#Roy is more and more sheepish he encouraged this

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC Phantom Punk: We are the Outlaws

Back on my punk Danny AU

So punk is pretty anti-authoritarian, loud, fast, and contains a lot of anger, anger at how the world is. It can also be very compassionate to the downtrodden an those the system fails

You know who else has a lot of anger and compassion?

Jason Todd

Jason Todd, the second Robin, the Red Hood. The man was born to be punk.

Danny just works as a punk. His villains range from the government to a Billionaire to a ghost cop. It makes more sense than not for his experiences to have turned him in that direction, and let's face it one Sam Mason would have helped, even if punk and goth are different

So we have one dead punk boy living in a shitty apartment in Gotham, and we have another dead punk boy moving into a shitty apartment in Gotham

They're neighbors(I'd say roommates for the meme but Jay needs the added privacy)

So now we have two punks with messed up sleep schedules living next door to each other. They clearly vibe, they hang out, go to each other's apartments and Jason practically force feeds Danny a healthy meal that has enough preservatives in it to give Ra's a run for his money

Then Jason got careless

Jason, after accidentally mentioning the outlaws multiple times during a phone call, now has to deal with the fact that Danny thinks it's the band he's in. It's fine, all he has to do is play it cool, roll with it and it'll be no big deal

being unable to shut his mouth, he actually digs himself deeper. Now, Danny doesn't just want to see them play, he wants to join, and Jason has made the mistake of saying he needs to ask the band first, only to call Roy who is a little shit and goes "Yeah he can join our band."

Cut to Jason, Starfire, and a sheepish Roy scrambling to actually be a punk band as they get sucked further and further into committing to the bit

or

Fake Band au, like a fake dating au but with more people and instruments and probably ends in polyamory

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #phantom punk #punk au #Phantom Punk AU #red hood and the outlaws #sometimes a relationship is based off of several comedic misunderstandings and committing to the bit #Roy is more and more sheepish he encouraged this #Starfire is amused #Danny is somehow oblivious and is just impressed how much the band is improving #and then gets them a pretty major gig #I just want you to imagine Jason as the shirtless singer in a hardcore punk band #did you picture it? #Now you understand my vision

[danistartt]

Jamie Tartt's Awful Breakfast and Lovely Morning

pairings: jamie tartt x reader, roy kent warnings: reader is not a very good cook, fire?, language a la kent about: a request about reader not being a very good cook and jamie kind of liking it, and a request about touchy jamie <3

“You don’t have to get up with me ev’ry day, babe,” Jamie insists, his honesty doubted when he rests his chin against your shoulder.

“I don’t mind. I miss you when you’re gone.” You shrug, trying your best to keep the motion identifiable but unbothersome for the man gnawing at your skin. You laugh at him, shimmying your shoulders to get him away. “Jamie, what are you doing?”

“Y’smell good,” he hums. 

“It’s the batter,” you say. Jamie disagrees. “Can you get some butter, please?”

Jamie raises a brow and looks over to your hands, busy with the flour. Clumpy yellow bubbles trap more white into sticky goo. “More, love?”

“Yeah.” You wrinkle your nose, scraping gross residue off your index before sticking it back inside the mix. “I don’t think I used it right. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to melt it?”

“What’d the recipe say?” Jamie asks, opening the fridge.

“Soften. But there are different levels of soft, right?” You grimace at your concoction, but take your free hand and wrap it around the stick of butter he hands you. 

He watches you settle into your position, microwave ignored. “What’re you doin’?”

“Softening,” you murmur, concentrating on your mixture.

“Don’t ya think we’ve advanced a little further than that as humanity?”

“You’d think, huh?” Your fingers squeeze a little tighter.

He stares at the jutted bottom lip, the little lines between your brows, and decides you must be right. With only a chunk of your attention, you’re trying to figure out a way to rush heat into the stick of butter through your palm. He bites his lip. “We have mix,” he offers.

Your head swivels toward him, features scandalized. “I’m doing good!” you defend.

“I know,” he says. “You’re doing great, I can see that.”

“I wanted to make them from scratch. With love.”

“You are.”

“They’re easy,” you insist, turning back to your task with a distressed look on your face. You squeeze the butter a little harder, the wet noises of your mixing speeding up. The butter’s wrapped ends crinkle. “It just needs more butter.”

Very suddenly, you drop the bar inside the bowl, holding its greasy wrapper between your middle and index. Jamie winces as it plops in, some of the mix drooling onto the counter.

Nodding happily, you shove both hands inside the too-small bowl and look at him over your shoulder with a grin. “See?” You wince when your nails glide into the cold middle, recovering quickly in a facade of surety.

He nods, eyebrows uneven in light concern, but encourages you anyway, trying not to shudder at the sound before you decide you’re finished and begin pouring it onto a hot pan already smeared with more butter.

It’s both too runny and too thick, creating a wavy circle in the center of your pan. You frown at it, looking at your batter again. “Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“That doesn’t look very right, does it?”

Jamie loops an arm around your waist and presses a noisy kiss to your cheek. “I like it. Like a flower.”

“A wobbly flower,” you comment, leaning toward it, “that’s not bubbling.”

“I don’t think they’re supposed to bubble, love.”

“Inverse bubbling,” you explain. “Nothing is happening, is it on?”

Jamie turns the knob very gently, satisfied when it rotates easily. “Yeah. Give it a second.”

“It’s not doing the thing!” you exclaim, grabbing the spatula and flipping it too early. Jamie watches as it splatters part of the stove and streaks a thin line across the counter. He breathes in, about to say something, and decides against it.

“It’s bubbling,” you say optimistically, sheepish at its ends.

You’re correct. Thin, popped-bubble circles peek out from the edges of the lump-petals. “Huh,” Jamie says inquisitively, leaning in. “That’s interestin’.”

Your brows knit. “I think that’s good.”

Jamie is inclined to disagree, but he refuses to.

“It’s browning really quickly,” you observe, turning it over. It’s splotchy, but it should be fully cooked. You plop it on a plate, lips pinching and face struggling to stay proud.

“It smells edible. Could even say good,” Jamie comforts.

“It’s the bacon.” You say solemnly, poking at it with your spatula, its sizzling soft and barely beginning.

“No,” he says stubbornly, edged hair poking the curve of your arm. 

You pluck a fork from your cupboard and cut a neat square of pancake, popping it into your mouth. Jamie watches you chew amusedly, raising an eyebrow when you look down at your flapjack forlornly, a defeated realization on your face.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

You swallow solemnly, meeting his eyes. “I forgot the sugar.”

Jamie inhales, the air stuttering in his throat before shifting into a laugh. You look so sad, and he wraps you up in his arms, kissing your temple through soft laughter. You slump into his chest.

“It was not good,” you admit. “It was really gross.”

“I love ya,” he tells you, still chuckling. “You—” he snorts, “You’re great, you know that?”

“This is awful, Jamie,” you moan, making him laugh harder against the crown of your hair. 

“It’s not,” Jamie insists. “We still have the bacon.” He giggles and you watch him, pointy strands of hair prodding his cheekbones.

“Where’s your headband?” you ask, lowering the heat on the stove to turn to the man next to you. You cup a side of his jaw with your hand and pull hair away from his face with a frown.

“Broken.” He mimics your motions, both of his hands flat against your cheeks and squeezing with a careful mischief.

Breakfast failure forgotten, you huff, dropping your fingers to circle around his wrist and pulling him to your bathroom. You lead him inside and push his shoulders to sit him down. He watches as you pull little boxes out of the cabinet, hooking an index inside and pulling out random colors of bands, big and small.

You find a yellow-lined one that seems appropriate and turn to him again. “This should fit even you and your big head,” you murmur affectionately, gently combing his hair back to tug it on. He shuts his eyes when you drag it over his face, pinkies keeping it from brushing against even the highest of his pretty features. You use your index to fix his sliced brow, marriage fixing the band to fit his face. You drop a sweet kiss at his hairline, wiping it away as if it left a mark. “Perfect.”

“Thank you,” he says very quietly, light eyes constellating along your pinched lashes and pursed lips.

“I don’t know what you keep doing to these,” you scold playfully, slipping two others, a glittery blue one and a speckled pink, out of your tray to hand to him.

“Me big head,” he reasons, the left edge of his lips quirking up at your laugh.

“Probably,” you say.

He stares at you for nearly a second before realizing he has no reason to hold back, the heat of his palms grazing your ears when he kisses you.

You hum, delighted, and hook your arms around his waist. “Jamie,” you murmur, nudging his nose with yours.

He laughs against you, pulling away to see your confusion. “You taste like batter.”

You grimace. “Not very good?”

"You always taste good," he rebuts easily, stealing another kiss. He smiles at you when he pulls away, that wonderfully insolent lid to his eyes. You are putty in his hands. He knows this too well.

You twirl a blond strand of his hair around your finger. “Did you use that hair mask I got you?”

“A li’l while ago. Worked great.” He presses his lips against the hard hill of your cheek.

“You’re supposed to use it regularly.”

“Can you do it?”

“Right now? You don’t have enough time, babe.”

“Then when I come home.”

“Sure. We can use those cucumber things I’ve been meaning to try out, too.”

“Can’t wait,” he tells you, crushing you in a sudden hug. You laugh in surprise, going limp in his arms.

“What has gotten into you?” you ask, wriggling in his hold when he presses open-mouthed kisses to the thin skin of your neck.

“I can’t touch ya now?” he teases, a cruel finger digging into your ribs. You squeal, twisting away from him. He only catches your cheek, biting above your jaw with just enough pressure to sting. 

“When has that ever happened?” you challenge, turning your face to finally catch his lips.

“Does right now count?” he asks against your mouth, diving back in to press a harsh kiss to your bottom lip.

“Right now is not an example,” you laugh, quiet. His palm smooths over your cheek. 

“Agree to disagree,” he offers with one last kiss. “‘Cuz I like ya.”

You snort, pushing him away. He doesn’t let you, dragging his hands down to your waist and keeping them there. “I’m honored.”

He shakes hair away from his eyes, giving up when it does little. You raise an index finger to do it for him when the fire alarm shriekingly cuts in. It bumps harmlessly against the rise of his eyebrow, landing very sorrowfully in sorry circles on his temple when you and he flinch.

You turn your face away from him and toward the door. It only takes you a moment to realize what is going on, the smell of burnt bacon sudden and harsh.

“Fuck,” you say, scrambling to the kitchen.

Your breakfast is but a dark chunk of coal when you arrive, plumes of smoke gathering at the ceiling like a flipped waterfall. You turn off the stove and wince at your tragedy while Jamie shuts off the alarm and opens the doors, pulling you away from the worst of the fog after too long of your lingering.

“You’ll inhale smoke,” he warns.

“It's the only edible part of our breakfast,” you say mournfully.

“Not anymore.”

You snort and lean against him, pouting at your little garden still clothed in the residue of pale moonlight. The flowers haven’t even opened their petals yet. “I’m sorry you won’t get bacon for breakfast today. Or flapjacks.”

“S’okay.” Jamie shrugs, genuine pleasantry leaning delight. “I’m distractin’. You got distracted.”

“So did you,” you oppose.

“You’re distractin’ too.” He grins at you, dropping a swift kiss along your forehead.

“I’ll drop you something off today,” you amend.

“You don’t hav’ta do that, love.”

“I want to. I’ll go to that cafe and get you one of those sandwiches you like. And cookies.” Your smile goes gooey. “Maybe a cinnamon roll.”

Jamie raises an amused eyebrow. “Alright, then.”

You inhale deeply, face contorting at the smoky vignette it comes with. “Do you think the smoke went up to our room?”

“Probably. Stay out here for a little after I leave.”

You moan at the stars. “It’s like five AM. It’s cold out here.”

A loud noise erupts from the opposite end of the house; Roy has arrived.

“He’s earlier than usual,” Jamie muses.

“Give him some of the leftover eggs,” you urge. “And apologize.”

Jamie stares at you quizzically. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I told him I’d send breakfast today and because none of it is fit for human consumption, I’m sending something we bought yesterday.”

“You talk about my breakfast with Roy Kent?” Jamie sputters.

You glare at him, rushing inside to collect the container. “I feel as though you’ve missed the point.” The smoke that continues to linger rushes hatefully into your throat. “Not your breakfast. His breakfast.”

“What? Why?” Jamie asks no one, staring at the little case of eggs you shove into his hands.

“Because I thought it would be nice for him to have one.” You give his dazed face his goodbye kiss before opening the door. Roy stands in your doorway, clearly impatient. He gives you a tight smile.

“Hello.” You smile, some smoke rippling from behind you. 

“Hello,” Roy says, slanting two fingers in greeting. He watches the plumes swirl around you with an upturned bushy eyebrow.

You wave it away. “Sorry, we had a little incident.” 

You shove Jamie out the door. Roy watches him stumble beside him. “No rush.”

Jamie turns to him, nose wrinkling. “Right. The poundin’ of the door really says that.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “You haven’t seen me impatient, Tartt.”

“Will I?” Jamie dares, glancing at you. “By the way—totally unrelated—lovely, lovely y/n’s sent you some breakfast today.”

Roy follows his line of sight and growls. “No,” he answers.

Jamie steps closer to you with a cheeky smile and kisses you goodbye. “Love ya.”

“I love you too. Have fun. Be nice,” you tell him.

“Tell that to Kent!”

“I’m nice,” Roy grunts. “I’m like a fucking golden retriever.”

“I can see that,” you nod supportively. 

Roy juts a thumb toward you.

Jamie shakes his head, lips parted. “I don’t like this.”

“And I don’t fuckin’ care,” Roy buts in. “Let’s go.” He ducks his chin at you respectfully. “Y/n.”

You mimic his motion. “Roy.”

Jamie looks between you two, an index gesturing lazily. "Stop that."

“How about you stop blabberin’ and start runnin’?”

“I’ll see you later, Jamie,” you assure, pulling him in for one last kiss. “I recommend you run, babe.”

“Me too,” Roy barks, a few steps away. “Babe.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tart fic #jamie tartt fluff #jamie tartt #jamie tartt reader insert #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x reader fluff #jamie tartt fic #roy kent #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic

[flashfuture]

I seem to be a batfam mood lately and I just saw one of those diapers commercials. You know the, by the second kid every parent is an expert ones. Where at baby number one parents are a neurotic mess but after some experience they learn what works and what doesn’t more or less. 

And off on a spiral my brain went. I might actually write a fic out of this one. But I was immediately struck by a twenty something year old disaster of a man Bruce Wayne over parenting the heck out of Dick. Not as Robin because we all know how insanely split Bruce’s psyche is when it comes to Batman and Robin. 

But Bruce Wayne as a new parent to Dick Grayson. It’s fall in New Jersey and there’s a slight breeze on the air. Dick is bundled head to toe. In the summer Bruce still makes him take a sweater to Titan meetings just in case. Roy finds this hysterical just like they find his insane amount of health food that Ollie packs him with.

Bruce is checking him for a fever constantly. He gets into a google spiral even though he is well aware of the symptoms of a cold. Leslie is called way too many times because Dick has a stomach ache. That’s the only reason she was certain Bruce would keep that boy safe. 

Bruce had Dick’s skin and hair analyzed by experts to get specialized skin and hair care products. When Dick is older he’s so confused why he can’t find anything like he used to own or that will make his hair as shiny. He’s not about to ask Bruce though. 

Dick’s room from what I recall when he moved out for college was filled to the brim with things. I’m thinking Bruce walked into a toy store and demanded everything fit for an eight year old. 

When he and Dick watch movies Bruce finds he spends more time covering Dick’s eyes and sometimes even flips the movie off because he does not remember it being that inappropriate. If he thinks the movie will make Dick cry he just refuses to show it to him. Dick is thirteen with the Titans the first time he watches Old Yeller. It was Wally’s idea, it was a bad idea. None of the others had seen it. Barry got the cold shoulder for weeks at JLA meetings. 

Bruce has the cars and WE stocked with snacks for Dick. When he realizes how much food helps improve Dick’s mood he has every break room filled to the brim with food and drinks free for the taking. 

And on the topic of food at every gala Bruce insists on testing Dick’s food first. No way in hell is Dick getting poisoned on his watch. 

Bruce turns around at WE and Dick isn’t with him and he can’t see him. The entire building is on a full scale lockdown and a code Amber Alert is moments from being sent out when Dick comes out of the vents looking sheepish. No one is surprised Dick is fourteen this has happened at least six times this year already. The security guards at WE events hate Dick Grayson duty because it is a fact they will loose him and Mr. Wayne will flip out on them. 

Alfred had to stop Bruce from baby proofing the kitchen because it would have only encouraged Dick to get into trouble. 

Bruce freaked out when he realized how small Dick was and got booster seats for all of his cars. Dick printed out New Jersey law that said he only had to stay in it till he was nine. Bruce really tried to push it longer. Dick found a booster seat made for the Batmobile and threw it away.

After Dick falls from the chandelier? Either Bruce has those things reinforced to withstand the weight of a car or he goes full tilt and has them all taken down. 

Dick at seventeen almost strangles Bruce when he asks if he needs to go to the bathroom before they visit the Watchtower. He hated the question when he was eight and it hasn’t gotten better with age. 

And I could go on and on. This is just so funny to me. If anyone thinks of any more please tag them or reply whatever I’d love to read them.

#bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #leslie thompkins #headcanon #dc comics #batfam

[heyitsani]

I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 8

Word Count: 9234

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character death, Mentions of past rape/non-con (past)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent

Notes: I am completely dissatisfied with this chapter but it is what it is.  Big time jump at the last part, but the descriptions make it pretty evident.

Next chapter is back to present time.

If you have not read When You Move I Move, this one won’t really make much sense.  So you can read that here: WYMIM

You can also read this chapter on AO3 here

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

Standing before the doors that would lead him and Jon to the room where he could hear his family members talking as they waited for dinner to be served, Damian glanced at the man at his side.  The man he was about to announce as one he intended to marry.  All of them probably knew it was coming, but he still found himself a bit nervous.  Would his grandfather approve?  Would his aunt give him that smile of understanding and acceptance?  He knew his father would have approved, he had been the one who had told him to do it without delay, but what of the others?

“We can wait,” Jon offered, his smile not faltering in the least.  “It can remain between the two of us for the time being.  Until you feel more settled, maybe?”

Damian shook his head and looked back to the door.  “No. We are to be married and I refuse to hide away that fact like I am ashamed to love you.”  He felt Jon’s hand squeeze his, and the feeling of the cool metal of the ring on his finger grounded him.  To the point where he pushed forward and allowed the doors to swing open so they could enter the dining hall.

“Grandson,” his grandfather greeted from where he stood with Selina at his side, Ser Roy standing with him. Damian knew they were probably discussing something related the knights, as Damian had asked the former king to be the one to oversee them since he was still adjusting.

“Grandfather, Selina,” Damian replied before looking to Ser Roy.  “Ser Roy, will you be joining us tonight?”  The Knight looked surprised at the question and Damian wondered why silently since the man had joined them plenty of times when his father had been king.

“I…”  The man looked over to his grandfather before he looked back to Damian.  “I would like that, Your Majesty,” he said, giving a bow.  There was a smile on his face that spoke more than the words he said and Damian gave him a nod before he glanced around for his aunt.  

