#so instead telling half truths so as to not worry about getting caught with contradicting stories

[pheonix-inside]

I have this one OC whose entire backstory is a lie, but she's also the kind of autistic that is Uncomfortable about lying, so most of her backstory actually consists of half truths and lies of omission.

[cuddlepilefics]

Sick at Work

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Changbin

Caregivers: 2basco

Prompt @sicktember

No one's POV.:

Changbin had caught a small cold a few days ago. It wasn't really that much of a bother to him, mostly just a slightly runny nose along with a faint scratchiness in his throat. He had made sure to take hot showers every day and to stay hydrated. However, as days passed, the rapper couldn't help but feel progressively worse. When he woke up this morning, his head felt heavy with congestion and his hearing was starting to sound muffled. His head was aching from the pressure but he forced himself out of bed to join his group for their schedule. As he was slowly becoming more awake, he noticed the irritated itch in his nose that became harder to ignore by the minute. Feeling a bit chilled, Changbin decided to put on one of his thickest hoodies. Right when he pulled it over his head, the tickle in his nose became unbearable. Unable to see with clothing covering his face, he pitched forwards, sneezing. Bumping his had on the door of his closet in the process, Changbin barely managed to suppress a curse before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Getting ready, Changbin's morning routine was frequently interrupted by his urge to sneeze. He had barely been awake for half an hour, yet he had already sneezed more than he had done in the past few days. Simply running his sleeve under his nose was enough to set him off again and the rapper was starting to dread going to work today. He didn't feel sick enough to stay at the dorm but he was so annoyingly sneezy, which would be really bothering, considering that 3racha wanted to work on some stuff in the studio and recording was certainly not going to go smoothly with him sneezing every few seconds. When Changbin was ready to head out, he met Chan in the kitchen, making coffee. Changbin got himself a cup too, hoping it would clear the fog in his head a bit. "How are you feeling today?", Chan asked, taking in his dongsaeng's tired face. Changbin shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee before replying: "Let's just put it this way, you're gonna get tired of saying 'bless you' reeeaal fast." – "That bad?", the leader frowned, eyebrows knitting together in concern. The younger shook his head with a sniffle, turning aside to sneeze immediately after. "Ndo, jus' really sneezy", the rapper forced out, scrubbing at his reddening nose with the cuff of his sleeve, only triggering another sneeze. Raising his eyebrow at Changbin, Chan questioned: "Are you sure you can work through this? You know, it's always fine to take a breather when you're sick." – "I'm sure. Don't even really feel sick. My nose is just so sensitive, it's annoying", the younger pouted, so his hyung decided to drop the topic.

Not much later, Jisung joined the two and they headed to the studio together. Changbin shivered lightly on the way there as the weather had gotten colder recently and the wind was picking up. His poor nose was already raw from him constantly scrubbing at it but it seemed like the only way to satisfy the annoying tickle. By the time they made it to the studio, he had already gone through an entire travel pack of tissues and had to go to the restroom to stuff his pockets with toilet paper. "You alright? You've taken a while", Chan asked worriedly when Changbin finally joined them. The truth was, Changbin had had a bad sneezing fit while at the restroom. Since he didn't want his friends to witness that, he stayed there to wait it out, blowing his nose a few times in hopes of getting rid of the congested feeling in his sinuses before washing his hands and joining them. Changbin nodded, already bringing his sleeve up to his face again, sniffling: "I-I'm fine, jus – jus' needed to h-hESSH! Huh - hEGSHU! Just needed to sneeze and blow by ndose." The other two blessed him and nodded in understanding before starting to work on some lyrics.

While Chan and Jisung seemed to be having a good time, really getting some lyrics down, Changbin was struggling. He couldn't focus on anything really. To him it seemed like his head was filled with cotton, making it impossible to grasp a solid thought. It also didn't help that he kept turning away to sneeze, which resulted in him being distracted from what he was doing again. The only thing that he remained aware of the entire time was his itchy nose and how painfully raw the skin around it had become. Chan had offered him a few more times to go home and rest but Changbin kept resisting. He wasn't that sick, right? Soon they had enough lyrics to start recording and the leader started to set up the microphone, while Changbin was beyond frustrated with himself. Neither had he been able to come up with any useful lyrics, nor would he be able to really record anything because his voice sounded so pathetically stuffy. Jisung would probably be the one recording the lines, while Chan went straight to editing them. Changbin was left to give the younger advice but other than that, all he could do was beat himself up for not really contributing anything to their work. That didn't mean he'd go home though.

Jisung was just about to start recording the first line, when Changbin held up his hand, signaling for him to wait. The younger looked at him curiously, watching his hyung's eyes flutter shut, mouth hanging slightly agape. "I-I nh-heed to sneeze", Changbin panted, breath hitching uncontrollably. "Yeah, I think the whole world knows that by now", Jisung teased. Eyes watering, the older twisted to the side roughly: "hESH! KGSH! N'gsCH! *sniff* sorry." – "Bless you", Chan sighed, studying his dongsaeng's face to figure out if it was safe for Jisung to start recording now. They went ahead with their recording but it was a slow process, frequently interrupted by Changbin's sneezes. Though it was disturbing their work, Chan and Jisung were mainly just worried for their friend. He couldn't possibly feel alright while sneezing that much. His nose was bright pink by now and his face looked blank and tired, almost as though he was asleep in his chair but his eyes were open, indicating that the rapper was indeed awake. Though his eyes were open, they looked distant, holding a sickly gloss. Changbin didn't look well at all but he had refused to go home earlier.

Changbin himself was mainly frustrated. Sure, he felt miserable but overall, he was frustrated with himself. He wasn't contributing anything to their work as a group, instead holding his friends back with his frequent sniffles. Going home didn't seem like an option though. He wasn't that sick and certainly wouldn't milk a cold just to get out of work. "Bin, seriously, just go home. You can't tell me you feel well because your sneezing is contradicting that", Chan sighed, turning away from his laptop. Jisung agreed: "You look awful and tired. Please get some rest." Changbin bit his lip, feeling guilty for holding his friends back. He was convinced they were annoyed at him at this point and he couldn't blame them but it still hurt him that they were trying to get rid of him. "Yah! Stop bossing me around!", he snapped, his eyes going unfocused immediately after before he turned to the side to sneeze. The other two were taken aback at their friend's sudden outburst. His face showed clear anger, the watery look in his eyes the only thing that kept him from being intimidating. He had been rather harsh when telling them off earlier too. Whenever they'd tell him to take a break, his demeanor would suddenly turn cold.

"Alright, I won't be telling you what to do anymore. You're an adult, decide for yourself. Make yourself miserable, I don't care", Chan stated coldly. He and Jisung then continued working, barely paying attention to Changbin. "Aish, we've been working for a while already. We should really eat something, shouldn't we?", the leader contemplated. He and Jisung then started a longer discussion about food, Changbin however was barely listening to them. He was trying to hold back his tears, his hyung's words having stung more than he wanted to admit. He couldn't even tell why his emotions were so all over the place today. The next thing he knew was Jisung leaving the studio. "Where's he going?", he muttered confused, squinting after the younger with watering eyes. Keeping his face clear of any emotion, Chan turned to him and replied: "If you had listened, you'd know that Sungie's getting us snacks." Mainly, Chan wanted to be alone with his dongsaneg for a moment, hoping the boy would crack and admit what was going on. He also had a plan in case that didn't work. Going on his phone, he texted Jisung instructions for when he returned. He wanted the younger to sneak up to Changbin from behind and feel his forehead. Him running a fever would be the only logical explanation for his temper Chan could give.

Heading out, Jisung went to the closest convenient store and raided the snack aisle. He felt his phone buzz and read Chan's message, nodding to himself as he had already had a similar suspicion. Changbin wasn't usually that easy to anger, so it would only make sense. Remembering his hyung's irritated pink nose, Jisung also decided to pick up some tissues. He hoped they'd be a bit gentler on Changbin's raw skin than the toilet paper he had been using over the past few hours. Jisung was quick to check out but tried to take his time walking back. Maybe Chan was talking Changbin into going home and he didn't want to interrupt and have their friend pull his guards back up. What he didn't know was that Chan was very far from talking Changbin into anything. He had given his dongsaeng the chance to tell him what was wrong multiple times already and now waited for Changbin to take the opportunity and speak up. That didn't happen though, so the Aussie really relied on Jisung and the back-up to his plan to work out. He heard the door open quietly but Changbin was too out of it to really pay attention to anything. To top that off, his hearing had become even more muffled from the congestion in his head, so he didn't hear Jisung slowly walking up behind him. Then there was suddenly a light, cool touch on his forehead and Changbin couldn't help but sigh in relief as it soothed the headache he had had all day. "Your skin's as hot as your temper", Jisung commented before removing his hand and plopping into his seat. Changbin didn't react to that at all, not even able to process what his dongsaeng had said.

When there was no reaction, Chan turned his chair to him and gave the younger a soft look, frowning: "You heard Jisung? You're running a fever." – "Oh", was all Changbin had to say to that. "Come on, mate. I can understand that you're frustrated but we're not bossing you around to be mean. We're genuinely worried 'bout you and your temperature is only more reason for us to take you home", the leader said with a comforting smile. That was what finally cracked Changbin. Soon the first tear rolled, then the next. Sniffling quietly, he pulled his sleeve over his hand to dry them but brushed against his nose in the process. "KGSH! h-hGSHHU! *sniff*" Trying to clean himself up, he pulled out some more crumpled toilet paper but Jisung was quick to hand him a tissue. "You're really not feeling yourself today, huh? Is that why you were so worked up?", Chan asked calmly, resting his hand on Changbin's shoulder. The younger nodded, rasping: "I'b sorry. It was so frustrati'g because I couldn't focus a'd was just so useless. Didn't thigk it was that bad." – "It's alright, but why don't you try talking to us next time?", Jisung smiled, brushing the older's hair back and holding his water bottle up to Changbin's forehead, since he had obviously enjoyed the cool touch earlier. While Changbin closed his eyes and relaxed, Chan was already shutting his laptop off and packing their things up. When everything was ready for them to leave, the leader patted Changbin's arm, humming: "Let's get you home. I bet a hot shower and an early bedtime sound nice right now." – "Really dice", the younger agreed, allowing Chan and Jisung to pull him up and take him home. 

[oreoambitions]

Parts 1-3 // Part 4 // Ao3

Part 5 of 8

The shadows outside are growing long, the evening light burning a brilliant orange through the trees, and all is quiet at the little cabin in the woods but for Lena sprawled across Sam’s bed reciting the same handful of Kryptonian words over and over like a prayer. She’s mostly certain she’s got them down. In fact, she’s mostly certain she’s going to be reciting them in her sleep for the next thirty years if she isn’t dreaming about Sam’s exhaustive reminders of their meaning and significance and gravity. 

Sharing the cabin with Kara these last few days, Lena feels as though she’s come to a whole new understanding of gravity. She understands it in the way she catches herself leaning towards Kara even when she’s on the other side of the room. The way the world seems to quiet when Kara speaks. That inexplicable solidness to Kara’s body whenever Lena can excuse an innocent touch: a comforting hand on the shoulder, a kiss on the cheek. She understands it in the weight of these unfamiliar words on her tongue, a promise thousands of years old entrusted now, improbably, to Lena.

“Kara’s back,” Sam says.

Lena falls silent mid-recital and sits up. She looks at Sam and she feels... too many things. Warmth. Anxiety. Inadequacy. Pride. A rush of contradictions held at bay by the repetition of the words and brought to the surface again whenever Lena has to actually think about what comes next.

“I think you’re ready,” Sam reassures her, and Lena knows that what she means is that Lena is able to say the words without sounding like a fool.

“I don’t know,” Lena replies, and what she means is that she isn’t sure she will ever be ready to be married to Kara, even if it is just a legal charade. Especially when it’s just a legal charade.

“You can always say the words in English instead if you get scared.”

Lena makes a face. Sam laughs and offers a hand to pull her up off the bed. They tease one another all the way down the stairs - not about the vows, not now that Kara is around to overhear them - and so it is that neither of them notices that Kara isn’t alone until they arrive in the kitchen. Clark is sitting at the table in his super suit, head in his hands, and when he looks up he fixes Lena with an expression so heavy that Lena knows at once that something is wrong.

Kara won’t even look at him. She’s standing with her back to the room, fiddling with her cape, worrying at the edge of it so intensely that Lena is concerned she’ll tear it with her fingers. “I don’t even know him,” Kara is saying. “He was an infant when I left Krypton, he- How could you even suggest such a thing?”

“I’m not suggesting it,” Clark says. “I’m just the messenger.”

Lena has crossed the kitchen before she realizes she’s decided to do it. She tugs the cape gently free from Kara’s fingers and, back still turned, Kara opens her hand for Lena to take.

“Any solution that doesn’t protect Lena is a non-solution,” Kara says, threading her fingers through Lena’s and tugging her forward. Lena nearly stumbles - Kara is too upset to be graceful in her strength - and catches Kara’s shoulder with the other hand to compensate. She’s shaking under Lena’s touch. Quickly, before she can think better of it, Lena presses in close and wraps her arm around Kara’s waist, brushes her lips against the back of Kara’s neck just inside the collar of her suit. Kara’s grip tightens around her hand, and the shaking stops.

“I understand that, but Argo is more concerned with the preservation of your bloodline-”

“I understand Argo’s concerns, but I think I’ve made myself clear: I won’t marry for duty.”

Lena’s heart jumps. If not for duty, then for what? And then something awful twists inside of her. Who is she marrying for duty if not Lena?

“I think you need to be honest with yourself,” Clark says. “I think you need to carefully consider what this is really about.”

Kara rubs her thumb across the back of Lena’s hand, squeezes once, steps out of the embrace, half turns to look at Clark over her shoulder.

“If I ask you to marry us tomorrow, will you still do it?”

There is a silence so long and so thick that Lena feels as though she might choke on it. And then Clark says, “Of course I will.”

Kara turns away again. She stares out the window for a long moment and then she says something in Kryptonian which Lena can’t understand and she sweeps out of the cabin without looking back.

“Where is she going?” Lena asks.

It’s Sam who answers. “Into solitude to commune with Rao. It’s- On Krypton she would do this for days. It’s meant to give Rao the opportunity to weigh in on the engagement before it ends.”

“Before it ends,” Lena repeats. She looks up at Sam, who reads the unspoken question in her face. How does this end? But Sam doesn’t answer this time. Lena rounds on Clark instead. “What is this about?”

What she means is what is this marriage about for Kara but if Clark catches her meaning he avoids the question.

“Argo is having second thoughts. You have to understand, very little of Krypton’s nobility still lives. Kara is one of the last; they want her to return home, marry into one of the other houses, ensure the survival of the bloodline.”

The thought of Kara ‘ensuring the survival of the bloodline’ with some Krpytonian boy makes Lena feel vaguely sick. “I notice they aren’t asking you the same.”

Clark makes a noncommittal gesture. “I’m not bucking thousands of years of tradition to play at a man’s role - Argo’s words, not mine - in a marriage that will never produce an heir for the House of El. Or, if Argo has their way where Kara is concerned, the House of Ar.”

So this is about nobility, and blood, and the preservation of the status quo. Lena wants to flip a table. She wants to run after Kara to tell her that she understands the tension that lives in the space between principle and duty, especially where family is concerned. She wants to run after Kara, period. She pushes the thought aside. “Is there anywhere in this shithole of a galaxy that isn’t overwhelmingly patriarchal and homophobic?” she asks.

“No,” Sam and Clark reply in unison.

It would be funny if it weren’t so depressing. Lena pulls up a chair across from Clark and snatches an apple out of the fruit bowl just to have something to do with her hands. “So what now?”

“Now we wait for Kara to come back and tell us whether or not there’s still going to be a wedding,” Clark says.

Lena’s stomach ties itself neatly into a knot. “And if there isn’t?” A pragmatic question, of course. If there isn’t a wedding then there’s little more than the implicit threat of Kara’s wrath to protect Lena from the consequences of lying under oath. But she can’t bring herself to think about consequences or about the law just now. She can think only of Kara’s hand in hers, of the way the world seems bigger, brighter, boundless when Kara is around.

Sam scoffs. “Don’t be an idiot; she’s still going to marry you.”

Hopefully Clark can’t hear the way Lena’s breath stutters or the butterflies that have suddenly burst into life inside her rib cage because frankly it’s a little embarrassing. He’s nodding along as Sam speaks. “The marriage is still her best shot at protecting you,” he says. Then, looking at Lena out of the corner of his eye, “I understand Sam has been teaching you the vows in Kryptonian.”

Sam and Lena both begin to deny it at once, stumbling over one another until Clark raises a hand to silence them.

“I swear,” Lena says. “Sam has been very clear about how important this is, and I mean every word. I wouldn’t say them if I-”

“I know,” Clark interjects. And then, eyebrows raised, “I don’t think Kara has caught on. Actually, I think she suspects the two of you are sneaking off to make out whenever you get the chance, which is funny but kind of painful to watch.”

“Oh my god,” Sam groans. She puts her head down on the table. “Oh that makes sense but oh my god.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say ‘oh my Rao’ now,” Lena teases.

Sam kicks her under the table.

Clark clears his throat. “I think it’s a sweet gesture. And I was thinking that if you were open to the idea there are a couple of other Kryptonian traditions we could arrange while Kara is out communing in the woods. This wedding matters to her; I want to make sure we get it right.”

Lena offers Clark a hesitant smile. “So do I,” she says. “What can we do?”

The smile Clark offers in reply is so genuine and so warm that Lena at once and for the first time sees his resemblance to Kara. “I know on Earth the bride traditionally wears white, but is there any chance you’d consider red?”

“For Kara, I’d consider anything,” Lena says, and she means it. The truth is, she’s always meant it.

Her tone must be a little too sappy, because Sam rolls her eyes. “Oh my Rao,” she grumbles. “Here we go.”

[blackmissfrizzle]

No One Has To Know- Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Angel Reyes x black!reader

Summary: The reader gets a real graduation party.

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I finally got my Girls in the Hood inspired fic out! I hope yall enjoy!

Now this was a party. Your best friend, Bryce surprised you with a graduation party the pool party edition. The only thing missing was your boyfriend and his friends. They had club business to attend to that had them running late.

Aisha, a fellow graduate was complaining about how she didn’t know how to ride dick, so you gladly volunteered to show her. On que, Shake That Monkey came on and you laid Aisha on the lounge chair. Getting on top of her you began twerking on her.

Bounce that ass up and down to the floor

Shake that shit till you can't no more

Twerk that monkey, lemme see you get low

Freak that nigga till your shit get sore

Too busy twerking on your friend, you didn’t notice that Angel and his friends arrived. Angel couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Your ass on display, eating up your bikini bottoms, moving up and down to the beat. You were definitely riding him later on tonight.

“FUCK IT UP!” You heard Letty’s voice cheer you on.

Turning around you saw the young girl, surprised at how she got there. Her dad beat you to the punch to questioning her. “Leticia, what the fuck are you doing here?!”

You couldn’t pay too much attention to the argument because suddenly you were picked up from Aisha.

“Where’s the clothes at, mi dulce?” Angel asked, biting your ear. There were too many eyes on his girl. He’ll pull his gun if he had to, he just had to do it secretly to keep the mood right.

“This is a pool party, Angelito. Clothes are unnecessary. In fact, you got too many clothes on.” You turned to tug at the ends of his kutte.

“It’s because I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands to yourself.” Angel joked, sliding his hand to grab your ass.

Bryce walked past the two of you and forced drinks into both of y’alls hands. Apparently, you were too sober for her. Just as you were about to comment about how good the drinks were your song came on. You and Bryce ran towards each other, hyping the other up as you screamed the lyrics together.

Fuck bein' good, I'm a bad bitch (Ah)

I'm sick of motherfuckers tryna tell me how to live (Fuck y'all))

Angel stood behind and just watched. He loved just watching you be carefree. The pressure of being the perfect daughter not weighing on you.

Jumping in Angel’s face you began singing the lyrics towards him, dancing along to the song.

In the mall with him, I'ma have a ball with him (Yeah, yeah, woah)

Somebody call Rihanna, I'ma buy some drawers with him

He fuckin' with Thee Stallion 'cause he into wild women (He love wild women)

Put them legs on his head, now he love tall women (Yeah, yeah, ah)

You'll never catch me callin' these niggas daddy (Nope)

Angel smacked your ass as a warning to tell you to quit your shit. On multiple occasions you’ve called him daddy and he wasn’t about to let you act like you didn’t just because you were singing some lyrics.

The little smack you got, prompted you to twerk on Angel. You never really had this opportunity before and now that you can you’re loving it. You wanted to show off Angel as your man.

I'm a hot girl, I do hot shit (I do hot shit)

Spend his income on my outfit (On my outfit)

I don't text quick 'cause I ain't thirsty (I ain't thirsty)

These bitches mad, mad, they wanna hurt me (Ah, ah)

While sipping on your drink, you looked over your shoulder all innocently like you weren’t just making your ass clap against Angel’s erection.

Yeah, he call me Patty Cake 'cause the way that ass shake (Yeah, yeah, ass shake)

I'ma make him eat me out while I'm watchin' anime (Wow, wow, anime)

Pussy like a Wild Fox, lookin' for a Sasuke (Yeah, yeah, ayy, yeah)

The friction of his clothes and you twerking on him made Angel’s hard on unbearable for him. He had to get a little taste to hold him over for the rest of the party. Picking you up he led you into the house.

“Angel! Where are we going?” You wrapped your arms around his neck to secure yourself.

“Somewhere I can watch that ass shake on my dick.” Angel found the nearest bathroom and set you down on the counter.

Kneeling before you he ran his nose against your core, making you wetter than you already were.

Tugging on his hair, you tilted his head so he could look at you. “I thought you wanted to see my ass shake?”

Untying your bottoms, Angel stuck two ring adorned fingers inside of you. “Yeah, I do but first I wanna feel your legs wrapped around my head. Is that okay with you, baby?”

“Fuck yes,” you moaned, enjoying the feel of Angel’s fingers stretching you out.

There was no teasing. Angel dived in, eating your pussy like it was his last meal. He knew how to get you to a quick orgasm, and he was pulling out all the stops to get you there.

