA my current obsession. I may compile all of them into chronological order once everything is done. I just really wanted to write and post something. I just have too many WIP’s right now that I need to focus on.

They aren’t exact ages. This is just a world that I made using these characters because I can. In this AU, Jason has died and come back to life. You two broke up and you dated Peter Parker (Spider-Man) for a little bit. At this point, you and Jason are 24-ish?

You are a dancer who works at a dance studio.

Sorry if its a little out of character, this is just based on my knowledge that tumblr has given me.

I used this post from fandomneeds!

Jason’s vows is the song: All You Need to Know by Gryffin

Hope you enjoy!

Jason scratched his head and crumpled up the vows he was working on.

“Ugh.”

Roy peeked into Jay’s room, “Having a hard time?” He cocked a sarcastic smile at his best friend.

“Fuck. Every time I try to write something it seems just so stupid and cookie cutter.”

“Aren’t those what vows are? Just telling the person you want to spend the rest of your life with them sickness and in health blah blah.”

“Yeah.” Jason shrugged, “I have basic vows for the Gotham wedding, but for the wedding this weekend, I just want them to be different and less like everything else.”

“Well, what do you want to say?”

“Exactly.”

Roy laughed. “You’ve read a million books you’re telling me that you can’t string the most romantic scenes and moments together?”

Jason sat back in the chair.

“What does she need to know? What are you confessing in front of the hardest people you need to impress? Me and the rest of your siblings.”

“It's not for you guys. It’s for us.”

“Then what do you want to tell her?”

Jason sat back in his chair with his hand behind his head, remembering the evening he asked you to marry him.

It happened to be a night that you and Jason didn’t have patrol, so you two made a date night out of it. The two of you are sitting in a booth at your favorite local diner. You two managed to keep it a secret from everyone else in the Batfam so they wouldn’t just show up and surprise you two. It’s late at night and you two had been there so often that the wait staff had your orders memorized. He was sitting across from you with his arms outstretched over the back of the booth as he listened to you talk with a half-smirk on his face.

You were sitting back in your booth just going on about your students from the dance studio. He loved how passionate you were about your job and how much you cared for other people. You two had been through so much, even when he had been an ass to you. You somehow took him back after everything he said and put you through. He was grateful for that. Life made sense with you.

“Hello? Earth to Jason.” You were waving your hand in his face snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Are you even listening?”

“Yeah! You were saying how you had to help some of your kids with their science and math homework and how you don’t miss science and math homework. Then you told me about the puppies you saw on your way to work today. And no, I still don’t think getting a dog is a good idea.”

“Okay, so you were listening,” you chuckle, “Sorry you just looked zoned out. I thought I was just rambling.”

“No.” Jason sits up leaning forward in the booth putting his hands on the table. “I like listening to you talk.”

You smile and instinctively lean into him as he takes on of your hands and with the other, you stir your milkshake. He gently rubs over your thumb. Basking in the comfortable silence and the background noise of the diner. Still holding his hand you sit back in the booth and close your eyes. If only every night could be this comfortable.

“Y/n.”

“Hm?” You respond without opening your eyes. He squeezes your hand.

“Will you marry me?”

You open an eye and take a peek at him. He was still sitting across the table from you. He hadn’t moved and was looking right at you.

He couldn’t possibly be serious. You chuckle. “Shut up.” You respond closing your eyes again.

“No, I’m serious.”

You take your hand back and sit up in the booth and stare at him half confused and half suspicious. You narrowed your eyes trying to gauge his reaction. Almost expecting him to go “Haha. Gotcha.” Or “I’m kidding.” You don’t know why he’d joke like that but you don’t know why he’d be asking you to marry him.

Marriage was something you two talked about but it was also something you two would just let happen when it felt most comfortable. You knew you wanted to be with him and he with you. So, you weren’t sure why you thought he was kidding.

“I know I don’t have a ring and I know I’m not down on one knee but I want to spend the rest of my life with you and after everything that happened I know you’re the one I want to spend my life with. I’m planning to get you a ring but I wanted to get you something with my money, not Bruce’s.  I couldn’t wait to ask you.”

“Jay....”

“Do you want me to get on one knee? I will if you want.” he begins to stand up.

“No.” You grab his hand and set him back down, “No it’s okay. I’d love to marry you. I’ll happily marry you. No ring needed. No need to get on one knee.”

He squeezes your hand.

“Should we just run away?” He teased.

“And have Roy be our witness and third wheel forever?”

“And always.”

You two share a kiss across the table.

“I got it.”

You two decided to elope to Vegas. You two were going to have a real wedding soon where paparazzi would be “invited” your mom would be there and all your business colleagues, Wayne enterprises, socialites, and other Gotham elite it would be a wedding for everyone. But you and Jason wanted a smaller ceremony for the two of you first. What started small as in you, Jay, and Roy. Turned into a Batkid affair. So you, Jason, Roy, Dick, Duke, Tim, Damian, Cas, Steph, and Babs all flew out to Vegas. Your first day in Vegas while everyone was out walking around together around the Vegas strip. You and Jason decided on a small stage space close to the end of the “Venetian” river.

It was Vegas wedding day. Roy stood beside Jason. They weren’t wearing tuxes but they were dressed nicer. Jason had on black pinstriped pants, a red button-up with the sleeves rolled up with a black-tie done loosely with a black vest on. Roy had on black dress pants with a yellow dress shirt rolled up like Jason’s and unbuttoned near the top with suspenders on.

The two of them were making small talk, to help calm Jason’s nerves. The plan was for him and Roy to be there with the photographer before the impromptu wedding. Then the rest of the family would appear shortly after. Jason had his hands in his pant’s pockets and laughed at Roy’s joke.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“It’s not every day, I get to marry my best friend.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you cheat on y/n with me.”

Jason rolled his eyes at Roy. When Roy gave him a big smile and pointed behind Jay.

Jason turned around and Dick was leading the train of the Batfam. Jason tried to look past them all to get a glimpse of you, but they had you perfectly hidden behind them.

At this point, the passersby that were minding their own business began to stop and hang around, some kept minding their own business, while others were interested in the show. Dick greeted Jason first, he patted his shoulder, “Congrats, Little Wing.” Jason gave his brother a light punch in the arm and Dick moved aside. Following Dick was Tim who also gave him congratulations. Then there is Duke, where the two shared a hug. Cass was after and gave him a fake one-two punch in the gut followed by a hug. Next was Steph and then Babs, who he shared a hug with both of them.

“You’re in for a treat.” Steph teased.

Babs blew Jason a kiss and the two stood next to Cas.

Jason looked over at his family to the side of him. A lot has happened and they stood by him through it all. To have them all here, he was grateful. Then everyone looked over to where they came in. Little Damien, who is now 13 much more mature than the 8-year-old you had originally met. Damien loved you and thought of you as a big sister.

You planned to walk down the aisle yourself, but when Damien asked if he could give you away to Jason who were you to deny him.

You always knew Damien thought highly of you but one day after you and Jason had gotten back together after your hiatus apart. Damien lectured you left and right about how if Todd is ever a dick to you again he’d take care of Todd himself.

“Not if I handled him myself first.” You joked with Damien.

“Good.”

Then one day, you’ll never forget you were looking for Damien, but couldn’t find him in the manor. You walked outside onto the manor’s patio where Dick and Jason were sitting.

“Hey, do you know where Damian is?” you ask taking a seat next to Jason, “I can’t find him.”

“Yeah,” Dick nods, “Hold on, I got this.” He clears his throat. “DAMIAN! JASON IS BULLYING Y/N!!!”

Jason shook his head and looked at Dick, “Wait, what?!”

“Goddammit!”

You and Jason looked around and then up as Dick nodded proudly. Damien opened the window from the second floor in the manor and jumped out of it with a fighting stick. “TODD!”

Jason gets up from where he’s sitting and quickly runs out of the way, “GAAHH!!!”

You look over at Dick who nods and is giving you two thumbs up.

Back to the wedding:

Jason’s jaw dropped and he couldn’t believe that he was so lucky to have you. You were in a short spaghetti strap lacy white dress it hugged your body and your curves it had a slight v neck to it but wasn’t revealing. You wore your hair down nothing too fancy, just some soft waves and a baby’s breath crown on your head with your hair resting on your left shoulder.

You had a small light pink and black bouquet. Your shoes were a metallic white pearl shoe with skinny heel with a buckle around the ankle. It took everything in Jason not to just run over to you, sweep you off your feet and shower you in kisses. He was the happiest and luckiest man alive. The photographer was snapping pictures like crazy. When you left Alfred just asked for some pictures of the wedding, if Alfred wanted photos he was going to get them. No questions asked.

Roy nudged Jason. Jason nudged him back and couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

Damien walked you up to Jason.

“Thanks, Dami.” And you two shared a hug.

Damien turned around and glared at Jason. “Todd.”

“Demon spawn.” He cracks Damian a half-smile.

“Don’t mess this up, again.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

Damian nods and steps aside letting Jason know that he’s approved of you two together again. You give Damien your bouquet. He walks over next to Babs and Steph. Jason offered you his hand. You take it and he leans into you as he helps you up, “You look absolutely gorgeous.” He stands up straight as you two take each other’s hands.

“Everyone is staring at us.”

“Everyone is staring at you.” Jason gestured, down to what you were wearing, giving you an ‘it’s definitely not me, it’s you’ kind of look.  You smiled at him as you moved your hair out of your face and then take his hands again. He couldn’t stop smiling as much as he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Looking at you like this was like falling in love all over again. This was happening.

“Hello, friends and family.” Roy began, “We are gathered here for the marriage of our beloved Y/f/n/   y/m/n   y/l/n and our shit-eating boy, Jason Peter Todd.”

Everyone chuckles at Roy and Jay playfully flips him off.

“Now, the couple would like to say their vows.”

“Jason Peter Todd.” You began, “Where do I even begin with you. With us? Since my first day at Gotham Academy when you kept spilling coffee on me. We’ve unfortunately been best friends since. You’ve been my first choice always since we’ve met and since I’ve been with you I’ve never safer. From the highs and the lows you’ve been with me through it all.” You wipe one of your eyes, “I couldn’t imagine going through life with anyone else except for you. So, take me as I am because I have already taken you. I promise to always be by your side through anything the world may throw at us. I’ll protect you through it all.”

He brings your hands to his lips and kisses them.

“I guess it’s my turn.” He rolls his shoulders back while he stands up straight with your hands still in his. “Y/n.”

He looks around him, his brothers, and his sisters. The crowd that had gathered during your ceremony. The perfect weather and the beautiful bride he has. You were breathtaking. Looking at you, his heart skipped a beat.

Every. Single. Time.

He takes a deep breath before beginning.

“I’ll keep it as simple as I can.” He bites his lip, “Shit.” He wipes his eye. “How’d you do this without balling?” he joked.

You chuckle, “It was hard.”

“Ok,” he gives your hands another squeeze, “Y/n, you don't have to listen carefully, because I will tell you a thousand times. With your hands in mine, look at this thing we found. I have everything I need and I promise to give you everything you will ever need because you make me not want to die.”

You let out a chuckle and Roy rolled his eyes. Before you and Jason would say ‘I love you’ that’s what you’d say to each other, when you first started dating and when you guys got back together.

You’d be leaving the safe house for dance practice and Jason called after you, “Y/n!”

“What?”

He’d tilt his head and give you a soft smile, “you make me not want to die.”

You crack a smile and flip him off as he flips you off in return. You continue walking away and Jason can’t help but keep his eyes glued on you as you left.

“You two have the weirdest relationship.” Roy pretended to be disgusted.

“When you get sad like you do sometimes. Anything you feel. Put it all on me. All of your thoughts, I want everything. I’m letting you know, I’m going to be around.”

It had been months since you and Peter broke up and since you have decided not to take Jason back. You opened your eyes and started to cry. He was standing in front of you. “What happened to us?” You ask wiping away your tears.

He goes to step towards you and you back away making yourself smaller.

“Y/n.” He hesitates and puts his arms back to his side.

You don’t look at him.

“I’m sorry.” You look at him. Now he was crying, “I was wrong. You were right and I shouldn’t have done the things that I did but I did and I hurt you and I’m sorry. I don’t want to be apart from you anymore. I’m better with you than I am without you.”

“Jason...” you feel your chest tighten as more tears begin to fall.

“All I want to do is love you and if you don’t want to be with me. At least let me be around...again. I miss my best friend.”

You get on your tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck. Where he wraps his arms around your body in a tight embrace.

“I never stopped loving you.” You cried. “I’m so scared and lost I don’t know what I want.” You begin to hiccup and Jason rubs your back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. Sincerely. I promise I won’t ever be the reason you cry again.”

“I'll lift you when you're feeling low. I'll hold you when the night gets cold. Your fears and your thoughts, give me all of it. You'll never have to be alone and that's all you need to know.”

You wipe away your tears.

“I’m sorry.” Jason apologized.

You shook your head no, “Good tears.” He smiles at you and you both look over at Roy who smiling at them softly. He nods and breaks the silence: “Jason Peter Todd, you may kiss your bride.”

Jason cups your face as he pulls you in for a passionate kiss on the lips as the audience that has since gathered clapped and cheered but not louder than his and your family only a few steps away.

[plumoh]

[FEH] weight

Rating: G

Word count: 2715

Summary: After spending time together, and realizing they have more in common than he initially believed, Roy thinks he and Annette are cut from the same cloth.

Note: AO3 link. I believe Roy and Annette would be very good friends and will find in each other companionship...they’re good kids. No spoilers for either game.

“Is this not… your preferred weapon?”

“Oh, not at all! My uncle sent me to the School of Sorcery, where I study hard. I was put through some axe training because of my family’s relic, but I’d rather fight with my spells than fight with… this.”

Annette gestures at the giant axe that is lying on the ground while they’re resting in-between treasure hunting sessions, her face twisted in something akin to embarrassment. Roy glances at the wiggling teeth and shudders; yeah, he wouldn’t want to wield this weapon either.

“I’ve never seen a weapon quite like that,” he says.

“Crusher isn’t the worst, trust me. Sylvain wasn’t summoned with his family’s relic, but the Lance of Ruin is terrifying and seems straight out of a nightmare.”

Fódlan’s sacred weapons look like they were cursed instead of blessed by the Goddess—nobody in their right mind would look at them and think they weren’t going to have half their energy sucked dry. Roy has been in Askr long enough to know some heroes are being corrupted by their own powers, and he doesn’t wish it on anyone who still has the chance to keep them in check.

Today’s hunting spot is near a cliff, where they’re supposed to gather materials to upgrade their armors, as usual; with so many heroes arriving each day, Kiran is determined to welcome them as best as possible with fitted armors and spare weapons in case something goes wrong with the weapon they were summoned with. It usually takes a while before anyone has to change their weapon, but they can never be too safe.

Roy is picking at some grass blades as he listens to Prince Leo and Peony talk about specific species of flowers good for insomnia, and he can’t help thinking that the words leaving Prince Leo’s mouth are from experience, rather than simple knowledge. They’ve stumbled upon each other many a time in the library at night, when both of them should be in bed resting instead of doing whatever research or studying they were up to—not that anyone else knows, of course.

“Have you studied magic, Lord Roy?” Annette asks with a small smile, apparently eager to talk about a subject she’s well versed in.

Roy frowns. “You can call me Roy.”

Annette’s eyes narrow and she shakes her head. “That wouldn’t be proper, you’re a noble from another country!”

“But you let me call you Annette, would you rather I call you Lady Annette?”

“You’re a Marquess’s son!”

“From what I’ve gathered Sylvain is a Margrave’s son, our statuses are the same, and you call him Sylvain!”

“...I haven’t thought about that.”

Roy resists the urge to groan. Why is it so hard for people to simply call him by his name?

Annette’s face is pinched, like she cannot determine whether it truly makes sense for her to be informal with people she’s fighting alongside with. Roy thought that people his age would also prefer be addressed casually by their friends and allies.

“Alright, I guess you’re right… Roy,” Annette says tentatively.

Roy smiles. “See, isn’t this better? There’s no need to follow etiquette so closely between friends.”

“I might take some time to get used to it...”

“That’s fine, don’t worry.”

