#my man saw the tiniest hint of yellow and was like 'what the fuck is this'

[batsplat]

Casey Stoner, Pushing the Limits

GP11:

GP12:

x

[svnflowervol666]

Paper Peonies (70′s crime boss!Harry x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: violence, death, other than that she’s squeaky clean! (nervous laughter)

Author’s Note: Yes, this is inspired by that one part in Tiger King and no, I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had this scenario stuck in my head for a while (and by a while I mean March aka I am slow as hell to get shit done but I digress), and that combined with my obsession with the show Good Girls is where this fic blossomed. This is obviously set up to have multiple parts, so I hope this is enough to draw you in for what happens between Harry and Y/N after this! Take care and TPWK.

April 22, 1977 ~ New York City

She had always been suspicious of what Harry did for a living. His clothes were nice, the lapels of whatever color suit he’d decided to wear that day were always pressed with the upmost attention to detail and she’d never once seen even the tiniest scuff on his loafers. The chocolate brown curls on top of his head, no matter how dishevelled they appeared to be, always looked intentionally messy as if each wild strand had its own position to uphold. He never missed a nail appointment, and Y/N knew this because she always smelled the faintest hint of acetone trail behind him after his cologne with notes of sweet tobacco and ginger each time he entered the flower shop where he worked. Everything about his presence led her to believe that Harry was important man, but she hadn’t realized just how influential he was until tonight.

Harry visited her once a week. Every Wednesday for the past six months at precisely one o’clock in the afternoon, the wind chime attached to the door at the store entrance would announce his arrival. He always ordered a custom bouquet, the most expensive option in their catalogue, and always insisted that Y/N be the one to make it. She had creative authority over which flowers went where, which colors to use - “Whatever your pretty little heart desires,” as he would tell her as he smirks behind his amber tinted sunglasses. He always tipped, no matter how many times she told him this was a flower shop and that she didn’t work for tips, and he always plucked the prettiest, freshest flower out of the bouquet and handed it back to Y/N. He'd drop the flower into the display vase at the register if she refused the gesture, and other times he’d tuck the stem right behind her ear, caressing her cheek in the softest manner to intentionally fluster her. Harry knew she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, as he’d come to know her just as well through the small talk they made during each one of his visits, which is why it amused him so much to see this girl, kind and short-tempered, freeze up at the slightest touch of his fingers on her skin.

Y/N knew he was a man with a routine, which is why she grew inherently worried when one o’clock rolled around and Harry had yet to show his face in the flower shop. She wasn’t sure why she even cared so much; he was only a customer. Sure, he was easy on the eyes and always flirted with her and it was just about the only form of male interraction she’d come across throughout the entire time that she’d known him, but that was all he was - a customer. So, to busy herself and her thoughts, she’d scrubbed the countertops a few more times than necessary and paid far too much attention to the arrangement of pots and vases for the rest of her shift.

It had all happened so suddenly.

At first, she had been giving the shop its final sweep before closing. The gentle singing of the wind chime made Y/N curse under her breath. We close in ten minutes, why the fuck are you here? But her irritation soon turned to relief when her eyes met his - Harry’s. He graciously apologized for being late, though he had no reason to. She didn’t even ask him what she wanted, only going immediately to work on the bouquet she’d been planning out all day in her head for the next time she saw him.  

One minute, she was chatting him up and playfully giving him a hard time as she always does, and the next, she heard the unmistakable sound of gun shots and she was being shoved underneath the cash register by Harry and told to “Stay there, and don’t fucking move until I come get you.”

She isn’t sure, but she thinks she’s went into shock because she can barely see and although she can hear glass breaking and the strangled voices of two men going head to head, but it all rings faint and distant in her ears. Her knees tuck impossibly close to her shoulders as she hunches underneath the counter in imminent fear that whatever or whoever is out there creating an ungodly amount of damage is coming for her next and out of all places, her unproductive, measly life would come to abrupt halt in a fucking flower shop of all places.

It could have been five minutes, it could have been hours, but there’s a lingering gun shot proceeded by a harsh thud that she somehow hears through the ringing in her ears and she can sense that the quarell had ended. She scurries backward into the tan wood when she hears footsteps approaching her, too scared to even look up because she’s convinced that she’s next.

“Y/N...Y/N? Y/N!” she comes to when she realizes that it’s Harry shaking her wearily by the shoulders.

“Where’s the phone?”

There’s caked blood around his ringed knuckles, a thin trail of crimson liquid running down his temple and his cheekbone rears an ugly cut that’ll certainly take weeks to heal, but he’s seemingly unharmed aside from the few casualties on his face.

“What?” she asks, still in a daze and utterly confused as to why he’s asking a question like that at a time like this.

“Tell me where the phone is.”

His voice is stern and if she’s being honest, it scares the shit out of her because if Harry is still alive and well, she’s not so sure that the other guy is.

“O-over by the broom closet.”

“I’ll be back in a second. Whatever you do, stay here and do not look over the counter,” is all he says before disappearing from her view.

She tries her hardest, she really does, not to eavesdrop on the conversation Harry is having with whoever is on the other line of the phone. He’s speaking in whispers and so low that it’s almost undetectable, but she hears bits and pieces.

“The flower shop on Main Street...It’s fine, I just need yeh t’ bring the boys here now...Yeh, there was someone else here but I’m taking care of it.”

That last bit is enough to send bone-chilling shiver down her spine. It kicked her fight or flight response into full gear, which has her scrambling to her feet ready to book it out of the shop to the nearest payphone so she could call the police. After all, shouldn’t she regardless? Given that a shootout just happened in the lobby of her fucking workplace. She moves to stand up, but a jarring sight over the counter she’d been hiding under stopped her.

A pool of blood, the most she’s ever seen, surrounded a limp body whose face was battered to the point of being unrecognizable laid on the ground in front of her. Her breath catches in her throat and she actually feels like she’s suffocating.

Harry did this. And all she could do was collapse right back on the ground where she had been hiding.

“Are yeh alright?”

His eyes are full of sympathy and a bit of regret when he returns, and hers are filled with frightful tears that Harry will hate himself for for the rest of his life knowing that he was the reason for. 

“I, uh... I think so,” she’s able to squeeze out in between waves of panic.

“Good,” Harry says sternly, “Now, come on. I’ll take yeh home.”

If Harry was “taking care of it,” it being her, there was no way in hell she was spending more than another second alone with Harry.

“Who is that?” her voice is quiet but firm, and it’s what makes Harry realize that she hadn’t listened to him and had definitely peeked over the counter when he wasn’t looking.

He sighs in displeasure, eyes flicking towards the dead body in the lobby of the store and then back to Y/N.

“No one yeh need t’ worry about. It’s taken care of. Now please, just let me drive yeh home so I know you’re safe.”

“No offense, Harry,” she began, “But there is no fucking way I am getting into a car with you.”

“Y/N, just-” is all he can get out before she makes a beeline for the front door and is running as far away from Harry as she possibly can.

She makes it about two blocks down the now empty streets before her lungs give up on her. In times like these, she wishes she exercised more. Just as she’s catching her breath against the door of a closed bodega, begging and praying that Harry had lost track of her, she feels headlights coming up on her backside in the distance.

“Y/N!” It’s Harry, yelling at her from the driver’s side of a maroon Mustang.

“Just get in the car and I’ll explain everything.”

Not a fucking chance, buddy she thinks to herself. She gives him her sassiest side glare before resuming her fast-paced walk down the street.

It doesn’t deter Harry from creeping along the street to match her speed.

“Y/N,” he pleads.

“Fuck off, psycho” she mutters under her breath, but it’s still loud enough for Harry to hear.

“It’s 1977, Y/N! Do yeh know how many serial killers are on the loose right now? Get in the fucking car!” 

He’s getting ansty now. Not only by her persistance to get away from him, but because of the fact that he knows whenever he looses sight of her, she’s going straight to the police and everything he’s built for himself will come crashing down on him. He never thought that his sweet, hot-headed Y/N would be his downfall.

“Why?” Y/N stopped abruptly and spun around on her heels to face him.

“So you can get rid of your witness? I’m good. Blow my brains right here out on the sidewalk, please. I’d prefer a junkie to keep my corpse company over the maggots in whatever hole in the Bronx you planned on throwing me in.”

“Christ, you’re impossible.”

Harry didn’t even bother saying that under his breath.

“Here,” he starts, reaching for the button on the glove compartment.

Using the dull, yellow street lights and infinitely glowing neon signs in the store-fronts of the buildings around her, she can see that he’s pulled out a pistol. It causes her to jump back a few steps, as if she hadn’t just politely asked him to kill her on the sidewalk in the first place.

“Fuck, sorry. Didn’t mean t’ scare yeh.”

Well it’s a little too fucking late for that.

He quickly unloads the cylinder and the clanking of bullets hitting his seat fills her ears. With a flick of his wrist, he presents the handle to her.

“Yeh can point it at me the whole drive. Please, just let me take yeh home so I know you’re alright.”