When he didn’t see her anywhere, he looked back to his grandfather.  “Where is Aunt Cass?  I have something I wish to tell you all.”  As if she had heard him asking for her, his aunt came gliding into the room with her friend Stephanie right behind her.  The two women were smiling, laughing at something one of them had said, as they made their way over.

“Nephew!  Prince Jon,” his aunt greeted them before turning to greet her father, step-mother, and Ser Roy.  Damian watched Stephanie give him a bow before she relayed a greeting of her own.

“Please,” Damian waved a hand at Stephanie’s bow.  “Do not feel you need to do that.  You are family just as much as the others at this point.”  The blonde looked surprised but gave a nod of understanding.  “Now that we have all gathered, I would like to tell you all some good news.”  Glancing over at Jon’s who gave his hand another squeeze, Damian smiled.  “I have asked Prince Jon to marry me and he has agreed.”  He turned to look back at his family in various states of shock.

He was not surprised that Selina was the first to offer her congratulations.  He accepted the warm hug and thanked her when she spoke a soft congratulations into his ear.  His aunt and Stephanie followed closely, giving him and Jon each a hug before switching and hugging the other.  When Ser Roy also stepped forward to hug him, Damian was a little caught off guard.

“Jason would be so proud of you,” the knight murmured into his ear before releasing Damian and shaking Jon’s hand.  “Congratulations to you both.  Richard said he hoped this would be the end result of your friendship back when you were just boys.  He spent weeks talking about how to ask the Council to lift the marriage law so it might happen.”

Damian blinked at the man for a moment before looking over to find Jon grinning at the knight.  Damian had told Jon what his father had said on his deathbed, how he had wanted Damian to ask him sooner rather than later, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that the man approved.  But perhaps the fact that he had approved long before Jon himself had figured out how he felt was the difference.

“Grandson,” his grandfather’s voice broke through his thoughts, drawing his green eyes away from his intended to the man who stood just a few inches taller than him.  The man placed both of his hands-on Damian’s shoulders and looked him right in the eye.  “It is no secret that I am a traditionalist.  But with everything that has happened due to that fact, I am quite pleased to hear this news.”  The man looked over to Jon and sent him a rare smile.  “Your father has been a dear friend of mine for many years and the opportunity to join our families is a welcome one.”

And just like that, the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach vanished.  He had been so concerned about the older man’s approval and now that he had it, relief was all he felt.  His father had given his approval and Ser Jason had made it clear he supported Damian in everything he did so he didn’t wonder how the Slayer would have reacted.  But his grandfather?  The former king who was known for being rigid in his beliefs and strict with his rules? He couldn’t have guessed it would be so easy to have the approval.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Jon said formally, giving a small bow.  His grandfather huffed out a laugh before pulling both of them in for a brief hug.  

“You are to be family, please call me Bruce,” the man offered, and Damian smiled as Jon’s face brightened at the offer.  It was not an honor many were afforded, and the other prince was well aware of that fact. “I do believe we should make a toast. Alfred, the best wine in the cellar please?”  The personal manservant gave a nod and hurried off in the direction of where they kept the wine.  “We shall have to have the ceremony as soon as possible.  I will send word to King Kon and Timothy immediately.  We shall plan a wedding to rival all weddings.” He released the two men before turning to speak with Selina about what they would need to get things planned.

“All those nerves for no reason at all, hmm my love?”  Damian looked over at Jon and gave him a sheepish smile, shrugging.  “The fates would not have been so cruel to you. They have been heavy handed as it is. You have earned some happiness.  I just hope that is me.”

“Always, Beloved.”

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

Adjusting the sleeve of his shirt, Damian made his way down the hallway toward his study with the intent of going over some of the most recent requests from the citizens.  He had held the Petitioning the day before and the requests he hadn’t been certain about had been recorded and the Council had come to decisions later that day.  He had just wanted to comb through them one last time before he sent the messengers.

“Nephew,” his uncle’s voice caught his attention, stopping him before he entered the study.  Turning to look at the man who was coming up behind him, Damian waited.  The man had arrived the day before with the King of Metropolis and the Jon’s father for the wedding festivities, but Damian had yet had a moment to really speak with the older man.  “I wondered if we might take a walk to the crypt together?”

That was not something he had expected the man to say, but it didn’t fill him with the dread he thought it would.  He had gone to see the statue of both of his fathers multiple times since their deaths and though it still caused his heart to ache, he found the peace in the crypt welcoming.  He had yet to go there with anyone else though.  Jon had told him that those moments were private in his country, so he didn’t feel right even when Damian made it clear he would be fine with it.

“I would like that, yes,” he agreed with a nod.  He knew he would have time later to look over the orders.  The urgent ones had been handled already anyway.  Continuing on the path toward the exit of the castle, Damian kept in step with his uncle.  He remained silent, nodding at staff members as they saw them and allowing his uncle to greet a few of them by name as they made their way out.  “Have you been back since your arrival yesterday?” The final statue had not been finished before his uncle had left after the Feast, so he was curious if he had gotten the opportunity to see the finished design.

“I have not, but Father mentioned how well it turned out in their likeness.”  Damian simply nodded in agreement.  It was an almost perfect replica of his memory of the two men. And since it was in the royal crypt, there did not need to be a lie in who they were to each other.  “How have you been adjusting, Damian?  There has been much change in such a short amount of time.  I was almost surprised to receive the letter about the wedding.”

Looking at his uncle, Damian stopped walking and tilted his head slightly in consideration.  “Surprised?  But you knew how I felt about Jon.  You encouraged it,” he reminded the man, who laughed and shook his head.  That only served to confuse Damian more.  “I am missing something, aren’t I?”

“Damian, my nephew, you are a great many things but spontaneous is rarely one of them.”  Frowning, Damian considered that.  “I am not meaning for you to take offense to it.  I am simply saying that rarely do you just do something because you want to do it.  There is usually much calculation in your actions.  Your mother’s influence, I believe.”

And yes, he supposed that made sense.  His father loved to just jump right into the thick of things and his mother wanted to know all the variables.  He had always felt he fell somewhere in the middle, but perhaps he was closer to his mother.  But on this particular decision, he knew exactly why he had acted much like his father would have.

“Father told me, the night he died, to ask Jon to marry me as soon as I could.”

His uncle looked unsurprised.  And Damian didn’t feel like it required more of an explanation than that.  So he turned and continued making his way to the crypt with his uncle beside him.  “And the ring?  I suppose Richard told you where he had kept it and what it meant.”

Damian nodded and gestured for the older man to enter the crypt before him.  “It is an honor to see that ring on Jon’s finger knowing it once rested on Ser Jason’s,” he admitted, not looking at his uncle when the man stopped and glanced his way.  Instead, he turned his eyes onto the statue they had come to see.  

The sculptor had turned a crude drawing of Damian’s into a masterpiece.  With his father standing, head bowed, crown on head.  The lines of his robes looked as though they would flutter in the wind, they were so delicately done.  And the soft smile on his face, eyes closed, was just as he would always remember it.  And the figure of Ser Jason with his armour on, head tilted as if whispering in his lover’s ear, spoke of strength and love at the same time.  The stone cut of the Slayer’s hair was just a wind tousled as it always was when he was on the fields training the soldiers.

“It is perfect,” his uncle whispered.  Swallowing against his now tight throat, Damian nodded.  They looked so alive and filled with so much love for each other, Damian could almost pretend they were real.  “Father said it was your design?”

“I drew them just how I remembered them.  The sculptor is the true artist here.”  Reaching out a hand, Damian touched his father’s hand that hung at his side.  He had taken to touching both of their hands before he sent his prayers off.  “They could not be together in life.  But their love can forever be remembered by those of us who remain and those who we leave behind.”  Shifting to touch Ser Jason’s hand, Damian bowed his head and said his silent prayers of peace for both their souls.  Even though he knew there was no peace to be had thanks to his mother.

He felt his uncle come up beside him as he recited the silent prayer but made no move to acknowledge him.  “Though you might not believe it, Nephew, there is very little of your mother in you,” the man said as Damian lifted his head and looked up at the two men captured in stone.  “I know there is a war inside of you.  I know you struggle with the possibility that your mother influenced you more than your father was willing to admit, but you should know this,” the man paused, and Damian looked over at him, “when faced with a decision you have yet to choose a path that she would have wanted you to.”

Dropping his uncle’s gaze, Damian looked back to the statue and considered the older man’s words.  He thought over every decision he had made since his mother had been put to death.  From when he was so scared the people of the kingdom thought he was just like her to when they accepted him as their king.  He thought about the decision to tell Jon he loved him, the decision to ask him to marry him.  His mother would have never approved of any of those choices.  Especially Jon.  She had fought so hard to separate the two of them.

Yet he was set to marry the man in a few days’ time, and he had no regrets.

“She will always be a shadow on my mind though,” Damian admitted, looking back to his uncle.  “It is a constant struggle to consciously not follow the path she spent thirteen years pushing me down.”

“Perhaps,” his uncle shrugged.  “But perhaps you’ll find one day she is no longer a whisper in the back of your mind. Perhaps one day you’ll only hear your own voice.”  He considered the thought before sighing and glancing back toward the exit of the crypt. “I know you have duties to attend to, Nephew.  I would like some time alone with my brother, so do not feel you need to remain on my account.”

Thinking of the papers waiting for him on his desk, he smiled at his uncle.  “Thank you for the discussion, Uncle.  I will see you at dinner.”  The man gave a nod before turning back to the statue and Damian turned to leave.  When he glanced back just before he exited the crypt, he saw the man with his head bowed, pressed to the stone hand of the former king, shoulders shaking.

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

Growing up, he remembered hearing so many say that they were nervous at their handfasting.  So many people told him stories of how they had barely known the one they were to marry and that the ceremony was so permanent that it caused nerves to strike.

Damian found himself waiting at the start of the walkway that would lead him and Jon through the woods to a small glade where their closest friends and family were waiting to bear witness to their pledge to one another.  But he as he stood there, he noticed the nerves everyone had spoken of were absent.  All he felt was impatient.  

Perhaps it was the years of knowing Jon.  Perhaps it was knowing he was absolutely the man he wanted to spend his life with.  

More than that, he just felt at peace.  Like the one thing his father had wanted of him, he was fulfilling.  

“Dami.”  He turned at the sound of his name, smiling at the sight of Jon walking toward him in the familiar colors of red and blue from his homeland.  And though they were not a combination that Damian himself would have picked, he enjoyed the way Jon’s pale skin almost glowed in contrast as the moonlight shone down on them.  His eyes fell on the jewel holding his cloaks together, where there should have been gold and black he found red and black.  And a glimmer of blue.

The same colors Damian had chosen to wear in honor of both of his fathers.

Reaching out to touch the jewel when Jon was within his reach, Damian looked up at the sparkling blue eyes of his soon to be husband.  The man simply smile the all too familiar, mischievous smile Damian knew all too well and offered no explanation.

“Everyone is waiting for us in the glade.”  Jon gave him a nod and took the offered hand from Damian, so they could walk to the ceremony together.  Neither man spoke, as was Gotham tradition for this type of ceremony, as they made the trek further into the woods.  And even though he could see the glade up ahead, he noticed that the forest remained quiet.  Almost as if it were watching with bated breath.

He could relate.

As they stepped into the glade with Jon at his side, Damian felt his spine straighten a bit more in response to being around the others.  And though he knew he didn’t need to impress these witnesses, he still felt he had to maintain his image.  So he remained focused on the Archbishop at the end of the walk, waiting for them.  

He gave a small nod to his uncle, who he had chosen to stand witness for him, which the man returned it with a bright smile.  A glance over at King Kon revealed him doing the same for his brother and Damian felt the expectations melt away as they came to a stop just past the two men, in front of the Archbishop who held his Law of Old.  Damian immediately noticed the chord he and Jon had braided together the night before in front of the fireplace in Damian’s room draped over the open book.  

There had been laughter and tears, hushed words of missing those who could not be there to witness this moment, as they weaved the pieces together.  It had been private and special, something he would never forget.

As the Archbishop began the traditional greeting, Damian glanced over at Jon and found the man smiling as he watched the man before them read his script.  And once again he found himself floored and so thankful that this was his future.  That though his mother had stolen so much from him, she could not manage to steal this.

“King Damian of Gotham and Prince Jonathan of Metropolis, please face one another and take the other’s right hand,” the Archbishop’s words pulled Damian away from his thoughts and he turned to follow the command.  Smiling at Jon, he held his right hand out with the palm facing up.  Without hesitation, Jon placed his own right hand into Damian’s, and they allowed their fingers to curl around the other’s wrist. “Your Majesty, please say the oath.”

Taking a deep breath, Damian looked into Jon’s eyes and tightened his grip.  “Jonathan of House Kent, I take you as you are, loving who you are now and who you are yet to become.  I promise from this day forward to be grateful for our love and our life.  To be generous with my time, my energy, and my affection.  To be patient with you and myself.  To fill our life with adventure and our home with laughter.  To encourage you to grow as an individual, and inspire you to do so. To love you completely,” he spoke confidently, taking in the smile growing wider on Jon’s lips as he recited the vow.  “These things I pledge before you.  And before our loved ones and those who no longer bless this land with their presence.”

Swallowing hard against the tears building in his eyes as he watched a tear slip from Jon’s, Damian returned Jon’s smile as the other man recited the same script.  He tried to ignore the swelling of his heart, the promise of their future in the words, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus otherwise.

“King Damian, do you take Prince Jonathan to be your husband?”

“I do,” he confirmed without looking away from Jon.

“And Prince Jonathan, do you take King Damian to be your husband?”

“I do,” the man whispered, causing Damian’s smile to grow even more than it already had.  Despite the ceremony not being finished, he felt as though he couldn’t be more content.  Could he die from happiness?  It almost felt as though he might.

“The honored have requested to have their witnesses to bind their hands while the blessing is said,” the Archbishop said, gesturing for his uncle and Jon’s brother to move to stand in front of them with the chord in hand.  Glancing over at them, Damian watched the men take one end each and move forward to wrap the chord around his and Jon’s joined hands.  “This is the hand of your best friend, young and strong and full of love for you, that is holding yours on your handfasting day.  As you promise to love each other today, tomorrow, and forever.  These are the hands that will work alongside yours, as together you build your future. These hands will passionately love you and cherish you through the years and with the slightest touch, comfort you like no other,” the man spoke, but Damian turned his attention back to his almost husband.

“These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind.  These are the hands that will, countless times, wipe the tears from your eyes; tears of sorrow and tears of joy.  These are the hands that will help you hold your family as one. These are the hands that will give you strength when you need it.”  He looked down as he felt the tightening of the knot, noticing the two men had joined the chord and were stepping back.  He looked from the knot to his uncle and noticed the man’s blue eyes were glimmering with unshed tears as he watched them.  “And lastly, these are the hands that, even when wrinkled and aged, will still be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a touch.”

The blessing was finished and quiet filled the glade as Damian looked away from his uncle, back to Jon. And he wasn’t surprised to find Jon watching him.  They both knew what was coming.  And though they had kissed plenty of times in the recent weeks, there was something delicate and precious about this moment.

“Your Majesties, under the gaze of the Powers That Be and the witnesses you have called here tonight, I pronounce you bound by love.  May you share your first of many kisses in this moment,” the older man said, encouraging the two men to seal the moment.  

And though Damian wanted to desperately kiss Jon, he called upon all his self-control to slowly lean in and press his mouth to Jon’s.  And though his husband’s lips were entirely too distracting, he could still hear the responding cheers and clapping from those watching the moment unfold.  He could also feel Jon’s laughter against his mouth.  Pulling away from Jon, Damian smiled at the man before looking out toward their family and closes friends.

And though he knew two especially important faces were missing, he could almost feel their presence there with them.

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

The various conversations of the people gathered in the Great Hall washed over him as he made his way through the room, not really pausing much outside of returning a greeting or two.  He knew there would be plenty of time to converse with the guests over the course of the evening, so he stayed true to the path that would take him to his husband’s side.

“Your Majesty,” King Kon greeted with a smirk and a nod of his head.  To which Damian rolled his eyes as he stopped to stand beside his husband, immediately allowing his hand to find Jon’s.

“We are family now, are we not?  No sense in such formalities in a setting like this.”

He watched the other man consider him closely before nodding, looking almost pleased with the response.  “The sentiment is returned then, Damian.”  And Damian simply raised his glass of wine to toast the older man before taking a sip and glancing at his husband.

“Have you eaten yet? I thought I might go see what the staff prepared under the scrutiny of Grandfather.”  Jon shook his head with a laugh and Damian smiled, ignoring the chuckle that came from Kon at the former king’s expense.  “Join me?”

“Yes, I am famished but everyone has been so distracting,” Jon admitted, walking beside Damian as they made their way around the various groups of people.  “Every time I went to grab a bite, someone else stepped into my path.”

“And you wouldn’t want to be rude by telling them that you would speak with them later.”

Jon looked at him with a bit of a gleam in his eye that Damian wasn’t sure how to describe.  “I would never,” the man teased.  “But no, I could not in this instance.  If I am to live among these faces for the remainder of our days, I should not want to offend them so early in the marriage.” Damian hummed and nodded to the head chef who stood near the table, taking stock of all the items laid out on the table.

“Your Majesties,” the chef greeted with a wide smile and a bow.  “I have prepared a few of the items you requested, My King.  I am not certain of how close to Metropolis quality they are, but I did have his former Majesty there to taste a few of the items.  He gave his approval.”

Damian nodded and gave her a warm thank you before turning to speak to Jon.  He found the man already looking at him, a bit of a surprised look on his face.  “Beloved?”

“You requested some food from home?”

“Well,” he shrugged, feeling a little awkward, “I wanted to be sure this was about you just as much as it was about me.  The party itself is for the citizens who wish to celebrate with their ruler, but why should it just be our cuisine they experience?  You are just as much their ruler now, even if we have yet to officially crown you.”

He shifted a bit when Jon continued to stare at him as he spoke.  He didn’t think what he had done was that big of a deal, but the way Jon was looking at him made it seem like it must be.  A good one, he hoped.  

“Some more wine, Your Majesties?”  A server asked, unaware of the moment between the two men.  He held a plate with a jug to refill glasses and Damian broke Jon’s gaze to glance down at his mostly empty glass.  

“Please,” he responded, holding his glass out for the server to fill.  “You do not have a glass, Beloved?”  He questioned, noticing Jon’s empty hands.

“I shall return immediately!”  The server hurried off before either could say anything, but Jon seemed to have barely noticed.

Placing his free hand on Jon’s cheek, Damian searched his eyes.  He wasn’t certain what it was he was looking for, but something.  Perhaps a hint at to what was going on in the other man’s mind at the moment.  The slightly stunned look still covered his features, but there was something else. Something more.  And though it looked familiar, he couldn’t quite place the emotion.

But the need to dissect it was eliminated when Jon pushed forward and pressed their mouths together, much to the delight of the people standing near them.  Damian could hear the cheering and laughing from the people surrounding them, but he ignored it in favor of enjoying his husband for a moment. He knew this was a change for the kingdom.  His mother and father had not been in love or even liked one another.  So seeing their King being affectionate was probably a bit of a surprise.  But a good one, from the sounds of it.

“Beloved?”  Damian questioned when Jon pulled back enough to allow them to breathe.  He blinked his eyes open and found Jon looking at him with that look.  The one that made his heart quicken and his stomach swoop.