And sure, you love the head he was giving you, but right now you wanted to cum all on his dick. “Baby please I need you inside of me.” You tried to push away from him, but instead he wrapped his arm around your waist tightly and pulled you closer to him.

Angel’s tongue was expertly switching between flicking and sucking on your clit while fucking you with his fingers. Once he applied more pressure to your clit and angling his fingers, you reached your peak, beating on his back from how explosive the orgasm was.

Standing up to his full height, his beard and lips glistened from your juices. Crooking your finger, you beckoned Angel to bend down so you could get a tiny taste. The taste of your essence mix with Angel was heavenly like none other.

While kissing him, you unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down with his boxer briefs just far enough for his cock to spring out. You only got a couple of strokes in before Angel stopped you.

“Who am I?” He asked, his hand around your throat, lips ghosting over yours, and dick a half an inch away from sheathing itself inside of you.

“Daddy,” you whimpered, trying to scoot closer to his dick.

Angel lightly slapped your face. “Don’t forget it and don’t you say something stupid like that again. I don’t give a fuck even if it’s in a song.” Angel referenced to your sing along to Megan.

“Yes Daddy.” Normally you would be a bratty little shit, but Angel fucking you was the only thing you could focus on.

After slipping on a condom and turning you to face the mirror, Angel rammed into, making you cum on the spot. He rested his head on your shoulder and kissed it right before he bit it. “Make a fucking doctor’s appointment and get on that birth control, because after today you’re only gonna be coming on my cock with nothing between us. Understand?”

You nodded your head in agreement. Angel didn’t care that you didn’t give him a verbal answer, he was too caught up in how tight you felt around him.

“Shit, I don’t care if you don’t get on birth control. I could fill you up and you can have my babies. Do you wanna have my babies, mi alma?” Angel whispered against your ear, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Fuck yes, Daddy.” You looked back at him and he saw the fire in your eyes. He knew right now you would let him rip the condom off and shoot all up inside of you. The selfish bastard in him wanted to, but he remembered that you’re still young and that y’all had plenty of time to make babies later, so he kept the condom on.

Angel grabbed you around the neck and flushed your back against his chest. “Congratulations, graduate. I fuckin’ love you, you know that, right?” He asked, his lips peppering down your cheek.

Reaching behind you palmed his face. “I do, Angel. I love you too.” The sounds of your sex contradicted the softness of your proclamation of love, but soon the softness was replaced with roughness as Angel ordered you to cum with him.

Bishop was pissed and nervous. Him along with Taza and Hank came to the party to drop off a present for you. He didn’t expect to hear you and Angel having sex and now he wanted to rip Angel’s head from his shoulders.

“Calmese,” Hank advised his friend and president.

“I know in my head that she’s grown, and I can’t tell her anything, but hearing Angel fucking defiling my little girl is driving me crazy.” Bishop had to be careful holding the gift. He was so agitated he almost wrinkled the bag.

Taza slapped him on the back. “It’s ok. You’re going through 24 years worth of parenting in less than a month.”

“What if she doesn’t like it?” Bishop asked, now worried about the present instead of you and Angel. Both Hank and Taza assured to their friend that you would love your gift. It would no doubt become useful and it had a secret personal touch to it.

Seeing the older Mayans at the party, you drugged Angel along to say hi. “Hey, guys! Thank you for coming.” You hugged each man.

“We’re just dropping by. This is a little too young for us.” Bishop joked, fiddling with the bag in his hand. “Anyway, this is for you.”

Eagerly, you took the bag from him. You weren’t expecting a gift from him. Removing the tissue paper, you discovered your own helmet. Even though you were scared to ride Angel’s bike, you knew one day you would, and you would need a helmet of your own.

Jumping into Bishop’s arms you thanked him profusely.

To have his daughter in his arms warmed his heart even if she didn’t know the truth. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Angel couldn’t hold back the tinge of jealousy. Of all the girlfriends the Mayans ever had, none of them ever gotten a gift from Bishop, especially a gift that’s meant to be given from a boyfriend.

“Angel, can I talk to you for a bit?” Bishop asked, not even waiting for Angel to agree before walking off.

Once they were ducked off in a corner away from everyone else Angel spoke up. “What’s up, prez?”

In full and president authoritarian mode, Bishop warned Angel. “Respect her, you understand me? Keep your dirty shit in private.”

What the fuck was this, Angel thought. The only time Bishop gave any of them shit about screwing around was when they were in the clubhouse bathroom and someone needed to use it. Other than that it was jokes all around. Did this have something to do with you being the mayor’s daughter?

Angel’s rebuttal died on his tongue when he saw Bishop’s face. There was no arguing with him about this at all. “Got it, prez.” Angel nodded his head in agreement and then left in search of you, secretly wondering if his president had a thing for his girl.

Tags: @angrythingstarlight​ @briannab1234​ @starrynite7114​ @marvelmaree​ @thickemadame​ @chaneajoyyy​ @woahitslucyylu​

[cosimuhs]

haven’t seen you (since i was your little girl)

“Oi, Poppins, there’s a lady here to see ya,” she barely gets out, before the woman is turning and Dani’s face is falling, hands grappling for purchase on her pots.

“Mom?”

[or: Jamie has never been good with parents, but this? This feels important.]

read on ao3 or under the cut!

It’s a slow afternoon when the bell on the door jingles open, bringing with it a brisk wave of autumn air.

Honestly, as much as Jamie grumbles about it, autumn in Vermont has grown on her. She’s not one to celebrate the death of plants lightly (unless it’s a pesky invasive species) but there is something to be said about New England foliage. In quite the contradiction, it feels like life is abound in these months - the crunch of leaves and the brightness of Dani’s laugh that settles deep in Jamie’s chest.

As the heat of the summer slips and then disappears altogether, so does her personal space. In the newfound chill, Dani takes it upon herself to warm up, not with extra layers, but by pressing as close as possible — in the street, their joined hands stuffed into Jamie’s jacket pocket, shoulders knocking, or in the middle of the night, when Jamie will wake up, half off the bed, a pile of blonde hair heavy on her sternum.

Yeah, it definitely is one of her favorite seasons.

The only downside is the dip in sales, people sequestered at home against the chill, not looking to start gardening as they face the winter head on. Not to mention, as the months trip slowly past the autumnal equinox, the housewives who pop in, begging for mistletoe and holly in the middle of October.

The woman who has just entered, greying around the temples with lines of age deeply indented around her eyes, seems like just the type, and Jamie steels herself to send her packing for another month or two.

She looks strangely surprised to see Jamie, which is dumb because it’s her bloody shop, and even more taken aback at the lilt in her accent when she asks if the woman needs her help. That at least, she’s well acquainted with, because for some reason, no one in this town is aware that Brits exist.

So caught up in her stewing, she almost misses when the woman speaks. Almost.

“Maybe I got the wrong shop,” she mumbles, wringing her hands.

Jamie has to try hard to tamp down her annoyance because, really, what kind of product do you expect from a store called The Leafling?

Instead she tips on her customer service smile, the one that Dani says makes her look like she swallowed a lemon. “What were you looking for?”

“Who,” the woman corrects and pauses long enough that Jamie thinks this odd lady is not going to provide any other information before she continues.

“I’m looking for Danielle… er — Clayton. Danielle Clayton.”

There’s something familiar about the woman, yet Jamie doesn’t recognize her as one of their regulars. Even weirder, Jamie has never heard anyone refer to Dani as Danielle in her entire life.

“Ah, she’s out at the minute, but she should be back soon,” Jamie says, and she’s about to ask how and why and who, but the lady must see the confusion in her eyes and cuts her off.

I’m Karen,” the woman adds helpfully, as though that will clear literally anything up for her.  

“Okay, Karen,” she says, drawing out the vowels and trying desperately not to roll her eyes at the lack of context. “I’m Jamie…?”

Karen’s shoulders have dropped from around her ears, the worry lines fading into her forehead now that she knows she’s in the right place, though the anxious energy surrounding her doesn’t completely dissipate.

There’s a spark in Karen at Jamie’s introduction, like her name means something.

And.

The familiarity is scratching at the base of her neck, that feeling where you know you should know something, but it’s an inch past your reach and you’re forced to scrabble aimlessly, trying to connect the dots. She knows , can place this stranger in the swirl that connects the two of them, but she just can’t name it.

Thankfully, the door is pushing open again before she can guess, this time bringing in the object of their conversation, windswept and harried as she nudges hair from her eyes with a wrist, arms laden with multicolored arrangements.

Dani looks beautiful like this, cheeks flushed from the cold, even with the scowl on her face.

Her afternoon has been filled with endless options and the sharp bite of a bridezilla who needs everything to be practically perfect and Jamie knows Dani can’t wait to let the long day soak away, curl up with Jamie and a strong cuppa — said as much before she left the sheets this morning.

She’s going to close up shop early tonight, she decides the second she sees the strain in Dani’s shoulders, and help release the tension in other ways.

They just need to get rid of Karen first.

“Oi, Poppins, there’s a lady here to see ya,” she barely gets out, before the woman is turning and Dani’s face is falling, hands grappling for purchase on her pots.

“Mom?”

And oh .

Shite.

They have the same eyes, Jamie realizes belatedly, and the aging woman in front of her clicks into place with the grainy childhood photos Dani has tucked away in their apartment.

Karen — Mrs. Clayton — steps forward, enveloping Dani in a clumsy hug around the planters clutched to her chest. Dani doesn’t move to put them down, and Jamie would think it’s all rather laughably awkward if Dani weren’t looking at her over her mother’s shoulder, mouth set and pleading.

“How did you — Why are you… here?” Dani asks like she doesn’t really want to know the answer and Jamie’s chest aches because she knows Dani is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Thinks her mother has come to convince her to move back yet again, or to make her feel bad about leaving in the first place all these years later.

Could never just be a trip to see her daughter.  

Jamie knows Dani has told Mrs. Clayton about her, on their sporadic calls throughout the years. Not about them necessarily, but that they work together, live together. Dani had never said they were just roommates, but her mother assumed and she never bothered to correct her.

Even still, it’s a warmth with which she is greeted by Dani’s mother that she wasn’t expecting, one that must have emerged in the years following Dani’s maturation if the look on her wife’s face is any indication.  

“I looked you up in the Yellow Pages!” Mrs. Clayton looks remarkably proud of herself, her palm still warm on Jamie’s forearm. “I figured not many flower shops have the same name in Vermont.”

Dani cringes and Jamie almost snorts, knows she’s regretting telling her mother the name of their store right about now.

Mrs. Clayton pushes forward, not even noticing the strained energy of the room.

“I’ll be here for a few days, in the inn down the road,” she beams. “I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to come out here!”

There’s a reason she hasn’t been invited. After years of bombarding Dani with questions of when she’s coming home, not willing to listen to the truth of she’s not, not now or ever, it seemed the pestering had suspiciously disappeared.

Now they know why.

Jamie clocks the quiet resignation that settles in the slope of Dani’s shoulders, but she thinks she sees a spark of eager excitement, smothered and tamped down, behind the solemnity.

Well. No way to avoid this now.

She’s hardly a religious person, but she sends up about ten Hail Marys in preparation for the evening, splayed long and endless, before her:

“You staying for dinner, then?”

---

Supper is maybe the worst thing Jamie’s ever sat through, and she had had to deal with Peter Quint for a good portion of her life.

She ruins the chicken and usually, Dani would grin, wide and teasing, before kissing her breathless against the stovetop.

This time, she sends an exasperated sigh towards the heavens and orders Chinese.

It’s stilted and uncomfortable and she finds herself constantly trying to stay afloat in this weird staring competition that Dani and her mother have got going on. Mrs. Clayton had already tried to mention Eddie, and Dani’s curt, “Don’t,” and the way her eyes flashed over the tableware had thankfully been enough to snap her mother’s mouth shut.

Dani had told her once, the hum of her words spilling into the dark warmth of their bedroom, that her mother had started truly caring about her too late, too removed. By the time she came around to the fact that she had a daughter worthy of time investment, Dani was past caring, had already learned to seek shelter in other, different people — too burned.

And now they’re here. At an impasse - mother and daughter who know nothing about each other, when it really comes down to it - who have spent decades tiptoeing around the mutual hurt and pain of being pushed to the side. Swept under the rug in favor of brief and surface level phone calls since Dani left for London.

Yet, Dani is so open, so achingly vulnerable always, in her emotions, that Jamie can see the longing drawn in the soft lines of her every time she hangs up the phone, sees the way Dani wants, violently, to tip headfirst into the notion that her mother means it this time around, right at the dinner table.

Jamie has been rough around the edges her whole life and she has never, ever been good with parents and, luckily, hasn’t had much opportunity in her life to make her impressions worse.

But this — Dani’s parent — feels important.

So she fills the space between by talking about hydrangeas, her favorite brand of manure composite, and whether she dabbles in vegetable growing. With each breath, she watches Dani breathe out of the corner of her eye, loosening in tune with the flow of Jamie’s brusque accent.

By the end of her blabbering, Dani is giggling at a particularly bad joke she makes and Mrs. Clayton eyes her daughter curiously across the tablecloth.

“Well, I would love a tour of your apartment, ladies,” Mrs. Clayton claps, and it jars Dani so much the table shakes when her knee jumps.

Her knee is the last of Jamie’s worries as she meets Dani’s wide eyes, because she totally forgot that they only have one bed, and how in the fuck are they supposed to just be roommates now?

Dani’s entire body has returned to rigid, fingers white-clenched on her chopsticks and Jamie longs to reach over, smooth her fingers over the groove of knuckle, kiss the promise sitting mercifully unnoticed on her ring finger.

Christ, this is so not how Jamie imagined the evening going.

“Sure,” Jamie yelps. “Why don’t you take a look around the living room while we clear up?”

She ignores Mrs. Clayton’s protestations and politely pushes her towards the record player in the corner as Dani fills the sink with warm, soapy water and they settle into a well worn routine; hip to hip against the counter, one washing and one drying.

“I’ll just be Bert the Chimney Sweep tonight, Poppins,” she murmurs, stroking a subtle hand down the length of Dani’s back when she’s sure Mrs. Clayton is distracted with the photographs on the wall.

Dani rolls her eyes.

“Bert was Mary Poppins’ love interest,” Dani whispers, but the corner of her mouth tilts up and she sags into Jamie’s touch for a moment.

“Allegedly,” she lobbies back, revelling in the grin she gets over the suds.

“I am serious, though,” Jamie continues, knocking Dani’s elbow gently with her own. “Just say I’m in the process of moving out or something and I’m crashing on the couch for a few days, that’s all.”

Jamie can see the moment that Dani decides, what she decides. Can read it plain as day on the face of the woman she loves more than life, in the curve of her lips and the set of her jaw.

“Are you sure?” They’re words from another time, another life, but Jamie means it just as much this time — would rather prioritize comfort, security, over rash decisions.

“I am always sure about you,” is the reply and Dani looks at her so softly, so carefully, that Jamie thinks she could cry, heart ricocheting against her ribcage.

---

She does it in the most Dani Clayton way possible.

“Mom, this is our bedroom,” Dani says, syllables burning quiet and destructive, nostrils flaring. “Where we sleep together.”

Jamie doesn’t know what she’s expecting, but it’s certainly not what happens.

Mrs. Clayton nods thoughtfully, brushing past the door frame to inspect the plant prints above the bed. She doesn’t speak for a long moment, fingertips running over the worn paperback on Jamie’s side table.

Finally clears her throat, thick and sticky.

“It’s a lovely apartment, Danielle.”

Dani’s mother glances up, meets their surprised faces, turns towards Jamie. “It seems like a lovely life you’ve built together.”

“You… Oh?” Dani manages, her calm belied by the tremble in her voice.

Jamie is frozen watching it all, the beauty of it unfolding in front of her with bated breath.

“I may not be a great mother, but I’m hardly an idiot,” Mrs. Clayton chides with no real malice.

At this, Dani’s eyes well up and she stumbles forward to sink onto the mattress, mouth opening and closing without a sound.

Jamie shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans, suddenly feeling like she is intruding.  Wants to give the pair the time they so desperately need from each other.

“Tea, Mrs. Clayton?” Her voice sounds loud in the still acceptance and she thinks she says something about Dani being terrible at it but her ears are buzzing too loudly for her to be sure.

“Please, call me Karen,” Mrs. Clayton says for the umpteenth time, and Dani lets out a watery laugh and nods, fingers slipping over Jamie’s briefly in quiet reassurance. She will be okay by herself, and if she isn’t, she trusts Jamie to help her pick up the pieces.

She dips her head and excuses herself quietly, winking sweetly and reveling in the faint blush that pinks Dani’s cheeks.

The apartment is quiet for a while and if Jamie makes more noise than usual putting the kettle on to give them their privacy, then no one has to know.

The drinks have long gone cold by the time they emerge, raw and yawning in the waning candlelight. Mrs. Clayton bundles herself into her coat when she sees the time, clutching her daughter’s hands in her own, and Dani hugs her, actually hugs her, eyes red rimmed and gentle.

“I would love to see you both tomorrow,” Mrs. Clayton looks at Jamie with Dani’s cheekbones, Dani’s kindness, and smiles.

It feels like approval.

---

After, when the door is long shut behind her and Dani has flicked on the television, feet curling under Jamie’s thigh, they will breathe again.

“All good?”

Dani looks at her with those mismatched eyes and presses a kiss to her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Keeps peppering long soft pecks until Jamie has to lean forward to capture her in a proper kiss, lips slotting together easily, eagerly.

Thank God for those Hail Marys because this is definitely her heaven.

Jamie gets lost in it, has barely been able to kiss this woman all day. Can feel the tightness in her chest unwind when Dani sighs into her, pulls her close and vows not to let go, maybe not ever with the way Dani’s hand is winding around her neck. She makes a little noise in the back of her throat and Jamie cracks open, splintering into oblivion to settle within Dani’s bones.

When they finally separate, foreheads tipped together, lips swollen and hair mussed, delight is written in every curve of Dani’s body.

She is radiant.

“All good.”

[buckysgoldenheart]

Unexpected: Bucky x Reader oneshot

Notes: I can 100% guarantee that this is poorly edited despite my efforts, but I hope you guys like it anyway. I wrote the bones of this story a couple years ago, but decided to edit and finish it while I work on the series fics I have yet to finish.

Summary:  A guest (Y/N) shows up at the tower with a suitcase and a letter looking for the world’s favorite captain. What she didn’t expect, was two super soldiers at the end of her journey instead of one.

Unexpected:

Bucky had just changed into his black tee and sweatpants, ready to head down to the gym to work out with Steve. He went straight to the kitchen for one of his early morning breakfast protein shakes to find Steve already there speaking with Tony about the last mission.

“I’m just telling you it could have gone a bit better if we kept the twins more organized.” Steve spoke in his demanding tone.

Tony replied “They’re twins, capsicle, aren’t they always organized with their magical twin telepathy or whatever?”

“You know, you could do without the sarcasm for one day.”

“Well then you wouldn’t be nearly as in love with me, now would you, Cap?” Steve only scoffed and pushed himself back from the counter. “Don’t worry” Tony winked “I won’t tell Sharon.”

Bucky had had enough. “Can’t you too cool it with the flirting for just one day? Its 7 am. I haven’t even eaten yet.”

Steve turned to reply to his friend but was interrupted by the sound of the elevator opening. The three men turned their heads to the doors pulling back revealing a young woman. She had to be in her early twenties. She stepped forward and pulled her suitcase behind her, observing her surroundings before finally seeing the men before her.

“Oh, Hello.” She spoke. Steve, Tony, and Bucky just stared. When they all remained silent, she said, “Does one of you speak, possibly?”

Tony was the first to come to his senses and walked around the counter to the girl. “And who are you?”

“Um, I’m here to speak to your captain over there. I have this…” she said, before rummaging through her purse. She pulled out a small folded piece of paper and handed it to Tony, who unfolded it and read it twice over before walking back over to Steve and Bucky.

“Do you, by chance, have a sister?” He asked Steve.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve sat on the couch with the Bucky, Tony, and the girl around him in awkward silence, waiting for him to speak. Tony was the first to put a crack in the dead air. “Are you sure you had a sister?”

Steve turned his head to Tony to give him a look that could only question his idiocy, yet Tony remained unfazed. “Yes, Tony I’m pretty sure. However, ‘had’ is the operative word…” Steve turned his gaze back to the girl whose eyes were locked with Bucky’s “…but that was back in the forties. She was five when I went into the ice, and if she had a daughter later, that kid would certainly be much older than twenty-years-old by now.

“Twenty-three.” The girl piped up, finally tearing her eyes away from the dark, moody super soldier.

“Like it matters.” Tony murmured.

“Listen, kid. Twenty, Twenty-three. It makes zero difference. You say you’re my sister’s kid, but logic says that impossible, so you’re going to have to explain everything to me right now, from the top.” Steve ordered her like the captain he was.

“Ok, I can do that.” The girl readjusted herself in her chair and brushed her fingers through her hair. “My name is Y/N. I was born on (Y/B-Day). My mother adopted me when I was fifteen after my foster mother contacted her about my abilities. I went to live with her and she aimed to train me, but she died before she could. She wrote the note for me to give to you when I saw fit. She said that if I ever wanted extended training then you’d be the guy to go to and you wouldn’t turn me away because you are family.”

“When did she die?” Steve asked.

“Four years ago.”’

“She was alive all this time and didn’t contact me? Why? She obviously knew where I was.”

“I asked her that a million times. All she ever said was that you had a new life now and didn’t need your old one holding you back. I thought it was a stupid reason, but whatever.”

“You mentioned some abilities?” Tony asked, diverting the conversation.

“Yes.”

“Which are?”

“I can move metal with my mind.”

“Ohhh no.” Tony said, shaking his head quickly. “You better not also be able to read minds, because we’ve already got one of those freaky-deaky chicks, so you’ll have to join another super hero team.”

“Why would Ellen adopt you because of these abilities?” Steve spoke.

“For a while, Mom was kind of well-known for taking care of people with special abilities. She said that was in the early two-thousands. She went by the name Moira Katz. She ended up adopting me much later.”

Steve rose from his chair and rubbed his face, his mind clearly full of emotions warring with one another. “Look, for now you can stay, but I have to verify this information. It all has to add up. You can have a room. Bucky will show you where.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate this. You have no idea.”

“Fine, but if I find you lied then you’re out.”

“Deal!”