He seemed earnest and sincere, but based on everything that had happened to her in this short amount of time, she had come to realize that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to Harry.

However, in her brief stint on Earth, she’s decided that everything that’s happened to her thus far had been for a reason (as cliche as that seemed), and her gut was telling her trust him. After all, he had shielded her from the rainfall of bullets that more or less decimated the flower shop just minutes before.

She say anything, only yanking the gun from Harry’s grip and slamming his door shut.

“The brownstones in Bed-Stuy,” is all she tells him.

“Jesus, Y/N. We’re all the way in Chelsea. Couldn’t find a closer place to work? That’s a scary train ride home at night. Surprised yeh haven’t been kidnapped yet.”

 “You know, you really shouldn’t say shit like that considering this is the first time I’ve spent longer than ten minutes with you and I’m sitting in your car.”

Harry sighs under his breath, cursing himself for freaking her out for the umpteenth time tonight. 

He notices her struggling to load the bullets into the cylinder.

“Do yeh need hel-”

“I live alone in Brooklyn. I know how to fucking use a gun,” she snarls as the firing pin finally clicks into place.

“Alright,” Harry mumbles.

She shifts in the plush, leather seat, one elbow leaning out the open window as the other is tucked into her side so she can point the barrel of the gun right at Harry’s side.

“Okay, start talking.”

Rolling his eyes, he bangs the back of his head against the head-rest. He winces as soon as his scalp makes contact with the seat, momentarilly forgetting he’d gotten it slammed against the linoleum during the brawl in the flower shop.

“What do yeh’ want t’ know?”

“For starters, what the fuck happened at the flower shop?”

Harry feels like he’s sighed precisely nine hundred and thirty-one times tonight, but he’s somehow able to squeeze out another one before answering Y/N’s question.

“Did yeh ever meet the guy that lived above the shop?”

“Mr. Perry? He’s harmless. Why? Is that who was on the floor?”

Her sould hurt momentarily for the middle-aged man that she ocassionally crossed paths with when she’d open up the store in the mornings. He was never quite sociable, but he always tipped his hat to her when he saw her. Her boss had told her once that he always kept to himself, so she was never surprised that he never struck up a conversation with her.

““S not exactly harmless, Y/N,” Harry corrected her.

“We did...business together a few times. Found out he tried t’ cross me. Word must’ve got around tha’ I was looking for him, so I’m assuming when he saw my car outside the shop, he figured he’d take his chance t’ get rid of me.”

“What kind of business?” she deadpanned.

Harry hesitated.

“...Business,” he repeated.

The hammer of the gun locks into place, making Harry flinch and realize that he really fucked up by giving Y/N that gun.

“What kind of business?” she asks again, this time with a loaded weapon at her disposal.

“There’s...money involved. Lots of it.”

“So it’s illegal?” 

“Most definitely.”

“Fine,” she decides that she probably doesn’t want to know anyway and moves on to her next question.

“You’ve been checking up on him this whole time? That’s why you come into the flower shop?”

Harry nods hesitantly, fingers gripping impossibly harder into the steering wheel.

She scoffs, laughing almost.

“So you don’t actually bring all of those flowers to your mother then? It was all just a ruse to keep your ducks in a row?”

Y/N isn’t sure why, but her heart broke over the notion that Harry didn’t come to the flower shop every week just to see her. Even though she acted like he annoyed her most of the time, she really was quite fond of him. I mean, anyone that’s seem the man would say the same. She never expected their relationship to flourish past light conversations about what flowers are blooming, but knowing he never actually cared was a different kind of disappointment.

“No,” Harry is quick to discount her assumption and he’s looking as serious as she’s seen him all night.

“I do give them t’ my mum.”

There’s a pregnant pause before he starts talking again.

“She died when I was ten. The cemetery’s only a few blocks away from the shop.”

Y/N feels like shit for pushing him, so she flips the safety clip on the side of the gun and allows it to fall limp in her crossed legs. 

“Sorry.”

Harry’s sucks his lips into his mouth and shrugs his shoulders, letting her know that at least he knew she meant well. 

“Okay,” Y/N draws out, her anxieties that Harry is going to take a detour to the nearest boat dock and throw her into the disgustingly unsanitary water in the dead of night rapidly dwindling away.

“Let’s say you do drop me off at my apartment. What’s stopping me from running to the police the second I get out of this car and telling them everything that I saw?”

Harry laughs sarcastically, readjusting the rearview mirror. 

“Well, for starters, your fingerprints are on the murder weapon.”

“Fuck!” Y/N yells, kicking the gun out of her lap and letting it clank to the floorboard. 

It was almost soothing. He knew it was only her reaction to realizing she could be held accountable for his crimes if anyone ever did find out about what happened, but the fact that she didn’t reach for the gun after that moment made him think that she trusted him in come capacity.

“And if that wasn’t enough t’ convince yeh, he was trying to start a human trafficking ring. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t really think someone like that deserves to roam the streets. Think the world is far better off without him, don’t you?”

Okay, maybe Harry had a point.

When she hadn’t said anything in a while, letting only the sound of the wind fill the space of the car, Harry turned to look at her. Though she had unhesitantly cocked a loaded gun at aimed it directly at his face just moments ago, he couldn’t help but take his eyes off of the road and let them wander around her features.

She really was beautiful. The way her hair was blowing with the speed of his car and how the each street post they passed glowed around her sillhouette like a halo was stirring something inside of him. 

He had went into the flower shop for the first time, he was genuinely in search for flowers to place on his mother’s grave. He’d expected to be greeted by a frail, elderly woman with shaky hands behind the counter, not Y/N. She was stubborn and he could see the fire behind her eyes and with everything in him, he couldn’t place his feelings for her. Was it akin to a grade-school crush on the cute girl he sat beside on the bus? Was it sexual tension that was begging to be unleashed so he could really show her what he was capable of beyond the flirtatious touches and salacious smirks? Or was it something else?

“Think we’re here,” Harry broke the long stream of silence as the car rolled to a halt outside of her apartment building.

“Oh,” was all Y/N said, almost saddened by the fact that their interraction was reaching its end.

“I’d really appreciate it if yeh didn’t go t’ the police. I won’t stop yeh, but if yeh do this f’ me, I promise I won’t let anything bad happen t’ yeh anymore.”

His eyes looked sorrowful, like he had an inkling that she would snitch and help take him down. But there was another part of him that believed she wouldn’t.

“I won’t,” she whispered quietly.

Her fingers lingered on the wooden-coated handle as she turned to him.

“Why are you doing this?”

“This as in...?” he quirked his brow at her.

“Helping me. You could’ve easily just killed me in the shop to spare you the trouble, but you didn’t.”

A small smile broke out on Harry’s face, the corners of his perfectly-pink mouth turning up just slightly.

“Didn’t think I could make it more obvious, but...I like yeh. I care about yeh. Care about what happens t’ yeh. You’re a sweet girl. Yeh didn’t deserve t’ see all that.”

Y/N nodded, eyes zeroed in on the discarded gun and loose bullets that had been rattling on the floorboard the entire drive to her apartment. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost undetectable but Harry heard her. 

With this information on hand, she no longer believed Harry meant ill with anything he had done. Even murdering the man that lived in the studio above where she worked. 

He cared about her. He cared about what happened to her. And that’s why she was still here.

As she reluctantly removed herself from the passenger seat and closed the door to the mustang that must have cost a year’s worth of her rent, she pivoted and leaned on the still-open car window.

“You know,” she started, her iconic, I’m-not-even-joking-in-the-slightest expression that Harry had come to know (and love) reared its head.

“You’re paying for all of the shit you broke. Those pots are expensive and the owner’s gonna blow a fucking gasket when she comes in to do payroll tomorrow.”

This earned a genuine laugh from Harry, loaded with more than she understood at the moment, but would eventually learn more about.

“It’ll look brand new in there come morning. Swear it,” he placed his hand over his heart for good measure.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she spoke softly, her lips mimicking the smile that was plastered on his.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

//

As someone that had witnessed and was now an accomplice in a brutal murder that took place where she worked, Y/N called in sick the next day. Her undeniable PTSD had made her violently ill with even the thought of going near the entirety of Manhattan. But alas, she had bills to pay and forced herself into the flower shop on Friday. 

The second her coworkers heard the windchimes and realized it was her that had entered, they were quick to bombard her with what she had missed while she was out.

She was too busy being completely stunned by the sight in front of her.

The store was spotless. It looked exactly as it had the before “the incident.” No broken glass, no missing pots, no blood stains on the floor, and no body. It was as if Harry had never even stepped foot in the shop to begin with.

“Your guy came by looking for you. Left you a card.”

“Harry?” she asked, “Can’t be. He only comes on Wednesday’s.”

She momentarily mourned the brunette. Would he ever come back at all now that his “friend” was most likely chopped up into dozens of pieces and burried in a dump somewhere that no one would ever find?

“Real tall? Curly hair? Always wears those yellow sunglasses? Huge flirt with the mustang?”