“Thank you for being you,” Jon said quietly, as though he wanted that to remain between them.  It wouldn’t since there were far too many people within hearing distance, but Damian chose to ignore that.  “You never fail to surprise me with your thoughtfulness.” And Damian’s confusion must have shown on his face because Jon was laughing and pulling further away, gesturing at the table of food.  And Damian understood.  

He hadn’t thought much of it when he made the suggestion to the chef, but he was glad that it worked in his favor.  And he didn’t really think it was a very big gesture worthy of this kind of reaction, but he wasn’t going to fight Jon on it.  Especially when the man kissed him like that without giving the people around them a second thought.

“Here you are, Your Majesty,” the server came rushing over with a wine glass for Jon, giving a bow as Jon took the glass from the tray with a thank you.  “Can I do anything else for either of you?”

Damian chuckled at the man and shook his head.  “No, I do believe we are just fine.  Thank you.” The server bowed again and moved away, and Damian just smiled.  “Shall we eat?  There is something I wish to show you once we have made a few rounds in the room.”  Jon looked at him curiously, but nodded and turned toward the tables of food to direct a staff member which items he wanted on his plate.  Damian followed suite and led his husband over to their designated table where his grandfather and wife were currently sitting at one end and his Aunt Cass at the other.

They spent the following hours talking with the citizens who paused to pass along their congratulations, Damian making sure to make personal addresses to the ones he remembered from either private audiences or from previous gatherings.  He watched Jon question each person as if he would sear them all into his memory, wanting to know each and every person who lived within their borders.

It warmed Damian more than he wanted to admit.  And selfishly, he was thankful that Jon was to be a ruler in Gotham instead of Metropolis. They were two very different people, but Jon brought something to the kingdom that Damian had never been able to quite get the hang of.  He was humble.  And while Damian knew he was not prideful in the way his mother had been, he did still struggle with the idea that he was still better than certain others.  He would probably always struggle with that.

But Jon balanced that out with his humility and Damian was thankful.

Pushing to his feet once there was a break in the never-ending line of well-wishers, Damian held his hand out to Jon.  “Come with me, I have something I wish to do,” he told his husband with a small smile. He watched Jon take his hand and stand before glancing over at his grandfather and giving him a nod.  “We’ll go through the gardens,” he said as he guided them out of the Great Hall and into the cooling air of the summer night.

Gotham summers were hot, but thankfully their evenings cooled into something much more tolerable. Especially when he and Jon were required to be in their ceremonial robes for a celebration such as this.  

Silently, he led his husband through the gardens, weaving through the maze with practiced ease.  He was reminded of playing games with his father and Ser Jason when he was little, listening to his tutor as they walked the gardens between lessons, and spring days following Titus as he chased after birds and various flying bugs.

“Your Majesties,” a man with golden hair greeted with a bow as they reached one of the buildings near the stables.  Damian gave him a smiled as Jon said his hello.  “I have what you asked for in the back, if you’ll follow me.”

“Yes, thank you,” Damian said, moving to follow the man but pausing when Jon tugged on his hand. Looking over at his husband, Damian raised a brow.  “Beloved?”

“What is going on here, Dami?”

Damian smiled and shrugged. “You shall have to follow and find out.” Taking a few steps forward, Damian allowed their arms to stretch their limit with their hands still clasped.  “It is a surprise and one I think you shall like very much.  So just come.”

Jon frowned before Damian saw him sigh and nod, walking forward and allowing Damian to lead them into the building.  The inside wasn’t anything impressive and certainly didn’t give anything away, to which Damian was thankful.  

“Ah, there you are,” the man commented as Damian reached the only room that was lit by firelight. Peeking his head into the room, he noticed the present innocently laying on the floor and Damian smiled.  

“I had your father pick it out, but it was my idea for him to bring him from Metropolis,” Damian explained as he stepped into the room and Jon followed.  It took a few seconds before Jon noticed what it was Damian was talking about.

With a surprised gasp, Jon released Damian’s hand and rushed forward to look down at the small white dog that had yet to notice their presence.  But as soon as Jon knelt down next to it, the dog’s head lifted and his tiny tail began to wag.

“I thought Titus could use a playmate since my attention is now to be much more split than before,” Damian explained when Jon looked back to him as the dog jumped up and into his arms. When Jon’s laughter sounded as the dog began licking his face, Damian felt his heart squeeze.  

“Does it have a name?”

“No he does not.”

Jon looked down at the dog who was panting happily as Jon pet his head and seemed to examine the dog closely.  “Krypto,” he said, pulling a questioning sound out of Damian’s throat.  “A protective deity from back home.  He may not grow to the size of Titus, but I can tell he is going to be fierce.”

“I like that,” Damian nodded.  Pushing to his feet, Jon picked up the dog and walked over to where Damian still stood by the doorway.  “So you like him then?”

“I love him,” Jon confirmed. Damian wasn’t surprised when his husband leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips to show that very appreciation.  “I love you. Thank you for giving me so much from back home.”

“You are leaving much behind.  I am glad I can bring at least a bit of it to you in order to make the transition easier.” Jon’s smile softened at that and Damian looked away at the gentleness of it.  “I had the staff bring everything he would need to our rooms during the celebration. Shall we introduce him to his big brother?”  

Jon laughed and nodded, this time leading Damian out of the room and back out into the night air.  Watching his husband dote on the small dog seemed to be a glimpse into their future as fathers and while he knew neither of them were quite ready for that, it did a lot to quell any nerves he might have had at the thought.

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

“But we need to think about this logically,” one of the Council members said as another tried to explain why sending more grain to the outer limits was a good idea for the winter. Damian had been sitting at the head of the table, Jon sitting in the spot just to his left where Damian had always sat when his father was king, listening to them talk in circles for far too long and it was starting to grate on him.  The first three weeks of their marriage, Damian had appreciated Jon’s ability to keep Damian relaxed and calm when the meetings started getting out of order. But today, not even his husband’s unending calm could stop his annoyance from rising

“We have the reserves, do we not?”  Damian finally spoke up, rubbing at his temple.  He stood and waved a hand for one of them to pass the parchments to him. “Thank you,” he said to the servant who handed them over.  Looking down at the numbers, he did the quick math in his head and tried to see what the problem was.  “According to this we have more than enough.  What is the issue with sending more than the usual amount to those who need it?”

“They have not increased their contributions to the stockpile, Your Majesty.  It is not about us not needing it, it is about others getting the idea that they can get more without giving more.”  It was a fair point and Damian knew that.  His logical side knew what the man was getting at.

He knew that people could take advantage of their kindness.  But he also knew that his job was to care for those who were under his rule. He could not do that if they starved through the winter.

“If I may?”  Jon’s voice sounded, pulling the attention of everyone else at the table.  The question was sent to Damian, but the others all nodded, and Damian slipped over the papers as he took a seat.  Jon took them and glanced over the numbers before putting them down.  “I do not believe thinking the absolute worst is helpful in this situation.  Other villages are not going to see a way to get more for less.  They are going to see a kingdom who cares for them when they need it most.  Our people are kind.  And they are generous.  And that is because their rulers are kind and generous.  Not frugal.”

Damian looked over to the other members of the Council and waited to see what they would say or do. He could see a few of them looking pleased, but the man who had been against sending the extra was not.

“And if winter hits us here in Bristol harder than anticipated?  What are we to do then?”  The man asked, looking back to Damian.  But instead of answering, Damian looked over to Jon to see if he had a response. His husband looked unsure, but with a nod from Damian he seemed to gather his courage.

“Then we call upon our allies for aide.  Or we reach out to villages to see if there is excess they do not expect to use.”  

“Gotham does not call upon allies for resources at a whim, Your Majesty,” the man said, his voice souring with the condescending tone.  Damian felt his eyes narrow as he took in the man addressing his husband. “Perhaps that was common in Metropolis, but that is not the Gotham way.”

And while Damian knew Jon could easily defend himself in the moment, he still slowly stood to his feet to look at the Council member.  It was a move that was all due to his mother, an action she had taught him to perfect in order to command the attention in the room.  And he inwardly cringed at how well it worked and how easy it was for him to remember.

Leaning forward, he pressed his hands flat on the long table.  “Gotham also does not speak to their King in such a manner,” he spoke steadily, staring the man down.  He hated seeing the man cower back slightly, glancing around at the other members of the Council.  He made no move to acknowledge Jon’s hand when it came to rest on his forearm, though he knew his husband was trying to tell him that it was fine.  That he was fine.  “You would do well to remember that after my seat, my husband’s is the second most powerful in this room.  And perhaps my grandfather would not have called upon allies in such a situation, but my father certainly would have.  As will I.”

He saw various nods of agreement, some scribbling on parchment, out of the corners of his eyes but he kept his focus on the man.  “You are King, but you are not the sole decision maker in these situations, Your Majesty.”

“Is that what you really think, Councilmember?”

“Damian,” Jon whispered fiercely, squeezing his arm tightly.  But Damian continued to ignore him.

“You cannot abolish the Law of Old,” the man pointed out, but Damian took slight glee in the quiver in his voice.  “You wouldn’t dishonor your father in such a manner.”

Despite the smirk on Damian’s face, inwardly he knew the man was right.  Damian would never break the Law of Old just to spite the man for being disrespectful to his husband.  Finally turning to look at Jon, he was not surprised to see the wide-eyed look on his face.  Sighing, Damian sat back in his seat and noticed the Councilmember visibly sight.

“I do not need to abolish the law to put this into action,” Damian said, gesturing for Jon to sit back down.  “We will send the extra requested of the village and should we find ourselves suffering due to our kindness, then we shall call for aide from one of our many allies.” He looked to the scribe of the Council and she gave him a firm nod, writing everything down as quickly as she could.  “I believe we have accomplished all that we can for the day.  We shall touch on the rest tomorrow.”

He watched as the members stood and gathered their things, leaving Jon and Damian still seated at the table as they made their way out of the room, discussing things amongst themselves. It wasn’t until the door shut behind the very last member that Damian looked over at Jon, finding him frowning at him in return.

“Beloved?”

“That was not like you,” Jon said quietly, leaning back into his chair.  Damian made a questioning noise but said nothing.  “You might as well have pulled a sword on the man.”

“Absurd,” Damian rolled his eyes, waving a hand at Jon.  “I will not tolerate someone talking down to you in such a way.  He needed to understand his place in this situation. And it is not one that puts him above you.”

He watched Jon observe him for a moment, not saying anything more.  “I am serious, My Love.  I have never seen you speak to someone in that manner before.”  And it brought to mind just how much the action was like his mother.  How even the movements he made were something she would have approved of.  Sure, she would have told him to take the Council’s power all together, but she would have been pleased with him putting the man in his place.  It made his stomach drop.  

It made him feel rotten in his core.

And though he knew it was not Jon’s intention to compare him to his mother, that was how it felt in the moment.  “I did that for you,” he stated, his voice rising ever so slightly as he straightened in his chair.  “I stood up for you.  That was not about me or how I felt.  It was not about power or control.  You are my husband, and I will not just sit back and allow someone to treat you as though you have no right to be here.”

“I know that, Dami. That’s not what this is about.  I just want to understand what happened.”

“What happened is that I stood up for my husband.  And if that is an issue, then perhaps you should just not come to Council meetings anymore.”  He watched Jon’s jaw drop and immediately regretted saying that.  

“That makes you no better than him.”  And logically, Damian knew Jon had a point.  But his brain was shifting into irrational and that felt like an attack. “I can see you getting angry, My Love, please.  I am not wanting to fight.”

“Then you should have not compared me to him!”  Damian shouted as he stood to his feet.  “I am trying my best.  I am doing what I think is best!  This was not how my rule was supposed to start, but I can only do what I am able. And if the way I do that if not to your liking then I do not know what to tell you.”

He didn’t bother turning to respond when he heard Jon call his name as he stormed out of the hall. All he knew was that he needed to get out of that room before he said anything more.  Because he could hear his mother’s voice in his mind, and he didn’t like any of the things she was telling him to do.

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

The sun had already started setting when Jon finally found him in his father’s old study.  Damian knew he had missed dinner and that the others were probably concerned, but he had crawled too far into his head to really care. And he knew that if they had really wanted to find him, they would.  But Jon would know well enough that he just needed some time and space to clear out the muck from inside his head.  

His mother may have been executed over seven years ago, but Damian still found himself struggling with her influence.  She had molded him for thirteen years and he didn’t know how to brush that aside. Especially without his father around to balance it out.

“My Love?”  Jon’s voice called out from the doorway.  Damian didn’t bother getting out of the chair he was slumped in, but he did look over at his husband for a moment before returning his gaze to the large window he sat in front of.  This had been one of his favorite spots growing up.  He had spent hours sitting there, listening to his father work while he watched the soldiers being trained by Ser Jason in the fields below.

His father had admitted that the window position was the exact reason he had picked this study. The memory just made his heart ache more now that he was without both of them.

A tray was set down on the table sitting between the two plush chairs and Damian could smell that it was probably whatever the chef had prepared for dinner.  But the thought of food really just made his stomach churn at the moment, so he ignored it and looked to his husband instead.  He watched him round the other chair and sit down on it.

“I am sorry for shouting,” Damian said, sending an apologetic look to the other man.  He wasn’t surprised when Jon waved the apology off and Damian sighed.  Some of the weight of the day slipped off his shoulders at the gesture and he sent a thankful look instead.

They sat there in silence for a few moments before Jon shifted and Damian knew he was about to speak. “What happened today, Damian?  I do not understand what it is I said that upset you to that point.  I want to be sure I do not make the same mistake again.”

“It was not something you said,” Damian told him, sitting up straighter to look at the other man more directly.  “And I should not have taken that out on you.  I knew, even then, that you were only trying to help.  I know that, Jon.  I just…”  He trailed off, unsure of how to admit what the real issue was.  Leaning back in his chair, he looked back out the window. “Father taught me so much, he made sure I was ready to take his place, but he could not erase my mother from my mind completely.  And sometimes when I am faced with a difficult situation, I can still hear her in the back of my mind.”

He heard Jon moving but he didn’t pull his eyes away from the window as he spoke.  He didn’t dare look at his husband because he would not be able to stand seeing pity in his blue eyes.  He could not bear that.  But against his best wishes, Jon came into view when he knelt in front of Damian and the younger couldn’t help but and look at the other man.  

He let Jon take his hands into his own and just watched him, waiting to see what he was going to say or do. “You are not your mother,” Jon told him, and Damian did his best not to cringe at the words he had heard his father say to him so many times when he had been alive still.  “You are far better than she was, and I know you know that.”

He did know that, but he still doubted himself.  He still wondered if maybe his mother’s influence would prove to be stronger than his father’s one day.

“I am so afraid she will win.”

“She won’t,” Jon said with no hesitation.  And Damian knew the other man believed in him absolutely, but it was still a doubt that lingered.  Even when he himself didn’t actually believe it.  “You would never let her.  If she was going to, we would not be here.  I would not be here.  Her whispers of hate will not overcome your father’s love.”

Clenching his jaw, Damian swallowed past the lump forming in his throat.  “It has been seven years and still…”

“And yet here you are. If she really held any power over you still, do you honestly think you would have apologized to me?”  Shaking his head, Damian knew he wouldn’t have. His mother would balk at any show of weakness.  “And do you think you would have ended the meeting the way you had?”  No, he would have stripped the man of his position. “Do not doubt yourself, My Love. In here,” Jon tapped his chest over his heart, “you are a good man.  You are kind, generous, and exactly what Gotham needs.”

There was no lie in his words.  Damian could sense nothing but complete and utter devotion, not that he had been expecting anything less from Jon.  No, he never doubted anything when it came to Jon.  

“Thank you, Beloved. Thank you for reminding me of the truth when I cannot see it clearly.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, My Love.  Nor will I ever be anywhere else so long as this earth shall have me.”

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

“Father?  What are we doing in the glade?  Certainly, a walk this long was not good for you,” Damian heard his daughter call to him as he walked to the place where he had stood and married Jon so many years before.  He knew, after laying his husband to rest a few days ago, that his time was limited and would follow soon.  He didn’t even need Madame Xanadu to tell him that much.

But he had one last task to accomplish before he spent his finals days with their children.  

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ring that had rested on his husband’s finger for so many years.  The same ring that had encircled the finger of a man who was his father in all but blood until he had been lost.  

“Rachel, please give me the box I asked you to hold,” he glanced back at his daughter.  He smiled as she moved to stand beside him and gave him the hand-carved wooden box that he had asked Madame Xanadu to bless and protect.  “Will you dig the hole I mentioned here?”  He pointed to the spot between where he and Jon had stood for their handfasting.

His daughter sent him a strange look, but pulled the small handshovel out that he had asked her to bring and dropped to the ground.  Slowly, Damian followed her actions and landed on his knees in the cool moss covered ground.  As Rachel dug the hole, Damian opened the box and carefully placed the ring inside on the red velvet.  He knew the box would survive until it was needed again, he only worried it would be found before it was meant to be.

“Is this deep enough?” He looked down at the hole his daughter had managed and nodded.  Leaning forward, he placed the box inside of the hole that was as deep as the length of his arm up to his elbow.  Once he had removed his hand, Rachel began dropping the displaced dirt back into it to cover the box from anyone who might pass this way.  “Father?  Why are we doing this?  Do you not want to keep Father’s ring?”  

Looking at his daughter, with her caramel skin and tight black curls, Damian shook his head.  “No, this is what I need to do.  It is of great importance.  Someday, the right person will come and find this ring and it will go back to the person who should have worn it far longer than he was allowed to.”  And because he had never told the story of what his mother had done to his father and the man he loved, his daughter just looked at him confused.  “Come, help an old man to his feet and I will tell you the story of your shamed grandmother and the curse she has laid upon your grandfather.”

He watched Rachel frown, but still she stood and helped him to his feet.  He watched her pack the dirt more with her shoe before tucking the hand shovel into her bag and offering her arm to him.  Damian took it without much thought and allowed her to lead him back the way they had come.

“When your grandfather, Richard, was seven years old he was introduced to the future final Dragon Slayer of Gotham…”  He started, resisting the urge to check on the spot they had buried the box one last time. Instead he told his oldest the story of his fathers and trusted that Madame Xanadu had told him the truth when she said it would remain until he returned one day to reclaim it.

#damijon #jondami #jaydick #damian wayne #jon kent #bruce wayne #past lives au #anikah writes

[screensirenfic]

The Grandest Of Sins - Chapter 21 - Duty First

She hadn’t slept a wink the whole night; the crowded halls of Central Prison clearly not as peaceful as that of Headquarters.

Her cellmates had been lecherous, foul-mouthed little creatures, who thought their wandering hands would be tolerated.

She had soon shut them up with a tendril round the throat, and now she was back in solitary; the perpetual silence of her cell lulling her off to sleep…

Or it should have; if her mind would let it…

Instead it continued to loop her memory of earlier; the way Roy had looked at her, the pity and guilt in those dark endless eyes.

She always hated when he looked at her like that.

Who was he to pity her?!

He had done this to her; Goddamnit!

He had let them send her away then left her to rot!

And here she was, locked up behind the steel doors of some cage, just as he promised would never happen; because he wouldn’t choose.

Because when it came to it; he would always pick duty over her.