Moments later, Bucky stood and pulled Y/Ns suitcase toward an empty room with her in tow.

“You really believe all this?” Tony questioned.

“Normally I wouldn’t, but the note was in Ellen’s handwriting. No doubt about it.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Bucky propped Y/Ns suitcase up against the wall adjacent to the bedroom door. Y/N uncrossed her arms and reached for the doorknob. “Thanks for bringing up my bag. I think I’m going to take a rest. Long day, ya know?”

Bucky stood there, eyes cast down at his shoes and grabbed her elbow before she could retreat behind the door. “Did you really think you could get away with acting like we don’t know each other?”

Y/N huffed out a deep breath and Bucky lifted his eyes to meet hers. She pulled her arm out of his grasp and crossed them in front of her chest. “C’mon Bucky, it was just a couple of nights, two months ago. I didn’t know that you were an avenger. It’s not like I knew you would be here of all places. Let’s just forget it and move on. I need Steve to help me and him knowing my past involvement with you would not do me any favors.”

She turned to leave, but Bucky grabbed her back to him by her waist and placed his lips on hers. Initially, Y/N resisted, but as Bucky’s arms tightened around her waist, her lips opened, and she melted into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck when he lifted her up, holding her firm against his body. Bucky pushed Y/N against the wall and she felt him hard against her inner thigh. Just as she quietly moaned, he pulled back from her and set her on the ground.

“What the hell was that?” She asked, her frustrated tone clearly contradicting her body’s response to him kissing her.

“We aren’t done.” Bucky said as he stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Bucky—" Y/N started, but her protest was interrupted.

“And it wasn’t a couple of nights, it was a week and a half, and I’ve thought of you every day since.” Bucky looked down and straightened his shirt out then locked eyes with Y/N once again. “Have a nice night.” Then he turned on his heel and walked down the hall without looking back.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

THE NEXT DAY

Bucky walked out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen with plans of making a protein shake for his morning workout, again. When he turned the corner, Steve sat at the counter with his head in his hands, staring at the piece of paper in front of him. Bucky sighed. No workout for now.

“Hey Steve.” He said as he walked up behind his friend and gave him a friendly slap on the back. “You look a little down.” He joked. Steve looked up at him with an expression that stated he clearly wasn’t amused, then slid the paper in Bucky’s general direction. As he picked it up, Bucky glanced back at Steve who resumed his previous position, then looked down at the information in front of him.

“She was telling the truth, then,” he said nonchalantly. Steve rubbed his face with his palms. He looked like shit. “Have you been up all night?”

“Wouldn’t you have been?” he responded, fully expecting Bucky not to answer. “Tony came back late last night with the results and I’ve been staring at them for…” he paused and looked at the clock. “Five hours.”

“Look Steve, I know it’s a weird day at Stark Tower when some kid comes up to you demanding training, but—”

“Buck, that happens every day with the new recruits.” He sighed.

“Still haven’t exactly caught on to the concept of sarcasm, huh?” Bucky smiled. Steve stood up, pushing the stool back at the same time.

“Bucky, do you even realize what this paper says? It says my sister was alive. If that were true, Ellen would’ve come found me, I just know it. The story this kid has is not adding up. I don’t care about the evidence; anything can be forged. She might not even have abilities, for all we know.” He said, his own words knocking him into action as he stormed around Bucky, straight for Y/N’s room.

“Steve, come on.” Bucky called before turning to go after him. When he caught up, Steve was already banging on the door hard enough that it was surprising his fist didn’t go right through it. “Steve...” he started, but he lost his breath the minute Y/N opened the door in her tiny shorts and tight tank that prominently displayed her breasts. When she saw it was Steve, she grabbed her silky robe off the hook to her right and wrapped it around her. She looked up after securing the ties and caught Bucky’s gaze for half a second before quickly moving her attention back to Steve.

“Good Morning.” She smiled lightly, which did nothing to soothe Steve’s frustration but did everything to remind Bucky even more of why he needed this girl.

“You need to prove yourself now, or you’re out!” Steve ground out harshly. “Come with me.” He grabbed Y/N’s arm and dragged her down the hall with him, not giving her any other choice but to obey. She looked to her left and locked eyes with Bucky who shot her back a wink which was returned with an eye roll.

She was pulled back into the living room where Tony and Pietro sat on opposite couches; Pietro flipping through the tv channels and Tony yelling at him to just pick one already. They stopped their argument when they saw Steve drag Y/N behind him to the center of the room before letting her go and stepping a safe distance back from her. “Go on.” He said.

“What’s happening?” Tony asked, looking from Cap to Y/N and back.

“We need to see her abilities.” Steve demanded.

Tony rolled his eyes and directed his next question only at Y/N, “Having a good morning, Sweetheart?’

“Oh, just the greatest.” She huffed back, arms crossed in front of her chest. Tony looked at Steve with a slight smile on his face.

“Capsicle, that right there, was a perfect example of sarcasm. She’s already more useful than you expected her to be.”

“Be quiet, Tony.” Steve bit back before looking again to Y/N. “Do it.”

Y/N sighed and began to lift her land when it was seized by Pietro. “Hello, I don’t believe I have had the pleasure. Pietro Maximoff.” He smiled and winked before placing his lips on the back of her hand.

Y/N retuned his smile. “It’s nice to meet you, but believe me, I already know who you are.”

“What!?” Bucky yelled. “You know who he is, but you didn’t know who I was?!” Y/N turned her head to look directly at him along with the rest of the room. Bucky nearly blushed at his outburst, realizing he might have just raised suspicion as to his relationship with her, but they all turned back around as if it didn’t happen.

“He tends to overreact when someone isn’t aware of his fame and beauty. Try not to take it personally, Y/N.” Tony joked. Bucky rolled his eyes and Y/N continued her conversation with Pietro.

“A friend of mine is originally from Sokovia. She follows your ‘career’ very carefully and is a huge fan. I think she talked about you almost every day.”

Pietro lifted the corner of his mouth. “All good things, I hope.” He said with a lustful look in his eyes that Bucky had seen directed at one too many women, and he was well aware of what it meant.

“Ok, Ok.” Bucky said as he moved between Y/N and Pietro, breaking their hands apart. “Let’s get this over with. Just do your thing or whatever it is that you do.”

Y/N shot him and angry glare. “Fine!” she snapped then closed her eyes and took one deep breath before opening them again. They had turned neon green. She lifted her right fist in front of her face and extended her index finger. The men all stared at her, waiting patiently for her to do something. In the blink of an eye, Y/N’s finger moved sharply to left and a barbell flew towards them from the gym, shattering the glass wall separating the rooms, and hitting Bucky hard, pinning him to the floor by his neck. He tried to pry it up, but it wouldn’t budge until Y/N dropped her hand and closed her eyes, returning them to her natural color.

“Another glowing-eyed chick.” Tony said. “I knew it.” He smiled as Bucky shoved the barbell off him and righted himself, brushing dust off his shirt. Y/N smirked at him and he frowned back. “Well clearly she isn’t lying about that bit.” Tony said as he rolled his eyes in Steve’s general direction. “I’ll go discuss this with Bruce. You’ll meet him later Y/N. Good job kid.” He said before turning on his heel and heading toward the stairs.

Pietro was gone before he even finished mumbling something about telling the girls, and Steve had disappeared right along with him, leaving Y/N and Bucky alone in the living room.

“So,” He started as he walked towards her. “I didn’t exactly know you could do that. You didn’t have to be so rough with me, beautiful.”

Y/N turned to face him. “How could you know? We just met last night.” She said with a hard, straight face, ignoring his second statement all together.

Bucky half-chuckled. “Oh, come on. You know I won’t ever let you forget me…or how we met.” His eyes gleamed as he reached up and cupped her cheek, stroking its soft skin with his calloused thumb.

“Get off!” she said, slapping his hand away from her.

He grinned, full and satisfied. “Fine. But there’s no need to be hostile, doll face.”

They were both silent for a moment. Her arms crossed and eyes cast down to the floor. Bucky smiling, more than happy to be looking at her beautiful face.

“Well” he said, breaking the silence and looking down at his shirt, “It seems that your little stunt got my shirt all dirty when you pinned me to the floor.” In truth, there was not a speck on it, but Bucky was never one to pass up an opportunity. He grasped his shirt from the back of the neck and slowly pulled it over his head, the muscles in his arms contorting underneath his beautifully tanned skin. “I really need to wash this.” He smirked as he watched Y/N’s eyes quickly flick to his chest before returning to the ground, but she said nothing.

Bucky reached for her chin and lifted it until they locked eyes, their faces an inch apart. “You can pretend all you want that you don’t care for me too. But, when you run out of energy keeping up with that little lie, I’ll still be here.” He took a last lingering look at her plump lips, slightly parted, before letting go of her and withdrawing. He turned and walked away from her without looking back. “I’m very patient man, Y/N,” he called back as he climbed the stairs.

 --------------------------------------------------------

ONE WEEK LATER

 She dodged one arrow, then another, then spread her fingers of her right hand before quickly making a fist, shattering the third one a foot from her face.

“Good.” Tony said. “Again.”

They continued this exercise four more times until Clint shot six arrows at her at once. Y/N slowly closed her eyes and snapped her fingers sending out a strong force that sent Clint flying back and hitting the wall while forcing Tony to step back a few paces to steady himself. Clint groaned and moved to get up. “Alright, ok, that was good. You’re getting good at that.” He cracked his neck and brushed himself off. “That one was good. That one hurt.”

Tony looked his direction and crossed his arms in front of him. “What, did you break a hip? Getting too old for this?”

“No older than you.” He said as he bent back to crack his back.

“Ouch. You know, I’m not completely made of stone.” Tony replied sarcastically.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Clint said as he stretched out his arms.

Y/N chucked to herself. “I’m sorry, Clint.”

“Nope, No problem. I’m just gonna go take a rest.”

“Walk it off, Grandpa” Tony yelled after him, receiving a mumbled ‘Fuck you’ in return. He turned to Y/N. “You still up for some more, kid?”

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “Sure.”

“Ok, good.” Tony looked at his watch. “Alright, give me a minute. I have to go meet Pepper in ten. I’ll send someone down, OK?”

“Yep.”

“Good. You did good today, sweetheart. In a few days, we are gonna have Wanda down here to help out.” He replied before smiling and exiting the room.

Y/N slowly paced around for a few minutes before she moved to the back wall to get a drink of water, bending down to grab the bottle from her bag. Then, she heard the door shut and footsteps come in her direction.

“What a view.”

Y/N shot up and turned in time to see Bucky starring at her ass before he quickly looked up, met her eyes, and smiled, his arms folded in front of his chest. She groaned. “Of all the Avengers, he had to send you?”

Bucky chuckled and gave his shoulders a light shrug. “I volunteered.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Of course you did.” Then she stepped around him to grab her bag and head out the door as quickly as possible. “I’m not in the mood for this.” She mumbled.

“If you leave because of me, it’ll look weird to the others. Tony said another hour and if you stomp up there all pissed in front of them, they’ll know somethings up between us.” He said as she reached for the door handle. Y/N dropped her hand and turned to face him.

“There isn’t anything ‘up’ between us.” She replied angrily.

“Yes, there is.” He quickly returned with a huge smile across his face.

“No there--ughh!” Y/N balled her hands into fists. “Why are you like this!”

“I thought you would have figured that out already.”

Y/N huffed. “Bucky, I’m not getting into this right now. If Tony says I have to train for another hour and I’m stuck with you, then lets just get it over with.”

“Anything you want, doll face, but don’t think I won’t enjoy myself.” He said as she dropped her bag back against the wall.

They faced each other ten paces apart.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t plan to go easy on you in any way.” Y/N started.

“Like you ever do.” Bucky smirked.

She ignored him completely and tightened her ponytail. “Are you ready?’

“Are you flirting with me, Y/N?”

“How was that flirting?”

“Oh, I just figured you had your own way of doing it.”

“I do, but you’ll never see it.”

“Pretty sure I already did see it. Don’t you remember?” Y/N let out an annoyed groan and shot her hand out towards him, sending her metal water bottle in the direction of Bucky’s head, but his arm snatched it out of the air before it could reach him. “Aww, c’mon, doll,” Bucky mumbled in disappointed as he got into place. He threw the bottle to the side and ran a hand through his hair before looking back at her. “Ready when you are.” He smirked.

They readied themselves and before Y/N knew it, Bucky was charging for her. She quickly closed and opened her eyes to her green neon orbs, and put her hands up above her head, fingers spread, then tightened them in a fist before quickly throwing them down in front of her, one crossing over the other. Within half a second, two ceiling beams slammed into the ground in front of her in the form of an X, shielding her from Bucky. He smirked and reached his metal arm up to one of the beams, pulled it from the ground and threw it to the side before advancing toward her. Y/N stepped back as he neared her, searching around for something to throw at him. There wasn’t enough metal.  She threw the water bottle again only for him to side step and watch it fly past his face. “C’mon doll face, give it up.” He smiled, looking back to her.

She continued to look around until it dawned on her. Bucky’s metal arm wasn’t flesh. How was that not the first thing she thought of? Y/N reached her hand straight out in front of her and felt her power latch on to his arm. Slowly, she seeped it through the individual joints of the metal and stretched them apart, creating gaps between each panel. Bucky tried to regain control, but Y/N only got stronger and it was as if his arm was no longer his own. He saw her huff out a breath and before he knew it, he was flying, lifted solely by the metal attached to his body.

Y/N held him there, dangling in the air for a second before she moved her arm to the left in one sharp motion, sending Bucky in the same direction, but it was more powerful than either of them expected.

As he hit the wall, Bucky’s head slammed against the concrete with a sickening crack and he felt his vision go dark. Immediately, Y/N closed her eyes and snapped them back open to their natural color just in time to see Bucky fall hard to the ground. “Bucky!?”

She ran over to him and got on her knees beside him. “Bucky? She shook him hard by the shoulders, but he didn’t budge. “Bucky wake up! Bucky, please!”

When he refused to move, Y/N ran to the intercom on the wall and screamed for Steve or Tony or Pietro. Anyone. Then, she ran back to Bucky’s side and rested his head on her knees. She only noticed she was crying when her tears began to fall into his hair as she brushed the locks back from his face. She was so distracted that she didn’t even notice Tony and Steve slide up next to her. Steve looked down at her, a mixture of emotions on his handsome face. “What did you do?”

“Steve…” Tony said, knowing the sight of the captain’s best friend knocked out would spike his temper.

“Steve, I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t control it.” Y/N sobbed, moving her eyes from Steve’s face back to Bucky’s unconscious one. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just leave,” he groaned.

“Steve. I—I didn’t…” she tried, before Tony spoke up.

“Best to just listen to him right now, kid. We’ll take care of Barnes.” He lightly smiled. “Go on.”

Y/N stood as tears continued to fall down her cheeks and took one long look at Bucky before turning and heading for the door. When she was out of sight, she ran to her room, slammed the door behind her, and began to sob again.

 -----------------------------------------------------------

THE NEXT DAY

Y/N’s eyes were unbelievably red after crying through the night. She couldn’t believe what she had done. She didn’t mean to, but for a split second she lost control of it. And now this man, a man that for whatever reason cared about her and never gave up after she repeatedly brushed him off, was hurt.

She was distracted from her thoughts at the sudden knock. Slowly, miserably, she rose from her bed, wiped the tears from her cheeks and walked to the door. When she opened it, Wanda was on the other side.

“Hello.” The witch spoke.

“Hi, Wanda. How are you?” Y/N replied and felt bad that her tone lacked any sincerity.

“I’m ok, but I’m more worried about you. Are you ok?”

Instantly, the tears returned. They were uncontrollable and Wanda pulled Y/N into a hug before leading her over to the bed and sitting down next to her.

“I don’t know how it happened. I hurt him.” Y/N explained through her sobs.

Wanda rubbed her back in return. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“What if he never wakes up?”

“Believe me, that man will wake up. He never seems to die.” Y/N was silent. There was nothing else to say. She had never felt so bad in her entire life. “I think you should go see him. He’s in the lab. Dr. Cho is fixing him up, monitoring his vitals. You being there, it may help.”

“How could me being there possibly help?”

Wanda smiled softly. “Y/N, I’ve seen his thoughts. I know his feelings. I promise you, it would help.”

 -------------------------------------------------------

Y/N gasped when she saw him lying there. If he wasn’t barely breathing and the sound of the heart rate monitor was not beeping incessantly, he would’ve looked dead, and the tears started back up. She couldn’t take her eyes off him and didn’t even hear Dr. Cho tell her she would give the two of them a minute before leaving the room.

Tentatively, Y/N neared him and reached out a hand to stoke his cheek, her thumb moving back 'and forth in soft motions along the cheekbone. “Oh God.” She whispered to herself. “Bucky.” she softly sobbed. “I am so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”  Y/N moved her hand to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “Please, wake up. I just…I can’t imagine not seeing you again.” She inhaled a quick breath and sniffled. “I’m sorry I acted like I don’t care about you too.” She muttered and then made the decision to lean down and kiss his forehead. She closed her eyes as she felt his warm skin against her lips. Then, she moved her kiss down to his cheek, to the tip of his nose, before placing them fully on his plump lips. He didn’t kiss back. She knew he wouldn’t, but it didn’t surprise her one bit to realize how much she wished he would. When she rose, she looked down to his hand and touched it with her own before slowly stepping away and turning to go back to her room.

-----------------------------------------------------------

LATER…

Y/N was in the kitchen getting some water when Bucky Barnes walked into the room. She looked up at the sound of footsteps and turned to see who it was. Her eyes went wide at the man before her and her hand stopped in the middle of bringing the glass to her lips. She said nothing; there was nothing she could think of to say, so he was the one to do it first.

“So, I hear you like me.” He smirked, rather arrogantly.

“What? Who told you something like that?” Who could have known? She never told anyone. She never planned to. Sure, she told Wanda she felt bad about hurting him, but that didn’t necessarily mean she liked him.

He looked back at her, causally walking towards her before stopping a few feet away. “You did.”

“No, I most certainly did not!”

“Yes, you did. But in all fairness, you didn’t think I would hear you.”

Shock took over her face as she realized what he was talking about and she panicked to find the right words. “You were unconscious!”

His faced scrunched a bit, knowing she wouldn’t like the truth. “Not exactly.”

“What!”

He raised his hands in defense. “It was Wanda’s idea, not mine. I mean, you did knock me out, but I woke up a couple hours before you came to talk to me. Wanda suggested the idea, and I was game for anything that would get you to let your guard down.”

“WANDA!!!” Y/N screamed. The rest of the tower could probably hear her, but in that moment, she didn’t care one bit. “I am going to kill that witch!”

Wanda rounded the corner ten seconds later but stopped in her tracks at the sight of the couple before her and the anger on Y/N’s face.

Her eyes moved to Bucky, her face full of annoyance. “You weren’t supposed to tell her!”

“Should I have lied to her instead?”

“YES!”

“Oh yea, because that’s a strong foundation for a good relationship.”

Y/N interrupted their banter. “Shut up!” She said before turning to her ‘friend.’ “Wanda, you tricked me!”

“Only a little bit, but what was I supposed to do, Y/N? You’re too stubborn for your own good. He”, She said, pointing to Bucky, “would pine over you for the rest of his life and you would be too scared to admit that you want him too. I told you I read his thoughts and I did, but I also read yours. They are one and the same. So, just get over it and be happy, damn it! You both need it, you both deserve it. Life is too fucking short, for fucks sake.” Y/N slowly exhaled the breath she had been holding after the witch’s quick outburst. “Talk! And if I see either of you leave, I’ll start throwing things.” Then Wanda left, leaving them alone.

Y/N turned to Bucky and he smiled at her with a triumphant grin. “This changes nothing.” She said and began to walk away. Let Wanda throw things. Y/N could move things with her mind too!

As she brushed by him, Bucky grabbed Y/N’s arm, spinning her around and making eye contact. “Yes, it does.”.

“And what makes you think so?”

“Are you kidding? Y/N, Wanda just laid it out for you. You like me just as much and I think you have since we slept together. I was on that mission for a reason and, apart from infiltrating one lousy building, I think that reason was you.”

She chuckled, highly annoyed. “So, Bucky Barnes believes in fate.”

“You bet your cute ass I do.”

“Ridiculous.” She mumbled.

Bucky groaned. “Just shut your mouth and let me kiss you.”

Before she knew it, his lips were on hers with his hands on her cheeks. His lips were soft, and Y/N couldn’t stand it. If he never kissed her again, she could have easily lived her life in blissful denial, but now that he had, she was fucked.

She placed her hands on his chest before sliding them up into his hair and pulling him closer. He moaned and slipped his arms around her waist before lifting her off her feet entirely.

“I told you we weren’t done,” He whispered between their lips as he supported her ass so her legs could wrap fully around him.

“I know,” Y/N whispered back, slightly irritated at how right he had been. But this was inevitable, she knew. He was inevitable.

And so, moments later, when her eyes turned softer and truly shown with the lust and honesty inside them, Bucky smiled, nudged his nose with hers and connected their lips again.

tags: @dugan365 @moonlightimagination @pietrotheavenger @marvel-fanfiction @hawkeyeharrington @dani-si @alyssiamking @wintersoldier98 @then-there-was-me-emily @prxttybirdz @tessvillegas @xceafh @jazzwoman897 @fandoms-who @meganwinchester1999 @ufffg @debra77 @rebelliouscat @anise-d-castle6 @projectxhappiness @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @lowkeysebby @stringgeek13 @notmyfault404 @quotemeow @jjamesbbarness @stangirl4eva @guera31 @sophiatomlinson23 @youreahandsomedevil @thisismysecrethappyplace @hiddles-rose @vibhati123 @mywinterwolf @stevesaidabadlanguageword @picapicapicassobaby @lokilvrr @private-bucky-barnes

[the-dumbest-po3-au]

DPO3 AU: Prologue 1 - Hollykit

read this on FFN / AO3

"And this is... dandelion?"

"No, Hollykit. That's milkweed."

"Oh." Hollykit stared at the milkweed, ears drooping. Why can't I ever get it right? she wondered, spearing the roots on her claw.

"Honey, no!" Leafpool batted her paws away. "Don't pierce the roots, the sap will leak out... oh, dear. We don't have very much in stock, I hope it's still salvageable..."