Yep, that was him.

“It’s in the office,” her coworker added before going back to her task of sweeping up wilted petals from the ground.

“He’s a charmer, ya know?” she added.

“Seemed worried when I told him you were sick. It was kinda cute, actually.”

She was too shaken up to give her the embarrassed reaction that she knew she was waiting for, walking with purpose towards the back of the store where the office was.

Sure enough, in a beige envelope sealed with melted wax and her name written on the front in perfect cursive, was a letter. With shaking hands, she freed the expensive-feeling paper from the confines of the envelope and lifted it closer to her face so she could read it.

Thank you for not saying anything. 

Thank you for trusting me. 

I meant what I said about protecting you.

If there’s anything I can ever do for you, please don’t hesitate to reach out.

x, H.

p.s. Those pink pots were a bitch to replace. Tell your boss to stop buying product in fucking New Jersey.

And finally, written in jet black ink at the bottom of the stationary in Harry’s handwriting, was an address.

She knew she’d been there before, as the street name was notorious for being home to New York’s most bustling night clubs and dive bars, but she couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t until she’d asked her friend about it later that night over their Friday night pizza-and-beer tradition that she realized where the address would take her.

A strip club?

[zayray030]

Why can't you understand? I didn't want this.

Summary: Bruce wanted to cry. Or die. Whichever came first really. He was just so tired. Why couldn't anyone understand that he didn't want his kids to have this life? Why couldn't his own kids understand that?

Bruce wanted to cry. Or die. Whichever came first really because he really wanted to get out of the cave.

The reason why he didn't want to be in the cave was because of his kids.

Now, he loves his kids. He never wants anything bad to happen. He never wants to see them cry or get hurt. He just wants to see them happy and living happy normal lives. And if he actually had a say in it, then they would have normal lives. But they were all dumbasses. Lovable dumbasses, but dumbasses non the less.

Currently they were all ganging up on him for taking them into this life.

It had all started when Bruce was typing in the report for the night. He had the costume off and the place was silent. Normally meaning that it was going to be interrupted one way or another and one of his kids will storm away from him or in tears and shouting at him. Well he got the first one right, just not the last one. He would be the one in tears shouting at them.

“Hey, Bruce!” exclaimed his oldest son as he walked into the cave, while Barbara wheeled along with him she gave him a small smile before going back talking to Dick.

Bruce just gave a small nod of acknowledgement and continued typing on the batcomputer. Soon, all the other others began joining in and they were all huddled around Barbara and Dick. Normally such behaviour would have worried Bruce, considering the fact that a fight would have broken out now, but he didn't pay attention to it. He really needed to finish his report to get some rest for tomorrow.

How naive could he be to hope it would be that simple?

“Hey Bruce? I have a question.” said Tim as he walked over to him, the others following suit behind him, their faces holding anything but innocence.

“I'm sure it can wait, Tim. I have to finish this report and-” started to say Bruce before he was cut off by Jason.

“Nah it can't wait, actually old man.” snapped his second oldest son as he crossed his arms and glared at Bruce. So it was going to be one of those nights. Bruce really didn't want to get onto a fight with his son, especially after they've been doing so well.

“I just need to finish this report. I'm sure he can ask one of you.” replied Bruce, still focusing his attention on the screen and trying to remain calm. However, it was proving harder than he thought. Maybe he should have listened to Alfred when he said to go and sleep earlier.

“He can't exactly ask us on why you insist on having child soldiers.” Dick replied, slightly peaceful. He was clearly trying to be the meditator while also making it obvious on whose side he was on. However Bruce could really care less right now. He was just trying to stop himself from crying as the question was asked again.

Why can't they see he didn't want this life for any of them? Why can't they understand it wasn't completely his fault?

“Grayson. Say it nicer.” snapped Damian. Even his own son thought he had child soldiers. He would have at least thought he would be on his side, but no such luck.

Bruce fully turned from the computer, his report half finished. He would continue it later when everyone storms out after he accidentally says something emotionally constipated.

“We are not going to have this conversation right-” tried to say Bruce but he was cut off again, this time by Barbara. She looked slightly guilty by what she was going to say, but it was also obvious that she had wanted to say it for a long time.

“I'm sorry Bruce, but we need to have this conversation right now. It's not safe for you to put a child in a costume and force them to go out and save Gotham. It's not sane either.” she added. That little…

“I-” he tried to say something, anything, to defend himself, but he was interrupted yet again. This time by Cassandra. Even her? She thought he would willingly put children in harm's way? His heart started breaking even more.

“I love dad, but dad hurt others.” she said with the limited words she had learnt. Bruce had to hold back a sob at the fact his daughter said she loved him but had yet again thought that he would harm a child.

“If you let-” tried to explain Bruce. He just wanted to explain that he hadn't wanted all of them to go through this shit. He had wanted them to stay happy and love others as much as he loved them. Why couldn't they see that?

“Let you what? Kill another child in your regime. It's bad enough it happened to me, but it also happened to others because you forced them into this shit show.” snarled Jason, looking at Bruce like he was worse that the scum that he fought nightly. Bruce felt his heart crack even more at the look but he kept his face stoic.

“Would you ju-” tried Bruce again, his temper rising. But instead of steam wanting to come out, it was tears. However he was interrupted by Duke. Why did they have to turn Duke? Duke and him were finally connecting. He may never be able to replace his parents, but he could at least be a good guardian.

“Sorry boss, but why? Like yeah, I get it's hard to navigate life at night, but they were just kids.” he asked, looking at him in disappointment. Bruce felt his heart cracking even further but he just continued to remain stoic.

“Can I just-” he tried to snap but Stephanie cut him off. Poor, sweet Stephanie. The one who had the most horrible relationship with him when she was Robin.

“No, you don't get to be pissed with us when it's your fault for starting this fuckery.” snapped Stephanie. Bruce wanted to cry or hit something, say it wasn't his fault, but he just took it. That's at least until Dick’s comment.

“I mean, you had to weaponize my childhood to start this ridiculous thing-” but Bruce cut him off. If they where going to demand for answers then they would fucking receive.

“Excuse me!?!” he snapped at his oldest,causing a look of surprise to be etched on his face. “I didn't even allow you to go out at night.” when it looked like he was going to get interrupted, he just raised his voice. “You were the dumbass to put on a bright red tunic, green panties and a neon yellow cape on. You decided to go out there and try to find your parents killer and kill him. You decided, without any sort of training, to go out there and find a mob boss, who has more experience than you. I told you multiple times not to. However you wouldn't fucking listen so I decided to make sure you didn't die in the fucking process!!” he yelled at Dick, who just stood there, shocked and if he looked just slightly longer he would have noticed the guilt, but he was already moving on to Barbara.

“You decided after solving one fucking mystery at a fucking Halloween party, while dressed in a ridiculous costume, that you would start fighting crime. You continued trying to fight crime, even after I told you not to. You continued even after I threatened to tell your father. I just fucking decide to make sure that you didn't die, giving the commissioner major heartbreak, so be fucking grateful.” be snarled at Barbara. The normally quick witted woman had nothing to say, just stared at Bruce guiltily. He could barely give a shit as he turned to Jason.

“You decided to steal the tires of the fucking batmobile when you saw it, instead of turning around and going somewhere else. You decided to hit me with a tire iron, instead of just giving me my fucking tires back.” he practically screamed at Jason. Jason was looking at Bruce in horror and that's when he realised that tears were running down his face. Fuck, he hadn't even felt it. “I tried teaching you how to put your size to your advantage by using speed, but you fucking insisted just to punch the villains.”

He then turned to Tim, on a roll now. “I told you to fucking go home! I told you not go out there on the streets of Gotham and fight crime. But NO!! You had to fucking take pictures of me and insist that you be my partner even though you had a good life going for you. You had no fucking training prior and since you were obviously not going to fucking listen to me, I decided that the next best thing was to fucking teach you how to defend yourself.” he screamed at Tim. The coffee addict had the sense to look down guilty and look ashamed of himself. But he didn't care. They asked and he would fucking deliver.

“You decided to instead of turning your father to cops, when finding out he was a supervillian, to dress up in a purple costume and fucking fight crime, even after I told you to fucking go home. Even after I was a dick to you, you decided to stay and not take a fucking hint!” shouted Bruce at Stephanie as he turned to her, not caring at the fact that he was crying openly now. Stephanie just stared at him, horror growing in her eyes.

“I told you not to go to Shiva, but you didn't listen to me! I told you not to insert yourself into dangerous situations but you fucking decided to ignore me and go out to Hong Kong!” he yelled at Cassandra. He didn't bother lowering his voice. He was upset and he wanted his mother telling him that he was doing good and he wanted his dad telling him that he'll protect him.

Cass looked at him with wide eyes but Bruce didn't have it in him to care. He just wanted to go to sleep. He quickly turned to his blood son and softened just the tiniest bits.