Because that’s what being a soldier was.

Duty first.

Everything else was just collateral.

“Is this the right cell-?”

She heard a muffled voice from through the cell door; it’s owner trying and failing to be quiet in the echoing hallway.

“Of course it is! Now move out of the goddamn way-“

Interrupted another voice; the sound being cut off by a sudden crash and then a bang as her cell door was thrown open by what must’ve been an unprecedented force.

She sat herself up, prepared to meet whatever intruder had so foolishly broken in.

“And here we are!”

Came a new voice; its owner strutting into her cell like he owned it with an arrogant amount of swagger.

“Really dig the diggs; sweetheart-“

The man drawled, only to be cut off by on of her tentacles seizing him by the throat, as she wasted no time in slamming the pretentious trespasser into the wall.

“Who the hell are you?”

She snarled, now on her feet as she held the man captive against the wall.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten! We’re family-“

He began, only for her to squeeze his throat tighter, not willing to put up with the cretin’s lies.

“Don’t lie to me!”

She warned, slamming his skull into the wall for good measure, just in case it helped clear his head.

“Now; that’s one thing I’d never do…”

He smiled darkly; his relaxed demeanour making him appear completely unfazed by the tendril tightening around his windpipe.

She was about to throttle the bastard just for the pleasure of it, when his arm shot up quicker than lightning, his hand seizing her throat in turn in an impossibly hard grip.

Her eyes shot down to his wrist, where his pale skin had shifted to a dark grey; his hand transformed from flesh into some sort of impossibly hard graphene.

She could feel his talon-like nails digging into her skin, her throat managing a swallow as he squeezed tighter, his fingers threatening to crush her windpipe entirely.

“What are you?”

She asked; knowing that there was no Alchemy which could achieve this, no natural form which would allow such alterations.

“Like I said before; we’re family…”

The Stranger smirked; his eyes flashing a familiar shade of violet in the dark.

“Don’t you remember me; Little Sister..?” 

————————————————————————

“I’m really sorry about Abrams. It’s easy to forget he’s an absolute train wreck after drinking…”

Apologised Havoc as he walked her back to her room; the blonde Sergeant shooting her a sympathetic smile that couldn’t have been sweeter.

“It’s honestly okay. It doesn’t bother me…”

She assured him with an equally forgiving smile; not really caring how much of a messy drunk their Medic was.

“But still; we wanted to give a better impression on your first time out with us…”

He continued; his tone hovering somewhere between warm and contrite as they turned the corner of the hallway.

“They wanted; or you wanted..?”

She asked, already catching on that both Abrams and Breda saw no issue in her seeing how wrecked they could get on a weekend.

“Me; mainly…”

Havoc admitted with a shrug as he rubbed the back of his head; the dim lighting doing nothing to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“I had a nice time… Really…”

She encouraged him with a nudge of her elbow; not wanting the Sergeant to feel like he had to put up a front in order to impress her.

She liked him. 

She really did.

He’d bought her drinks and given her his jacket when she was getting cold walking back to Headquarters.

For that alone; she couldn’t care less about how sloppy his friends were after a couple of whiskeys.

She was just happy that the smiling Blonde Sergeant saw something in her that she wasn’t sure was possible.

“Nice enough to consider doing it again..?”

He asked cautiously, eyes avoiding looking at her as if he was scared she’d say no.

“Definitely!”

She beamed as they finally rounded the corner to her hallway, knowing that soon her night would be over

“Though maybe next time we should leave Breda and Abrams behind…”

He suggested, and she could already see what he was doing here.

“Sergeant Havoc; are you asking me out on a date..?”

She asked, turning to face the towering blonde in front of her.

“Depends… Would that bother you?”

He asked her in turn; his smile once again sheepish in a way she could only describe as endearing.

“No…”

She shook her head with a soft smile, because she really didn’t know what else there was to say here.

“Havoc-“

She began, because she really wanted to thank him for the great night.

“Jean.”

He corrected her; his bright blue eyes staring back at her with all that unbridled honesty.

“It’s my first name.”

He explained with a shrug that showed off his broad shoulders.

“I figured if we’re gonna be spending more time together; then maybe you could use it.”

She smiled at that; finding it adorable how his eyes would still avoid looking at her face even after all this time together.

“Jean…”

She repeated, liking how it felt on her tongue, and she noted how the Sergeant’s eyes dropped to her lips for a second too long. 

He wanted to kiss her.

He’d wanted to kiss her the whole night; if she’d read his body language right.

Now, all that was left was deciding if she wanted to kiss him too.

“I should give you this back…”

She broke the moment, chickening out before she fell too deep as she took the Sergeant’s leather jacket off her shoulders.

“Nah; you should keep it.”

He offered, refusing it when she tried to hand it back.

“It looks good on you.”

He told her, and she couldn’t help the way her stomach did flips.

He really was too smooth when he wanted to be; and she really did like him more than she���d realised before…

“Jean-“

She went to speak, only to be cut off by the Sergeant’s mouth as he finally kissed her; the welcome taste of cigarettes and bourbon on his lips.

#fma #fma fanfiction #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist fanfiction #full metal alchemist fandom #fullmetal alchemist fandom #roy mustang x oc #roy mustang fanfic #colonel roy mustang #roy mustang #roy mustang fanfiction #jean havoc #jean havoc x oc #greed #greed fma #fma greed

[caffeinetheory]

So what if they had met at a gala Roy with Queen and Marinette with Jagged and like they each of this bad impression of each other such as "Oh, he's the spoiled rich kid"or that"she's a total diva who would do anything to do famous" or something like that. But then when both the to like ditch the party or go somewhere not as bad as the main room and end up meeting and talking and becoming friends and then later dating. Then Lila goes on and on that she's dating Roy but that fails as he shows up.

Okay so this is my first ask/prompt thing but I loved it and I hope it’s good

Thanks to the people in the group chat for the encouragement, I really appreciate it <3

Here goes nothing, hope you like what I ended up writting

(pacing maybe a little fast, oops)

///

She didn’t want to be here, Mari only came because she ran out of excuses to not go to a gala with Jagged. Don’t get her wrong, she loves her honorary uncle but being in the spotlight was not something Marinette enjoyed, Ladybug was more than enough for her thank you very much.

So here she was sipping champagne, which she shouldn’t be but that’s for another time, hugging the wall trying to not stand out with all of her will power. Despite her best efforts Jagged could be heard loudly boating about his favorite designer and talking about how she made his and Penny’s outfits as well as her own. Knowing he was about to drag people around to show her off she decided to bite the bullet and pushed herself off the wall and walked over to him and what looked like a rich blonde businessman and another person around her ae that clearly didn’t want to be here.

The floor length rose pink dress shined in the light as she made her way over to Jagged. The intricate flowers becoming seen as she moved, and her hair flowing behind her as she walked. She commanded the room with confidence as she walked, a perk of being Ladybug for so long, long gone was the overly shy pre-teen and now stood tall legal adult. The shear back of her dress exposed small scars from years of fighting but no one would notice as her over all beauty distracted from the clear battle scars dancing across her skin.

She came to a stop next to Jagged placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I know you want to tell everyone about me, but I could hear you from across the ballroom,” rubbing his neck in slight embarrassment Jagged shared a smile with her then to the gentleman he was talking with. “Mari, how nice of you to finally join us, I’ve been trying to get her to come to one of these for years, this is Oliver Queen and his ward Roy Harper,” anyone could tell how proud of the person she had become with his enthusiasm.

Shaking Oliver’s hand politely Mari turned to shake Roy’s only yo be met with a badly hidden scoff and rough handshake in return. ‘Spoiled rich kid with everything handed to him, lovely. Exactly why i tried to avoid these things’ was all that went through her head as she watched the red-head look anywhere but at her or the conversation he was begrudgingly in. ‘Great another person I’m going to have to pretend to tolerate because of the bs that is plesanties’

“So did you really make all three of your outfits?” Oliver was trying to make conversation, someone Roy’s age could possibly do him some good. Given that her deminr became less forced and Marinette seemed to light up the room even more he figures he picked the right thing to ask. “Yes! I’ve been designing for as long as I can remember. It is one of the few constants in my life, and Jagged here,” she gestures in his direction her enthusiasm clear to anyone, “Has insisted that I keep making him things. At first I thought he was just being nice but finding out he was the one that got Clara to look into my stuff is something I can't thank him enough for.”

“Anything for my rock and roll niece,” Jagged playfully ruffles her hair and she swats at his hands, this was a normal thing and Mari was clearly more at ease now that she was able to talk about her interests. She went on for a bit longer, Roy had left under the guise of getting something to drink and snuck off to one of the side rooms to get out of the stuff “party”. Mari left the pair of influential men saying she needed to get off her feet, they let her go and she ended up ducking into the very room that Roy was settled in.

Marinette’s huff of relief after closing the door and leaning against it made Roy snap his attention to the door. “I can’t wait for this to be over,” she looked at her phone to check the time, her heels already in her hand, “Still two more hours till I can ditch.” rolling her eyes, she looked up finally noticing the red-head and a startled sound involuntarily left her, ‘lovely rich boy is here’ she tuned to leave the room when his cough made her look in Roy’s direction. “You trying to escape too?” a sheepish smile played on his lips, his shaggy red hair hung loosely as he tilted his head toward her. Hesitantly she walked to the table across from the one he is sitting on to sit on herself.

“You could say that. Not really a fan of the spotlight,” she replies hesitantly, though his small laugh in return helps loosen her up. “That makes two of us, had to force me” his posture is loose, no longer as stiff. The two ended up spend the next few hours just ranting about how stuffy galas are and how they’d rather be anywhere else. They got to know each other so when both left the room with smiles and a small paper the guardians they came with, had knowing smiles, their plan had worked.

The rest of the month while Marinette was in Star City she was with Roy. Rumors of the two dating where everywhere by the end of the first week. Everywhere the two visited seemed to radiate happiness as the pair enjoyed the other’s company. No one had seen either so happy in a few years. Late night coffee ‘dates’ and soft laughter had become the norm so quickly that when Mari had to go back to Paris everything felt a little too quiet and dull.

‘I made it back, guess I got to accept the chaos again’

‘Miss me that much already ;)’

‘Oh shut it you dork’

Collapsing on her bed Mari’s smile since the gala still hadn’t falutlered. She still had two weeks before she had to go back to class but she didn’t want to think about that yet. Savor the moment of happiness she had while she could...that couldn’t last long could it? It never did, an Akuma alert went off and Ladybug was swiftly on the scene.

“I’m glad to see you’re back M’Lady”

“Good to see you too Kitty, but I just got back, any idea what’s going on”

“Seems like a tourist who missed their reservations”

“Ok sweet, this should be a piece of cake,” and it was they were done in less than 10 minutes. “Come on M’Lady we have a few more that need to be taken care of,” leading Ladybug the partners went to the Effilé Tower so she could purify the other Akumas that had happened while she was gone.

“Thank you Kitty, I appreciate the break.” There were maybe 20 glass jars and only 16 or so butterflies. They had made a system just in case Ladybug wasn’t in Paris and didn’t require to come back all the time. “It’s what a purr-ncess deserves isn’t it, everyone should get a break even you Mari.” “What better sibling could I ask for? Hang out tomorrow? It’s been awhile since I destroyed you in Mécha Strike.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

By the time Marinette woke up it was close to 11 and it was to light tapping on her trap door, what sounded like a ‘come in’ left her lips as she went around her room to look presentable. Adrian came into her room, some food on a plate and a Cheshire like smile, “Sooo, how was the states? Make any new ‘friends’ while there?” His testing tone made it clear she couldn’t get out of it.

The next two days were spent together catching up on what they had done and Adrian getting all the details about a certain red-head. “Ok so maybe I like him but we both know how bad my track record is?” Mari’s exasperation was clear, she had confessed to Adrian before they knew who was behind the mask and he came out as gay to her. She ended up being what got him and Luka together, then Kagami and Cholé, we don’t mention that confession. “I don’t know princess, you might actually have a chance,” he had a knowing smile, too knowing, something was up. Pushing away the thought, “You’re just a helpless romantic,” they playfully shoved each other as they were heading back to the bakery after a day just walking around.

Texting Roy and hanging out with her small team was all she had done when she had done when she got back so walking into the classroom to cold stares had thrown her for a moment. Her reality hit her like a ton of bricks but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to, she had people who cared about her and people she cared about. Marinette took her seat in the back of the class with Cholé and Adrian. The trio had been forced to the back but enjoyed the freedom it let them have.

The door slammed open and one Lila Rossi had walked in laughing loudly to Alya, no doubt talking about ‘what an amazing summer’ she had, the trio just rolled their eyes and went back to their phones.

“You texting him again, I swear you are always texting him,” Adrian joked seeing Mari ignore the world, the only thing she cared about being her screen.

“I mean you know me so well,” rolling her eyes at his antics, “what else am I supposed to do? Listen to ‘something that totally happened guys I don’t know why you don’t believe me’,” her sarcasm was palpable.

“I mean this time you might care, it’s about some boy toy, a Queen I think,” Cholé supplied to the conversation muffling a laugh as Mari immediately snapped her attention to the girl in the front of the class.

“You have got to be kidding me, she can’t be that dumb can she.”

“Oh you know she can and will be”

The rest of the week was spent with Lila telling the class about how amazing and put together Robert was, she couldn’t even get his name right!!! Mari was a little pissed but it wasn’t worth it, she knew the real Roy and he may be a disaster incarnée but he was hers. Did she really just think that? Damn Adrian was really rubbing off on her.

Two weeks later when Adrian told her to wear red and black, and to make sure her hair was in a ponytail, she chose not to question it. What ever crazy plan he had plan would probably be fine, they usually were. Texting Roy in the way to her class she almost missed the foot out to rip her, but being so focused she just sidestepped and jumped over the other 2 that were outstretched as she made her way to class. She wore a bright smile, Roy was talking about how pretty Paris was. ‘He must have seen the pictures I sent’.

Practically falling into her practical sibling’s lap she hummed a happy tune forgetting where she was. The red shirt she wore was one that she may have narrowed from Roy and it still smelled like him. The two blondes who sat with her started to tease and run their hands through her hair, happy to see their girl so happy again.

“So, Kitty, why was I to wear this today? What’s the occasion?”

“Oh you’ll see,” his knowing smile should have worried her but the text from Roy distracted her.

A picture of her parents' bakery and a text that said ‘this is your parents right?’ Lit up her screen.

‘Yeah why’

‘No reason, shouldn’t you be in class?’

‘Hasn’t stopped me before ;)’

Lila’s loud boasting about her ‘boyfriend’ Mr. Harper, at least she got the last name right, broke the bliss Mari had been feeling, though Adrian’s poorly concealed laugh did bring some of her smile back.

It was at lunch when Mari found out why Adrian was so giddy and why Roy was talking about the beauty of Paris. In the middle of another one of Lila’s stories about her ‘boyfriend’ a cough stopped her mid sentence, “Um actually, who are you? I’m pretty sure I’ve never met you before. I think I’d remember someone as loud as you.” There he stood at the bottom of the stairs, in all his glory, one Roy Harper.

“Adrian I love you but I’ll kill you later,” Mari whispered to him and then launched herself at red-head. “What are you doing here?” He caught her with ease spinning her slightly, “Happy to see you again Pixie,” their laughter could be heard throughout the school. “But Roy, seriously what are you doing here?”

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “Adrian may or may not have gotten me here… and I wanted to see you again” Mari half hearted flared at the blonde who jut give her a grin. This was sister and Roy made her happy, so of course he was going to do what he could so she could be happy. “Told you it would work out,” Chloe’s retuned fistbup told him she was happy for their friend too. After all she had done for them it was only fair they helped her.

“I may have also wanted to ask you something,” Roy looked down at the shorter girl, “would you be down to be my girl…” he trailed off at the end but their was clear admiration in his eyes as he squeezed her hands.

“Of course you dork,” she gently pulled him down into a soft kiss.

They left the school after that, somehow the school already knew to excuse her for the est of the day. The pair had a lovely date ending up with them both falling asleep in the couch as a movie played.

The next day Mari didn’t come to class, neither did Adrian or Cholé, but there were cease and desist letters on both Alya’s and Lila’s desks and a firm warning from the Queen lawyers about falsely using their name.

Mari was happy and she really had to thank Jagged for finally convincing her to go the dumb gala, and maybe Adrian for getting them together.

They were an odd pair, the human disaster and the embodiment of an angel but they were happy and they fit, they wouldn’t change it for the world.

///

So that was that, hope it was good :>

#my writing #ladyarrow #roy/mari #maribat #prompt answer #i really loved this #hope it wasnt to fast paced #adrian and mari are basicly siblings #good chole

[brokaw22]

A Displaced Red Robin Chapter 18

Title: A Displaced Red Robin Author: Brokaw22 Disclaimer: The norms Rating: T Story Synopsis: Tim gets transported to the cartoon Young Justice world, and he's not sure he knows how to deal with it.

AO3

ff.net

The distinct sound of hushed voices registers only a moment before the realization that this room is far brighter than the one that he remembers passing out in. Tim doesn’t understand what that implies at first, but then he recognizes the feeling of soft sheets, the pliant mattress, and plush pillows underneath him. He has no idea why they bothered to move him out of the cave and upstairs, but Tim has certainly awoken in worse places.

 He keeps his eyes closed, to avoid straining them with the light, and tries to focus on the murmured voices. Tim can discern Dick’s voice almost immediately, but he’s nearly caught off guard by the realization that Roy is with him. Tim lies still and keeps his breathing even as he listens. “Look, Dick, this isn’t your fault, and Red wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

 “No, you don’t understand.” Tim can hear Dick pacing, but it takes him a moment to realize that the reason his gait sounds so odd is due to the fact that Dick is walking around on his hands instead of his feet. Tim would smile if he couldn’t practically feel the tension in the air. “This is definitely my fault. I’m the reason that he got stabbed in the first place, and now I’ve exasperated his condition. He should hate me. I know I do.”

 Tim’s relieved that he’s propped up on so many pillows. The idea of having to force himself into a sitting position makes his chest burn. He blinks his eyes open, and then instantaneously groans at the sunlight streaming through the large window. “I don’t hate you and you shouldn’t either.” Speaking is a bit more arduous than Tim anticipated, but it’s also a necessary evil if Dick is going to insist on brooding like this.

 They both rush over to his bedside, and Tim is extremely grateful that Roy stops Dick from leaping on top of him. Though, Tim does have to admit that he is genuinely stunned when both of them grab a hold of his hand. “How are you feeling?” Dick’s clutching onto him as if he’s some kind of lifeline.

 “Do you need anything?” The two of them are speaking over each other and Roy’s voice is dripping with a desperation that Tim, quite frankly, doesn’t understand. His condition shouldn’t have scared them this much. After all, it’s an occupational hazard.

 Tim works himself up to respond while he simultaneously attempts to process their fussing. He’s starting to wonder if he wants to ask how long he’s been unconscious or how far his recovery has been pushed back. However, with the expression on both of their faces, he figures that there are more pressing matters to deal with first.

 After all, Tim’s certain that he can ask Alfred all of those questions later. Besides, it’s not as though the answers will change anything. He knows that he’s going to be stuck on bed rest for some time, and then monitored for the duration of his recovery as he slowly works up to his normal amount of activity again… no matter how inconvenient it will be.