As Leafpool bent over the milkweed roots, Hollykit shrank back towards the door. Everyone knew that Leafpool had only taken Hollykit on because no other apprentices would even consider being a medicine cat. With her lack of talent, Hollykit would never have even made it past the door otherwise. At first, she'd taken it as a challenge; before the moon was over, Hollykit would prove to everyone that she deserved to the medicine cat apprentice! Except... it hadn't worked out that way.

I can't get anything right, Hollykit thought miserably. It's almost been an entire moon and I don't even have the basics memorized. I'm supposed to be the medicine cat! The entire clan is depending on me! If I can't even tell milkweed from dandelion, I've failed them all.

Suddenly, Hollykit couldn't stand to be in the den any longer. Ignoring Leafpool's cry of surprise, she turned tail and fled from the den. The dawn patrol was just coming in, so the camp was full of milling warriors. Hollykit gritted her teeth and sprinted through their midst.

Blossomfall yelped as Hollykit plowed past her, and Spiderleg oofed when she drove a sharp elbow into his gut. I'm sorry! Hollykit wailed internally. Even when I'm not trying, I still hurt my clanmates. There's no option left but to leave.

At last, she broke free of the crowd and scrambled out of camp. All the border patrols were in camp, and the hunting patrols were all on the lake side. There was nothing but trees between her and the Twolegplace. Feeling heartsick, she looked back at the camp one last time. Goodbye, mom. Goodbye, dad. Goodbye, Cinderkit and Leafpool. Thank you for being kind to me, I know I didn't deserve it. Maybe, some day, we'll meet again.

Turning her back on her beloved clan, Hollykit plunged into the wildnerness. Each step was a torment, drawing her further and further from her kin. But this was necessary; sacrifice was necessary sometimes, and if that sacrifice was her - for the good of the clan, she would offer herself up on the pyre. Even if that sacrifice tore her heart in two.

"Hollykit!"

Maybe they would remember her, maybe they wouldn't. Perhaps they would think of her at first - something to be whispered in clandestine gossip, spoken with fear and pity and a sad resignation. Later, her name would simply fade away. Only those closest to her would remember her, and hold her name tucked safely in their hearts, long after the rest of the clan had forgotten it.

"Hollykit?"

After they passed on, however, there would be no one left to remember her. One by one, they would fall, and Hollykit's memory would fade day by day until the last one was gone. Her story, untold, would trickle into the soft, welcoming soil and vanish forever, lost and forgotten in the annals of history. The story of the sacrifice - one so bravely offered up by a kit, for her vast love for the clan - would-

"Hollykit, you tiny stupid fleas-for-brains-rabbit, what in Thunderstar's sweet name do you think you're doing?"

Hollykit, cut off in the midst of her contemplations, looked up. Cinderkit slapped her across the face.

"Don't you go running off like that, you scared the mouse-dung out of us! Blossomfall said she almost broke her ankle tripping over you! What were you thinking?"

Hollykit touched her face gingerly. It hurt. "It was- it was necessary," she said, tearing up.

Cinderkit considered this. "How necessary? Like fate-of-the-clans necessary? Or all the juniper berries need to be the same color necessary?"

"Thunderclan's fate hangs in the balance," Hollykit told her earnestly. Of all the cats in Thunderclan, Cinderkit was the one she trusted to see it clearly. "I must go, Cinderkit. Give my regards to my parents-"

"Why, though?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you have to leave?"

"Oh." Hollykit tried to remember why, realized she couldn't, and re-walked through her entire path that day until she remembered the entire terrible episode with the milkweed. "Oh, Cinderkit! It was horrible!" she threw herself on her friend's shoulder, weeping bitterly. "I couldn't - Leafpool said - it was milkweed," she sobbed.

"Okay," said Cinderkit, rubbing circles on Hollykit's back with her paw. "It's alright, cry if you need to. I'm sure we'll get all this sorted out right away. Once you're done, tell me what happened?"

Hollykit shook her head wildly, sending drops of snot and tears everywhere. "I can't! It's unfixable! Cinderkit, I'm a- a- I'm a horrible medicine cat!"

"I'm sure you're much better than you think," Cinderkit said reasonably. "You fixed up my paw pretty well the other day. It looked so professional, and you're not even an apprentice yet!"

Hollykit glowed with pride, but the much greater issue was still there. "But Cinderkit, I couldn't tell the difference between milkweed and dandelion. Milkweed and dandelion! They look nothing alike! If I gave a cat milkweed instead of dandelion for a cough, I could kill them!"

She expected Cinderkit to be just as stunned by this horrifying revelation, but Cinderkit simply tilted her head. "But you won't," she pointed out. "Leafpool will be there to make sure you don't make any mistakes, and by the time you're doing it solo, you'll know all the herbs by heart!"

"But what if I don't?" Hollykit wailed.

"You will," Cinderkit said. She practically radiated confidence, as though there was only one truth in this world and it was that Hollykit was an utterly fantastic medicine cat.

Some of that confidence couldn't help but rub off on Hollykit. "Well, maybe," she sniffled, rubbing away the tears. "Thanks, Cinderkit. For being so patient with me."

Cinderkit nudged her comfortingly. "No problem. Hey, I think I'm getting better at this!"

"Yeah. You weren't very good the first four times."

"But the fifth time, I aced it."

"That was the time you accidentally implied Firestar would throw me out and I made it to the border before you caught up again."

"Yeah, well..." Cinderkit seemed discomfited for about half a second before bouncing back again. "I give the best peptalks of all time, and that's what counts!"

Hollykit sniffled again and nodded fervently.

"Now," Cinderkit added, clapping her on the back, "You need to get down to camp and apologize for making Leafpool worry. And to Spiderleg for elbowing him. But probably not to Blossomfall, 'cause she's a jerk."

"You're right." Hollykit stared at her paws. "But how can she ever forgive me?"

Cinderkit smiled. "Oh, don't worry. I think she will."

...

The medicine cat den was dark and cool after so long outdoors and it took Hollykit's eyes a moment to adjust. Towards the back of the den, Leafpool's hunched shoulders loomed large and daunting in the gloom.

Hollykit swallowed. "Leafpool?"

Leafpool startled and raised her head. "Oh, there you are! I couldn't find you anywhere."

A wave of guilt washed over her. Hollykit dropped her gaze to the ground, unable to meet the medicine cat's eyes. "I'm- I'm sorry, Leafpool," she said in a rush. "I know I'm no good as a medicine cat, and I can't tell the herbs apart, and every time I get something wrong I run away, and-"

A wall of fur enveloped her, cutting off her stammering apology with a warm embrace. Hollykit blinked, confused, before squeaking in surprise when Leafpool swiped a tongue across her ears.

"Don't be sorry, honey," Leafpool told her softly, drawing Hollykit closer. "You're not even a medicine cat apprentice yet- no one expects you to remember everything. And even when you become my apprentice, I'll be here for you, so you don't have to worry about getting it wrong the first time."

Hollykit went very still. "When I become...?"

The warm flank beside her went abruptly rigid. "Oh! Only if you still to, of course," Leafpool said quickly. "I wouldn't want to pressure you, or anything," she hesitated, but when Hollykit looked up, Leafpool's eyes were warm. "But for what it's worth, I'd be honored to mentor you."

Hollykit gasped. Even after all my failures... she still believes in me? "Yes!" she squeaked. "Oh my Starclan, yes! You're sure it's- I can really-?"

Leafpool purred. "I'll have to let Firestar know, but I'm sure he'll allow it. Everyone knows how good you are at healing, after all."

Hollykit almost corrected her - that morning alone posed a hefty contradiction - but Cinderkit's absolute confidence flashed through her mind, and she narrowed her eyes. "I'm gonna be the best medicine cat ever," she vowed instead.

A soft sigh gusted over the fluff of her ears, and above her, Leafpool smiled. If she'd looked up, she'd have seen Leafpool's mouth curl into a sad, bittersweet smile. "I know you will, Holly."

[rivalsforlife]

i'm holding myself back from asking commentary on almost every scene from the catch up game bc i love so much how you wrote phoenix in that fic!! that said, could u do commentary on the last 2 scenes from the first chapter (party + gumshoe), if that's not too long or on parts of it if it's too much?

Sure thing!! The scenes on their own are already over 2000 words so I’ll put them under a keep reading for everyone’s peace of mind.

Alright let’s start then...

The bachelor party was beyond Phoenix’s expectations. He’d been expecting Edgeworth to be much stingier with the spending, considering his general attitude towards Gumshoe’s salary. But he’d agreed to rent the bar out and pay for one drink for everyone, plus transportation home for those who couldn’t do it themselves. Phoenix… was surprised, actually. He’d known for a long time now that Edgeworth appreciated Gumshoe much more than he let anyone know about, but it was still surprising to see in action.

this paragraph brought to you by My AAI2 Feelings, particularly the parts where Gumshoe really does come through in the investigations, so much that Miles actually gives him a salary raise at the end... it did a great job developing their friendship, I loved it a lot.

(Also I headcanon that after aai2 but possibly before that... every “I’m going to cut your salary!!” that Miles says does not actually result in a salary cut. poor gumshoe can barely feed himself as it is. but Miles can’t be, like... Nice about it so he’s just going to pretend. Gumshoe understands. it’s like an inside joke now.)

And honestly figuring out this whole party scene was such a pain. I still feel like it could be better but I’m not sure how? I just had the goal of “get someone to let it slip that Miles is in love with Phoenix” but then there was the issue of a) who knew Miles well enough to know this, and b) who knew Phoenix well enough to talk about it, and c) what circumstances would let them slip up and say it. The answer was Gumshoe because he can’t resist leaking information to the defense... even when it’s information about his boss’s personal life. oops.

Athena dropped by for a movie night, since Pearls was too young to attend. Phoenix wasn’t worried about them; he was sure they wouldn’t get into any more trouble than he and Maya could at the party.

OOF AWKWARD PARAGRAPH this is a remnant from when I shifted a lot of scenes around in this chapter. I thought it would be cute if Athena and Pearl were friends. And I think there was more to this but then it was distracting from the overall topic so I cut it out... resulting in this.

“Pals!” a familiar voice boomed at the entrance to the bar, and Phoenix soon found himself and Maya swept up in a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so glad you both could make it!”

“Gumshoe!” Maya returned the hug enthusiastically. “It’s been forever, man!”

“Sure has!” Gumshoe released them, allowing Phoenix the opportunity to wheeze and clutch at his ribs, while Gumshoe ruffled Maya’s hair. “Been keeping yourself out of trouble?”

“You know it!”

“Uh, I had several sleepless nights last year suggesting otherwise,” said Phoenix.

“Shut it, Nick.” Maya elbowed him, not helping with the situation with his ribs, and beamed.

a little bit of banter that really just serves as a transition thing. most of the party is actually both “transition scene to indicate that the party did, in fact, happen before I get to the important stuff” and “introduce some important character stuff while I have time to fill”. 

and of course these sleepless nights are in reference to pretty much the whole plot of SOJ... 

One last note that I think Gumshoe probably gives great hugs, if you can survive your ribs potentially being crushed in the process. he doesn’t mean anything by it. he’s big and strong and likes hugs so much he forgets how big and strong he is.

... ps I love Gumshoe

“But congrats, Gumshoe! Seems like just last decade Nick and I were wandering around trying to pass your lunches over to Maggey.”

“God, it’s been that long, hasn’t it?” Phoenix reminisced. It was odd, thinking back on cases he took before he was disbarred, before he became a father to a daughter who wasn’t even with him today.

Gumshoe chuckled. “Guess so, pals. You two’ve really been there since the beginning, huh? Maggey and I wouldn’t be here today without you.”

Phoenix smiled. “Aww, Gumshoe…”

“And that’s why I get to be maid of honor, huh?” asked Maya with a sly grin.

“Maid of honor?!” Phoenix looked to Gumshoe, who didn’t object, before rounding back on his best friend. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“You didn’t ask!” Maya sighed. “If it weren’t for me eating Gumshoe’s beloved bento box in front of Maggey, who knows if we’d be here today?”

“I don’t think that was a deciding factor at any point…”

Gumshoe clapped Phoenix on the shoulder. “Sorry, pal. Would’ve made you the best man, but, y’know… Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Yeah, of course, no hard feelings, pal.”

“What’d I tell you about stealing my trademark, huh, pal?” Gumshoe laughed before stepping back into the bar. “C’mon in, you two.”

REALLY just more awkward transition scenes haha. Maya is the maid of honor in this fic mostly because I went to Maggey’s profile page and she was the only woman listed under the “friends” list... and we don’t know much about Maggey’s personal life. plus more “Miles and Gumshoe friendship” agenda pushing in here!

There were more people there than Phoenix was expecting, and many of them he hadn’t met. Edgeworth had mentioned that he would let Gumshoe select the guest list, but he’d kind of expected this to be people the two of them knew. Or, at least, that Phoenix knew — Edgeworth seemed to recognize more, which was rare, and was currently speaking with someone Phoenix vaguely recognized as an Interpol agent he’d worked with on a few cases back when Phoenix would help him out in Europe.

Ema ran up to them and made small talk before she and Maya got caught up in discussion about some show Phoenix had never heard of, so he wandered off to find someone else to talk with.

And there was… no one, really. Gumshoe and Edgeworth were talking with strangers, and Phoenix didn’t want to butt in on that conversation — he thought he saw Larry lurking about but couldn’t find him right now — and anyone else Phoenix recognized he either hadn’t talked to in years or was sure didn’t recognize him.

Phoenix hadn’t realized just how much his disbarment affected him, in these little ways. He looked out over the crowd of people Gumshoe or Edgeworth spoke to and had no idea who they were. It had been eight years out of touch with the rest of the legal world — eight years to fall behind.

It was… oddly lonely. Eventually it was just Phoenix standing there at the bar with a glass of grape juice in his hand. He was beginning to wish he’d ordered some more euphemistic “grape juice” instead.

You know that feeling when you go to a party and your one (1) friend leaves you and then you have no one to talk to and don’t know what to do -- maybe? That’s kind of the thing. slight Lang cameo in there.

ORIGINALLY Ema and Maya were going to talk about Lana and Mia and kind of hint at some Lanamia stuff in there, but then I thought about it and really why would Phoenix pass up an opportunity to gossip about his boss’s past relationships. 

And this also tries to kind of go for one of the general... “themes” of the fic? More of an exploration into Phoenix’s loneliness/how he copes with not having people around him. RFTA and JFA in particular kind of really entrenched that he Does Not Do Well without people to take care of -- which comes up a lot during this fic. And part of getting to explore those issues is essentially me trying to make Phoenix as alone as possible. ... sorry Phoenix! 

Also in here is a lot of “disbarment should have messed up Phoenix more than DD and SOJ would lead you to believe” -- he essentially spent seven years completely disgraced, it’s unlikely he made a lot of notable legal connections, aside from maybe Miles and Miles’ social circle. He probably missed out on a lot.

The last paragraph there is just referencing the “grape juice” thing - I do believe it is literal grape juice and not an alcohol euphemism, and I believe it was also literal grape juice in the original, so that’s what it ends up being.

“Hey, Niiiick…”

… But Phoenix supposed that just when you’re feeling down, the Butz arrives to drag you down further. “Hey there, Larry.”

Larry slumped against the bar beside him with a sigh, a glass of what definitely wasn’t grape juice in his hand. “Y’know Franzy didn’t even show up to this?”

“I’m not surprised. Being whipped half to death during your own bachelor party isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time, y’know?” In truth, he knew Franziska couldn’t make it down until just a few days before the wedding because of work — or so Edgeworth had told him — though he couldn’t help but wonder if Gumshoe was grateful for it.

Larry muttered something under his breath that sounded like it might’ve been contradicting Phoenix’s last statement, which Phoenix decided he was certainly not going to press further on, before Larry cleared his throat and continued. “But why’re you out here by yourself, Nick? Maya ditched you?”

“No, not at all,” Phoenix lied. “Just… taking in the scenery.”

“... Huh. Never took you for the wallflower type.” Larry frowned. “I mean, we did use to spend school dances in the corner by ourselves… guess some things never change.”

“Please don’t remind me of middle school ever again.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Larry, who then did. “But I get it, dude. I was kinda hoping for some more excitement here… more ladies…”

“Don’t worry Larry, I’m sure you’ll find someone else to pester tonight,” Phoenix commented dryly.

... enter Larry Butz.

I really did try to explore the relationships of all the important people in Phoenix’s life... Larry though is so insufferable in canon I didn’t really have the heart to fit him in, so he falls out. (Apollo also doesn’t show up much, aside from the bit in chapter 5, that’s because he’s in a different country and I couldn’t come up with much of a role for him.)

And I also do believe that Larry and Phoenix were super unpopular in school. Larry was... Larry, and Phoenix was probably very sensitive up until the Dahlia Incident, and together they had enough unlikable traits that anyone who could spend time with one wouldn’t want to hang out with the other, but the two of them were loyal to each other. It’s my headcanon that Phoenix’s only real close friends throughout his childhood were Larry and Miles, which is part of why he got so attached to Miles to change his career for him.

“Yeah.” Larry’s eyes scanned the crowd before landing on a woman with dark hair in a high ponytail, and his face brightened. Phoenix cringed preemptively.

“Little miss Kay!” Larry called out, as the woman looked their way. “Looking as cute as ever! And more grown up, too…”

Phoenix tensed, suddenly feeling the wrath of hell creeping up behind them.

“Larry Butz,” a deadly voice boomed, “if you go anywhere near her, I will sue you for everything you are worth, little though it may be.”

Larry jumped and spilled half his drink over his jacket. “Geez, Edgey,” he grumbled, scuttling off to find a napkin. Phoenix, hoping it was safe now with the target gone, turned back around to meet the glare of his other childhood friend. “Hey, Edgeworth.”

Larry being gross but more importantly: me pushing the Dadworth agenda! 

“You didn’t have to do that, Mr. Edgeworth,” said the woman with a laugh. “I’m an adult. I know how to effectively break someone’s kneecaps if they bug me.”

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. “Though I don’t necessarily disapprove, do we need to talk about avoiding criminal records again, young lady?”

“Sheesh, you’re still treating me like a kid,” she huffed, before noticing Phoenix and extending a hand. “Sorry about that! Kay Faraday. I’m Mr. Edgeworth’s assistant.”

Edgeworth gave an exasperated sigh, though Phoenix could detect a note of fondness to it. “You haven’t been my assistant for over ten years, Kay.”

“So you finally admit I was your assistant at some point!”

“Ngrk…”

Phoenix laughed and took her hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Phoenix Wright, attorney at law.”

Kay grinned. “Oh, I know! Gummy debriefed me on you, Mr. That Man.”

“Kay,” Edgeworth warned.

“Plus I kept up with the news,” Kay continued, before Phoenix could say anything. “I’m a big fan of your work! Anyone who can take Mr. High-and-Mighty over there down a notch or two is a hero in my book.”

“Ha, I appreciate that.” Usually the first thing people said to Phoenix after saying they saw him on the news was much more negative.

I really still can’t believe Kay would be 27 here. that’s just so weird. she’s permanently seventeen in my mind. --- said by miles, probably

Even though this was supposed to be a fic about Phoenix’s important canon relationships Kay just wormed her way in here. I love her so I didn’t make any particular effort to take her out of this. Plus it gives me the opportunity to write my favourite things: Dadworth, and also Kay bullying Miles.

And yeah the part about people seeing Phoenix on the news is a reference to disbarment... can’t imagine anyone would have had anything particularly nice to say to him, especially those first few years.

“Kay has been assisting some of the prosecutors and myself through some tricky crime scenes lately,” Edgeworth informed him.

“Technically I’m a P.I., but Mr. Edgeworth said they’re really short-staffed these days, so I thought I’d lend him a hand,” Kay elaborated.

“Oh, so I might be running into you at the crime scene someday.”

“Probably!” She grinned. “Though I’m not gonna go easy on you just ‘cause Mr. Edgeworth likes you.”

“Kay.”

“Oh is that Ema over there?” Kay said loudly. “I’ve gotta run, see you around!”

She dashed off. Edgeworth sighed.

At first I made Kay just a straightforward detective, but I changed it pretty last minute. I feel like she’d want to do her own thing, plus this way she can assist from the outside when dealing with Dark Age of the Law Corruption-type stuff. Miles hires her because canon says he was left pretty short-staffed in SOJ. I’m not... totally sure what the laws are regarding private investigators working with police, but this is a fictional universe with fictional laws so I will do what I want.

Aside from that... more Kay making fun of Miles.

“She seems energetic,” Phoenix commented.

“Indeed she is.”

“... Why did she call me ‘Mr. That Man’?”

Edgeworth coughed. “I’ve not the slightest idea,” he said, turning his head to the side. “That aside, this whole affair is going much smoother than I expected, aside from that slight mishap.”

“Yeah, murder’s not really the best way to kick off a bachelor party, huh? Even if it is Larry. But I think we did alright.”

“Indeed.”

As if on cue, a loud cheer rose up from the crowd at the far corner of the bar.

“... Do you smell something?” Phoenix asked, and true to form, the swaying form of Larry crawled on top of a table.

People making fun of That Man is one of my favourite tropes regarding the AAI characters.

I don’t actually know how bachelor parties work, but if anyone can make them into an overly dramatized super wild party... it’s Larry.

Edgeworth groaned and began to storm off, but Phoenix grabbed him by the hand to hold him back. “Edgeworth, it’s a party, let them have their fun.”

“I… suppose so,” Edgeworth relented, but his hand was still tense in Phoenix’s.

Phoenix released him. “C’mon, we can chaperone from a safe distance.”

Edgeworth nodded wordlessly, but Phoenix could sense that same feeling of unease from him again. He opened his mouth to ask about it but a loud shout took up his attention — this was something that could be dealt with later, he thought, as he and Edgeworth rushed over to the scene.

Miles internal monologue: Wright is holding my hand. Wright is holding my hand. Wright is holding my hand writgh is holding my hand wright is holdin g my ha--

Phoenix: uh. edgeworth?

So in this fic... Miles is gradually working up the courage to confess to Phoenix. He finally worked out his own feelings at some point prior to this fic starting but can’t quite admit them yet, so every time Phoenix does anything that can be remotely construed as romantic he just goes “!!!” and it’s probably all he can think about for a week. Poor guy! I’m sure that when he finally confesses all will be well.