“I benched you multiple times after I found out your mother had put a hit on you but you decided to change your name to Red Bird and continue to fight crime! Even after I benched you multiple times and explained to you the dangers of going out there. I told you to stay in the cave and away from the evil zombies invading Gotham but you didn't fucking listen! And that's not even scratching the surface!” he yelled at his son. Damian wasn't crying, but he was frowning and looking mighty guilty but Bruce didn't care. He wanted his own dad and he wanted him now.

“You decided to challenge the riddler when you were barely even in the double digits!” he snapped, turning to the newest member of the family and Duke had the sense to look ashamed of himself as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You continued to fight crime, even after I told you to leave it to the professionals and not to get involved with his shit! But you wouldn't listen, so I had to turn you into a professional!”

“I may not have been the best fucking parent out there, but I damn well tried to make sure you lot didn't die! Was I the best at it? No! But I fucking tried to stop you! So don't you fucking dare say I put you in that costume willingly!” he finally screamed. “I just wanted to be a normal dad! I just wanted to give you guys the experience I never had! I tried my hardest to be a good dad to you all, like my parents were to me.”

Slowly he was trailing off, mostly just half sobs and barely even standing, already on the floor, face in his hands as he cried.

Suddenly he felt small arms wrap around him and he didn't have to be the World's Greatest Detective to know it was Damian.

“I apologise to have caused you such great distress, father.” mumbled Damian into his chest. Bruce didn't care, he just cried into his son's hair.

Slowly, other arms wrapped around his shaking figure and there were a multitude of sorrys coming, but he couldn't pinpoint who said what, he was just so, so, so tired.

*

Later on he woke up on his bed, but he felt a small weight on his chest. Looking down, he saw Damian and when he looked around he saw the rest of his children. Even Barbara was on the bed.

Looking around, he saw Alfred walking in and suddenly everything that had happened last night hit him like a train. Alfred just looked at him in sadness and handed him a cookie.

“I see you have decided to join the land of the living, Master Bruce.” said Alfred, the butler not breaking out of his stoic tone and the only way to know that he was actually worried was if you knew him personally.

He just hummed slightly. “Shit, Alfred I had a meeting and-” Bruce began as he tried to discreetly move Damian, however the child was not budging whatsoever.

“Don't worry, Master Bruce. Everything has been taken care of already. You have no work to do for a week and the children have decided, for their own punishment, to take care of everything for you.” replied Alfred already pushing the man down. Bruce just grumbled and ate his cookie.

“What am I supposed to say Alfred? Nothing I say is going to take back how awf-” began Bruce as sudden guilt began to consume him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Master Bruce. If anything, the children and I have to give our apologies for berating you for so long.” Alfred said, cutting him off. Alfred had a slightly guilty look at the confession and Bruce wanted to soothe him but he was tired and wanted to go to sleep.

“Sleep some more, Master Bruce. I will inform you if you need to worry about anything.” said Alfred. The old butler walked out but cast one last mournful look behind his back.

“He's right you know.” said a muted voice to his right. Bruce turned around and his eyes caught Jason's blue green eyes, which were swimming with guilt.

Bruce didn't say anything, just draped an arm around Jason and brought him closer to him. He felt his jumper wetten a bit but he didn't care. He just let his son cry on his shoulder. Soon all of his other siblings started to wake up and when they all turned to look at Bruce, he could see the immense guilt in their faces.

There were a lot of sorrys going around and when finally he heard Damian say sorry he spoke.

“We all said hurtful things last night. And it might take a while for us all to get back to where we were, but I forgive you all.”said Bruce. He could still feel their guilt but they'd deal with it. Like a family this time.

“Get some sleep old man.” Dick finally said.

“Yeah! I've already taken care of WE.” said Tim.

“Just get some sleep Bruce.” said Stephanie.

"Sleep, father." said his son nuzzling into him.

Soon he was lulled by his children's quiet voices and his world was consumed in darkness

[strawberrychocletysundae]

ii wrote a little ship thing for charlson! It’s much better to read it on my ao3(link in the about) because tumblr is being a fuck and won’t let it be seen so technically im posting this again. Anyway, I hope you all like it! And please be sure to leave constructive criticism if you have any!

Hm.

The smell from the flowers is so sweet, it almost caught him off guard when he walked into the shop. Gosh, hopefully his allergies won’t start up. He would hate to look like such a sneezing mess in public.

The shop reminded Wilson of a little cabin, homey and bit nostalgic with the jazz music that played through the shop’s speakers. Flowers of all sorts of beautiful arrangements filled the wooden stands. Some were even in little pots, hanging on the ceiling. As elaborate as the arrangements were, he was just trying to look for a simple flower that would light up his apartment. Maybe that pink camellia over there? Oh but the price… He’ll have to look for something cheaper. That lilac has such a wonderful magenta hue! It would look great on the kitchen table! Ok but that forget-me-not is also pretty nice too-

Argh! How indecisive can he be?! And all of this for a flower? Wilson frustratingly tapped his foot to the rhythm of the music. Those valerians are super pretty… And those daffodils would make a good combination with it- Wait can’t he just pick those from the ground? He doesn’t have to pay for something that he can get for free.

It wasn’t long until his attention turned to an interesting arrangement of roses. He wasn’t sure why, but it captivated him. Could it be how they layered onto each other? Or the lovely colors? The red circling the yellow, kissed with the tiniest hint of the ruby color. And to top it off, a single lavender rose right in the middle. He quietly eyed it; a sense of longing filled his mind.

… She would have loved this.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the giant blue vase heading towards him. Wilson… The vase is getting closer… Oh god, he’s too distracted… OH GOD WILSON-

The vase collided onto his back, the force sending him down on the ground. “Oh gosh, I’m really sorry!” The speaker behind the vase quickly set it down near an empty table. “I didn’t mean to bump into you!”

That voice… It’s… Familiar. “No no, it’s quite alright. I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t see you were coming” he awkwardly laughed while avoiding their gaze. Gosh this so embarrassing

“Here, let me help you up” the person offered their hand. Wilson grabbed it and was pulled back up.

“Thank you for that. Sorry for-“ he side-eyed the person. Wait. He did a massive double-take and his eyes widened. Oh my god, same face, same voice. “C-Charlie?” his voice was breathless, completely shocked at the sight before him.

“Wilson?”

“I-I-I” is this real? Could this really be his Charlie? Oh won’t someone pinch him he must be dreaming! Wilson nodded his head, his eyes on the verge of tears. “Oh, Charlie I- achoo”

Ah crap.

His sneezes became more erratic as his eyes became a waterfall. Seriously? Out of any moment in time, why did his allergies have to start now? “Achoo- Char- achoo” is he crying or just having bad allergies? Maybe both. Whatever it is, Wilson slowly became an utter sneezing mess.

Charlie handed him a box of tissues from the front counter. “Hey,” she whispered as she caressed his cheek “how bout we get away from all these flowers, ok?”

There were some small sniffles as he wiped his tears away. By now this man looked like an ugly crying cat who also had a bad pollen allergy “...ok”

🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕

Wilson blew his nose as Charlie leaned back on the concrete wall. She had brought him to the back of the store, where there’s no pollen but instead, the cold, foggy, grey world of the city. But it’s near the dumpster with rotting flowers so… Hopefully that won’t bother him.

“It’s been so long. How’ve you been? How’s everyone else?”

“Oh! Um…” Wilson threw away the used tissues. “Everyone’s trying to get into the swing of things. Some got their dream jobs, others are working towards it, the kids are all home-schooled by Ms. Wickerbottom when she’s off from her library, I think Willow and Wx are wandering around exploring the modern world” a smile appeared on Wilson’s face as he thought about his friends.

”And as for me, I’m working two jobs trying to save up for going back to graduate school” It definitely is tiring, especially with their long hours. But hey, it pays the bills.

“Oh really?” she clasped her hands together as she giggled “that’s great I’m so happy for all of you!”

He chuckled and began to admire his love. Stars, she’s beautiful. And her giggle? Music to his ears! He began blushing, just losing himself in her eyes. How happy he was to see her, safe and sound. After all this time…

After all this time…

How di-

“Charlie?”

“Yes honey?”

“How did you escape?” He tugged on the strings of his sweater. Hm… Nervous. “The last time I saw you it was with everyone at the portal… And you said you had to stay behind and... Yeah”

There was a moment of silence between them, the sound of cars passing by, filling the empty void. The old queen rubbed her arm, thinking about the time spent in complete isolation. No new survivors appeared. Nothing fell from the sky. Only the shadows kept her company in the vast emptiness of the Constant. “It’s a bit hard to explain”

Shit. Did he open up a big wound? “Yo-ou don’t have to ta-alk about it i-if you don’t want to” he stumbled over his words.

“No no, it’s fine” she smiled, attempting to show him no harm done. “Let’s see… Where to begin” The beginning, middle, or the end? Maybe a short summary would do. “Well, when you guys left, They managed to destroy the Gateway, so I won’t have the chance to follow suit” she fiddled with the pockets from her apron. “Literally nothing was salvageable, everything was turned into goopy nightmare fuel”

“Oh…” Stars. How hellbent where these things on keeping her behind? “Then what did you do?”