 “I’m okay for right now.” Tim refrains from taking a deep breath, knowing exactly how much pain that will cause him. “Not that I’m ungrateful for the concern, but what is Red Arrow doing here?”

 Roy rolls his eyes as he pulls a chair over to sit down. “You can drop the codename. I already know that you know my name, and I think we’ve grown close enough that you can use it, and maybe give me yours.” He gives Tim a hopeful look, which Tim pointedly ignores. Roy doesn’t push it, but Tim honestly wonders how long he can get away with keeping that particular secret. “Anyway,” Roy starts again before Tim can say anything on the matter. “I just wanted to check on you and Dick, so I did what any reasonable vigilante would do and put my skills to work.”

 “By which, he means he tried to sneak past our security and I had to talk Bruce into letting him stay.” Dick grins mischievously and gently nudges Tim. He knows that it most likely means that Bruce had every intention of letting Roy stay either way, but that only baffles Tim more. Everything that he’s learned about this Bruce has left him with so many questions about his own in regards to when Dick was younger. However, most of them are questions that he’s not entirely certain that the answers are necessarily something that he wants.

 “Well, I’m glad that you’re here, Roy.” It feels weird to say the name out loud after so long, but Tim does have to admit it gives him a sense of normalcy after everything that has happened. “I was hoping we could discuss Superboy’s training some more. I don’t want the team suffering just because I’m grounded, and I really need someone to encourage Superman to actively help out a bit more.”

 Roy shakes his head. “I’ve got that handled. Black Canary and I are working with the whole team, so you don’t need to worry about it. Superman has been making real strides toward helping Superboy, and the entire team has been training even harder since your injury. They’ll all be just fine until you get back on your feet, so the only thing that you should be doing is resting and healing.”

 Tim wants to argue that he’s not exactly adept at simply resting. After all, there’s still plenty that needs to be done, but he already knows no one in this room is going to listen. He glances over at Dick, who has been suspiciously quiet for the last couple of minutes, and notices that the boy seems abruptly rather sheepish. Tim narrows his eyes as he stares the boy down. He has a feeling that he’s not going to like whatever Dick has been reluctant to share. “What’s up, Dick?”

 Dick immediately begins nervously rubbing the back of his head as he shifts from one foot to the other and back again. “So… um… I… uh… I wanted to tell you something. I kinda enlisted Roy’s help with our other project.”

 Tim doesn’t know how to react at first. There’s a moment when he just freezes while desperately trying to figure out why Dick would enlist anyone’s help with Jason, especially after Tim explicitly told him not to involve anyone else. “Why?” It’s the only thing that Tim can force out past the mounting rage and dread, even though there are about a thousand other things that he wants to say. However, Tim is well aware that what he’s thinking is rather unhelpful at the moment.

 Roy tightens his hold on Tim even more as he all but shoves Dick to the side. “It wasn’t his fault. I wanted to know the full details about what had happened to you, so I tracked Dick down last night while he was in the middle of addressing your little side project. It wasn’t easy, I might add, but… well, I know Dick pretty well. Anyway, after he left, I sorta insisted that he fill me in. I don’t know all of the details, but I’m willing to help.”

 Dick stares at him wide-eyed and pleading. It’s an expression Tim usually only sees his own brother utilize when he’s trying to steal Tim’s food. It’s a little jarring to see it now. “Don’t be mad at, Roy. It’s my fault. I should have been more careful.”

 Tim breathes a heavy sigh and suppresses the wince from the action. Dick’s right, of course, he should have been more careful. After all, they’re both rather lucky that it was Roy who caught Dick while he was meeting with Jason, especially considering all of the other possibilities. Tim has a feeling that none of Dick’s actual team members would simply just go along with his plan, even if Tim has done nothing but help all of them since he arrived here. Not to mention, the last thing that they need is Batman’s attention.

 Still, Tim is rather grateful that Roy is willing to help them. After all, he may just be the perfect person for the task. “I’m… I’m not mad. I was just concerned, given the circumstances. However, I think Roy’s assistance will be instrumental in our ability to move forward. After all, I think having a way to get information to and from the source without either of us being involved may be the best way to operate for the time being, especially given the current circumstances.” Tim gestures widely at himself, before continuing. “That is, of course, if you’re willing, Roy.”

 Roy simply shrugs. “I already said that I was, didn’t I?”

 Tim smiles a genuine grin for the first time in what feels like forever. Finally, something seems to be going his way. “Okay, so if you can make visits to our mutual friend in my place, it’ll give him even more support and take some of the responsibility off of Dick’s shoulders. Remember staying off the grid is our top priority here, so if you two can get me some hardware I can make us a few communication devices that aren’t connected to certain sources.”

 Roy stares at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “That sounds suspiciously like work, and I really don’t think that any kind of work is good for you right now. I believe multiple people have emphasized how much you need to rest. I may not know you exceedingly well yet, but everything I do know has led me to believe that actually resting is not your specialty.”

 Tim restrains himself from rolling his eyes. “I assure you, giving me something to do that is constructive is in everyone’s best interest if you actually want me to take it easy.”

 Dick and Roy glance at each other before Dick shrugs. “He was raised by a Bruce. Maybe it is for the best.”

 Roy rolls his eyes before nodding. “Fine, fine, I’ve seen enough to know that he’ll probably just sneak out and injure himself worse, given that he doesn’t exactly take actual breaks back at HQ.”

 Tim wants to argue. He really does, but he also knows that he doesn’t exactly have any supporting evidence that won’t work against him here. “No reason to risk it, honestly.”

 They both just kind of stare blankly at him before shaking their heads and Roy raises an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t you at least pretend to disagree with us?”

 Tim shrugs. “Would either of you believe me?”

 Neither of them hesitates before answering. “Absolutely not.”

 They break into laughter before Roy declares that now that Tim is awake they’re going to have a movie marathon. Tim doesn’t even get a chance to object before the other two are rushing around getting everything into place and settling themselves down beside him with pillows practically suffocating him on all sides to keep him from jostling his injured chest. It’s warm… nearly too warm, but Tim finds that he doesn’t actually mind for once.

 The break from literally everything -- no matter how forced -- is actually rather relieving. Tim feels as if he’s been going nearly nonstop since long before he landed in this world. He’s almost forgotten what it’s like to just sit still and be with the people around him without a thousand plans running through his head or a fight brewing just below the surface.

 He breathes calmly without having to force himself to merely appear that way for what feels like the first time in ages. It takes Tim a moment to realize that it’s not just the forced relaxation that has him leaning just a little heavier into the pillows with a small grin on his face, but the fact that for the first time in so long Tim isn’t braced for an attack, another fight, or just desperately trying to fix something that truly has nothing to do with him.

 He doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that he hasn’t felt like this since some time before he became Red Robin. Tim wonders if once he returns home if he’ll ever be this relaxed again... that is if he manages to return home. He knows that it’s probably unfair to assume that, even if he does make it home, he most likely won’t ever capture this feeling again, especially given that it’s his fault that he can’t be more relaxed back home.

 After all, Dick has made great strides with Damian. Tim is utterly certain that their relationship has only strengthened since Tim’s disappearance. Not to mention, Tim is well aware that his friends would gladly drag him into a movie night and rant fest if he would just let them, but… well, things like this just always seem out of reach at home.

 After all, there’s always something to be done. There’s always some mission that specifically Tim can do. It’s true that, while it may not be a task that only Tim can do, it’s usually some undertaking that Tim is more than capable of accomplishing, especially when no one else will do it.

 Tim thinks that perhaps he should focus on other less distressing things, especially since the other two are chuckling about something that Tim has completely missed. However, he’s honestly too exhausted to force himself to participate right now. Besides, he’s certain that the other two haven’t even noticed his waning interest.

 Still, he’s starting to think that perhaps his lack of contribution may be allowed or even anticipated by now. Especially since his lack of enthusiasm doesn’t seem to be dampening the other two’s enjoyment one bit. Tim’s relieved that for once he seems to be able to keep his less than pleasant machinations from disturbing the people around him. It feels as though he’s finally managed to do something right, even if Tim knows that he’s taking a victory where he doesn’t necessarily deserve one.

 Abruptly, Tim’s thoughts derail when there’s a gentle knock on the door. He turns as much as the mountain of pillows around him will allow and spots Bruce slowly pushing the door open while simultaneously carrying a tray laden with various cups and bowls. He honestly was expecting Alfred, given the tenderness of the interruption. It takes every ounce of Tim’s training to suppress his bewilderment.

 He contemplates what it says about him -- or perhaps, what it says about his current situation back home -- that Tim’s immediate reaction to seeing Bruce is to ponder what he did wrong. He doesn’t think that he could have possibly done anything to draw Bruce’s attention, and Tim certainly doesn’t believe that he could have done something to make Alfred feel as though he needed Bruce’s attention, so he has no idea why the man is here.

 However, since neither Dick nor Roy seem even mildly surprised to see the man; Tim assumes that he’s probably the only one acting peculiar. He supposes Bruce’s presence is completely commonplace for everyone else, or, at least, it seems that way. “Good, you’re awake.” Bruce sounds genuinely happy, which normally would have Tim raising an eyebrow, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Tim’s normal reactions don’t always make sense or even apply in this world. “I brought your medication.”

 Tim merely nods as Bruce sets the tray down on a nearby desk. At least, he now knows that he wasn’t unconscious, nor anticipated to be unconscious, for an unreasonable amount of time. At least, that doesn’t seem to be the case if they expect Tim to actually swallow pills.

 Bruce hands him a cup with a few very familiar-looking pills in it. Tim stares at it for a long moment before ingesting the medicine. He wonders if Bruce has caught on to the one thing even the team and Black Canary don’t know that he’s been doing at the HQ for the past two months.

 “I presume I don’t need to tell you how important it is for you to take all of them, given your lack of a spleen.” Bruce gives Tim a very pointed stare as if he expects Tim to argue. He knows that he hasn’t exactly made the best impression with this Bruce, but Tim would think by now Bruce is aware that he’s not a complete idiot.

 Tim nods as Bruce hands him a glass of water. Roy shuts off the movie before Dick turns to him with a wide-eyed expression. “Wait, you don’t have a spleen?”

 Tim shakes his head, but before he can respond Roy jumps in with another question. “Aren’t spleens kind of important?”

 Tim shrugs the best that he can without jostling everything. “It’s not like I can’t live without it, obviously.”

 “True, but you need to take low-dose antibiotics regularly.” Again Bruce is giving him that pointed glare, and Tim suddenly finds himself wanting to insist that he’s not a moron.

 “I know and I was.”

 Before Tim can say another word, Bruce takes the now empty glass from him and places a warm bowl of soup in his hands, and gestures for him to eat. “I’m aware. Just know that there’s no need to take them from the HQ infirmary, hack the system, and change the automatic refill order, even if it is impressive. I’ll get you anything you need. There’s no need for all of this secrecy.”

 Tim wants to laugh, but he knows that none of them would respond well to it, and that includes his own injuries. Still, a Batman -- any Batman – claiming that there is no need for secrecy is hilarious. However, before Tim gets a chance to respond Dick and Roy both have a hold on his hands and are shaking him slightly… not enough to hurt, but enough to be noticed. “You were doing what?” Dick’s voice sounds absolutely exasperated.

 Roy shakes his head. “And I thought I was paranoid. You have friends here, dude. Let us help you.”

 Tim doesn’t think mentioning that he has friends at home who are likely to say the same thing and get the same results would really help his cause right now, even if it is true. Still, their concern is nearly overwhelming, especially Bruce. “Technically, you were getting the antibiotics for me. It was just the most efficient and direct way.”

 Dick raises an eyebrow at him, skeptically. “Let me get this straight, you think that sneaking into the infirmary, hacking into the system, and keeping the fact that you don’t have a spleen to yourself was the most efficient way? Really?”

 “Bruce would have just told me to take what I needed from the infirmary, and then changed the amount he was ordering anyway. I just cut out the middle man.” Tim honestly doesn’t understand what is so complicated about all of this.

 Bruce stares at him for a long moment. “What would your Bruce say if he discovered you did this back home?”

 Tim furrows his brow in confusion. He’s not certain why he’s being asked this question or why it’s even relevant. “He probably wouldn’t say anything, and, if for some reason he did, he would suggest ways I could hack the system faster or compliment how efficiently I did it.”

 Bruce hums to himself but doesn’t say anything more on the subject before assuring both Roy and Dick that there are plenty of snacks on the tray that he brought up with him for both of them. They both scramble over to the tray as Bruce grabs a chair, and then places it beside the bed. “What are we watching?”

 Tim doesn’t know how to respond. He didn’t expect Bruce to stay. He squirms a little, trying to make it look as though he’s just trying to get comfortable when Dick decides to answer for him through a mouthful of food. “Whatever you or… um… Red wants, I suppose.”

 Bruce stares at him with an unreadable expression – one that Tim honestly doesn’t recognize and has absolutely no hope of deciphering. “It’s your choice, Red.”

 Tim has a feeling that the man is talking about more than just the movie. Although, he has no idea what Bruce could possibly mean, so instead he merely shrugs and gestures for someone else to pick. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

 Bruce places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. “Relax.”

 Tim isn’t exactly certain why he feels compelled to actually listen, but he forces his shoulders to loosen up, takes a calming breath, and then sinks a little deeper into the pillows behind him. It doesn’t escape his notice that Bruce never actually takes his hand off of Tim’s shoulder until Dick passes Bruce a steaming cup. Dick flops onto the bed beside Tim and focuses on the movie Roy picked for them, while Tim desperately tries to ignore the lingering warmth on his shoulder.

 XYZXYZ

 Over the course of the next week, Roy and Dick visit often and are able to smuggle Tim enough hardware for him to build the communication devices. He honestly expects Bruce or Alfred to catch them at some point, especially with how often they both like to check on him. It’s not exactly something that Tim is used to, but he guesses this universe doesn’t keep people as busy as his own.

 Still, this Alfred and Bruce don’t have nearly as much experience with Robins refusing to simply sit in bed and do nothing as his own do. However, it feels a little too easy to simply work with the pieces that he’s been given, stow them away when he knows someone is coming, and rest just enough that Alfred doesn’t get suspicious about how his healing is progressing. Besides, even if he thinks it might be a little too effortless, Tim is eternally grateful that for once things seem to be working in his favor.

 He’s also extremely relieved that he was able to convince Roy and Dick to help keep him busy. The mere idea of spending a week in bed doing nothing with minimal time walking around has his skin crawling. Not to mention, knowing that his recovery is going to take a full six to eight weeks has him feeling rather antsy. Tim sighs heavily at the very thought of it as he stashes the finished devices and then lies back once more.

 He breathes out a breath of relief that he did when moments later Alfred knocks on the door. “I must say, young sir, you have far greater patience than Master Bruce and Master Dick. I honestly expected to find you trying to sneak out of your room at least once during this week.”

 Tim merely shrugs and does his best to mask the wince it causes him. “What can I say; I enjoy your company, Alfred. Not to mention, Dick, Roy, and Bruce have all been doing their best to keep me distracted.”

 Alfred smiles gently at him. “Be that as it may, young sir, I can assure you that such trivial diversions would not be enough to keep Master Bruce and Master Dick from at least one desperate foray into the cave.”

 Tim nods his head and doesn’t mention anything about the fact that, if he thought he could get away with it, that’s exactly where he’d be right now.  “I know exactly what you mean. My own Alfred has come up with some rather creative ways to keep us in bed.”

 “Perhaps, young sir, you can divulge some of his more visionary ploys over our chess game, but first you need to take these.” Alfred hands him his medicine and gives Tim a rather pointed stare. He doesn’t understand why after a week they’re still all treating him as though he has to be watched while taking his medicine, but Tim knows better than to argue with any Alfred.

 Tim takes the medicine and doesn’t even make a show of it, despite how much he may want to. “I don’t know if I feel comfortable sharing information that could potentially be used against me.” Tim means it as a joke, but… well; he knows he has a propensity of getting into trouble.

 Alfred coughs indignantly as he raises a single eyebrow. “I certainly hope you aren’t implying that such grievous injuries are going to be a common occurrence while you are here, young sir.”

 Tim merely shrugs and is immediately reminded why such movements are problematic right now. “You know how it is, Alfred.”

 Alfred furrows his brow and looks as though there’s something he desperately wants to say, but instead he shakes his head and begins helping Tim out of bed. “I believe it would be best to do your exercises now, young sir.”

 Alfred helps him out of bed, and Tim does a few stretches that won’t injure him further. Alfred then assists him with walking around the room before leading him down the hall to where their chess game is already set up and waiting. Tim doesn’t feel nearly as winded as the first time that they did this, but he’s truly not looking forward to his slow recovery. Once Alfred has him settled down in a well-cushioned chair, he takes his own seat, and they begin the game in a tranquil silence.

 The quiet doesn’t last long, however, before Alfred clears his throat. “If I may, young sir?” Tim gestures for Alfred to continue. “I’m aware that you told Master Bruce that you are 17.”

 Tim nods, although he honestly has no idea where Alfred is going with this. “It’s true. I am.”

 Alfred moves one of his pieces and gestures for Tim to take his turn. “I’ve been thinking, young sir; perhaps we should enroll you in school with Master Dick, once you’re healthy, of course.”

 Tim nearly chokes on air at the mention of school. It’s been so long since he’s even considered school as more than a distant memory. He quickly makes him move, hoping to divert Alfred’s attention slightly.  “Oh, um, I’m not in school anymore.”

 Alfred looks pleasantly surprised. “You graduated already? I must say that is most impressive.”

 Tim coughs and rubs the back of his head sheepishly as he glances away from Alfred’s proud expression. He knows that he doesn’t deserve it. Tim never did actually have a conversation with his own Alfred about dropping out, but he’s always been rather grateful that he never had to see the disappointment on the man’s face.

 Tim sighs heavily. It doesn’t matter that this is a different Alfred entirely. He knows this conversation is going to break both of their hearts. “I…um… I didn’t graduate, actually. My senior year didn’t exactly go as planned. There was an important mission that required my full attention, so I dropped out.”

 Alfred drops the piece he was about to move and just stares at Tim horrified for a moment. “How could your Master Bruce or my counterpart allow the mission to take precedence over your schooling? What were they thinking?”

 Tim clears his throat and does his best not to make eye contact with Alfred. “Well, Bruce was missing and I left to go find him, and then sometime later I became an emancipated minor, so there wasn’t much either one of them could do at that point.”

 Alfred looks as if he truly wants to argue, but he simply resumes moving his bishop. “I assume you have your GED, then.”

 Tim shakes his head and resists the urge to sink further into his seat. He never thought disappointing another Alfred would hurt this much, but if Tim has learned anything from his time here, it’s that it doesn’t matter who he’s displeasing, it’s always just as agonizing. “There really wasn’t the time or a need. When I returned a new CEO was needed and… long story short, I was available.”

 “And Lucius agreed with this?”

 Tim shrugs and ignores the pain that it causes him. After all, it’s nothing in comparison to this entire conversation. “Um…well, it was his idea. I mean, it was kind of time-sensitive.”

 Alfred hums a noncommittal tone. “I take it from your general attitude that you have no intention of either returning to school or getting your GED when you return home, then?”