Hours later, as the party wound down and various taxis came to take people home, Phoenix found himself crowded in a booth with a tipsy Maya and a drunk, gushing Gumshoe.

“... and I know she’s gonna just be so beautiful, pals, and what if it’s too much?” Gumshoe asked, lying sideways against the table. “What if they don’t let me see her and then the day of the wedding I look’t her and… I die?”

“People have gotten married without dying, Gumshoe,” Phoenix consoled him.

“But they don’t marry Maggey, pal…”

Maya snorted. “With her luck, I wouldn’t be surprised if something like that happened.”

“Hey, don’t tell him that!” Phoenix hissed.

really this wedding should have had way more disaster than I wrote about... probably at least one murder.

“No, no, don’t mention her luck, she’s already so worried,” said Gumshoe. “We’ve checked off every good-luck wedding charm in th’ book… but she still thinks somethin’s gonna go wrong. I love her, I really, really love her, pals…” A far off look crossed his face, and Phoenix wondered if anyone would ever speak of him like that, “... but she worries so much…”

“What’s she worried about?” Maya asked, slumping over against Phoenix’s shoulder.

“Ceremony, reception, if people’re gonna show up, if we’re gonna lose somethin’ important… even ‘s far as the bouquet toss. I told her, if you’re not sure, just toss it in th’ direction of you,” he pointed at Phoenix, “or at Mr. Edgeworth, and maybe it’ll work.”

Phoenix frowned. “Why me?”

Gumshoe let out a burst of hearty laughter. “I’m thinkin’ if you or Mr. Edgeworth catches it, it’ll give ‘im the courage to finally ask you out, pal.”

Maya shot straight up. Phoenix froze. “... What?”

probably not the smoothest way to get to the entire reason why this bachelor party exists, BUT. 

Also it’s implied that Miles DID actually talk to Gumshoe about this at some point. probably Gumshoe caught him pining at a bad time haha.

“Y’know the old tradition, whoever catches it is the next to get married and all…” Gumshoe stared at them for a moment, before his eyes widened and a look of absolute horror crossed his face. “O-Oh! Crap! Pal!”

“Edgeworth wants to ask Nick out?!” Maya shrieked.

“FINALLY! IT’S ABOUT FREAKING TIME!”

originally Gumshoe used a much stronger word than “crap” but idk Gummy doesn’t seem like the type to curse much...? Maybe it’s a stretch haha. also “pal” as an exclamation is my favourite little Gumshoe speech tic

“Shh, shh!” Gumshoe reached over to clamp a hand over her mouth but fell, collapsing on the table. “You heard nothin’ from me, pals, got it? Mr. Edgeworth’s gonna kill me if he finds out… worse, stop funding the wedding…”

Death is one thing but the WEDDING...

And I can’t remember if I mentioned at any point that Miles was also funding the wedding haha but it’s probably also something he wouldn’t want to tell anyone. Gumshoe with his perpetually terrible salary (which is also Miles’ fault) plus Maggey with her inability to hold down a job before being fired in a murder-related incident probably means they don’t have a lot for a nice wedding so Miles offered. secretly and evasively. because he’s a nice person but also doesn’t want anyone to know that.

Maya stared at Phoenix, her mouth agape, as Gumshoe continued mumbling to himself under his breath about the various consequences of Edgeworth’s hypothetical wrath. Phoenix, meanwhile, felt like his brain had short-circuited.

That wasn’t possible. He must have heard Gumshoe wrong. Edgeworth didn’t think of him that way. Edgeworth didn’t think about anyone that way, Phoenix had thought, for the longest time.

Little do you know, Phoenix! 

Touching on the aroace Miles headcanon here because it’s a very valid interpretation of his actions even if it’s not my own...

… Even if Edgeworth had been acting strange lately, even if something in his expression softened when he looked at Phoenix, even if…

No. Phoenix quickly shoved that thought to the back of his mind. There were many things he knew about Edgeworth, and one of those was that Edgeworth saw him as a part-time friend and part-time annoyance, but never a romantic interest of any kind. The thought of it was just… just unbelievable.

Phoenix craned his head around, catching sight of a familiar pink jacket across the room and watched Edgeworth in the middle of some phone call. He would know if Edgeworth was interested in him that way… wouldn’t he?

At first “the back of his mind” was “the overflowing mental trunk of repression” but that seemed a little too on the nose. Just know that’s essentially what he’s doing.

Another thing I wanted to establish throughout the fic was how close Phoenix and Miles are now -- they essentially know each other really well. And thinking about that part in Turnabout Goodbyes where Phoenix declares that “I’m the only one who knows the real Edgeworth”, I kind of interpreted that Phoenix Knowing Things About Edgeworth is an important part of their relationship to him. And the occasions where Miles did surprise him (with some aspect of his personality) weren’t always very good things... realizing he’d turned into a “demon prosecutor”, then the “choosing death” part... it’s a lot of my headcanons running away from me haha. Basically in this fic, Phoenix thinks he knows Edgeworth so well because he’s so close with him so an indication that there’s something about Edgeworth he doesn’t know or has completely wrong kind of... connects to him /not/ being as close to Edgeworth as he thinks he is? Maybe? And being close to him is something very important to Phoenix.

(This is not my personal opinion though haha, people can and will surprise you no matter how well you know them... but this fic is Phoenix’s Relationship Issues: The Fic, so.)

And no one else has mentioned the scenes where it comes up yet so I’ll talk about it here -- a lot of my editing process involved going through the fic and cutting out every instance of Phoenix either talking about him hypothetically being in love with Miles, or of Miles being in love with him. I just ctrl+f “love” and cut out whatever fit the criteria. Phoenix’s interpretation of Miles’ actions up until the end of chapter 5 isn’t exactly that Miles is Capital-L In Love with him, more that it’s like... a little crush? Mayyybe some physical attraction. Misconstrued admiration. Not anything so severe that Miles would willingly initiate a conversation about Feelings. so “He would know if Edgeworth was in love with him” changed to “He would know if Edgeworth was interested in him that way” because part of Phoenix’s issue here is that he can’t actually directly acknowledge the possibility that he’s in love with Miles or that Miles is in love with him. It’s a whole complicated thing I’ll probably talk about in the next commentary I do?

This got long but there’s the end of the chapter! I’ll answer more later...? These take up a lot of time haha.

[writerseven]

The next installment of props was giving me trouble, so I ended up doing some warm up writing in the form of flipping a scene from runaway to Dick's perspective.

I'm not posting this officially since it's super unpolished, probably redundant, and potentially even contradicting future fics in the series since I just wrote it as an exercise, but I figured I'd drop it here because this sort of thing is what I made this tumblr for in the first place. Enjoy this unedited minifc!

--

The kiss catches him completely off guard. Dick's brain gets caught in a loop of What? No, wait, why? What? Wrong-wrong-wrong, for a beat too long, before he realizes he has hand and should be using them. Frantic action takes over from shocked stillness, and he pushes Tim away a little rougher than intended.

Dick opens his mouth to—he doesn't know. Apologize? Ask what the fuck that was? Just gape aimlessly? It doesn't matter; Tim speaks before he can:

“Sorry! Oh god. I'm sorry.”

Tim looks genuinely horrified at his own actions, hand hovering over his mouth unconsciously, and it's the push Dick needs to get ahold of himself. He needs to—he needs to cut this right off at the root. Whatever wrong impression he's given, whatever wires has been crosses, he needs to fix that shit right now.

“Tim...” he says, trying to figure out where to start.

“Sorry,” Tim says, breathing hard.

Dick feels his brow pinching, heartbeat much faster than reasonable for a completely danger-free scenario. “I'm...Shit. I'm—way older than you, and you're a kid.” Oh, great, just really patronize Tim away while he's at it. “Which I know no teenager wants to hear, but I...”

Tim shakes his head, slinking further back against the couch. “No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...”

Dick shakes his head slightly, trying to get this all out before it blows up. “I know you have a family and parents of your own, but when I call you my little brother, I really—I really do mean it.”

“I know that,” Tim says, looking down. “I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't even really—I don't even...I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that.”

The thing is, he seems completely honest about it. Completely distraught. Dick has...well, he's done stupid self-destructive stuff in all the wrong moments and not known why, but that was always predicated by something. Something he was dealing with really poorly.

A hands grips his heart before he breathes deep and forces it to release. There are still a million explanations; he doesn't know for sure that it's bad. It really could just be a kid with an inappropriate crush. Hell, Dick himself had a little hero-worship thing going on for about half the Justice League back when he was a tiny pre-teen in pixie boots.

Tim is pulling away, off the couch. “I'm sorry,” he says, stronger. “I should—I can go. I'm gonna go.”

Dick leans out to catch him on instinct, grabbing his hand. “Hey, wait, don't—”

Tim stops, but won't meet his eye. Dick scans over him carefully, lingering on those stark neck bruises for a moment, and tries to remind himself not to get worried when there might be nothing to worry about.

“What happened?” Dick asks, keeping his voice level. Tim glances up and away again. “I mean—” He swallows, trying to sort out a phrasing that implies the least. “Can you at least tell me what brought this on?”

“I don't know,” Tim mutters, rocking on his heels. It's such a guilty child's motion that Dick can't help but squeeze his hand. “I guess I just...thought you'd be nice about it.”

No, no, nonono.

“Be nice about what?” Dick asks softly, terrified he knows.

Tim glances up, exactly as ashamed and scared and desperate as Dick hoped he wouldn't be. Dick abruptly realizes he's still clutching onto Tim's hand, giving the kid no choice in the matter, and drops it, clearing his throat.

Okay. He's—If this is what he thinks it is, he knows how to do this. (And, god, he heard a million awful comments back when he was running Gotham's seedy streets, even as a kid, but he never thought anything would happen to Tim.) If this is that, Dick knows how to deal with victims, how to be calm but soft, ask without judgment. And if it's not, none of that can hurt. His back straightens on instinct.

“Can I hug you, or do you want space?” Dick asks.

Tim is in his arms almost before he's finished the question. Dick wraps him up immediately, tugging him closer onto the couch, practically in his lap. Tim would probably say he's too old for it, but Dick can't help but perpetually think of his little brother as younger than Dick ever was, even knowing that's far from the truth.

“I really am sorry,” Tim mumbles into his shoulder. “I didn't...mean it like that.”

“I know,” Dick says. He's wished so strongly he didn't, but it's worth it if he can use it to help Tim. They can do this. He's not going to let his brother deal alone. “I'm...I understand.” The words get caught in his throat, refusing to dislodge. Dick can't manage to say any of it more explicitly than, “I think I really, really do.”

He closes his eyes over Tim's hair, gentling rubbing his back. For a few minutes it's just that, and Dick lets himself get away with the delay on the thought that Tim needs it and they both deserve to calm down.

He still doesn't actually know, though. Dick is pretty sure he has the vague shape of it. The general category of what happened—or almost happened, if he's lucky, maybe just a scare—the ensuing feelings he knows far too well, the urge to reclaim it. But nothing has been said. He has to be sure he's not just projecting.

“I,” Dick starts, so, so slow and cautious, “I do think I still need you to tell me what happened, though. When you're ready. We can just sit here for now.”

“No, it's okay,” Tim says. His voice is a little hoarse, but when he draws back there are no tears in sight. Dick's heart aches for this too-strong kid. “It's...nothing. I'm handling it. I'm sorry I freaked out on you.”

“Tim...” Dick frowns.

Tim pulls away, returning to his seat on the couch. It's closer this time, though, one of Dick's arms lingering over his shoulder without a reach. His throat works hard a few times, drawing attention to those bruises. They're definitely finger-shaped. Dick has seen too many like that not to know.

He lifts a hand to examine them better, not thinking, and Tim—flinches. Hard, like Dick punched instead of barely brushed him. Dick's heart leaps in response.

“Sorry,” he breathes.

“S'okay,” Tim says, though he's a little breathless himself.. “The—the bruise, y'know.”

Dick clenches his jaw at the blatant lie. “It wasn't the bruise, Tim.”

Tim shrinks in on himself, even his voice lowering. “It's just. You know...Batman stuff.” His eyes flick up, bright and desperate on Dick's. “I'm sure you dealt with the same kind of stuff when you were Robin.”

He doesn't react. He's so goddamn careful not to react because now is not the situation to be losing it, and not the person to be losing it in front of, and not the time to be losing it when, again, he doesn't actually know anything. Not for sure. Not really.

But Dick's heart slams against his rib cage and his brain lights up every siren.

That doesn't mean what he thinks it means. That does not mean what he thinks it means. It doesn't even—there's not even anything like this that Dick “dealt with” when he was Robin. He doesn't even know why his brain is going there. Sure, Bruce can be distant or cold or manipulative or, much as he hates to admit, on occasion selfish to the point of cruelty, but Dick doesn't have any actual reason to believe...

(Only...) Robin stuff. It's just Robin stuff, those million awful comments Dick heard and Tim must have too. But. Tim did say it was Batman stuff.

Dick takes one more very careful, very steady breath, before he allows himself to speak. He fights to make his voice perfectly even. “Tim, did Bruce...Has Bruce ever...?”

“No, it's not—He's—Bruce is fine,” Tim interrupts quickly.

Dick is hit by relief that he grabs onto with both hands, and then guilt that he refuses to examine.

“He's—” Tim continues. “He just wants to reconnect with Jason, so he's...”

Conflicting emotions come to a screeching halt at that. Okay. Turns out Dick really doesn't know apparently. “Jason?”

He heart does an entirely unrelated funny little twist over saying Jason's name. It's been so long, and thing changed completely while Dick wasn't even there. But somehow his first brother is back, even if Dick is yet to see it himself, and apparently...involved in this?

It's not a hard jump from there. The only time Dick knows of when Jason and Tim have ever interacted led to Tim's near-death at Titan's Tower.

“So Jason...” He puts a hand over his own throat in demonstration instead of indicating Tim's and risking another flinch.

“I mean, I—Both of them, technically...”

Dick's hand stills. There's a horrible weight in his gut, but only one other person has been mentioned this conversation and it's impossible to ignore. He can't muster up the energy for proper emotion when he asks, “Jason and Bruce both...hurt you?”

It takes a long moment, before Tim nods.

No. Dick scrubs over his face like he's chasing phantom tears. It's like he's simultaneously too emotional and too numb to actual conjure any. The block in his throat doesn't feel like crying; it just aches.

“But Bruce isn't usually...” Tim is saying, Dick unable to answer.

He twists away, towards the couch, elbows digging into the backrest and face shoving into his palms. What he really wants to do it hit something heavy and solid and painful, but this is best he can get without hurting himself in front of Tim. No.

That's it. Just no. No, not this. No, it's a mistake. No, he's wrong. No, no, no, Dick has misunderstood and made leaps where he shouldn't and put the pieces together in the wrong puzzle.

But Tim's neck is bruised by hands, and he kissed Dick because he thought Dick was safe and that's—

Dick is still a pretty good detective, even when he doesn't want to be.

It's the hardest word in the universe to force out, barely able to peak through his hands towards Tim. “Sexually?”

Tim nods.

Dick selfishly, horribly, stays quiet as Tim tries to course correct and near-pleads with him for validation. He can't. If he opens his mouth he might scream.

[sudoscience]

New In Town Ch 2: Some Things Are Universal

Once again, I suggest reading the original on AO3.

Summary: Rudy's first day working for Asgore, featuring a brief appearance by Kris and special guest star Comedian Dad.

After breakfast, I decide to go down to Flower King and tell Asgore I'll accept his job offer. He is once again watering the flowers, and I begin to wonder if plants really need this much water. Maybe that's why everything I've tried growing dies. Then again, I do know that overwatering is also possible, but that's really about the extent of my knowledge when it comes to plant care. Asgore's the expert here, so I won't question his judgment.

When he turns to greet me, he once again seems caught off guard. This time, however, his look is that of pleasant surprise. "Oh! I take it you've made up your mind?"

Am I that easy to read? Or would he have sounded so hopeful even if I had been coming to tell him I'd found work elsewhere?

"Yes, as a matter of fact," I say. "I've decided I'll take you up on your offer."

"Excellent! Why don't you keep an eye on the store for a bit? I need to go pick up some more supplies."

Really? I haven't even been here 5 minutes, and he's going to leave me by myself? "Wait! I don't even know what to do. I don't really know anything about selling flowers."

"Don't worry! It's usually pretty slow. If anyone comes in, just follow your instincts. Find something you think they'll like, and give them that. If you still need help, here's my cellphone. I shouldn't be gone for very long."

"Okay," I say hesitantly. I guess I should be glad he already trusts me this much. After he leaves, I realize we haven't even discussed my pay. That seems like something better discussed in person, so I decide to wait until he returns.

---

Asgore is right; it's very slow. Several minutes go past, and there doesn't even seem to be anyone outside the store, let alone in it. I decide to sweep up, maybe straighten a few of the displays, when a customer finally enters. It's an older looking, blue and white bird monster.

"Hey! You're new heah! Where's the othah guy?" the bespectacled bird says.

"Oh, Asgore had to get some more supplies. I'm his new... assistant?" I actually have no idea what my title is. I guess that's something else I'll need to ask him about. "How can I help you today?"

"I was lookin' to buy some flowahs for my wife's grave. Whaddya got?"

"Oh, my condolences. Let's see what we can find." I begin to look through the arrangements Asgore has already made, but nothing catches my eye. Suddenly, I notice a bouquet of white and pale blue flowers, with a few light pink carnations mixed in as accents. I think they're carnations, at least. Have I mentioned I don't really know anything about flowers?

If I were to make some sort of abstract flower art of this bird, this bouquet would probably be the result. The colors are a near-perfect match; I actually hope he doesn't find it too vain. The flowers are for his late wife, after all, not him. "How's this?" I ask.

"Oh, those are wondahful. My wife, she would love 'em. I'll take 'em."

Wow, maybe this is easier than I thought. I move over to the register, then I realize I spoke too soon. None of these flowers have prices on them. "One second, please," I tell my first customer. "I'm not sure how much these cost."

"I guess that means they're free, hahaha!" Some things are universal, I suppose.

I stifle myself from sarcastically telling the customer he should be a comedian before I call Asgore, but he there's no response. Well, he has to have a price list somewhere, or at least an invoice or something so I can know if I'm selling them above cost. I decide to look upstairs.

Huh, I didn't realize he actually lived here. He doesn't seem to have much of an office, though. There's really not much to look through, but I do find something. To my shock, however, it's a note from his landlord demanding that Asgore start selling flowers in lieu of giving them away. I push down my feelings of betrayal for now and decide I'll just have to make up a price.

I don't think I've ever even bought flowers before, so I have no idea what they typically cost. "How's, uh, 50G sound?" I ask. Whatever confidence I had has evaporated as quickly as it came.

"50 bucks and the flowahs? Wow, what a bahgain!"

This time, I give him a sarcastic laugh. "No, really. 50G. Does that sound like a fair price?"

"Listen, kid. I know you're new heah, so I'll cut ya some slack, but I've been coming heah a long time. Asgoah, he's a good friend of mine. An old friend. I'm not pullin' your leg when I say he usually gives 'em to me for free."

"I believe you. But, let me tell you a secret. Don't tell him I said this, but money's a little tight right now. Now, I'd think if you really were good friends with Asgore, you'd want to help him out, right? Isn't that what friends do? I know I'm not your friend, not yet, but how about I cut you a deal? What would you say to 40G?"

"I'd say, 'Hey, you look lonesome. How's about movin' into my wallet?'" He laughs uproariously at his own joke. Even though he's really starting to get on my nerves, I give him a little chuckle, too.

"Does that sound like a deal?" I ask.

"35G sounds even bettah," he replies.

I really have no idea what any of this stuff costs, but 35G sounds way too low to me. "Look, I really don't think I can go lower than 40G. Any lower than that, and we're losing money." Is it still lying if you think it might actually be true?

"Okay, okay, you drive a hahd bahgain, kid. 40G it is."

"Thank you, sir! Have a great day!" I say as I put the money into the otherwise empty cash register. I'm really going to have to have a long talk with Asgore when he gets back. When is he getting back, anyway? He said he wouldn't be very long, but it's already been nearly an hour and a half.

"You, too, kid," the widower replies. "You're alright, y'know? For a human." I decide to ignore that last part.

---

Finally, Asgore returns. "I'm sorry, that took much longer than I expected. I trust you didn't run into any trouble while I was away?"

"Well, a little bit, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Oh, I thought of a few questions for you while you were out."

"Oh? I'm all ears."

"First of all, where are the prices for any of these? I looked around, but I couldn't find anything to help. There was only one customer while you were out, but I had to just make up a price, so I ended up charging him 40G. I hope that's not too low."

Asgore gives me a shocked look. "Too low?" he asks. He sounds calm, but I think I detect a slight tinge of anger in his voice. "Too low? Why, I don't think I could ever charge my friends that high of a price. Did I not set the example by giving you your flowers free of charge? Do you think I should have sold them to you instead?"

"Look, I don't wanna sound ungrateful or anything, but, yeah, I was absolutely expecting to pay for the flowers. Because that's what most businesses do: they sell their products. I didn't realize—again, I really appreciate that you gave me the flowers for free—but I didn't realize you were in the habit of doing so."

"I see..."

"That actually brings me to my next question. When I was looking for the prices, I saw the note. From the landlord."

"Oh..." is all Asgore says.

"If you aren't making any money here, how were you going to pay me? Were you expecting me to work for free?"

"No, no, of course not," he stammers. "I, well, I suppose I kind of rushed into hiring you, didn't I? I've always been a man of my word, doing my best to keep my promises. I believe that's the right thing to do. But what are you supposed to do when a promise you've made contradicts a promise to someone else?" He lets out a sigh before continuing.

"This shop has been a lifelong dream of mine, which is saying something considering how long I've lived. You asked me how much these flowers go for. The truth is, 40G is definitely on the low side. Sure, the grocery stores in Twin Falls might sell flowers for even less, but a shop like mine? I could probably get away with charging five times as much. I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to keep giving them away for free, either, but then I developed a reputation for it, and I didn't want to let anyone down. Obviously, I failed.

"I may not have let my customers down, but I let down everyone else. I let down C, but, more importantly, I let down my family. I'm a failure."

"Hey, don't be too hard on yourself," I say. "People love your flowers, don't they? And I just proved that they'll pay for them. And they'll pay for them because they love you. We can figure something out."