“For a while, nothing” her voice became low and quiet as she watched the clouds pass by. “When the Gateway was destroyed, my hopes immediately came crashing down. I wasn’t sure if there were even other ways of getting out. So I just sulked around the Constant” And how boring and lonely it all was. A queen without any subjects and an empty kingdom. “Then one day, I got tired and finally stood up to Them… By fighting them”

“Wh- I- CHARLIE OH MY GOD! DID YOU GET HURT?!”

“Um… yeah I kinda did. And it was pretty painful, to be honest, ha ha” ha ha. Ha ha. Awkward laughter “But! In the end, I managed to win!” She grinned triumphantly “Bet that taught ‘em a lesson or two!”

“I bet it did” he chuckled. Some of the anxiety he felt washed away. But he’s still not over the fact that his girlfriend beat the shit out of a shadow hivemind. “Then what happened?”

“Hm. That part is a bit foggy. The last thing I can remember is that I woke up back in San Francisco. And that’s all”

Wilson leaned on Charlie’s shoulder. “You’ve been through so much,” his voice, soft and whispery “and now you’re finally free. Darling, I’m so happy to see you safe and sound”

“I am too” she ran her fingers through his hair “We can finally be together without any stress of constant survival”

“Everyone can get second chances”

“Be happier”

“Safer”

“And They won’t hurt us again” she turned to Wilson and smiled “I’m sure of it”

He smiled back at her “I guess our determination really overshadowed Them, huh?”

Charlie giggled “I guess it did” she leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead.

Wilson gently pulled her into a soft hug, nuzzling her. The old queen crouched down and nestled into it, hugging him back a bit tighter. They silently stayed in each other’s arms, not wanting to let go.

Reunited at last.

Nothing stopping them, nothing to harm them, nothing at all.

Everything is going to be okay.

[ghoulboyboos]

Prompted Shyan Mini Fic

PrincessPink on Ao3

The exact opposite of this prompt. Ryan/Shane are dating, and no ones realized it yet/everyone’s completely oblivious. I’m talking someone walks by them kissing and thinks they just lost a bet. They bring each other gifts, people thinks it’s for a video. They get caught in a *compromising* position on the Unsolved set-everyone thinks they finally got in a fiat fight over ghosts. Think of the RIDICULOUS possibilities! Think of the multiple POVs! 

It starts relatively innocent.

They’re at work and Ryan glances at his phone, saves his project and gets up, grabbing a few things.

“I got a meeting in ten so I’m gonna see you later, big guy.”

He looks over at Shane who nods and pulls down his headphones, looking over while Ryan shoves his phone in his pocket.

“Alright. See you at lunch?”

“I sure hope so we’re done by then. If anything comes up, I’ll text you. But I’m optimistic.”

Shane shoots him a half-grin and nods.

“Alright, see you later then.” When Ryan passes their desks he adds: “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Ryan says over his shoulder before walking out.

Behind his computer, Steven Lim muffles a snort, but Shane notices and glances over. He’s still smiling and his eyebrows are twitching up a little.

“Bit of a slip up?” Steven asks, expecting Shane to huff or flush, because the guy apparently hasn’t noticed yet that he exchanged “love you’s” with his co-host.

“No?” Shane seems genuinely surprised and Steven pauses.

“Ah. Sorry. Good for you, then.”

Shane grins and nods and returns to his computer.

Weird, Steven thinks. Maybe they are doing some experiment where you openly exchange compliments and endearments or something.

He remembers videos about paying people compliments and the lot and technically, there is nothing wrong with telling your friends you love them, no matter their gender. With a shrug, he returns to his work.

-

“Hey Ryan, what are you doing on Friday?”

Ryan lifts his head from his taco bowl.

Wednesday is the day he and Zach are grabbing lunch together because they work in different spaces now and can’t do it daily anymore. Usually they end up at a fastfood place, never anything fancy, but neither of them minds because fastfood is great.

“Uh. I’m going out with Shane.”

“Ah, dang. You got a venue yet? Because there is a new bar I wanted to check out.”

Ryan smiles apologetically.

“Sorry man, we got a restaurant booked and everything.”

“Okay, that’s fair. I was about to ask if you guys need a squad but that sounds like quality food time.”

Ryan gives him a bit of a strange look but then nods.

“Yeah. Work’s been a lot lately and he insisted we take some time off, just the two of us.”

Zach nods and takes a bite out of his burrito.

“No man, I get it. You need to hang with your friends one on one sometimes, that shit’s important.”

He wipes his mouth and misses the slight frown and giggle Ryan suppresses before shaking his head and returning to his own food.

-

On the way to the little kitchenette Jen almost bumps into Shane, which is funny because how in the world would you not see him coming from miles away?

“Oh hey, Jen. Hang on-” He moves out of the way, holding two cups of coffee over her head so she can push past him to get to the machine.

“Thanks, man.” She pops a capsule in and starts it, making a face at the whirring.

Shane leans against one of the counters and sips on one of the coffees. Once Jen’s is done, he starts talking again, clearly he had not wanted to scream over the sound of the machine.

“How’s work? I heard you ordered a suit to check out what Amazon wear is like?”

Jen nods, adding sugar to her brew.

“Yep. To be honest, I’m not expecting much. Dresses seem to be doing okay but I had my problem with suits before.” She shrugs. “But who knows, maybe it’s worth something.”

Shane chuckles.

“Well if you find something nice and they make Sasquatch sizes, hit me up. I need a new suit jacket for fancy evenings.”

“Oho!” She grins. “Got a hot date coming up?”

He seems surprised at the question, but he still smiles widely, eyes shining.

“Yeah you could say that, I’m-”

He’s interrupted when Ryan rounds the fridge and joins their conversation.

“There you are!” Shane immediately turns to him. “Got your coffee. Just the way you like it.”

The other mug is handed off to Ryan, answering the question who it was for which Jen had balanced on her tongue. Ryan takes a sip and closes his eyes. He looks relieved and the sigh he lets out speaks volumes.

“Thank you, big guy, that was just what I needed.”

Jen gets it. Nearly everyone on Buzzfeed has a caffeine addiction. She turns to grab one of the coffee stirrers. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Ryan stretch up and Shane lean down, as if Ryan has to whisper something to the tall guy. When she turns back to them, they part and for a second she could swear, they had been kissing.

Sure, Ruggirello, she chides herself. That’s a classic case of gay goggles if I ever saw one.

The three of them keep chatting for another minute or two, Ryan tiredly leaning against Shane’s side. Shane doesn’t seem to mind, but he has never been the guy who goes “No Homo” about anything and Jen really appreciates that. Makes the workplace a lot more chill.

Finally, she checks her watch and bows out, waving at the boys.

“I’ll hit you up if I find a jacket for you, man.” She calls back to Shane who winks and gives her a thumbs up.

While she’s walking away, she can hear Ryan speak.

“You’re getting dressed up for someone, big guy?” It sounds teasing and she can hear Shane laugh.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Right, she didn’t catch who Shane was going on a date with. Oh well, she could ask him via text later.

-

“Do you carpool with anyone right now?” Brent asks, leaning half on Ryan’s desk.

Ryan looks up, surprised.

“Uh. Yeah with Shane, I guess. Why?”

“I was wondering if you could pick me up tomorrow on your way because my car’s in the shop. I’ll pay you of course-”

Ryan waves him off.

“It’s fine, man, we’re driving anyway. We can pick you up.”

“Thanks, that helps a lot. I know we didn’t take a ride together in ages. It’s almost nostalgic.”

“Uh-huh.” Ryan says with a grin. “Except Brent 2.0 will be in the car.”

“I’ll never get over the fact that some people call him that online.”

“He called himself that at a convention, it’s his own fault.”

They share a laugh before Brent thanks him again and moves back to his desk.

When he gets into the back of the car the next morning, Shane is already on board. Brent wonders if he moved, because he can’t remember Shane ever taking the same trip as they did when they were still all interns. Well, with Unsolved going pretty okay and Shane creating Ruining History, he probably afforded a new place.

“Morning Brent. Welcome back on the old Ber-car-a.” Shane grins widely while Ryan groans.

“I told you to not make that joke.”

“You tell me all kinds of things, do I ever listen?”

“Clearly not.”

Ryan shakes his head but Brent knows he’s not really annoyed and just playing it up. He meets Ryan’s eyes in the rearview mirror and laughs when Ryan gives him an exaggerated eye-roll.

“So this is what you’re dealing with in the mornings now?”

“Not just the mornings.” Ryan grumbles. “I don’t know why I put up with him.”

Shane turns over his shoulder and leans a bit into Brent’s space. He cups his hand around his mouth, but Brent is sure that Ryan can hear the stage whisper.

“It’s because he loves me, Brent. But don’t tell anyone.”

“Shut the fuck up, Shane.” Ryan laughs from the driver’s seat. “And put on your seatbelt.”