 Tim glances away once more. He’s fairly certain that he’s not imagining the disapproving tone. “Honestly, assuming I can find a way back home, I’m not sure there’s really a point to wasting my time. I’m fully capable of accomplishing everything I need to without it.”

 Alfred raises an eyebrow at him. “And what of the desires that you wish to achieve beyond what you need to accomplish?”

 Tim doesn’t know if he necessarily has an answer to that. It’s been so long since he’s even considered his own desires beyond what’s necessary that he’s not entirely certain that he even knows what he wants. He knows that he should focus on returning home. He knows that it’s not fair to simply abandon everyone and everything, but Tim doesn’t know if that’s what he necessarily wishes.

 “I’m sure I can accomplish most things without it.” Tim knows that Alfred understands what it means for him to be this evasive, but he hopes Alfred will simply let it go. After all, how can Alfred be certain pursuing this line of questioning will be advantageous when Tim doesn’t even know if he has a response beyond vague retorts?

 Tim isn’t sure if he’s relieved that Alfred does leave it there, because the rest of their game is finished in quite tense silence. When Tim returns to the room he’s staying in, he doesn’t need to feign exhaustion as Alfred slowly lowers him down on fresh sheets. A part of him wants to apologize, although he doesn’t know why. After all, this isn’t the Alfred that he needs to be apologizing to.

 Still, Tim can’t help it. As he slumps further into the pillows propping him up, Tim mutters out the only thing that he can think at this moment. “I’m sorry for not being more.”

 His eyes are heavy, but he sees the way Alfred clutches the covers he’s trying to pull over Tim. There’s the sound of hitched breathing, but whether that’s Alfred’s or Tim’s own breathing from jostling his chest, Tim will never know. He’s asleep before Alfred can say another word.

 The End (for now)

#A Displaced Red Robin #Tim Drake #dick grayson #roy harper #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #fanfic #Young Justice #comics

[artificialqueens]

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 37 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Click here for previous chapters or to read on AO3, click here! XOXO!

Chapter Summary: Courtney and Adore begin repairing their friendship, slowly but surely.

Chapter 37: I Have Confidence

“Bonnie!” Courtney flung herself into Bonnie’s arms, causing the older woman to laugh and put down the tongs, stepping away from the grill.

“Hiya darlin’, how are you?”

“I’m good now.” Courtney’s voice was soft, muffled in her hair.

“Dory told me you were coming, so I threw on a couple of veggie burgers.” Bonnie gestured to the grill.

“Aww, thank you!”

“Do you still eat cheese, or have you gone all the way to the dark side?” Bonnie held up a package of jack cheese, which she was about to put on the burgers.

“Cheese is fine,” Courtney laughed. “Although you know I’m really here for your macaroni salad.”

“Hey, Court? You wanna stop hanging on my poor mother and help me set the table?” Adore called from the other side of the patio, arms full.

“Coming!” Courtney pressed one last kiss to Bonnie’s cheek before skipping over to happily fold napkins, just as Angie came outside with a couple of serving bowls.

As she laid out the silverware, Courtney looked up at Adore, setting the condiments at one end of the table. She snatched a piece of red pepper from the veggie tray and grinned, thrilled to be here with her best friend and surrogate family on this beautiful, breezy Spring evening.

Adore smiled back, the light in her hazel eyes making Courtney’s heart nearly burst with happiness.

“Who wants toasted buns?” Bonnie called.

“I do!” Courtney exclaimed, eyes glittering with amusement at the joke she knew by now was coming.

“Well then, come sit on the grill…”

Adore and Angie both groaned, but Courtney laughed uproariously as if it was the first time she’d ever heard Bonnie’s lame joke.

“Why are you encouraging her?” Adore asked, slinging an arm around Courtney’s shoulders and guiding her towards the house to get the rest of the food.

“She’s cute. I missed her-” Courtney stopped suddenly, not wanting to kill the jovial mood, but Adore nodded.

“She missed you too,” Adore said, tossing Courtney another smile before she entered the house.

Courtney took a deep breath, grateful and happy, and then followed her inside.

-

Trinity adjusted her pillow behind her back, accidentally jostling the porch swing and Willam on the other side.

Willam had joined Trinity at her Granny's for the weekend. He never missed an opportunity to get some homemade cornbread, mac and cheese, and Granny Bonet’s Famous Peach Cobbler.

Plus Granny Bonet was sweet as pie, soft-spoken with a roaring laugh. She always seemed genuine when asking Willam what he has been up to since they last had seen each other, never making him feel any different than her own grandkids.

"Shit, Trin! Don't make me drop the weed." Willam snapped, adjusting the book on his legs.

"Sorry, sorry. This thing was stabbing me in the back," she said, finally getting the pillow in place and turning to get comfortable.

"Eh, Fuck it!" Willam shrugged, taking the half-open joint to his mouth and wrapping it closed. "If I can roll up while Violet is driving, I can fucking roll anywhere. That bitch drives like she’s playing Mario Cart."

Trinity burst into laughter, nodding her head in agreement unable to vocalize.

"I don't understand how the hell she even got her license," Willam snorted, spurred on by Trinity’s giggles.  

"It's really not that bad," Trinity said, finally trying to defend their friend.

Willam gave an incredulous look over the flame he quickly ran over the joint.

"It's more so when she's impatient," Trinity clarified.

"Oh." Willam rolled his eyes before actually lighting and taking a quick intake. “So, all the time.”

"She's gotten better recently. I think Pearl's been helping her or something," Trinity shrugged, grabbing the joint.

"Wait, what? Pearl doesn't even have a car. That's not right." Willam sat up, staring seriously at Trinity.

Trinity held his gaze, intrigued by the wheels turning in his head. What could he be thinking?

"They're having sex!" Willam finally exclaimed triumphantly.

"What? No!" Trinity’s brow furrowed.

Willam shook his head and continued, "Actually, it's pretty obvious. And right under our noses. Violet’s one sneaky bitch."

"No, no, no, no, no," Trinity coughed, deep and loud.

"Yes!"

"Do you really think Violet is over Fame though?" Trinity asked, intentionally rocking the swing as Willam took another hit.

"Well, yeah. Or...maybe. Probably. At least, she should be."

"No." Trinity shook her head adamantly. “She’s definitely not.”

"Okay, Trin. If Pearl and Violet haven't hooked up already; they will. I bet you that."

"Bet what? Because I don't even know if Pearl is really Violet's type," Trinity hesitated.

"How so?"

"Like compatibility...in bed and stuff like that. You know Violet is forward and aggressive and Pearl seems sort of nonchalant but in the ‘you can't tell me what to do’ kind of way. Violet has to be the boss, and Pearl doesn’t seem like she’d let her. Incompatible." Trinity shrugged, snatching the joint from her cousin’s hand. “Don’t forget to share, dick.”

"Hold up! And how would you know what either of them is like in bed? You’ve given this a lot of thought, cuz." Willam looked genuinely shocked and confused.

“It’s just a guess,” Trinity said, rolling her eyes. She put the joining to her lips, inhaling deeply, even as her cheeks darkened in embarrassment. “I mean, you know, it’s not like I obsess over it or anything...shut up.”

“Omigod, Trin, are you gonna start lezzing out with those whores?”

Trinity started coughing and laughing, shaking her head.

“Never say never,” she wheezed, laughing even harder at the scandalized look on his face.

-

“What’s so funny?” Roy asked, tapping on Courtney’s thigh. She was sitting next to him in the booth at Denny’s, giggling to herself over something on her phone for about the 20th time since they’d sat down. They were with April and Bob, getting a late snack after the movies, and her mind was clearly elsewhere.  

“Oh, um...sorry. Adore just sent me this-” Courtney gave a sheepish smile. “You know what, it’s not important.” She closed her phone and stuffed it into her jacket pocket.

“Well, thanks for finally joining us,” Roy said. He was going for lighthearted, but it came out a bit cross and scolding.

“Sorry, daddy,” Courtney teased, causing April to burst out laughing and Roy to make an even grumpier face. She stole a French fry off his plate, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“I think she needs a spanking,” Bob said, and Courtney turned to stick her tongue out at him.

“You need a spanking,” she informed Bob.

“Hell yeah I do.” He cast a sly look over at April. “You wanna spank me?”

“Not especially,” April said, feigning boredom as she sipped her strawberry milkshake.

“What about you, Court?” Bob wiggled his eyebrows. “Want to teach me how to behave?”

“You’re sick,” Courtney said.

“Come on, someone must want to punish me,” Bob whined, and then yelled, “Ow!” as Roy kicked him hard under the table.

“You’re welcome,” Roy said. “Now eat your chicken fingers.”

Courtney laughed, then felt her phone buzz in her pocket, fingers itching to open it and see what Adore might have sent. She reached inside; even just touching it made her feel better. When Roy got into a heated debate with Bob over whether the Jackass crew was in fact funny, she quickly flipped it open and checked.

ADORE: LOL but can you blame me?

COURTNEY: Of course not. You’re only human.

Courtney finished sending the text, quickly putting her phone back, when she looked up and saw April gazing knowingly at her. She shrugged guiltily, pulling her root beer float over and taking a sip.

-

Once Courtney and Adore made up, play practice became about ten times as fun. They didn’t have any scenes together, so whenever one of them was on stage, the other would be cheering them on silently from the wings.

Courtney was especially supportive once the performances began—not once leaving during Adore’s big solo, ready to leap out and fight anyone who would dare upset her this year. Fortunately, the protestors stayed home. Apparently, as Mrs. Maguire thought, just the words ‘Sound of Music’ were enough to appease them. They didn’t bother watching to see the genderqueer lead, lesbian nuns, drag queen baroness or gay messenger boy mincing about.

Closing night was a bit bittersweet for Roy—after all, he’d had a starring role in every show his entire 4 years there. College would be different, and he knew that this part of his life was now officially over. Courtney hugged him tight, and Adore teasingly told him that it was okay if he wanted to cry.

“Fuck off,” he said, burying his face into Courtney’s hair.

“What, I’m serious! We’re all very impressed at this display of emotion,” Adore said.

“Yeah, it really shows how secure you are in your masculinity,” Courtney added with a wink.

“Ugh! You’re both assholes!” Roy said before he stomped off stage.

“Hmm. I guess he’s not that secure,” Adore commented, and she and Courtney both began to giggle again.  

-

As May bled into June, days getting longer and warmer, Adore began to feel antsy for summer to begin. One Saturday, she invited Courtney for an old-fashioned sleepover in the tree house, just like the good old days, and Courtney enthusiastically agreed. It was their first one in almost a year, and both girls were excited to reconnect, but maybe a bit nervous. There was still so much that they’d never said to each other. Still so much that they didn’t know how to put into words.

Adore climbed up the ladder with pizza and drinks, just as Courtney finished laying out the sleeping bags.

“Pizza delivery!”

“Ooh, yay!” Courtney exclaimed. “And um...I stole this from the liquor cabinet. Hopefully Adam won’t miss it.”

She produced a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels, which impressed Adore, and made her send a grateful little prayer to Karen’s latest boyfriend.

“Thanks, Adam!”

Feeling like she could use a little something to help her relax, Courtney took a big swig from the bottle.

“Ugh, this is disgusting!” Courtney winced at the bitter taste, giggling.

“There's Coke too,” Adore said, and off Courtney's horrified expression, clarified, “Coca-cola, you dumbass. You can use it as a chaser.” She gestured to the white bag on top of the pizza box.

“Oh. Right.” Courtney flashed an apologetic grin and pulled a bottle of Coke from the bag, taking a sip.

Adore shook her head, chuckling, taking the bottle from her.

“Here…” She poured some of the soda out the window, then carefully replaced it with Jack, taking a sip to make sure the ratio was right before adding a little more alcohol. “Perfect.”

“Ugh, Adore!” Courtney opened the pizza box, groaning. “There’s pepperoni all over it!”

“Oh shit.”

“Gross…”

“Sorry!” Adore said, explaining, “I haven’t been hanging out with a lot of vegetarians lately, I forgot. Here, I’ll eat the pepperoni off for you.”

“Then there will still be pepperoni juice,” Courtney whined.

“You’re such a pain in the ass. Pepperoni is barely an animal. I don’t even know what animal it is!”

“Yeah. Don’t you think that’s a problem?” She pushed the pizza aside and dug into the bag of cheesy bread instead.

“Well. Sorry,” Adore said again, and Courtney leaned back, giving her a smile before taking another swig of Jack and Coke.

“It’s cool, I can eat this.”

-

“So…” Adore traced the edge of the sleeping bag with her finger, by now a bit sleepy and rocking a healthy buzz, finding herself realizing again just how much she’d missed her best friend. She felt bad, wished she could take back all the months of silence. But instead, she settled for trying her best to find out how her life was going these days. “...How are things with Roy?”

“Good. Great, actually,” Courtney sighed. “He’s the best.”

“He really loves you a lot,” Adore said, the memory of their argument a few weeks back still fresh in her mind. How Roy was the one who, in spite of everything, got her to make up with Courtney—and all because he wanted his girlfriend to be happy. It was disgustingly sweet, actually.

“Yeah. It’s gonna be so weird when he’s gone next year…” Courtney said.

“Oh, right. Shit. How’re you gonna survive?” They’d been joined at the hip for so long now that Adore couldn’t imagine what school—or life—would be like for Courtney without him.

“I’ll manage,” Courtney said, rolling over onto her side. “Anyway, he’s going to UCLA, so he’s only gonna be a few hours away. I’ll probably still see him all the time.”

“That’s cool.” Adore took another sip of their makeshift cocktail, swallowing down her residual bitterness about Roy and Courtney’s perfect teen romance along with the whiskey.  

“What about you. Any...special girls I should know about?” Courtney asked carefully. She took the bottle from Adore’s hands.

“Special girls? Okay mom.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean! Anyone who-”

“Nah.” Adore shook her head slowly.

“Do you and Violet still ever-”

“No,” Adore said, not even letting her get out the question. “We both realized that it was super toxic, and we’re much better off as friends. And this time, it feels like it’s stuck.”

“And Pearl?”

“Pearl?” Adore furrowed her brow, shaking her head. She and Pearl were still in that weird place where things were almost flirty but not. And she was still the only one who knew the whole truth about what happened with Courtney. It was too hard to explain, so instead she just said, “No. Although she has been really great this year. You know...with everything.”

Courtney took another sip, nearly polishing off the bottle, and Adore crawled over to make a new one.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.” Adore once again poured the Coke out the window—this time maybe a bit more, and then replaced the contents with Jack.  

It was a few moments before Courtney spoke again. She appeared to be collecting her thoughts.

“How did you know that you were gay? Or...when…did you start thinking about it?”

Adore turned around, head tilted.

“Where’d this come from?”

“I’m just curious. You never really talked to me about it.” Courtney held a pillow in her arms, hair falling across her eyes.

Adore considered what to say, how honest to actually be in this moment, deciding that a few lies of omission were probably the best idea for everyone.

“I guess I always sort felt a little...different. And then when Violet started tutoring me, she kind of guessed? And she made me feel like...I don’t know. It was normal. Or at least, okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Courtney assured her, then asked, “So...was she the first girl you ever...had feelings for?”

Adore’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. She didn’t want to lie, not tonight when they were supposed to be bonding. But on the other hand, they’d only recently found their way back to each other, and what if she destroyed their delicate new reality? She didn’t think she could bear another fight, another period of loneliness like she’d had this year.

“Um...I guess I had little crushes before, but nothing that ever...went anywhere,” Adore finally said. Which was true.

“Oh yeah? Like who?” It was a fair question. A casual question. Her best friend showing interest in the inner workings of her heart.

“Uh…” Adore racked her brain for an answer that would satisfy her. “Remember that counselor we had at drama camp? Asia?”

Courtney did remember—she was a pretty Black girl with a dazzling smile, funny and lively but always sure to keep them in line.

“Oh yeah. She was cute,” Courtney nodded approvingly.

“And of course, um...Shakira.”

“Of course.” Courtney giggled, then bit her lip. “Anyone else?”

“Oh! Remember that girl who worked at Video Village? With the pink hair and all the piercings?” Adore grinned slyly, starting to have fun with this walk down memory lane.

“Her?!” This one, Courtney didn’t seem to appreciate, but Adore just shrugged.  

“Yeah! She was hot.”

Courtney took another thoughtful sip from the bottle before asking, “Have you ever liked a boy?”

“I used to try to make myself like boys,” Adore said. “Or, imagine that I did. But it was always just some dumb pop star or something. Like...remember Ashley Parker Angel?”

“No. Who?!” Courtney looked utterly confused, brow furrowed.

“The blond from O-Town.”

“O-Town!” Courtney giggled gleefully, a hiccup escaping her as she passed the bottle back to Adore. “Omigod. You had their picture on your binder and no one could figure out why.”

“Yeah, I know. Their music was terrible,” Adore admitted.

“They made music?”

Adore laughed, shaking her head.  

“And god, even my fake crushes were dudes with girl names…”

This made Courtney giggle some more, holding her pillow tighter. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment.

“What about you?” Adore asked.

Courtney’s eyes popped back open.

“What about me?”

“You ever like a girl?” Adore teased, poking her in the ribs. Fully expecting her to squeal in disgust, or burst out laughing.

But instead, Courtney looked back at her and said, “Besides you?”

Adore stared back at her for a long, heated moment. A million thoughts swirled in her head, but none so strong as the realization that Courtney was just fucking around, making her pay for her teasing. Adore started to laugh, shaking her head.

“Good one, bitch.”

Overcome with an impulse she couldn’t ignore, Courtney leaned forward and pressed her lips to Adore’s. And for a moment, it was perfect—Adore’s soft lips against hers, breath sweet and smoky from the drinks. And then Courtney felt a hand on her shoulder, shoving her backward.

Courtney clapped a hand over her mouth. What was wrong with her? This was exactly how she’d fucked things up last time. Her cheeks blazed red.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I know,” Adore said hoarsely.

Courtney’s eyes filled with tears, terrified that this time, she’d fucked up for good.

“Are you mad?” she whispered.

“No.” Adore shook her head, giving a wry smile and reaching forward to pry the bottle from her fingers. “But you’ve probably had enough of this.”

Courtney let out a relieved chuckle, tension leaving her body as she laid back down against the bean bag chair. Things were okay; they were still friends and everything was back to normal. Or at least, as normal as possible.

“Dory?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you snuggle with me?” she asked, voice soft and tentative.

Adore turned to her friend, giving a gentle nod, saying “Of course,” before curling up beside her.

For a second, as she breathed in, Adore realized that Courtney must have switched shampoos. The scent of her hair was different, and the unfamiliarity of it gave Adore a strange pang of sadness.

But then, as they settled in some more, Adore realized that lingering beneath the surface was something she knew very well, something innately her that would never go away, no matter what perfumes she might use. And that, the sameness, was enough to make her smile to herself, arms wrapping tightly around Courtney as she pulled her in close.

#rpdr fanfiction #tree house kisses #scorpio #veronica #adorney #adore delano #courtney act #bianca del rio #bitney #bob the drag queen #trinity k bonet #willam belli #lesbian au #high school au #angst #fluff

[iwritethat]

Jason Todd: Paint Job

A/N: Here we go again :)

>>>>——————————>

"Oh my god, is this symbol painted on your bike?"

"Of all things, that's what you pick up on?!" The vigilante yelled back in an exasperated yet distracted tone, evidently frustrated as he released his sleeping hold on the final thug.