Annette nods, still a bit anxious about it but Roy has learned that it’s just her simple state of being—worrying over everything and anything, making sure that she is doing her job correctly and that she isn’t inadvertently inconveniencing anyone. Well, at least he understands her desire to work hard to be as helpful as possible.

“To answer your question, I did study magic, but I’m not very good at it,” he admits. “My teacher was Cecilia. Lilina and I were her students, but she was much more talented than I was.”

Recalling those memories always brings a small tinge of disappointment; he logically knows that some people are naturally compatible with magic, and others are not, but he can’t help feeling a bit envious of anyone wielding a weapon in one hand and shooting spells with the other.

“Do you want to pursue it? We could study together!”

“I don’t think we’d be reading the same level of material,” Roy chuckles. “That would be wonderful, but I think it’s better if I keep training with the sword, which is a weapon that I understand better.”

He also doesn’t know if studying magic now would yield more results than it did years ago.

“Focusing on what you’re best at...” Annette mumbles. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll gladly help you.”

Annette smiles at him, eager and kind, and Roy mirrors her expression.

***

It’s almost comical to see Annette and Lord Hector training together, swinging an axe at full force for a strength exercise. The Hector from Roy’s time is much bigger and cuts an even more imposing figure, but even in his youth he was a feared and powerful warrior. Lifting the weapon and tearing through dummies isn’t a struggle at all for Annette, despite her claim that she isn’t proficient enough in axes to be fully reliant in battle. Her support has been more invaluable than she thinks.

Lord Hector is laughing and clapping her on the shoulder, seemingly satisfied with the progress she’s making. Roy wonders if Lilina would train with an axe if it meant spending time with her father this way.

Annette dips her head and thanks Lord Hector, and they keep practicing more drills. Roy decides that he’s taken a long enough break and focuses back on the training dummy, shifting his sword and positioning it like a rapier for quick and nimble attacks. He’s wielded the Binding Blade for so long that he has almost forgotten how to fight with a lighter and thinner blade—it feels exhilarating to revert back to a stance his body is used to. He has used his time in Askr to polish his skills and to get accustomed to the heavy weight of the Binding Blade; he still has much to learn, especially from heroes more experienced than him who will provide useful insight about tactics and the battlefield, so he can’t relax just yet.

***

“I’m not as good at baking as Mercie, but I promise they’re tasty!”

Annette is shoving some berry tarts at him, eyes sparkling and face full of anticipation. She took it upon herself to find what kind of food the people of the army likes, and apparently it also includes desserts and sweets. Roy doesn’t particularly like sweets, but refusing such a treat baked with passion wouldn’t be courteous of him. He smiles at Annette and takes the tart, and chews slowly. Oh, that might be a good idea, actually.

“I like it,” he says sincerely. “It’s not too sweet.”

“I’m glad to hear that! I still have plenty of recipes to try for all kinds of occasions, I hope that the others will enjoy them too.” She pauses, then pinches her chin between her fingers. “Muffins are a good way to find what stuffing people like...”

Roy shakes his head, a bit amused.

“Do you always go to such lengths for other people?”

Annette’s face relaxes and looks just as warm as her voice sounds.

“I’m told I do too much, sometimes, but I can’t help it. I have to give my all in everything I do, and this includes making sure that my friends get moments of joy, too. And pastries always cheer people up! Well, most people.”

This, Roy understands; to be pushed by the drive of accomplishment, to please and to ensure everyone is happy and comfortable. In times of war, even the smallest attention can bring a smile on someone’s face, because there is still kindness in people’s hearts, despite everything. This is what Roy wants to believe, and Annette seems to share this point of view.

“You are a good person, Annette.”

Annette laughs, frantically waving her hands in front of her face. “I’m just doing what I can. I’m so clumsy that I’m relieved I haven’t caused any major incident yet.”

“Surely it isn’t as disastrous as you think it is?”

She makes a face. “I’m probably cursed to trip over a barrel even when I checked the halls were empty.”

He doesn’t mean to offend her in any way, but Roy chuckles at the image this conjures up. Annette crosses her arms over chest and frowns at him. She looks stern and ready to chew him out for laughing at her accidents, so Roy quickly composes himself.

“I’m sorry, mocking you wasn’t my intention,” he assures her. “Please be more careful, we wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“We should get rid of barrels,” Annette mutters.

“How would we contain wine and other liquids then?”

The question seems to actually spark an interest in Annette as she keeps frowning, but her face takes on a contemplative air. Roy rubs the back of his neck.

“Um, do you have more of those berry tarts? I think Wolt will enjoy them.”

“Oh! Of course, come with me.”

Annette takes his arm and drags him to the kitchens, and Roy can’t help feeling completely at ease, finding Annette’s enthusiasm and energy refreshing.

***

Sitting at a table in the quiet gardens, Roy is flipping through his battle tactics notebook when he’s jerked to the side and almost falls out of his chair.

“Roy, I need your help to fight against sword wielders!” Annette exclaims earnestly. “Lord Hector is giving me really good tips but I’m still struggling when a sword is pointed my way. With my magic I’d fight more easily and have faster reaction, but I’m still not used to Crusher and—”

“Woah, Annette, calm down. I accept?”

Annette looks like she hasn’t slept for days and is running on adrenaline or caffeine, but given her sweet tooth Roy doubts she even likes coffee. She sighs in relief.

“Thank you! The Professor is busy and the heroes from my world are already on a mission, so...”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m happy to help.”

And this is how they end up in the training grounds, though they’re using their real weapons instead of training ones. Roy supposes it makes sense; Crusher is hefty, dragging its wielder forward or backward, and seems to be channeled with magic, if the light orange glow is anything to judge by. It’s not a weapon you get accustomed to easily. Annette insisted he use the Binding Blade and to fight like they’re in a real battle—Roy trusts her skills and her strength, but it’s still a sparring session. He doesn’t want her to get hurt because of his carelessness.

Roy has never gone up against Annette before, but he can already tell that she’s a powerful and unpredictable opponent. The swing of her axe isn’t as fast as she probably would like, but she manages to be accurate and hit hard. The Binding Blade comes up to block the attack and pushes back, forcing Annette to step back. Roy tilts his blade and thrusts it towards her side, and before the flat of it touches her, she fully dodges to get out of harm’s way. She immediately springs back into action to smash Crusher over his shoulder, but even with her momentum all she manages to do is graze him.

They keep exchanging blows, parrying and dodging. If it were an actual battle, they most likely wouldn’t have been able to stand for so long without inflicting at least one serious injury. It seems that Annette is trying to prove something, or to assess her opponent. Roy stays silent though, continuing to swing his sword until one of them collapses or draws more blood than a spar would allow. Axe wielders heavily rely on brute force, but Annette is swifter and more nimble than most—her fighting style is almost similar to Echidna’s.

They eventually tire themselves out, and when Roy has the Binding Blade poised to strike Annette across the chest as she can’t lift Crusher in time, they stop.

“Thanks for training with me,” she says, a bit breathless.

Roy wipes beads of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, and because nobody is around to see them in this state, he decides to sit right then and there on the ground, gently laying down the Binding Blade and catching his breath.

“Did you manage to figure something out?”

Annette joins him on the ground, nodding.

“I’ve sparred against other people too, and I know that swordmasters tend to thrust and to go for the small openings, so I tried to use what I know against someone I’ve never trained with.”

“It makes sense.”

“That also brings me to the realization that I really do need to get used to Crusher and its power.” Annette rubs the bridge of her nose. “I just don’t understand why I was entrusted with my family’s relic so early. I’m clearly not prepared yet.”

Roy glances at the Binding Blade. Anyone could have met the criteria to wield such a mighty weapon; and yet, it was him who took on the burden to use it. People say that each weapon is unique and alive, and those inhabited by the spirits of warriors and their legacy even more so—those who take up Armads are cursed to die on the battlefield, and this isn’t a hearsay he wants to find out. Annette is looking for answers he wishes he had.

“I think that sometimes we are bestowed gifts that we only see as burdens, because others are putting their faith in us.”

He looks down at his lap where he clenches his fists. He hasn’t thought about this in a long time.

“They trust us to do the right thing, or at the very least that we will when we are able to. It’s like… they expect that our position will grant us the wisdom to do right.”

There are events out of his control, and all he can do is stand on his two feet to show that he won’t disappoint anyone who entrusted their life to him.

Two hands come covering his own, and he looks up to see Annette smiling sadly at him, though there is something like understanding flashing in her eyes.

“We are probably in similar situations, right?” she laughs weakly, as she nods towards the Binding Blade. “Those big weapons in our hands feel heavier than they should. Maybe something bad is going to happen in the future and this is why I was summoned here with Crusher, so that I can get used to it. Maybe it’s like you said, it’s a gift and I refuse to see its value.”

Her hands are warm and reassuring as she squeezes, still keeping her smile on her face even if her voice hasn’t shed its layer of self-doubt. Roy doesn’t think they will ever grow out of doubting their own abilities and worth, unless they learn to live with the expectations piling up on their shoulders. However, it doesn’t mean they can’t start now or take small steps to get there. He returns Annette’s smile and squeezes back.

“Refusing to see the value of the gift doesn’t mean you’re rejecting it. You’re working hard to master Crusher, that counts for something.”

“I suppose. It’s still frustrating to keep going without having answers.” She sighs and shakes her head. “But knowing that I’m not alone in this struggle helps a bit. I have to overcome my own fears.”

“It’s a long journey, but I believe in you. You’re resilient and resourceful.”

The laugh that escapes Annette’s throat is genuine. It’s not full of confidence, and this is not the solution she was seeking, but it’s close to one.

“You have a way with words, Roy! We’ll do our best together.”

Roy’s lips curl into a grin. “Our efforts will pay off, I’m sure of it.”

Annette pats his hands one last time before they get up. She hoists Crusher over her shoulder while Roy sheathes the Binding Blade; the sword is still a persistent weight against his side, one he’s become familiar with, but slowly, steadily, it will become a weight holding the proof of his achievement.

[bigskydreaming]

I’ve often thought that a common sentiment in the public that people carefully avoid mentioning around Bruce - but not around Dick - is that Dick was adopted as a ‘consolation prize’ after Jason’s death. Ugly thought, true, but from the perspective of a public who loves gossipping about the Waynes and who have made their opinions of Dick all too clear in both canon and fanfic.....like, from their perspective, how must it look that Bruce raised Dick from the age of eight without ever making him anything other than his ward....and then they had that big fight apparently, that led to Dick moving out and basically being persona non grata around Gotham and never seen coming home.....whereas Jason was adopted by Bruce within months and was constantly seen being called son by Bruce, etc.

And then again as far as the public knows, Dick Grayson only ‘comes back’ after Jason’s death and he and Bruce seem to slowly be working on rebuilding their relationship....and a couple years after Jason died, and several years after Dick’s wardship expired on his eighteenth birthday without any mention from Bruce Wayne as to his now ex-ward’s status or even where he was or what he was doing with his life....no indication that Bruce was ever seen celebrating Dick’s eighteenth birthday or expressing any sentiment on what was effectively the severing of their legal ties at that point, and the end of Bruce’s obligations to Dick, no sign of him in Dick’s life or vice versa in years to follow, Dick rarely if ever seen keeping company with his somewhat little brother Jason....

Its only years after all of this that Bruce finally adopts Dick.....or like, people guess that’s what happens? Its not clear, exactly, because one day Dick’s got no legal ties to Bruce and hasn’t for years, and the next he’s been adopted. There’s no real scoop, nobody that got the exclusive about the event, because as far as anyone can tell....there was no event. There’s no story. Just he wasn’t adopted and now he was, and....neither Dick Grayson nor Bruce Wayne seem to have a comment on this, when it happened, WHY it happened, why NOW? After all this time? Why not earlier? Its just...there. Bruce Wayne, who famously throws parties for anything, pretty much, makes no official announcement about his son’s new status, there’s no party or celebration to honor it or mark the occasion, mark the adoption as noteworthy whatsoever.....

Because after all, it was just Dick and Bruce in the Batcave, Bruce handing him the adoption papers to sign and saying this is long overdue and doesn’t change anything and he’s always felt this way anyway.....

And to a guy who has not so secretly wanted this for YEARS, who has had Bruce literally throw his own knowledge of that not so secret yearning of his YEARS ago and thus who KNOWS full and well that its absolutely BULLSHIT to claim that ‘he’s always felt this way and knows Dick always knew that and didnt need a piece of paper so its not like this changes anything’.....like this had to be anticlimactic as HELL, but what do you say to that? How do you tell the dad who has caused you no small amount of angst and hurt and uncertainty as to where you even stand in his life that no, he didn’t take it for granted that Bruce felt this way, like, say, when Dick’s eighteenth birthday came and went with no sign of Bruce, no attempt from Bruce whatsoever to express in any way that he still wanted Dick in his life, still wanted to BE in Dick’s life, even without them legally bound to each other any longer.......how do you give your dad any of the well-earned shit he DESERVES for taking his precious time on this due to his own rejection and inadequacy issues in the moment he is at least FINALLY offering the thing you’ve wanted for so long and saying at least some of the things you’ve spent so long wanting to hear.....like...you can’t? Not then at least?

Whatever the intentions of the writers, the sheer anticlimacticness surrounding Dick’s actual adoption kinda....backed him into a corner where he couldn’t really express any emotion other than gratitude or happiness over the adoption without coming off as a total ungrateful asshole.....even though you kinda gotta wonder.....what did he tell his best friends about it? How did he relay the story to Roy, to Donna, etc.....the people who actually KNOW what this meant to Dick and how badly he wanted it, and would want him to dish on every single moment of what happened, they wanted to savor it.....and thus who would of course know the second he hesitated that something was wrong, Bruce had done something to fuck up even Dick’s biggest wish, if Dick was obviously trying not to say anything bad or negative or hint that it wasn’t like.....how he’d envisioned it or what all he’d been hoping for....but also not wanting to tell them the truth without embellishment, because you KNOW Donna and Roy and Wally and Garth would just be sitting there like:

“Wait. Hold up. You’re telling me you and Bruce had just got done with a case, you were getting ready to go home, you’re both STILL IN COSTUME, and in the BATCAVE, freaking ALFRED isn’t even present, and Bruce just.....kinda hands you the papers and pen and says here, I know I should have done this years ago but I really mean it, be my kid please? THAT’S IT????”

Yeah. I do NOT see that retelling ever having played well with the Titans, which makes me suspect Dick kinda...delayed in telling them until he could sneak it in and mention it as something that had happened awhile back and he’d just been too busy with hero stuff to make a big deal about it at the time and now it felt weird like it’d been too long. Because imo he wouldn’t have WANTED the Titans to weigh in on how they REALLY felt about how Bruce went about it, because he was likely trying to hold on to all the POSITIVE emotions it’d kindled for him and not like......focus so much on the Bruce-ness of it all making the approach something of a letdown after all the time he’d spent waiting and wanting.

And like.....when you’ve gone about adopting the kid you have a monumental track record of fucking up on telling how you really feel about him....in such a way that he probably felt awkward directly relaying to his best friends in a ‘omg this is huge news, tell us everything’ kinda story....

YOU’VE FUCKED IT UP.

But anyway, point is, Dick’s actual adoption came and went with such a HUGE lack of fanfare in any and every community, superhero and public, and probably didn’t even become KNOWN until someone went to write something about them and got fact-checked like “according to public records, Richard Grayson IS actually the legally adopted son and heir of Bruce Wayne as of this date etc etc”.....and when THAT news hit the public, how else were they going to view things?

Like, a gossip hungry readership not known to view Dick Grayson favorably were never going to think “oh its probably due to personal feelings about his parents and not wanting to replace them, I bet he was the one who never wanted to be adopted before now, that makes sense.”

LOLOL. Like. No. That’s not how the DC public sees it, I bet you anything.

Nah, in my head its FAR more likely that they looked at all of that and did THIS math instead:

Bruce Wayne takes in a young circus boy out of the goodness of his heart, raises him from the age of eight, but never makes him anything other than his ward. Good thing too, probably, given they have some sort of falling out when the Grayson boy is older, and the kid leaves town and good riddance, we hear he’s up in New York partying it up with models and has some alien superhero girlfriend, but nobody’s heard so much as his name mentioned around Wayne in ages so he’s not exactly Gotham news anymore. But no matter, Brucie’s gone and done it again, taken in another young orphan but this time its a local boy he adopted as his son right from the word go! Now that’s a story!

PLUS

Bruce Wayne’s adopted son Jason tragically dies all too young. In the wake of his loss, it appears Brucie’s making an attempt to mend fences with his former ward, or more likely, he’s gone running back to cozy up to Daddy Warbucks in an attempt to milk some more money out of that softie’s heart with a well-rehearsed conciliatory gesture.

PLUS

A couple years later, people start finding out that Bruce Wayne apparently did actually legally adopt Dick now, after all this time, though neither has so much as mentioned it publicly until now, for some reason.

EQUALS

My guess for how the public views it:

Bruce Wayne took in Dick and raised him as his ward but never really felt THAT way about the kid, not like Jason Todd-Wayne who he took one look at and knew ‘this is my kid’....but after losing Jason tragically, and with his family-owned company and board of directors being after him for some time about the importance of an heir in the optics of the dynastic corporate sphere.....Brucie probably decided to try and make the most of the one remaining sorta son he had left, and make a go of reconnecting with the former ward who was CLEARLY never his first choice to adopt as his proper son and heir before, but now apparently is good enough.

*Shrugs* That’s my honest bet for something Dick’s probably heard about his adoption more than a few times: that he was adopted as a consolation prize after Bruce’s ‘real son’ Jason died and Bruce felt driven to try and surround himself with whatever semblance of family he had left.

I mean, what else are you gonna get when you offer the public a paparazzi-enabling, glamorous sneak peek of your life at all other times, and absolute nada for the occasion of finally adopting the kid you’ve raised since age eight with absolutely NOTHING to show for it, not even a family friend who can be quoted as having been there to bear witness?

tl;dr - After all the damn parties and galas Bruce trotted Dick out to whether he wanted to or not, because that sorta thing is just what came with being a Wayne (the Wayne Dick wasn’t), the :LEAST Bruce owed Dick after years of estrangement and doubts directly inspired by him and his unwillingness to even OFFER Dick the option of adoption if he wanted it.....was to invite him to a party celebrating Dick himself and showing the world once and for all that he very much did want Dick in his life and as a part of his family, nothing less.

Dick’s never hated PARTIES, Bruce you giant dumbass. Dick hated going to parties where people talked about how he didn’t belong or how he was nothing but a PR charity stunt for Bruce.

Dick, in point of fact, might have very very MUCH enjoyed an actual public celebration where for the first time in his life, NO ONE could claim he didn’t belong or try and insinuate he was nothing but a charity case to Bruce. An event where the only point was to show tangible proof to all the naysayers: Bruce Wayne is Dick Grayson’s father and Dick is his son, and not a damn thing less.

THAT gala, Dick might have been more than happy to attend.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Forged Through Fire (5/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

===

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [AO3]

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Forged Through Fire

Five

“I’m telling you, there’s something going on that they’re not telling us.”

“Hughes, we live in a military dictatorship and we’re both part of that military, of course there’s something going on that they’re not telling us.”

“I’m not talking about the secret police or the compartmentalising mentality that goes on. I’m talking about something strange and illegal.”

Roy sighed. Hughes had been on about this ever since they had left Central Command earlier in the evening and he really needed a break. At least it made a change from him talking about Gracia. It was far later than either of them had intended to leave Central Command, but an accident at the Third Laboratory had pulled in every available officer to run damage control and prevent whatever had been happening in there getting out to the general public. 

This kind of thing was a common enough occurrence that Roy wasn’t all that worried about it. The alchemy laboratories were always doing something or other. As an alchemist himself, he’d been involved in more than one experiment in there, and honestly, everything that he had seen so far had been very boring and would not have caused any kind of a stir if the public had found out about it. Most of them wouldn’t understand it. Even Roy himself only half-understood it. 

“If it’s the military doing it then it can’t be illegal,” Roy pointed out. “Even if it’s illegal for everyone else, everything that the military does is allowed. You’ve been serving long enough to know that.”

“Maybe illegal was the wrong word. Something strange and… immoral? No, that’s not right either, who in the Amestrian military has morals? Something strange and disturbing, we’ll go with that.”

Roy didn’t respond, because as much as he was trying to block out Hughes’ latest conspiracy theory, he had to admit that his friend did have a point. There had been something about this particular incident that had seemed different, with even the alchemists being shepherded away from it and no one being told the full truth of what was going on. To make matters even stranger, Fuhrer Bradley had turned up to oversee things personally, so naturally everyone was on edge. It was strange for him to leave his ivory tower in Central Command at the best of times, and this really wasn’t the kind of thing that needed his attention. 

Maybe it was a secret science project after all, but a secret science project that involved the Fuhrer really wasn’t one that Roy wanted to know anything about. Bradley wasn’t an alchemist himself, and the laws concerning state registration that he had brought in after he came to power would have fooled a novice into thinking that he wanted to stamp out alchemy altogether, but since joining the military, Roy knew better. Bradley was fascinated by alchemy, and it was clear that all the legislation requiring alchemists to be licensed and all their arrays to be registered was an attempt to harness all of their raw power at his beck and call, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of there being someone out there whose alchemy he did not have access to. 

Roy thought of Hohenheim, living under the radar with his tailor chalk and alkahestry. He’d never asked how old he was, especially since Roy couldn’t remember him ever looking any younger than he did now, but he’d amassed a huge wealth of knowledge over the course of his career, and Roy really didn’t want that ending up in Bradley’s hands. He shuddered at the thought, trying to pull his attention to happier things, but Hughes was still expounding next to him. 

“Do you think it might be part of Project Xerxes?”

“What?”

“Project Xerxes. I told you about it last week.” Hughes gave him an accusatory look. “I don’t know if you were listening though.”

“I might have zoned out at the beginning of the conversation when you were talking about your and Gracia’s interior decorating plans and not zoned back in again.”

Hughes opened his mouth to say something, and since Roy knew that it would be related to the newly-acquired apartment, he cut in quickly. “I’m listening now though, so tell me again.”

“I don’t know anything concrete, it’s just some whispers that I heard when I happened to be passing Bradley’s office and he had all the generals in there.”

Roy sighed. “Did the ‘passing’ involve stopping and listening at the door?”

“Only for a second.” Hughes looked offended by the accusation of eavesdropping however true it was. “Anyway, Project Xerxes is all very hushed up and Tim Marcoh was overseeing it before he died. Or faked his death and escaped to Xing – I’m starting to believe that rumour more and more. It was all being done out of the Fifth Lab.”

“The Fifth Lab doesn’t exist.”

Hughes raised an eyebrow. “Mustang, if you believe that you’re an idiot. Anyway, do you know anything about Xerxes?”

“It’s now mostly desert with some city ruins halfway between here and Xing and it’s supposedly where the Philosopher’s Stone was made.”

“Yeah, that’s about all I know too. But since it’s likely that this is all tied up with alchemy and since the Philosopher’s Stone is the only thing that Xerxes is famous for apart from, you know, suddenly ceasing to exist as a civilisation for no reason, do you think they might be trying to recreate the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Hughes, if you believe the Philosopher’s Stone exists then you’re an idiot. It’s an alchemical cautionary tale warning us all against experimenting with forces we don’t understand in case we accidentally wipe out the entire country.”

“And the whole elixir of life and transmuting lead into gold thing is just a myth, then?”

“Transmuting lead into gold isn’t hard for a metallurgy alchemist, it’s just not allowed because it would destroy the economy,” Roy pointed out. “Even if we were living in the most equitable and democratic country in the world, transmuting gold still wouldn’t be allowed. And no, I don’t believe in immortality.”

Hughes shook his head. “No, I still think that there’s something going on there.”

They had finally reached the bookshop by this point; the lights were still on, and Roy could just about see Riza sitting at the counter at the back of the shop, bent over a book with Hayate snuggled up on her lap. He smiled at the sight. She’d become part of the furniture around the place so easily after she had moved into the shop last year, and now no one who frequented the speakeasy could imagine it without her. Hayate was a relatively new addition to the extended family, but he was gaining a reputation as a guard dog.

They entered the shop and Roy flipped the closed sign behind him; it was getting towards the time when they would stop letting new customers down into the bar. Instead of going straight through towards Riza and the back room, Hughes vanished off into the shelves.

“Hughes? What are you doing?”

“Research!”

“I swear you must be the only person who actually uses this bookshop as a bookshop. Even Rebecca’s here for the booze more than the books these days. If you’re looking for information on the Philosopher’s Stone I don’t think you’ll find any.”

Hughes shot him a look over his shoulder as he scanned through the worn spines of the books on the shelves. They were still all packed in without any order; Riza had devoted a large chunk of the last year to trying to organise the place to make it look more like a shop and less like a front, but she was still nowhere near through inventorying the entire place. 

“Mustang, if any bookshop in Central is going to have extremely forbidden books in it, then I think the one above a speakeasy is the best bet.”

“I think I’m missing something here.” Riza came over to Roy and they both watched Hughes for a while. “What’s going on?”

“He’s on a mission to prove that the Top Brass are trying to make the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Right… You know, maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I’m just taking Hayate outside for a pee break, can you hold the fort?”

Roy nodded, unable to help himself watching her leave. 

“I’ve got it! Roy! Roy?”

Hughes came over to him with book in hand and joined him in staring at the door. 

“And you thought I had it bad with Gracia.” He patted Roy’s shoulder. “At least try and ask her out before one of you expires.”

“I’m not! I mean, I don’t, I mean…” Roy gave up; there was no sense in digging the hole he’d got himself into any deeper. Hughes just gave him a knowing smile. 

“You’ve definitely got it bad, Mustang. The worst part is you can’t even see it yourself.”

Roy decided that it was best not to reply to that. He’d been wrestling with his feelings for Riza ever since she’d come back into his life, and Hughes wasn’t making things better. He’d hoped that things would plateau since she moved into the shop and became part of the family, but if anything, seeing her on a regular basis and getting to know her outside of the roles they’d always been in when he’d known her first and foremost as his teacher’s daughter had made things even worse. 

“So, have you found something?”

Riza was back, and she peered over at the book Hughes was holding. 

“Potentially. It’s an old world history and there’s about three sentences on Xerxes. ‘According to local legend the country was destroyed in an alchemic explosion that resulted in the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone, a large red rock resembling a ruby that was then later taken to Xing by merchants travelling home from the outpost that would become Amestris.’ So, that tells us nothing. What is it with missing things ending up in Xing? First Tim Marcoh, now the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“I think you might be clutching at straws here, Hughes.” Roy shook his head in despair. “Let’s go down. Are you coming, Riza? Most of the gang should be there, although Falman got stuck with all the paperwork and Breda said he had other plans, so you can bring Hayate.” The memory of Breda vaulting over the bar to hide the first time he’d met Hayate would forever be a fond one in Roy’s mind. 

“All right.” Riza locked up and followed them down into the bar, switching off the shop lights as she went. She’d become part of their crew easily even though she wasn’t military herself.

Armstrong waved them over as they came in, not that they really needed any indication as to where the group was sitting when he was in the bar. 

“Good to see you among us, Riza. It’s Havoc’s round…”

“What? No it’s not!”

“… What can he get you?”

Havoc groaned and got up, taking everyone’s orders as Roy, Hughes and Riza squeezed in around the table. The conversation soon turned back to the mysterious events at the Third Laboratory and Bradley’s sinister presence there. Hughes’ theory received mixed reception, but the general consensus, one that Roy would admit to sharing, was ‘don’t put anything past Bradley and the Top Brass’. 

Throughout the evening, Roy found himself very aware of Riza’s presence next to him. It was hardly the first time that they had all shared a drink together, sighing over the paradox of them being military officers in an illegal bar as proof that prohibition was a terrible idea, and it was hardly the first time that Roy had been very aware of Riza, whether she was next to him or not. The difference this time was Hughes’ words to him from earlier. 

Would there ever be a good time to ask her out? When it came down to it, he wanted to, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he really didn’t think he should want to. He was reminded of it again when the talk finally moved away from military conspiracies and ended up in the direction of general gossip, everyone asking when they were going to meet Havoc’s new girlfriend. (Since Roy knew that Riza had recently introduced Rebecca to Havoc, he got the feeling that they had all already met Havoc’s new girlfriend and just hadn’t realised yet.)

Hughes really wasn’t helping on that score, especially not when the night began to draw to a close and he started ushering everyone out of the bar under the shoddy excuse that they all had to work tomorrow. Roy knew that he was trying to leave him and Riza alone together in the hope of something happening. Unfortunately, Riza also knew that. Once they were the only ones left at the table, she gave a soft huff of laughter.

“Say what you will about Hughes, he’s not at all subtle.”

“No, he’s always been more the ‘smack you round the head with a brick’ type, which is ironic considering we have Armstrong in our circle of friends. Not that he’s all that subtle either, but at least with him he’s so ridiculously unsubtle all of the time that when he does try and be sneaky, it works quite well.”

“He’s a sweetheart. I have no idea how he ended up in the military with you lot.”

“Careers in the military have been passed down through the Armstrong family for generations.”

Riza shrugged. “Well, I suppose it’s as good a reason as any. Anyway, you can’t deny that Hughes’ plan worked, and he’s managed to leave us alone together.”

“No. No, that can’t be denied.”

“Although you also can’t deny that we all have to work tomorrow. Even if I live above my workplace and don’t really do all that much actual work on a daily basis. I should probably still be sharp enough to be able to spot potential trouble and I can’t do that if I’m face down snoring on the counter.”

“No, that makes sense.” Roy didn’t know whether to be sad that he wasn’t actually going to get any time alone with Riza, or relieved that Hughes’ ploy hadn’t seemed to work. She wasn’t showing any signs of actually going anywhere, after all, and since Hayate looked so cute asleep under the table, she might not want to move him. 

“Still. It’s been a while since it was just the two of us.”

Her soft brown eyes were smiling, and it was good to see her looking so calm and happy. It had taken a long time for the haunted look that she had worn at her father’s funeral to leave her, and although he did still see it occasionally, she seemed to be making her peace with his legacy now, enjoying becoming her own person. It had been great to see, and he didn’t know how to articulate that to her without coming across as a complete idiot. 

He didn’t realise that she’d been leaning in until her lips were on his, and although he was surprised, he didn’t resist. Her hand was warm against his cheek and he interlaced his fingers with hers, about to deepen the kiss when she pulled away, searching his face for something. He had no idea what she was looking for or whether she found it, as she moved away then, giving Hayate a little shake to wake him and picking him up. 

“I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Roy nodded. “Till tomorrow.”

He watched her leave the bar, and then planted his face in the table with a groan. What was that? Had that just happened? How was he supposed to interpret it? 

There was the thunk of glass on wood and he lifted his head an inch or so to see a shot glass of clear liquid in front of him. He could already tell it was the good Drachman vodka. 

“Drink.” Chris took the seat opposite. “Drink, then talk. God knows someone needs to get you two to get your act together, and that might as well be me.”

Roy sat up again and downed the vodka, shuddering against the burn in the back of his throat. 

“Did she really just kiss me?”

“Yep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming?”

“Nope.” Chris gave him an amused look. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“I have no idea.” Roy stared up at the ceiling, before remembering that above the ceiling was the shop and above that was Riza’s apartment and staring down at the table instead. 

“I think that it’s a pretty clear situation from my point of view. You like her, she obviously likes you, so perhaps start dating. Like I have told you to do several times.”

“I know. I know. I just feel like we can’t.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “For the love of God, Roy, why? It’s not like you’re studying under her father anymore. It’s not like she’s still living with her father anymore. It’s not like that odd period when she was seventeen and you were nineteen and you were completely paranoid about the implications of that. She just kissed you, boy, what more do you need?”

Roy shrugged. “I still feel responsible. Everything will be going great and then she’ll have a bad back pain day and I’ll remember that afternoon… Maybe if I’d done it when she asked me to, things wouldn’t have been so bad.”

“Roy, I say this with all the love in the world but you’re a goddamn idiot. Her back would still be burned, she would still have pain, you would still have had to call Hohenheim in a panic to come and make things better, and you’d have the added gnawing knowledge that you could never be rid of, the knowledge that it was you who did it to her. Considering how much you’re antsing about over not doing it, do you really, honestly think that you’d feel better if you had?”

“No. You’re right. That wouldn’t have helped.”