"You're right. I just need to stay determined. I shouldn't have any problem coming up with 8000G by the end of the month."

My jaw drops. "8000G? That's with the past months' rent, too, right?"

"No, that's how much I'm supposed to pay each month. It takes a lot of water and electricity to grow all these flowers, and C says this is prime real estate. I guess I will have to pay the past months' rent, as well. Let's see, that'd be about 40,000G altogether. Golly, I sure hope C isn't charging interest on that."

"I hope so, too," I say, weakly.

8000G just for one month. If Asgore's right, and the townspeople are willing to pay 200G for his bouquets, then that means we should only have to sell 40 to cover the rent. That should be no problem in what seems to be a town with a population of 15. (I'm being sarcastic here, if that wasn't obvious.)

---

Around lunchtime, Asgore's child stops by. From what little I can see of their face, they seem faintly surprised to see me, maybe slightly amused, too. "Hey, Kris," I say, awkwardly, "how's it going?"

They give me a terse, "Alright." There's a pause, and I get the sense that neither one of us is terribly great at small talk. "Is Asgore around?" they ask.

"Oh, um, I think he's in the back. Do you want me to get him for you?"

"No, I'll wait."

"Okay," I reply. The silence is nearly palpable. I try to break it. "So, uh, how's... school?"

"Okay." I can tell from their tone that they aren't really interested in talking to me. I would have thought the only two humans in town would have bonded more easily, but that doesn't seem to be the case. "How's not getting paid?"

I bite my tongue while reminding myself that they're a teenager. They're practically purpose-built to get under your skin. I suppose I should see it as a small victory that they're even engaging me in conversation at all, even if it is just to antagonize me. "It's not all it's cracked up to be," I say.

Then, inspiration strikes. "You know, Kris, maybe you could help out. If you're not too busy with school, maybe you could make some flyers for your dad's shop. 'Flowers for any occasion, or no occasion at all!' or something like that."

"Why would you want my help?" they retort. "You should ask my brother, Asriel. He's the perfect one. He's gonna save the world, so why not save a flower shop while he's at it?" Their words drip with hostility. "And I'm busy, anyway."

"Alright, forget I asked," I say. "I'm gonna go find Asgore now."

"Don't bother. I'll see him later." They turn to leave.

Out of customer service habit, I tell them to have a great day, but that strikes me as inappropriate, somehow. Part of me thinks it might be worthwhile to have Asgore reach out to his older son for help, but then I realize that would likely only worsen tensions with Kris.

Another part of me ponders asking Asgore if I can be a delivery driver instead, but I can already see the scenario unfolding: I deliver flowers to that comedian from earlier, and wait patiently for him to give me my tip, only for him to say, "Here's a tip: stay in school," leaving me to meekly tell him I have a bachelor's degree and walk away empty-handed. What was it Asgore told himself? I just need to stay determined. This will work out.

[If you enjoyed reading this, please consider reblogging, or even just replying to say what you liked or didn’t like or what you hope happens next. I’m not promising anything, but it’s really hard to stay motivated to work on this when there’s hardly any feedback.]

[kiruuuuu]

Doc/Lion oneshot in which a secret comes out which Lion would much rather have kept from the rest of Rainbow. (Rating T, angst + happy ending, ~2.4k words) - written for @big-r6s-fan!! Thank you very much again for commissioning me 💗 I enjoyed myself writing this :)

.

Lion was 15 when lying became a necessity.

Before, it had been a fancy, a brief display of power: he could deceive people if he wanted, but it was no more than a trump card he was never forced to play. When he went out with his friends, his parents hardly showed enough interest or worry, making a lie redundant, and his peers didn’t really care either about his religious upbringing or other interests. He felt being the younger sibling keenly, and Sophie oftentimes reminded him of all the things she wasn’t allowed to do at his age, unaware of how much he actually took advantage of this freedom.

Many things happened at 15 which interfered with this dynamic, deeply disturbed his relationship not only with his family but also his friends. He stole his dad’s car for a joyride and ended up getting caught. The parent of an ex-friend he long ditched for being a teacher’s pet saw him drinking together with older kids. He snuck into the school’s chapel and pissed in the holy water. He started smoking, lost his virginity, and shoplifted. His parents didn’t find out about all of it, but they did find out about enough, gathered clues from half-hearted responses and all the details he omitted, saw it in his face. He had to get better at lying, if only to trick their system of regular texts and calls, checking homework, rigid curfew.

Not only that, he learnt to keep secrets to prevent ridicule. Just like most of his friends, he claimed to be an atheist since they were the loudest group and often harassed others for believing – in truth, he doubted yet hadn’t faltered. Church involvement repelled him as did the strict moral code, but he never fully gave up the idea of a higher power. He kept quiet about liking some of the catchy songs on the radio, about his crush on the prettiest girl in his class, about enjoying some of his classes, about his reading habits. He didn’t want to be uncool, so he went along with his peers, easily agreeing and keeping most of the things he truly held dear close to his heart instead of on his sleeve.

It resulted in fewer problems. His parents thought him converted, his friends thought him amiable and he started to enjoy telling lies.

One of his friends was already 18, owned a car and lived alone – in Lion’s eyes, he was the pinnacle of maturity, something to strive towards. It didn’t matter his vehicle was on the verge of falling apart and that his flat stunk of stale weed and had no wallpaper and that he worked in a supermarket; he could stay up whenever he wanted, had his own money, and could go wherever he pleased. Not only that, he also never took no for an answer. No matter how hare-brained the plan, he was on board, no matter how unachievable the dream, he gave support and encouragement. The little word which Lion had heard one too many times from his parents lately was missing from his vocabulary.

At some point, his friend told him to take his clothes off. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. This, too, Lion never disclosed to anyone.

Just like the fact that he liked it.

.

Years took their toll on him. One of the very few things he kept from his adolescence is his taste in music which he doesn’t readily share with others from his church. He doesn’t speak about his faith with his colleagues. The extent of his escapades has never reached his parents’ ears. Not once has he told any of his girlfriends about the men with whom he fooled around. At times, it eats at him, every little secret, every little lie another bite out of his conscience, and though he’s trying his best to follow the commandments, it’s a habit he simply can’t kick. It spares him so many intrusive, difficult questions that it’s just not worth giving up.

There’s one man in particular who seems keen on testing his limits, however. There’s no reaction from him when Lion attempts to change the topic, every excuse merely makes him dig deeper, every wall that’s thrown up causes him to redouble his efforts of scaling it – once he’s identified an issue, he refuses to let go until he’s received a satisfactory response and his bluntness frankly intimidates Lion. He has trouble dealing with it, walked off a couple of times instead of opening up but with time realised that judgement never followed. That his concessions were never met with disdain. That his bareness was reciprocated in kind.

It’s hard to accept that the one person who carefully dismantles the web of lies, half-truths and excuses he weaves as protection used to be his enemy.

But by now, he’s starving for affirmation and takes what he can gets without seeming desperate, and when Doc refuses to back down even when confronted with some of Lion’s unsavoury past, he eventually gives in. Hands himself over. Allows Doc to rummage through the myriad of memories he usually keeps under wraps, and watches helplessly as the other man treats it more like a historical museum than contemporary art – he reassures Lion that while all of it contributed to his personality, he’s greater than the sum of its parts. He sees something in Lion no one else does, and so he fiercely, jealously guards the emotions shared between them from the rest of the world. This is his. He will not risk ridicule. He will not let it wither in sunlight where it flourishes in darkness.

Which is why he’s overcome with dizzying nausea when Dokkaebi walks in on them.

They were cautious, both of them averse to endangering this fragile understanding between them, and though they began living in each other’s skin outside of work, they avoided each other in Hereford. Not obvious enough to draw suspicion but rigorous enough to resist temptation. This day, it just so happened that Lion had lab results to drop off at the end of his shift, and Doc was still around, and so they exchanged a few words. Maybe stood a little too close. Doc said something soothing, Lion reacted with a rare smile, and warm fingers found his own, lips neared his.

A quick peck. No more. But Dokkaebi bursts in just then and clearly realises what’s going on and though Lion scrambles to revert back to the persona which can lie like it breathes, he’s gotten used to not needing it in Doc’s presence and is therefore too slow.

Awkwardness settles in his bones, guides Dokkaebi’s stilted words and stiff movements, laces Doc’s curt response, causes Lion’s face to burn and him to take an unnecessary step backwards. It squeezes his heart until it desperately pumps against the iron grip, blackening the outside of his vision, and with a formal excuse, he leaves. He nearly misses the doorknob on the way out due to shaking fingers.

She knows.

And if she knows, so will everyone else the next day. His and Doc’s feud spread like wildfire the moment he joined Rainbow and there’s no doubt this tasty bite of news will do the same. They will all know.

His phone starts buzzing before he’s even home. Composure is a virtue and he thanks the Lord for gracing him with it or else he might’ve swerved his car into a ditch. Teeth chattering, he stops by the side of the road and turns the device off – he doesn’t need this unconditional compassion right now, even if he’s unsure what else he needs. All he knows is that he’d break down if the calm voice on the other end asked him whether he’s alright.

Intrusive thoughts haunt him almost like a badly edited narration over a bleak independent film. You don’t deserve him, and he’s fairly sure he’s hungry, so he puts a slice of bread into the toaster. Doesn’t it contradict your faith? He hasn’t even taken off his shoes, so he unlaces them by the couch, leaves them lying in the way. Believe me, you two aren’t gonna last. Coffee sounds good right about now, even if all he has is instant. Fucking coward, hasn’t even come out and probably blackmails Doc. Kettle, water, cup, spoon, powder. The metal in his hands feels too smooth. Wasn’t his kitchen a little bigger? He could’ve sworn it wasn’t dark out when he arrived. He’s still an arrogant twat. Great, his toast is cold now.

The voices of the people he’s forced to interact with every day are merciless.

It’s like he’s run a marathon and, despite being wholly drained, the residual adrenaline fires up his mind in uncomfortable bursts. Sitting down for longer than ten minutes is impossible and he finds himself going through his qualifications at one point. He’s good at his job. He’s sure he can find another one elsewhere.

Now and then, faces flash before him. The priest he told to go fuck himself when he tried to talk to young Lion about responsibilities. His parents after being informed about his fatherhood. Claire when she realised he was serious about the abortion. His own son upon seeing him the first time. And, lastly, Doc. The day his colleagues’ blood added to the crusty mess already on Lion’s hands.

He won’t be able to bear more. He’ll break if the rest of Rainbow adds to this embarrassingly long list of shocked, appalled, disgusted expressions, especially since it’d be over something so dear to him. So crucial to his survival. He can’t stand them shunning him for having found his heart’s desire.

Already resigned to a night of no sleep, he jolts upright at the sound of his doorbell. Sits there, motionless, paralysed in indecision. He should let him in. He doesn’t want to.

It still rings now and then five minutes later, every noise running marrow-deep. He trusts Doc fully, but he doesn’t trust himself.

For once, his mind comes up with a reasonable objection: isn’t he a little old to be self-sabotaging like this?

Doc doesn’t mention the wait once he’s crossed the threshold. He won’t get it, not with how supportive his family has been, not with how popular he is, not with how little he encountered rejection in his life. And yet simply seeing him helps.

“I don’t want to lose you”, Lion breathes into his hair and the reassurances convince him that his lover genuinely doesn’t understand – he whispers the words which usually soothe Lion, promises him to stay by his side and remains unaware of the real problem. It matters not that he’s loyal when no one will talk to them. It’s irrelevant how supportive he is when open hostility will make coordinated teamwork unachievable. The tension will carry over until it either permeates their entire relationship, leaves them irritated and frustrated with each other, or until Lion is reassigned. Or potentially leaves of his own accord.

Both would be the end of them.

In exposing their feelings, they have killed them. And though Doc’s fingers will eventually grow tired of brushing away wet streaks, there will always be more tears.

.

Needle pricks in his back. He feels them wherever he goes, head held high and seemingly impervious – but the gazes riddle him, erode his self-control and he’s sure that eventually, there’ll be more holes than substance. Wandering through the base is nightmarish, an omnipresent sense of dread unshakeable. None of the people around him dare to speak anywhere but in their minds, and so he’s powerless to defend himself. They all know.

Every smile is malicious, every bout of laughter directed at him. Today, the universe has assembled to judge over the mockery that is his life and finds it lacking.

Doc’s words are etched into the back of his brain, not as encouragement but as a reminder of how naive his lover is. Doc desperately holds onto this fundamental trust towards humanity, ignorant of his privilege, ignorant of how revered he is, how the seas part for him, how no one dares to speak ill of him. He blindly assumes his experiences are universal. It’s easy for him to confuse his own brightness reflected back at him with another source of light.

Lion isn’t so lucky.

Whenever anyone approaches him, he expects the worst, flinches pre-emptively and stumbles his way through conversations which should’ve gone a lot smoother. They shoot him more and more odd looks the further the day progresses, and it’s not just the albatross around his neck they see. A glance in the mirror confirms he looks like death.

Montagne is a good friend and Lion values his opinion, yet conversing with him is like nails dragging over a chalkboard. He inquires about Lion’s well-being and lies like this one hardly count anymore. The brief talk has him sit down or else he might’ve started swaying, and the deafening roar of his thoughts almost makes him miss Montagne’s parting statement: “I’m happy for you and Gustave. I wish you two all the best.”

He -

He can’t mean it, can he?

A day later, in passing, Buck says with a smile: “You’ve snagged a good one. Don’t let him get away, eh?”

And Ash, at the end of the week: “I’m very glad it’s working out with you and Doc.”

Lion has never received this many friendly words. Most of the team captains send him on errands which carry him past Doc’s office. Hibana assigns him and Doc together for an exercise without a second thought. Twitch begins buying one coffee more each morning.

The burden lifts. The queasy feeling dissipates. His future brightens. It’s an incredible experience, and the more he adapts, the warmer the others receive him. It’s a mutual thing, glowing and strengthening his confidence, and eventually he even admits Doc was right from the beginning.

“They don’t treat me any worse”, he adds when sharing his observations with a wholly relieved Doc, loose and content and not at all shy with his displays of affection.

“Of course not”, comes the gentle reply. “Everyone deserves happiness, Olivier. It’s time you start believing it.”

Lion has to concede that here, by Doc’s side, looking forward to a good night’s sleep and a challenging job with supportive co-workers, it’s a lot easier to trust in these words.

[blackberrywidow]

The Deaf Leading the Blind

Summary: In which Steve confesses his feelings for Tony to Clint, not realizing he can’t hear a damn thing he’s saying. Based on this post by @ironmanarmor

Warnings: Just two idiots doing what idiots do. 

Pairing: Implied Tony/Steve

Word Count: 1.5k

“Uh, Clint… Can I talk to you for a second?”

Steve was… uncomfortable, to say the least; but his desperation outweighed any discomfort he was feeling. He wouldn’t be there, looking for advice in the lowest of places, otherwise.

Not that Clint was a badadvice giver, per se. He just wasn’t… very good at it. But out of all of the Avengers, Steve knew Clint would be the one most likely to give it to him straight without any gloating or the possibility of their conversation reaching a certain someone. He was, of course, expecting some teasing and a generally superior attitude during their little talk, but it was a far cry from Natasha’s conniving smile or Thor’s loud insistence that he “follow his heart.” It was a side effect that he could live with, given it led to some sort of decision.

Clint, though not an ideal person to spill one’s deepest secrets too, was the lesser evil in this situation. If only he were paying attention to him.

Steve’s brow furrowed as Clint continued to wolf down his sandwich, blissfully unaware that Steve was even in the room apparently. If the topic was any less important, Steve would have simply walked away and given the two—Clint and his foot-long meatball sub—some privacy. But unfortunately, this conversation had already waited long enough.

So, Steve did what he did best and persisted, clearing his throat and walking further into the kitchen, coming to a stop at the table Clint was sitting at. “Clint,” Steve repeated, voice raising an octave as he took a seat across from him. “I asked if I could talk to you.”

Wide, panicked blue eyes rose to meet his own, sandwich still partway in his mouth. After a moment of rapid blinking and a general deer-in-headlights impression, Clint hurriedly chomped down on his sandwich, managing to get out a muffled “yeah” as he chewed.

Okay then… here goes nothing.

“Well, you may have noticed that I uh… Well that I’ve been a bit distracted lately, I guess,” Steve began, deciding to just dive right in and get this over with. He paused to glance up from where he had been nervously scratching his thumbnail into the wood of the table to see the archer’s reaction though, hoping for some kind of encouragement. The moment he caught Clint’s eyes, the other blonde nodded exuberantly.

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, the words coming out too loud in the quiet of the kitchen now that his mouth wasn’t crammed full of food.

Steve couldn’t help but frown. He had hoped that it wasn’t that obvious but… if Clint of all people had picked up on it so easily, he must have been worse than the thought.

“Oh. Well, okay then. So, you know what I’m talking about?”

Clint hesitated, that wide-eyed, stricken look returning as he slowly nodded, cautiously taking another bite of his sandwich but saying nothing more.

“Okay,” Steve continued, clearing his suddenly dry throat. “I’ll just cut right to the chase then. I’m worried that my feelings for Tony are beginning to affect my work on the team. It was fine when it was just a harmless crush, but things are… different now. You know what I mean?”

He paused again, looking up at his friend with beseeching eyes, hoping that he was making sense. He couldn’t think straight half the time when it came to Tony, which was roughly 90% of his current problem. So, he was relieved when Clint replied with a bright “Yup” after only a moment’s pause.

Maybe he wasn’t so clueless after all.

“Right? It’s like… sometimes I’m sure that he knows how I feel. I mean, you’ve seen the way he flirts with me. It’s ‘Captain Handsome’ this and ‘it would be my patriotic duty as an American to buy you dinner’ that. But he’s like that with everyone, isn’t he?”

Steve’s stomach dropped a little when Clint affirmed this statement as well, but it wasn’t unexpected. At least he was being honest with him. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. But sometimes it feels different than others. Like when he rescued me back in Bosnia last month. There was just… I don’t know how to describe it. Some kind of pull and instead of giving in, he pulled away instead. We’ve been kind of distant ever since and it’s killing me Clint. He may not return my feelings, but I wish that he’d at least return my calls for Christ’s sake.”

He took a moment to collect himself, realizing that he was become perhaps too heated, too loud for what was supposed to be a calm discussion of feelings. But Clint urged him on, giving him a sharp nod and a boisterous, “Yeah.”

“Yeah! I mean, what we do is dangerous. I don’t have time to beat around the bush or allow whatever it is we have distract me. But how can I stop it? I mean… Tony is everything to me here Clint. After the war, after everyone I knew died while I took the world’s longest nap, I… I just don’t have anything else. At least, nothing like Tony. He’s…” Steve paused, struggling to find the words to explain the way Tony’s existence simultaneously tore his heart of his chest and stitched it back together, but Clint’s encouraging nod pushed him to push through it. “He’s just Tony. That’s the only way to describe him. Because only Tony can be so egotistical, rash, and clueless while also being the most gifted, intelligent, brave, selfless, caring person I know. He’s like a walking contradiction, and he should be the last person I love but I do.”

Steve stopped short, choking on his next words before they could leave his mouth. Nothing else mattered after that.

His were eyes wide as they flashed up to Clint’s equally bewildered expression. “Oh my god,” he breathed, as the words settled in his heart moments after they had left his mouth, reaffirming the truth in them. “I love Tony Stark.”

“Uh, yeah,” Clint responded, looking at him as though he had no idea what he was getting at.

Steve supposed he was right. He loved Tony, so why was he sitting here talking to Clint when he should be talking to Tony?

Screw his fear of rejection and his doubts about his ability to have a successful relationship with Tony. He loved him—cared for him more deeply than anyone else on this planet—so why waste any more time being afraid? He stood up in the face of fear every day, why should this be any different?

Well, the obvious answer was that he was risking his friendship with Tony if he approached him with his feelings and they weren’t returned. But he also risked a lifetime of unhappiness and regret if he didn’t.

The choice was so obvious now, because just as Clint seemed to believe, there really wasn’t one.

“Thanks Clint,” Steve said, rushing to stand from the kitchen. “You’re a great listener. If everything goes well, I’ll really owe you one.”

And with that, he was rushing out of the kitchen, off to find Tony and confess his love to him. He could only hope it was the right decision, but he was through with sitting around and doing nothing regardless. He had always been a man of action—it was time to prove it.

Clint watched him go, slowly chewing the last bite of his sandwich in silence. He didn’t even notice that Natasha had practically danced into the room after Steve left until she threw box at him.

“Ow!” he hissed, clutching his head and bending to pick up the box. However, his mood brightened considerably when he realized what they were. “Oh, thank God.” He rushed to take his hearing aids out of the box and put them on to spare himself further trouble.

“Did you lose something again?” Natasha chuckled, smirking at him as she plopped down in Steve’s now vacant seat.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, voice back down to a normal volume as he smiled at his best friend. “Thanks, Nat.”

“No problem,” she sighed, sounding strangely happy as she continued to smile at him like the Cheshire Cat. It was… unsettling to say the least.

“What? Do I have food on my face or something?”

“No.” Nat rolled her eyes, voice losing some of its dreamlike quality now. “You didn’t catch any of that, did you?”

“Oh, you mean Steve? Nah. Couldn’t hear a thing, obviously, but he was talkin’ so damn fast I didn’t even try to read his lips. Why? Did I fuck it up that bad? I couldn’t tell why he ran off so suddenly.”

Natasha, petite, graceful ballerina assassin Natasha actuallysnorted. “No, Clint. Though, a word of advice? When Steve comes back up here grinning like the biggest idiot on the planet, just take all the credit you can.”

“What? Why?” Clint asked, cocking his head to the side and raising a brow. “What did I do?”

“Oh,” Natasha purred, grin impossibly widening, making Clint extremely suspicious and slightly afraid. “You’ll see. Everything’s finally working out, just two years later than we had hoped.”

Clint, though he didn’t know what it was they had been hoping for, decided to take Natasha’s word for it and simply shrugged. As long as Steve never found out he had had an entire conversation with him without hearing a thing he said, he didn’t care.  

[kat-astrophic-todd]

I Am Not a Robot

Also on AO3

Beta read by @mizmahlia

.

The piles of documents on his desk seemed to grow bigger every time he looked up from his laptop, but those emails weren’t going to write themselves. If Bruce was typing with more force than necessary it didn’t mean a damn thing.