"I wouldn't have if it wasn't so bad - it's all over the headlight. You do this with your helmet on or something?" You wittily responded, standing from your crouching position in front of his motorcycle.

"I don't have to explain myself to you now run along and stay out of trouble!" Red Hood waved you off, at this point simply wanting to get on with the rest of his night.

"Ooooh, look whose getting defensive - how 'bout you bring it to my shop, (L/n) Autos, tomorrow night once I'm closed and I'll give it a custom paint job free of charge, think of it as a..." Your hands rested on your hips as you drifted off toward the end of your statement apparently in thought. The way your brows furrowed was quite cute actually.

"A thanks for saving your life?" The vigilante cockily finished for you once getting on his bike, but you shook your head and sassily shot him down.

"Ew, no. An upgrade, I mean wow."

"Rude, so ungrateful nowadays." The tone was unbelievably sarcastic and you knew he was rolling his eyes under the helmet but you couldn't care less, only folding your arms and responding with a dead tone.

"Uh Huh, I'll see you tomorrow 11pm. Got it?" You called after him, the male speeding off into the night - maybe Mrs C keeping you late had its meanings. God that mysterious woman...

.

In honesty you didn't think he'd show up, or if he'd even heard you after he'd raced off. Maybe you should've thanked him for preventing those assholes from robbing you instead of insulting his ride yet you stayed up after closing just in case.

A diligent knock brought you back to reality, the sound of clanging metal echoing through your workshop as you heaved open the massive entrance door. There stood your knight in leather armour, helmet still covering his identity as he leaned against the wall.

"That offer still open?"

"For that atrocity, hell yes." You internally winced at your inability to be kind to your saviour but breathed a sigh of relief when he laughed and handed you his keys.

"How long do you want it?"

"Hmm, give me a week."

"Whatever you want doll." And with that he was gone, off grappling across Gothams skyline with nothing but effortless beauty.

.

It had been a taxing week without his baby, but hopefully you didn't disappoint - Jason creaked open the door to your unique workshop, immediately noticing his newly designed motorcycle and it took his breath away.

"Woah..."

He walked around it admiringly, fingers delicately tracing your beautiful handiwork as he went, still unable to comprehend that this masterpiece was once his bike before coming to a stop at the station a metre or two away and inspecting your handwritten checklist.

Red Hoods ‘Thank You’:

• Matte Black = nice finish

• Red line detailing throughout cuz the guy likes red apparently.

• Detachable symbol, nicely painted

• Fixed engine -> more efficient

• Customised weaponry

• Taunt Hood about upgrades

A content laugh escaped him at the mocking words, you truly hadn't changed since he'd been gone and it only made him miss you more - where were you anyway??? He'd carefully scanned the area, finding your sleeping form curled up on the couch and shaking his head he made his way over, stopping in front of you with an amused expression only faltering when he took in your appearance. A red hoodie draped your figure - his hoodie, the sleeves reached the joints of your fingers and it was now stained with motor oil over the time you'd worked in it but honestly you rocked it better than he ever did. He’d given it to you when you were walking through Gothams back alleys together, yourself smugly complaining about the dropping temperatures before Jason had mercilessly thrown it at you rather than admit he cared about your wellbeing as his closest friend. It didn’t stop you from taunting him about his feelings though.

It was apparent you'd attempted to wait up for him so you could check off the last thing on your list but had failed to do so, it was rather late and you'd clearly worked hard on his ride that day. Jason knew he shouldn't wake you, and he couldn't handle making conversation knowing you wore what was once his, that you hadn't forgotten him. Instead he covered you with the fluffy blanket folded over the arm and left $500 on the table beside the takeout bag marked with 'C's Diner', memories of that place came flooding back and he'd silently decided to take Roy there that week. Muttering a thanks before leaving, Red Hood took his bike and left little evidence of ever being there at all.

.

The scent of the 60’s themed diner was always pleasant, it was a common occurrence for you to stop by after working late. It reminded you of Jason, and the elderly owner remembered you two well considering the liveliness you both once brought and honestly that charming woman was basically a parental figure in your life. Although she always has a suspiciously omniscience aura about her - Nanny McPhee incarnate as you and your lost friend had joked when you were children.

Unbeknownst to you, Jason remembered this place too though he regularly avoided it until tonight and ensured to drag Roy along with him out of convenience. The pair sat in a booth discussing Jason's bike upgrades when a mug of hot cocoa was set in front of Jason much to his confusion.

"Excuse me, I'm pretty sure I didn't order this."

"Ah, it's on the house. Mrs Cayce’s orders." The (h/c) waitress who Jason knew wasn't an employee proudly winked, saluting the elderly owner who waved over to him.

"Hey uh... do I know you at all? Just you seem familiar and Mrs Cayce clearly does..."

"Nope, don't think so, I would've remembered a beauty like you." The ravenette shrugged, you nodded walking back over the counter to converse with the owner once more.

Roy gave his partner a questioning glance, the sudden realisation and content smile briefly crossing Jason's features had him worried.

"Damn... Mrs C remembers me, I was hoping she'd forget. A friend and I used to come in here on the regular before the whole death thing, sometimes even help out and we would always order this."

"I didn't know Jaybird, sorry... But for the record this is the best diner we've been to in a while and I get if you don't wanna talk about it - but woah who was the waitress, d’ya think she’s single?" His partner questioned, gaze lazily drifting over to your laughing form.

"That was the miracle responsible for my bike, but (Y/n) doesn't work he-"

"Really?! EXCUSE ME?" Roy abruptly cut his best friend off, ensuring his wave caught your attention - eyes practically sparkling after hearing that information.

"What the fuck was that?! Don't, it's more conplicat-" Jason grabbed Roys offending arm, pinning it down to the table with his hushed warning.

"Despite me bringing over the drink earlier, I'm not actually a waitress here so you might wanna call -"

"(Y/n)! They're nice boys who probably wanted to talk to a beautiful lady, would you be polite for once in your life?" Mrs Cayce's words caused you to wince, your 'motherly scolding' spurring a frustrated sigh but in the end the judgments always brought you not necessarily what you wanted but what you needed.

"... How can I help you sir?" It was incredibly forced, as was the brief uninterested smile you gave them and the low but polite tone.

"I'm Roy and this is Jason. I was wondering if you could take a look at my ride if that's okay? The Red Hoods' or whoever’s is pretty sweet and he gave all credit to you." Admittedly, they noticed the positive change in demeanour at the mention of mechanics as Roy continued his request.

"Seriously?! He did?! Yes, 100 times yes! I’d lo- wait... Jason... as in Jason Jason? I do know you, don't I?" You were on the verge of squealing before that name registered, how the face matched your memories of your long lost friend and almost immediately your attention focused solely on the ravenette in front of you.

"..."

His silence wasn't considered useful, although his signature guilty expression gave it away, the awkwardly sheepish smirk he always wore when he knew you were right, his facial features were more mature and he was more handsome than you remembered - though you'd wished he'd never died in the first place. In fact you didn't even give a second thought to how he was sitting before you, instead trusting in the happiness he always blessed you with when in his presence.

"Fuck you nerd." Instantly you'd excitedly tackled him to the booth cushion regardless of your contrasting vocabulary, his arm wrapped around your waist whilst the other grabbed the back of the booth for stability since you'd almost pinned him to the seat.

"Rude much?" He abruptly commented, a playful undertone to his voice.

"Give me a break, you're supposed to be dead! I don’t know how or why but it's me Jason, we've always told each other everything..."

"I know, I didn't want to put you through anymore pain."

"You were a pain that I enjoyed having dumbass." Your tone was soft, more meaningful than he'd expected and it encouraged him to tell you everything.

"(Y/n) I-"

"Save the explanation for later, let me just enjoy your company for now and then I gotta show you my place! I managed to get my own mechanic shop and I fixed up Red Hoods bike - the Red Hood! God I have so much to tell you!" Despite knowing the excited tone you held was technically for him, he had no intentions of telling you who he was just yet, after all he was more than content to have you in his life again rather than longing for more of your time when saving your dumb ass under his alias.

That was the only reason he'd come to your garage that night, to enjoy your familiar company a little longer, if it were anyone else he wouldn't have bothered but for you? He'd still do anything for you.

"Me too doll, for a start this is Roy Harper..."

.

The owner Mrs Cayce carefully studied the scene, towel drying off your favourite mug as she continued to watch with a small smirk on her features and mysterious glint in her eyes.

"Why, it's about time you finally brought those two together isn't it Universe? Better late than never I suppose - but don’t you start any love triangle business ya hear?"

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dc imagine #roy harper

[keelywolfe]

Day 11: Wound (12 Days of Papcest)

For the @sfw12-days-of-papcest event!

Summary:  Edge enjoys cooking. He doesn't normally do it for an audience, but then, it's not his kitchen.

Notes:   I never intended these to be a series, but I keep writing stories where they are dancing around falling in love with each other. I'm fine with this. ^_^

Tags: Established relationship, dancing around the idea of loving each other, boys deserve to be happy!

Read it on AO3

or

Keep Reading Here!

~~*~~

Many times the Swap brothers had encouraged Edge to simply come in when he traveled to Underswap, but they were fighting a losing battle. Edge would never be comfortable walking in to someone else’s home, whether or not he was invited.

As always, he knocked with a brisk rap of his knuckles, but it was unusual for Stretch to answer the door, rather than Blue’s starry, excited self.

Stretch whistled and gave him an appreciative up and down. Ridiculously, in Edge’s opinion, he was dressed the same as always. “hey, lover, come on in.”

“Must you insist on the ridiculous moniker,” Edge sighed, stepping past him.

“i can give you a new one?” Stretch grinned and closed the door. He ticked off on his fingers. “doll face? shnookums? roy? any of those tickle your funny bone?”

“I stand corrected, carry on as you were. Where is your brother?” They had a long-standing appointment on Wednesday’s for cooking lessons. More often than not Edge would stay for dinner and then the night. Half his time spent in the kitchen with one brother and the second half in the bedroom with the other. It was an agreeable arrangement on all counts.

“eh, blue asked me to tell you that his training with alphys is running over. he said you can start cutting up the veggies if you want.” Stretch gave him a wink. “or i can find something for you to do while we wait.”

“I’ll chop the vegetables,” Edge said dryly. Not that Blue couldn’t guess exactly what Edge got up to with his brother, but neither did Edge want to force him to endure a visual of it.

He hesitated as he walked towards the kitchen, stopping at Stretch’s side. Their relationship didn’t really carry a name or any promises and yet…Stretch was incredibly tempting with that flirtatious smile still lingering, and Edge gave in.

Leaning in to steal a chaste kiss that wouldn’t immediately lead to sex felt awkward, strange, particularly since Stretch went very still against him.

Before he could pull back, perhaps even apologize, Stretch suddenly melted into the careful touch with a sigh, offering back the same gentle touch.

He withdrew with some reluctance before it could deepen, looking up into Stretch’s face. The faint flush of orange at his cheekbones was startlingly satisfying, as was the dazed way he blinked.

“um, okay.” Stretch’s smile shifted to something uncertain. “i hope that was a promise for later.”

“Perhaps,” Edge said dismissively, and went on his way to the kitchen. He didn’t expect Stretch to follow him, cooking was definitely not an interest of his and Edge’s lessons with Blue even more so. He was more than happy to reap the benefits but usually fled the moment the recipes came out.

This time, he sat at the small table, his chin propped on his hand and drumming the fingers of his other hand lightly.

At Edge’s raised brow bone, he only shrugged sheepishly, curling his hand into a loose fist. “sorry. just thought i’d keep you company until blue gets here.”

“So long as it’s company and not a distraction,” Edge said warningly.

Stretch smirked. “i’ll do my best.”

Despite the tease, he made no attempt at flirtation or seduction, only watched as Edge gathered the ingredients they’d need. Fresh vegetables were a luxury in Underfell and he struggled against a helpless spear of unease over using so many in one recipe.

He’d seen the hydroponic garden that the town of Swap-Snowdin had set up, boggling when told it had been Stretch’s concept. It had been with real regret that he’d turned down an offer for a similar setup in Underfell. The electricity simply wasn’t reliable enough and it would be a waste of resources without guarantees.

It was enough to bite back guilt when he took whatever extras the town offered him and his brother. Sharing it with his Snowdin was impossible; all too soon suspicions and greed would demand the citizens find where his largess was coming from and he couldn’t endanger Underswap that way.

It was demoralizing and frustrating in equal measure, but Edge had yet to figure out a solution. In time, he hoped, something would change.

Before his lessons with Blue, Edge had very little experience with cutting vegetables and he was still much slower than his swapped counterpart. But with every lesson he was getting better, and faster, and he made his way through the pile efficiently.

He was nearly done when the knife slipped and nicked the bone of his index finger, deep enough to draw marrow.

“Shit,” Edge grunted, snatching up a towel to press against the wound. He wasn’t worried about the cut, but he didn’t want to waste any of the food by contaminating it.

“careful, edgelord, those things bite.” The chair scraped the floor as Stretch stood and walked over to him.

Automatically, Edge resisted as Stretch tried to look at it and he gave Edge an exasperated look.

“you want me to heal that or are you planning on bleeding all over dinner?” Stretch asked pointedly. “i’m all for a trip to a new flavortown but i’d rather you weren’t on the chopping block. I mean, for everything there is a season-ing and all, i guess. this seems a little extreme.”

Edge sighed irritably and held out his hand. Both Swap brothers were capable healers. It would be foolhardy to turn Stretch away, despite his discomfort at someone else using magic on him. For fuck’s sake, he’d had Stretch’s cock in his mouth, a little healing magic was hardly more intimate.

Except, it was, wasn’t it, the unexpected gentleness as he cradled Edge’s hand in his own. He’d never seen Stretch use any magic besides shortcutting, and the way his left eye light went dark while the right flared green-orange was reminiscent of his own brother. Warmth seeped into the bones of his hand, filling them with soft magic that wasn’t his own. He watched as the cut shrank, then disappeared, the bone left unmarked, with no sign there’d ever been an injury.

Before Edge could pull away, Stretch raised his hand to his mouth and kissed the offending digit. “there. all better.”

Disbelieving, Edge started, “Did you just—“

Stretch scrubbed a sheepish hand over his skull, backing up to his chair and nearly falling into it. “uh, sorry. i always used to do that for blue when he was little.”

Used to…with a jolt, Edge realized he’d never really considered what the Swap brothers’ childhood was like. He’d met them as adults, seen Blue as the competent caretaker of his older brother.

Even when they’d started sharing a bed, he hadn’t questioned that mental assessment. Stretch went to his job and helped out around the house occasionally but there was no question that Blue was the head of the household. Just as Edge was in Underfell.

Why hadn’t it occurred to him that other parts of their lives had surely been mirrored? Stretch was the eldest, which meant at some point he would have been caring for his much younger brother. Like Red had, until Edge had come of age enough to help.

He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for a child to take care of another child, even in Underswap

“You’re a good brother,” Edge said abruptly.

Stretch only blinked, fumbling to pull out his lighter and he fidgeted with it, visibly flustered. “um. thanks?”

He didn’t get many compliments, Edge realized, not past Blue’s cheery affection for him…which made no sense.

Then again, He’d walked through Underswap with Stretch, he’d seen the way he was treated; friendly, but with a touch of condescension. After all, he was only Blue’s troublesome brother, who smoked too much, drank at Muffet's too much…and yet he’d created an elaborate indoor garden for them, how could they not see that…?

Well. Likely the same way Edge didn’t see it.

Somehow, that thought hurt worse than any cut finger possibly could.

“Thank you for healing me. You’re very good at it.” Edge told him as he scraped up the cut vegetables into a bowl. That flare of color rose higher in Stretch’s cheekbones.

“nah, blue’s a lot better,” he said dismissively. “i can handle little stuff but he’s the one you want if you’re going to chop anything more than a finger.”

Hm. Proof of his theory. He remembered how Stretch had been shocked at his kiss of greeting at first, the way he’d melted into it after that initial hesitance. As if it had been something he wanted, but didn’t know how to ask for.

“Luckily, I didn’t and your healing did exactly what I needed,” Edge said briskly. “So, thank you.”

“um. you’re welcome?” Stretch said hesitantly. But a little smile curved his mouth and he set his lighter down, propping his chin on both hands to watch Edge work.

So he could accept a compliment, after all. Perhaps he’d be even better at if he grew more accustomed to them.

This would take a careful plan; Stretch was a great deal more clever than most gave him credit for, but Edge believed he was up for the challenge.

If Stretch was making a point of healing his wounds, it would only be fair if Edge did the same.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underswap papyrus #underfell papyrus #12 days of Papcest

[guileheroine]

memores acti, prudentes futuri

Roy Mustang reflects on a long history with his Lieutenant, and where the years bring them. 

Royai, ~3k, my love letter to a very dear dynamic (prose without plot) 💛 / ao3 (highly recommended for formatting)

By day he was divining the perplexities of alchemy, and by evening (or morning walk, or lunch break, or menial compensatory chore in this house that would remain dreary no matter what he scrubbed it with) he was divining his master’s daughter. The latter was proving infinitely more elusive, and she wasn’t even a fraction as volatile.

Stern, immutable, predictable. She should have been boring.

The first time she spoke to him, she was bleeding before him on the creaky wooden step below the front door. She cradled her knee as the bag in the crook of her elbow continued to slip further down. The door frame framed her - she was very in his way; and for once she couldn’t scamper out it. (He wasn’t sure if she was just shy, or it was this roof that made her this way. He resolved to find out.)

“Um,” Roy said, cleared his dry throat. Then she could no longer pretend not to see him. His palms were open at his sides as he blinked on the verge of a step forward. “Are - are you alright?”

“I fell over on the path,” she answered matter-of-factly, like she had planned to do it. Only the twitch of her lip betrayed any sign of the pain that must have been great enough for her to remain immobilised, where he had doubt she would rather have walked quietly off.

So it sort of felt like cheating on a transmutation test, when he sat down on the step right below hers, knowing full well he was cornering her when she was helpless to play her usual move.

She simply stared into the cut on her knee. He didn’t have the option to stare her down.

“Is Master Hawkeye ready to see me?” He ventured, instantly feeling silly. How would she know? She had evidently just gotten home, and she couldn’t well go up and find out; and he would seem a great deal stupider than her father might have told her if she thought he was asking her to.

The first glare Riza Hawkeye would ever give him relayed exactly this. It was sharp, it cut. It was more than he had ever worked out of her, and immediately his curiosity overcame his sheepishness.

He peered into her knee, too; and she pulled her shoulder back a microscopic amount to signal her assent to his gesture. It was a shallow wound, but ugly, and the air was making it uglier.

“I don’t know any healing alchemy,” Roy said apologetically.

“It’s alright,” she said quietly, but not curtly. The absence of any curtness intrigued him further, her had expected it that much. After a moment she took a shallow breath and said in an inquisitive lilt, “What can you do?”

“Write lines,” Roy said with a hint of bitterness.

That earned him a spark in her eye. Roy could read it easily, he didn’t have to hear her reply to know it.

“Me too,” she said shyly.

“Master Hawkeye says you’re amazing in school,” he offered.

Riza shrugged, flexing her knee experimentally. “Well, it’s a good school. He made sure.” Her tongue stuck out and her eyes sharpened, like she could stare her leg into functioning properly.