“Yes, dear.” Shane says, only slightly mocking and Brent rolls his own eyes when Ryan’s ears redden.

Weirdos, he thinks. Anyone outside of their social circle would think they’re flirting.

-

There are flowers on Ryan’s desk.

It’s a tightly bound bouquet of colorful summer flowers. A sunflower thrones in the middle, surrounded by greenery and oranges, yellows, reds and the tiniest hint of purple.

Kate doesn’t know flowers in detail, but besides the sunflower, she can recognize the green carnations here and there and they are very pretty to look at. She’s still staring at them when Ryan reaches his desk.

“Morning Kate.”

“Oh hey, Ryan. You got flowers!”

Ryan pauses as he lets down his bag from his shoulder, looking at the bouquet. For a moment, he looks a bit confused, but then recognition lights up his face. He looks at the flowers with a new fondness, moving them carefully so he can still look at them but has space to work. Kate sees him lean in and pluck a little card out of the greenery. He opens it and reads the message inside, smile widening as his cheeks redden just a little bit.

“Secret admirer?” She asks, grinning a bit. Kate doesn’t want to tease, she thinks the gesture is incredibly sweet and the flowers are really pretty.

Ryan laughs a bit.

“Oh no, I know who it’s from. It’s for our anniversary.”

“Ah!” Kate gets it. She doesn’t follow Unsolved as much as she would like, but she figures that celebrating the anniversary of Ryan’s first great show is appropriate. Her gaze wanders to Shane’s desk. He didn’t get flowers, huh. Maybe it was because Ryan created it.

“Congratulations, Ryan!” She finally says, her honest happiness for him audible. Sure, it wasn’t a love bouquet but it was still pretty and a kind gesture.

Ryan nods, looking at the flowers with a besotted glance.

“He’s really going all out.” Ryan mutters and Kate tilts her head, wondering if she should ask. Before she can decide, Ryan sits down and turns the bouquet so the prettiest side is facing him. Shane joins them, waving as he spots Kate and Ryan and Kate remembers she has work to do.

“See you later, Ryan!” She waves and sees him smile. When she passes Shane, she turns. “Happy Anniversary, Shane!”

Shane looks surprised but then a bright smile takes over his features.

“Oh wow, thanks, Kate! I didn’t know that anyone caught on!”

Kate shrugs, feeling a little sheepish.

“I only know because Ryan told me. Good job, both of you.”

Shane winks at her and gives her finger guns before turning and walking to his desk. Ryan leans back in his chair as Shane joins him, saying something and gesturing to the flowers. Shane seems to feign disinterest.

Dorks, Kate thinks fondly.

She is quite surprised at noon, when she mentions the Unsolved anniversary to a coworker and is corrected. It’s not for another two months.

“Huh.” She mutters, staring at her screen in confusion. “Then what kind of anniversary-”

She pauses, eyes widening.

“Nooo.” She whispers in disbelief. “No way…”

-

Kelsey plays video games with Ryan on her stream and he is wearing a huge sweater. She is slightly amused by it because usually Ryan doesn’t wear baggy clothes, if anything he wears shirts with barely any sleeves, but this thing is gray and massive.

It also says Chicago in big letters on the front and the sleeves are so long that Ryan has to roll them up before grabbing the controller.

“So, whose monster is that?” She asks casually, tugging on the excess fabric around Ryan’s elbow. “Doesn’t really seem to fit and you’re not a Chicago boy, as far as I remember?”

Ryan seems to flush at that and clears his throat, rubs his nose and looks everywhere but Kelsey’s direction. She frowns, first at Ryan, then at the camera.

“Just something I borrowed because the AC makes it freezing in here.” He finally says. Kelsey wants to ask, but then the match they queued up starts and she falls back into screaming in slight panic while Ryan and she try not to get creamed by a bunch of twelve-year-olds with better internet.

After the stream ends, Ryan leans back in his chair and grins at Kelsey.

“It’s Shane’s stupid sweater, I thought it was obvious.”

Kelsey pauses, still putting away her headphones. Now that Ryan mentions it, it makes sense. The size, Chicago, the fact that it looks pretty comfy… Still.

“Why are you wearing Shane’s sweater?”

Ryan shrugs.

“I was cold and he had it and said he didn’t need it, so he kind of forced me to wear it.” He seems amused and Kelsey chuckles a bit.

“That’s cute.”

Ryan actually flushes at that and fiddles with the edge of the sleeves he rolled down again.

“Shut up, he’s just being a pain, acting like my mom and all.”

“He’s probably just worried you’re gonna freeze, Ryan.”

That makes the guy smile and he looks down, dragging a hand over the lettering on his chest with an almost tender expression.

“Yeah, probably. I should thank him.”

Kelsey nods.

“You do that, I’ll start cutting best bits.”

Half an hour later, she passes Shane and Ryan in the hallway. Shane has shoved his hands in the sleeves of the sweater Ryan is wearing and the shorter man tries to wiggle away, yelping something about Shane’s hands being cold.

She snorts, used to the ghoulfriends teasing each other a lot but she pauses her step when Shane grabs onto the sleeves tighter and pulls Ryan in and Ryan actually moves closer and pushes on his tiptoes to kiss Shane.

Kelsey blinks as she sees Shane return the kiss and then smile at Ryan with soft, happy eyes.

“Huh.”

They don’t notice her as they disentangle and leave, most likely going back to their desks.

-

It’s another wrap-up party and everyone in the office is drunk. Steven is drunk, Zach is drunk, Jen is drunk, Brent is drunk, Kelsey is drunk and Ryan and Shane are… gone.

Zach is the first to notice because he lets his eyes sweep the dance floor and the two faces of Unsolved are clearly missing. Not two minutes ago they had been dancing in the middle of the fray and now it was just Eugene getting down with a couple of coworkers surrounding him and cheering him on. He nudges Jen who interrupts her conversation with Steven and looks at him questioningly.

“Where are Ryan and Shane?” He asks and Jen cranes her neck to look around the room. When she doesn’t spot anyone, she shrugs.

Zach looks around and everyone else is frowning a bit. It’s the Unsolved wrap-party, it would be weird to leave your own wrap-party early.

“Maybe they were asked to take pictures or something,” Brent suggests as he pours himself another shot from the bottle in the middle of the table.

“Could be.” Steven is eating the rest of the mixed nuts that had been put on the table earlier. “Or they just left to make out in the bathroom.”

He laughs and so do Zach, Brent and Jen. But then Zach notices Kelsey pursing her lips and when he looks at Kate, she stares at the ceiling, feigning innocence a little too hard.

“What?” He asks, looking between the two.

Both jump a bit, clearly drunk enough to think that they were subtle. The others at the table lean in, sensing some gossip coming up. Instead of answering, however, Kelsey stares at Kate in surprise and Kate opens her mouth, pauses and closes it again.

Jen is the first to prod.

“Do you guys know something we don’t?”

Kate holds up her hands.

“I don’t really know anything. I just know that not too long ago, Ryan got flowers for an anniversary and I first thought it was for Unsolved, but it wasn’t and apparently it’s Shane’s anniversary, too, so I was wondering if- You know.”

Kate shrugs and seems a little embarrassed. The group slowly drags their gazes from her to Kelsey who looks uncomfortable now.

“Okay hang on, I don’t know if it’s okay to talk about this. If something is going on and they haven’t said anything, maybe it’s a secret, I don’t know.”

There is a long pause at the table while everyone is frowning a little and Zach wonders if they are going over their interactions with Shane and Ryan. He certainly is and he has to admit, Ryan has mentioned more than once that he’s going out with Shane to the movies or for dinner.  Now that Zach reconsiders it, it seems very much like they were going on dates. Steven mutters something under his breath and Jen has her eyes screwed shut, fingers pressing against her forehead as if she is trying to recall something in detail.

Brent finally says: “I mean… I think they are always coming to work together. They certainly take the same car.”

Zach hums.

“Wait so… is it a secret or are we just all really stupid?” He almost starts to laugh. “I mean most couples here don’t make out all the time in the office so…”

Kelsey suppresses a laugh but doesn’t comment.

While they still ponder, Zach sees the door to the balcony open and Ryan walks in with a wide smile. His cheeks look slightly red in the warm indoor lights and right behind him follows Shane, looking equally flushed. With the new angle, Zach zeroes in on that as well as their dopey grins and the fact that these two are holding hands.

The rest of the table slowly raises their heads when they follow Zach’s glance and when Shane and Ryan walk up to the table they are welcomed by five pairs of eyes staring at them in different states of confusion and curiosity. It makes Ryan slow down and a slight frown spreads over his features. Shane stops as well, looking more surprised than worried. He is still holding Ryan’s hand.

“Uh.” Zach starts eloquently. “Dumb question but: Are you two dating?”

He feels how the other four hold their breaths. For a moment both men seem confused and they turn to look at each other. Shane shrugs and smiles a bit and Ryan seems to suppress a laugh as he looks back.

“Yeah? Of course we are. I thought it was obvious.”

The entire table explodes. Everything from “I knew it!” (sure, Steven) over “What the fuck!” (same, Brent) and “I’m so dumb!” (same, Jen) is exclaimed as everyone talks over one another. When they calm down a little, both Ryan and Shane are wheezing with laughter, barely able to keep on their feet.

Zach still feels dumb as they all sit around the table and Shane says that he and Ryan have been together for over half a year and Ryan bursts into actual laughter when everyone shares their assumptions.

“We’re just private people, we thought it was kind of obvious but we didn’t want to shove it down anyone’s throat,” Ryan says at their questions and Steven shrugs.

“Clearly not obvious enough. Buzzfeed apparently employs a lot of idiots.”

“They do.” Ryan says grimly. “And he’s my favorite idiot.” He points at Shane who pretends to be insulted but is smiling when Ryan presses a kiss to his jaw.

Zach makes a pretended gagging noise at the cuteness and Ryan flips him off.

Five minutes later, they are all dancing and Ryan says something about having to make things more obvious which Shane seems to take as an invitation to pull him into a bump and grind and Kelsey wolf-whistles while the others pretend to be scarred for life.

It’s a fun night.

On Monday, Shane and Ryan walk in hand in hand, wearing matching “I’m with stupid” shirts that point perfectly at each other while they sit at their desks. Each shirt has been altered with sharpie so the shirts read “I’m with (not really that) stupid” and Jen assumes that’s what the office deserves when she sits down across from them at their own desk. She’s greeted with twin smug smiles and Jen answers by sticking out her tongue before tearing her eyes away from the couple and focusing on her work.

[reginaldbelchhuggins-blog]

Mens et Manus

Chapter 2. Changes

Pairing: Richie Tozier & Betty Ripsom (platonic) Rating: T Warnings for this chapter: Underage drinking; past violence; emotional scars;  emotional abuse; mental health issues; referenced character death Chapters: [1], 2, [3], [4], [5], [6], [7] Ao3: [x] Summary:

Stan looks at himself in the mirror; Richie talks to his mom; Mike starts listening; Ben finds a new hobby; Eddie moves out of his mom's house; Beverly starts dating; and Bill writes his first book.

a.k.a a series of short stories based on the prompt "Tell the story of a scar"

A/N: The chapters are as listed above. This is Richie’s chapter:

If you were to ask Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier if demons or ghosts were worse, he would tell you the answer was ghosts, hands down. No question. How does he know? He had once battled a demon. It was a surprisingly easy thing to do. He’d taken a Louisville Slugger and popped one right in It’s ugly, ugly kisser.

But the ghosts of Derry didn’t have physical bodies to destroy. They were untouchable. He’d once wondered if the ghosts were somehow Pennywise, but Stan and Mike never saw them. They existed in his brain, and unless he planned on destroying that, they weren’t going away anytime soon. They stood on every corner smoking stolen cigarettes, or passed him on the street, only a breeze as they sped by on their bikes. They were armless, legless, and glaring at him from every blue Trans Am. They were focused on Richie, blaming him, as they begged him to answer one simple question:

Why did you survive?

He didn’t know. He ran it by the Big Man every Sunday morning mass, and even Wednesday evening. He even asked it a few times on his knees beside his bed, hoping a more private conversation would lure out the truth. But either God was shy or had nothing to say, because after five years, Richie still didn’t have an answer.

Betty Ripsom’s torso hung around as he turned and pulled down the metal door, locking up Freese’s Department Store for the night. She never said much; she mostly stared. Today, she was crying. He hopped in his yellow Toyota, and just sat for a moment. He hoped to feel some kind of sense of relief that his day was over. He didn’t. He felt just the same as he had that morning. So he turned on the radio, lit a cigarette, and sat back to listen to David Bowie lament over changes while Betty appeared in the passenger seat.

Time had changed them all. Between the three remaining Loser’s, he was the only who actually looked like he’d grown any. Mike and Stan were taller and broader, but otherwise looked exactly the same as they did. Of course, as much as they didn’t change physically, they were definitely touched by their experiences. They didn’t know how to let it go, dwelled on it, and adopted obsessions over it; while Richie had a weekly schedule, a budget, and an actual job.

Somehow, in the twists and folds of time, he was everything he thought they’d be at his age, and they were everything he expected for himself.

“Life is full of chucks like that sometimes. Ain’t it, Betty?” Richie asked. Betty only sobbed.

Richie dwelled on that for a moment. And then he drove. He grabbed some Moo Goo Gai Pan and Orange Chicken for dinner from the new Chinese food place, and then headed home. He grabbed the mail, and kicked the door shut. Betty was already inside, making the living room cold.

“Mom, I’m home!” Richie yelled across the quiet little four-bedroom home. His parents had bought it hoping to fill it up with daughters, laughter, and merriment. Then, Richie came out crooked, and the doctors told Maggie she couldn’t carry another child. Now, he was stuck there with another type of ghost: the ones from people who never existed in the first place. “MOOOM! DINNER!”

Richie waited until he heard the bed down the hall creaking before moving to the kitchen. He unpacked the food boxes, dished up a serving for himself, and then carried the mail with him to the living room. He turned on reruns of Dallas, and chewed his food without really tasting it. Betty sat in his father’s chair. He tried to ignore her as she chattered on in his mind.

Your mom doesn’t even like you, Betty said, staring deep into Richie. He could feel her eyes boring through skin. It’s not fair that an unwanted child who is wasting his life is allowed to keep it. I was going to go to Harvard. Have you read my essays? I was going to be an award winning journalist.

He shuffled through the bills, and an advertisement for Motorola Beepers. Beep beep Richie, he thought, with a dry chuckle. His food didn’t taste very good anymore, not that it was particularly outstanding before. He set it aside, along with the ad. It didn't stay there long. He needed something to occupy his mouth when it wasn't talking.

Finally, there was the rejection letter from the University of California.

Well, he presumed it was a rejection letter, just like all the rest. It should be a rejection letter. As Betty was agreeing – you might have got good grades in high school, but that doesn’t mean you’ll survive college. But Richie remembered the look in Stan’s eyes as he went straight for that one brochure, honed in like a missile. They were wide and distant, seeing into a place Richie couldn’t even fathom.

“This is the one,” Stan had said, handing it to Richie. “This is where you’re going.”

“And leave you, dear Staniel? I think not!”

Richie hadn’t even wanted to apply to something so far away. But when he refused to even consider it, Stan sent in the application himself. He was so fucking insistent… Richie tried to swallow two lumps of chicken at the same time. After coughing them back up, he picked the letter back up from the ground where it fell, and tore it open like it was Christmas. He dropped it again in disgust after reading only one word: Congratulations! And popped the chicken back in his mouth.

Betty grimaced.

Fucking Stan, was all Richie could muster. He couldn't even make himself be angry.

The couch sank in beside him. Maggie Tozier sat two beers down on the coffee table, already opened. She slid one over to Richie. He stared at it, and then gave his mom a cheesy smile, pretending it didn't exist.

“Hey pretty lady,” Richie said to his mom. He gave her the ‘Beverly look,’ which he’d been practicing for years. A quick lick, a big smile, and his round eye falling into an easy wink, all released within milliseconds of each other. It took a surprising amount of concentration. “You come here often?”

Maggie Tozier’s giggle was short, and filled with coughing. Richie’s smile, fake to begin with, faltered. She brought her hand up to catch some spittle. Richie noted the red hue.

“How was your day?” she asked, wiping her hand on her pajama pants. She was sick all the time these days, but refused to go to the hospital. He didn’t know if she wanted to die, or assumed she was somehow immortal. He didn’t know if it mattered. The end results were the same.

Betty’s humorless laugh took over her side of the room. He could just hear her saying, oh this is great. Your mom won’t even be grieving that long! My mom has seventy more years. Seventy!

“It was fine,” Richie answered. “I saw Mike today. I didn’t get to talk to him, but, y’know… he looks healthy.”

Maggie looked at him like she knew all the answers. She nudged the bottle she’d brought for him. Richie only looked at it.

“Have a drink. You’ll feel better about it,” she said, in her infinite wisdom.

Why not have a few, live a little? Betty’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, and just a hint of sadness. I’ll never be able to.

“Yeah, I know,” Richie said, addressing both women at once. He put the letter down and picked the beer up. Maggie raised an eyebrow, and looked at the envelope.

Richie sighed and brought the beer to his lips. He took a few sips, bargaining with himself. One beer was just a beer. It wasn’t what his parents did. It wasn’t even comparable. When he set it back down on the table, his mom was lowering the letter.

“You got in?”

“They like me. Just like that sonuvabitch said they would,” Richie took another few sips of his beer. The taste was awful, but in that way where once it faded, he wanted another just to prove it really was bad.

Her eyes flicked up to his. That sad smile never left her face. She tilted her head, straightened the hem of her shirt, and took a long drink. She finished her bottle.

“Well then,” she said, her voice swelling with some kind of emotion Richie couldn’t place. He would’ve been surprised to know it was pride. “I guess this is a celebration, then. Let me go get the good stuff.”

“Mom, no—”

“Shoosh shoosh,” Maggie headed into the kitchen, yelling back at him: “My baby boy is going off to college. We’re going to get shit-faced!”

“Ah ah,” Richie yelled after her, grinning from ear to ear. He tried on a new voice he’d picked up from a coworker. He thought of them as a young, slightly homosexual poet, with the tiniest forced English lilt. In his attempt to copy them, he wound up sounding more like Patrick Hockstetter. “You’ll never get rid of me that easily.” Then, in a normal voice: “I’m not going. Maybe in a few years, but right now—”

“I swear to God, Richie, do not fuck this up,” Maggie’s voice was soft, motherly, despite the harshness of her words. It hurt all the same. “I didn’t raise you like that.”

“Yeah, actually, you did,” the words came out before Richie could stop them. He straightened his back, listening to the bones crack and pop as they moved back into place. He was pulling one of his older voices from his repertoire, trying to mask the tremble trying to take over. “Ah say, ah say, raised the biggest fuck up this side of the Kenduskeag, ya did.”

Maggie chuckled. She muttered a small agreement as she came back to the couch, and handed him a shot glass full of something amber colored and tasteless. A million words fluttered in the back of his mind, and he thought about how he wanted to say all of them.

Hey mom, I'm afraid I'll forget. Or I'm afraid It's coming back. Or even please tell me you need me, because you're all I have left.

He didn’t say any of them. Instead, he occupied his mouth by filling it with alcohol, tilting his head back as he swallowed it in one go. It shut everything up, like a liquid off switch.

The burn left him feeling centered. Maggie refilled his glass, and then clinked hers against it. They pressed their glasses against their lips, and threw their heads back at the same time.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Six shots in, Richie’s head was swimming, and he saw Betty as she’d been on that last day, before she went missing. Thirteen, her long legs in jeans and her curls looking more Farrah Fawcett than Stanley Uris; she stared down at the lower half of her body, and then curled her feet beneath her, giving Richie a quizzical glance. He looked at the shot glass, and then raised it to his eye.

Beer goggles, babe. Makes everyone look better.

Maggie poured them another shot. After it was added to the warm soup of their stomachs, she wiped her mouth. “You know, I don’t think you’ll be missed as much as you think.”

Richie inhaled sharply, and said, “Woooooow, thanks, mommy dearest.” He masked it in sarcasm, but he meant it. If he could've felt less than nothing, he would've. He realized that's how he knew he reached the bottom of his emotional well.

“It’s the truth, though, isn’t it? How long has it been since you’ve actually hung out with your friends? You aren’t seeing anyone, and you’ll miss me about the same as I’ll miss you. There is nothing holding you here, sweetie.”

Richie pulled out an invisible microphone. His announcer voice was the best quality overall, and easiest to fall into. “Standing in this corner, weighing one-hundred-twenty-five pounds is three-time world champion, Tuh-tuh-tuh-TRASHMOUTH  TO-JEE-ER.” He put his hands around his mouth, and hissed. It never really ever sounded like an audience cheering to him, but it was what everyone did. So he did it too.

His mother was shocked, at first, and then laughed. “And standing in this corner, weighing more than life itself, homelessness in a strange place,” Richie gestured to the acceptance letter. “I don’t know anything about California, ma. I don’t know anyone in California.”

“It’s not that hard of a decision: Maine, or California,” Maggie snorted. “If I could’ve dropped you and moved clear across America to someplace sunny, I would’ve. Imagine all those pretty young boys with their blond curls, like the beach boys.” Richie lowered his head, knowing what was coming next. “But Wentworth sure as hell wasn’t going to take care of you, and you can’t say I didn’t try. Because I tried, goddammit, and you’re going to college to pay me back for it.”

“Okay, but, money. I don’t have any.”

“I have a savings account, believe it or not, and since you’re my only heir...” she shrugged, letting Richie finish the sentence with understanding. He looked up at the ceiling, chewing his bottom lip.

“You need that—”

“The fuck I do,” she scoffed. “For what? Fixing the bathroom? I’ll let this hellhole be condemned before I invest another penny in it.”

Richie kept his head bowed. He shook the microphone once, twice, and then it was gone, replaced by a glass full of whiskey. Richie swallowed it all at once, and grimaced. It made looking his mother in the eyes easier.

“What about taking care of yourself?” Richie asked. The look she gave him took the wind from his sails. She was dead already, and she knew it. Richie felt his heart and throat tighten. Maybe he didn't like her, but she was his mom.

“Like you care,” she said, as plain as if she’d said she wanted eggs. “This place is miserable, and so are you. Let me die terrorizing a nurse on insurance while you fuck a grandchild into some bimbo who looks too good for you.” He poured the next shot, but she took it from him. “You’ve had enough of this. Find your own poison, that’s my last bit of advice. You can’t just copy your folks, or you’ll never be better than them.”

She downed the shots one after the other. The room was small, and Richie was suddenly far too big for it. He felt like if he stayed any longer, it would just crush him. He stood up. The floor lurched forward, and Richie steadied himself. He opted to leave behind the car keys, and went out through the garage door. She didn’t even ask him where he was going; he didn't even know.

Richie’s bike wobbled to and fro as the world decided tonight was the night to shake ominously. Betty walked beside him, keeping pace like it was nothing. She did a little hop, and a twirl, smiling the whole time.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had legs!” she said, her voice clear as day. “I could dance! Will you dance with me, Richie?”

Richie looked at her, and didn’t answer. They traveled together until they reached Bassey park. Richie dropped his bike in the grass, and then reached out, taking Betty’s hand. He almost felt it – warm and soft, alive. Taking her other hand, Richie leaned back and spun. The world became a dark blur, and as he howled, he heard Betty’s surprised laughter. It was melodic, therapeutic, and just plain fun to hear. He spun until he felt the Chinese food coming back up, and had to go lean over the trash. Betty was laughing so hard she was crying. She fell to the grass, her legs trembling as much as Richie’s. When he was done, he picked her back up.

Once upon a time, he’d gotten it in his head to learn the Lindy Bop. He never was good at it, missing as many steps as he hit. But he remembered how it was supposed to go. He and Betty looked like fools, but they didn’t care. They laughed, and spun, and kicked their gangly legs to a beat only they could hear. It was easy to forget his worries in that moment,and pretend he was a normal kid, dancing with a gal in the moonlight.

When it was over, Betty was glowing, and Richie was breathless.

“Alright Trashmouth, I’ve gotta go. I guess I won’t be seeing you around anymore,” she said, sounding a little sad.

“Aw, you could always go haunt Mike. I think he’d like that,” Richie said, feeling more than a little woozy. “Hey, hey, before you go, ask me that question. I have an answer for you assholes.”

Betty didn’t need to clarify what question he meant. With a little more humor and grace than usual, Betty asked him: “Why did you survive, Trashmouth, when so many others died?” She said that last word hard, clicking her tongue when she was done.

“Well, you see, God hates me,” Richie flashed her a winning smile. It stretched his face painfully, and showed off the stains forming on the teeth in the side of the mouth he favored when smoking. “So he didn’t want me up there with him. I just won’t shut up, and you know, he has so many people to listen to. So even though nobody wants me down here either, not even my fuckin’ mother, he’s got the last word. So I’m practically immortal!”

Richie took a bow. Of all the things he expected, sympathy wasn’t it. Betty gave his hand a little squeeze, leaving him feeling just a little better. She started to walk away.

“We should do this again!” He yelled after her. They both laughed then. “I’m free next Friday! Or any day, really.” He put his hands on his hips. “Oh, except for Saturday two weeks from now… I’ll be packing then. I’m going to California! Can you believe it? California! Maybe I’ll meet Kevin Bacon and get him to sign my dick. I heard he’s into that.”

Betty clapped, and gave him a little yay. She twirled one final time, and then walked away. As soon as Richie blinked, she was gone. He didn’t cry, even though he felt the tears building up. Instead, he sat and thought of all of them: Betty Ripsom, the future journalist; Eddie Corcoran, who was going to work on movies; Veronica Grogan, who could’ve been a model; Gard Jagermeyer and Moose Sadler, who were dumb as bricks but harmless overall; Peter Gordon, set to run his father’s business; Steven Johnson, just a sweet lad; and Georgie Denbrough, who deserved to grow up. He even mentally poured one out for Victor Criss and Belch Huggins, who died trying to stop Henry, becoming heroes in the end.

Richie stared into the Kenduskeag. He pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and lit them up one by one. Once the pack was gone, Richie told himself, he wasn’t going to get another. He owed it to every single one of those names to be better. He was going to live, and going to go to college in California, and eventually, one day, make television history by becoming the best damn ventriloquist the world ever saw.

His hands were shaking as he crumbled up the empty pack. Richie picked up his bike, and started his trek back home. After a few blocks, Richie was whistling, feeling, for once, excited about the future.