He just wanted to lie in bed and get some sleep; this was usually the best hour for him to get some rest because none of the boys were around. Not that they actually spent time on the manor lately. He sighed.

With his elbows on the desk he covered his face with both hands, groaning lightly now that he was alone. Always alone. The shipment had arrived two hours late to the docks last night, and though he wouldn’t admit it in front of Alfred, Bruce though he might’ve caught a cold. The position was strangely comfortable and he felt himself drifting a bit. If he stopped paying attention he could pretend he was on his warm and fuzzy bed.

He woke up to the sound of his own snores. He had slept ten minutes. Bruce felt worse than before and his muscles felt like lead. He was horrified to find that he was on the brink of tears for no reason at all. He cleared his throat and tried to focus again on typing the passive-aggressive email he was sending to Lex Luthor about the deal he had offered Wayne Enterprises.

“Mister Wayne?” It took him a minute to realize that voice was real and that Jean, his secretary, had probably called him more than once. He looked up slowly, feeling that he might get dizzy if he did it faster. She looked at him with worried eyes, her brow furrowed.

“Yes?” Bruce almost winced at how exhausted he sounded.

“You have a call, Sir.” She gestured the red light on his desk phone. “Do you want me to tell them you’re not available, Sir?”

“Who is it?” He ignored her comment. Jean had been working for him long enough that she didn’t take it as an offense.

“Mister Head.” She commented before exiting his office.

Head? I don’t know any-

He picked up the phone quickly.

“Jay?” He didn’t care that he had sounded desperate. He thought he heard something akin to a cough through the line.

“Um... hi.” The voice of his second eldest felt like a warm blanket for his trembling heart.

“Jay.” Wonderment filled his tone. It really was him. He rarely talked to Bruce these days, he preferred having Alfred as the message man. “What do you need, son?”

Eager. He sounded eager.

“Uh.” Jason sounded distracted. “I’m... ah, I wanted to tell you that I need to solve a couple of things down in Chinatown?” The uncertainty would have sounded cute if Bruce didn’t know that tone was the product of years of estrangement.

“Anything you need, Jaylad.” Affection filled Bruce’s voice in an attempt to communicate how much he cared, how it ached every time his son refused to see him or interact with his siblings because he had the misguided idea that he didn’t belong. Bruce needed to make him know. Somehow. “Just don’t make a mess, okay?”

“... okay?” If Bruce didn’t know him better he could have said he sounded panicked. “I’ll... see you around.”

“Jay?” He rushed to say.

“Yes?”

“Take care.”

The only answer was the beep that signalled the end of the call.

That night Bruce changed his route slightly so he could be around the Diamond District and if that allowed him to check on Chinatown here and there, well, there was no one to call him out on it.

 ᴥ

 They were being dramatic, all of them. They even had the nerve to tell him he was the one overreacting. He just had a cold. He was perfectly capable of going on patrol. He had endured a broken spine and relocated it on his own, for heaven’s sake. He could bear a cold.

“Master Bruce, I’m sure that thing in your hands is not a phone.” Alfred’s clipped voice travelled from the half-opened door of the mansion’s master bedroom. “Because I remember informing you that using it would only worsen your headache.”

He froze and lowered the phone slowly, as if he didn’t do sudden moves Alfred wouldn’t see it. And then he frowned, because Alfred had his phone between his ear and shoulder, while he carried tray with soup for him. Bruce tried to get up and help him, but the stare he got from the older man dissuaded him. The person on the other side of the line must have said something because Alfred tried to supress a smile before answering.

“Master Jason, I’m sure we’ve talked about your peculiar use of the English language before.” Alfred didn’t see Bruce’s surprise, as he was paying attention to his grandson at the phone. He hummed. “I might approve of that word if you are quoting the Bard… Indeed.” The old man smiled and turned to Bruce. “Well, I’ll pass you on to your father… yes, Master Jason, it is necessary.” Alfred sighed, although Bruce could clearly see the amusement behind the action, and finally handed him the phone. If the conversation had carried on longer without him (and he was definitely not telling anybody), he might have started making grabby hand motions.

“Hello.” He hoped Jason could hear the emotion despite the congestion in his nose.

“Hey.” He sounded petulant. When the silence carried on, Bruce talked.

“How are you doing?” And just before Jason could answer: “How did your case in Chinatown go?”

“Cut the bullshit. I know you were stalking me.” The bitterness dripping from his son made him pause. He deduced his son had taken offense from him making sure he didn’t need assistance?

“I took a small detour from my normal route in case you needed me.” But now Bruce sounded unsure. He felt really tired, suddenly. Talking with Jason felt like walking around broken glass more often than not. You couldn’t know when a wrong move was going to draw blood.

“If you don’t trust me when I’m in your part of the city you could at least tell me. I’m not eleven anymore.” Bruce looked at Alfred searching for advice but the old man just arched a brow. “Look, Alfred insisted that I had to talk to you personally about tonight’s patrol.”

“Uh?” Eloquent, as always.

“Dick insisted I go with him to do your route, because two of us somehow equal a Batman.” He spat.

“He didn’t say that.” Bruce answered without thinking. He winced. That might make things tenser.

“So you won’t have to worry about what I might be up to when you’re not here making sure I don’t go on a killing spree.” Jason kept on, ignoring his comment. The sarcasm was almost palpable.

“Jason, I would trust you with my life.” And by God, that was the truest thing he would ever say. He loved Jason with all his heart, so much that sometimes it hurt. It hurt like nothing before, because he’d lost him and then gotten him back, but not really. Sometimes it was like Jason didn’t want to be back. Like he didn’t want Bruce back.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t trust me with your city.” The anguish in his son’s voice paralyzed him, not letting him contradict the statement before the call ended.

 ᴥ

 “Hey, what’s wrong?” Superman closed the distance between them in the training room.

He’d gone to the watchtower as soon as Alfred let him get out of bed. They were all helping in another cities. The world seemed to grow more chaotic in the days Bruce had been sick. He tried not to think about that, not to go down that path.

Instead, he looked down at his phone, where a selfie of Jason greeted him. Flipping him off. He assumed that was a negative to coming to the family dinner on Saturday.

Bruce sighed and saved the photograph in a folder named Jason, where he kept all the pictures his children managed to take of him. There weren’t many. That alone made Bruce feel a familiar throb in his chest.

“It’s Jason,” He explained, looking up at Superman. His friend cocked his head, not really understanding. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to act around him, or how to talk to him. Every time things get better between us, I manage to drag things back to the start.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, although the cowl made the action pointless.

“You should talk to him, B.” Bruce knew that was technically true, Clark being the best example of good parenting and communication. But Bruce’s family was complicated. Mostly because of him.

“I don’t- I’m not good at expressing how I feel. And I know Jason needs that.” Bruce was a mess. Intelligence couldn’t help him when he couldn’t get out the words that were flooding him, the truths that would make him vulnerable but would show his son he was somehow human. “I don’t know what the main problem is, either.”

“Well, I do.” Both of them looked at the doorway, where Diana was leaning, watching them like they were some really dumb creatures.

“Please, explain.” Bruce wasn’t even irritated. If there was someone who hated how incapable he was of understanding emotions, it was himself. He just wanted to be able to be a good father.

“Bruce,” she took a deep breath, pondering how to explain herself. “You shouldn’t mistake compliance for respect, neither obedience for affection.” She nodded to herself, ignoring Bruce’s sudden inhale. “I used to give my mother hell. I would run away from my tutors, jump off cliffs, take up lessons she didn't approve of. The reason I was able to test the limits,” she looked directly into Bruce’s white lenses, “the reason I risked angering her doing what I liked, was because I had no doubt she loved me, and would continue to do so no matter what I did.”

She approached them slowly, clearly not done with her insight. Bruce felt as if he was being dissected.

“Think about this, Bruce. You took a brilliant boy in and he had only known abandonment. I bet he was ready to leave at any moment, wasn’t he?” She looked at him, patiently waiting for an answer.

Bruce remembered those first months. The food stashes hidden around the mansion as if Jason feared he may be denied food someday. The bag Jason hid in his closet packed with the necessities to survive on the streets. The weary looks whenever Bruce closed the space between them. The panicked eyes when Bruce raised his hand to ruffle his hair.

“Yes.” His voice was but a whisper, something weak and pained. But Diana heard him.

“And when he realized you were giving him the opportunity to stay, I bet he did everything to please you and assure you wouldn't abandon him too.” She gave him a sad smile. “So the moment he thought you really loved him despite everything, he started testing the limits. And you took it as offense, thinking he was disrespecting you, when in fact, he was trying to find himself.”

Bruce didn’t like to think about that often. How Jason started disagreeing with him and breaking the rules. How the anger in his young son grew and seemed to consume him. The death of Felipe Garzonas was something that weighed on Bruce’s conscience, as did Jason’s death. In the end, he ran away because he thought Bruce was going to take Robin away from him. Because he believed Bruce was somehow going to abandon him. His son.

And Bruce had been paralyzed just like he was now because he wasn’t good with words. He worried easily and needed to be in control. So, baring his soul and making himself vulnerable felt like an actually bodily challenge.

He really didn’t deserve any of them.

They deserved a father that wasn’t afraid to show his love and tell them how vital they were, how he could die if any of them suffered any further because of him. How having them was the only thing stopping him from going too far, taking too much, caring too little about his life. How they were what kept him alive more often than not.

“He'd had no opportunity to find out what type of person he was. He had only been able to be what the world pushed him to be to survive.” Diana placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed, demanding his undivided attention. “To you, everything has to be ordered. You need patterns and statistics and numbers. He changed the pattern, and you went into shutdown mode, trying to figure out what was wrong with him.”

Oh, God. He had, hadn’t he? He really couldn’t fathom the possibility of being at fault. Of being the one that was wrong.

“He needed you. He needed to know that you loved him. He needed to make sure that in finding himself, he wouldn't lose you.” She cupped his face. He wondered if the tears had run down his cheek, where the cowl should have stopped them. But maybe she just knew him too well, knew the rising and the falling of his chest, identifying how his whole body ached. “Bruce. Those fights, the anger, Jason lashing out.” She pressed their foreheads together and let the air get out of her lungs slowly. He felt Clark’s hand on his back, as if he was supporting him in case he fell. Maybe he was. “He saw you distance yourself from him a little more every day. He saw you recoil at the person he was becoming.”

He heard a sob, and distantly, his mind registered it was his. He was blind. He was so fucked up, and stupid, and blind.

“Diana,” it sounded like a plea. It was a plea. “What do I do?”

She took a step back and wiped her eyes, squaring her shoulders. She met his torn expression with determination.

“You go to your son and apologize.” She gulped. “You have to let him know how you feel and how much you love him and appreciate him for who he is.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

Okay.

 ᴥ

Bruce let himself fall to the ground where Jason was tying up the gang members he had knocked out. His whole body tensed when he saw the caped figure behind him. Sometimes Bruce really was mesmerized at how loud his son was about his emotions with his body and words. With his entire being.

“Jason.” And it was his name, not Red Hood or Hood. He had come to talk to his son.

“I really don’t want to do this tonight, okay?” He got up and wiped the non-existent dust from his cargo pants, looking at some point over Bruce’s shoulder. “I didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t steal anything. You can go and sleep well tonight.” Bruce hated that monotone voice. It was what Jason did whenever he was trying to distance himself from a bad memory or an unpleasant situation. When he was too exhausted to fight back.

Just like Bruce had sounded when Jason had died. When he felt too tired to live but too scared to die.

That thought alone scared him right out of his bones.

No. Not him. Not my boy.

He moved in a flash, driven by panic and desperation. He saw Jason tense, preparing for a hit and Bruce wanted to die a little bit more, but he needed to do this. Before it was too late to try. He crushed Jason in a hug, embracing him with his whole body, shielding them behind his cape and pressing his cheek against Jason’s neck (not the top of his head, Jason had grown up so much he was almost Bruce’s height). He wished he could have him like this forever, secured within his arms, just for Bruce to love and cherish.

Bruce needed to say so much, apologize for so many things. He should start telling Jason how proud he was of the young man he had turned into. How lucky he was to have a son that cared so much for people, who was brilliant and kind and too good for Bruce. He opened his mouth.

“I-“ He choked on the words, tears falling down his face. His shoulders were shaking violently and he was starting to panic, because Jason needed to hear him say all those things and understand how thankful Bruce was of being his father. And Bruce just needed to actually say the words. He was hyperventilating.

“Bruce?” Jason sounded panicked. When he tried to step back Bruce just tightened his grip around him. He just needed him to hear- “Bruce, oh my God, you’re hyperventilating.” Panic turned to terror and Jason tried to step back again. “Please, let me call Alfred. You’re freaking me out.” Bruce shook his head against Jason’s neck and Jason fisted his hand on his cape, drawing a shaky breath. “Please, let me help you. Please, Dad.” And just like that, Bruce broke down into ugly tears and desperate sobs.

“I’m sorry.” He made sure Jason could hear him, although he still sounded muffled against Jason’s leather jacket. “God, I’m so sorry. I don’t deserve you. I’m a terrible father and I know you hate me. And I’m sorry for everything.”

“Hey, slow down, B.” Jason was still trying to step back.

“I love you.” That made him pause. Bruce took the opportunity. “I love you so much. And it hurts all the time. I- I don’t know how to not say the wrong things or do the wrong things. I just want to protect you and. God, I’m sorry.” He was choking a little on the snot. Alfred would probably curse him when he cleaned the cowl. “I need you to know.” He leaned back and grabbed Jason’s helmet between his hands. The young man was frozen in place. “I’m so proud of you, Jason. I’m so happy that I got you back and I’m so proud of the man you are.”

He heard the heavy breaths his son was taking through the voice modulator. He wished they were anywhere else. He wished their masks weren’t there. He wished he could keep Jason inside his heart, where he could feel all the good things he made Bruce feel.

“Please, let me try.” Bruce bit his lip, trying to find the words among the hurricane inside of him. “Let me try to be a better father.”

A huff of air left Jason, making a weird noise through the helmet. His hands were trembling and his chest was moving up and down.

“I... ” Jason stopped talking, he brought a hand to his chest and absentmindedly rubbed the material there. “Okay.” Jason conceded. And Bruce knew there was so much more to do to get things right.

Bruce engulfed him again in a soul-crushing hug. He felt like never letting go.

Okay.

[unavenged-robin]

Jason and Dick talking about how Damian and Tim see them. And bonding. Please?

Direct sequel of this one but I think it’s more than understandable on its own since this is, again, basically just some useless angst  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Where did you find them?”, Dick asks, shaky fingers tapping a furious beat on the counter.

It’s getting to Jason’s nerves, but Dick looks ready to snap and Jason himself couldn't ask for anything better than punching someone in the face to release some of the still lingering adrenaline, but a fight wouldn’t help the situation, and Alfred would probably shoot them both with his ancient but always very well oiled boom-stick.

“One of the abandoned warehouse near the river”, he answers then, half-voice. “Any idea on what they were doing there?”

Dick’s eyes never leave the door behind which Tim and Damian disappeared, wheeled in by both a stoic Alfred and a a very worried Leslie. He licks his lips before answering.

“Recon. With strict orders of not engaging.”

Jason can’t help but snort at that.

“And who’s the genius who decided to send those two together, on a unsupervised mission, with orders they would hardly obey even with the ol’ big Bat looming over them?”

It was supposed to be a joke, but it comes out angry. After all, it was Jason who found the two youngest bats cowered in a corner of a warehouse, bleeding, almost passed out, and one second away from catching a bullet in their heads. He has a right to be angry.

Dick doesn't seem to agree with him.

Sometimes Jason forgets how frighteningly fast Nightwing can move when he’s pissed off. He barely catches sight of his brother’s black and blue fist before Dick’s fingers grabs the collar of his jacket and he’s shoved back against the wall with a loud thud.

“Shut up”, Dick growls in his face, low and dangerous.

“It was your idea, wasn’t it?”, Jason insists, a hoarse, furious laugh between gritted teeth.

He could punch Dick, headbutt him in the face, but that wouldn’t hurt him enough. Physical violence means nothing to them. The deepest cuts only come from someone else confirming out loud the uncomfortable truths, the secret thoughts, the hidden doubts that keep all of them awake at night.

And he wants to hurt Dick bad.

“They were waiting for you”, Jason goes on, fear fueling the cruelty of his words because it’s been two hours since he brought the kids home - Damian, sickly pale and unresponsive, cradled in his arms like a goddamn baby, and Tim slumped over his shoulder, blubbering nonsense about hating some kid all the way to the cave, driving him crazy. Two hours and Alfred’s still in the emergency room with them. “They were gonna die there, had I not got the crazy idea to check the docks even if they weren’t on my patrol route tonight, and you know what? They weren’t expecting to see me. They weren’t expecting Bruce either. They were waiting for you.”

And in the warehouse, when Tim had lifted his gaze to meet Jason’s, he had clutched Damian closer and said to him we will not die. As if he was challenging Jason to contradict him. As if Jason was some kind of angel of death. But he’s not gonna tell Dick this.

“You sent them there, you were nowhere in sight to help them, and still they were waiting for you”, he says instead. “Isn’t it crazy?”

Shoot and killed.

He couldn’t have got such a pained expression out of Dick if he had beaten him with a crowbar all night. His brother’s face crumbles down, and Jason watches all the bitter words caught in Dick’s throat die on his lips. The grip around Jason’s jacket and over his chest loosen enough for him to breathe right again.

So he takes a big gulp of air and looks up at the cave’s ceiling, eyes burning red and the feeling of his brothers’ blood drying on his skin and clothes.

“It kind of hurts me too, you know?”, Jason confides him, slumping back a little against the wall. Dick follows him movement, ends up leaning against him, his forehead against Jason’s temple. “How no matter what happens, you’ll always be the hero in their eyes, the one that will descend from the sky to save them with some crazy acrobatic stunt, while I’ll always be the cautionary tale, the fuck-up you can never count on, the one you’ll end up like if you make a mistake.”

The cave’s still silent, no one emerged from the med bay during their little outburst, which is both a good and a bad thing at the same time. In that silence, an arm comes up to wrap itself around Jason’s neck in an unrequested and unwanted one-sided hug. But Jason’s not the one in need of comforting here.

“That’s not what you are to them”, Dick sighs, voice cracked but still somehow holding that don’t-you-dare-contradict-me-you-know-that-I-know-better-than-you-do edge that sometimes, when he’s very tired, Dick uses with all of them. “Or to me. Or to Bruce. If anything, you’re the hope that things can get better. That sometimes you get good things even if you don’t deserve them.”

“You know nothing, Dick-Snow”, Jason retorts. He still hugs him back, although very briefly, and Dick laughs tiredly against his neck.

“I’m sorry”, Jason adds after a moment, a wave exhaustion washing over him. “I was just-”

“I know. Me too. But they’re gonna be fine”, Dick interrupts him, straightening himself up. He squeezes Jason’s shoulder, smiles a little bit. For the first time Jason notices the wrinkles around his eyes. “You’ll see.”

[lovelysincerity]

Durch Leiden Freude

[[Yes I know this is random but I got inspired at work and figured this was the best day to throw it at you. Have some emotions. They’re good for you, probably.

Here’s my hand at writing Reiji, hope you enjoy this dose of angst.]]

(Alternate version Ai’s All Star Love End if Reiji had found a certain trio after the Song Festival, plenty of spoilers)

After hearing that performance, Reiji already knew who the winner of this year’s Song Festival would be. And strangely enough, underneath the initial disappointment he felt… satisfaction.

Watching the much younger idol maturing over the past six months had been a delight. Just a half year ago Ai wouldn’t have smiled at him to save his life, and now, shortly before the concert began, Ai had smiled at him and told him good luck. Good luck. Just hearing that left Reiji momentarily flabbergasted; when he recovered, the grin he took onto stage was huge and came with what he was certain was one of his best performances ever.

And yet, when the next performance began and Ai opened his mouth to sing, Reiji felt certain that this would be the winning performance. He could only hear it over the monitors backstage, but that was enough to convince him.

“Ai-Ai… you’ve really grown,” murmured Reiji to himself. His eyes had closed to listen better, his fists tight at his sides. “Kouhai-chan was the best medicine after all, huh? … Haha, I didn’t think it’d be this satisfying to lose.”

But if it was Ai, the frustration and disappointment that his performance hadn’t been good enough could be pushed aside. Longing clenched Reiji’s heart in their place as he wondered if he could ever sing like that- but none of that now. Ai and Haruka had come so far and he was proud of them. Now would be the time to congratulate them.

… So where were they?

Reiji took a casual look around after Ai left the stage to compliment him on his performance. No luck on the other side of the backstage, nor in the dressing room. This didn’t bother him since Reiji figured he could wait for Ai to show up for the award ceremony at the end of the event.

Except Ai never came on stage, even when his name was called as the winner. As confused whispers swept over the audience, Reiji bit his lip. Something seemed off when Saotome announced that an important engagement had come up and Mikaze Ai had needed to leave right away. What kind of ‘important engagement’ could trump this event in Saotome’s mind?

Time to take another look around. Haruka, along with Ai’s mentees Syo and Natsuki, were still here. He could ask them what happened.

Of course Reiji was concerned about Ai. It had nothing to do anymore with Ai’s similarities to Aine- that couldn’t have been the reason for his unease at this sudden disappearance. This… disappearance.

And fear, unbidden, gripped Reiji’s heart. That wouldn’t happen again, would it? Ai wasn’t Aine, Ai wasn’t suffering, Ai was happy- that song just now had been proof enough. Why, then, were Reiji’s footsteps picking up in his search for those three kouhai, and why was it hard to keep his worry off his face?

A familiar voice caught his ear and turned Reiji’s feet towards a door he wouldn’t have thought to look in, an unused dressing room. When had he gotten this far down the hallway? He brushed that thought aside and, after fixing his smile on his face, gripped the knob and flung open the door.

“Kouhai-chaaaan~! And Nattsun and Syo-tan too!” he proclaimed, the sudden entry and exclamation greeted by gasps for surprise. “Ai-Ai’s performance today was just incredible! Congrats, you guys! Now Kouhai-chan’s debut is a guaranteed-”

He stopped. Or rather, his throat had clenched and refused to let him say any more. The three younger ones were huddled in a circle on the floor, Natsuki with his arms around the other two, and all three were hastily brushing away tears.

A cold stone dropped into Reiji’s stomach. Instead of celebrating, they were crying. Icy fear chilled Reiji’s legs and froze his feet to the ground; his outstretched hand fell to his side.

What had happened to Ai?

One, two shaky breaths in, out, in, out, as Reiji fought to make his blank mind and numb tongue work, to come up with something. Finally he opened his mouth-

“Thank you, Kotobuki-senpai! W- was there something you needed?”

Haruka spoke first, startling Reiji back into silence for a moment. No, that wasn’t it. It was the shaky yet kind smile she’d forced on when she greeted him, and it snapped him back to his senses.

‘Get your act together, Rei-chan! This isn’t the time to let your fears get a hold on you!’

He wrenched his feet from the ground and strode forward. In the next moment Reiji dropped to his knees in front of the trio and pulled all three into an awkward hug. Maybe it wasn’t about Ai, maybe it was something else. Comforting them took priority.

“… Don’t bother trying to hide those tears, kiddos,” Reiji told them softly. “I’m good at spotting teary faces, y’know! … So what’s the matter?”

Unbeknownst to them, he was holding his breath, afraid of the answer. Afraid of what he might learn- or not learn.

Syo was the first to answer. “We’re just- maybe we’re just so happy we’re crying!”

Nope, not flying. “Sorry, I’m not buying that,” Reiji told him, his hand gently knocking Syo on the back of the head. “I know the difference between happy tears and sad tears.”

“Hmph… sniff…”

“Go ahead and cry, it’s okay. You can talk later.”

“We’re… we’re okay,” Haruka tried with another smile that was more watery than the previous. She looked ready to break down again any second. “Don’t worry, we’ll… we’ll be fine…”

“Nanami,” whispered Syo, his teeth clenched. Natsuki hadn’t spoken, or maybe he couldn’t with his jaw trembling that badly.

Reiji’s heart went out to them. They weren’t just sad, they were grieving. And that was enough to send his worried thoughts into overdrive. What were they hiding?

“Hey,” he murmured, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. Time to try distracting them and calming them down. “What’s this sudden business Ai-Ai had to leave for? He missed the awards ceremony, that kid, and now he’s not even around to… comfort you…”

They’d flinched at his question. Ah… this was related to Ai after all… No, no, he needed to stay calm. He was a professional, he could easily hide things from them, he had to hide his fears.

Guilt swirled in the pit of his stomach with his concern. In truth Reiji knew he’d been cruel to ask that question, for he’d posed it as a test as much as to hopefully calm them. Their reaction gave him the answer he hadn’t wanted to hear yet had expected.

“- Where is Ai-Ai?”

This time, the worry leaked unbidden into Reiji’s voice. He cursed himself in his head. How could he be so immature as to act this way? Especially while they were grieving whatever had happened. ‘Keep your hands from shaking, Rei-chan, they’ll feel it…’

None of them would look at him, somehow avoiding eye contact from this close distance. “Is it something secret?” Reiji pressed, his anxiety winning out. They all knew what had happened, that was certain. “I’m just worried about you three and about Ai-Ai.”

“… Hngh…” Haruka turned her head away when a choked sob left her throat. Immediately Reiji felt guilt again.

“I’m sorry, Kouhai-chan. Forget I asked. You can go ahead and cry about whatever happened, it’s okay.”

“Rei-chan-senpai…” For the first time Natsuki spoke, softer and more forlorn than Reiji had heard him even in acting. “I’m sorry. This is… this is one thing we can’t talk about. Thank you for worrying, and we want to say, but… we can’t talk about this.”

Couldn’t talk about it? Reiji wanted to protest, to say that he just wanted to be sure they were okay or something (in contradiction to his own words before, he knew), except he couldn’t. Not when he had too much he couldn’t, no, wouldn’t tell them.

And so Reiji defaulted to the easiest, hardest, most typical response for him: he put on a smile and agreed. “Okay, I understand. I won’t ask anything else. It’s okay.”

“S- sorry,” Haruka sniffed, Reiji only chuckling in reply and patting her back.

“Aww, don’t be sorry! I should be sorry for bugging you with questions! Go on and let it all out, I won’t tell anyone. Tell you what, I’ll treat you kiddos to something good later!”

He wanted to add, “To celebrate Ai-Ai placing first,” but held off.

Held off on quite a lot, in fact.

==/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\==

At some point, it became common knowledge around Shining Agency that Mikaze Ai was studying overseas for a while. Everyone accepted this and moved on. He was famous but still young enough that no one thought twice about a teenager in the industry taking an opportunity to learn more.

The movie Ai had starred in would be released soon. Reiji thought he might see if he could view it on the opening day. Ai had done a fantastic job, especially towards the end. Acting alongside him in that movie had been a great experience and Reiji wanted to know how the finished product had turned out.

He hadn’t moved on. Try as he might, Reiji couldn’t disregard this. The end of the movie and filming that scene where the mermaid had disappeared into the water had been hard enough; then Ai himself went and vanished? It was like his nightmares all over again.

He got a call from one of the staff members asking if his schedule was free in a few days. Apparently the entire staff was gathering together to watch the finished product the day before it would be released in theaters. Since Reiji’s schedule had mysteriously opened up that day, he went for it.

Maybe this could give him some closure, although Reiji doubted it. It was worth a try and he already wanted to see the movie anyway.

The day came and found Reiji at the theater last minute. He slipped in moments before the theater darkened and the opening credits rolled. In the dim lighting from the projection he could just see Haruka a short distance away. Her gaze was fixed on the screen, her expression one of longing… and hope.

That sent a pang through Reiji’s chest. Hope? Did he even feel that anymore? That girl was so pure still, holding onto hope.

Hope for what, though? Was it the same thing he hoped for? … Did he hope for something?

That question had bothered Reiji these past few months. What did he hope for, if at all? That Ai was okay? That he really was just studying overseas? He just couldn’t bring himself to believe it, not when the teary faces of Haruka, Natsuki and Syo kept cropping up in his mind.

Reiji wrenched his thoughts back to the movie unfolding onscreen. He came here to watch this and he would do just that.

At the scene where the mermaid boy, Ai’s character, reunite with the human girl from his past, someone near Reiji whispered to another, “Man, that scene brings back memories,” to which both quietly chuckled.

Reiji, too, found himself smiling. It had been the first scene for Ai to stumble, the first time he hadn’t gotten a scene perfect the first take in fact. The memory of both young actors sprawled on the ground from colliding foreheads made Reiji want to chuckle and wince at the same time.

The movie continued, and so did the memories. He wasn’t seeing this as what Aine could have been, he was remembering all the effort Ai had put into the filming and Haruka’s dogged persistence at helping out. The flubs, the successes, the tears everyone had shared as the last scene finished filming. It had been an unforgettable experience…

As the final credits rolled at last, applause broke out across the theater. Congratulations and well dones sounded over the ending music. Reiji ignored this and leaned back in his seat, melancholy rolling over him again.

‘What could I have done differently?’

He asked himself that a lot as an actor when looking back on shows he’d been on or recordings of events he’d been in. Thinking back on those and studying what he’d done helped him improve. This time, though, that wasn’t what he was thinking about.

Was there something that could have prevented the tears from those three? Had he missed something from Ai? Was it really okay to move on and let himself believe that Ai really was fine?

These thoughts continued to swirl in Reiji’s head. And then-

The screen lit up again. Silence quickly fell over the theater again, this time of confusion. Everyone was looking at one another with the same silent question: “Was there supposed to be something after the movie?”

Reiji’s eyes locked on the screen. He became aware that his heart was racing. For what, he didn’t know, except he knew he couldn’t look away from whatever unfamiliar scene would unfold.

Blue, blue sky. Endlessly clear blue sea, crystal waves. A familiar sandy shoreline: the location they’d filmed the final scene at.

Then, a voice.

“I’m right here. Where are you?”

“… Ai-Ai…” The shaky whisper escaped Reiji before he knew he was speaking. When had this scene been filmed? If anything, the clear sky and the green trees in the distance made it look recent.

A rustle and sound of pattering feet yanked Reiji’s attention from the screen when it went black. He turned his head just in time to see Haruka racing down the side aisle towards the back of the theater and then out into the lobby. For a moment Reiji was struck with an urge to follow her, one he forced down.

‘… Hope, huh?’ That was exactly what Haruka’s hurried form had been declaring, the same feeling rising in his own chest.

Haruka was excited, and now Reiji was too.

==/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\==

Two days later, for the first time in months, Ai replied to Reiji’s text. Reiji had sent them almost daily, his usual rambling chatter about things that had happened during the day along with various queries about how Ai had been doing. As time went on he’d begun asking more and more if everything was really okay, even messing up once and letting slip that he was worried.

“Though he probably picked up on that already, sharp as he is,” had been Reiji’s dry laugh to himself at that time.

This time had been no different. All Reiji had gone on about was the same mostly pointless things as usual plus a cheery question of if they could hang out when Ai got back. He’d posed that question a couple times before, not that he’d expected any responses for a while now. Why, then, he had continued to send those regular texts was beyond him. Maybe that was some kind of hope? Or maybe he was just bad at giving up?

Regardless Reiji had sent that most recent text during a pause in his most recent job and had put down the phone a moment later to continue working. When he’d gotten back to the break room and spotted the notifications light flashing he’d assumed it would be something about work or perhaps a text from Otoya or a work friend.

When he read the name of the sender, for a moment Reiji’s heart seemed to stop. Four familiar katakana spelling out a nickname. A reply… from Ai.

Reiji fumbled to check it, almost dropping his phone in his haste. The message that opened up on screen was short, as per Ai’s usual, but it was enough to make Reiji smile.

<Okay. Tomorrow afternoon?>

Not only had Ai replied, he’d agreed. What should he reply now? No, wait, that was obvious. He’d make room tomorrow! >Tomorrow afternoon at 3pm! Your studio!< Ai would counter that if he didn’t like it, Reiji didn’t really care.

He didn’t have a chance to put away the phone before the next reply came, even shorter than before: <Okay.> Even to that, Ai had agreed.

“Haha… ahaha…!” A grin had spread over Reiji’s face, quiet laughter of relief and delight coming with it. Somehow, just those few words had lifted a weight from his back. His fingers shook as he typed out one more text. >All righty~! See you then! Been too long and I hear what you’ve been up to!<

… No, not quite the last. For a long moment Reiji’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Should he ask one more thing?

>And I want to know why Kouhai-chan and the others were crying after the Song Festival and where you went.<

This time the reply took much longer, though Reiji had the strangest sense that Ai was debating his reply as well. At last…

<Okay.>

==/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\==

What was he so anxious for this time? Ai had agreed to see him and explain things, so why did Reiji feel nervous about this? Was it because he hadn’t seen the other in several months? Because he felt silly for worrying all this time? Something else?

There he stood, one hand lifted, unable to knock on the door before him. This was Ai’s studio, it was 3 o’clock, he’d said he would be here for crying out loud! All Reiji had to do was knock- wait, there was a bell, should he ring that instead-?

The door opened while Reiji was still fretting over what to do. He jerked back a step, his thoughts flailing. “Um, uh, ummm-!”

“For crying out loud, Reiji, how long as you going to stand there?”

Ai had one hand on his hip and the other on the doorknob, his brow knitted in a very familiar frown of exasperation. As Reiji looked on, dumbstruck, Ai went on, “You’ve been standing there for several minutes. I was going to wait until you rang the bell but you just took so long I got fed up.”

“Ai-Ai…”

“Hm?” Ai met Reiji’s gaze with his head tilted. His expression softened into a small smile. “Well? Don’t just stand there, come in.”

“Uh- r- right!” ‘Snap to it!’ Reiji scolded himself. He barely kept from stumbling when he hurried past Ai into the open studio room that Ai lived in.

As Ai shut the door behind them, Reiji caught a glimpse of silver around his wrist. ‘That’s the bracelet Kouhai-chan got him for his birthday, isn’t it?’ Somehow, seeing that Ai was wearing it set Reiji’s mind at ease. ‘He’s still the same. That’s right. Ai-Ai is still the same.’

“So, you wanted to talk?” That question from Ai startled Reiji just a little. He chuckled weakly.

“C’mon, Ai-Ai, aren’t you going to at least offer me something to drink? Hospitality, hospitality!”

Instead of sighing the way Reiji expected him to, Ai considered it. “You’re right. It’s been a while and I rarely have to host anyone, so I didn’t think about it. I’ll go get-”

“No, no, don’t worry, I was just joking!” Reiji cut across hastily. “I didn’t know what else to start with, that’s all!” He trailed off, just staring at the younger boy.

“… What is it?” Ai’s brow furrowed again. “You’re acting kind of wei-”

“Ai-Ai~!”

“- Whoa?!”

Everything he’d considered saying before he got here had fled Reiji as relief had taken over. Without even thinking about it he’d flung his arms around Ai, not minding that Ai stumbled just a little.

Of course Ai protested. “H- hey, Reiji! What the heck-?! You almost knocked me over, geez…!” Yet he made no attempt to push Reiji off and just heaved a sigh. Again he muttered, “Geez,” followed by what Reiji was certain was a quiet laugh.

“… You didn’t forget, did you?” Reiji’s question was soft, a little muffled. “What I asked yesterday?”

Ai was silent; when he didn’t answer right away Reiji let go and took a step back to see his face. “You didn’t, did you?” he pressed. “You of all people wouldn’t forget.”

“No, I didn’t, you don’t have to get all worked up like that,” grumbled Ai. Again Reiji laughed, louder than before.

“Haha, of course not, you wouldn’t forget!”

“I wouldn’t… again…”

“Hm? What was that?” Reiji missed part of what Ai mumbled there. “Something- again?”

A sigh from Ai, who folded his arms. “It’s… hmmm. I’m not sure where to begin.”

Then Ai wasn’t going to pass it off with “it’s nothing?” That was a surprise. Unless it had something to do with what Reiji had asked him yesterday.

Silence fell for about long ten seconds. The one to break it was Ai, in an unexpected way. He heaved another sigh, looked right at Reiji, and said, “I wanted to see you. And thank you.”

Reiji was floored. He gaped, floundered for words, and at last came out with a breathy laugh. “Wha… ahaha! C’mon, you’re gonna make me blush~!”

“I’m serious, Reiji.” Ai was smiling again, not widely but a real smile. “Haruka told me you were worried about me and that you comforted her, Syo and Natsuki the day of the Song Festival. And all those texts from you- well, frankly, they took forever to look through when I was finally able to read them, and at first they were annoying… but after a while I realized you were just worried. I’m sorry about that, and thank you.”

Again, speechlessness silenced Reiji. He only managed a few stutters. “Y- you… so… sorry…?”

“Hey, is it that shocking? Even I can be sorry about things.” Both disappointment and irritation had Ai’s cheeks puffing out in unusual childishness. The sight and his words stirred some sense back into Reiji.

“Haha, yeah.” He took a deep breath. Now was his chance to say some of the things that had been weighing on his mind before things got awkward.

“Phew… Listen, Ai-Ai. You know that Kouhai-chan and the other two have been worrying about you the whole time you were gone, right?” A suddenly serious question, but Reiji needed to say it. If not now, maybe not ever.

Ai’s gaze dropped. “… Yeah. I’ve already talked to them and apologized.”

“Good, because they were pretty darn torn up when you… disappeared.” At those words Ai’s eyes snapped back to Reiji; although he said nothing, the unasked question was obvious: “What do you mean?”

Reiji went on with his gaze locked on Ai’s, “Maybe that’s not exactly what it was. All I know is that I couldn’t find you after you were up on stage that day, and immediately after I found your partner and two kouhai crying. No one saw anything of you from then on. It was like you just- just vanished.” He paused. “Frankly, worried as I’ve been, I want to sock you one too for that. So, Ai-Ai… could you tell me what’s been going on?”

No answer came immediately. Reiji waited, trying to slow his racing heart. He was anxious, he was excited, he was scared. This wasn’t like several years ago when he’d first met Ai and had gotten such a shock to see someone so identical to Aine standing before him. This was Ai, with all Ai’s memories and experiences and connections. Could he hope that he’d formed enough of a bond that Ai would trust him?

When Ai next opened his mouth, Reiji held his breath to hear. “I told you I’d tell you, so I’ll tell you what I can. No… I’ll tell you what I want to, as much as I want to. But… just answer one thing first.”

“Hm? What is it?”

“Can you promise that you’ll tell me what you know about Kisaragi Aine?”

Goosebumps rose along Reiji’s arms. He sucked in a shaky breath, his mind reeling. No, he had to calm down. There was nothing strange about Ai asking about Aine. A good number of people knew they looked and sounded alike, he could have picked it up from anyone. Perhaps even Haruka, who had asked Reiji directly and who knew that Aine and Reiji had been friends.

The steady seriousness in Ai’s gaze told Reiji that this wasn’t an idle question, that whatever would come from it and from each of their answers would be deep. And Reiji let out a long, slow breath and smiled.

“Yeah. I’ll tell you what I know.”

Ai examined him for several seconds, and then smiled as well.

“Thanks. Okay. I’ll tell you… everything.”

He lifted a hand and tapped the side of his neck…

[pianosmasher]

My dad had this reputation when he started working office jobs. He was extremely kind in day-to-day interactions, but everyone was on edge when he would walk into a board meeting with the rest of the office. He lacked a certain amount of tact when it came to interpreting the typical mores of office culture, and though he majored in political science, his business instincts didn’t seem to be impacted by his studies. Even well into his thirties and forties, he maintained a low tolerance for anything he perceived as bullshit, and was often vocal about that low tolerance by accident or otherwise.

He told me this story when I was younger about a lawyer who was assigned as the legal consultant for the software development firm he worked for in his twenties. He, the lawyer, and my father’s boss were meeting about something when my father got the feeling that they were talking “around” something about the lawyer. I don’t remember the details, but it had to do with the lawyer’s work ethic, because the line that stopped the meeting was my dad saying, “wait. You’re telling me you’ve just been sitting on this issue for six years now, and we paid you for that?” The other two men in the room immediately packed up their briefcases and rescheduled for another date - without my father in the room this time. He told me at the time, he didn’t realize the lawyer was not only a family friend of the CEO, but had been working there for over a decade. His boss told him he simply couldn’t talk like that to someone who was basically his superior. My father grit his teeth, took mental notes, and got back to work.

When he became his own boss after starting his own company, this tendency of his didn’t fade. My father hired plenty of family friends over the years, and by the time I was born, his business was entirely staffed by his best friend from childhood, two of our neighbors, my mom, and even his own father. Company meetings rarely got intense, but when they did, the room would zip up back into silence - only this time, the meetings kept going. My father never raised his voice unless legitimately threatened, so it’s important to note that awkward silences weren’t created out of a latent fear buried under the pressure to work for a paycheck. His words could just cut like a knife at times, especially if you let him down on something he trusted you with.

I always wondered how, whenever I tried to start up a project with friends and family, I never got the consistent results that my father did when he ran his business the same way. I realize now that my dad could be both a boss at work and a friend outside of it because he had mastered the art of telling the truth. He never exaggerated it, but never sugarcoated it, either. When people describe someone as a “straight shooter,” really what they mean is that that person is somewhere on a spectrum between sardonic and inconsiderately blunt. I considered my father one of the few people who actually could play something as it laid. He’d make sure it hurt just enough to push for a change in behavior, and then he’d back off entirely.

So that was his reputation. When it came to my father, you either delivered or you got laid bare in front of the company. It’s not a mistake that my father supported the Patriot Act. He believed in having nothing to hide, and if he caught you trying to hide something at work, he would draw it out. In social terms, that makes you impossible to predict for a person living on autopilot. He, like myself and my brother, often went undescribed by others. You either knew him or you didn’t. And being iconoclastic leads to some interesting developments.

For one thing, offices try to be fun. Employees spending half their waking hours in an office space try to make everything more bearable in small, subtle ways - like a monthly round of board games, or hanging up posters on the outside of cubicles. My dad’s office in particular used to play classic rock while everyone would wait for videos to render. So what do you do with a boss who’s iconoclastic, known for small moments of a restrained temper? You leave him gifts. My dad told me after a tough meeting, he could always find a figurine of a dinosaur on his desk. My family has a tradition in which all men in the family have names that begin with an “R” (which is why we all have the same initials), and so my father found out his office nickname: the (T-)Rex. 

He took a strange pride in all those little dinosaurs over the years. They’d line the edge of his desk for me to play with, though he’d always insist I put them back. I think he was happy to be known for his commitment to cutting out the bullshit. Maybe a part of him never left that boardroom with that lawyer all those years previous. Maybe he didn’t want to forget what set him apart from other CEOs his employees could be dealing with. Maybe I’ll get to ask him someday.

I have several instances of legitimate, tangible proof that my office is terrified to talk to me directly. I don’t know why they would be. There’s an older employee here who came to my desk and personally thanked me for talking with him about his previous life as a pianist for a musical theater company. A developer in IT also personally thanked me last week when, after having his work visa denied outright, he was forced to return to his country with two days’ notice - I left him a handwritten note thanking him for his service, and was apparently the only one in my branch of the office to do so. I even taught a coworker how to play some video game music on guitar at a work event. All that coming from a guy who’s half everyone’s age, 5′7″ on a good day, and dresses like he’s wearing hand-me-downs (because, y’know, I am). And yet I’ve seen people wait to go to their desk and email me instead of talking to me about something, drop hints in the form of strategically-placed notes around the office, or bury their criticisms of my work performance in euphemism. It’s confusing.

But I find myself thinking of the dinosaurs. I look back on my conduct in meetings and think, maybe the T-Rex has its teeth out today. It’s difficult to get a personal evaluation out of a professional environment, so I can’t say for sure. But I think that low threshold for bullshit runs in the family, and it’s starting to leak out of my bloodstream and into an aura that surrounds me at work. Some days that gets me down - I work hard to try to stay approachable, especially in a professional setting - but other days I try not to worry about it. I can’t control what others think of me, and so long as I’m not a totally irredeemable piece of snark, they may come around in time anyway.

I get told by friends that I can have a calming presence. I get treated by coworkers like I can be intimidating. I’m increasingly drawn to the conclusion that that contradiction is hereditary. And I do hope that it’s a fair conclusion, because it makes me feel more at home with myself in my place of work. One more family tradition couldn’t hurt, right?