“You’ve got to let go of the guilt at some point, Roy. Maybe you could have done more to help her when she was still under Hawkeye’s thumb. Maybe you couldn’t. The point is, you can’t change the past, however much you might want to, and if you don’t get that stick out of your ass and stop worrying about the things you can’t change, then you’re just going to spend the rest of your days wallowing in misery and self-pity, denying you and Riza something you both want out of a misguided sense of worthiness. I can just about deal with you moping, but I can’t have two of you engaged in ridiculous mutual pining when you’re both perfectly aware of each other’s feelings and just won’t do anything about them.”

It was the longest and most vehement speech that Chris had ever given him on the topic of his love life, and it shook Roy a little. Normally she would just tease him like the rest of the girls, or occasionally drop in the odd bit of sage advice. She’d never yet staged this level of intervention on his behalf.

“It’s too late and you’ve had far too much to drink to do anything about it now, but you need to at least talk to her about it tomorrow. Don’t make me lock you in a broom closet, we haven’t got one, and Trisha would murder me if anything happened in the dispensary.”

Roy laughed. There was definitely something in Chris’s words. If Riza didn’t blame him then there wasn’t a lot of point in blaming himself; it wouldn’t make either of them feel better. They’d never talked about their feelings before, and Riza had certainly given him an opening tonight. 

He’d talk to her tomorrow. Well, as long as he didn’t have to investigate any more weird goings on in the Third Lab. As much as he didn’t want to admit to Hughes being right, he was definitely uneasy about whatever might be happening off the books. The Philosopher’s Stone might be a bit far-fetched, but something was up. 

Roy pushed those fears to the back of his mind again, returning to happier thoughts. 

Thoughts of Riza.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Comfortember 2020 Day 17: Flashbacks Word Count: 1282 Author: Katie/Ally (aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl)   Rating: T Characters:  Alex Armstrong and Riza Hawkeye Warnings:         Summary: Soldiers who come back from war have a lot to deal with. Alex has been back for longer than his fellow soldier. Maybe he can lend a hand, when Riza needs it.     Notes:  I think these two being at least friendly if not outright friends would be nice to see more of.

  Flashbacks

  A sound caught Alex’s ear as he walked across the grounds of Eastern Command. He was, for the moment, stationed here, although he expected that change at some point in the future, thanks to his family’s pull. He already knew that his family name was the main reason he was able to retain his rank and position. He was positive that Olivier had done something for him, too, although she refused to talk to him, so he had no idea what.

But regardless, this was where he was, with troops that had returned from Ishval flooding the city, many of them, like him, awaiting new orders. He was honestly looking forward to a transfer. Although he’d serve anywhere with pride and honor, it was hard for him here, with the knowledge of how he had failed fresh on people’s minds. Some refused to have anything to do with him. Others simply kept their reactions to the bare minimum. Many were unsure of him, didn’t know how to react to him, so remained polite, but weren’t warm. A scant few were kind to him, and those he valued.

Maes Hughes was one of those few, and through him he had gotten better acquainted with Roy Mustang and been introduced to Riza Hawkeye. Roy Mustang was calculating, a man that had more to him then met the eye, and he and Hughes were up to something. Alex had the feeling more then once that he was being evaluated for something, although what that was, he didn’t know.

Riza Hawkeye had interested him, though. It was clear that she and Mustang had some sort of history together, something different and deeper than what Mustang and Hughes had, although those two were clear and loyal friends. She was a thin whisp of a girl, a pretty thing, or would have been if she didn’t look so haggard. Her eyes were tired and pained, and there seemed to be some sort of struggle going on within her. But still, her tired and thin smiles, and the verbal barbs that she’d throw at Mustang, not afraid at all to call him out had warmed Alex to her. It was a refreshing honesty, and he wondered if she would do good under his sister. She certainly looked like she could use some sort of mentor or someone to help her with whatever she was struggling with. Olivier was tough, but she cared about those under her command. She would help Hawkeye, if Hawkeye was open to it.

He had thought about writing his sister or trying to find an official way to contact her, but he hadn’t yet done it, not about Riza Hawkeye. In fact, the post office was where he was heading now, to see if his family had written him and to try to send another letter to Olivier, when the sound caught his ear. It sounded distressed, scared, and he couldn’t help but follow it. It took him a moment to find the source, as whoever it was had hidden well, in one of the odd corners that existed after buildings had been built and crowded into the grounds. It was in one of these areas that he spotted her.

“Warrant Officer Hawkeye?” he said.

She gasped and jerked around, her handgun aimed at him. He stopped, not wanting to startle her further, but after a moment she seemed to recognize him.

“Major Armstrong,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just heading to the post office,” he said, watching her closely. She had drawn her gun back from him, but she hadn’t holstered it yet. Interesting.

“What?” she said looking at him a little confused. “The mail doesn’t reach out here. Who would be fool enough to deliver letters here?”

That didn’t seem to make much sense, but then again, there were several things about this that didn’t. She seemed to be on high alert, she was breathing rapidly, and something in her eyes just seemed off.

“Warrant Officer are you alright?” he asked her.

She let out a bark of laughter that seemed more sardonic then anything. “Is anyone alright out here? But no, sir. I’m not wounded, but I’ve lost my rifle. I have no idea how I’m going to get out of here—begging your pardon, sir, but it seems like we’re both pinned down now.”

Understanding dawned in Armstrong. She thought she was back in Ishval. He had no idea what had prompted this, although he supposed what mattered now was making sure that she was safe and that she didn’t hurt anyone else. She had recognized him, but did that mean that she’d recognize others? He wasn’t going to risk it, not with her being armed and such a crack shot. That was just inviting danger.

But how to deal with this? Well, she didn’t seem to think that he was a threat, so he decided to move further into the space with her.

“Perhaps we can wait it out,” he said, playing along for now. “You found a hidden and defensible location here. I can hide us better, if you wish, and we can wait for them to leave or for backup to arrive. It would be better than fighting a losing battle.”

She considered this for a moment. “Alright,” she said. “If that’s what you think is best, sir.”

He nodded and then, pulling on his gauntlets, very gently raised up a wall at the entrance, and then another from the wall to give them a sort of cover without blocking them in completely. She would be concerned with cover from above as a sniper, he knew. She had already been eyeing the rooftops suspiciously. The walls weren’t very thick in actuality, but it was enough to fool her in her current state. She looked over it with a critical eye, and then nodded, apparently deeming it good enough to protect them.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he suggested. “Nothing is going to get in her without warning.”

She looked, he noticed now, exhausted. Had she even been sleeping? Or was she like him, plagued with nightmares? He was after he had first returned. He still got them, although not as badly now that he had time to process events and had sought out help for it. But she wasn’t long returned. It would be within reason to think that she wasn’t sleeping well or at all. And he had no idea if she would even know enough to seek out someone to help her. It wasn’t a common thing, although Alex felt that it should be after soldiers returned from war.

She hesitated at his offer. “…What if they come?” she asked.

“Then I’ll wake you,” he said.

She still hesitated. “….do you promise?” she pressed him.

“I swear it to you, Riza Hawkeye,” he said.

She nodded and made her way to a corner where she rested with her back in it. He noticed that she kept her gun out, in her hand, and he was suspicious that it wasn’t the first time she had slept like that, and that, if she had her rifle, she would be holding onto it while she slept instead. She tried to stay awake, just resting, but her body was too tired, it seemed, and after a few moments, she nodded off to sleep.

Armstrong didn’t move. He’d do as he said, and he’d watch over her for as long as she slept. If she felt safe with him guarding her back, then he’d accept that honor and let her sleep for as long as she needed to.

After all, he understood.

[by-nina]

Little Bird

AO3 | FFN Royai Week 2020 | Day 5 – Picture prompt; seated couple Rating: K Genre: Fluff/Friendship Word Count: 2,044

A/N: My warmest thanks to everyone who gave their love throughout Royai Week! I’ll see you all soon for the big bang. x

The years to come are already bound to be empty without a friend. “I hope you don’t wait for me.”

Morning comes with the soft cooing of a bird in the Hawkeye house. The sound startles and awakens Roy, who had fallen asleep in the living room with his face pressed to an open book. It takes him only a second to regain his senses, having woken up so suddenly due to the bird, now nursing a slight ache from the discomfort of his sleeping position over the coffee table. He sits up, and he hears a few rushed footsteps and the snap of a door closing. The cooing disappears, and then there is silence.

            Roy quickly rises and follows where the sound had gone. It leads him to the back door of the kitchen not far away. He peeks through the glass pane of the door, soon glimpsing someone at the edge of the wood behind the house. The master’s young daughter, Riza—she looks over her shoulder as if wary of being watched, back hunched forward over something in her hand that Roy cannot see. Suddenly, with soft sprightly steps, she disappears into the wood.

            Confusion and mild panic rise within Roy. He hasn’t been in the wood before, doesn’t know if the girl is even allowed to be out like this, much less when half the sky is still dark and twinkling with its remaining stars. The master would kill him if anything happened to her.

            Roy realizes that he is barefoot only when he has stepped out onto the dewy grass, felt the wetness and crunching beneath his feet. The sun hasn’t risen high enough yet to truly break through the fog, and it chills him, having been used to much warmer mornings in Central. He briefly considers going back into the house to put on his house slippers and a coat, but the sound of her footsteps is quickly fading ahead of him. He grits his teeth and gives chase.

            To his relief, the wood isn’t quite as deep as he thought it would be, even though it is still a bit of a shock for someone around whom greenery had been scant growing up. Roy trudges through a three-minute walk’s worth of slick dry leaves and entangled twigs on the forest floor before he comes to a clearing—and she turns quickly when she notices his arrival, startled and indignant.

            “Why are you here?” she snaps. Roy takes an automatic step back, surprised at the loudness of her voice.

            “I-I’m sorry—I just saw you going out the back and wanted to make sure you were safe—”

            Riza exhales and pouts. “I can take care of myself, Mr. Mustang. You should go back before Father wakes up.”

            He misses her command as his eyes find her hands clasped in front of her. At last he finds the source of the cooing that had awakened him—a small dove, blinking and trembling slightly in her grasp. Roy also notices the way she is holding the poor creature; her wrists and knuckles appear tense, but taper out into gentler fingertips that sink into the dove’s feathers.

            “What are you doing with that bird?”

            She glances down at the dove and turns away defensively to hide it from view, even as her shoulders relax slightly. “Nothing. I’m just setting it free.”

            He ignores her attempts to brush him off; curiosity has taken hold of him. He has never seen a dove this close, much less in the hands of a child like her. Back home, the doves and pigeons in the city square allowed visitors and passersby to sprinkle bread around them for feeding, but would always quickly fly away and perch out of reach whenever they were approached. He never even knew what people wanted to do with the birds once they had run through the dispersing flock. But here, he could tell by the tone of her voice and the careful way it sits in her hands that it is there for its benefit, and not because she had simply wanted it for herself.

            “He was injured,” she suddenly says. Roy has leaned in to take a close look at the bird. “He flew into my window last night with a bad-looking wing. But I think he’s doing better now.”

            “Oh. And you took care of it?”

            There is a shadow of a small, fond smile on her lips now. She strokes the dove’s head with one finger. “I guess you could say that. I kept him in a box in my room, left out some water and seeds for him. You shouldn’t really watch a bird or pet it when it’s healing because you might scare it or make it worse. But then he started hopping around and flapping his wings a little, so now I think he can go back out and fly.”

            Roy blinks at her. “Have you done this before?”

            She nods. “With smaller birds. I’ve never taken care of a dove before.”

            Slowly, she opens her hands, and the dove ruffles its feathers once before hopping out onto the surface of a wide, flat rock. It fumbles around, seems to turn and look at her, then finally takes off and makes a short flight into the branches of a nearby tree. It perches on one, then transfer to another.

            Riza lights up as she watches the dove. Roy follows her gaze upwards.

            After a while, her face falters into a slightly wistful expression, but not one that is entirely unhappy. She looks pointedly at Roy. “This was my secret spot, you know. No one’s ever been here before.”

            He looks around. There is more to the spot than the wide rock to sit on; the clearing comes up to the edge of a small cliff overlooking a grassy meadow colored by several patches of wildflowers. The meadow spreads out to a small lake; farther along is another wood, then the mountains. It offers one of the best views he has seen so far during his short stay in the East.

            “I’m sorry I followed you here.”

            She smiles again, much more softly this time. “If you can keep the bird a secret from Father, then you can come here too whenever you like, Mr. Mustang.”

            Roy cannot help but return the friendly look she gives him.

            “Just call me Roy.”

Her father’s apprentice soon becomes her best friend.

            Roy turns out to be less like the uppity, self-absorbed city boy Riza had first judged him to be, and more like someone she might have already known closely over many years. He learns very quickly about caring for birds outside of the alchemy lessons he has with her father, as more hurt and sick birds come in through her window over the next couple of years. Finches, jays, sparrows—they always seem to find their way to her room, and she cares for each one diligently as he watches. On days that her father allows him to go into town, he buys medicine and supplies for tending to the birds.

            Nights of caring for injured birds turn into quiet talks that last until the odd hours of the morning. More than once, they fall asleep in her room in the middle of a conversation, shortly awakened by their patient’s sudden chirping. There is an ease in talking about him, an understanding she has never known with any of the children in their town. A greater sense of empathy than she has ever gotten from her own father.

            All too soon, Roy turns seventeen, and something changes in him, as if a fire has been ignited in him by a new sense of purpose. They have talked about their ambitions before, and she has always known that the lessons with her father would end and he would leave to seek something else, but she finds no comfort in that knowledge, or in their unspoken mutual attempt to forget about his departure until it looms closer than ever.

            Riza begins to miss him sooner than she had hoped she would.

“Roy?”

            She peers around the wall at him as he studies in the living room, careful not to disturb the robin in the box between her arms. In the moment before he looks up, as he is poring religiously over his notebooks and some reading materials from her father’s study, she sees for the first time just how much he has changed since the morning he followed her to her—their secret spot. Sharper features, an intensified focus… a grown young man.

            And then he does look up, and Riza is comforted by the warm familiarity of his expression. Roy sees the box right away; he needs no further explanation. He rises from the floor and follows Riza as she slinks into the kitchen, cradling the box as she had every other bird that came before the robin.

            “Master Hawkeye?” he whispers.

            “Preoccupied. I’ve just handed him a stack of old scientific journals that he hasn’t read in years.”

            They keep their footsteps light and quiet until they reach the same old wood, and then the walk up to the clearing feels both like walking back in time and getting to know each other all over again. Roy asks Riza about the robin in the box; she asks if his alchemy lessons have been going well lately, and how he has been dealing with her father, and what else he is working on. Sunset is fast approaching now; the light turns dim beneath the canopy of the wood, and the shrill, steady chirping of cicadas fills the air.

            Neither one mentions that this bird is will be their last.

            At the clearing, they take in how much more colorful the meadow has become in the past couple of years, if overgrown. The wildflowers sway in the wind, and the water in the lake ripples as it reflects the sun setting behind the mountains in the distance. Riza sits on the flat rock, then Roy takes his place next to her. She gently sets the box on the ground between their feet, cups the robin gently in her hands, and raises it slowly in the direction of the meadow. It hops up; it shifts its weight on its feet; it sings a short series of notes in her hands; it takes off, and then it is gone.

            “He’ll be all right.”

            Riza imagines how she must look to Roy, staring far too long at the spot in the tall grass behind which the robin had disappeared. She can’t imagine that she will cry now, when she has cried very few times in her life, and never in front of anyone else. Never over the birds she has had to let go of after caring for them. After all, she has never longed for any of them to stay.

            Why would she heal their wings if they were never meant to fly?

            “I know he will. I’m happy for him.” She pauses for a moment. “I’m happy for you.”

            Riza only wishes she could say this more sincerely.

            A flock of birds suddenly emerges from the grass and soars up into a formation circling in the sky. Behind the clearing, birdsong rises from the trees and fills the space around them. They look up to find small birds of every color and every shape calling out to one another, breaking through leaves and branches, bringing the forest to life in a way that neither of them has seen or heard before.

            “It’s amazing, what you’ve done for them,” says Roy.

            “You’ve helped me care for them too.” Her voice turns small. “I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”

            Riza waits for him to respond—hopes that one person in her life will at last care for her in the same way she has cared for them. If he doesn’t, she doesn’t know when she will have a chance at it again. The years to come are already bound to be empty without a friend.

            “I hope you don’t wait for me.”

            For a moment, she is farther from the birds, further from him than ever.

            But his voice is gentle and low when he speaks again, like the coo of a dove.

            “I hope you fly, like they do.”

[sky-blaze]

Restart And Try Again

Summary:

Sam has found Rinzler, and is trying to turn him back into Tron, but thirty-year-old code requires an expert touch. Enter Alan Bradley, who ends up unexpectedly attached to his creation.

---

“I need your help.”

Alan turned to see Sam in the doorway of his office at ENCOM. His godson looked unusually agitated, despite the faux-casual pose he had assumed, leaning against the doorframe, the way his leg jiggled with barely-suppressed nervous energy gave the game away.

“Hello Sam,” Alan greeted with exaggerated formality, “Nice to see you.”

There was the barest twitch of guilt that he was abandoning politeness, but even Alan’s subtle admonishment didn’t deter him, “It’s… Dad’s… uh… project. I need your help with something.” Sam blurted, the words coming all in a rush, making him sound like the awkward teenager Alan remembered with a mixed amount of fondness. The words, however, made Alan raise an eyebrow.

“I was under the impression,” Alan said slowly, “That you and Quorra were handling that.”

“We are… mostly. But there’s one thing that needs your...uh...personal touch.” Sam said, his eyes darted around warily, and Alan understood that this was not something Sam was comfortable discussing in the ENCOM officers, where just anyone could listen in.

After only a moment of hesitation, Alan grabbed his keys of his desk, “Lead on, then. I can’t promise anything, but I can take a look.”

Sam’s answering smile was full of relief.

-

Neither Kevin nor Sam had revealed the full details on Kevin Flynn’s ‘project’. The closed system hidden in the basement of the arcade was still largely a mystery to him, Lora and Roy, but Sam had at least told him about Kevin’s ultimate fate; saving the system, The Grid, by reintegrating himself with his rogue program, CLU. Alan was torn between being impressed at what his old friend had accomplished and wanting to raise him from the dead so he could strangle him for being so reckless.

A prickle of apprehension crawled up Alan’s spine when he saw the digitising laser; so familiar from those early days at ENCOM. It looked so incredibly incongruous sat there in front of a workstation terminal. Alan took a deep breath of the dry, stale basement air and looked at Sam, who shuffled uncomfortably.

“Would you care to explain?” Alan asked carefully.

Sam looked at his shoes for a moment, taking his own deep, fortifying breath, “You gave a copy of your security program to Dad for his project, right?” Sam began.

Alan frowned, “Tron. Yes, I did. What does this have…” Alan’s eyes widened, “Is he still..?” Alan had often found it difficult to reconcile the work he did every day - coding, compiling and upgrading software - with the ideas that Kevin had espoused about programs being like real people, living within the machine, but Tron had always been�� different. Special. There was a connection there that Alan had never been able to explain. Thinking Tron was… gone had been unexpectedly and inexplicably painful.

Sam looked uncomfortable again, “Sort of. CLU got to him. He… repurposed him. Turned him into an attack dog, renamed him Rinzler. I don’t know how, but something in him must have… fought back. Towards then end, before the reintegration, Rinzler turned on CLU - tried to attack him.”

Alan frowned, his brows drawing tightly together as apprehension congealed into worry, “But you found him?”

Sam nodded, “Yeah but… his code is a total mess. I’ve tried to help him, but some of his core kernal is… well, its beyond me.”

Alan blinked, “And you think I can help?”

“He’s your program.” Sam said softly.

“Sam, in case you forgot, I wrote it – him – in the eighties. Its been a while.” Alan replied, anxiety rising in his chest, tension making his shoulders ache as he stared at the laser and the darkened terminal.

“You’re his best shot,” Sam insisted, “You’re his user. He’s… well, he’s been asking for you.”

Alan couldn’t help but stare, “Asking for me?”

Sam sighed, “He’s not completely conscious, but whenever I try to work on his code, he pushes me away and says ‘Alan1’ over and over.”

“My old username at ENCOM.” Alan said faintly. He sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose, “All right. You’ve convinced me. I’ll give it a shot. What do I need to do?”

Sam nodded at the seat in front of the terminal – the one with the laser pointed ominously at it, “Sit right there. I’ll handle the rest. Oh, and don’t worry when you get there, I’ll be right behind you.”

For the first time since Sam had arrived at Alan’s office, Sam flashed one of his bright smiles. Alan wasn’t sure if it was meant to be reassuring, but since that same smile was often on the face of both father and son right before some of their more outrageous stunts, Alan decided he was correct to be concerned.

–

Arriving in the Grid was just as disorienting as Alan had feared. He materialised – for lack of a better term – to almost total blackness. The only faint white light in the small, closed-off room was… himself. His shirt glowed with a faint white radiance, while his suit pants and jacket had gone from dark grey to jet black. His face felt… odd. He reached up to touch his glasses, but once his fingers made contact with the frames, there was a spark of white across the lenses and his vision suddenly came alive with a host of information, scrolling across like a military-style heads-up display.

“Huh.” He said.

A column of light coalesced beside him, and in moments Sam had arrived, wearing some of sort of… armoured black suit covered in glowing white circuitry patterns.

“Nice outfit.” Alan commented dryly when Sam had fully materialised.

Sam grinned back, “Nice glasses.”

“I appear to have come equipped with an augmented reality display.” Alan said, “I can’t say I don’t appreciate the upgrade.”

“Advantages of being a User in a computer, I guess.” Sam shrugged.

“Apparently.” Alan’s gaze sharpened as it fixed on Sam, trying to ignore the little pop-ups of information on the heads-up display, which described Sams’s clock speed, code integrity and power level, “Where is he?” Alan asked softly.

“This way.” Sam said, leading Alan out of the darkened room and into the city streets.

The city was something of a revelation for Alan, who was almost mesmerised by the colour, the angles, the beauty of it all, especially with his glasses providing him with helpful information on each point of interest, right down to its code composition, if he so chose. Getting control of the flow of information was a challenge; Alan was a programmer, and the beauty of this place, not just on a physical level, but on the level of pure code, was almost too much to resist. Only the knowledge that someone – that Tron – needed his help, let him keep his focus.

Sam led him through the neon-laced streets, up into a glowing tower. Quorra greeted them at the door, the usually perky ISO oddly subdued. The room Alan was guided into was comfortable, decorated in muted shades of white and pale blue. It almost like a high-end hotel, except with more glowing parts.

A figure lay motionless on the plush-looking bed. Dressed entirely in black, an opaque helmet covering his face, the glowing circuitry lines were strangely truncated, pulsing an ominous dark orange. The most distinctive marking was the set of small squares near his throat, set in a T shape.

“Tron.” Alan breathed. The figure on the bed twitched, and made a rattling moan. It was a ragged, pained sound, like a fan with a worn bearing, or a failing hard drive. Either way, the noise worried him.

“Here.” Sam said, handing him… a disk? It looked like a hollow Frisbee, its edges its edges pulsing the same malevolent, fiery orange as Tron’s circuitry. Alan’s glasses promptly displayed information telling him how to bring up a code overview from the disk. Helpful. He was starting to wish he had something like it in the real world.

He sat down on a sinfully comfortable chair and watched as the code spiralled up from the disk, appearing in a splay of holographic light. He examined it for a few long moments, turning it this way and that, marvelling at the 3-D representation that revealed data structures, variable arrays and other things that Alan usually had to keep track of in his head, all presented clearly but… something wasn’t right. He dug further, finally finding something familiar. He wasn’t usually one to blow his own trumpet about his programming prowess, but the core of the original code he had written looked remarkably elegant next to what appeared to be hastily hacked-in patches with more recent timestamps.

After further investigation, Alan sat back with a scowl, “Who wrote this additional code?”

Sam looked up from where he had sprawled on a sofa, “Uh...why?” he asked.

Alan scowled harder, “Because I’d like to punch them in the mouth.”

“It was probably CLU,” Quorra said, almost making Alan jump. She’d been so still and quiet he’d almost forgotten she was there, “Well, either CLU or Dyson.” She continued, “They’re both… gone now.”

“Hmph.” Was Alan’s only reply. He spent another few moments staring at the butchery that had been made of his creation, trying to fight down anger on Tron’s behalf at what had been done to him. The new blocks of code emphasised obedience, and violence. To have this done to Tron, who was created to be self-sufficient, to protect, not attack, it felt like nothing so much as torture and brainwashing.

“I think I can fix this.” He said finally, “But it’s not going to be quick. I’ll need time, and access to my usual suite of programming tools.” He gestured to the swirling holographic code, “This is lovely, but its not what I’m used to. It’ll be quicker and easier for me to use a normal workstation.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, I get it. Programming in the Grid is… different.”

A thought occurred to Alan, “Is it even possible to transfer data to this system? I didn’t see any ports, except the I/O and display port, and the operating system is bound to be completely unique.”

Sam nodded again, more slowly this time, and Alan heard Quorra take a sudden, sharp breath, “It… is…”

“I hear a ‘but’ at the end of this sentence.” Alan said.

Sam gave a slightly forced chuckle, “Yeah, okay. It is possible, but you kinda need to use yourself as the data storage medium.”

Alan blinked, “What?”

Sam chuckled, sounding far more natural this time, “It’s okay. I’ll show you when we get back.”

Alan’s gaze went back to the figure lying so still on the bed, seeming almost lifeless if not for the dull pulsing of the circuitry, and the scrolling information on Alan’s heads-up display. “Will he be all right?” he asked.

“Quorra’s staying with him.” Sam replied. Alan caught the look that flickered between Quorra and Sam, suddenly understanding that it wasn't just a case of keeping Tron company; it was making sure that that awful ‘Rinzler’ code-butchery didn’t cause him to hurt himself or anyone else. Quorra was more guard than nurse. The thought made his stomach knot up. 

Without thinking, Alan reached over to pat Tron on the arm, “I’ll be back, and I promise I’ll help you.”

Tron made a noise, that odd grinding sound, but softer this time, sounding almost like a purr, and then, a barely audible rasp, “Aaalaan onnneee…”

“I’ll be back.” Alan reassured again, feeling a lump in his throat. He forced himself to let go, ignoring the odd look Sam gave him as he marched out of the room and heading back towards where the laser had dropped them, not really knowing why he felt like crying.

–

Less than a week later, Alan found himself back in the basement beneath Flynn’s Arcade. True to his word, Sam had taught him how to port code to and from the Grid. It was something of an involved process, and needed one of the obscure ‘floptical’ storage systems to interface with Flynn’s ageing, custom-built computer system. It had taken almost as long to find the right storage system as it had to actually rebuild Tron’s code.

Now, he loaded the disk caddy into the semi-hidden drive slot and loaded his own ‘profile’ on the workstation and hit ‘import’. Sam then took over and loaded the laser digitisation program.

“Ready?” Sam asked.

Alan shifted, feeling both impatient and anxious, “Yeah, let’s go.”

The dizzying sensation overtook him and he once again found himself in that darkened room inside the Grid. This time, however, there was significantly more light – still coming from himself. The sensible suit he had worn before was replaced by a long black overcoat, decorated with glowing white circuitry lines. His shirt was still softly glowing white, but he could feel the weight of an ID disk on his back.

“That’s new.” Sam said, frowning, “You okay Alan?”

“Yeah,” Alan smiled, “I think it’s due to the extra data I had to import into my profile so I could help Tron.”

Sam chuckled, “Looks good on you. No fair you get a cooler outfit than mine, though.”

Alan couldn’t help but smirk, “And the cool glasses.”

“Yeah, rub it in why don’t ya?” Sam lightly smacked his godfather on the arm, and once again led Alan through the twisting streets to where Tron lay.

It looked like Tron had barely moved, but when Alan stepped through the door, Tron made that painful-sounding grinding noise, his arms twitching. “How has he been?” Alan asked Quorra.

Quarra shrugged, “About the same. He twitches sometimes, and calls out for you. If anyone else tries to touch him, though, he tries to get away, despite how damaged he is.”

The bluntly spoken assessment chilled Alan, and he took a deep breath, reaching over to the program laying motionless against the plush blue bedcovers, “Tron? It’s me, Alan. I’m here to help you, but I need your ID disk. Is that okay?”

The grinding noise grew louder, and Tron’s body twitched almost violently, “aaaa...aaaa.” Tron rasped, trying again to move. It took Alan a few moments to realise that Tron was trying to roll over, to expose his ID disk at his User’s request. The display of trust made something in Alan’s chest twist.

Reaching down, Alan helped his program to roll onto his side, noting almost absently as he did so that where he touched Tron’s circuits, the orange faded into bright blue, just for a second, before it bled back to orange.

As gently as he could, Alan disengaged Tron’s disk from the port, and reached to his own back to pull off his own disk. Praying silently to whatever gods looked after programmers, he slowly brought the two disks into contact.

Holding his breath, Alan watched as the white light of his disk slowly melted into the orange, and wherever it touched, the light changed, transforming from deep orange into blue. When the process finally completed, Alan felt like he could breathe again, but the knot in his stomach still remained, a reminder that it wasn’t quite over.

Carefully pulling the two disks apart, Alan clicked his own back into place before leaning down and carefully, almost reverentially, placing Tron’s disk back in its port.

The change was immediate. The blue light flowed like water from the disk port, spreading across the circuitry lines. When it reached Tron’s neck, the mask dissolved, revealing a face that looked precisely like Alan himself had thirty years ago. Tron’s eyelids fluttered and he blinked open his eyes, looking unerringly at his User, eyes full of wonder and joy.

“Alan1.” Tron said, his voice almost...worshipful, which was deeply embarrassing, but at least it was at last free of the awful grinding growl.

Alan felt tears in his eyes, “Welcome back, Tron.” he said, reaching out to take his creation’s hand.

Tron frowned, “I… so much has happened.” Sorrow filled the program’s face, “I...I failed. I did terrible things. I’m so sorry, Alan1.”

“Shhh,” Alan soothed, perching next to Tron on the edge of the bed, unable to tear his gaze away from his creation, “It’s all right. You did everything you could. You fought back against CLU. I couldn’t be any prouder of you.”

The awestruck wonder was back in Tron’s face, his fingers curling tightly around Alan’s own, apparently totally unwilling to let go. Alan gently touched the circuitry on Tron’s arm, marvelling at the colour – it wasn’t quite the electric blue of Quorra’s lines, it was paler - closer to ice blue, and Alan wondered at the reason for that difference, if it had any particular significance.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled them both, both Tron and Alan apparently forgetting that Sam and Quorra were in the room. Sam looked somewhat embarrassed, “Uh, so yeah. Me and Quorra have… stuff to take care of. We’re gonna head out, okay?”

Alan rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, feeling his own embarrassment climb up his cheeks, “Uh, sure.”

Tron tugged on his hand, “You’ll stay with me, Alan1?” his face and voice full of hope.

Alan couldn’t help but smile, “Of course, Tron.” he said, and Tron shuffled over on the bed to make room, not once letting go of his User’s hand.

Alan lay down next to his creation, the security program he had coded with his own hands, trying not to melt under said program’s adoring gaze. Without really thinking about it, Alan brought Tron’s hand up to kiss his knuckles, wondering exactly how this had become his life.

Once he turned to see the joy shining in Tron’s face, free of the pain he had suffered, Alan couldn’t bring himself to mind.

End of Line.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Desperate Gal Pals of White Crest || Morgan & Cece

TIMING: Current

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

SUMMARY: Morgan and Cece hit a roadblock with their research on an exorcism, so they take a field trip.

CONTAINS: drug manipulation tw (magic poisoning), gun (not fired), 

“I know I literally can’t get tired, but if I see one more book handwave harm exorcisms away with ‘wooo dark magic’ and ‘oooh dangerous! Sacrifice!’ I am going keel over with exhaustion. You’ll have to call Regan for my autopsy and explain to my girlfriend that boredom and no helpful answers is the new hip cause of death.” Morgan flopped down the side of the couch, her head dangling over the edge. “Tell me you’ve got something to banish Puritain Carrie,” she groaned. “I need a win. Literally...any kind of win. A can of seltzer of a win.”

Cece was lying on her back on the ground, book in hand and avoiding reading it by listening to Morgan’s melodramatic self-eulogy. She at least knew how to spice up a story and make it more interesting. She made dying of boredom sound marginally interesting. The irony was not lost on Cece. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on me for the record. How am I supposed to talk at your funeral and make your death sound badass that way?” Cece eventually gave in, shutting the book and tossing it away from her in her own dramatic show of exacerbation. “Nothing. These books have lots about magic and yet a surprisingly lacking amount of ghosts. My coven really should have expanded their horizons a bit.” Cece stated, mostly to herself. She rolled over onto her stomach, finding Morgan’s eyes again and pushing herself up, “We need some new source material. There’s got to be somewhere around town with some decent exorcism knowledge, right?”

“You’ll have to make something up much cooler,” Morgan sighed. “Just don’t promise any of my fae friends to tell the truth about me and you’ll be good.” She looked over at the pile of books around them, new purchases on the diamond card Deirdre had gotten for her, and pulls from the Scribrary. She felt guilty about those the most, sneaking in and using Rio’s resources for something he was bound to hate. “We have to be looking in the wrong place. The wrong key-words, or the wrong sections in the library. You would think ‘most brutal harm exorcism’ would be a short dig, but…” She puffed air through her lips. “Apparently the powers that be think discretion is super ‘in.’ Tell me what you found. Let’s go over it again.”

“No worries there. I don’t like making promises to humans.” Cece laughed, thinking of any ideas she could to spice up Morgan’s imagined death and make it a bit more grandeur. She wondered how she could fit fireworks into the story. Maybe one of the daredevil car jumps through a flaming circle. No, this was all way too distracting when she was supposed to be focusing. She shook the thought away and reached for the notepad that she had used to take any notes that she found vaguely helpful. Emphasis on vague. “Nothing too useful. I found some old history on this former Scribe that studied exorcisms. John something. Sounded like a real bore. I got an autobiography by this Amanda Wallace chick who wrote about her haunted house and how she got rid of it. Not exactly sure how factual that one actually is. Basically, I have nothing but crap. You sure we can’t just call the ghostbusters in for this one?”

Morgan’s brow furrowed at the name Wallace. “Is that name from a comic book movie? It sounds familiar…” She turned herself right side up and crawled to Cece to read over her shoulder. She moved so fast, her focus was groggy, but the illustration on the page she was looking at definitely seemed familiar. “No, wait, that’s...fuck, that was in something I read. Not here but…” Morgan fumbled for her laptop and started digging through her browsing history. She looked sheepishly over at Cece, glad that she couldn’t blush. “...Don’t judge me, okay?” She mumbled. Buried under searches for pirated theory articles, halloween themed lingerie, and Buzzfeed quizzes for Which Character from Grey’s Anatomy Are You, was several rows of local blogs, niche social media groups, old news reports, and PDF access links. Morgan scrolled past them all to get to an access link to an article from the library. There was the same picture, Amanda Wallace and a few others. The caption read, Cromwell was mentored in his early years by the local Ghost Watchers Society. Pictured, left to right… The article was about a man named Ernie Cromwell. He was arrested, several times, for vandalism, arson, and public disturbance. He claimed he needed to in order to make the ghosts go away. He also escalated to a much more deadly life of crime after this, around  the period Roy ought to have been town. That’s why she’d been looking in the first place. “Hey, Cece?” She asked. “You wouldn’t happen to know if any of these people are alive, do you?”

“I hope you know that prefacing with that only makes me want to judge you that much more.” Cece perked up immediately, if she wasn’t interested in studying Morgan’s open tabs before, she was definitely interested now. Fortunately, it was so much better than what Cece had predicted. “Oh my god. This might be more embarrassing than if you just had like straight up porn in your search history. Which for the record, I’m in full support of.” Cece added in, finger gunning and winking in Morgan’s direction. “Please tell me you’re an Izzie too.” Cece tried focusing again once Morgan asked her a question about recognizing anyone. She scanned the page but shrugged after a long moment, “I wish I could be more useful. But most of my magic knowledge was before I got to town. I’ve been about as low key as I can manage since I’ve been to town.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “I appreciate the sex positivity, and so does my girlfriend. And, you know, hopefully she appreciates the spider web themed set I ended up buying. And I’ve taken way too many and no matter what I do, I’m solid 50% Izzie or Meredith. My dark and twisty ways defy simple categories.” She wiggled her brow, mouth curling into a grin, and turned back to the picture. “I swear I’ve seen these faces somewhere. And the names. You don’t remember any from the paper or…” Morgan took out her phone, scrolling furiously. “Oh. Mother of Earth! Oh, this is so weird!” She showed Cece an event page on the UMWC social media page. Two people stood next to a handmade poster advertising GhostWatch Parties. Ostensibly, it was a horror film club. But the names of the two faculty shown were Amanda Wallace and Leigh Cromwell. There was no accounting for coincidence, but it seemed pretty likely that there was a connection to Ernie. “They’re meeting tonight. We have to go, right? Scope things out, set up a time to talk better and see what they can offer, or ask if they have any exorcist finding tips! We’re going, right?”

“Anything for you, as usual.” Cece might not be Deirdre’s biggest fan, but she still wished for a killer sex life for the two. “You know? I can see it, honestly. I support it. Among the characters you could get, I think those are two of the better ones.” Morgan seemed sure that the faces would be familiar, so Cece did her best to study them again, but just ended up shrugging. “You think I read the paper?” She asked the woman curiously. Not a moment later and Morgan was poking the screen and then changing pages to find a social media page. From the college. Cece gasped overdramatically, “Right under your nose this whole time? Also, do you think this horror movie club accepts members that don’t go to the college? Actually never mind that’s not important right now.” Cece jumped up and found her bag, moving towards the coat closet to slip her jacket on. “Well obviously we have to go. What other choice do we have? Plus I need to find out if this club is even worth my time. Which is obviously like a side objective. Priority is the ghost thing for sure. Let’s go!”

The GhostWatchers of White Crest met at Professor Wallace’s ivy covered town house near campus. The gathering was small; only three cars littered the street beyond the driveway. Morgan parked them at the end of the street, positioned to make a quick and easy getaway. The bue-white light of a television illuminated one of the back rooms, bright enough to illuminate parts of the yard as Morgan approached. She knocked on the door gently, but found it already open. Inside was exactly what you would expect from a liberal arts professor. Stacks of papers, catalogues for bamboo kitchenware, and books bursting with post-it’s in every room. Morgan wrinkled her nose at the normalcy of it all. At least she kept a few decorative skull paperweights in the great room and kept the foyer clean.

“How do you think we should play this?” She asked in a whisper, lingering in the front hall, one eye on the back den where the movie, The Innocents, was still going on. “Is it rude if we snoop around first? Should we split up?” Somewhere, she thought, there had to be a private library.

“Wow this place is boring.” Cece yawned as the two slid in through the open door and studied the office that they found themselves in. “You’d think that someone obsessed with exorcisms might have a bit more personality.” She pushed aside a self help book lying on the desk and took a glance at her desk calendar, “She has scheduled times for lunch.” As if that was the most boring thing on the planet.

Either this woman was the worst occultist she had ever seen, or all of her more interesting things were hidden away somewhere. “It’s totally rude, but technically speaking she’s the one that left the door open. She should be more careful about her belongings. So let’s snoop.” Cece wasted no time moving to dig through her other belongings. Given how nonchalant the rest of the room was, Cece wasn’t convinced they were going to find anything too bizarre or helpful just sitting out in the open.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? They hired me because the fun department was empty,” Morgan teased. She watched her feet carefully as she tiptoed onto the plush carpet with her muddy leather oxfords. She hadn’t planned on playing hide and seek in some dusty mini-mansion when she’d left the house, so she was left cringing at every squeak the leather made on the floor and hoping against hope that everyone in the den was too engrossed in the movie to notice.

As luck would have it, the library was one room off from the den. Morgan pointed at it, giving Cece a look of, I don’t know if I got this. One foot, then the other. Could Cece get in there first.

In the den, someone yawned and got up, murmuring about refills. Morgan dropped to the floor, panic in her eyes. Was this the worst idea ever?

The library had to have something useful. If it was just filled with normal literature and more self help books, Cece was going to lose her mind. At least Morgan seemed pretty into the whole espionage thing, tiptoeing around the place and slipping through the door into the library as silently as a mouse. That swiftness and suave attitude seemed to dissipate when movement could be heard from farther in, someone getting up to get a refill. Morgan dropped immediately and Cece remained in the doorway, unsure what the best thing to do in this scenario was. Would the person asking even come this way? Cece crept back a few steps, peaking around to get just a moment’s glance of someone walking towards them. They would definitely see Morgan if something wasn’t done. Would these people be more interested in calling the cops or offing anyone in their way? Cece couldn’t be sure enough, so she figured her only option was to be a distraction of some sort. Back in the office, Cece found a paper weight on the desk and pushed it aside, sliding it off the desk with a loud crack against the floor. That ought to do some distracting.

Morgan heard the paperweight fall before she realized what Cece was doing. Her head whipped around, question marks sprouting all over her face. But whoever was heading her way turned the other direction to see the commotion, and Morgan was able to take her chance. Hopefully Cece wouldn’t be so far behind.

The library was the same as the rest of the house, expected to the point of comical. There were shelves of matching leatherbound British novels, another set of American ones, a whole row of paperbacks and theory that were almost certainly just for posturing, and… who lived like this? Who actually worked here? This was a magazine-style library. Which meant-- “Fuck.” Morgan covered her mouth and flinched. Too loud. Right.

She started peeking behind books, looking for hidden volumes, then the large desk centered at the back of the room. No one really had secret compartment doors, at least not here, the house was too small but-- Morgan kicked back the rug that covered the floor. Cut into the pale hardwood was a heavy door, older and darker, with a black handle that looked to be iron. She peeked her head out, searching for Cece to get her over here, quickly, before anyone realized how reckless they were being in a stranger’s house.

The door was well-oiled and rose silently at Morgan’s tug, and inside-- “Yes!” Beams of light from the other room flashed on. The shadows in the library vanished. It was time to hurry.

Cece ducked behind the desk to avoid whoever was coming towards her. She had successfully distracted the man from discovering Morgan but hadn’t quite thought through the fact that the man would now be coming towards the source of the noise that Cece had caused. Cece began rifling through her purse quickly, pulling a bin of powder free and cupping some into the palm of her hand. Once the footsteps finally became close enough, Cece popped up from behind the counter. “Hi there.”

The man jumped before settling on a confused expression, “Who are you?” He asked, more curious than angry. Probably unsure if Cece was supposed to be there in the first place. “Uh-” Cece began, trying for a long moment to think of an excuse for too long before finally giving up, “I can’t think of a good excuse” She shrugged before pulling her hand up and opening her palm, blowing and sending the powder directly into his face. He stumbled backwards and Cece jumped forward, grabbing onto his shirt and helping direct his fall into the chair by the desk. She patted him softly. Better to get some rest right there.

She slipped across the floor until she found Morgan and then crawled over to her, “For the record I didn’t sign up for this” Cece whispered at her, eyeing the new door that she had discovered. Before hearing more voices. “Welp, after you!”

Morgan’s muscles were already clenched with confusion and unspoken questions. “Sign up for what?” She hissed. “You said we should snoop! Nothing bad has happened, right? And look at all the spooky books down there!” She shined the flashlight on her phone down the ladder, showing tables full of messy, half open books, arcane circles etched on leather, and iron chimes dangling from the ceiling. “Oh, yes, this is the jackpot.”

“Is it now?” A voice called behind them.

Morgan barely suppressed a squeal as Amanda Wallace filled in the doorway. Her straw-white hair seemed to puff up out of sheer rage. “I don’t remember receiving your RSVP, Professor Beck,” she said stiffly. “May I ask what you are doing in my library, opening my trap door?” A smaller, slightly younger head popped up over Amanda’s shoulder and murmured that she’d see the students out. Leigh Cromwell, probably. Guess they weren’t too late for the party after all.

“Hey, Amanda--!” Morgan drew out the words longer, as if a few more syllables in Amanda would help smooth things over, or give her a better idea about what to do next.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Amanda snapped, bristling with a bitter frown. Downstairs, now.” She pointed into the dimly lit trapdoor room, and her look did not suggest that she was entertaining counterarguments at the moment.

“Ummm” Cece considered what may or may not be considered to be bad in Morgan’s mind. And depending on that, whether or not she wanted to share that with Morgan. Putting a man to sleep was hardly that bad, right? She didn’t hurt the man. He would wake up and at worst his memory would be a bit foggy and maybe have some nausea. Nothing that would last more than a week. “Define bad.”

Morgan was right, this was a jackpot. The space was different from the rest of the house. It didn’t look like the end result of an HGTV makeover, for starters. It wasn’t basic or expected. This room was hidden away and it was used. This woman that the two were spying on definitely used this room.

Speaking of the woman they were spying on. Apparently they had been discovered. Cece awkwardly watched  the exchange. Apparently the two were super close work colleagues. “If there was no RSVP, does that mean she wasn’t supposed to bring a plus one?” Cece grinned slightly, completely ignored by the woman and instead following behind Morgan as the two were led away from the space they had just found.

Morgan backed down into the room, feeling, all of a sudden, that she should have told more people where she was going. Of course, she’d told Deirdre they had a lead, but if she were to drop a pin right now, would Deirdre know what to do with it? Remmy might, but the part where she had to explain what she was doing here might not lead to the best of conversations. But, fortunately, there weren’t any high tech keypads standing in their way of getting out. Just one seriously perturbed old woman.

Morgan made her way over to where the stacks of books were the largest and the shelves were packed to bursting. She looked for sigils, icons, anything recognizable. No one ever labeled ‘find harm here,’ but there were unavoidable markers if you knew how to look for them.

“I should report you to the police, for trespassing,” Amanda snapped. “And I could do much worse. But I would like to know first, Professor Beck, what you are doing in my trapdoor of all things. Do you have no respect for others?”

“On the contrary--” Morgan said carefully, flashing Cece big ‘what do we do?’ eyes, “I have the utmost respect for you and your interests.” She backed away until she could back no further. “The interests you keep a secret, especially. I think I might have something that’s of interest to your attention. A ghost something that is, let’s say, too good for mercy.” She reached out for one of the tomes, a leatherbound journal, by the look of it. Not as old as it was pretending to be, and bursting with pasted-in clips and notes.

“Not so fast.” She took out a little pearl handled pistol, gold and shiny, like something out of Agatha Christie. She cocked the safety with a slow, deliberate click. “That’s sensitive material, Professor. Access has to be earned. Tell me the truth, do what I say, and maybe we’ll see about it.”

The two hadn’t found themselves in an ideal situation, Cece was willing to admit that much. The woman that had discovered them hardly seemed especially dangerous. She was a college professor, taller than Cece was but that was hardly an impressive feat. The only thing she looked capable of seriously harming was a student’s grade point average. Still, the woman had enough to hide that she kept it hidden beneath the library, and she really didn’t like the intrusion by her colleague.

Morgan attempted to sweet talk her way out of it. Honestly, Morgan came across as such a pleasant person that Cece probably would have laughed it off if she had found the woman trespassing in her own home. Then again, maybe that didn’t count when Morgan had already previously lived with her. When Morgan reached for a book, hopefully one that Morgan deemed important, Amanda acted with an elevated decree of hostility. Looked like a bingo to Cece. The woman pulled out a small handgun, pointing it at Morgan but still eyeing Cece every now and again. She didn’t show much interest in Cece at all, which may have been more a mistake than anything else. “Your terms and conditions don’t sound all that appealing.” Cece called to her, straightening her back to give herself the appearance of being taller. She wasn’t sure that it worked. “Don’t get me wrong. You have the upper hand here. We’re totally up to no good. But don’t you have a door number three option?”

The woman finally looked Cece over. It had probably been the first time that she had offered her anymore than a passing glance, “I don’t even know who you are. This doesn’t concern you in the slightest.” She turned away from Cece again, but irritation seemed evident. Cece slowly dug into her purse again. She knew she had something else useful in there it was just a matter of rifling around until she found out. Once she did, she popped the lid off and dipped her fingers into it. “I just wanted to give you the option of rethinking your offer. Morgan and I have places to be. Let us go now and we can all enjoy the rest of our nights in peace.”

This time the woman finally turned the gun away from Morgan and towards Cece, at the same time that Cece rose up her hand and grabbed onto the woman’s wrist. “Have you ever heard of curare?” Cece asked the woman, a hint of curiosity in her voice. Though nothing apparent was happening, the woman hadn’t yet pulled the trigger and instead looked silently at Cece. “Some hunting tribes use it to paralyze prey. Normally, it doesn’t have a lot of effect on humans if ingested orally or through the skin.” By the woman’s expression, it was clear the effects had started to take effect now, “But with a bit of alchemy, it can be altered. All of a sudden, it just takes a tiny bit rubbed against the skin to get into the blood system. As Amanda began to fall back, Cece grabbed onto the gun, letting it slip from the woman’s hands as she crashed against the ground. “You should be able to talk still, it might just be a little mumbled. So try to speak up.”

Cece set the gun against the shelf and crossed her arms, “You got any questions for her?” she asked Morgan. Cece wasn’t sure this counted as life or death exactly, but the gun hadn’t been entirely promising. At this rate, Cece knew that she’d have to do something at the end to make sure that Amanda didn’t hold an unfriendly grudge against the two of them. Cece had gone this long, but now in the span of just a few weeks she would be whipping out the memory spell twice. Yikes. “Spare no details, something tells me that Amanda’s memory of the night might end up a bit fuzzy anyways.”

Morgan was scurrying for Cece and wishing zombies had super speed when it happened. She couldn’t let Cece get hurt and didn’t Cece know she was basically bullet-proof? Not one more friend, not one more life she cared about was going down because of-- and then Amanda’s face was going slack and she was sinking to the floor, and Cece was giving a pretty impressive speech of her own. “Holy shit,” Morgan whispered, suddenly feeling a little woozy with shock. Then, as it settled, “You...are so amazing, Cece!” She ran over and gave her a hug, ecstatic with relief. “Okay, so, one of your proteges was arrested for what sounded like some serious supernatural damage, and he said he had to get the ghosts. So I’m thinking you know a lot about exorcisms, maybe harm exorcisms, specifically?”

Amanda made some unintelligible noises that sounded aggravated enough to mean ‘yes’ to Morgan.

“Great! So, where would I find those? Is it here? Or--here? Or--” At the sound more throaty, aggravated groaning, Morgan knew she was right on the money. She hauled out everything from the self she could carry and started looking. “Woah, Nelly, some of these pages are torn from other volumes.” Morgan peered over the desk at Amanda on the floor. “Have you been defacing historical archives? That’s not very polite, you know. I wonder what would happen if I reported some of these original books as damaged and gave your name? That might be a bummer for research funding and future archive access, right?” Satisfied with her fun, she started flipping through, grateful that even though Amanda was a thief, she was at least an organized one. There was a handy table of contents and index between each hodge podge volume, and by some topics there was a reference number that seemed to correspond to a file, probably in the cabinet at the other end of the room.

Amanda made another slurry attempt at speech.

Morgan’s face crinkled. “French Revolution? Did you hear French Revolution?” She gave Cece a look to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood and started checking dates throughout her haul. Sure enough, there was a hefty volume with some emphasis on the 18th century and quite a few notes in French and English as she started flipping through. “Cece, come look at this,” she said. “I think this… I think I found something! What do these ingredients look like to you?”

If Cece had any worries that Morgan might think she had taken things too far, those fears were immediately quelled when Morgan launched into a hug. Cece hugged back, keeping her finger away from any of Morgan’s skin, “I don’t think this would work on zombies, but better not take the chance.” Considering the rest of the abilities that Morgan had now that she was undead, Cece wasn’t convinced it would have paralyzed her the way it had Amanda. If it did, the fast healing probably would have fixed her pretty quickly. But better to avoid the situation regardless. “But that was nothing. Didn’t want her messing up one of our pretty faces.”

Morgan was far better at searching and researching than Cece was. The extent of Cece’s reading had gone into her plans to get away from the coven. Since then, the books she had stolen and brought with her mostly stayed hidden in the floorboards of her closet. Something for a rainy day, if it ever came. For the most part, Cece scanned the shelves as Morgan actually talked to the woman and searched for something that was useful to her.

Cece hadn’t heard French Revolution at first, but hearing Morgan question it made Cece laugh and clap for Morgan’s better hearing skills, “You know I thought I heard bitch contusion but that makes way more sense.” Morgan flipped through a volume and called Cece over to look at something, but the symbols on the page weren’t like anything Cece had worked with before. “Yikes.” Cece started, trying to look for smaller details and anything that did look familiar, “I can pick out a few things. I see some containment symbols. Probably used to keep something trapped. But nothing that I’ve worked with before.”

“Me either,” Morgan admitted, “But that--” she pointed to the word, “Is definitely French for spirit, and some of these ingredients look like they’re obeying sympathetic principles for inflicting pain. I’m gonna need a dictionary or three to figure some of this out, and you know, an expert, but you saw the containment sigil too, right!” She snapped the book shut and held it close to her chest, her eyes shining with relief. “I think this is it, Cece. I think this is--” Morgan was lost for words and only smiled, glowing with gratitude for her friend. “This is the key to everything I’ve been looking for.”

“Well I know a guy if you need a French interpreter.” Cece stated nonchalantly, “Can’t promise he won’t be grumpy about it though.” Cece couldn’t keep an easy grasp on who in town knew who, but it seemed like a safe bet that Morgan and Kaden were acquainted. “Fuck yeah! Former roomies strike again!” Cece called out triumphantly, raising her hand for a high five. Once the two were done celebrating, Cece remembered that they had company. Cece spun around to their host for the night and clapped her hands together, “Amanda. You’ve just been so welcoming tonight, truly. We had a great time. We’re going to wrap up and then I promise it’ll be like we were never even here.” Cece scooted towards her and knelt down towards the woman. “Are we done here Morgan?”

Morgan joined Cece beside her colleague, still light on her feet with victory and beaming with pride in her friend. “We do make pretty good partners in crime if I say so myself,” she said. “And, you know, aside from, hmm---” She reached back over to the desk and took a couple more books. “These. Just for good measure. And fun. Trespassing is rude, Professor Wallace, but pulling guns on your colleagues is far worse.” She nodded at Cece to work her magic. They’d gotten what they came for and then some.

“This probably won’t hurt,” Cece began, pressing her fingers against Amanda’s temple, “Or if it does you won’t remember it. Which is basically the same thing.” Amanda’s eyes were frantic at first, darting back and forth almost definitely trying to will her body to move. But soon they settled, floating shut as Cece dove into her memories to pluck them free. She figured the last half hour or so would do the trick. The woman would be left with a lot of blurry portions on the night, undoubtedly waking up in this room to wonder how she had gotten here. But those were hardly Cece’s concerns. She made sure to go back far enough to when Amanda started suspecting someone was here. Once Cece was done, she left Amanda on the floor and stood up, “She should be waking up soon. She should be able to move shortly after. If you have what we need, we should get out of here.” Cece suggested, heading towards the exit of the room before snapping and swinging back towards her, “Actually, now is probably the best time to mention that there may be another person that conveniently fell asleep in the office. We may want to stop by on our way out and wipe him too. Just to be safe.”

Morgan stopped halfway on the stairs they came down in just to gape at Cece in awe. “Remind me to never underestimate you for the rest of your days. And maybe bring you up on my list of people to call next time I need help with the forces of darkness. You’re a dangerous lady, Cece Bishop…” She gave Cece a chivalrous hand out of the cellar, grinning in the evening light. “But, then again, so am I sometimes.”

[zerogate]

The late David Bowie was asked if his inspiration included dreams and he stated it happened frequently: "There's a thing that, just as you go to sleep, if you keep your elbows elevated you will never go below the dream stage.  I've used that quite a lot and it keeps me dreaming much longer than if I just relaxed. I keep a tape recorder by the bed, and if anything comes, I just say it into the tape recorder."

Arlo Guthrie, an American folk singer and songwriter, once said that music was like a stream going by. "Songwriting's kinda like catching fish - you just sit there and pull them out as they go by - though I think Bob Dylan's upstream from me somewhere." 

"The best songs that are written write themselves," said Michael Jackson. "You don't ask for them; they just drop into your lap... I don't force it. I let nature take its course. I don't sit at the piano and think, 'I'm going to write the greatest song of all time.'  It doesn't happen. It has to be given to you. I believe it's already up there before you are born, and then it drops right into your lap."

[...]

Some of the stories about dream music are so bizarre they just couldn't be made up. Consider the story of "Mystery Woman" written by U2's Bono. As Bono tells the story he is about to play a major concert in Wembley Stadium and was not able to sleep the night before. He stayed up most of the night watching the movie Blue Velvet on repeat and became aware of Roy Orbison's song "In Dreams" every time it came up in the movie. Orbison, himself, claimed that when he came up with the song "In Dreams" in 1962, he got the lyrics to the song in a dream. Eventually, Bono fell asleep and woke up with a song in his head. At first, he believed it was another Orbison song but then realized that it was new. He played the new Orbison-sounding song about a "mystery woman" to his band during the concert sound check. When they heard how it happened they told him he had "a bit of voodoo in him." When the concert was over, Bono sat down backstage to finish the song. Suddenly, his bodyguard knocks on the door and says Roy Orbison and his wife were at the concert and would like to meet him. No one knew Orbison would be attending! During the meeting, Orbison synchronistically said he would like to work with U2, and then asked, "you wouldn´t happen have a song for me?"  Bono then told him of the Orbison-like song that appeared in his head that morning. Orbison sang the song and it was released after his death. The album, Mystery Girl became a worldwide hit reaching #5 on the US Billboard 200, and #2 on the UK Albums Chart.

[...]

Noel Gallagher of the UK rock band Oasis sold the third best-selling record in the country. Gallagher stated he used lucid dreaming to create songs. "I write a song before I go to bed," Noel told Alternative Press in December 1995. "I won't have any lyrics, just a melody. If I can remember it first thing in the morning, then I know it's good. I've done it with 'Don't Look Back in Anger' and nearly every song on Definitely Maybe. When I woke up, I remembered the songs chord-for-chord - I knew the vowels and syllables I was gonna use."

[...]

The claims for dream music go back for centuries.  Mozart claimed to hear his best music when he slept but couldn't remember it when he woke up. The composer Revel stated that the most wonderful music came to him in his dreams. Anton Bruckner spoke of perhaps his most famous piece “Symphony No 7, 1st movement."  “This theme wasn't mine at all.  One day the (deceased) conductor Kitzler and old friend of mine from Linz appeared to me in a dream and dictated the thing to me. I wrote it down straight away. 'Pay attention,' added Kitzler, ‘this will bring you success.'"

[...]

Probably the most famous song that came in a dream was the song "Yesterday" by Paul McCartney. It has the most cover versions of any song ever written (2200) and, according to record label BMI, was performed over seven million times in the 20th century. McCartney described a song being his head when he woke up one morning.  There was a piano in the room and he quickly recorded the melody and lyrics.  McCartney stated:

I woke up with a lovely tune in my head. I thought, 'That's great, I wonder what that is?' There was an upright piano next to me, to the right of the bed by the window. I got out of bed, sat at the piano, found G, found F sharp minor 7th -- and that leads you through then to B to E minor, and finally back to E. It all leads forward logically. I liked the melody a lot, but because I'd dreamed it, I couldn't believe I'd written it.  I thought, 'No, I've never written anything like this before.' But I had the tune, which was the most magic thing! 

Once he had the song McCartney was still unsure so he checked around to see if he had just rewritten something he heard but had forgotten.   

For about a month I went around to people in the music business and asked them whether they had ever heard it before. Eventually, it became like handing something into the police.  I thought if no-one claimed it after a few weeks then I could have it.

[...]

Marcus Eoin from the band Boards of Canada wrote the song "Gyroscope" which came in a dream.  He stated, "Yeah for me it would be the track 'Gyroscope'. I dreamed the sound of it, and although I've recreated dreamt songs before, I managed to do that one so quickly that the end-result was 99% like my dream.  It spooks me to listen to it now."

[...]

Carole King was a prolific singer-songwriter with over 25 solo albums in 50 years. Her highlight album was the 1971 masterpiece Tapestry, which topped the charts for six weeks and remained on the charts for six years.  It outsold The Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album and included the iconic 1972 Grammy song of the year "You've Got a Friend." Speaking of that song King said, "That song was as close to pure inspiration as I've ever experienced. The song wrote itself. It was written by something outside of myself through me. It happens from time to time in part. That song is one of the examples of that process where it was almost completely written by inspiration and very little if any perspiration."

[...]

On May 6, 1965, in Clearwater, Florida, while on their first U.S. tour, according to a St. Petersburg Times article, about 200 young fans got in an altercation with a line of police officers at the show, and The Stones made it through just four songs as chaos ensued. That night, Keith Richards woke up in his hotel room with the guitar riff and lyrics, "Can't get no satisfaction" in his head. He recorded it on a portable tape deck, went back to sleep, and brought it to the studio that week. The tape contained his guitar riff followed by the sounds of him snoring. Richards stated, "We receive our songs like inspiration, like at a séance. People say they write songs, but in a way, you are more the medium. I feel that all the songs are floating around, and it is just a matter of being like an antenna, of whatever you pick up. So many uncanny things have happened to us. A whole new song appears from nowhere in five minutes, the whole structure and you haven't worked at all."

[...]

Beethoven - "I must accustom myself to think out at once the whole, as soon as it shows itself, with all the voices, in my head." He used sketchbooks to write down his ideas when they flew into his head so as to not forget them. "Music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and philosophy." "Music is the one incorporeal entrance into the higher world of knowledge which comprehends mankind, but which mankind cannot comprehend." "Music is the mediator between the life of the senses and the life of the spirit." "Tones sound, and roar and storm about me until I have set them down in notes."

-- Grant Cameron, Tuned-In: The Paranormal World of Music

[kaylathekittykat225]

Pretty Girl // Jason Todd X Reader

Warning/s: small mentions of insecurities, but all is good

Word Count: 4,016

Hey guys, hope you all enjoy. It would be cool to hear what you guys like about my writing if you have the chance, just trying to see what y’all like to see from me. :)

Here’s my Masterlist.

Enjoy.

—–

"Honestly Bruce we are fine, we can take care of Gotham for three nights...No we aren't gonna let it catch fire...Come on that was one time! And that was all Tim's fault! Why aren't you blaming him?!"

"Hey!" Jason groaned as soon as he heard the younger Wayne boy pipe up, obviously tapping into the conversation between Jason and Bruce. Bruce started yelling at Tim, Tim started yelling at Jason, Jason was yelling at the wall he kicked, honestly, it was all a muddled mess.

"Shut up!" The three arguing men all dropped their jaws at being told what to do, and them actually obeying it. Jason opened his mouth to say something sarcastic back, honestly, it's his best come back yet, but Damian spoke up again. "Todd, go to your left."

"What the-"Jason looked over to his left and saw an alley way below him. "If I go left, I fall off the damn roof, you twit. If you wanted me gone that badly, you could have just asked."

"Todd, just go down the damn alley." Bruce's voice in the background was telling Damian off for using language while the vigilante did as the younger asked. He clambered down the fire shoot and walked about the darkened alley way that smelled like old seafood and Chinese.

"Okay Damian, what am I doing down here?" Even through his red helmet, Jason could smell every horrible stench, his lenses adjusting to the much darker surroundings and trying to find something that Damian could have noticed even when he's in Paris with Bruce.

"Just listen." Silence filled the air as he did, he even turned up the sensitivity of his helmet's audio receiver, and still found nothing. "There." Just as Damian spoke, a quiet whine overpowered Jason's ears, deafening him for a minute. Okay, sensitivity too sensitive.

Jason walked towards the noise, adjusting his audio again before he caught sight of the thing making all the noise. "Nice ear Damian, I'll call you guys back." Jason murmured before hanging up on his family, and promptly hanging up on Damian when he tried calling back right after he dropped the call.

"Hey, pretty girl." Jason tenderly whispered, dropping all previous signs that he was one of the most feared names in Gotham as he knelt before the shivering dog in front of him.

The auburn-haired dog whimpered again and pulled her front paw closer to her chest and tried pressing herself between the wall and the dumpster. "Hey, hey, I'm not gonna hurt ya. You don't need to be scared of me, pretty girl." He slowly extended his arm out to the injured looking dog, waiting and hoping that she would lick his hand or sniff it or something that showed she wasn't scared of him.

She however continued to try and push herself back into the corner, away from him. Jason sighed and thought to himself of what to do, going to scratch the itch on his chin when he felt the smooth metal of his helmet against his fingertips.

"Jeez, Jace, that might help if she could see you." He quickly pulled the latch at the base of his neck and pulled the deactivated red mask off his head. "There you go, is that better girl?" Jason quickly shook his hair out of helmet hair mode and smiled gently back at her.

Her shivering body seemed to calm down and the dog leaned forward with a curious expression, slowly scooting out of the corner with her nose extended towards his hand. As she started coming more towards his hand and into the light, Jason saw that there was a long piece of barb wire wrapped around her front paw, covering it in dry and wet blood. "Aw, sweet pup. Let's get you all cleaned up, you pretty girl. Let me see the leg."

The German Shepherd of a dog finally walked into the awaiting arms of Jason; while doing so, she kept her front paw to her chest, holding it away from hurting it any further. The young vigilante kept cooing and whispering quiet words of encouragement to her as he lifted her up onto his lap, he  was already sitting cross legged on the damp ground of the alley way. "I'm going to take you home and have my friend patch you up, okay?" Jason whispered to the dog as he gathered her up in his arms and stood up.

She whimpered quietly and twisted her body around to face him, her pink tongue reaching over to lick his cheek. "Aw, you're welcome."

<<<>>> 

"So, you are saying, Master Jason, that you found this dog in the alley way and you brought her here?" Alfred has asked this question about three times over since Jason and Dick had driven back into the Batcave, Dick still dressed in the cowl he had to wear tonight to assure that everyone that Batman was still about.

"Eyup," Jason popped the "p", keeping his eyes fixed solely on the dog who laid passed out of the table. Watching the man who could be considered the boys grandfather, Jason saw how he was patching up the dog; yes, he was doing one of his many hobbies of being a caregiver, but he seemed very stiff. "Honestly Alfred, if you have a problem with this, I can keep her at mine and Roy's place."

"It is not a problem at all, Master Jason. I don't think anything could be possibly worse than Master Damian's vast array of animals." Dick chuckled from his place in front of the computer, everyone remembering different instances where Damian's animals caused chaos in the house. "Just keep her front leg cleaned and we can talk about what to do with her when Master Bruce returns."

The tallest of the used to be Robins nodded his head and walked over to Alfred's small operating table, the butler walking away with the barbed wire and his surgical tools to return upstairs to his butling. Stealing the silver chair from the corner, Jason wheeled it over and sat next to the dog's head, patiently waiting for her to wake up.

"So, a dog," Dick spun his chair around to look at his little brother, his Little Wing. "Always saw you as a cat kinda dude."

"Please, you know you're the cat fanatic of the family."

"Then why do I have a folder full of you and Alfred the cat cuddling pictures?" Dick chuckled to himself as he pulled the folder up on the screen, showing the multitude of pictures of the buff man and cat.

A gentle blush dusted across Jason's nose and cheeks, "I'm not gonna deny that I am an animal person, but I prefer dogs over any other animal."

Dick hummed at his brother as he rolled his eyes and spun back to the computer. "What's ya gonna call 'er?"

"Hmm," Jason hadn't really gotten that far, all that was in his head was: dog hurt. Help dog. Dog home. Good dog. "I don't know, I don't really want to name her if she isn't really mine."

"Well you got to call her something other than dog." The faux Batman had a point.

Before Jason could really say anything else on the matter, he noticed the German waking up. "Hey, pretty girl." He rubbed the top of her ear between his forefinger and thumb, watching as her dark eyes looked around and groggily focused on him. "How you feeling?" She whimpered at him in response before the dog pushed her body up, stopping when she felt her paw not freely moving before she saw the gauze Alfred had wrapped around the now clean wound.

Jason happily smiled as she yipped and moved herself to be able to lick his hand, rubbing her wet nose against his calloused hand. "So much for a cat person." Jason had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as Dick muttered while he finished up the report for the night.

<<<>>> 

By the end of the fourth day, Bruce and the Demon Sperm Product were scheduled to be home at any moment and Jason was kinda upset that they were coming back home. Okay, so he was happy that they were coming back, because dear God does Bruce do a lot around the city. Tim, Dick and Jason were ready to have two more sets of fists to help swing at the criminals of the city. Let's just thank God that Joker didn't decide that this was his week to break out of Arkham.

But the only living Todd was not looking forward to Damian coming home and stealing Pretty Girl away from him. And that she would love Damian more than she seemed to love him. He finally came to the conclusion to just name the dog Pretty Girl, finding it a fitting name with the knowledge that she was in fact a girl and she was a pretty dog.

So, while breaking down and then proceeding to rebuild his pistol over and over again, Jason stared at the dog who rested her head on his knee, she placed it there after she noticed he couldn't stop making it jump. The clicking of the gun pieces over and over again quickly drew her dark eyes open and stared up at him. "Hey, don't look at me like that." Looking around the room, Jason found he was alone, besides Pretty Girl, in the Batcave and he turned back around to her. "Don't tell Dick I said this, but I'm nervous for you to meet Damian, or I guess Damian to meet you."

Jason went on rambling about his internal worries about Damian and Pretty Girl, but as he looked down to her, all he saw in her eyes was understanding, as if she knew what he was telling her. "I just...I don't want to lose you, Pretty Girl." Setting the gun aside, Jason opened his lap up and the red furred German Shepherd happily accepted the invitation to leap onto the young adult's lap, quickly smothering his face in kisses and licks. He could almost feel her reassuring him that all of his worries are impossible to happen.

The rare deep throated chuckles from Jason were cut short by the rapid footstep and demanding voiced of Damian Wayne racing down the stairs. "Todd? Todd where is this dog? Are you torturing it with your presence? Are you actually torturing it?"

"I'm not an animal torturer, you little brat." Jason muttered to himself as the curious dog leapt from his lap and bounded excitedly towards the oncoming voice.

Her higher pitched barks varied greatly from Titus' deep-set barks that followed after his master's stride. Jason didn't think it was a good idea for her to go up into the mansion, not wanting to have Titus, or even Alfred, bite her for intruding on their space. And BatCow, damn that uttered animal was mean, ain't no way that Jason was letting his Pretty Girl near that monster.

Damian slid towards the dog on his knees, a smile quickly crossed his face at the sight of her. "You should be grateful I heard you over Todd's headset, otherwise something could have eaten you." Running his hair through her freshly cleaned fur towards her ears, Damian quickly looked over to his older brother. "You did well in taking care of her in my absence Todd. You can proceed home now; I don't think the dog nor I will be requiring your assistance any longer."

Jason's breath hitched in his throat as he continued to watch Pretty Girl, his Pretty Girl, lick at Damian's outspread hand. But that's how she was, a dog who loved people and would love anyone who would give her the time of day. He wasn't anything special to her.

Brushing past Bruce, Jason said his goodbye, stating he would see everyone for tonight's patrol when he got there. As he left, he could hear the happy barks of the dog he let himself be stupid enough to feel connected to. "Who the hell am I kidding, she's just a fricking dog, not a woman." But when she was around him, Jason actually felt wanted and needed by someone other than this damned city.

"Will you be needing anything, Master Jason before you go?" Alfred asked without looking up from the dinner he was preparing for Master Bruce's return dinner, knowing all of the boys' footsteps by heart after years of hearing them stomp around the once quiet home he cared for.

"No, I-" Looking up at the old man, Jason stopped in his tracks. "Do you still make that killer hot chocolate you would make me when I was a kid?"

"Only for you, Master Jason." Alfred then swiftly whisked around the kitchen as he prepared the hot chocolate that Jason adored as a little kid; somethings never changed.

But even with the steaming drink before him, that still tasted like heaven in a drink by the way, Jason radiated a mopey mood. "Jason?" The deep-set voice of his adopted father asked from the doorway of the kitchen, surprised to see Jason here,  half expecting Jason to already be back at his apartment and as far away from the house as he could be.

"That's my name, don't wear it out." Named vigilante sighed half-heartedly before taking a quick sip of the drink.

Bruce eyed his son up and down, never too used to emotions, especially coming from this one. Usually Dick was the over emotional and sighing one. "Is...everything alright?" Knowing he was stepping on eggshells, Bruce proceed with caution and took a bar stool next to Jason.

"Oh peachy, good to be reminded around here that I'm not needed and that every time I think someone will depend on me and think I'm worth their time will turn around to someone else, leaving me in their dust." Slamming the cup down, Alfred cleared his throat at the action, resulting in a quiet apology from Jason.

Bruce's steely eyes kept a fixed stare on the black-haired boy with the white streak running through the middle. "Jason, you know you're-"

"I don't need your sympathy, Bruce." Standing up, the boy feeling interrogated quickly chugged his hot chocolate down, welcoming the scalding burn to his throat before gently placing the glassware in the sink to be cleaned later. "I'm running back to my place, call me when you head out for patrol." And without any room from Bruce to call out, Jason had left to grab his bike from the Batcave.

Swinging his leg up over the seat of the bike, Jason switched on the engine and sped off, the screeching of his tires not allowing him to hear the frantic barks of a German Shepherd he was leaving behind.

<<<>>> 

Over the next couple of days, Jason has been far more irritable and much more trigger happy than normal, leaving many of the perps they took down wounded and heavily bleeding. He couldn't even stand the voice of Damian, always snapping at him and disregarding his presence as if he were a gnat on the floor.

"Little wing, you have got to-"

"Quit with that stupid name, Penis!" Jason harshly barked at Dick.

Taken aback, the vulgarly nicknamed blacknette took a step back, the shock evident on his face; that was always a sore topic for Dick, memories of his younger years at the circus with all the older boys who were fire swallowers or throwers making fun of his choice of nickname.

Jason regretted his words as soon as they left his lips, but every little thing was getting on his nerves. And like everything he regretted, he ran from it. Before Dick or the rest of the shocked family could do anything, Jason Todd was gone. "What the heck was the about?" Tim broke the silence from the medical bench, hissing as Alfred continued to stitch up the gash on his forehead.

"Whatever it is, Jason needs to get himself in order, he's going to get suspended from the field if he continues to act like this." Bruce with his cowl still on, glances over to still fazed Dick.

"I think Todd poisoned my dog." Damian declared, having decided it was proper time to change the subject.

Alfred scoffed. "Master Jason did no such thing."

"Then why is she being as grumpy as he is? All she does is sleep in front of his bedroom door upstairs." Rolling his eyes, the usually calm Alfred pulled the thread too tight, resulting in a yelp of pain from Tim.

"You all are too blind to see that Master Jason was very attached to that dog."

"But she's mine!"

"Quite the contrary Master Damian, Master Jason found her and took care of her until you came home from your business trip and claimed her as your own. That is also the explanation for Master Jason's irritability." The butler left his family with this knowledge and proceeded upstairs to enjoy himself a cup of tea.

"What's Pennyworth going on about?"

"A very valid point." Dick said, finally out of his trance. "You should have seen him with her, he loved Pretty Girl."

"Yeah." Tim voiced his agreement.

"But that is such a repulsive name, I think BatDog fits her so much better." From her corner of the room, the German Shepherd perked up at Dick calling her name, only to drop it back down when Damian wandered over to her.

Pulling the cowl off his head and moving to put it away, Bruce called, "Just get Jason back here in a better mood for patrol tomorrow," before walking up the stairs to his bed.

"Well, what's the plan, Dick?"

"We're going to make Jason regret ever bringing up that nickname." Dick replied with a hard-set goal behind his eyes.

<<<>>> 

"Whoever the fuck you are go away!" Jason groaned at the door, not happy to be woken up from his not so peaceful sleep to banging on his front door. He got home and didn't even bother changing out of his bloody uniform, just falling onto his bed and calling it a night.

More banging.

"Quit it!"

Even more banging.

"That's it, you're getting a bullet in the head." Grabbing his pistol from the nightstand, Jason swung open the door and pressed the end of the barrel to the smiling face of his grinning older brother. "What the hell are you doing Dick? It's 4:30 in the fucking morning."

"Oh, the time is called payback for calling me Penis." Happily grinning, Dick was way too calm for someone with a gun pointed point blank at his head.

Groaning, Jason lowered his arm, "Yeah man, I'm sorry 'bout that I just haven't-"

"And that’d be why I am here." Using incorrect grammar always bugged Jason, so this was another little payback is a bitch move of Dick's while he pulled the leash he had hidden behind his back.

"Pretty Girl?" The dog barked happily at her name and leaped across the threshold of the apartment into Jason's unsuspecting arms. "Hey, who's my Pretty Girl?" He pulled his arms out and scratched behind her ears, her pink tongue catching his face and hands as much as she could, both happy to see the other person again. "Dick what's going on? Why'd you bring Pretty Girl here?"

"Well, Damian thinks you poisoned her because she was mopey when you left, Bruce is sick of your attitude, I'm not too pleased with your choice of nickname, Alfred misses making hot chocolate for you, and Tim couldn't care any less that I'm bringing the dog back." Staring at his older brother in disbelief, Jason looked back down at the panting dog, she looked as though she could be smiling back at him. "And she just missed you."

Smiling at the dog, Jason pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "I missed you too girl."

But the joy wasn't long lasting, after Jason pressed the quick kiss to the dog, a loud popping sound followed by a woosh almost blew his ear drums out. A purple dust filled the apartment entry way, filling both Jason's and Dick's mouth with a nasty taste of magic.

"What the hell?" Jason coughed and fanned the dust away from his face, taking a look over to Dick to see him trying to cough up a lung. "Pretty Girl?"

"Down here." A loud shriek followed the voice, if it was from Jason, Dick or the new feminine voice, no one would admit or ever know. But the new not deep make voice scared the crap out of Jason.

Looking down, he saw a girl sitting at his feet, her H/C was a mess and E/C eyes stared right back at him, scared and just as confused as he was. "Um, who are you?"

"I-I'm Pretty-" She caught herself before she said the dog's name. "I'm Y/N."

Nodding, Jason took his leather jacket off and used it to wrap around you, keeping his eyes level with your own, covering you as best as he could with a jacket. "Okay, Y/N," turning away from you he saw that Dick had already read his mind and grabbed you a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt from Jason's closet. "Let's get you some clothes on and we can find out what just happened."

"I...Klarion, I think his name was Kalrion. I was petting his cat when he cursed me or something like that." Nodding, Jason ushered you into the door and out of the hallway where peering eyes could look and led you to the living room, turning his back to you as you changed.

"Sounds like a curse Klarion would do." Dick commented.

Nodding, Jason turned around after you gave him the go ahead. "So, Y/N, um, do you have someone you could call, a boyfriend, husband? Something like that?" Not noticing how your face fell at the question, Jason couldn't let himself look at you for longer than a few seconds, his hands in his pockets were getting sweaty and clammy faster than he wanted to put a bullet through the Joker's head.

"I...no, I just got out of a halfway home, I got out of there cause no one wanted me, and I just turned eighteen a few days before all this happened." You meekly looked down at your feet, playing with your fingers.

"Oh...well um...you can..." Quickly clearing his throat, as well as trying to cough up this nervous behavior he had brewing inside of him, he looked up at you finally meeting your eyes again. "You can stay here for the night. I can take the-"

"I am not letting you take the couch, I watched you come back to the cave with all those bruises and cuts. You are sleeping on your own bed. I can take the couch." You stood tall and stared back at him, your body telling him you were set on your decision and that it would take more than an army to make you change your mind.

"I...okay." Jason relented as he felt how tired his body was, it was still way too early for him to be awake, and his mind was slowly shutting down. "I'll grab you a pillow and blanket."

"Don't worry Jaybird, I gottem for you." Dick happily bright out the pile of linens and went places them on the couch. "And if you will excuse me, I need to go explain to Bruce how we have a new addition to the family." Chocking on his own spit, Jason turned to shout something at his brother, but spluttered out very few words.

"I...I guess this is good night." Jason nodded in agreement and turned to go down the hall to his bedroom. "And Jason," turning back to the mystery girl, Jason felt himself calm a little at her smile. "You can't lose me that easily Jason, especially not to Damian."

Smiling back, Jason thought a second before he responded. "Thanks, Pretty Girl."