Suddenly an idea struck him. He reached for his satchel, pulling out a flask of water and several creased sheets of paper before his fist emerged with a fraying bandage tucked in it. He presented it to her and she scrutinised it, then him, somewhat meekly.

“I hurt myself sometimes when I’m practicing,” he explained, “only a little bit!”

She let him dab at her knee with water from the flask before tying the strip of padded gauze around it, wincing silently only once or twice. By the time he was done her attention had drifted from her injury. Roy looked from her massive, round eyes to the sheet from his bag on which they lay. It was scrawled over with transmutation circles.

She was scrutinising this, too, but it was different - wistful. Quickly Roy snatched it away. They were embarrassing, unconfident renderings, not a perfect circle among them.

“Wait! Can you show me?” Riza stopped him. It was, again, the most forward she had been with him, and the simple fact made Roy agree. It was either going to impress her - and if not, well, at least his acquiescence might encourage her to try being forthright more often.

He turned the sheet in his hand over and fished a pencil out before drawing carefully and slowly. Then he concentrated very hard, and when he lifted his hands off it, the paper curled inwards and up from the centre into a thin shard of metal. It lay in the circle between their limbs, where they had bowed closer around it as if exchanging a secret.

“Wow - you can transmute -” Riza whispered at the unimpressive splinter, stopping short like her breath had been stolen. Had she spoken any louder it might have toppled like a pin.

Roy tsked. “It’s not efficient.” He pinched the metal away and shook the sheet off. “I want to transmute fire.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment she looked as hesitant as any other day. “You should show me - if you learn how to do that.” He understood that she was telling him she’d be discreet. Her expression turned vaguely regretful again. “I wish I could learn alchemy.”

“Really?” Roy blurted. She didn’t strike him as the type. “Why?”

“Well, why did you want to be an alchemist?”

The answer that was usually automatic to his lips took a moment to come when she asked so plainly for it. “To protect -  to help our people.”

Riza gave him another stare, more open and knowing than any before, and he found himself wishing he could meet her somewhere other than her father’s house.

-

He never saw her bleed in the war, though most of her was torn out thoughtlessly and mangled.  

As it turned out, fire was their secret, and in sharing it they made their grave mistake. It scorched to ashes both of their dreaming hearts and many things more innocent still, as fire was wont to.

It no longer impressed her. It did worse than the opposite. And only the tremble in her jaw betrayed her repulsion.

The second time he saw Riza bleed was the only time he made her bleed. She wouldn’t force his hand, but Roy knew he was helpless to decline her request. It felt like he was breaking his back just to muster the will to lay a finger on hers, although he knew it already bore far worse than the scars he would leave her with. Would always bear a weight unfathomable - he was helpless to erase the worst of it.

“Alright - Lieutenant Colonel,” she said shakily, mouth adjusting to his new title, and his own ears adjusted to it, too.

When she presented him with her back for the second time, he considered how this instance was a direct consequence of the first; drew a long, bitter line from a day many years ago to now as he surveyed the intricate lines. He wished he had never pursued these perplexities. Had stuck to the one they now crept over like a canvas, so straight and precise they might have been beautiful if they weren’t so dreadful. He located the most familiar lines, those which also marked his gloves. The array was still pristine. More so than in his mind, in his memory - it was almost a shame to mar it, even as the sight made him nauseous.

After all, its damage was done; the two of them its fated, ill-fated purveyors. This wasn’t really a preventative measure, or even a mitigative one. It was an afterthought.

But if it shaved a chip off her burden he would do it.

Riza had a painfully simple, simply painful plan. She would sit with a cushion of cloth between her teeth, he would do it, and when he was certain that the wounds were sealed he would leave. She would make her way to the East City Hospital in the morning and claim a freak domestic accident.

It bled very little. He made it quick and pinpoint, channelling her own deadly aim in his mind, so that the nerve endings would numb as swiftly as possible. She made very little sound, having numbed quicker from the inside out. He marveled at her composure until he realised it was no marvel at all - it seemed as though her very lifeblood had run dry, flesh already mutated, skin turned steel under his fingers. She had hardened - it only took him this long to notice how deep the dread had penetrated.

He hadn’t done it now, but that was still his doing in some way, he knew that. The first time he had burned her was not this, but the first time he had ever burned an innocent body. And every next body - his or hers, was the simply the following link in this heavy chain that now shrouded her skin, made it unfeeling.

It was both of their doings. They were in this hell together. They had created it, wreathed out of flames their own private prison.

At least they were in here together.

And fire was hard to stamp out.

Theirs had scorched a world into a wasteland and left it in their wake. But that wasn’t the only stubborn fire they had shared; and in the ashes of childish dreams there remained a scant few embers.

Their shape had changed, irreversibly - but whilst the devastation, to which they had done far worse than borne witness, had annihilated the idealism of those dreams, it had sharpened other parts.

It sharpened his sight of the world, such that he could draw up from the ashes his vision of the future, and discern it with an eye keener than ever. Her aim with a rifle was already perfect, but now a deeper purpose was in piercing focus.

If the world truly operates on the principles of equivalent exchange, then we soldiers have plenty to give back. If this world is meant to prosper then it is our duty to carry the bodies of the dead across a river of blood to their resting place.

He was in total agreement, and he knew that he didn’t have to tell her that for her to know it. They were going to play the long game.

When it was done, she whispered, “Thank you,” through clenched teeth. He washed his hands, though no blood came off, hers or anybody else’s.

A week later in the East City headquarters, he asked how her wound was, and knew from the tight press of her lips that he wasn’t supposed to. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Colonel.” Well, he knew that code: his sticking around the issue wasn’t part of her plan that evening, and it wasn’t part of their one now, because hereafter they only looked forward.

She was constant.

Her resolution compounded his own, tethered him to the world and their cause (one and the same); her oath sanctioned him to act, even if they had no power to sanctify one another.

He wondered if he would ever again witness that spark in her eyes. That was the only fire he wanted to share.

The years granted his wish, as the signs of life flowed back into the parts of them both that weren’t blackened. It became nothing special to see her bleed - minor injuries sustained on the job (rare though they were), papercuts; the one time Jean scared Hayate and he nipped too hard.

Until one day it wasn’t.

-

After Bradley scattered his men, the absence sensitised him to every minute shift in her countenance when they crossed paths. When they moved as a team, he had had little opportunity or need to simply observe. Here, observe was the only thing they could do together.

So he observed her. Now that his constant was not so constant he was taking not only intelligence from these liaisons but whatever he could of simply her presence; siphoning what he could in twenty short minutes and tucking it in corners of his mind for later. Bradley knew what he was doing - her captivity gave him leverage, was a real impediment - but he couldn’t know that that was no more an impediment than the mere reality of separation, of configuring their manoeuvres and machinations without his lieutenant. It slowed him down. Losing her felt like losing a limb - in the most practical sense, yes, but otherwise, too: wherever their quest led, they were supposed to go together.

The thin laceration along her pale cheek was not healing. It looked as raw as it had yesterday when she had relayed to him her chilling news regarding Selim Bradley. It had raised in him yet more concerns about the tangled web of intrigue an atrocity that spun outward from the heart of the military; about its culmination, the imminent upheaval that he sensed would strike Central City, if they were lucky, but more likely the whole of Amestris.

But the anxiety that had resounded first and deepest was for Lieutenant Hawkeye. Why did she know what she knew? How did the knowledge befall her? What had stolen her characteristic calm over the line the other day? Why was she bleeding?

It was coming very soon, the critical point they had worked for, and they had prepared long - but they couldn’t be ready if they were apart. Soon it would be imperative to act fast together, to whatever end. Which meant soon, he would have all his answers, or no need for answers at all.

“It’s deep,” Roy commented casually. He averted his eyes from her injury to his tray before she could meet them.

“Sir?” She said, but she knew his meaning almost as soon as she had spoken. “Oh. Yes.”

The cut nearly bled through the flimsy dressing - he could see a fresh drop bead as she chewed her bagel; and she winced slightly when she swallowed. The set in her jaw reminded him of the first time, when she had scraped her knee.

He wondered how to voice his concern without saying too much. He didn’t figure it out before their twenty minutes were up.

Before he knew it, the Promised Day was upon them, and he understood, when Hawkeye approached him before Hughes’ grave, that for all their deliberation there was something they had neglected to design out.

What if the long game got cut short?

The possibility was real. The possibility, he accepted, but he wished they had time to work out the details - wondered, as they exchanged their final resolute glance before the dawn, if he could accept the means to a bloody end.

-

When the zero hour finally came, he learnt to regret being impatient for it.

No instance could have prepared him for the blow that the gold-toothed doctor dealt. He saw the blood bloom like fire before his eyes. She suffered just once more for his sake; and in the sharp, blistering second before his eyes blurred where all he saw was her blood he remembered knowing one thing; and it shot frantically, messily to the fore of his consciousness like the spray from her wound.

They were supposed to go together.

That was the final, unspoken element of the plan.

This was not part of the plan.

She had betrayed it herself hours ago, and whilst hearing the words burned more than her bullet would have, he had known the plain truth of it already; felt it echo in his own heart now.

I have no intention of carrying on by myself.

He could no nothing but shout. Hawkeye lay motionless. The doctor’s taunts seemed inconsequential, faraway, over the rush of blood in his ears (and if it weren’t for that he might have thought his own body was draining) - but he was holding that glimmering Stone up, making his torture so much worse that he could hardly imagine what hers felt like. And all the while the blood poured like sand from an hourglass (all those years and still, they were out of time); and he really was helpless this time, helpless to halt it, freefalling -

Until she caught him.

His ragged breath caught.

He knew that code.

-

When he saw nothing, he saw blood. He woke from an uneasy slumber with the image of her on the cold floor behind his eyelids, as if his vision hadn’t disappeared so much as stopped short on that one foul image.  

He wished he could wash it out of his useless eyes. He needed his sight back for a great many things, but none more than that he had to see her, not dying, not bleeding, not stumbling on her feet.

The morning that Doctor Marcoh released him from his care the sun was blaring in Central City, as if to welcome him back. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from its glare (a strangely satisfying sensation) and discerned the back of her in the plaza on his way to their old office. She was talking to Fuery and as he found her she sent him on his away.

Even half a courtyard away she shone like a beacon in the light, a stern, straight figure capped with glinting gold.

He found himself running. “Lieutenant!”

He could pinpoint the millisecond the understanding filtered into her head. Her back stiffened in that familiar way, and even though he couldn’t see her face he could see it: big eyes wide, a momentary leap of the brow. Her hand curled at her side. If he could call for her from the distance that she heard his voice at, it meant  -

He stopped when she turned, a handful of paces away.

She had told him earlier that her brace was gone, but it seemed like all debility had disappeared with it. His eyes flew straight to her neck, and before the old image could flash he absorbed this one. Clean wrappings peeked from under the collar of her black turtleneck. She stood on solid feet and blinked, raising her hands before her. He saw them tremble with energy.

“Lieutenant,” he repeated.

In answer she drew forward into his arms. He didn’t know what to do with his own - he was wary of her injury - but he settled them over her back. Released an exhale that felt laborious, overdue.

She stepped back and he said, “It’s good to see you.”

Hawkeye laughed lowly. Instead of drawing her hands back to her side, she lifted one and placed it against his jaw. It drew his eyes straight back into hers; and he realised, when he had managed to direct his thought away from the warm sensation, that that was its purpose.

“And you, Colonel,” she said warmly.

A passerby might have thought that they had little to say, and they would be right: they had little to say to one another when nobody’s eyes were out of commission.

“I see you’re very happy to be giving orders in my absence. But I have to admit, I’ve got much else to thank you for.”

In her face he read relief, gratitude, admiration, the hint of sardonic admonishment. And something not new, but newly pronounced, which he recognised because it coursed through his own self, would have shown on his face: a deep, undammed affection.

But she smiled, and for now “Tell me later, Sir,” was all she said.

They were playing the long game, after all.

#fullmetal alchemist #royai #royai fanfiction #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #**

[iwritethat]

Jason Todd: Guests

A/N: Imagine living with Jason and his family getting suspicious about his mysterious roomie. It's not what they expected.

Warnings: Maybe 2 swear words.

>>>>————————>

It was a bizarre phenomenon, Jason returning to the same place over and over again. Usually he'd rotate between safe houses or rented accommodation but not this. The family weren't tracking him exactly but they looked out for their own - this situation peaking their curiosity enough for them to check it out.

.

You were lazing on the sofa having arrived home before your partner in crime fighting until you heard the window click. At first you assumed it was him, but you'd grown accustomed to his movements, how he did things just as he'd adjusted to your behaviours and this most definitely was not Jason entering your lovely shared quarters. You were certain it wasn't Roy either, nothing had smashed yet...

Silently you'd grasped your katana from the floor, finger instinctively running across the golden rimmed hilt and swiftly swivelled the perfectly balanced blade as you stood to place a foot on the back of your couch smirking at your intruder.

"You picked the wrong window sweetheart~"

.

The stranger froze, immediately stumbling to a halt rather surprised that he'd been discovered so quickly and held his hands up in surrender.

"Uh sorry... I -" The male didn't get a chance to explain when Red Hood swung through the window with a boot to the intruders back which sent him to the ground only for him to flip back up seconds later.

Before you could move to attack, Jason patted your thigh which urged you to step over the couch and join his side. "Dick is no threat, trust me."

The man in question offered a sheepish wave once your suspicious gaze fell upon him and so you walked over eerily calm, the tip of your sword placed under his chin and used to tilt his head upwards.

"You are lucky Jay trusts you intruder, now would you like tea or coffee?" You gave an unreadable expression but one that stirred an answer.

"Coffee... please..."

You kindly smiled, sheathing your blade to lean against the counter whilst you prepared beverages.

.

Dick took the time to look around the nicely sized space, one that you presumably shared with his brother considering it was a 2 bedroom apartment. It explained the cultural decor and selection of blades decorating the back wall in designer fashion - obviously they were not 'decorations', they were sharpened weapons you and Jason regularly alternated between on the field. Although one thing caught his eye, a jar full of money on the side.

"A swear jar? Really?"

"Don't be ridiculous, it'd take more than that to stop Jason's foul mouth. This is more fitting for the both of us - in fact it pays the bills." You laughed, placing the warm mug into his hands before spinning the glass to reveal the label that read 'Talked Shit about my Mentor'.

Jason nodded in agreement with a prideful smirk whereas Dick pulled out a few dollars with a haphazard shrug.

"I get it, I've said 'fuck Batman' at least once." Now you and Jason mocked shock with over dramatic gestures and you held onto one another for support during your laughter whilst Dick sighed at your childish antics, although it was endearing to see Jason so free around someone. Another interruption via the front door concerned the three of you so once unlocking it you were greeted with two young men of whom you'd never met but when glancing back to a sighing Jason you instantly knew to let them in.

"Told you knocking like a normal person was the best option Grayson." Damian wore a smug grin, obviously witness to Jason hitting him through the window earlier.

"For once... ugh... I agree with the demon spawn." Tim sighed, emphasising his distaste on the matter - you knew of his family and were aware that these two had a rocky relationship at times.

.

You could tell the youngest took the time to admire the widely decorated interior, Jason's cultural taste intriguing him in particular.

"Your lover brings out the most in you Todd, you are truly yourself around them."

At that point, everyone snapped to the two of you due to your uncharacteristic silence - the reaction being two intimidating vigilantes with crossed arms staring them down supposedly unimpressed by Damians accusations.

"Ya hear that babe? They think we're dating." Snark surrounded his cocky tone, but their assumption deserved such a blunt response considering you’d only just met.

"Well Batman fails at training adequate detectives then." Along with your own sarcasm came a playful elbow to your ribs courtesy of Jason causing you to release a giggling groan.

"Firstly, he trained me and I'm amazing, secondly pay up (Y/n)."

"I find it hard to believe that you would choose to consistently come back to someone with no feelings being involved, it's out of character. You hate letting people in." Tim suspiciously commented, yourself paying your due to the jar with a concerned expression even though Batman wasn't your mentor (if Jason insulted your mentor then he'd put money into the jar as well).

"There's a lot of components to our relationship that I'm not willing to discuss with any of you. And I hate that you know me that well Timbers."

"Well I like your family Jason, they're good people. Like you said."

"Hah! Knew you appreciated us Jason!" Tim proudly confirmed, finger pointed at his predecessor in some form of triumph.

"Uh whatever - time to go! Get out of our apartment, we're going to bed!" Jason's walls were ever prominent, extinguishing any outer emotion for the Batfam like usual despite it being common knowledge he viewed them as allies at the very least.

"It's been a busy night but feel free to drop by again some time, you're all very welcome here." You made sure to intercede, somewhat grateful for their impromptu visit even if Jason displayed a polar opinion.

"Do not drop by, you're not welcome, (Y/n) is lying to be nice. Now go." Your partner corrected, emphasising disagreement at every chance he could get leaving you to openly defend yourself.

"I'm not lying." You sniggered, raising a brow at your partner’s antics.

"For the sake of getting rid, please don't encourage them." Jason mock begged you, urging you over to his side out of sheer desperation for his solitude that only you were often included in.

Dick glanced between you two admiring the subconscious connection, the way you looked at one another as well as the playfully challenging comebacks you exhibited - Jason was happy. "Looks like a couples dispute, we'll leave you to it. See you next week, thanks for the coffee (Y/n)~" The eldest finished knowingly, understanding that there’d be more time for bonding later on as it became apparent that you were not parting from Jason in the near future.

"You will not see us next week, I'll lock the doors and windows." Jason briskly countered, sending a pointed look to a sheepish Dick who rubbed the back of his neck when recalling his previous entrance.

"TT, I only plan to see (L/n)." Damian was nonchalant about that fact, not even sparing Jason a glance.

"Fuck off Demon Spawn!"

"Make me T-mfph." Dick took the opportunity to silence the youngest Wayne and usher him out followed by an amused Tim and accompanied by a flurry of varying goodbyes.

.

It left you and Jason to bask in the silence of your own company and time to digest the recent bustling activity.

"So they really don't know huh?" Your voice was more solemn than before, lacking its usual playful glint to it. Jason knew you were serious about this one.

"...I thought about telling them, but then I got distracted and honestly, I like this. Just us. For now anyway." You’d been around long enough to detect his sincerity, the wistfulness lacing his voice as he presumably got lost in thought of the future - specifically how they’d react when they knew.

"Mhm, for the record - my brothers in law aren't that bad y’know." A shrug followed your words, gaze flicking to the golden wedding band beautifully crafted into the hilt of your signature katana, Jasons' ring located on the handle of his favoured knife of which accompanied him everywhere - it was unorthodox but suited the two of you perfectly.

"Heh, wait 'til you meet the so called 'Father'. He's a dick but can't be worse than your mentor." Your partner proudly stated, opting to make you a drink before bed.

"Jar." Your voice was smug yet contrastingly stern, and Jason could only whine in defence.

"Oh come on, we both know I've said worse!"

"Nu-uh, still counts babe. In fact that's two in one, so pay up!"

How this marriage of yours had worked continued to stifle each other, but you were grateful to have fallen in love with Jason Todd - almost as grateful as he was to have met you that fateful night.

Almost.

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dc imagine #batfam #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne