#but at the same time Dick's sharper edges are so important to me in the comics and a really big part of why i like him

[silverwhittlingknife]

When people say that Dick “has a temper” what do they mean?  Is he the type to blow up over an inconvenience, be impatient, or rage-quit?

Ahhhh, I had a lot of fun with this. Thanks for the ask, anon. <3

My main feeling about Dick's temper is it's an important part of his characterization, and it's a fun part of his characterization, but I also try not to overemphasize it? A lot of my thoughts are here; also @theflyingwonder has some good panel collections here and here and here if you want to see what Dick generally looks like when he's grumpy about something.

General thoughts / caveats:

Anger is obviously not the only emotion Dick ever feels!! He feels many other emotions too!! The fact that he is capable of getting really angry sometimes does not mean that he is angry all the time!!

He's a person who feels emotions very deeply - anger, love, loyalty, etc. - but also has a very conflicted relationship with his emotions. He aspires to be perfectly controlled, like he imagines Bruce is, and he's ashamed of moments when he loses control. Because he's wound pretty tight and represses a lot, his emotions can be a bit explosive when he loses his grip on them.

I would never describe him as "an angry person." He doesn't walk around fuming at the world and looking for things to be mad about, y'know? He's a person who wants to be optimistic and tries to be optimistic. This very much includes when he's Robin.

He wouldn't blow up over an inconvenience unless he was already really upset about something more serious. But yeah, if he's upset about something important, sometimes he'll lash out at whatever's closest.

He's methodical and focused; he'll sometimes get impatient when he's, say, bored by his friends' TV preferences, and in general he gets restless and likes to be moving, but if he's got a challenging task to complete he's completely capable of hyper-focusing on it.

In his civilian life, he generally has a pretty good grip on the anger - so e.g. I don't remember him ever shouting at Clancy or civilian friends in general. When a reporter tries to get dirt on him by interviewing his neighbors at his apartment complex, they universally gush about how nice he is.

Meanwhile, in his vigilante life, he's got a rigid moral code and a rigid sense of duty. He cares a lot about helping people and protecting civilians, and he's emotionally-fulfilled by it, and he can be very kind. But he's also a super-intense person who takes his responsibilities seriously, and he'll get sharp with people that he feels aren't being serious enough. He only screws around when he's with people who are very serious themselves, like Bruce.

In an argument, Dick's generally direct and confrontational: he'll snap at you to your face, not sulk behind your back. Even when he's being a bit more passive-aggressive, he's not subtle about it. If Dick's annoyed with you, you'll know. If he doesn't like you, he makes it obvious.

Jean-Paul: I've seen you with Robin - you like Robin. Dick: You got a problem with Robin? Jean-Paul: No! I like Robin, too. He's an exceptional young man. I just mean... it's obvious when you like someone. And equally obvious that you don't like me. (GK 14)

Dick's just a very dynamic character in general, rather than a static one. When he's relaxed, he can be very easygoing and friendly; if you get off on the wrong foot with him, he's prickly and often harsh. He's got a very serious core, a strong sense of principle, and a passionate sense of loyalty to the people he cares about. Here's a light-hearted moment with Dick and Tim fooling around playing tag:

Dick (grabbing Tim from above): Gotcha! Tim: Augh! (B: Transference)

This is from the exact same arc as the panel at the top - but before Hugo Strange almost kills Bruce. And just in general I think this panel is a good reminder that Dick does all kinds of things that are not about being angry, that he's also the person who keeps Tim fed and repeatedly saves him from falling, that sometimes he'll pour his heart out to Bruce, that he really really really loves his friends, and so on.

Now, all that said, if you would like an extensive deep dive into Dick yelling at people (and really, who wouldn't? yelling is fun!), I've collected a super-long list of quotes which I've attempted to corral into organization. Below the cut:

Dick vs. criminals

Dick vs. Bruce

Dick + list of reasons he gets upset

Dick + annoyance at friends/teammates

Dick + lashing out at loved ones (rare! but, uh, very memorable)

Dick + first meetings with future siblings (+Steph)

In conclusion

Anger at Criminals

Dick's temper is an important part of how he thinks of himself: he's intensely self-aware about his temper and also conflicted about it. It comes up most often when he's fighting criminals, especially when they're threatening people he loves:

Dick (internally): At first, I couldn't believe what they were saying… but as the truth sank in, I felt a rage growing so great inside me - that it felt like I was just a part of the anger, instead of it being a part of me. Kid!Dick: Those animals! They murdered my mother and father! I'm going to the police! Bruce: No... not yet. (Secret Origins 13) Deathwing: You've been so angry for so long, Dick. Learn to accept it because you have no choice. You will become me, Dick, and I know because I am your worst nightmare! I am you! Dick: Never! I'm not you and I'll never be you! Yeah, I get angry. Sometimes I get so pissed I want to break everything in sight. But everyone gets mad. Everyone gets frustrated. But I don't fight out of anger! I fight when there's something wrong that needs to be stopped! And that's why I'll never be you! I don't fight to kill - I fight to protect! And what you said about Batman - well, pal, screw you. He's the best mentor anyone ever had! (NT 100) Dick (internally): I hit him harder than I should. Not sure why. It worries me that it feels so right. (N 2) Dick: I thought I was more in control than that. But I lost it. Tim: It was made right, Dick. The Joker is alive and not well in a maximum security cell. Dick: It’s not right with me. I never thought I could be a killer. I’m wrong. There’s a part of me I never saw before. The rage. I never felt anger like that. I feel like it clawed me up inside. (N 64) Dick (internally): Nothing Jason says can be taken for truth. He says Tim is dead. I'll need more proof than his word and an empty cowl. Because right now, I need to keep that hope alive. If for nothing else, then to keep me from losing control… and I won't let that happen. Can't let that happen. Can't. Dick (punching Jason): WHERE IS HE, JASON? Jason: Depends on what kind of life he led. Dick (breaking Jason's nose, then internally): There goes his nose. Control your anger. (BftC 3) Jason (internally): Dick is different from Bruce. In the way he fights. In the way he thinks. And the way he feels. And he gets angry. Really angry. That anger, it'd make him a great Batman, if he'd let it. He's trying too much to be like him.  The good son. Man, I hate him.  (B&R 25)

So something you'll notice about all of these moments is that Dick isn't proud of his anger. He doesn't experience it as cathartic, and he isn't proud of the things he does when he's angry. His anger is an enemy; it's the person he doesn't want to be, to the extent that after the fact being angry almost feels like an out-of-body experience, because in the burn of anger he'll do things that his conscious mind rejects.

I tend to think of anger for Dick as akin to a temptation. He's strong and talented and smart. He's capable of really hurting people. He also believes - viscerally, fiercely - that it's wrong to do so.

Worth remembering: Dick's big confrontation with Zucco, in most of his origin stories, involves taking the photo that gets him arrested:

Dick (remembering): Twenty-four hours later, we were on the trail of Boss Zucco... and when he murdered his own henchman, I took the photo that sent Zucco to prison! (Secret Origins 13)

And in Batman: Year Three, he's furious when he thinks that Bruce might have arranged for Zucco to get killed - when Dick's calm and thinking clearly, he believes it's wrong to kill even people who are clearly evil. It's only when he's swept up in emotion that he'll get violent.

Anger at Bruce

... Look, I had to give Bruce his own category.

Dick and Bruce have a lot of fights. Like, a lot of fights.

Now, this isn't at all particular to Dick! Dick's just one of many, many, many people in Bruce's life who periodically get fed up with him. So I wouldn't gloss this as Dick being unusually short-tempered - post-Crisis Bruce would provoke a saint (and does! at one point Clark briefly votes him out of the JLA!). And Dick doesn't always get angry when Bruce is being a jerk to him - sometimes he's just discouraged, or depressed.

But at the same time, Dick's not a pushover, and when he's sufficiently provoked, he'll often track Bruce down to confront him / demand an explanation / demand better behavior / etc. Paradoxically, I actually tend to see these confrontations as an expression of Dick's faith in Bruce. He gets angry because he expects better.

Here's a small sampling of Dick-angry-at-Bruce moments (some confrontations, some where Dick's just fuming on his own):

Bruce: Listen to me. Dick: Listen to you? You hand Gotham over to that nutcase altar boy. You leave this kid out to dry without a snowball's chance. Then you throw everything you’ve lived for aside like it was nothing! Killing this creep doesn’t make you as bad as the scum we hunt. It makes you worse. Because they never stood for anything. (R 8) Dick: If you say anything about 'finding myself,' I think I'll puke. Bruce: I thought you'd be glad to see me back. Dick: That depends on why you came back. Bruce: To take up the mantle again. To take back my place. Dick: For how long this time? Bruce: Not now, Dick. We can talk about this when - Dick: Right now. We're settling this right now, Bruce. (R 12 - Bruce has abruptly reappeared in the Batcave after leaving Dick and Tim in charge during Prodigal)

Dick: It was you who told us to stay out of Gotham. I’ve got a life here. I can’t just walk away from that. You’ll have to - (Bruce hangs up on him) Damn you! (N 34 - Bruce has been AWOL for months and now abruptly summons Dick to join him in No Man's Land) Dick (internally): Bruce is playing martyr. Keeping us at a distance. […] Why does it have to be this way with us? WHY? (He punches his car, and his hand comes away bloody.) Uncontrollable rage. The same rage I felt when I killed the Joker. Thought I had it under control. (N 65 - Bruce is accused of murder and freezing out the Bats) Bruce: What are you doing out of bed? Dick: You did it again, didn't you? You pushed everyone away! (N 99) Bruce: I assume this isn't a social call? Dick: What the hell is the matter with you? I mean, aside from the obvious! Ignoring the many layers of denial, and the fifty feet of psychological body armor that you throw up to avoid feeling anything! Aside from that! And the pathological need to control everything on Earth and beyond! Ignoring all that! What exactly is your compulsion, your burning desire to deceive, lie, and manipulate the only people who give a good god damn about you?! Bruce: You getting to a point? (O 21 - Dick just found out that Bruce was secretly funding the Outsiders)

Dick's relationship with Bruce is Complicated (TM), because he's also incredibly loyal, and - despite everything - he loves Bruce a lot. A lot of Dick's anger comes out of this frustrated loyalty - Dick feels betrayed and hurt because he loves Bruce so much. Here's a panel from later in Outsiders 21:

Bruce: You shouldn't place that much faith in me. Dick: I have more faith in you than anyone.

Reasons why Dick gets angry: an incomplete list

So if Dick isn't really the type to, say, rage-quit a game, then what does he get angry about (other than criminals and Bruce in general)?

I've tried to loosely categorize what seem to me to be the main things that can make him lose his temper:

as above, somebody Dick loves has been hurt and he's furious at the person who did it (so e.g. trying to kill the Wildebeests when they threaten the Titans, trying to kill Hugo Strange for trying to kill Bruce, lashing out at Tumult when he hurts Tim),

he's feeling attacked or betrayed and he's lashing out in self-defense (so e.g. a lot of the fights with Bruce, punching Roy after Roy fires him in New Titans, or calling Roy a junkie when Roy tells him he's just like Bruce in Outsiders, or yelling at Tim when Tim's insisting he should be Robin again),

he's angry about a lack of loyalty (so e.g. he's furious and feels betrayed when he learns that Bruce has replaced him with Jason; he's angry at Bruce for picking Azrael as Batman instead of Dick; he's angry at Tim when Tim suggests Bruce might be a murderer)

he's jealous (so e.g. he's hurt and angry when Kory marries someone else; his resentment of Azrael is much more about Bruce than it is about Azrael)

he's angry at another vigilante for behaving too violently/irresponsibly (so e.g. he has multiple fights with Kory insisting that she can't kill anyone; he's similarly furious with Bruce when he thinks Bruce has tried to kill someone; he snaps at the Titans in general after a failed mission; he's harsh about Tim and his team during Graduation Day)

he's unhappy and taking it out on someone else, often to drive them away (so e.g. he snaps at Donna and Alfred when he's depressed about Kory's marriage - arguably there's some supernatural influence here, but IMO he'd do it anyway; he gets snappish with Tim when he's depressed about his own lack of progress with Chulo/in Blüdhaven and also when he's actually mad at Bruce about Jean-Paul; he's very harsh to Babs and Wally when they try to comfort him post-J:LL; arguably most of his behavior in Outsiders after Donna's death falls under this category too),

he's unhappy and he's taking it out on an inanimate object (so e.g. smashing things after hearing about Kory's potential marriage; punching his car until his hand is bloody after Bruce has been a jerk to him, smashing a sign when Babs is jabbing at him by comparing him to Bruce),

his privacy is being violated by paparazzi (Dick hates photographers and will not hesitate to punch them or destroy their equipment)

I think something important about all these reasons is... they're understandable? It's not surprising that Dick is upset about the woman he loves marrying someone else; it would be stranger if he wasn't upset. It's not surprising that he lashes out defensively when he's feeing attacked - this is an extremely common thing to do! Dick's anger isn't a weird cloud of rage that just descends on him for no reason; he gets angry when he has something to get angry about.

That said, he does have particular things he's especially touchy about - loyalty, privacy, control, etc. And his anger can be physical - he does break things.

Dick + annoyance with friends/teammates

Dick calls a team meeting to rebuke the Titans in Titans 13

This is lower-key, so I wouldn't always describe this as anger per se, but it feels relevant: Dick can get snappish if he's in a bad mood, though he'll usually back off if it's pointed out to him:

Dick: Half this world goes to hell in a handcart and you do nothing? Donna: Hey, don't shout at me because your personal life has gone crazy. We had a crisis… Dick: You had a crisis? Who hasn't? And my personal life, for what it's worth, is a: just fine, and b: none of your business. Do me a favor and go. I want to be alone. (NTT 18 - Dick's upset because Kory is marrying someone else)

Dick: Roy! What the hell is this? Why is Lian in the way? She should be in a crib or something, not where people can step on her. Roy: Dick, my daughter is in nobody's way, and I'm watching her every move. Dick: Oh, yeah? Well, I've had it - Roy: Dick, your friends are here to help you and you're not making it any easier. C'mon, pal - calm down. Dick: You're right. I'm sorry. This is all getting to me. Roy: Really? The immediate world and I never noticed. (NT 100)

Dick (surprising Tim): You should've known you wouldn't hear anything. Not in this wind - but if you'd been downwind on the other side, you might have scented me. Tim (startled): Nightwing! Dick: You did want to meet - or do you just like playing computer games? Now let’s make it snappy - I’m in New York on my own business. Tim: And a big fat hi to you, too. (Showcase '93 11 - Dick's upset because he's blaming himself for someone Chulo murdered)

Dick: He didn't send you to check up on me? Tim: Huh? Dick (scowling): Don't play dumb. Tim: Batman? I came down on my own, Dick. What's with the attitude? Dick: Sorry, Tim. I haven't been making a lot of progress since I got here. (N 6 - Dick's self-aware here - he's on edge because he thinks he's doing a bad job)

Babs: Okay, calm down, take a deep breath, and explain again why you’re so angry… Dick: Why am I angry? I’m not angry, I’m–I’m–I’m dismayed, okay? I’m dismayed that there can be a Robin who believes Batman could be guilty of murder! How could that happen, Babs? How could that happen?! (GK 26) Kory: You could say goodbye to your teammates. Dick: They're not my teammates anymore. Kory: They noticed. (TT/O Secret Files 2005)

You'll notice that several of these include Dick backtracking and apologizing. He doesn't hold grudges or fume forever! And Dick's generally self-aware enough to realize why he's snappish once he takes a step back:

Dick: I…I’m sorry…I know this isn’t your fault. Here I’m attacking you - and you’re probably just as scared as I am. I just feel so frustrated. Batman could always remain calm in a crisis. I guess that’s just another difference between us. Maybe I’d be better off if I just cut myself off from all feeling like he does. (NT 77)

Something Dick generally isn't apologetic about: Dick is intensely self-critical about badly-done vigilante work, and in a team setting, he's not that patient with other people's mistakes.

Here's Dick calling a team meeting so he can scold the team in Titans 13:

Dick: Lock the doors, sit down, and pay attention. And that's an order. ... Our performance against Tartarus and the HIVE was unacceptable. Each and every one of you should thank God you weren't killed.

Here's an argument between Dick and Donna in Graduation Day 2 - the context is that Young Justice just screwed up an earlier fight, and Tim's berating himself and Conner while Dick and Donna eavesdrop (you'll notice that like Dick, Tim tends to be pretty self-critical + impatient with teammates):

Conner: The Titans got their lumps. Tim: No, the Titans got our lumps. They were looking out for us. There we were, shoulder to shoulder with the inspiration for Young Justice. And we lose half our team and half of theirs. Conner: Tim, I bet they were a lot like us when they started. Tim: No, I don't think so. (Donna and Dick are eavesdropping.) Donna: He's being awfully hard on himself. Kind of reminds me of someone. Dick: I don't know what you're talking about. Donna: You could tell him he's wrong. Dick: Is he? Donna: We stepped in it plenty of times, Dick. Plenty. We got beat by Dr. Light. Completely pantsed by Trident. We had the ill-conceived idea that the Mad Mod was a threat. There was that time in South America when we left Garth in the sun for three hours. Lots of stuff… We even got kidnapped by Count Vertigo. How embarrassing was that? Dick: I didn't get kidnapped. I got nabbed when I was coming to save Roy. Donna: Nevertheless, they could use a kind word. Dick: I'm not sure a kind word is what they need.

The upshot is that Donna goes to comfort Cassie while Dick goes off alone.

Again, the point is not that Dick goes around fuming about his teammates 24/7! He cares about the Titans and trusts them to watch his back; he feels the same way about Tim.

But in the heat of the moment, he'll sometimes get snappish or impatient, especially with people he's close to. The friends that Dick has who stick around are the ones who are tough enough to stand up to him, and who understand him enough not to take his occasional moods personally.

Dick + lashing out at loved ones

This one's a bit meaner. Dick's really good at picking out other people's insecurities, which he almost never uses against them ... but when he's retaliating, he's got an instinct for what will hurt the most:

Dick: No, I won't stop it. How dare you tell me what to do when you screwed up so badly Raven could be dead by now? Who knows what Mento did to Gar and Vic? Maybe your failure killed Kole. No, I won't stop. I won't! Donna (punching him): Shut up, Dick! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I don't want to hear anymore! Dick: But you're going to, Donna. You made me listen to what you had to say. But you don't like hearing the truth about yourself, do you? The perfect Donna Troy maybe isn't so perfect after all. (NTT 19 - Dick's under an ambiguous amount of Brother Blood influence during this period, but he's also just really upset about Kory, and I tend to interpret BB as "reducing his self-control" not "he's a totally different person")

Bruce: I didn't expect to see you again. Dick: I heard about Jason. I'm really sorry, Bruce. Bruce: You weren't at the funeral. People asked about you. Dick: C'mon, Bruce - talk. Don't turn your back on me. I'm here… now. Bruce: You were lucky. When you didn't listen to me, your injuries weren't fatal. Of course, by the time I properly trained you - Dick: Bruce, c'mon…lay off. I'm not here to fight. Bruce: Then don't! Dick: Are you blaming me? I left, so Jason replaced me, and because I left he died? No way, pal. Jason wasn't me. I was a trained acrobat. I could think quickly in perilous situations. But why did you let him become Robin before he was ready?!? Bruce (punching him): Don't you dare blame me for Jason's death! Don't you dare! (NT 55 - this fight is ofc 110% Bruce's fault even before the punch, but Dick absolutely is blaming Bruce for Jason's death here) Dick (trying to punch Roy): GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU TRAITOR!  Roy: Dick, I'm your friend… Blast it, man - why are you doing this?  Dick: Friends don't turn on friends, Harper. I've been there every time you called me. I sat up with you all night while you were detoxing. That was not a pretty sight.  (NT 101 - Dick's upset about getting fired as team leader)

Dick: I disgraced myself and my uniform. Both uniforms. I have to learn to live with that or quit. No more surprise visits, Babs. Don't make me sorry I put an elevator in this building. (BoP 37)

Roy: Look at you! Your greatest fear in life, the thing that eats at you - is that you're terrified of becoming Batman!! A cold, detached, emotionless loner. I've got news for you, that's exactly what you are. You've become the man who raised you. Dick: Yeah…and you're just like the man who raised you. A shallow, self-loathing, womanizing thrill-seeker. Except he was never a junkie. (O 16) Gar: I guess it doesn't bother you that your new teammate killed your old one? 'Cause it sure bothers the hell outta me. Dick: Enough. I'm here to find Kory and Tim. I don't need Terra's best friend lecturing me about loyalty. (TT/O Secret Files 2005)

Dick + 1st meetings with future siblings (+Steph)

I hesitated including this on the list because it's lower-key and not always anger per se, but I think a lot of times when people say Dick "has a temper," they're not necessarily talking about his angriest moments so much as pushing back against the idea that he's happy or welcoming all the time.

If you're reading post-Crisis canon, Dick's a prickly introvert who can be slow to warm up to newcomers in Gotham. He's not exclusively cranky by any means! But he's not all smiles, either. Here are some snappish moments from first meetings with Jason, Tim, Cass, Damian, and Steph:

Dick: They'll probably switch to another lab, now that you've spooked them. Jason: Then it's no big deal! We'll just locate their new digs and bust them when they take possession. Dick: Wrong! I'll locate the new lab all by myself! You're going home to tell Batman how you screwed up tonight! Jason: Come on... (from Dick's first meeting with Jason in B 416 - Jason attacked a group of criminals too hastily)

Dick: Now, who the hell are you? Tim: That doesn't matter now. Dick, look at this please. Dick: Kid, I don't like games. (from Dick's first-technically-second meeting with Tim in LPoD - Tim's been chasing him all around the circus, and although Dick doesn't yet know this, also broke into his apartment)

Bruce: You can trust her. Dick: Six months ago, that would've gotten you further than it will now. Now, I'm not sure it's enough. Bruce: What more would it take? Dick: An explanation of who she is for a start. (from Dick's first meeting with Cass in B: LotDK 120 - Bruce went AWOL for months and has now resurfaced with a protégé) Jason: It's a new world. It's not all backflips and balance bars. You were good. Were. But Gotham needs a tougher Robin now. Dick (internally): A sneaky, mean little punk. Maybe you hired him before the Joker could. (from the retold version of Dick's first meeting with Jason in N 104 - Bruce gave stupid instructions leading Jason to misunderstand and pick a fight with Dick)

Dick (internally, when he notices Damian's makeshift Robin costume): Damian's costume. Note to self: smack a clue into this kid. Damian: You're embarrassing me! Dick: You do that just fine on your own. (from Dick's first meeting with Damian in N 138 - Damian's probably scared, which means he's snarky; he's making rude remarks and resisting Dick and Tim's attempts to protect him)

Dick: What in the hell were - are - you thinking, throwing someone so reckless into the field like that? Babs: Gosh, Dick - I'm sorry I haven't spent more time trying to train a murderous little twit. (from right after Dick's first meeting with Steph in BG 5 - Steph accidentally froze Damian)

How much you weight these moments depends a lot on your personal aesthetic preferences! I love conflict, and Dick's initially kinda thorny relationships with his siblings are part of why I enjoy him as a character. I don't feel the need to "fix" this kind of grumpiness and honestly I don't even really see it as a flaw? Dick's not morally obliged to like his future siblings on first meeting them, and if he never got snappish with any siblings ever, no matter how annoying they were being, he'd be a lot less interesting to me personally.

For me, Dick's prickly side adds an important nuance to his characterization, and makes it more compelling. He's a human being, not a conduct book! His strength is that he's willing to reconsider his first impressions, not that he never has negative first impressions.

That said, obviously genre and context matter! I have enjoyed plenty of softer takes on the Batfamily in fanworks, and in a softer, gentler world like e.g. WFA, it would be weird to keep Dick's grumpier moments. Also, Dick obviously isn't 24/7 harsh to his siblings - he can also be really empathetic and protective, and although he never gets especially close to e.g. Steph, he does change his mind about her, and he's ultimately a huge source of emotional support to Tim and Damian (they grow on him! ... eventually).

In Conclusion

One of my favorite Dick stories of all time is Nightwing 139, and I think it nicely encapsulates how I see Dick's anger - it's an important contrast to his softer side. He's a person with an instinctive temper, and compassion and understanding aren't always immediate or easy or effortless for him. But he's also a loving person with a big heart, and it's the love that always matters to him in the end.

Here's Dick discovering that Tim is thinking about using the Lazarus Pit, getting angry, and leaping down to try to physically stop him ("He may not stop you, but I sure as hell will!")

Dick (sarcastically): So, Robin... you think maybe we can hug this out?

It's important to me that Dick's first instinct is to have a physical fight, not to try to talk! He does all the wrong things before he does the right thing! He doesn't magically know the right thing to say to Tim right away!

But doing the right thing matters to him, and Tim matters to him, which is why he gets there eventually. When Tim tears up Dick softens at once:

And in the end Dick backs off and lets Tim make the choice, which isn't easy or instinctive for him either! But it's the right thing to do, and it's what Tim needs to pull himself out of the power struggle and realize he's making a mistake, and then Tim stammers apologies and Dick reassures him and they do hug it out, and it's very tender:

Without Dick's anger, you don't have a lot of his stories. But his anger doesn't define him - he doesn't let it. As Dick puts it,

"Yeah, I get angry. Sometimes I get so pissed I want to break everything in sight. But everyone gets mad. Everyone gets frustrated. But I don't fight out of anger! I fight when there's something wrong that needs to be stopped! And that's why I'll never be you! I don't fight to kill - I fight to protect!

And that's a big part of why I think he's great.

#dick grayson #anyway this is a huge disorganized list but uhhh. enjoy? sdfsf #it's tricky to write about this because it's not like i don't enjoy super-soft takes on dick - i do! #dick's anger isn't gonna have a place in every single story especially in fanworks #and often part of the point of fanworks is to give us the softer moments that canon doesn't! #Dick often gets softened to contrast with other characters in fanworks and that makes sense too #but at the same time Dick's sharper edges are so important to me in the comics and a really big part of why i like him #and a big reason why a lot of nuDick's writing leaves me just bored #(i am a gremlin who likes to have gritty conflict in my comics!! softening things is what fanworks are for!!) #yes post-Crisis Dick can be prickly but he's prickly because he's a serious person who lives in a serious world with consequences #his parents' deaths MATTER to him. doing vigilante work right MATTERS to him. he gets touchy BECAUSE he cares so much! #and Dick's struggle with his emotions is what makes his softer side feel more real and meaningful to me <3 #ask tag #prickly dick grayson my beloved

[ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole]

Stories of Paris

Part 4

Part One Part Three AO3

Masterlist

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Damian was unhappy with the fact that with ‘strangers’ in *his* house their nightly activities would have to carefully navigated. His father nor Pennyworth had not explicitly said anything about it, but he assumed it was because they all knew what was expected. So, being told to line up in the entrance hall by his father went down like a lead balloon.

His pout turned in widening eyes of shock as he witnessed the tall wiry young woman (and a large man he supposed) exiting the car. SHE was his father’s babysitter. This was who oversaw the European branch of W.E. The person who owned the largest portion of shares of W.E (after the Wayne family that is). He was doomed. Damain watched as his father soften as he saw the woman.

“Mari! You never seem to age!” he exclaimed as she gracefully walked up to him and into his embrace.

“Mon cherie! It’s miraculous isn’t it,” she drew back slightly to look over his shoulder, “I see you have taken found family comment to the extreme, but I suppose you were never one to do things in half measures. It’s good to be back here after so long”

Looking at her like he was a child with pleading eyes, “You are staying here, right?”

With a gentle smile with a smirking edge, “Yes. If I tried to leave for a hotel, I’ll end up having the shadows watching me all night. Plus, this place always did feel like my home away from home.”

Damian glancing at his supposed siblings to see that they were also in shock. Probably not for the same reason. Panicking with it all, as he saw his father turn to introduce them to the woman, Damian drew his katana and aimed it at her.

“YOU were fathers' babysitter!!! But... what... you’re younger than him!!!! .... You’re the Grand Lady Guardian... I *refuse* to return.”

Damian vaguely recognised his name being shouted at him, but all his attention was on the Grand Lady Guardian of the Miraculous who stood, rolling her eyes, before him. He could feel her power radiating off, surrounding them all.

“Petit Tresor. I’m not taking you back there. Did you not learn anything from my teachings? Did you not learn to read between the lines? About looking deeper than the surface. You are with *your* found family. THEY are what is important. Bruce may have picked up a lot of my unhealthy habits about vigilantism, but he made a point of understand a good support network and the importance of chosen family. Despite how he enacts the teachings.”

The Monkey with her came to her shoulder and raised his eyebrow at Damian. He finally understood why he was always her bodyguard now rather than the Cat, being that he was her husband.

“You can stand down Petit Tresor. League and Court business will *not* be found here. The League know what will happen if they cross the Court, and I made it very clear after our last encounter when they tried to manipulate us to their advantage.”

Damian assessed the woman before him as he withdrew his katana from her and starting to become aware of the others around him again.

“Why has he got a chaos shard within him Bruce?” The monkey growled looking at him with a dangerous glint in his eye.

Everyone in the entrance hall was frozen in shock and panic. What was meant to be a happy reunion had been derailed but now, suddenly, somehow gained an even sharper edge. Marinette and her husband were aware of their nightly capers, and they also knew of the League, they were involved in something similar and aware of chaos shards.

Damian watched as his father gulped as he looked at the Monkey and the Guardian. It wasn’t often his father showed fear, but it was clear on his face as she arched her eyebrow at him. His siblings all looked on in surprise and uncertain of what to expect. Only Pennyworth and Todd seemed to be handling the situation with any sense of calmness. Surprising for Todd...

“Mari... his mother... the league...”

At the mention of the league the Guardians eye twitch so subtly you’d hardly notice it if not trained and with a minute flicker of her hand, the Monkey flipped his phone out and was walking out back outside to call someone... Damian straining his ears heard Peg and plan 42c being mentioned by the Monkey to whoever he had called.

“They were warned. Tsk, Assassin’s bullheadedness. Kim will sort this out for me for the present moment and we will discuss healing at a later point. Anyway, mon cherie, you were about to introduce me to your children. Petit Tresor I know, and I believe that that is Jason, mon rêveur, in the background though he has grown so much since our last meeting. So, I could guess everyone else, but why don’t you continue?”

The Guardian stated as if the topic of what just happened was over, much to Damian’s surprise. He sheafed his katana but still was wary of the woman and slightly in awe. He had a feeling that the chaos and downfall of his grandfather may have due to her in some way. Slight fear and dread for his mother was building as well. He finally starting to understand the reason for her over protectiveness when she taught him in the league now.

“Right. Mari, this is Dick, Jason who you already met in person? Cass and alongside her Duke, Tim who you meet briefly in the W.E. meeting the other month, Steph who has wormed her way into the family and Damian you who’ve also already met?”

With a polite cough drawing attention to himself, Alfred spoke. “Perhaps, instead of having a mother’s meeting in the entrance hall, we retreat to the drawing room where we can have some refreshments. I am sure that Ms Marinette and Master Kim are exhausted from their travels. It is most unbecoming to stand around loitering, wouldn’t you agree Master Bruce?”

Bruce muttered something as his ears started to tinge red, Marinette turned to Alfred and smiled as she drew him into a hug while Bruce collected himself.

“Yes, right, that sounds like a fantastic idea Alfred. Mari, shall we?”

Bruce offered her an arm which she elegantly took as the took off in the direction of the drawing room delving into conversation with Bruce leaving behind a shocked collection on children in the hall. Alfred slipped off to prepare the refreshments.

Damian cringed as Dick exclaimed, “YOU GUYS KNOW HER?!?!?!!” which echoed around the manor as he finally processed what had just happened.

______________________________________________

Alfred smiled as the atmosphere within the Manor shifted over the last few weeks. It now had a different air about it. Master Bruce became less sullen and slightly less repressed under Marinette’s watch and the Manor started to feel lighter again.

Alfred had found great amusement when he stumbled in on Master Kim lecturing Master Bruce on being dense especially the “I know I’m dense but kwami Bruce! You’re worse than me realising all the competitions I got Mare rigged into was because I wanted to impress her! Let’s start at the beginning, ok?!”.

He hoped that Master Kim might be able to knock a bit of sense into his wayward charge. He knew Ms Marinette, though full of good intentions wouldn’t be able to with Master Bruce’s strange ability to pick up on the wrong message being given.

The highlight of the week was when he entered the family living room to find all his grandchildren looking pale as Master Bruce acted semi child-like in front of Ms Marinette. It was a delight to see Bruce act like the child that he knew he was reawakened again. Even if it terrified the grandchildren.

The whole family discovered that Bruce had been very selective of the stories and information that he had told them about Marinette. She had taken great delight telling them all about what teenage Bruce really was like.

About the time Bruce had a fan induced panic attack on meeting the Jagged Stone. Alfred was slightly aware of something happened but not the details.

About the time Bruce decided to practice parkour in the Manor gardens and ended up stuck halfway up the side of the Manor unable to climb up further or climb down. Alfed was positive he was unaware that Marinette joined him and had to coach Bruce down.

About the series of times that Bruce attempted to prove to Alfred that he had ‘outgrown the kitchen ban’ and had ‘observed Mari’s baking skills sufficiently’ to be able to try again for only the attempts to go south fast. Alfred grimaced at the memories that that bought up. He was glad that he’d got a good working deal with local kitchen fitters and suppliers given the number of fires.

It became a daily breakfast occurrence that Bruce mortified Marinette in his outfit for the day. The breakfast entertainment became watching Marinette tear into his fashion choice of the day, drag up some past clothing or costume disaster. She ended up moaning that he had learnt nothing from her rantings about clothes over the years and stare forlornly into her coffee cup. It was providing the bat boys a wealth of black mail material that Alfred had to on numerous occasions reel Marinette from her tangents.

The only time he let her completely go to town with was letting her regale to everyone about Bruce’s dramatic and insistent argument on fighting crime in Lyca, wearing pants on top of tights and with a cape, that he really insisted that he didn’t need to use Kevlar (that decision didn’t last beyond a few training sessions and one patrol night). Alfred was pleased with her ability to rein that disaster in quickly.

It was in the comfort of the kitchen away from the antics that happened Alfred mused and reflected on his notional niece's visit. Alfred wished he had thought to bring Marinette over sooner as he witnessed that fraught relationships between the Waynes soften. Issues didn’t disappear but Marinettes presence, and ability due to dealing with Akuma, helped mitigate situations which typically would have blown up. Kim always by her side would help soothe, distract, or explain to the puzzled Bruce the techniques Marinette was using to stop the escalation.

She’d slowly began charming and connecting with his grandchildren. Be it by giving Tim pointers on how to manage W.E board members effectively and playing video games. It was eerily like how she warmed Bruce up to her.

By Sitting quietly reading with Jason or playing chess and talking in metaphors about life, death and balance. Slowly having ‘healing sessions to calm the pit madness’ with meditation and grounding sessions.

With Damian she seemed to remind him of alternate grounding techniques which she’d shown him in the league. They seemed to spend time talking in hushed whispers about other stuff that Alfred wasn’t currently privy too.

Duke was with poetry and music. Cass with dance and gymnastics, silent subtle conversations occurred but seeing Cass smile and edge towards being more tactile made Alfred glow with warmth inside. Steph and Marinette commanded the kitchen numerous times baking pastries, waffles and other treats.

Dick took the longest to warm up to the woman, having heard and known about her for over a deacade but never met it was understandable. Alfred wpould never knew what Marinette had done but one day the hostility and coldness disappeared. A joy, childlike smile appeared on Dicks face every time she was in the room, and he’d follow her round like a loat puppy. Watching and mimicking her techniques to calm his brothers down.

How his grandchildren acted with Marinette in the activities brought echoes of memories of her with Bruce to the forefront of Alfred’s mind.

Sighing, in the short time the Manor felt warm and like a family, a home should feel like. Much like before his friends’ death. Schooling his emotions, Alfred set about to serve the family and Parisians last dinner together.

______________________________________________

Bruce tried not to sulk. Tried not to revert to the mind set of when Marinette originally disappeared physically from his life. Especially in front of his children but it was hard. She somehow always managed to take the overwhelming pressure away from him, like he could breathe and be.

Alfred was his father, in all the ways that counted, but the burden of death and saving the world was something Marinette understood at a deeper more personal level. Having her here made it feel safe to feel, that he would always be caught. That she would save him from the consuming darkness. She was the light in the world shining out in the Gotham gloom.

As expected, his children adored her in their unique ways. Following her around like little ducks scrabbling for crumbs of knowledge and titbits of information. Bruce lips twitched as he witnessed them behaving much like he used to. Taking the gems’ she passed on to them and ferreting them away much like he did.

“Master Bruce, I expect better behaviour this leaving gathering than our previous party, please.”

With Alfred’s comments Bruce gave into the feeling of pouting. Why deny how he felt toward the situation where he wasn’t in control. He pointedly ignored the stares that his children were giving him. Again.

“Mon tresor! It’s not like you aren’t going to see or speak to me again. We speak regularly as it is. It’s not the same as it was last time. You know this.”

“But Mari, it's nice having you here. This is your home.”

“Is he always like this Mare, Cupcake? How is it that all the kid’s you’ve looked after end up demanding you live with them?”

Bruce choked at Kim’s statement and the Wayne clan burst into laughter. Alfred let a small smirk grace his face.

“Oui, Mon Amour, He wasn’t happy last time I left at all. Be grateful I learnt to resist kitten eyes or we’d never have reconnected. Manon doesn’t count. She’s practically family as well with how close Maman and Nadja are.”

“What about Elle, Etta and Chris? What about Ivan’s and Mylene’s sproglian? Fang? Jagged’s second round of terrors? Luka and Jules too really.”

“Hush, Mon Amour, circumstantial evidence.”

Bruce observed Kim stare at his wife in disbelief before waving his hand around the room.

“What about these then. Don’t give me that look Cupcake. I’m gonna end up needing to fight the whole batclan at this rate to get you on a plane with me! Maybe I should give Peg’s the heads up that I’ll need his help.”

“I can assure you Master Kim that you *both* are free to leave. The young master's understand that they cannot kidnap you. It would not be becoming of them OR look good for the company for the family to kidnap its own workers.”

Bruce and his family guiltily ducked their heads at Alfred’s comments. When Alfred turned away to start talking to Kim, Tim leant in close to Bruce to whisper to him.

“Do you think we have the power to move her to being director of North America rather than Europe? Mari would be closer then? Plus, the guy in charge isn’t all he’s cracked up to be so the board would likely approve it.”

Bruce stared at his son at the ingenious and simple solution and smiled, before ducking his head when Alfred pointedly looked his way.

“We’ll discuss that concept later.”

Bruce gave Tim a subtle nod as if he was approving the idea. Technically he was but Alfred didn’t need to know that. Nor did Kim really, as he would fight him if he found out and he’d rather not deal with an ex-olympian superhero, even when he pulled his punches they hurt far more than the average persons.

Bruce sat back into his seat and smiled as the conversation and chaos flowed around him. His whole family finally together and he cherished it. He knew it wasn’t going to last much longer with the impending flight looming but for now he had a potential and creative plan to work on. If he framed it right it could also become the prefect family bonding activity that both Marinette and Kim thought he needed to do more of outside of vigilantism. And if the end result was that she moved closer, well, that’s just an added bonus in his eyes.

With that in mind, Bruce joined in with the choas enjoying the moment with his complete family. Nothing could take this away from him.

Tag:

@neakco @corporeal-terrestrial @jayjayspixiepop @lady-bee-fechin @prettylittlebutterflie

#maribat #maribat au #ml crossover #ml x dc #mlb x dc #dc x ml #dc x mlb #marinette x bruce #marinette x alfred #platonic #found family #babysitting #marinette x jason #marinette x dick #marinette x tim #marinette x damian #all platonic #dickinette #jasonette #timari #damianette

[joshslater]

Matt and Liam

This is a rewrite of scallylads89's untitled story that I had sitting forgotten in a folder for two years. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

It was Thursday again already and Matt had been dreading this afternoon all day. It wasn't the best sixth form college, but he was more than happy to finish his diploma in IT there. He'd always been into computers and programming, and his parents had always encouraged it. The problem was the way the college ran its classes. Despite running completely separate courses and qualifications, they ran a set of mandatory mixed classes throughout the week. All students had their normal lessons in their program specific classes, but subjects like art, PE, and social studies were taught in cross qualification classes, practically making you have two different sets of classmates. It was supposed to promote integration and team building among the students.

In theory Matt didn't mind. He could see the value of it, and even enjoyed some of the classmates in his mixed classes. In practice though there was Liam. Liam studied for his builder qualification and came from a different background to Matt, and spent most of his childhood running free on the estate away from his mum who was usually sat in front of the TV or down the local with her mates drinking. He was lacking respect for others and didn't mind punching up, but positively relished punching down or sideways with Matt as a frequent target of his bullying. PE had never been a strong subject for Matt, so he knew that every Thursday Liam would be there taking the piss out of him and embarrassing him in front of all of the other students. Students that came from all over various classes at the college.

They hadn’t long kicked off the game when out of nowhere Matt felt a jolt in his back and a stomp on his foot as he flew forward onto the ground being shoved by Liam. Liam smirked chuckling to himself. He had timed it just right, the tutor was looking the other way and hadn’t seen a thing. The thud of Matt's face planting the pitch immediately drew the attention of the tutor. Liam wasn’t in the least bit worried. He knew Matt was too chicken to dob him in. The tutor asked Matt if he was ok, and Matt a bit shaken stuttered “Yes sir, I’m ok I just tripped and I think I’ve done my ankle.” The tutor quickly inspected Matt’s ankle and suggested he go back to the changing rooms and sit this week out. Despite his thankfully only minor injury and the way Liam had treated him he was actually kind of pleased, at least it meant he got to skip PE this week. The pain was almost worth it.

He sat down in the changing room and took a deep breath as he slowly pulled his shoe off, his ankle was a little swollen. He continued to get undressed taking his kit off and folding everything up neatly when out of the corner of his eye he saw the pile of clothes on the opposite bench loosely laid out. It was Liam’s tracksuit. He didn’t know why but he really had the urge to try them on. Matt was about as far from a chav as you could think but he kind of liked the style of Liam’s clothes. He justified the idea to himself as if it would be a big fuck you to Liam knowing he had dressed up in his clothes and pretended to be a dick like him and Liam would have no idea. Besides there were ages yet before anyone would be coming back to get changed. Matt began dressing himself in Liam’s clothes.

To Matt’s surprise Liam’s boxer briefs were also in the pile of clothes, that must mean he was commando in his football shorts out there! The thought actually turned Matt on a little. He wasn’t gay but he couldn’t get the image out of his head. Matt thought to himself that if he was going to dress up as Liam he may as well do it properly. As he picked up Liam's boxers he froze. He could feel his heart racing. Off in the distance he could hear the rest of the class cheering a goal or something. According to the wall clock he still had plenty of time. It was now or never.

He slipped on Liam’s boxers and joggers, and felt a bit of a rush as he looked down on the somewhat baggy clothes on his frame. The socks were a bit discolored from the inside of the sneakers, by having been worn a bit too long between washes. He put them on and then slipped his feet into Liam’s 95’s. They were a little big for him. Liam was a size 11 and Matt only a size 8. Slopping around in Liam’s trainers, Matt hastily pulled the T-shirt over his head, putting on the hoody and zipping it up. Wafts of stale cigarette smoke and Lynx body spray came off the clothes. He was as excited as he was nervous.

He finished the look by taking off his glasses and putting on Liam’s cap, tucking his hair into it to make it look short like Liam’s. Matt could see the growing bulge beginning to poke through Liam’s joggers. Either it was the fear of being caught or his growing attraction to Liam he was finding it harder and harder to ignore how turned on he had begun to feel.

Matt paraded around the changing room pretending to be Liam, walking around with an over exaggerated swag in his step and a cocky stance of self importance. Matt’s boner was really starting to become a pain. He lowered his hand to his crotch to try and adjust himself from outside Liam’s joggers, grabbing a handful of his package. To Matt’s horror he hadn’t realized how close to the edge he was. All it took was just the extra bit of movement for him to lose control and pass the point of no return “SHIT SHIT SHIT!” Matt blew a huge load into Liam’s boxers!  Fuck! How the hell was he going to get away with this? Liam was going to notice this! And it couldn’t be anyone else! He sat back down on the bench in a panic, lifting his foot he tried to slip off one of Liam’s trainers. Something wasn’t quite right, they didn’t fit this snug before! Surely they hadn’t shrunk, and both his feet couldn’t have swollen up that much so quickly for no reason. He slipped his foot back in and paused for a moment aware that everything seemed clearer, he felt his face in disbelief checking if he had forgotten to put his glasses back on, but there was nothing there.

Matt stood back up and walked over to the mirror. He couldn’t help but notice the way he involuntarily walked with a similar stride to that he had before whilst mimicking Liam. Matt gasped at his reflection, the strands of hair that he had tucked up into Liam’s cap had gone, rubbing the side of his head with the tips of his fingers the sides of his head were shaved to almost nothing. Taking his cap off Matt revealed the exact same haircut Liam had, shaved back and sides with a short trim on top combed forward to a short straight cut fringe. As Matt continued to examine his hair his attention was drawn to his face, his jawline was narrowing, his facial features growing sharper like Liam’s, Matt’s nose also narrowed to the same shape as Liam’s. Matt in his disbelief looking at himself in the mirror said to himself “holy shit! What the hell is happening to me?” This only made things more confusing as he uttered the words in Liam’s voice and accent. The final physical changes taking place as his arms, legs, and torso stretched making him as tall as Liam.

Liam had continued playing football with the lads while Matt had been gone, something wasn’t right though, he just couldn’t seem to get into the game. Liam was making all sorts of mistakes and getting a bit of stick for it too. To make matters worse he had started to get an awkward boner, he usually liked to go commando in his kit but this suddenly felt like a bad idea. It was getting harder to conceal his erection which only further distracted him from the game, then without warning he blew his load into his shorts! Liam suddenly thought to himself “shit! I have to get out of here before it shows and starts dribbling down his leg!”. He was so embarrassed which was unlike him. Liam made an excuse that he was desperate for the toilet, so he could go clean himself up in the changing rooms.

On his way back Liam was oblivious to the changes he was going through. He had lost the swagger in his walk, his slim, toned body was softening as were his facial features, he was beginning to look more and more like Matt with every step. Liam’s hair had grown so much he had to sweep his fringe across his face. Approaching the changing rooms Liam was finding it harder to focus on his surroundings, his eyesight was so bad. Liam looked up at the door frame as he walked into the changing rooms, he was sure it wasn’t that tall before.

Once inside the changing room door the transformation was so far along that Liam started to have trouble walking in the now slightly too large shoes and loose clothes. If it hadn't been for that he would have spotted Matt right away, instead of stumbling upon him mere steps away. Matt too had been too absorbed in his own changes to notice Liam, so it was a surprise to both of them when they saw each other.

Matt looked at Liam, now looking like Matt, in amazement. They hadn't switched bodies in the consciousness transfer way, but rather both of their bodies had independently transformed into each other. He tried to look for small imperfections he knew all too well, and found them. He kept racking up question after question. How? Why? What now?

Liam had no such subtle thoughts. "You fucking, thieving body snatcher! Give it back!", he shouted and hit Matt hard in the guts. Matt took a step back and tried to shield himself. "Mate, this isn't proper innit. Yous gotsa stop." But Liam kept attacking. Matt, realizing that he was now the larger and stronger of the two grabbed hold of Liam. Liam, much more street-wise, kicked out Matt's legs from under him, so he went down on his back with a thud. "Have it fucking your way!" Liam shouted and threw his kit shirt in Matt's face.

In a few swift motions Liam was out the rest of his ill-fitting football kit, grabbed Matt's backpack and bundle of clothes, and rushed out of the changing room naked with Matt's stuff in his arms. "If you come anywhere near your old house I'll call the police and hit you with an ASBO so hard you'll pick trash for a year," he shouted as he exited.

Matt sat on the floor, still confused about exactly what had happened. All his belongings were gone and he was wearing Liams clothes. And body. He got up and collected Liam's kit from the floor. When he got to the shorts he saw that Liam too had shot a load. He stuffed all of the clothes into Liam's bag and left.

Where to though? Liam had made it clear that he shouldn't go home. Matt had no idea how ASBOs actually worked. He'd never even spoken to a police officer, but he was pretty sure that Liam knew what to say to make problems for him. Did Liam's body have any records? He didn't know, but Liam did. Fuck. He would have to go to Liam's home, wherever the fuck that was.

He searched his pockets. Some coins and a key with "E" stamped on it. Not very helpful. He made a guess that someone like Liam would live at a council estate, and King's Gardens was the closest, though not really that close. He immediately felt bad for making such a conclusion based on stereotypes, but it was all he got.

Matt looked at the route map at the bus stop and took the next bus towards King's Garden. Why does such shitty complex always have nice names? As he sat down on the bus and watched the neighborhoods getting worse it suddenly hit him what a fucking crazy awful day it was. He saw his own reflection superimposed over the brick buildings outside the window. What if he stayed like this? How could he prove to his parents he was he? He couldn't even speak properly anymore.

The smell was coming from him, he realized and snapped out of thoughts. Mingled in smell of Lynx, sweat, and smoke was the unmistakable aroma of his hour-old cum drying in his underwear. That he sat so wide with his legs probably didn't help. He really needed to smoke a fag. He'd never smoked anything before in his life. Is his stop soon? His mind was wandering. That in itself annoyed him too.

The bus stopped very close to the estate, and helpfully there was a map of the complex. Buildings numbered 1 through 15, but also the six tall, ugly buildings named A through F. Perhaps he had some luck today. Was his surname Calder? If so he lived on floor 6.

The key did fit in the door of Cindy Calder. Matt stared in disbelief when he opened the door. His mother was upset if he didn't vacuum the floor once a week. Here he could hardly see the floor. Newspapers, ads, shoes, a bike wheel, and other crap cluttered the entrance.

"Orite!" No answer. From the small hallway one door led into an even messier living room with a big sofa in front of the TV, and a bed by the window. Straight ahead was a small bathroom. On the other side of the hallway was a small kitchen, and the room he assumed was his. There was a desk, a bed, a cheap workout bench, and a mess of clothes and bicycle parts strewn all over the room. A laptop was lying in the messy bed, charging.

He put down the bag and picked up a dumbbell. Never before had Matt even touched one, but now holding one in his hand, moving it up and down comes naturally. Liam's body of course would have done this hundreds of times, so Matt wasn't surprised he could do it more or less with muscle memory.

He had barely done a few curls when someone knocked on the door. It was a black man, a few years older than him, with long rasta hair, and matching track top and joggers. "Oi. Got you text. I can take it right now."  Having no idea what this was about Matt stepped aside and answered "Ok". The black man entered and walked into Liam's room as if he has been there many times, and quickly returned with the laptop. "Two days tops. Cash or products, your choice. See you bruv" and walked out.

Wait. Did he just sell his laptop? Or rather did Liam just sell his laptop? Matt realized that he didn't have either of their cell phones, not that having Liam's cell phone without the PIN would do him any good. Was Liam messing with him? Why would he do that? Matt walked back into the kitchen and sat down at the table, lit a cigarette from the packet on the table, and let his eyes wander in the room. It was in need of a good scrubbing. There were grey marks around all knobs and handles. Matt decided he needed to know more about Liam, and then it became clear to him. Without a phone or a computer he was useless. There was nothing he could do besides digging through the trash in the apartment, or leave and randomly talk to people. The latter was a horrible concept to him. He lacked both confidence and social skills to strike up conversations with strangers, or people that were strangers to him at least.

The black man had talked about getting products as payment. Did he mean drugs? Did that meant Liam had a stash somewhere in the apartment. Matt decided to hunt for it. Perhaps he could use it to blackmail Matt into meeting and sorting this out. Liam's room was such a  mess you had to shift things around, move things from one pile to the next. Bicycle parts, dirty clothes, old comics, machine parts, clothes with anti-theft tags still on, an overall, empty cans. After almost an hour of work he had just uncovered Liam's stack of porn magazines.

Then it hit him that of course Liam would hide any drugs in a different room for some sort of deniability. He was just about to search the bathroom when another thought crept up on him. If he did find any drugs he was in no position to use it against Liam while he was in his body. At best he could get rid of them to prevent Liam from blackmailing him! He would have to know about something about himself to use it against Liam, but there really wasn't any.

Matt had a chilling though. If Liam and he had swapped bodies, did that mean that he is now as stupid as Liam was? Was Liam stupid to begin with? Matt didn't feel stupid, but all decisions he had made so far had all been pretty bad. Or had they? Fuck! He threw himself at the bed and glanced at the bag on the floor.

This all started when he cummed while wearing Liam's clothes. Perhaps he could do something like that again and set everything straight. He slowly removed all his clothes and dropped them in a pile on the floor. Then he unzipped the bag. There in a big, moist, wrinkled bundle is the football kit. He shook it all out on the floor. Damp football jersey, cum-sticky shorts, knee-socks, and boots.

He stepped into the sorts and pulled them up. The damp cloth feet cold against him. Then the socks and the football boots, also cold. All he could smell was lingering cigarette smoke, but he imagined this would smell at least as much as when he got dressed in Liam's street clothes in the changing room. After having tied both boots he was surprised to notice his hard on had come back. Surprised but pleased. He put on the jersey and went to the bathroom to have a look.

He was taken aback as he looked in the mirror. For some reason he hadn't really expected to see Liam looking back. He knew that was what he was going to see, but it was still jarring to see it. He did a bit of acting, trying different faces. It just turned him on more. With nothing under the shorts there was plenty tenting.

He went back to his bed and lied down on it, grabbed his dick through the glossy shorts fabric, and begun to slowly jack off. It felt amazingly good, and in his mind he struggled with both feeling incredibly sexy as Liam, but also hated almost everything about his life. As he exploded with a second load of cum in the shorts he felt a sharp pain in his head and yelped out loud.

The drug stash was in the boots just inside the door. His mother wasn't coming home until nine, probably. Darell picked up his laptop. Suddenly he remembered everything about Liam's life. As the pain subsided he slowly came to realize he couldn't remember anything of his own life. He could remember both trying out Liam's clothes and running in from the field at the same time, somehow, but nothing prior to that.

As Matt showed up for metal shop class the next morning Mr. Fox told him to go to the headmaster's office. He was quickly shown into the headmaster himself, someone he had never met before, at least not as Liam. "I've been informed of yesterday's incident. I'm always willing to give people a second chance if they are willing to take responsibility for their actions. Are you willing to do that, Liam?"

"Sound, mate."

"I've only heard the other side. You assaulted Matt on the soccer field during yesterday's practice, then went after him again in the changing room so he had to flee without any clothes on him. Is that what happened?"

"Mate, I didn't..."

"I'm gonna stop you there before you make a mistake. Matt has graciously asked for no punishment as long as you two are separated from now on. So I'll ask again, is that what happened."

"Yes. Whatev."

[gallavictorious]

Fic: Claim

Mickey wants back into Ian's life. Ian wonders if, and how, to let him. Or, the one where our boys conduct their meaningful conversations not by talking but by having sex. Not nearly as smutty as it sounds, though; it really is all about their emotions.

Basically, this is a 3,341-word exploration of their season 4 reunion and reconciliation. Includes the infamous blowjob scene and its aftermath, so warnings for complicated consent and Ian not being in a great place in general. The angst has a happy ending, however.

Read it below or on AO3.

Claim

Afterwards, you’re almost sure they were really there. You’re almost sure you didn’t just dream them.

Debbie, grown two inches and with a face no longer quite that of a kid. Lip, looking much the same as when you left, but worried in a way he can't quite hide and you don’t think you care for. It's harshing your groove, that pinched look. They're not here to party and their voices – no, I'm good, can we talk, arrest you, stealing government property, let's go outside – cut through your happy buzz, sharp pebbles in your shoe on a sunny day, and maybe that's why you haven't told them you were back, 'cause you'd know it'd be like this. They're family and they're good people, sure you're glad to see them, but Lip's questions just clashes with the beat of the music and this is supposed to be a good time, man, so why they've got to bring up all that stupid, boring shit that doesn't even matter anyway.

You have to go mix another drink, because that's your job right, and when you look up they're gone but there are other drinks to mix, and then it's your turn on the floor and Stephen's here tonight again and has brought his usual treats, you lose him later but there's a couple of other dudes throwing a party at their place and you go and then you go to the gym for good measure – or maybe you didn't, you're not sure, but it was a good, real good, only now that strange dull ache in your head is back and you're almost sure your brother and sister came by to see you last night.

You’re almost sure.

Mrs. Bergdoll calls a greeting as you stumble past her on the way to the bathroom and you reflexibely pull your lips into half a smile, call something back. She's nice; doesn't mind you staying here even after Monica went off with some guy she met when getting thrown out of Rover's.

You shower. The water is cold but at least there's water, fuck knows how it's still running. It clears your head a little, the cold, and you start to feel better again. Sharper. What does it matter what happened – or didn't happen – last night? Today's a brand new day, and you have a feeling it's going to be fantastic.

Work doesn't start for another couple of hours, so you do a bit of writing – gotta keep up with those ideas, these thoughts you keep having; gotta write them down before you forget because what if you lose something important? – and you go for a run and grab some Subway, and then you're on the L headed for the Fairy Tail, music in your ears.

That's when it catches up with you, the thought behind the thought, the one you've been trying to outwrite, outrun, outlisten. You turn the music up up up, loud enough for the lady next to you to glare, but still the thought comes, you can't stop it, your mind keeps drifting back to last night and  –

If Debbie and Lip came to see you yesterday, if they were there, if they know where to find you...

Will they tell him?

And if they do... will he come?

No. No. You don't want to think about that. He made his choice, he put on a goddamn tux and made it loud and clear for all the people to hear, in front of his fucking dad, I do, his hand in that whore's. He loves you – you are sure of it, still – but he did that, so what's love really worth, huh.

It's over, done with. He made his choice; you made yours. Maybe it didn't go exactly as planned with the army, but so what, it's better this way, you're rolling with it. Made lots of new friends, even if they don't know your real name, who cares about names when every night's a fucking party, and you wish you'd known this years ago, that life could be like this, fun, easy, no fucking heartbreak and no fucking hiding, no cares.

It doesn't matter anyway. He won't come.

It doesn't matter.

---

Two nights later you're giving one of your regulars a lapdance when there's a slap to your arm and a curt “time's up, lovebirds” and you look up and there he is.

There he is.

“Get up,” he says and you move without making a conscious decision to.

“It's my turn,” he says and sends George running and you don't know what to do or where to look and you don't even know if you're actually surprised that he's here.

“Curtis?” he says and there's a familiar sneer in his voice and you realize that you don’t want him to see you like this and it pisses you off, because you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, nothing to be ashamed of.

You could just walk away. Could call security and tell them he interrupted a lapdance or whatever, and if that doesn't get him thrown out the bunch of insults he will invariably throw at whoever comes to set him straight certainly will.

“Twenty-five bucks get you a dance,” you tell him instead, because fuck him; because you don't want him thrown out; because that’s all he is to you now, a customer. That’s all he chose to be, when he walked down that aisle.

He spits and he grumbles but he pays. He'd never have let you give him a lapdance when you were together but he pays for it now.

You push him down the black leather couch and straddle him, lean in, how's your day going?

He smells wrong. Something scented, spicy-sweet. You don't like it.

He wants to talk. You're giving him a fucking lapdance but he wants to talk and he's angry and looking at you like you're so annoying, like you're out of your fucking mind. You can still feel his semi pressing against your ass when you switch positions to lean against him, though, and as you turn your face towards his, getting close, you can smell him through whatever perfumed shit he's wearing,

Mickey.

He got married. You can't do this. He's still talking.

“Twenty-five bucks only gets you one dance,” you tell him. You stand up, away from him.

He won't let you go. Hey. You don't wanna hang out, fine. Your dad's dying. Ian. Your family. Liam.

Liam.

Something is about to burst and break open but then Roger is there and you don't know if you're relieved or not but when he asks you if everything's okay here, Curtis, you quickly reassure him, shifting to stand next to Mickey.

As you walk away, you think about how immediately, how reflexively, you moved to shield him.

---

You wake up a the crack of dawn, and maybe you should be surprised to find yourself in the Milkovich house but you're not.

Mickey's asleep in a chair in the corner, still fully dressed.

The bed smells of him, but smells of someone else too. You don't recognize the scent, but you know whose it must be, and fuck no, you're not sleeping in the bed he shares with her.

You should get out of here, maybe; get out and far away before he wakes up, but you're too tired, your legs are too unsteady for that and your thoughts too dull and slippery, so you just grab a pillow that smells like Mickey, and a couple of blankets, and you fall back asleep on the floor.

---

You wake up with a headache and to the sight of Mickey's pregnant wife towering over you. It startles you – where is Mickey – but you try to for cordiality, grasping for a couple of (probably) Russian phrases a guy you met at some party taught you.

Your attempt at charm wins you nothing. You leave.

---

“I forgot to say,” Mrs. Bergdoll tells you when you stop by the old house for a change of clothes, “but there was a couple of kids came looking for your the other day. Said you were their brother. I told them you were at work. They find you?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

She nods and blinks at you through the cloud of smoke from her hash pipe. You consider asking her for a hit to take the edge off the comedown from last night, but you don't.

They know where you work, and they know where you live.

Nothing for it then. Time to go home.

---

Liam's alive. Frank too, so far, but you don't care so much about that. Fiona looks overjoyed to see you, but looks haggard and worn thin too, and you hate that, but... you can't help but feel the tiniest bit relieved when you realize that everyone will be too busy dealing with the ramifications of her brutal fall from grace to worry very much about yours.

---

He comes for you, and this time you thought he might. He blows you, which you thought he wouldn't.

It feels good, his mouth on you, but feels like something else too, something that for a moment is better than good: vindication.

His arms are heavy on your tighs, his fingers dig into your sides as he holds on to you to keep his balance, and you close your eyes and lean your head back and mingling with the rush of pure carnal pleasure is the rush of knowing that, sure, he married her, but he'll get on his knees for you. He'll come looking for you and find you and bring you home to his – their – bed and once you run off he'll come looking again.

He'll suck your dick, just because you asked him to.

I'll do it.

You hadn't expected that. You'd laugh in surprised glee, but – because you can't quite believe it, because you won't let him off that easy – you push instead. “Do what?”

His lips twist. He glances at you, immediately glances away. “Don't make me say it, asswipe.”

You don't. You could make him; he admits as much. That can be enough, you think.

Still, you're no longer some lovesick puppy who'll come crawling back all grateful with your tail a-wagging the second he realizes what a fucking idiot he's been, you're done chasing him, so you don't bother to hide the smug teasing in your voice as you spell it out for him. You don't tell him it's cool, you don't have to when he moves to crouch between your legs.

The face he makes suggests that you're a fucking nuisance, says yeah okay whatever, but the eager quickness of his hands and the way he looks up at you with pupils blow wide suggests that maybe he, too, has longed for this; dreamed of it, maybe, and ached.

His hand is warm around the base of your dick; his tongue wet with spit as runs it along your length, once, twice, before taking you into his mouth.

You bite back a moan. You're already fully hard. It's hurried and a little sloppy but it's him and he's good at this, though fuck knows how that happened, because you're pretty sure he's only ever done this with you, and not very often at that. He likes this, you know that he does, but know too that it still costs him something; is intricately tied to all the things he's still struggling to admit and express.

You love me and you're gay. Then gentle bob of his head tells you that he won't deny it again.

Fuck, but you've missed him. You have tried not to; have tried not to think of him at all – he made his choice, he married that whore, and you've spent the last few months running from the memory of him, trying to drown the taste of his lips in the taste of strangers, there's a whole world out there, guys, so many of them, they like you, and they're not all afraid to be who are they are and want what they want.

Some of them sucked your dick. It never felt like this.

You come in his mouth. You expect him to pull away when you make a small grunt to let him know you're close, but he doesn't. Stays right on you, around you, through it. Swallows.

He's never done that before.

He wipes at his mouth and looks up at you, eyebrows raised in half a challenge, like are you fucking happy now? but there's something else there too, a hint of vulnerability still, uncertainty lingering: are you happy now?

A curious tug at your heart; a softening, and a brief flash of something that feels real, in a way not a lot of things have lately.

You allow it. You allow your walls to lower, just enough to allow him right back in, into your life and all the way into your stupid heart.

Fuck, but you've missed him.

You scoot forward and reach out to cradle the back of his head, pulling him up for a kiss. Again, you half-expect him to pull away, and again he doesn't. Instead he lifts his chin to meet you, arms wrapping around your back in a loose embrace, and the two of you never kissed much, you didn't have the time needed for it to become a habit before everything went south, but like so much else with him it just works; you just fit.

You can taste yourself on his lips and on his tongue and that's strange but you don't care. You breathe him in, his shampoo, stale tobacco, no fucking perfume that smells like someone else, Mickey,

He straightens, getting to his feet only to push you back onto your back and climb on top to straddle you, and you don't resist and the familiar weight of him pressing down on you is heat is thrilling is comfort. Your hand is in his hair, his hand is around your wrist, but after a moment he shifts to lace your fingers together. He is kissing you like you're the first gasp of air after almost drowning.

You can feel his erection against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, but he doesn't seem bothered. He kisses you, like that's all he's ever wanted to do, like that's all he'll ever want to do.

For a little while you allow it, losing yourself to press of his lips; to his nose brushing and bumping against yours; the feel of his hair in your clenched fist. For a little while you let yourself know nothing but him, and the joy of being claimed. For a little while – but then you shift, twist and push to roll over, so that you're both lying on your sides, face to face. You keep kissing him – but slower now, deliberate – as you reach down to undo his belt buckle and unzip his jeans. You don't immediately push your hand down his boxers, though: you let your fingers brush over his soft skin just above the waistband instead, let them skim just past the straining bulge of his underwear, unhurried.

His breath hitches; he curses against your mouth, but it's a soft thing, half-swallowed. He pushes forward, just slightly, looking for friction, anything, and you promptly pull your hand back, and  your head back too, just far enough to break the kiss.

His eyes snap open, searching yours, and you see his face still, caught, when he finds you already watching him.

There's a question in his eyes; uncertainty; confusion. Annoyance too, in the way his brow furrows. You just raise your eyebrows pointedly and hold his gaze.

He stares at your for a moment. You wait for him to consider telling you to get the fuck on with it, Gallager, nobody likes a fucking tease. You watch him bite his lip and you wait for him to decide against demands. When he stays silent and slumps ever so slightly, relaxing into aquiencense, the thrill coursing through your body are equal parts triumph and excitement.

You take a momen to watch him and he lets you. He doesn't look away or ask what the fuck you're staring at. His face is open, beautiful, his eyes that startling blue. You used to dream about it, a long time ago; about him looking at you like this, soft.

Your eyes never leave his face as you slowly run your hand down his chest and slip it under his t-shirt to rest on his belly, and you smile a little when he lets out a long, unsteady sigh. Leaning in once more, you claim his lips for another kiss, and he responds eagerly, taking whatever you will give.

You can feel the tension in his body as your fingers roam the sharp curve of his hip; as they brush over his pubic hair; as you scratch at his inner thighs, caress and tease. You can feel the gust of air as he hisses into your mouth whenever your wrist brush against his dick.

But he keeps still. Waits.

There's a new sort of pleasure in this – in being allowed this – and for a moment you think that maybe you could keep it up for hours, but in the next you know that you could not, and his quiet moans are growing more frantic and you're starting to grow hard again, so you slide your hand inside his boxers. He whimpers as you wrap your fingers around his cock and it's not much of a handjob, really, it's rushed, too dry, but he doesn't seem to mind and you just want to feel him; want to hear his breathing quicken as his kisses grow sloppier.

He comes quickly, with a long, stuttering gasp, spilling over your hand, over his quarter zip, the sheets.

You don't say anything, just press your forehead against his, dry against damp. You hold him tight, sharing breath, while his hearbeat slows and steadies.

A minute, two. Your dick softens; you don't mind.

Eventually he pulls back a little, opening his eyes. He's flushed, still, but his gaze is sharp and clear.

You wipe your stitcky hand at his quarter-zip just to be a dick and he makes a disgusted face. “What the fuck, man?”

“It was already dirty.”

“Uh-huh. So's the fucking sheets, asshole, use those.”

You can feel your lips curl into a wide smile and see his doing the same, and then you're both laughing, like idiots, like giddy kids. He reaches for you and this kiss is languid, comfortable, and when you break apart you're still grinning.

Rolling over on your back, you reach for a cigarette, taking one drag before handing it to him. He accepts it with a pleased little hum in the back of his throat, a sound you've heard a hundred times after you've fucked him good and hard, and it goes straight to your cock, but goes straight to your heart too, so maybe you really are too fucking soft.

But he's here, isn't he, so maybe you are right to be.

You think you'd be happy to stay like this for a while, on the bed with him, just smoking, talking maybe, but: “Probably should head down and grab some dinner before they come looking for me again.” You glance at him. “Wanna join?”

“Nah, man, I'm good.” Doesn't feel like dealing with your family, most likely, but that's fine. You get it.

“Okay.” You stand, adjusting your pants and making sure there's no telltale stains. He remains on his back, looking dishevelled and loose and content, with his jeans still open and the smoke between his swollen lips.

Fuck, but you've missed him.

“I could bring you up a plate later?” you offer casually. “If you're staying.”

His eyes dart up to you and for a moment there's so much on his face, hope, worry, longing, caution, joy, but all he says is, “Yeah?”

You smile. “Yeah.”

---

A/N:  Yes, Ian is being rather unfair in not considering the fact that Mickey's been through hell, and no, it's not very charming, but he's a teenager dealing with quite a few issues of his own. It is what it is.

I'm operating under the idea that Mickey went by the old house to look for Ian when he learned Svetlana had kicked him out, and found out that Ian had grabbed his things and left, and that this is what he refers to when he says “took all your shit”.

I'm actually very bothered by the fact that they don't use a condom for this, since Ian's been out and about  and Mickey's had unprotected sex with a prositute, but then again, I don't really expect anything else from these stupidly reckless boys. Don't go have unproteccted sex unless you're monogamous though, kids. STD:s are real.

I guess this is kind of like the fic version of this meta I wrote a while back, I highly recommend reading the additions by other people, because they are very interesting and thought-provoking.

#gallavich #4x07 #4x08 #fic #my stuff

[asteraegis]

a pwp smut this time lads

this stupid porn what plot came from the phrase “never trust a pirate” and well i’m sorry jacob and arno. its 4421 words.

TAGS: MMM/frotting/PWP/biting/sub-dom/outdoor sex/rimjob/blowjob/fingering/ABO/Fryeway/Edno/Jano/JAE/spit-roasting/edging/facials/licking/mistake

Edward Kenway lurched forward, shoving Jacob Frye down and biting his neck, inducing a pained whimper to come from the brunette as the blonde grinded his pelvis against him. The pair had gone outside to survey the grounds like they were instructed, but decided bird watching was more important. And then curling up against each other was. And then one thing led to another and Edward was in Jacob’s lap and the two were breathing deeply into each other’s mouths.

Jacob tucked his hand underneath Edward to unzip their jeans, both of them hard and pressing into the other. Edward rubbed himself against Frye’s cock, Jacob barely able to reach his fist in the space to grasp their members. His grip was firm but not tight, letting him slide across the shafts. Sweat dripped down their skin from being out in the summer heat, though their animalistic greed blinded them to any unpleasant scent as Edward moved to lick up Jacob’s jaw to his lips, kissing him briefly then moving on to nip his ear. He propped himself up with one arm over Jacob, his other hand holding his partner’s face, who turned a bit so he could suck on Edward’s thumb. Kenway chuckled, pulling his head back to look at him. Jacob had puppy-like softness in his eyes and a rosy-red blush on his cheeks mixing with his freckles. He grunted as Edward moved to kiss under his jaw, then move back to the teeth marks he left earlier to nurse the wound he gave him.

Jacob’s fingers slipped about their cocks keeping them pressed together. He traced up the veins to the heads, circling the pink skin then returned to following the veins’ curves, repeating this path. The two men’s hips gently bucked, essentially treating Jacob’s fist as one would a fleshlight. Edward groaned as Jacob bit down on his thumb, wrenching his hand away from his mouth to put his face in its place. They licked and nipped at each other, Edward curling his fingers in Jacob’s free hand. They dug their nails into their knuckles, playing a game of mercy to get the other to reel back so they could control them. Edward’s hold was hardened from years of naval work and Jacob just couldn’t take it anymore, gasping and releasing his hand, yelping afore abruptly being silenced by the corsair’s lips. He moaned into his mouth in response and Edward smiled against him, moving down to his elbow on one side so he could run his fingers through Jacob’s hair. Jacob’s raw knuckles stung from the grass’ touch, though the repetitive motion of his hand and forceful kissing that kept him short of breath masked the sting. He inhaled harshly through his mouth, causing him to cough as Edward pulled back, sitting up with his thighs straddling Jacob’s waist.

“Don’t exert yourself yet, mate, I’m just warming up,” Edward leered.

He bucked his hips faster, Jacob tilting his head back to swear as his fingers trembled. Kenway laughed, taking Jacob’s hands away and thrusting them into the ground to pin him still as he grinded his pelvis across his dick, the two erect with precum dripping little by little as they reached climax. Frye squirmed and started arching his back, his moans becoming sharper as he neared orgasm. Edward grinned while he watched Jacob’s body brace itself, but a sudden sound of boots on the walkway not far off from them cut off his observing. He rushed to put a hand over Jacob’s lips and laid still against him so to hide behind the shrubs. Jacob furrowed his brows and attempted to protest, but a quick shh from Edward and a flexed palm to his mouth led him to get the message and he tried to relax himself as well.

The pair stared through the small gaps in the bushes to see who was approaching, holding their breaths as someone came into view. Arno Dorian stomped down the path with a frustrated visage. They watched him go by, muttering in French to himself before entering a cabin off the side of the path. Once he entered, the two flipped their heads to look at each other and nodded.

“I think I might go pay pisspot a visit,” Edward sneered at Jacob, hopping to his feet and zipping himself up.

Jacob sat up and grabbed his wrist as he went to leave. “What? What about this?” he huffed at him, gesturing to his erection.

“Finish yourself off, mate, with any luck I’ll get Arno in the same position as I had you.”

“Hey!” Jacob whined. “Now that’s not fair!”

Edward shrugged as he sauntered off. “Finder’s keeper’s, Jake. If you still got stamina, stop by in around twenty or so minutes, just don’t make yourself obvious, you know Arno hates us conspiring against him. And maybe freshen up a bit, he won’t appreciate your musk. I’ll work something out with him in the meantime.”

The pirate left the Englishman with a wink and headed toward the cabin. He peaked through the window at the room inside. Arno was sitting over a stack of papers with a bored look in his eyes, rubbing his temples. Edward smirked and went to open the door. Time to give him a little break, he thought as he entered. Arno glanced up from his busywork, Edward pretending to be startled to see him there.

“Arno? Hell you doin’ in here?” he asked him.

Arno rolled his eyes. “What does it look like?”

Edward leaned up against the doorframe. “Looks to me like you picked a short stick, eh?” Arno nodded as Edward crossed the room to the bathroom. “Well, if you don’t mind, it’s blazin’ out and I’d like to rinse myself off.”

“I guess that’s fine.”

Edward left the bathroom door slightly ajar, claiming it was so the room wouldn’t steam up. In truth, it was so, from his position at the desk, Arno’s wandering gaze driven from a bored mind could see him undress. And his jaded eyes did just that. Arno watched as Edward lifted his shirt off and tossed it aside, beads of sweat dripping across his tattoos, dropping down the sword on his spine. The skin on his legs shone as he kicked off his boots and pushed down his jeans with his briefs, Arno gulping as he caught a glimpse of Edward’s dick. He adjusted himself in the chair, trying to focus back on the documents laid out in front of him, but his fingers started fidgeting with the pen in his hand and his eyes shot up once he heard the water turn on. Edward stepped in behind the curtain and ran a bar of soap over his body, smiling to himself when he heard Arno clear his throat.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself with a towel that had been hanging on the wall, wrapping it around his waist as he exited the bathroom. He made sure the towel hung low, so that his musculature was framed. One wrong step and the cloth would be on the floor, exactly what both the men were hoping for. Edward sauntered over to a short bureau and took a stashed pair of joggers from it, slipping into them from under the towel. The rag fell to the ground and he bent over to pick it up, catching Arno’s distracted gaze in his as he came back to his feet with a smirk.

“Need something, Frenchie?” he pondered, urging Arno to catch onto his meaning with a crooked grin.

He rolled his eyes but his reddening cheeks denied his attempt at a cool attitude. “No.”

Edward’s gaze looked almost wolfish as he moseyed over to the desk, abandoning the towel on the floor to plant his hand down over the paper Arno was pretending to be focused on. “You sure?”

Arno leaned back in his chair and avoided looking straight into Edward’s eyes. “… Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Oh really?” Edward swiped the papers away, swung his legs over the desk, and sat down. He took a sip from Arno’s mug, then reached out to tilt his chin up, forcing him into eye contact. Arno tried to break the gaze, but with Edward sitting in front of him like that where else was he to look? At his bare chest? The ceiling? His crotch? “Busy with what, I don’t see anything to do on this desk except, well…”

Arno sighed as Edward’s grin grew. “I hate you.”

The corsair laughed. “More than Jacob?”

“Almost,” he huffed, jerking forward to kiss him.

Edward slid off the desk and grabbed Arno by the waist, shoving him against the wall. He began unclasping the buttons on the Frenchman’s shirt but stopped after the first few.

“Are you wearing Elise’s Templar cross necklace, mate?” Edward asked, furrowing his brows.

“Relax, it’s just a keepsake, I’m not here to launder information to her, now can you get back to undressing me or are you too scared?” he scoffed.

Edward shrugged and went back to kissing Arno and undoing his shirt, leaving his button down hanging open then unzipping his jeans to rub his groin. Arno moaned into his mouth as his hand fondled him roughly, Edward’s other hand untwining its fingers through his chestnut locks.

Edward reeled back, Arno gasping a little as the hand on him tightened. He whimpered as Edward tugged on his hair so he would face him. “While I’ve got you cornered, why not have a little fun, aye?”

He released his hair and dropped to his knees, keeping his gaze focused on Arno’s. The corsair tugged down Arno’s pants and trousers then spat into his hand. He reached under him and pressed his middle and index finger to his taint and began rubbing as he licked up Arno’s shaft to the tip of his cock before putting his lips around it to blow him. His tongue circled it as he moved his head up and down his dick, taking Dorian in as far as his throat would allow him, glancing up every now and then to make sure he was doing his job perfectly. Arno clenched his fists as Edward tucked himself inside him, following the same back and forth motion as his mouth. He curled the two fingers inside, stroking him and sending a tingling sensation up Arno’s spine. He began panting lightly, feeling light in his stomach as Edward toyed with his undercarriage. He wanted to moan but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had him in the palm of his hand, pleasing him without even having to think about his actions. Edward pulled his fingers out of him and took his lips off Arno’s cock then smiled, drool shining at the corner of his mouth.

“Turn around.”

“What?!”

“You heard me, Frenchie.”

Arno did so reluctantly, and Edward stroked his hands slowly up the Frenchman’s thighs to his ass, clutching it in his palms and digging his fingers into the skin. He kissed down his lower back’s spine to his rim where Edward began to lick him. Arno’s ears flushed red along with his face’s cheeks, he always found something like this so embarrassing. His legs stiffened and he shuddered from Edward’s warm breath tickling him. Kenway sat back on his heels, Arno turning his head to see why he had stopped.

Edward’s soft expression caught him off guard when he peeked at him. “Oi, try not to be so tense, mate.”

He nodded and Edward slapped his ass, snickering as Arno yelped. He moved forward to return to tonguing his ass, gripping Arno’s hips in place for him. Arno hid his face behind his arms with his forehead against the wall, wondering if this was Edward’s plan the moment he had entered the cabin. Meanwhile, outside, Jacob sat in a fresh pair of checkered jeans and a loose t-shirt, staring in the window at the pair through the opening between the curtains. That lucky bastard, he thought as he watched Edward eat away at Arno. Jacob felt himself harden and went to touch himself but stopped. Ed said to just wait, he’s definitely got something planned, right? he thought, though his body continued to nag him as he ignored it and watched the other men inside.

Edward licked up to Arno’s lower back again and began to kiss up his clothed back to his neck, pressing his body against him so he could feel that he was just as aroused. Arno flinched at the feeling of him nudging against his ass, Edward’s hands wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer. He blew in Arno’s ear and laughed when he squirmed in response.

“I want you riding me on the floor, Frenchie,” he whispered in his ear.

Arno rotated to face Edward, his back to the wall now. “Quit calling me that and maybe I will.”

Edward cocked his head to look at Jacob through the window for a brief second then grabbed Arno by the shoulders, shoving him to the floor. “All right then, pisspot, ride me.”

Arno landed on his back with a hard thud and even Jacob from outside winced. He glared at Edward, who wore a pompous smirk as he mounted him, his thighs below Arno’s. The brunette pushed him off to the side and flipped to straddle his waist, wrenching down the joggers so Edward’s cock stood in front of Arno. He spat into his hand and grabbed it by the shaft, Edward grunting as the hand tightened around him.

“If you want to be rough with me, you’re going to have to do better than that,” Arno growled.

“Aye, I know, mate,” Edward chided, yanking his face down toward him by Elise’s necklace. “And I will, Templar.”

Arno went to spit some harsh words back at him, but from the angle on the floor that Edward pulled him into he caught a glimpse of Jacob peeping through the window and gasped. Edward turned his head and glowered at the man outside, overturning Arno to the side and getting to his feet.

“Wait here,” he snarled, pulling his joggers back in to place. “I will be coming back.”

Edward kicked open the door and began marching over to Jacob, who cowered against the wall.

“W—why do you look so angry? I thought you had a plan that involved me joining!” he blurted out as he was hauled by his shirt to his feet.

Edward slammed him against the wall and put his lips to Jacob’s ear. “Relax, mate, it’s all an act. You’ll get yours soon enough, just you wait.”

“Says the man that blue-balled me not even thirty minutes ago,” he grumbled.

“Quiet!”

Edward tossed Jacob to the floor in front of Arno. The Frenchman glared at him. “How long have you been watching us?”

Jacob sat up, only to be pushed back down by Edward’s foot to his chest. Frye shot daggers at him, who shot them right back. “Not long.”

“Bullshit, mate,” Edward hissed, kicking Jacob’s side to make him cough out yet another pained whimper. The pirate turned his attention to Arno. “Well? What say you? How should we deal with him?”

Dorian knelt down next to Jacob then looked at Edward. “I think we should finish taking care of this, don’t you?” he said, gesturing at his own erection.

Edward shared a glance with Jacob as if to say I told you you’d get yours afore sinking down to join Arno, grinning at him with a mischievous aura practically radiating from his body. “Aye, that’s a fine idea.”

The two began wrestling off Frye’s clothing until he was laying there naked on the floor before them. Edward took the belt out of Jacob’s belt loop and tightened it around his hands then once again pulled his cock out from his joggers, rubbing himself to get it stiff once more while motioning for Arno to settle over the Englishman’s groin. Arno scowled at Jacob’s worried expression, grabbing his dick under him.

“I see you’re hard as hell,” he said, a dark glower spreading over his eyes. “Pervertir.”

“I swear I wasn’t watching you gents that long,” Jacob professed, squirming a little in Arno’s hold. “I—I just was curious as to why Ed was taking so long to return to his post. That’s all! Honest—”

Edward shook his head, forcing himself into Jacob’s mouth, who choked as his head was lurched back so he couldn’t watch Arno take him inside of him. Arno and Edward both swayed their hips slowly at first, though Kenway smacked Jacob’s face when he tried to peek down his nose at Arno.

“Oi, eyes up here, mate,” Edward snapped with a smirk, knowing full well the poor man couldn’t see much past the cock over his face.

Jacob groaned, his voice tickling Edward’s skin. He swore under his breath, reaching around to pull Frye’s head up so he’d need to take more down his throat. Arno in the meantime rocked back over his lap, bucking his hips while stroking his own cock. He bit his lip, burrowing his other hand’s fingers into Jacob’s thigh as he braced himself so he could buck harder. Edward watched Dorian hasten his ride over Frye. Arno was angry with Jacob and unafraid to take out his frustration by drilling himself with the other man’s cock. His roughness made the Londoner’s stomach tense up, clearly feeling conflicted about how he was pinned to the floor. His arms were stuck above his head with Edward’s shins resting over them and his hands were itching to be released from the belt. The corsair kept his strokes into Jacob’s mouth slow and moved back so they were no longer deep down his friend’s throat either. He then reached back and unclasped the belt, slapping Jacob’s wrists when he tried to move his arms from the position. Frye wrinkled his brows, lapping at Edward’s tip with his tongue while quietly moaning from Arno’s roughhousing. Edward noticed the two brunettes were becoming red faced and their bodies were quivering more so he snapped his fingers at Arno.

“Stop, now,” he demanded, leaning forward on his knees to take Arno by his chin. “Calm the fuck down, you’ll ruin the fun.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Arno panted staring into his eyes. “I thought we were just using him.”

Edward chuckled to himself for a moment before returning Dorian’s frown. “Of course, you do, Frenchie,” The blonde’s hand dropped down and gripped Arno by the throat then slammed him to the floor on his back. He pinned him by the wrists and flipped his head around to face Jacob. “Pull out, dumbass, and come grab his hands.”

Arno was flustered, writhing under Edward. “Hey! What on Earth are you doing?!”

Jacob pulled himself out of Arno then moved to the front of the others to hold his arms down while Edward moved his hands to pick up Arno’s thighs and thrust himself inside. The Frenchman gasped when he was penetrated a second time as Kenway didn’t care to be gentle upon entering him, sticking his full cock into him with a smug grin. He stroked his hand up Arno’s body to his neck, clasping his fingers around it and making his grip firm. The smaller man gasped and fidgeted under him, uncomfortable with how he was being restrained to the floor.

Edward’s smile was malicious as he leaned into Arno’s face. “Aw, what’s wrong? Can’t break free?”

“Fuck… Fuck you,” he choked out.

Edward laughed, looking up to Jacob. “Help me flip him, mate.”

“Gladly.”

The two twisted Arno around, holding him in place while he whined on and on about how this wasn’t what he wanted. Edward shoved his face down against the wooden floor, laughing when French insults were directed at him.

“I don’t have a damn clue what ya said, Frenchie, you’re gonna have to try a different tactic if you wanna piss me off,” he said with a leering gaze down to Arno’s dirty look. Edward yanked him back by his hair, making the brunette wince and yelp, his body contorted uncomfortably on his elbows and knees. “How ‘bout ya give Jakey something special, hm?”

Jacob snickered, moving to sit in front of Arno on the floor and take his chin between his index finger and thumb. “It’s only equality, Frenchie, no need to look so angry.”

Edward forced Arno’s head down to Jacob’s groin, keeping a steady pace as he fucked him. “Your turn to give a little.”

“You fucking bastards, remind me to never trust either of you ever again,” he growled afore Jacob took control of his head and stuffed his cock down his throat, making him gag in the process.

“Oh, don’t worry about Jake, sweetheart. This was my scheme and ya know what they say, don’t you?” Edward gripped Dorian’s hips tight while making eye contact with Jacob. “Never trust a pirate.”

The sailor picked up his pace, knowing that Arno was already near coming and being rough with him was only going to speed up the inevitable. Frye did feel a tad sorry for the Frenchman, loosening his hold on his hair so he could suck him at his own speed. Edward’s white knuckles left Arno’s hips with pink prints across the skin, moans crawling out his lips from deep in his throat. Edward thrusted himself ruthlessly against Arno’s backend, his body shaking trying to keep from giving in and dropping against the floor. His knees burned from rubbing against the wood floor and Jacob glanced nervously at the blonde, who didn’t seem to care he was physically hurting Arno. Jacob laid his legs out so that Dorian could press his elbows into his thighs so his shirt’s sleeves wouldn’t keep slipping on the floor. Edward noticed Jacob performing his little acts of charity and smiled to himself. I give him the chance to be cruel and he chooses to be kind, how darling, he thought to himself, slowing down to feed Arno’s ass long, deep strokes. Edward reached his right hand around to clasp his fingers around the Frenchman’s cock, squeezing its base between his fingers to make the man groan and arch his back.

Edward leaned down to press his chest against Arno’s back. “You want to come, don’t ya, Frenchie?” he murmured in his ear, chuckling from the desperate whine he got in response. “That’s what I thought.”

Kenway pulled out of Arno and drew him back on top of him, himself laying on the floor now, holding Arno’s cock and giving it the last few touches needed to come. His cum sprayed up his stomach across his naval in long white ropes, his ribcage heaving as Edward finally let him catch his breath. Jacob gulped, feeling his own member twitch just from the sight of Arno sprawled out in front of him with semen dripping down his skin.

The blonde raised his eyebrows at Jacob. “You gonna finish yourself off, mate?”

Jacob startled a bit, adjusting himself to sit forward. “Uh, right, of course.”

He began jerking himself off but Edward snapped his fingers to draw his attention back to them. He pushed Arno to sit up and yanked Arno’s head back by his ponytail. “Finish on his face.”

“What?!” the two brunettes both were shocked by Edward’s demand.

The pirate stood, still holding Arno’s head in place with one hand while he jerked himself off with his other. “I wasn’t asking.”

Jacob stood up and moved in front of Arno with hesitation, though his cock quivered in his fingers as he lined himself up with the kneeling man’s face. Arno shut his eyes and pressed his lips tight together, not exactly amped about this position he was forced into. Jacob came shortly after, sticky white strings lining his nose, lips, and chin. Edward grinned deviously then kicked Jacob’s knees, making the Englishman drop down to kneel in front of Arno. He yelped and went to glare at Kenway but soon shut his eyes to avoid Edward’s cum from getting in them. Both of the brunettes sat in front of each other, chagrinned and with cum striping their faces to match Arno’s stomach.

Edward laughed at the two men while he stuffed his dick into his joggers. He grabbed them both by their hair, entwining his fingers tight in their locks. “Why don’t you two help clean up, hm?”

They stared anxiously at each other’s face but a firm tug on the back of the head helped them listen. Jacob licked Arno’s chin first then trailed his tongue across the Frenchman’s lips. He moved on to lap up the cum off Arno’s nose, glad he came earlier in the day so there wasn’t as much for him to clean. Arno sighed but nevertheless moved to return the deed, licking up Jacob’s jaw and over his cheek before moving to lick off the cum on his lips.

“All right then, captain,” Arno hissed the words out as he glared at Edward. “We’ve finished.”

Edward shook his head. “Not by a longshot, Jacob ain’t done yet.”

Jacob furrowed his brows but soon caught on, looking to Arno’s stomach. “What?! Why must I clean up that too? Isn’t it your turn now?”

The corsair smiled with devilish intent in his eyes. “Nope.”

“That’s not fair!” Arno shouted at him.

“Never said I was, lad, now hurry up, Jake, we haven’t got all day,”

Jacob huffed but moved his head down regardless upon Edward’s release of his hair. He licked up Arno’s abdomen until the only thing shining on his skin was sweat and Frye’s saliva. Edward let go of Arno’s head and moved to kick on his shoes and grab his clothes.

“Where are you off to?” Arno called after him as he went to open the door.

Edward pointed to the clock on the wall then shrugged. “Lunch.”

Jacob and Arno sat on the floor, jaws agape, watching with fire in their eyes as the pirate simply left out the door.

“That smug bastard,” Jacob muttered to himself.

The two stood to replace their clothes, murmuring to themselves about how rude Edward was being afore tugging on their own shoes and trotting after him, not exactly satisfied by their force-fed appetizer but now with a true understanding on where the phrase ‘never trust a pirate’ came from.

#i write #i cant believe ive done this #actually yes i can #JAE #fryeway #jano #edno #assassins creed ahahahaha #its 2:04am

[iatethepomegranate]

Homecoming Chapter 22

@iontorch @dick-rarepairs

See notes for story masterpost and AO3 links.

Pairing: DickTiger

Rating: Teen (this chapter)

Length: 3k

Summary: Dick and Tiger settle back into Wayne Manor, but between Dick's new ailment and the secret they're keeping from Bruce, they're just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Notes: I LIVE. Okay, since I don’t trust Tumblr to let this post appear in the tags if I add links, I’m going to add masterpost and AO3 links in a reblog, so check the notes.

***

Chapter 22

As the days passed, Dick waited for another migraine to come along and ruin his life again. It felt like everyone was watching him with bated breath, expecting him to drop any second... Dick most of all. Tim, at least, tried to make himself useful by going over Dick's symptoms to help him figure out his warning signs for when the attack finally did come.

Tiger had clammed up since that last conversation about the shooting. That was never a good sign. The man was a classic bottler when it came to his emotions and wouldn't entertain further discussion. It would all come to a head eventually. Dick was not looking forward to it.

What made matters worse, possibly, was that Bruce was being oddly polite to Tiger. It was possible he genuinely felt bad for kicking Tiger out, but there was also a chance he was trying to lull Tiger into a false sense of security. It wasn't working. Tiger was more anxious than ever. Unless that was Bruce's plan. Dick hoped not. That was a douchey kind of plan.

Dick came to dinner one night in a not-so-great mood. Irritable for no reason. He'd already snapped at Tiger three times in the past hour, and he'd deserved exactly none of them. And his neck was kinda stiff, which made sitting in a dining chair a rather annoying experience.

Tim took one look at him, pausing in the motion of cutting his steak, and said, “You know irritability and neck stiffness are pre-migraine symptoms, right?”

“Who says I'm irritable?” Dick replied, irritably. Internally, though, his mind was a litany of shit shit shit.

“You’ll probably have, like, twelve hours from when the symptoms started,” Tim said, looking back down at his plate. “Maybe more. Hard to say. Try to get a good night's sleep if you can.”

Dick wasn't sure how he was supposed to sleep with his neck like this. Tiger was staring at him, trying to catch his eye, but Dick didn't feel like talking. Especially not after snapping at him so much.

Tiger made a show of shrugging and piling brown rice onto both their plates. Dick also received a generous load of vegetables and not as much meat as he probably would've liked. But he'd already been an asshole today, so he shut up and took it.

Dick excused himself as soon as he was finished, knowing that he was not good company tonight. Tiger, in a fit of masochism, followed him back to their room.

Then, in what could only be a lack of self-preservation, he took Dick's hands and led him to the bed. “Sit. Let me help.”

“Look, I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to be around me. I don't want to be around me.” The words came out way sharper than he'd intended. Naturally.

“Hush.” Tiger knelt on the bed behind him and dug his thumbs into the hardened muscles on the back of Dick's neck. “I forgive you.”

“Ugh.”

Tiger kissed the top of his head. “I am trying to spoil you.”

“I don't deserve it.”

“I do not care.”

Dick shut up and let him rub his neck. It helped a bit. A warm shower later, he felt almost like himself.

Sleep was elusive. Dick kept shifting position, unable to get comfortable. Tiger had ended up on the edge of the bed, well away from his fidgeting. Dick was kind of offended but couldn't really be mad because Tiger had done that in his sleep.

He was still kinda mad.

Dick fell into a fragile kind of sleep eventually, flitting in and out when Tiger got up to pray. He woke in the daylight, eyes grainy and brain fogged. Right. Fatigue. Another fun symptom. Apparently even sleeping made him tired now.

Tiger was eating a bowl of oatmeal on the bed, legs crossed with a huge photo album in front of him. “Good morning.”

“Mmph.” Dick rubbed his eyes, which helped a tiny bit. “Is it morning?”

“Barely.”

Dick used Tiger's arm to haul himself into a sitting position, slumping against his shoulder. “Whatcha looking at?”

“Jason stole a photo album Alfred kept of your first few years as Robin.”

Dick rubbed his eyes again, until he could see the photos. Oh. Oh God. The green underpants. It was actually a leotard at least fifty percent of the time, but no one believed him.

Look, it wasn't that Dick was ashamed of his childhood fashion choices. It was just... well... everyone was ashamed for him.

“Bastard,” he muttered. “I'm gonna show you his album.” He dug his chin into Tiger's shoulder. “Nice breakfast. Where's mine?”

Tiger leaned over and grabbed another bowl from the nightstand. “I was about to wake you. Here.”

There were spiced pears in the oatmeal, which lifted his mood a little bit. But he still felt kinda fuzzy and doubted that would improve.

There was one photo in the album that Tiger paused over. It was a selfie, in a way. Dick-as-Robin making a face in a funhouse mirror. Alfred had seen the mask camera footage and liked it.

“Where is the camera?” Tiger asked.

“In the mask. It was a prototype at the time. The lenses broke constantly so we had to carry spare masks and cowls in our belts.”

“Wait.” Tiger's eyes went wide and his face turned the most worrying shade of grey. “You have cameras in your masks? Does Jason have...”

“Jason has a few,” Dick said. “He only wears the cam-masks when he's working with us.”

“So there is a video of Alia...”

The shooting. Fuck.

“Jason would've thought of that,” Dick said, trying to sound sure, even if he was kinda panicking. “Right?”

Tiger sighed and shoved more oatmeal into his mouth. Good idea. Dick did the same. Soothing his panic with breakfast. They kept flipping through the album with a detachment born out of preoccupation.

As soon as Dick had scraped the last bite out of his bowl, Tiger snatched it off him. “I'll take these to the kitchen. And find Jason.”

“Yeah. Do that.” Dick wanted to trust Jason had remembered. If not... Bruce would have seen the footage by now.

God damn it.

Dick took a piss while he waited and then spent a few minutes flipping through the album, tracking Robin's fashion evolution over the years. And the Discowing outfit. He still thought the high collar was pretty cool, no matter what anyone else said. He just couldn't turn his head as much as he would've liked. Still, some of Bruce's old costumes had the same problem.

There was just something in him that made him desperate to defend even the most questionable of fashion decisions. It didn't matter if he had been questioning them himself. The instant someone else teased him, he had to take it all the way.

Voices erupted in the hallway.

“Maybe I just don't like the way you're trying to corner him.” Jason.

“That is not what I—”

“You're not fooling anyone, Bruce. You've had it out for him from the moment he entered the city.”

“This is not a productive conversation.” Tiger.

“Right?” Jason said. “You prepared to say whatever you wanted to say in front of Dick? You think he's gonna be happy?”

“You're being dramatic,” Bruce said.

“Am I, though? Am I?”

“But if you wish to be involved in this discussion, I have plenty of questions for you, too.”

“I've answered your questions already. Not my fault you didn't like the answers.”

“I am missing some context in this conversation,” Tiger said.

“So am I!” Dick yelled impulsively.

There were a few horrible seconds where no one breathed a word. Then Tiger, Jason and Bruce entered the room. Tiger and Jason at least had the grace to look sheepish.

“Is someone going to explain what the hell is going on?” Dick said. “Quickly, if you don't mind. Not sure how much time I have before my head explodes again.”

“Jason's mask camera footage is missing,” Bruce said. Well. That answered that question.

“I told you already,” Jason complained. “The equipment's been on the fritz for weeks.”

“You should've had it fixed.”

Jason shrugged. “You don't trust me with your stuff and Tim was mad at me again. What was I supposed to do? Steal your shit? I only do that when I'm really mad at you.”

Dick had a distinct feeling Jason was lying his ass off. He also had a feeling Bruce saw right through him.

Tiger leaned against the closet door, arms crossed, watching the exchange with a muscle twitching in his jaw. Dick would trust him on a battlefield, but he wasn't so sure how well he was gonna hold up in a war of words over something he already felt terrible about. Jason wasn't gonna budge. Dick certainly wouldn't. But Tiger...

“I find it convenient that your equipment failed on that night in particular,” Bruce was saying.

“Sorry. I forgot to pencil it in.”

“Do you let your grapnel gun wear down like that?”

“No, because I would die. Again.”

Bruce's face twitched; he hated it when Jason brought up the dying thing. “Jason. That's not—”

“Oh, am I playing dirty again? Sorry. Force of habit.” He was blatantly not sorry. “Sometimes you gotta prioritise the important stuff. You never look at my mask cam anyway.”

“Because I never know when you're wearing it.”

“Then why did you bother looking this time?” Jason was smiling now, but it wasn't a pleasant one. “Seems to me you were looking for something specific.”

“I deserve to know what happened when someone dies on my watch.”

“I told you what happened. Is my word not good enough?”

“No. It's not.”

“Bruce,” Dick said, before this could spiral further, “I was there, too, you know.”

“You didn't see what happened.”

It wasn't worth arguing. Bruce knew what he was talking about. Good old blood spatter analysis, ruining everything.

“I saw Jason holding Tiger's gun.” Dick wasn't about to let this go without a fight, though.

“That proves nothing. And evidence has conveniently disappeared. Where did Tiger's clothes end up?”

Tiger still looked kinda grey from earlier. It was probably best he wasn't talking much, because Dick honestly didn't know if he could keep the lie going.

Jason, bless him, kept fighting. “Well, fuck me for getting him out of that blood-soaked shit. Not like I was thinking about how you were gonna be a giant asshole over this. My bad.”

“You haven't told me where his clothes are.”

“Gone. They were wrecked. Maybe if you'd asked in a timely manner, you could've examined them.” Jason actually sounded convincing. Dick tried not to get his hopes up. Bruce wasn't called the World's Greatest Detective for nothing.

“This is all rather convenient,” Bruce said. “Your spare gun jammed, recording equipment failed and vital material evidence happened to disappear, all on the same night.”

Could they have done this better? Given the circumstances, could they have found a way to keep Tiger out of this without tripping Bruce's coincidence meter? Dick wasn't sure there was. If only Jason hadn't been wearing his mask cam that night.

Still, Bruce didn't have concrete evidence. He just had a pile of coincidences that could mean someone was hiding something. Certainly not enough for a legal conviction or possibly even a trial in the first place, but that was not what they had here.

Bruce didn't need incontrovertible proof to believe Tiger had helped kill Alia. All he needed was enough doubt in Jason's version of events.

“Enough,” Tiger said.

Bruce rounded on him, staring silently. He didn't need to speak. Dick and Jason shared a grimace behind Bruce's back.

“There were three shooters,” Tiger continued, crossing his arms tighter across his body. Dick could see the slightest hint of a tremor. “Jason, Helena... and me.”

Okay, so they were doing this now. Things were still salvageable. Maybe.

“He saved my life,” Dick added. “The three of them only had a split second to do something.”

“Murder is never the solution.”

“Then tell us, O Wise One,” Jason snapped, “what would you have done with fuck-all time to save your favourite son?”

“I'm not his favourite,” Dick muttered. They ignored him.

“I would not have resorted to murder.”

“That's not what I asked,” Jason growled. “Dick is on the floor, literally cornered, back against a wall. Daedalus's gun practically touching him. He won't miss. You have a second to do something and you don't have a good enough angle to hit his gun. If Daedalus takes over Dick's mind, he dies. If the gun goes off, he dies. If you spook the bastard, the gun will go off anyway and Dick dies. So tell me, with all your boundless wisdom, what could we have done in that second to save Dick's life without killing Daedalus? The woman he possessed isn't even a factor. She was a goner already.”

Tiger flinched. Dick wanted to go over and squeeze his hand, but that would just draw Bruce's attention while Jason tried to divert it.

“Remote-controlled batarang,” Bruce replied.

“Yeah, we didn't have one of those. Even if we did, setting it up would take time we didn't have and he probably would've heard it coming.”

“The fact remains,” Bruce said, turning back to Tiger. “You hid this from me.”

“He wasn't even there when I told you what happened,” Jason said. “You gonna get mad? Get mad at the right person.”

“People,” Dick corrected. “I helped Jason mess with the evidence.”

“You were a backseat driver, more like.”

“Stop it,” Tiger muttered.

Dick's fingers were tingling a little, which was not a good sign. He concentrated extra hard on speaking, because he was not about to let this fucking migraine muddle his words while he still had a choice.

“Tiger,” he said, “you didn't want us to lie for you.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And yet he allowed it.”

Dick put his left hand on the bed, leaning into it to keep his balance. Even sitting was starting to get a little fraught. Fuck's sake.

“Bruce,” he said, “stop it. You've directed exactly none of this pissiness at me even though I was actively involved in the lie.” He had to take a second to get his mouth around his next sentence, holding up his right arm, which obeyed him enough, so they wouldn't talk over him. “That's why we lied. Jason and I knew you would be harder on him than anyone else.”

“Same shit, different day,” Jason said. “He was like this when he kicked Tiger out and he hasn't learned a damn thing.” Jason's voice was a touch louder than Dick's head liked right now.

“Bruce has a point,” Tiger said quietly.

“He's selectively applying that point,” Jason replied. “How about it, boss? If you're gonna be shitty to Tiger, then you should be just as shitty to me.”

“You are not dating my son,” Bruce said.

“I'm a grown-ass man, Bruce,” Dick said.

“And I happen to be your son,” Jason added. “Legally, anyway.”

“You're an adult in control of your own actions,” Bruce said. “You have made it clear that I cannot control you.”

“Uh, hello?” Dick waved his fingers, which didn't really want to cooperate. “I'm the eldest, and you're acting like I'm a teenager with a bad influence for a boyfriend.”

“Difference is,” Jason said, “he actually cares about you.”

Bruce looked like he'd been slapped. “That's not—”

Jason grinned, but it looked more like a grimace. “Am I wrong?”

Bruce was not often a man lost for words. He sometimes preferred to let his actions speak for him, but it was rare that he truly had no idea what to say or do. Witnessing it now was unsettling.

Any other time, Dick might've let Bruce work through it on his own. Things with Jason were complicated, and sometimes interfering made matters worse.

But he was really having trouble sitting up and there was a distinct numbness on the right side of his face, and down his arm. And there was a pounding building up in his head.

In the silence, Dick caught Tiger's eye. The man's features hardened, and he put himself between Bruce and Jason. Probably not the safest idea, but Dick couldn't think of another way. Damn brain fog.

“Enough,” he said. “This is not a productive conversation.”

“You do not get to tell me when I am finished,” Bruce replied.

Jason glanced in Dick's direction. “Yeah? Well, I'm done.” He made a good show of storming out in a fit of temper, rather than giving his brother some space to lie down and die for a while.

“Jason...” Then Bruce followed him.

Well, that was one way to clear a room.

Tiger fetched Dick a glass of water. Apparently a pack of straws lived in Dick's nightstand now. He wasn't sure when exactly they appeared, but they made drinking a little easier with only half a face.

“Anything else you need?” Tiger asked softly.

Dick got him to help him into the bathroom. He wasn't sure how much he'd be moving in a few minutes. He also may have thrown up in the sink a little bit while he was in there.

Then Tiger helped him lie down. “There is a pager here,” he said, lifting the little thing from the nightstand. “Do you want me with you? If not, the pager will put you in touch with Alfred if you need anything.”

Dick waved him away with his good hand. He didn't want to put Tiger through this if he didn't have to. Besides, when he was at his worst last time, he couldn't even stand the sound of Alfred breathing.

Tiger helped him put a sleeping mask on and placed a bucket on the floor. Then he kissed Dick's hand, leaving him to his misery.

#Dick Rare Pair Challenge #dicktiger #dick grayson #tiger king of kandahar #fanfiction #my fics #homecoming dicktiger fic

[blackfodder]

landline

2.4k | Titans TV | Gar Logan&Rachel Roth | Post Episode 01x10 | Action

He'd learned enough from Dick to know the importance of having an ace up your sleeve. Gar and Rachel dealing with their new circumstances in the moments after episode 1X10. Because sometimes Robin isn't around to save them.

“Rachel?” Gar was standing as far away as he could from the small group in front of him without actually leaving the room. The feeling in his stomach that something wasn’t right hadn’t left, if anything it had gotten worse. Rachel was hugging the man who saved him. He needed to know what was going on.

She lifted her head at his call and looked back at him. The man pulled away from her, training his eyes on Gar. “It’s okay, go with him, get your friend caught up darling.” his voice soft and loving.

Despite that, Gar didn’t like the way he was being looked at. This man was looking at him the way Chief had looked at Rachel all those weeks ago when he had her strapped to that bed. As if they were both prizes to be played with and controlled. He could feel a rise of panic inside of him, his tiger usually quiet in his belly was on edge. The urge to run was strong.

He felt Rachel's arm on his and she pulled him into a tight hug. His arms went around her instantly and he found himself locking eyes with the man again from behind her hair, “What's happening,” he whispered into her head, she pulled back, grabbed his hand and walked him out -- not before looking back to smile at Angela and the man.

They sat down on the piano bench. Rachel didn’t let go of his hand, instead, she kept it on his lap. Gar angled his body toward hers, letting her prod at his hand with her finger. He realized she was checking for his pulse.  The sweat from her hands tickled his nose. Fear, he could smell it on her. It wasn't just him. He let his eyes dart across the hall and into the next room, Angela and the mystery man to preoccupied with each other to pay them any attention.

“Is that, --” he started to ask, he wasn’t sure.

“It’s my dad,” Rachel answered, her voice a breathy low whisper. “You were dying. There was so much blood Gar,” a noise caught in her throat, she stopped to push it down. “I don’t know what I did, what I was doing. She just kept telling me I had to, that you weren’t going to make it if I didn’t.”

The lump came back, and she couldn't swallow it this time. The sob was inaudible as it left her mouth and the tears finally fell down her face. Gar lets himself squeeze her hand, ready to reassure her like he always does but instead thinks back to what she had done for him in the Asylum. Instead, he pulls his back straight and takes a breath, now isn’t the time. She’s stronger than this.

“Rachel,” he doesn't mean for it to come off as if he’s scolding her. But it does. She stops shaking and nods her head. Understanding without needing anything more.

She sits up, quickly wiping the tears from her face. They both look back up at the duo across the room, backs turned to them and whispering.

“Can we trust them?” Gar asks.

“I don’t know, he saved you. But mom said he was bad. I don’t know. I think we should wait for Dick to come back. He’ll know what to do.”

“I tried calling Dick earlier, it wouldn’t go through.” he uses his free hand to feel around his pockets the other still in her sweaty one, looking for his cell phone, “I can trying calling again, maybe from the second floor.” Gar gets up to leave, finding his cellphone in his back pocket. Rachel pulls at his arm, sitting him back down with an unnatural force.

“No, we stay together. My dad. I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you alone with him.” She had noticed too then. The way her dad had been looking at him.

The cold realization that they're alone for once, no Dick and Kori to tell them what to do washes over both of them. Rachel bites her lip, quickly going over what she does know, “The landline, it's in the kitchen. Mom used it to call for help earlier. A police officer was here. He went to get help. He should be back soon.”

Gar took the information in with a slow nod, trying to piece together a plan while looking as inconspicuous as possible, “Okay, we get to the landline then. We need to call the police anyway, tell them not to come anymore. It might be safer for them to stay away. I’m sure Angela and your dad will agree to that. I’ll call Dicks number first. Let it ring a few times and hang up. It should be enough of warning for him to get what’s going on.”

They let go of each other's hands and stand up, Gar wiping away her sweat on his jeans. He feels awful for his disgust in the brief moment he realizes that her scent would linger. She's always smelled, everyone has. For whatever reason, everything seems much sharper now. The lights are brighter. Everything is louder.

Rachel is already moving forward before he can give it much thought.

"Mom, should we call the police?” she’s heading toward the alcove that leads into the kitchen, so Gar gets up to follow. “They don’t need to come anymore now that Gar is okay.”

“Oh, I can do it, honey,” Angela darts across the room and before Rachel can cross over, clutches her arm and jerks her in the other direction. The movement so fast it makes a small gust of wind, Gar keeps his face still as his nose picks up what's in the air.

“It’s probably better if I do it, the sheriff is an old friend and I doubt they’ll believe a kid calling into the station.” She gives Rachel one last adoring look before hurrying into the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone with their new arrival.

The man grabs them both by the shoulders and Gar can’t help but jump, he hadn't noticed him walk over. He’s pushing them back into the sitting room, away from the kitchen and the landline.

“Uh, thanks for saving me,” Gar offers as they make their way across the room. He smiles down at him in response, the look is unnerving.

“What’s your name son,” he asks as he motions for them to sit on the couch. He takes the armchair across from them, lowering himself unnaturally, the movement too swift and precise.

“Garfield Logan” he struggles to let it out, surprising himself when he hears his full name coming out of his mouth.

“That's quite a beast you have inside of you,” The man tells him, his eyes go dark and that same look from before comes back. “How did that come to happen?”

Rachel fidgets next to him, as uneasy as himself about the attention he’s getting. He needs to relax. They both need to. As of now, they aren’t in any danger. The police would be here soon, a distraction. Kori had left hours ago, Dick would be back to check on them by the end of the night. He would do that for Rachel. They needed to stall, and letting on that something was wrong was the opposite of that.

“Freak accident, even freakier treatment,” Gar replies and gives the man his best eager to please smile. He sinks back into the couch and crosses his legs. Rachel stays on the edge, keeping her feet planted firmly on the ground.

They fall into an easy conversation, Gar keeping the topic on his beast. Jaguar, around 170 pounds he lies, he downplays the size, changes the species, leaves out the coloring, offers up that the tail is sometimes Siberian. He'd learned enough from Dick to know the importance of having an ace up your sleeve. Even so, the man looks at him with the awe, reminding Gar of the poachers back home.

Rachel isn't paying them any attention, quickly catching on to what Gar is doing. She instead keeps her eyes on her father and a pleasant smile on her face. All the while straining to listen for her mother's voice on the phone or the footsteps of her coming back into the sitting room. Nothing. The back door opens. She hears the water start to run.

Minutes tick by. Angela still doesn't come back and it makes Rachels blood boil. All these years she had parents, two of them. That knew about whatever was inside of her and could have clearly shown up and helped. She can hear the noises from the kitchen, noises that shouldn’t be coming from making a simple phone call. It hits her, and her stomach drops.

Angela. This house. Gar getting sick. Her dad. No, they aren’t safe. They can't sit and wait for Dick. They need to leave. Now.

“Rachel?” her father's eyes are on her now. When had Gar stopped talking? She puts the smile back on not realizing it had disappeared. "Don't you have a question for dear dad?"

Her breath quickens, and as she looks into her father's eyes she realizes he knows everything she does. “Are you going to stay?” she tries anyway, "Wh-where have you been, dad?"

His brow lifts, disappointment on his face and his eyes move back to Gar.

“Oh Rachel," the shift in his voice, her back goes cold, "haven’t you ever heard, that curiosity killed the cat.”

"What's going on?" Angela comes back into the room at that moment. The smell of blood on her unmistakable now, Gar's nose picks it up, and the growl stuck at the back of his throat finally betrays him and comes out. There's no point in keeping up the farce.

"Rachel!" Gar yells out her name before leaping off the couch. His crossed legs at the perfect angle to propel his now tiger paws into the air. The loud tear of his clothes snaps the quiet room into a frenzy. The scraps of his clothing exploding into the air catching everyone off guard, the change had been so fast, the fastest he had ever experienced.

Rachel's father stunned a second enough for Gar to pound into him, is knocked back into the chair and onto the floor with a heavy THUD! Gar doesn't hesitate to tear into his shoulder.

"Trigon!" Angela yells from across the room, running toward Gars back, a knife suddenly in her hand. Rachel wastes no time in letting out her dark energy, slapping Angela into the wall with a long tendril and knocking her unconscious.

At that moment, Trigon, name now revealed pushes Gar off with such a force, he goes through the wall and into the hall.

Gar doesn't lose momentum and skids down the hall jutting his back paw out to catch onto a dip in the wall. He uses it as a bouncing point and propels himself forward again speeding back into the sitting room through the fresh hole in the wall. He makes it back just in time to push Rachel out of the way of an energy blast coming from Trigons hand.

They land behind a fallen table, "We can't fight him!" Rachels' eyes are dark, and she's managed to enclose them in something resembling a shield.

She turns to the tiger next to her, he seemed much bigger than she remembered.  "I don't know how I'm doing this right now but it fucking hurts!" A blast from Trigon hits the shield at that moment, making Rachel cry out in pain.

Gar roars at her, flicking his head at the large window in the room. Rachel seeming to understand lets her shield down and instead releases her darkness toward Trigon, the large waves blinding him enough for Gar to move his body under hers. She hooks her arm around his neck and without a pause the large tiger leaps through the window above them, shattering the glass and wooden frame.

They roll onto the ground, Gar trying as hard as he can to keep their momentum going across the side yard. From inside they could hear Trigon yell out, "Rachel! Come back here!"

When they stop, Rachel crawls onto her feet and begins to sprint for the front yard. She could hear Gar running beside her. Suddenly, a large ROAR from Gar, and another. She stops and turns to find the green tiger, withering on the floor a few feet behind her. He was morphing back, his face more Gar than a tiger, and his body grotesquely contorting into something unworldly.

"Go! Find Dick! Run!" Gar was yelling at her through his pain, the words coming out gargled and chopped.

Rachel found herself frozen in place, the corners of her eyes stinging when she realizes the loud repetitive cracks she hears are his bones breaking, over and over again. His skin was turning into leather and the knuckles of his hand gave away to large talons breaking free under his skin.

"RUN!" the command comes out of him one last time, his face now something completely different from Gar or the tiger she had come to know.

Rachel doesn't hesitate again and turns back around sprinting away in what she realizes is fear. Fear of Gar and what he was turning into.

She does her best to run forward in a straight line, but her vision is blurred and her lungs are on fire. She can feel the cold wind on her tears, now down to her neck and she thinks for a moment she could choke from the pain.

Where was Kori?! Where was Dick?!  She looks ahead and tries to focus, looking for the road or even the end of the driveway. They're both gone, miles of grass in their place. Suddenly, she's passing through light and crashing into Kori and Wondergirl.

"Rachel! Rachel, are you okay? Where is Gar!" Kori was clutching her arms. Shaking her out of her crying fit.

"Gar! Something happened to him, where is Dick! We need to save Gar!" she's hysterical and doesn't care, looking between Kori and Wondergirl and then behind them, around them. Where was Dick?

Wondergirl steps up to her and places a hand on her shoulder, "Dick is inside, he went in for you. Rachel, we need you to tell us what you know so we can get into that house."

It's at that moment Rachel finally spins around and realizes the house is gone.

#fic #bbrae #DC TITANS #reupload

[welcometophu]

Missed Fortunes: Family & Friends 3

Twinned Book 2: Missed Fortunes

Family & Friends 3

[ Previous | First | Next ]

“Do you really think this is going to work?” Shawn has his arms crossed, dark eyes narrowed under a furrowed brow. He stands in the hall outside of Sam’s room, as if he’s been left there, waiting for them.

Maybe he has; Carolyn isn’t the one coordinating this and she certainly isn’t the one talking to him.

Del runs her hand over his shoulder, down his arm to his elbow. “I think it’s our best shot, and I think Sam thinks it’s our best shot. Which means it’s a shot we have to take.”

Pawel approaches, one of the nurses in his wake. “We’ve got an hour, and Joshua here will be in the room with us the entire time. If Sam gets combative, Joshua will administer a sedative that will help calm him, but not knock him out completely.” There’s a tension in his words; neither he nor Joshua look pleased, and Carolyn gets the feeling it’s a compromise on both sides.

“The point is to wake him up, not knock him out,” Shawn says curtly, pressing his lips together when Del squeezes his elbow.

“We need him to be calm enough that we can perform the ritual, but not actually unconscious.” Del addresses Joshua, despite her hand lingering on Shawn. “Did Professor Szczek explain?”

“At this point you might as well call me Pawel. My upper level students generally do,” Pawel mutters. “Not that you’re actually my student, but at this point, the details seem moot.”

“That’s not important right now,” Kit says.

Carolyn takes in a shuddering breath. She knows she’s standing right here in the hall, in the same place where she visited Sam not long ago. It feels familiar, but at the same time, there’s a sense of unreality about it. A sense that maybe this isn’t really happening, and they’re already in a dream.

It’s a disturbing thought, that maybe this is something already set in motion and they have no idea where real is, and where it isn’t. Because isn’t that what’s happened to Sam? Maybe there’s another layer to this, something else they have to escape.

She wraps her arms around herself and shudders. That’s not a path she wants to go down. She has to be confident. Calm. Ready to do this, finish it, and get the hell out.

Del presses a hand against Shawn’s chest, and from their expressions, Carolyn’s missed something. Del pushes, and Shawn steps back toward, stopping when he comes up against the wall. “Get out of your own head, and don’t act like a dick because you’re feeling insecure,” Del tells him, the words sharp. She seems more in-focus, less dreamlike than the rest of the world around Carolyn.

“Go into the room,” Del says without turning around. “I need to have a quick talk with Shawn, then we’ll be in.”

Shawn’s jaw is set, and the familiar anger is blunted by something. It’s the way he looks up, then down and away, and Carolyn can’t read the emotion in the movement.

Joshua opens the door, then stands to one side after entering, his nurse’s scrubs a stark dark slash of blue against the soft grey walls.

Sam looks up as they enter, gaze unfocused, and that makes Carolyn feel even more detached. Pawel looks exhausted still as he approaches Sam, one hand out as if walking up to a wild animal. Sam doesn’t move, even as Pawel sits on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Samuel,” Pawel says quietly, and Sam doesn’t turn.

Kit grabs one of the chairs in the room and sinks into it, sitting with his feet kicked out in front of him, arms crossed. He pulls papers out of his pocket and flips through them. Carolyn looks over his shoulder and takes in the images.

She already saw them once in the car, briefly. A new one of Sam, built from pictures that Sam’s mother sent of how he looks now. A little thinner, older. Sharper and more tired, as if fear eats him from the inside. Or maybe that’s just Carolyn’s thoughts based on what he said. It could be both.

There are easily a dozen pictures of forests, each one done based on Del’s descriptions last night. Instead of anyone having a nice, relaxing evening, they’d all spent the night together, Del talking while Kit slipped into a strange fugue and created image after image based on her words. There are even two with figures in them: one with Sam, and another with Sam and shadows in the distance.

The last one makes Carolyn shiver, and it’s the one she reaches to take from him.

“Carolyn.” The pleasure in Sam’s voice makes her look up. He stands and comes to her, his arms open, and she takes the hug he offers. “Kit. You’re both here.” Shadows in his gaze as he looks at Joshua, then back at the bed. He frowns to see Pawel, and at the way his door is still cracked open. “Are you both here, or am I dreaming? Are we going to find the right path?”

“We’re going to find the right path.” Del pushes the door open and it bangs against the wall before Joshua catches it.

Sam comes to attention as Shawn enters the room behind her, takes a step toward Carolyn. “We’re all here,” he says.

Del’s expression gentles. “And soon we’ll all be there. If this goes as planned.”

Sam’s gaze drifts to Carolyn. “It will. I trust you.”

She feels the pressure settle over her shoulders. “I’ll do my best.”

It takes some work to set themselves up in the room. Sam’s attention shifts again, his expression going slack as he takes the seat Kit offers. Pawel moves out of the way, standing by the door with Joshua. Del arranges them all in the order they’d planned: in a circle with Sam at the center, each with one hand on Sam’s shoulder, and the other on their neighbor. Del touches Shawn, who touches Carolyn, then Kit, and back to Del. A closed circuit.

The exact same way they’d fed their abilities into Sam’s illusions during senior year.

Only this time, it’s a feedback loop. They want to feed energy into Sam, and they want to connect with him, to travel to where he is. But they also want all their own energy to circulate, feed each other. It’s important that they act as one.

Carolyn holds the image that felt the most real to her when she touched it—the one of Sam inside the forest, with the shadowy figures in the background. It matches what he told her, and it resonates. It’s pinned between her hand and Sam’s shoulder, right in her vision.

“So what now?” Shawn asks, and his voice knocks her out of concentration.

“You shut up,” Kit says sharply.

“Carolyn’s Talent is traveling through illusions,” Del says, tone carefully even. “Sam’s Talent might intensify this, if he’s got any left. I’m hoping that when yours leaked out, it went back where it belonged. We can use that. I’m going to use my Talent at the same time as Caro, so when we travel we go into the actual Dreamscape where Sam is. Then we have to get back out.”

“How?” Shawn’s fingers twitch against Carolyn, like he’s going to let go of her shoulder.

“Good question,” Carolyn says. She looks across at Del. “We’re going to figure that out when we get there.”

“Time starts now,” Pawel says quietly.

He has a list of acceptable and agreed to ways of trying to wake them up, shake them out of the ritual if it goes too long. Pawel is their failsafe, but he has no real way of impacting them. Once they get started, Carolyn’s pretty sure that the only way out is to go through.

“Ready,” Carolyn murmurs, and she focuses on the image in front of her.

The illusion blooms quickly, trees growing and filling the room pushing everything away until the five of them are within the shimmering confines. Pawel is no longer visible, the sounds of the hospital are far enough away that Carolyn can barely hear them.

“Now,” Del whispers, a soft giggle at the end, and abruptly the illusion becomes real.

Sam crouches down in front of them, on one knee, head bowed. In the distance, shadows move amongst the darkness, and Carolyn thinks she catches glimpses of figures among them. It’s not welcoming.

They stand on a dirt pathway that seems surprisingly well trodden, threading between the trees. It stretches off in either direction, and Carolyn can see forks beyond forks, in a seemingly endless maze. Light streams down through the canopy of leaves overhead, flickering but surprisingly bright along the path. It quickly shutters into darkness in the depths of the forest away from the path.

Sam looks up. “Are you real?”

Del sinks to her knees in front of him, cradling his face. “Hell yes, Samson, and we’re going to get you out.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to be easy.” Kit drops his hand from Carolyn’s shoulder but catches her fingers, gripping tightly. “There’s not a sign that says Exit.”

“I’ve tried all the paths; none of them lead home.” Sam rises, shakes something unseen from his shoulders before he stands straight. This is the Sam of her memories, all the strength and vitality of high school. His cheeks are fuller, his shoulders broader. More confident than the last time she spoke to him.

“One of them has to.” Shawn starts walking to his right without waiting for them. “We have to start trying our options.”

“There are a thousand options,” Sam protests, raising his voice without moving a step. “Shawn. A thousand or more. I’ve been down every path.”

“You said we had to walk the paths.” Carolyn remembers this from her last conversation with him.

His gaze narrows. “You have to get us out.”

“You said we all had to be here.” She wants him to remember the conversation, wants to make sure they get this right because they may not ever get another chance. “You said everyone had to walk their path, even Kit.”

Sam’s gaze strays to the darkness beyond the path. “It’s too dangerous to split up. We don’t want to fall into the split.”

“No one said we had to walk our paths alone,” Del says. She catches up to where Shawn waits, energy barely contained. Carolyn suspects he would run if he dared, and she doesn’t blame him.

This place gives her the creeps.

Del catches Shawn, swinging their joined hands. “Come on.” Her voice is cheerfully singsong. “Let’s see where you need to go.”

Not want. Need.

This place isn’t just creepy, it’s downright disturbing.

“It’s like a reading,” Kit murmurs.

And oh, that’s true. It’s a pathways reading, with different choices, and different cards along the way. Carolyn starts moving as Sam and Kit bracket her.

“Read the right pathways,” Sam tells her. “Reach the final outcome.”

Carolyn remembers reading for Shawn long ago. The way he’d wait for her to lay all the cards out, then start to tell his own story based on the pictures. The way he’d just bull ahead, rather than looking at the meanings behind the cards, and the way he’d ignore half of what she said, picking and choosing the pieces that worked for himself.

He barely pauses when the road forks, picking a path by seemingly random choice. As Shawn moves faster, Sam seems to drag, until Kit grabs Sam’s hand and pulls him along so he doesn’t get left behind.

“We can’t split up,” Kit murmurs to Sam. “We’re not leaving without you.”

The shadows grow darker, closer to the path, and Carolyn sees movement closer as well.

“Shawn, I don’t think this is the best—”

“We’re going this way,” Shawn says, determined. He pushes forward, and the path narrows. He slows down as it does, stopping when he reaches an end to the path, a tall tree rising in front of him. The trunk is as wide as the path is narrow, blocking the way in its entirety.

Shawn goes to step to one side, to go around, and Sam grabs his wrist tightly. “Don’t go off the path,” he cautions. “Don’t let the split take you. The shadows will consume you.”

For a moment Carolyn thinks Shawn is going to explode. But his gaze catches on something past Sam, and he steps back, shakes off Sam’s hold. “Fine. We can’t go around. I don’t think we’re meant to go into the tree. Which means we’re here. This is the end of the path, so we go home from here.”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t have just tried to go home where we came in,” Kit grumbles.

“Because we have the paths,” Del tells him, patting the side of his face. “Don’t you know that’s why everyone comes here? We dream to travel the pathways, and find our way in the waking world.”

Logical, yes, but a little chilling the way she says it. Especially when combined with the fact that Sam’s been traveling these particular paths for years now.

Shawn feels his way along the bark of the tree, as if seeking a secret door. “So how do we get out this way?”

“How do you know it’s the correct path?” Del counters. She leans in, lips brushing against his cheek. “Maybe we should try another,” she whispers. “There are so many ways we could go. We should try them all.”

Definitely chilling.

Carolyn brings out the picture of Pawel. “It’s only the right path if it gets us back to reality,” she says, focusing on his face.

She imagines him as he has been recently: scruffy and tired, with dark circles under his eyes.

The illusion fails to rise.

“This isn’t the final outcome,” she says, and Kit smiles slightly.

“I’ve looked through into other worlds,” Sam mutters. “The worst of them want to come through to get you. The worst of them have been overtaken by shadows, and are little more than hell.”

There’s a great crack that shakes the ground and thunders from the sky.

Kit grabs Carolyn, throws them sideways as a branch crashes down, the trunk split. She lies there, stunned, as shadows spill out of the shattered tree, flowing briefly across the path before they disappear into the darkness.

Every spot they pass over succumbs to darkness, and the path is slowly consumed. The end is already gone, the tree a part of the darkest forest, surrounded by teeming movement.

“Change is beautiful,” Del murmurs.

“Do you see?” Sam asks. “If we don’t stray into the split, it might come for us. We have to find a way out.”

Kit scrambles to his feet, pulls Carolyn with him. “Run!” he orders, and does just that.

Shawn, Sam, and Del race after them. Carolyn keeps pace with Kit easily, her feet moving in sync with him in a way that they never would in the real world. The magic of dreams, she supposes, her lungs burning from effort but never quite seeming to give out.

The dream has given way to nightmares, shadows reaching out to graze the path, tickle their skin on the way by. Del’s giggle echoes softly, and Carolyn isn’t sure if she’s hearing it or imagining it, but she isn’t going to slow down long enough to tell for sure.

Kit hesitates at every fork, and every time he chooses, it’s exactly the one Carolyn would have picked. There’s a sense of rightness as she travels with her twin, step by step down the same path, following the exact same movement. It’s everything they had when they were younger, everything they have always been. They have always been different people, but they have always always traveled together, despite their differences.

Kit hesitates at one fork, gaze shifting between the three options. He quickly looks away from the far right, and Carolyn’s grateful. It makes her skin crawl just to look at it; she knows there is nothing good that way.

He looks to the left, and for a moment Carolyn catches a glimpse of a woman there, her image in reverse. She doesn’t hang upside down, but rather it is as if her entire world has been turned on its ear, upside down and backwards. And when she faces away, the world rights itself again and a man stands there.

“The Empress, reversed,” Carolyn murmurs. “Femininity rejected, and masculinity accepted.”

Kit takes a step toward that path, and she catches hold of him. “Not that way.”

“It feels right.” He takes another stubborn step, pulling her with him.

“I wonder what it would feel like, to touch a shadow,” Del muses. Shawn holds her close, keeps her from straying from the path.

In the distance, down the center path, Carolyn sees two figures. One, a man walking, and the other less clear, but beckoning them closer. “Not to me,” she insists. “I can see you down both paths, but I’m not on that one. If you go that way, I can’t go with you. If we go to the right, we destroy ourselves. But if we go to the center, it’s your path, but I’m with you. We’re different, and together.”

Kit wavers.

“Pick something before Del gets loose and goes chasing shadows,” Shawn grits out.

“We need to leave,” Sam insists, gaze darting around. “The paths are crumbling to darkness.”

It doesn’t look different to Carolyn, but she hasn’t been here nearly as long; she trusts Sam’s assessment. She holds out her hand to Kit, palm up, and says, “Together?”

Kit places his hand atop hers. “Together,” he agrees, and at Sam’s insistent yell, Kit shouts, “Run!”

They race down a path that grows lighter as they go. The tightness in her lungs eases, and Carolyn breathes in, long and deep before pushing forward again. They burst out of the forest into a meadow, the heavy scent of flowers and fresh grass almost overpowering. Sun beats down on them, thick and warm.

Del pulls away from Shawn and skips out, stopping to spin with her arms out and braids swinging with the movement. “Home,” she sings out.

“I’ve never been here before,” Sam says. He crouches down, runs his fingers through the grass.

“This is Del’s dreamscape. Her personal one.” It’s familiar in a way that Carolyn doesn’t want to remember, reminding her of high school and being trapped before. “Del, can’t you just—” She stops mid-sentence; Del is ignoring them all in favor of lying down on her back, starfished among wildflowers and grass.

They can’t rely on Del.

Kit’s staring at her like he’s waiting for her to do something. Sam looks like Carolyn holds the answers to everything he’s ever wanted. And Shawn lies down next to Del, watching her with wonder, and Carolyn supposes that he’s never seen her like that before.

None of them really have, except for Carolyn.

“I promised to get her out of here,” Carolyn whispers. “She knew she’d want to stay, and that she’d get lost.”

“Do you think this is the way back?” Kit asks.

Carolyn shakes her head. “Not exactly. But I think that if anywhere is thin enough for us to punch through and get out, it’s here. We’re with Del, and we’re kind of in her mind. It’s like when we went into Mattie’s dream and I walked us out of there through an illusion. We’re going to do the same thing here.”

She has the picture of Pawel in hand, waiting for her.

“Sam, I need you to hold onto me,” she directs. She doesn’t want to risk him getting left behind, and making sure he’s the first through is the best way around that. “Kit, as soon as I’ve got this working, I need you to get Shawn and Del over here. And be ready for an argument. I don’t think Del is going to want to go. She’s happy here.”

Like a child, she thinks. Innocent. Free. This is a place where the past never happened, and the future doesn’t loom. She can’t blame Del for wanting to stay.

The meadow is bright, but she can still see shadows around the edges, where the forest begins. They move, reaching out into the light, retreating again. She wonders if it’s only a matter of time before they push inward, making the light smaller. And she wonders what that means for Del’s mind, if it’s possible for the shadows to overtake her personal dreamscape.

Focus. She needs to focus.

“Don’t let go,” she murmurs as Sam holds her shoulder. He responds by wrapping his arms around her, heavy and solid against her back.

As she stares at Pawel’s image, an illusion springs up. He’s leaning forward, posture stiff and angry, mouth open as he says unheard words. “Pawel,” Carolyn calls out, and he straightens abruptly, turns toward her.

“Carolyn?” he says, peering in her direction. His gaze narrows as he catches sight of her. “Where are you?”

She didn’t think this through, and realizes she doesn’t know how to just open up a gate or a doorway to send everyone through. “Dreamscape,” she says. Sam’s breathing is rough behind her, and she isn’t sure if he can see Pawel or not. She hopes he can; it’ll make this easier.

“The four of you disappeared, and Sam passed out,” Pawel says curtly. “It’s been an hour and a half and I’ve been arguing every minute of the last thirty to keep them from doing something to wake Sam up.”

“Thanks.” Carolyn can’t be sure, but she thinks that’s a good thing. On the other hand, if Sam’s both there and here, she’s pretty sure she needs to rethink the plan. “This is Sam behind me. I was going to send him through first, but I get the feeling that if he’s already there, I need to bring him with me. Which means I need to deal with the physical people first.” She raises her voice. “Kit! Now!”

“Already here.” Someone touches her arm, and Carolyn glances sideways to see Kit standing there, eyes wide as he looks past her. Shawn stands behind him, Del thrown over his shoulder. She has a flower in her hands and is picking petals from it, tossing them into the faint breeze.

“It’s the only way she’s leaving here,” Kit says quietly.

Carolyn nods. “I promised I wouldn’t leave her behind.”

“Now what?” Pawel asks.

Carolyn reaches out, and Pawel lifts his hand to match her motion. Carolyn feels it when she breaks the plane between here and there, his fingers solid on hers. He’s more real than the world behind him, and she tightens her grip. “Okay, here’s how I think this is going to work. Kit, hold my hand, then take Pawel’s free hand and go to him. Then Shawn, with Del. Then I’ll bring Sam. Got it?”

“Got it.” Kit nods sharply and does as asked. Carolyn feels it when he leaves the dreamscape, like he sucks a little bit of reality out with him. The illusion falters, almost falls away, and she feels a thick surge all around her.

Pawel’s gaze is narrowed, lines deeply furrowed around his eyes. His fingers on hers grip so tightly that they hurt. “I’m trying to help, but let’s get this over with quickly.”

Carolyn reaches blindly for Shawn, grabs him and shoves him toward Pawel. As Shawn carries Del through, the illusion shakes again, and Carolyn goes to her knees, dragging Sam and Pawel with her. Echoes reverberate inside her head, pounding. She closes her eyes for just a moment against the pain, opening them again when Pawel snaps her name.

“I’m here,” Carolyn says, looking at him. She twists in Sam’s grip, wraps herself around him as he wraps around her in turn. “We’re taking you home,” she says.

He smiles, leans in forehead to forehead with her. “Thank you.”

She steps forward, stumbling as Sam’s weight disappears from her shoulders. Pawel catches her, lowers her to the floor where she kneels, head bowed, eyes closed against the light.

She hears a shout, Sam’s voice rising in the background. “I’m home!” he yells, and there’s the sound of flailing, of a struggle. Shawn yelling as Pawel pats Carolyn’s hand and leaves her there.

She can’t do anything but try to breathe, struggle to get her body under control again when it feels like she could sleep for a week if she just lets herself. She leans back, ends up sitting on the floor, half-sprawled because her limbs just don’t want to cooperate.

“It worked,” Kit murmurs, and she opens her eyes to find him crouched next to her, his hand behind her back to help her sit upright.

“Good.”

There’s yelling and alarms, people calling for examination while Sam protests. Carolyn can’t separate the words into coherence. She presses her hands to her ears, tries to block it out.

“Just breathe,” Kit says, and he does it with her. In. Out. In-two-three-four. Out-five-six-seven-eight. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

In the corner of the room, shadows coalesce, squirming in ways that make Carolyn think of the forest. She scoots backwards, further from the darkness, and Kit turns to follow her gaze.

“Did they follow us?” Kit whispers.

“You see it too?” Carolyn thinks maybe she’s imagining things, but maybe not, if Kit sees it.

A figure forms, steps out. She looks so normal as she stands there, hands on her hips, surveying the room until she looks down at Carolyn. She smiles, full of sharp teeth. “You people are noisy.”

[ Previous | First | Next ]

#welcome to phu #welcometophu #missed fortunes #phu twinned #twinned #mf family friends

[dbhdeviantdynamics]

Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Absence, & Writing.

          As the camera turned on, it revealed Collin leaning back in the chair in Connor's room, propping his feet up and looking too smug for his own good. He was wearing his usual around the house attire, basketball shorts and one of his band shirts that fit loosely around his torso. "I'm glad finally someone noticed. And I know what it means, Gavin told me when he claimed to have 'BDE'. I doubt he does." Collin rolled his eyes to the side before continuing on with his feet propped up on the top of the desk, making him lean further back. "Anyways, I'm not hear to talk about Gavin's dick. I'm here to answer questions about me, everyone's favorite." He grinned a little, revealing just a small amount of his teeth, of course, purposefully trying to show off his sharper canines in his constant need to show his dominance.           "As for Sci-Fi movies go, Conrad likes the horror aspect of it, like Alien. Though not too much of a fan on the androids in it. Dick moves honestly. Kinda' creepy too." Collin shrugged. "The aliens were pretty cool though. Conrad played that Alien game, the isolation one and you should've seen Connor's face. Priceless." He grinned as he remembered the event, how Connor had basically been buried under the covers, it was unusual to see Connor afraid of anything. "Connor enjoys the Star Wars films, though Hank seems to insist the older ones are way better, I don't want to know the beef with that as it seems to make Hank go off on a rant about it and I just kinda' tone him out." Collin pauses to rake his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to think. "I'm not too clear on what all qualifies as Sci-Fi, but I'm going to say the Mad Max series as my favorite. Pretty sure you can guess why."           Collin jolted a little when he heard the door open and he quickly removed his feet from the desk to sit right in his chair, looking over to see Connor enter. "Hey Collin." He sounded pleased on catching sight of the epsilon, unaware that he was doing a recording as he moved over to the other RK800 model. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss on the epsilon's cheek, causing Collin to look away, a gesture that was enough to alert Connor that they weren't alone. The omega looked over at the terminal, seeing the feedback and perked up. "Oh, hey, you answering some asks? Why didn't you say so." Connor reached over to drag a chair so he could sit in beside Collin. "So what's the next question?"           "Our favorite wizard swear. Not sure what that means but I'm guessing bad words in Harry Potter? That's the only wizard thing I know about, but then again I really don't trust people on the internet, they come up with new dirty words every day." Collin folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, not as far though as he didn't dare put his feet up on Connor's desk while Connor was around.           "Maybe we should look it up first? I really don't know of any swear words wizards used since Harry Potter is a sort of like a youth series?' Connor offered with a frown, when it came to human things, he was still learning           "You really think its a good idea looking up stuff on the internet? The last time we did that we had to do a thorough memory wipe.... Oh hell, what if we look it up again? I don't even remember what we looked up." Collin scowled, seemed they had been a little too quick to erase whatever it was they had seen.           "I suppose you're right, I don't want to risk ruining Harry Potter, I love those movies." Connor nodded in agreement, valuing his innocent outlook on one of his favorite fictional characters too much to take the chance. "Let's just... move on to the next question. As for handwriting well before deviancy it was all the same handwriting. However, now that we have freedom, we've been trying out different fonts and trying to put our own personal touch to them. Its a little difficult though." Connor reached out to grab a pen off screen and pulling a piece of paper to write on, he was quick and efficient like with everything he did. Then he slid it over to Collin who took the pen and scratch on the paper in jerky motions. Once done, Collin lifted the paper to show the first word 'Connor' was written in a combination of professional with the lack of hard edges, giving him a lighter font style. Collin's looked basically like upgraded chicken scratch.           "We don't write much since everything tends to be done over technology, but some things still require a signature and having something that's not easily copied is pretty important." Connor nodded and Collin balled up the paper before tossing it into a waste bin beside the table. "Moving on, we have an ask about our days off. Well, most of the time we get join days off, but sometimes it doesn't always work like that. Those days when we're split up is pretty challenging but we manage to stay connected." Connor tapped his LED to imply they could connect wirelessly and talk that way if need be. "Not the same but its good enough to make it through the day. If I'm without Conrad or Collin I tend to get a bit stressed out and anxious. Collin just gets impossibly more grumpy and gets in more trouble. Conrad is basically just best left alone and avoided."

#detroit become human #deviant dynamics #rk800-60 #rk800 #connor #collin #omegaverse

[lisatelramor]

All Caught Up With Nowhere To Go

Have a PWP. Situation has a bit dubious consent due to it being Kid/Saguru with handcuffs involved

There was a heavy finality in the click of the handcuffs circling Kid’s wrists. Saguru and Kid were both panting, but it was Saguru who had come out the winner of their cat and mouse this time. Kid’s arms were caught, stretched too far out on either side of his body to allow him to reach the other wrist, or even his own side with its plethora of pockets. As an extra measure, Saguru ripped Kid’s gloves off before the man could slide any of his picks from the pockets in their palms and shoved the sleeves of his suit as far up as he could manage.

Kid, with a dawning flicker of panic in his eyes, lashed out with his legs, but it was too late. He was caught, unable to do more than futilely jerk his arms a few centimeters toward himself in either direction. For a second Saguru saw Kid’s face curl into a snarl, like a feral dog caught in a corner before it smoothed away into Kid’s usual unfazed expression.

Saguru stared. Kid stared back. This had been Saguru’s plan, but somehow he never thought it would actually succeed. Kid’s suit was rumpled from their struggle, his wrists already starting to bruise between Saguru’s rough treatment and the metal cuffs circling them. The hat on his head was skewed, but the monocle had yet to slip. Saguru could reach out and pull them off. He could unmask Kid in a second, and while Kid could probably manage to dislocate a thumb to get the cuffs off still, it would be a last ditch effort, and one he’d likely try to spring at an opportune moment.

The corner of Kid’s eyes tightened—anger, fear, irritation?—and he licked his lips, for all appearances calming completely, utterly relaxing into his predicament. “So. You finally caught me. Congratulations, Hakuba-san. Now what are you planning to do with me?”

“Arrest you,” Saguru said. This, in his plan, was where he was meant to call Nakamori and only Nakamori, and have Kid carefully escorted into police custody, perhaps with the help of a tranquilizer should the need arise. Saguru didn’t reach for his radio.

“Arrest me,” Kid echoed, dry and the edge of sarcastic. “What an interesting setup for an arrest. A bit out of the way, isn’t it? You must have spent hours coming up with this. Where to place the traps. How to herd me here. How to get me far from the police on the other side of the building just to confront me alone.” Kid smiled. It was a cold smile with a few too many teeth. Saguru took an uncertain step back and regretted the show off weakness immediately as that smile got an increment wider, more dangerous. “And how does this go from there, Hakuba-san? You call in the cavalry on your radio? We both know how well that has worked in the past. Or maybe...” Kid licked his lips again, just the flicker of tongue, but Saguru’s brain caught it and stuck on it, like it was an important clue instead of a bodily response to too much running and a bodily struggle. “Maybe you wanted to be alone. Chasing me has always been personal hasn’t it?”

Kid’s gaze burned into him and Saguru squared his shoulders. Banter was a distraction. “I’m doing a public service,” Saguru muttered, “in putting you behind bars.” He stepped back closer, refusing to let Kid intimidate him. Kid didn’t try to kick him again as Saguru rolled back white and blue sleeves more neatly—there were hidden pockets in the cuffs; flash bombs and smoke bombs and tiny vials of knock-out gas. Slim lock picks sewn along the sleeve seam. A scarf, impossibly thin, folded tight into a compact square in the left sleeve. He was close enough to feel Kid’s body heat and hear how his breath was just a bit too fast. Saguru hesitated with one hand on Kid’s hat brim, almost eye to eye with the thief, his height putting him just a bit taller so Kid had to look up to stare him in the face. To challenge with nothing more than a cold smile.

“You never expected to get this far,” Kid said, “did you?”

Saguru pushed the hat off. It clattered to the ground before rolling a bit away. Kuroba’s wild brown hair was beneath it like expected, a bit squashed from the hat, a bit tangled from sweat. It wasn’t quite Kuroba’s face free from shadows, but Saguru knew enough about prosthetics and stage makeup to see where Kuroba could have used makeup and adhesive prosthetics to change the contours of his face. He looked older, for one. A squarer jaw, makeup to make his cheekbones look higher and sharper than they naturally were. This close it was clearly makeup. Saguru rubbed a thumb along the shape of Kuroba’s actual cheekbone. His hand caught the monocle charm and with a twist of his wrist, he pulled that off too. Kid—Kuroba—face bare before him. “I’ve thought about this moment a lot,” Saguru said. It didn’t hold the giddy triumph his fantasies usually held. This was tense, heavy like the air itself was pressing down on them.

Kid snorted, eyes narrowing in challenge. “I bet you did. And how does it go from here, Hakuba-san? You check my face for masks? Knock me out with my own tricks?” Kid shifted, suddenly dropping to his knees. His arms twisted a bit, pulled tight and tense above his shoulders now. Saguru froze, pinned by the intense look shot up at him as Kid tilted his head up, back, craning to keep eye contact. “Or maybe things went more like this. Maybe you caught me and had me at your mercy. Maybe you pictured me on my knees the whole time.”

“I...” The monocle fell from nerveless fingers, clinking on the hard tile floor. Saguru couldn’t move.

Kid’s smile went vicious and confident like he wasn’t chained helpless. Like he was in control. He leaned forward, nose brushing Saguru’s inseam, stopping just before the position would become truly indecent. “How many of your thoughts went like this?” He pressed harder, tilting his face up—

Saguru choked, taking a step back onto to be stopped by Kid’s teeth snapping shut around a mouthful of his coat. “What are you doing?!” He yanked on his coat but Kid’s grip was firm. Saguru didn’t actually want to hurt him, and if he kept pulling it would hurt, between Kid’s teeth and the way his arms were strained up and back as he leaned forward. Saguru tugged again, not as hard. “Stop that. What is wrong with you? You don’t just...just...”

Clearly tugging wasn’t working. Saguru pressed a thumb against the hinge of Kid’s jaw to try and make him let go and Kid did—only to turn and take Saguru’s thumb into his mouth. Saguru froze again, a warm, wet tongue laving over the pad of his thumb. What. The. Hell?? There was a soft scrape of teeth, but no pain of a bite and why wasn’t he biting? Kid was... Kid was... Saguru’s face flushed and somehow he couldn’t bring himself to pull away or push Kid back or even call up words to protest.

“How many late night fantasies of yours feature me on my knees, detective?” Kid said against the palm of Saguru’s hand. “How many involve me tied up, held down, completely at your mercy?”

Half a dozen vague musings done in the transitory moments between awake and sleeping were apparently enough to count because arousal hit like a punch to the gut. An embarrassingly high pitched sound squeaked from Saguru’s throat and his hand gripped Kid’s face reflexively. Kid pushed forward, toward Saguru’s crotch again and Saguru moved one hand to Kid’s shoulder. “Wait.” Push, but Kid pushed right back, breathing against the growing tent in Saguru’s slacks. “Wait, you don’t actually want to do this...” Saguru should let go, walk away, call Nakamori, anything other than stand frozen and letting this happen. He couldn’t unclench his fingers from there they were on Kid’s head and shoulder. “This isn’t...”

“I don’t want this, detective?” Kid pressed his face into the crease of Saguru’s hip and thigh before looking up, up with damn too-sharp eyes. “Hakuba-san, you should be protesting what you don’t want.” Kid somehow leaned up and undid Saguru’s button with his teeth. Saguru stared down, disbelieving and the most turned on and conflicted he’d ever been in his life. That same mouth pulled down his zipper and just the pressure from that had Saguru’s knees feeling weak.

“Fuck,” Saguru said.

“Exactly,” Kid said. He opened his mouth against the cloth of Saguru’s briefs, hot and wet and awkward in the angle but far too much for Saguru to handle with Kid’s intent stare up at Saguru’s face.

Saguru looked up, away, shaking. Push Kid away, he thought. Push him and get control back or...or... Saguru couldn’t finish the rest of the thought. Kid’s teeth scraped his abdomen as he tugged on Saguru’s underwear.

“You could make this a bit easier,” Kid said, sounding out of breath, strained. And oh, his arms twisted up and back, an uncomfortable angle to work from. “You could just take the chance and fulfill those fantasies. Let me guess, you fuck my face.” Another press of tongue, more teeth scraping as Kid fought with elastic. Cooler air and hot breath on the tip of Saguru’s erection where it slipped past the waistband of his underwear. “Just.” Kid licked at the tip and Saguru’s hips jolted forward without his consent. “Hold me still.” Another lick, more of a suckle and Saguru was shaking, breathing like he’d run up ten flights of stairs in the last few minutes instead of having spent most of the tail end of the heist waiting here. “See if I take it or if I gag.”

Saguru made the mistake of looking down. Kid wasn’t staring at Saguru for the first moment of this whole thing, his focus on the dick in his mouth. There was a faint flush across his cheeks, and Saguru realized it was showing through a layer of makeup and that Kid’s—Kuroba’s—slacks were tented just like Saguru’s. This wasn’t just a head game, or if it was, Kid was as caught up in it as Saguru was. Saguru’s hips twitched forward hard, the hand still cupped against Kid’s head pressing him closer.

Kid made a startled sound in the back of his throat and then Saguru was lost, shaking with the force of an orgasm.

When he could think again, he heard Kid coughing against Saguru’s thigh, held there by an iron grip on his hair. Saguru let go and all but collapsed to the ground as his legs finally gave out. “Fuck,” he said again.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Kid—no, right now Kid’s personality was stripped away and it was just Kuroba looking at him, still trapped and spread out by the cuffs, with a strand of saliva dripping down his chin. He looked... debauched. Red lips, disheveled hair and clothing, and shifting on his knees to get comfortable even as he couldn’t touch his own arousal. Saguru had smeared some of the contouring on his face and it was clearer now that it was undeniably Kuroba.

Just as undeniably, Saguru knew he couldn’t arrest him after this. Really, really could not arrest him after this. If Kuroba wasn’t just as aroused as Saguru had been moments ago, Saguru would have thought that that was all there was too it, keeping Saguru from turning him in. Clearly there was more than Kuroba saving his own skin involved though. Saguru covered his face for a moment, desperately pulling himself back together. What was he doing? What had he just done? Saguru was supposed to be a detective and all it took was a bit of sexual tension and he caved like the teenager he was. He peeked at Kuroba who was still shifting uncomfortably. The flush was more pronounced now, clearer around his ears and throat where the makeup was thinner.

“What the hell was that?” Saguru asked, muffled by the hands on his face.

“What do you think, Hakuba?” Kuroba shot back.

“I cuff you and you suck my dick?”

“I got caught in the moment!” Kuroba was definitely blushing. “I thought you were going to back out.”

“Clearly not! You could have stopped at any moment!”

“So could you!” Kuroba glared. “Ugh. You’re the one who fucked my mouth in the last seconds.”

“You were goading me to do it!”

“Look, can you just...?” Kuroba twisted, unable to get comfortable and Saguru looked at the bulge in his slacks. Fair was fair, and he had fantasies like this too. ...Saguru was never going to be able to wipe this from his brain, was he?

“Let me...” Saguru palmed Kuroba’s erection. Kuroba groaned, pushing into his hand with desperation.

“Yes. More,” Kuroba muttered. His eyes slid shut, face pinched with a mix of need and discomfort.

Saguru half expected Kid’s pants to have a trap or trick worked into them, but they opened just as easily as Saguru’s had. Kuroba’s erection was flushed and heavy, damp from precum, showing just how close Kuroba was already. It was flattering, and if Saguru hadn’t just had the most mind-bending orgasm of his life, he would be well on his way to getting hard again. As it was, Saguru knew that this also was going to show up in his late night fantasies for a long time to come.

It took barely thirty-four seconds for Kuroba to come at Saguru’s touch. His body went tense with every muscle locking up tight before curling as far forward as his restraints would allow. Instead of the moan Saguru expected, Kuroba was almost entirely silent, a breathy gasp wrenched from him as he spilled over Saguru’s fingers. He slumped, held up by the cuffs on his wrists, as Saguru used the handkerchief he found earlier to clean the mess off Kuroba’s skin and his own hand.

“I can’t feel my hands,” Kuroba said a minute or so later, when he could finally pull coherent thought together.

“Sorry.” Saguru undid one cuff immediately. Surprisingly, Kuroba made no move to get free of the other one immediately, instead shifting so there was enough slack from the chain to let his arm move back to his side. There were bruises on his wrists, deep ones. Some of them were in the shape of Saguru’s fingers and there was a cascade of guilt in the back of Saguru’s mind.

When he looked up, Kuroba had Kid’s face on again, wary and distant. It was baffling considering everything that just occurred.

“You let me go,” Kid said.

“Do you really think I could sit here and call Nakamori in here after what just happened?” Saguru asked, incredulous. “It’s astounding that we haven’t already had the task force burst in here and arrest me too for misconduct.”

“They’re not going to come looking here,” Kid said. He finally reached over to his other hand, pulling a lock pick from somewhere too quick for Saguru to catch. He rubbed his newly freed wrists and rolled his sleeves back over them. “They’re probably far away chasing a dummy I set loose by now.”

Saguru blinked. That was terribly convenient. Too convenient. “Did you plan...?” He waved a hand, indicating the room, them, the remnants of their activities in the form of a scrunched up handkerchief and a pair of discarded gloves.

Kid scowled. “Of course not. Why the hell would I plan something like this?”

“I don’t know, why would you do something like this?” Saguru gestured crudely at his crotch.

Kid went pink in the ears again. “It worked didn’t it?” Kid stood up, transforming in one fluid motion from familiar to a much more imposing figure as Saguru was still on the ground. Kid’s cape made him seem to fill more space. All of Kid’s control was back and tightly in hand as he studied Saguru with narrowed eyes. “Of course you caved first, Hakuba-san.” It was a reversal of the last few minutes, Kid looming above and Saguru still on his knees. Kid caught Saguru’s face in the palm of his hand. It was still bare, callused in odd places that Saguru could only attribute to Kid’s magician and athletic skills. “I wonder how this will change things.” His thumb passed over Saguru’s lips.

Saguru imagined opening his mouth to it as Kid did earlier. He turned away from Kid’s too-knowing eyes. “I’ll still chase you.”

“And what will you do if you catch me again?” Kid said, voice pitched low and seductive. “Arrest me?”

There was a high probability that Kid in handcuffs was now linked to Saguru’s libido. “I suppose that’s Nakamori-keibu’s job,” Saguru said finally, willing his heart to slow its frantic pace. “I just get to catch you.”

“But never to keep,” Kid said. He let go and the lack of touch was almost as dizzying as the brush of skin had been.

Saguru wanted that hand back, but he said nothing and Kid went to retrieve the rest of his things from the ground. With the hat, gloves, and monocle restored, there was almost no way to tell that Kid had spent the last twenty minutes with Saguru. Just the slight redness to his lips. They hadn’t kissed and all at once Saguru desperately wanted to.

Would Kuroba act differently tomorrow? Would Saguru be able to look him in the eye at all after seeing him on his knees?

“Kid,” Saguru said before Kid could just stroll out like nothing game-changing had happened in this room.

“Hmm?” Kid tipped his head to the side, face shadowed by the brim of his hat once more.

He didn’t retreat when Saguru walked over. Didn’t move as Saguru traced the line of his jaw again, fingers brushing past the monocle without disturbing it. He didn’t react at all as Saguru brushed lips against Kid’s, pressing lightly before his courage failed.

“I’ll keep chasing you,” he said. It was a promise, not a threat. He knew he wouldn’t be any more likely to actually arrest Kid next time than he had today, but he couldn’t help wanting to chase.

Kid was blank for so long that Saguru thought he’d made a mistake, then Kid laughed softly. “Fine. I look forward to it, Detective. Keep me on my toes.”

Kid didn’t kiss him back, but Saguru hadn’t expected him to. It felt odd to let Kid walk away without stopping him, but Saguru stayed where he was. Eventually he had to clean up what evidence might remain. He’d see Kuroba at school in the morning anyway.

*somewhere not too far away, Kaito has a mild breakdown, re-examining their every interaction*

#magic kaito #fanfiction #My writing #in which Saguru and Kaito both realize they might have a handcuff kink #but at an unideal moment #'might' i say as if that isn't half the point #i lived another year of life so have smut

[wildlyleftlight]

Home for the Holidays

Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays ♫ ‘Cause no matter how far away you roam ♫ When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze ♫ For the holidays you can’t beat home sweet home! ♫

Dick Grayson listens to the familiar, slow-flame drawl of Perry Como emitting from the sidewalk speakers inexpertly hidden along the salt-stippled avenue of shops. He drops from the curb without a hop to his step and shoves one of his gloveless hands into the front pocket of his jeans. It isn’t cold enough for him to see the huff of his breath on the air, but it is early enough in the morning that he wouldn’t be out here if not for the giant travel mug of coffee resolutely grasped in his other hand.

The Blüdhaven strip mall is safe and dead at this hour on a Tuesday, which lends a qualifying moroseness to the airing age-old Christmas melody. He hears the refrain chase him, tinnily, all the way to his car, and he fingers the cell phone in his pocket. He wonders about calling Babs, but even though she isn’t strictly out on the streets with them, she’s just as much in on the nightlife too, and it’d be a sin to wake her this early only for a maudlin earful.

Four days ago, he’d gotten into another fight with Bruce. Four days later, he can’t let it go. Because he – Dick Grayson – went and picked a fight with Bruce Wayne two weeks before actual Christmas just so that Bruce wouldn’t because Bruce always did. Dick has worn Batman’s cowl and Dick has filled Batman’s boots, but never before has he so badly misstepped into his father’s shoes.

Ever since his juvenile abdication from all things Bruce Wayne, and even though Bruce and he are more or less civil with each other now, the holidays have a way of stirring Dick’s mercurial temper to a melancholy cocktail of nostalgia and the bitter aftertaste of knowing he’d lost those formative years – those family traditions – completely independent of Bruce’s crimes of passion. There’s irony somewhere in that, he guesses, and a double-dose of it, but Dick is nothing if not sentimental. He has the tendency to chalk up the past to self-blame, whether or not it actually was Bruce who had fanned the fitful flames of Dick’s anger. Still, it had always been Robin’s duty to counterbalance the Batman, to be the yin to his yang and negate Batman’s darkness for him with a simpering buoyancy. So every time he’s stormed out just because of Bruce being Bruce, the fault lay indisputably with Dick. It has to.

By the time he arrives back at his apartment, Dick’s travel mug is empty and his mood is half-full. He disentangles himself from his scarf with quick tugs of his hand. The tightness around his throat does not yield.

“Sweet Jesus, Dickless,” he hears Jason say, “you have failed me for the last time.”

“What did I do now?” Dick asks very amiably, shoving away all pensive introspection as he enters his kitchen to find all three of his little brothers glued to their cell phones. There is still a prevailing stress in his eyes, a dejected slouch in the incline of his shoulders where they lean so he can peer over Jason’s head. Nothing is more important to him than his family, but lately he’s realizing more and more that his family isn’t all he wants; he wants for his family to want him right back. He looks past his brother’s large, scarred fingers that are frantically tapping away at Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp.

“You have no pears in your Market Box. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Stalin– don’t you know that pears are the hardest to come by?”

“Sorry, Jaybird. I don’t play much anymore.” Dick tosses his jacket over the straight back of Jason’s – his – chair. “I’m tapped out; my loan is up to one hundred and fifty thousand Bells,” and, even as he says this, Dick pulls his phone from his pocket, logs into the game, and presses at the screen a few times. “I have seven pears. There you go. I put them up for twenty Bells, just for you.”

“–Acquired,” interjects Damian, with spectacular self-satisfaction, at the same time Jason goes, “–One hundred and fifty thousand Bells? How the hell– Dami, you fruit-thieving little shit,” he growls, in the same breath, “–did you get yourself in so steep?”

“I’m on, like, the fifth loan, I think. And it’s for one hundred and fifty thousand.”

“You mean you actually pay them off? What is wrong with you?”

“It’s a game about debt,” Tim peaceably inserts, without looking up. His fingers flit across his phone screen as deftly as they do his remote hacking device. “Paying off your loans is virtually the only thing you’re supposed to do, Jason.”

“No, it’s a game about making a freaking killer-sweet pad, with all the things. Did you get it, Dicky?”

“Those pears will be the building blocks of my empire, Todd.” Damian, again. Smugly, again.

“Fuck your empire. Apollo wants his pears. I will never get that zipper shirt,” mourns Jason, not quite sincerely enough to muster tears.

“Yeah, I got it,” Dick answers when he is finally allowed the chance to. He holds up the gift card. “But I’m still not sure why you see fit to get Bruce a Starbucks gift card for Christmas. Doesn’t it seem a little… I dunno… bourgeois?”

“Spoken like a true trust fund baby. Shut up,” Jason adds, shutting down the argument toward which he’s riling Dick. “And anyway, Batman is by the people, for the people.”

“I’m just saying. I-am-vengeance grappling to an LED marquee and paying for a Venti Mocha Frapp, with a gift card?”

“You don’t know Batman the way I do.” Well, that was true. Each of the Robins knew Batman differently from the others. “He loves that shit. Ask Alfred. They’re opening a Starbucks by the precinct and Bruce will flip his wig when he finds out.”

Dick shrugs neutrally, noncommittally, and allows Jason to steamroll over his shameful flare of jealousy. There is ice in his chest, scaling his clavicles, and he ignores the nagging familiarity of it just like he ignores the familiarity by which Jason speaks of Bruce. “Little D, the lady at Suncoast says that you can design your own PopSocket for Al. Through the website.”

“Hand me your laptop, Grayson,” demands Damian, without more than a second’s thought. “I will investigate.”

“Okay, but,” he warns, “if you need to use your own editor, I haven’t got Photoshop on here.”

“Tt.”

“I can get you Photoshop, Dick.”

“Because you’re a pirate, Timmy,” scoffs Jason, “and Dick is a trust fund b–”

“Or maybe, Jason, I’m not a trust fund baby and that’s why I don’t own Adobe anything,” Dick shoots back, using his full name now. He’s nettled by the tone being used on him, for a topic that is so sore with him. The ice bracketing his heart suddenly thaws into a puddling sob of frustration, which goes angrily suppressed. He knows how flammable his own temper is, which colors him all the more upset, enough to turn away from Jason so that he is facing and simultaneously avoiding Tim’s stare.

Tim sees how Dick’s eyes are flashing dichotomously – an electric blue set in a face schooled of any outward expression – and intervenes before Jason can bring up the point of that ubiquitous knife pressed between them: that at least Dick had actually gotten to live to his age of majority. “Did you pick up gift tags?”

Dick throws out a sideways glance, barely the formality of miffed scrutiny in the stillness of tundra. “Yes, I got gift tags. Because we’re all so hopelessly impaired–”

“Drake, your camper is cliché.”

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year. And I’m trying to complete all of the Christmas Event Challenges.”

“That’s all that’s inside it; Christmas crap,” pipes in Jason, “except for– what is that?”

“It’s a slipper rack.”

“Okay. Damian, I’m gonna have to go with you’re wrong on this one. Tim’s camper is so Tim.”

“This is card stock. Why would they stick stickers on card stock?” Tim gripes from where he’s meticulously, conspicuously peeling something off of the backing of the gift card.

“…” And Dick takes the few long moments of sibling banter for what they are: a breathing spell. He collects himself, cards his unruly black hair into tufts, and compartmentalizes.

When dealing with Jason Todd, taking anything personally was taking tinder to kindle. Jason knew Dick, and Dick knew better; it’d never been about himself. Maybe when he was younger he’d thought so, but the eldest had long since come to learn that Jason’s best defense was his best offense; barreling heart-first into things, to disarm or to destroy, because he’d grab at anything if it belonged to him – and his brothers, Jason finally ascertained, were his brothers. On less malevolent days of the week, not unlike ordinary sibling rivalry, Jason’s possessiveness usually manifested itself by way of teasing just this side of too-fierce. In sharper, more extenuated circumstances, he cut to the quick, navigating the veritable minefield of responsiveness and gut feeling and leaps before looks. In a civilian, Jason’s behavior was the very antithesis of vigilanteism. In a younger brother, it was arrested development. Which makes sense, because he’d died a child, and every time Dick is reminded of that it is harrowing pain, and it is thankfulness, softening the edges all around the insults Jason’s whetted to the hilt, that his brother is alive.

After a self-possessed sniff – in farewell to his pride, he convinces himself – Dick rests his palm on Tim and gives his bedhead a good tousle. In a smoothly paved voice, he asks, “‘You still workin’ out? Rerack?’”

Damian Wayne barks a laugh, and immediately Jason jumps on the bandwagon. “‘How’s it going, brosephine?’”

“‘We don’t always have to talk about training, you know. There’s plenty of other stuff goin’ on!’” Dick, quoting from their favorite, the jock type animal. Who happens to also be a bird named Jay.

“‘Like…um… You know… How ‘bout that weather?’” supplies Jason.

Dick dissolves into laughter. Gasps, “‘Did you know that just talking about your muscles can make them bigger and stronger?’”

“I hate you both.”

“‘Sue me! Rerack!’”

Dami enters the fray. “‘How’s it going, Drake? Training like a madwoman?’”

Jason stops short. “Demonbird, you play as a female character?”

Damian colors. “The videogame is not gender-specific with its dialogue.”

“Isn’t it?” Dick considers, curiously.

“How would you know?” challenges Jason – who does play as a female character – as he squares his broad shoulders and tilts his chair onto its back two legs.

“Jason, how do you not know what Damian’s character looks like,” Tim asks. Don’t you see it wandering all over your world?”

“We’re not friends.”

“We are so, Todd!” And the beat where Damian’s accent lands is given an irregular emphasis.

“Fine. How in blazes would I know if we’re friends? I cannot even begin to fathom the nickname you chose for yourself. And I have a bazillion names on my friends list, ninety percent of which is in Kanji.”

“…Is it?” Dick, still stumped and not following the tangent of conversation at all.

“‘Macmoo,’” Tim offers, taking a sip from his empty coffee mug.

“Alright, kiddies. Giddyap,” Jason says, and really pronounces it that way. He stretches himself to his full height, and then some – easily six feet four on his toes for the assuaging pop! of his back. His arms arch up and he towers over the fridge. “Go get dressed, Cretin,” he orders lovingly and gives his littlest brother, who barely comes up to the bottom of his chest, a fond forward shove toward the bathroom. “I’m starving to death.”

As his sibs depart the kitchen, Dick angles himself for a fast escape to the dishwasher, but Jason steps in front of him, purposefully overbearing. “Uh-uh. You too, Dicky.”

“Jay, I’m already good to go.” He indicates his faded jeans, his windbreaker that’s fallen from the chair during Jason’s see-saw sitting. “Besides,” Dick japes, lamely, “you don’t get to tell me what to do; I’m the big brother.”

Jason opens his mouth to say one thing, closes it, then reopens it to say something different. “You have a funny memory.” Jason sighs, puffs up his cheeks, then sighs again. “It’s reticulated.”

“Like it’s a giraffe’s ass?”

“Like it’s circling around the same platitudes over and over and getting shakier every time it has to.”

Dick falls silent, but he doesn’t withdraw his gaze from Jason. He looks measuringly at his brother for a time, beyond teal eyes and need-to-know bases, beyond, even, shared pasts and shared costumes and shared fathers. Rain was cobalt, like the grooves in his irises reflecting at least an alchemic silver lining if not his brother’s whole love.

Raking up the quiet, Jason speaks, “Trust fund baby? Seriously, that’s what got under your skin? Which of the implications was worse? That you were a snob or that you were a Wayne. Or weren’t a Wayne, as it goes.”

“Both! Neither. It was you wanting to hurt me because of it,” Dick snaps, instantly pissed off again. He ignores the tension line at one corner of his brother’s mouth, breaking it apart in his mind and scattering it to pieces. It’s only flesh, after all.

“Fuck you, Dick,” Jason says, in a low voice. His pulse is hammering. Common courtesy dictates he not raise his voice inside of doors and out of anger. “Not everybody has to love you all of the time. You didn’t for me. You aren’t for Bruce.”

“I do love Bruce.” He’s a father to me, as much as you are a brother to me, he doesn’t say.

“Then why don’t you tell him that and stop dragging me down the roads of your guilty conscience.”

For the gravid space of a breath, it really seems like Dick is going to lose his temper and explode into dynamite violence. Then he winces, as if going against a great backlash. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take any of this out on you.”

“That’s exactly what I mean, Dick.” No moniker for his name this time. “Forget about walking on eggshells; you are an emotional rhino in a china shop.” Jason fumbles a cigarette to his lips. “Except the china shop is holiday hullabaloo.” He fishes for his lighter, mumbling something about how his skinny ninny brother is a rhino, and can he believe this.

“I just miss knowing that I can’t lose my family at even the best of times. Don’t smoke in here.”

And because Jason’s feeling generous, he obeys, but he doesn’t remove the stick from his mouth. He rolls it with his tongue, longingly, between the borders of his lips. Nicotine is his sunrise; his lips, the horizon.

It is then that Tim and Damian file back into the room.

“I thought we were going for brunch,” says Dick in a flat voice, nonplussed when Tim, wearing a tasteful burgundy button-up, makes his way to the coffee pot for a second mug. Damian is wearing black slacks that look as though they’d been recently pressed by Alfred.

“That, too,” Jason remarks, in an offhand way.  “But first you’re getting your Christmas present early, Dickface. Now go change. I’m cashing in on a few favors for this one.”

It isn’t until they are all four crammed into Jason’s beat-up ‘93 Mazda – with Dick wisely refraining from asking if it’s a stolen vehicle – that Jason spills the beans, reveals that they’re going to get their picture taken together, but doesn’t point out that Dick hasn’t hung a single portrait on a single wall of his apartment in any of the years that he’s lived there because Dick won’t hang anything if he can’t hang a picture of his family, and that’s why Jason’s taking them to the seedy studio of an even seedier acquaintance to get this done.

“You mean… You guys didn’t stay over just because Alfred cleared you out so he could wrap presents for under the tree?”

“Cripes no. Don’t ask stupid questions. You know how many rooms are in the Manor and you know how resourceful Alfred can be. We came because I rallied the troops.”

And Dick is moved to tears. His eyes are hot and runny, even after he adjusts the sticking vent in the dashboard. In the rearview mirror he watches Damian glaring balefully out of the window, but Dick knows by Damian’s acquiescent silence that the littlest bird isn’t actually bothered in the least. Dick sees Tim’s tired reflection but knows by the tall mug Tim’s holding that he doesn’t mind trying.

Dick scrubs his face with his knuckles. “You know, Jay, you don’t have to start a fight with me every time you want to make me feel better.” He raises both hands in a gesture of truce to ward off Jason’s dark scowl. “Though I appreciate the effort!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t always make it so hard for yourself. Self-saboteur. Quit flattering yourself. And anyway… It kinda wasn’t completely your fault. I was being… well… you-ish.”

Dick chuckles but wetly, in pieces over this whole being loved thing, and leans his head wordlessly against the passenger-side window.

After a few miles, he is distracted by a murmur coming from Jason – not so much by the sound as by the gravitas of the timbre applied to meet Dick halfway. It’s another Animal Crossing quote, of all things, and considering that Tim had formulated a calculation for the minimum mandatory animal conversations Jason was likely to play through in a given day, it isn’t at all surprising to Dick that Jason can recite verbatim:

“‘Everything you hold dear is under attack, and they’re going to do whatever they can to take it away.’” There is a considering lull – and Dick’s smile is lopsided and peaking – before Jason gives him a hard look. “‘It’s you…versus the ants.’”

Dick sits up straight. He reaches for a knob and clicks on the radio. It is Perry Como again, crooning the classic. Dick turns it up.

“Thank you, Little Wing.”

“Merry Christmas, Big Bird.”

Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays ♫ ‘Cause no matter how far away you roam ♫ If you wanna be happy in a million ways ♫ For the holidays you can’t beat home sweet home! ♫

#dick grayson #jason todd #batfamily #batfic #batfamily feels #tim drake #damian wayne #batboys #batfam #dick grayson has the holiday blues #too many animal crossing references #angst #fluff

[blackened-star]

OOC: I had a dream about the Heroes the other night

I tend to remember most of my dreams in high detail, so I like to write down the really cool ones. Well a few nights ago I had a dream about the Heroes, and I thought it’d be fun to share here :)

WARNING: This is wayyy longer than I thought it would be. Like, it’s super long. Hope you don’t mind. lol

This dream took place in a virtual-reality version of Maplestory, kind of like Sword Art Online where everything is as real as it can get. The events happened in first-person, mostly from Luminous’s POV. However, I was still aware of my own personal thoughts, which were separate from Luminous’s thoughts and dialogue. The scenarios also required me to recall my hotkeys, so that also indicates that there was a player-character relationship in this POV. So even though the dream developed in first person, I’ll write it in third person, with my own thoughts in parentheses.

The setting is a little different from canon MS. Instead of the worlds being connected by portals, they all seem to converge at one central point. This detail is important because it meant that Eunwol could cross worlds without his curse erasing his existence. Neat.

At the convergence point, there was a stadium erected. It looked like the worlds were coming together for some kind of Olympic games. Since the games were very organized and very civil, it was clear that they were a well-established tradition, and the convergence point had been standing for quite a long time. Today, the game was chariot races. Racers from Pantheon, Perion, Orbis, Ludibrum, Aquarium, Edelstein, and the Pointy Fox Ear Village were setting up at the starting line. Pantheon’s racer was favored to win, but Edelstein’s chariot never went down quietly.

Luminous sat with the other Heroes in the crowd, expecting nothing but an exciting race. But the race only lasted two laps before a band of huge, humanoid shadows climbed over the stands and leapt onto the track. Luminous stiffened, immediately recognizing the energy they gave off. Their power came from the Black Mage.

One glance at his friends was all it took to convey this realization, and at once the Heroes were ready for battle. They jumped down from the stands and onto the track, followed by numerous members from the Maple Alliance, who were also spectating the race.

(In battle, I found that if I could shout the hotkey of a spell in my mind, then Luminous would perform that spell. Now, I haven’t actually played MS since last summer, so I had a lot of trouble trying to remember my hotkeys. I stuck to dark magic for the first portion of the battle because I could think of those keys easily, thanks to all the time I spent dicking around as Eclipse lmao. But eventually Aran called out urgently, stating that light magic would be much more effective, and Eunwol supported her, saying that some of our allies needed to be healed. With some effort and some trial-and-error, I managed to cast some light spells. The battle ended pretty quickly after I figured out Reflection and Ray of Redemption.

Honestly this was a pretty sick way to fight battles. It was as simple as pressing a hotkey, but the 3D space made more combos and movement possible. It was a lot of fun.)

The Maple Alliance was able to overpower the shadowy figures, and once the tide turned against them, the figures turned and fled from the stadium. But the Heroes weren’t ready to claim victory just yet. Luminous was able to track their dark energy, so he led the Heroes after them, until they ended up at the foot of a world which none of them had seen before.

“Is this… a new world?” Mercedes asked, staring ahead in disbelief.

“Luminous, are you sure this is where they went? How could the Black Mage have power in another world?” asked Eunwol with a shiver.

“Those creatures retreated here. I’m sure of it,” said Luminous solemnly. “So if the Black Mage has his clutches on another world… That can’t be a good thing. We have to see what’s going on here.”

No one could disagree with his statement, so together they went on into the new world.

It wasn’t long before they came to a coastal city. Extravagant, multistory houses lined the waterfront. The houses were huge, and not just because of the number of rooms they had. These houses were built for giants. The windows, the door frames, the balconies—everything towered high over the Heroes’ heads.

They were close to the shadowy figures. Luminous picked up his pace, and the rest stayed close behind as they climbed swiftly down the coast. Finally, the humanoid shadows came into view on a rooftop below. They were prying at the broken shingles of the rooftop, trying to carve an entrance into the building. The Heroes engaged them without hesitation. The shadows were already weakened by the battle at the convergence point, so they disintegrated with very little resistance.

Luminous looked at the hole they were digging. It was too small for the shadowy figures to fit through, but a mapler like himself could fit through easily. He wondered what those creatures could have been trying to reach in this house. He wasn’t the only one wondering, for Evan gave voice to the question on his mind.

“What were they doing? Trying to steal something, maybe?” asked Evan, looking from the hole to Phantom.

“Tsk tsk. Their technique is laughable. What amateurs,” snorted Phantom.

Luminous rolled his eyes. “If there’s something here that the Black Mage wants, then we should find it and take it first,” he said, stepping closer to the hole.

“Wait,” said Mercedes. “Some of us should stay here and keep watch, just in case more of those shadow creatures appear to finish their mission.”

“Luminous, I’ll come with you into the building,” offered Eunwol.

“Shouldn’t that job be left to me?” cut in Phantom. “After all, it’s my specialty.”

“I refuse to be weighed down by you,” snapped Luminous.

Phantom opened his mouth, but Mercedes spoke over him. “Eunwol, go with Luminous to investigate. The rest of us will keep watch. It’s a large area to cover, so we’ll need more of us up here.”

They all agreed, except for Phantom, who simply whined about how Stuffy Pants was unqualified for the job. Meanwhile, Luminous and Eunwol stepped down into the house.

They found themselves in a massive attic cluttered with large junk. There were no windows, so the only light came from the small hole in the roof, and from Luminous’s shining rod. Carefully they made their way across the attic and to the access door on the floor, which was hanging open. The room below also lacked lighting, as Luminous saw when he peered down from the access door. The windows were all boarded up, only allowing thin slivers of light to cut through the darkness. It streamed through the room, dimly illuminating the features of a very, very massive man, at least three times his size. And as Luminous looked on, the man tilted his head up, and looked back.

“Turn back, turn back!” gasped Luminous, hastily backing away from the access door. He wanted to avoid fighting the giant if they could. He doubted their attacks would even have an effect on someone so huge.

“What?” asked Eunwol, who hadn’t peeked over the edge. Instead of answering, Luminous took his arm and pulled him away from the door to a cluttered corner, out of view. A moment later, the man’s giant head appeared in the access door. His gaze swept across the attic, as if he were checking for vermin. Luminous and Eunwol held their breaths.

Slowly the man climbed into the attic. His footsteps shook the floor beneath their feet as he circled the room, checking every piece of junk. He would discover them if they stayed in one spot, Luminous thought, feeling sick with dread. He dared not speak a word, but met Eunwol’s eye, and knew that Eunwol had come to the same realization. Silently they crept along the wall to find a safer hiding spot.

Suddenly, inexplicably, the floor below Eunwol’s feet gave way. He fell through. Quickly Luminous stuck his shining rod out for Eunwol to grab hold, and Eunwol managed to grab it as he fell. But Luminous’s grip wasn’t tight enough, for the rod slipped from his hands, taking Eunwol with it.

(Wow… Just. Wow, I thought. That.. I don’t even have words to describe how bad that failure was… Just… Wow…

Was I supposed to do something here? Press a button, pick a hotkey maybe? How was that so lame?)

Luminous found himself alone, unarmed, and exposed. The sound of the wood snapping had alerted the giant to their location. He was heading over to investigate. The hole from which they entered disappeared behind the giant’s head, leaving only one way to go.

Luminous jumped into the crack after Eunwol.

The scene faded to black, then reopened outside with Phantom, Mercedes, Aran, Evan, and Mir. They seemed to have given up on keeping watch and were simply standing at the edge of a wide balcony on the side of the house, looking down at the channel water below. A few strange, larger-than-life sea creatures swam in the seawater. They were shaped like sharks, with pointed teeth, broad jaws, and vertical tail fins, but they had the markings of an orca, and they stayed unusually still, especially since sharks had to be moving to stay alive. They must have been some kind of shark-orca whale hybrid. (Sharcas?)

Their sightseeing was interrupted when a monstrous creature burst through the roof, landing on the balcony behind them. It resembled a balrog, but it was much larger, just like everything else in the foreign world. Its teeth were larger, its claws were sharper, and its muscles were bigger than any balrog in Maple World. The Heroes didn’t need Luminous to tell them it was puppeteered by dark magic. Darkness dripped from its fangs and leaked from its glowing eyes.

The four Heroes separated, leaving only Aran in its path. She wasted no time swinging her polearm and striking the beast across its muzzle. Then, with a command from Evan, Mir unleashed a torrent of flames on the monster’s flank, tearing its attention away from Aran. A moment later, Phantom’s cards cut through its leathery wings, and Mercedes’s arrow lodged deep in its ankle. They continued to rotate their attacks, distracting the balrog from each other, until Mercedes was able to deliver a finishing blow, sending an arrow through the monster’s spinal cord at the base of its skull. She landed on its shoulders as it collapsed.

Mercedes raised her head to the enlarged hole in the roof, and the other Heroes followed her gaze. “It came from in there,” she muttered grimly.

“Do you think… that Luminous and Eunwol are okay in there…?” asked Evan, shuddering nervously.

“We’d better go check,” said Aran, swinging her polearm over her shoulder. “Maybe splitting up wasn’t the best idea. Obviously we don’t know what’s going on here.”

“Then let’s go find out,” said Phantom. “That stuffy light mage will hate me even more if he gets rescued by me,” he added with a playful grin. Then they jumped down into the attic.

The crack that Eunwol and Luminous fell through did not lead into the room below, but rather into the walls of the house. Luminous landed on a diagonal wooden board, but he did not find Eunwol anywhere nearby. He began to descend the board, calling out for his companion.

Eventually he reached the bottom of the wall. There was still no sign of Eunwol. Where could he have gone?

Luminous found a crumbled portion of the wall which led back into the house. He passed through and found himself on a counter in the giant’s oversized kitchen. The windows here were boarded up as well, blanketing the house in darkness. Slowly Luminous crept across the counter and hid behind a roll of paper towels, and then looked into the doorway across the room, where the thundering of footsteps was growing louder and louder. Soon the giant himself passed across the doorway, but then hesitated, and finally turned and entered the kitchen. The giant now blocked the path back to the crumbling in the wall, but Luminous noticed a row of shelves on the wall by the edge of the counter. He jumped down to the lowest shelf and ducked behind the elaborate sets of china on display, trying to put as much distance between himself and the giant as possible. He needed to find Eunwol before that giant found him.

Too late.

The giant’s fist slammed down on the edge of the shelf, knocking it off the wall. The whole panel tipped sideways, spilling all of the china and Luminous onto the floor. He tumbled down the rest of the way to the tiled floor, but somehow landed without getting crushed by the falling china. However, before he could stand, the giant’s foot came crashing down over his legs. Luminous heard his own bones snapping under the giant’s weight. The pain that shot up his legs nearly drowned out the sound of his agonized cry.

The giant knelt down, keeping Luminous firmly trapped under his foot. “Hmm? What’s this?” his voice reverberated around the kitchen as he leaned down to inspect what he had captured.

The giant’s breath blew over Luminous like a hot gust of wind. His gigantic face filled the light mage’s vision. He was much too close.

The giant leaned back in surprise as the light mage teleported out from under the giant’s foot. Luminous let out a pained groan as the pressure over his legs disappeared. But before he could teleport again, the giant’s hands closed around him and lifted him into the air as the giant stood up.

“Weird,” rumbled the giant, holding Luminous at eye-level. The light mage squirmed in his grip and managed to free his arms from the giant’s fingers. But then the giant closed his eyes and took a long sniff, his nosehairs trembling right next to Luminous’s face.

“Smells good,” said the giant. His face stretched into a wide, toothy grin. “Smells delicious.”

He pressed Luminous tight against his nose and sniffed again, licking his lips. Luminous felt like he was suffocating. The giant was smothering him against his slimy, rancid skin. His tongue slid over Luminous’s collarbone as he licked his lips, leaving behind hot, sticky saliva.

(This was absolutely terrifying. Everything else that happened didn’t really scare me, because part of me knew that it was all VR. But this was too real. I felt the stifling heat, the stench, the lack of air, all of it, and I was scared for my life. My brain kept coming back to this image, hours after I’d already woken up from this dream.)

Luminous did all he could to fight back. He yelled and pushed and punched at the giant, but he had no effect. (I also tried the teleport command, but it didn’t work. There was nowhere to teleport to.) He could do nothing to get the giant off of him. He was helpless, or so he thought.

The commotion he made had drawn Eunwol to his location. The pirate hero appeared in the doorway, brandishing his knuckle and Luminous’s shining rod. Eunwol swung his clawed knuckle at the giant’s calf, leaving a scratch which was smaller than he expected. It looked like the giant’s skin was much tougher than human skin. Still, it was enough to get the giant’s attention. He jumped at the unexpected pain and looked down at the hero by his feet.

“Put my friend down!” shouted Eunwol.

“Why? I found it, so it’s mine now!” declared the giant, holding Luminous protectively against his chest. It was unpleasant, but much more bearable than being halfway up the giant’s nasty nose.

“Finders keepers, losers weepers,” the giant recited. “I’m hungry and I’m going to eat it. If you want to wait, then I’ll eat you next.”

“Nobody is eating anyone,” stated Aran. She, too, appeared in the doorway, accompanied by Mercedes, Evan, and Mir. “Now put him down, or you’ll regret making us ask twice.”

“Fine!” growled the giant. He dropped Luminous onto the top shelf by the counter, and then slammed a glass cup over him. “I put it down.”

“Down here!” demanded Aran, tapping her polearm on the tile floor. “Give him back to us!”

“It’s not yours! It’s mine!”

Luminous took a deep breath and tried to stand, but he could hardly move his legs without waves of pain flooding his senses. He stared wistfully at the shining rod in Eunwol’s hands. If he had that, he could easily heal himself…

He looked around while his friends argued with the giant, trying to find a path down to the floor. With the bottom shelf gone, it would be impossible to safely teleport to the ground. The distance was too far. Maybe there was another route he could take, especially if they kept the giant distracted.

As he scanned for an alternate route, he noticed a flash of movement on the nearby countertop. A white cape disappeared behind the paper towels, and a blonde head peeked out at him. Phantom’s glance shifted from Luminous to the giant, and once he was sure the enemy was distracted, Phantom climbed onto the paper towel roll and leapt onto the shelf.

He made his way to the glass and tried to lift it up, but it was too heavy. He then took a step back and instead gestured for Luminous to come out on his own. Luminous teleported out of the glass and reached out to take Phantom’s open hand. But the flash of light was all too obvious in the dark room, and the giant discovered them. He picked up his cup and set it down over Luminous once again, forcing the light mage and the thief to withdraw their hands, lest their fingers get crushed underneath the glass.

“That’s mine!” shouted the giant indignantly, snatching Phantom up in his fingers. “You can’t have it because I’m going to eat it! So there!” The giant stuck his tongue out and blew spit in the thief’s face, spraying him with huge globs of saliva.

Luminous laughed.

(Dang, I thought. He just tried to save you and you laughed at him. That’s so savage.)

Then the giant dropped Phantom, but he was agile enough to land on his feet. His features twisted in disgust, and he wiped the sticky saliva off as best he could.

“Why do you want to eat him anyway? He’s all bitter inside. He’ll taste terrible,” Phantom huffed.

“Hmm?” questioned the giant, glancing at the light mage in the glass. Luminous quickly nodded in agreement.

“What should I eat instead? You?” asked the giant, leaning down to inspect the thief. Phantom took a hasty step backward. He’d had enough of the giant’s saliva.

“Um,” Evan spoke up. “What about a trade? If we give you something good to eat, will you give us our friend back?”

“A trade?” echoed the giant. “Sounds tasty… But you said it has to be something good! So if it’s not good, then no trade!”

“That’s fair… right?” said Evan, glancing at the rest of the heroes. Mercedes and Aran looked irritated by his suggestion. They would have preferred to fight.

But this option could be beneficial, thought Luminous. If they could make peace with this giant, they might be able to find out why the Black Mage’s forces were trying to enter his house. And if he had something the Black Mage wanted, perhaps he would leave it in their care.

Luminous knocked on his glass to get his friends’ attention, and then gave them a nod to go with it. Still, this deal made him uneasy. Out of all the Heroes, Luminous was the one who knew most about cooking, thanks to his time with Lania. Eunwol and Evan also knew how to cook, but Luminous wondered if even the three of them could conjure a meal pleasant enough for a giant. But Luminous wasn’t sure that he could help from up here, and Phantom, Mercedes, and Aran probably wouldn’t be very useful. Evan and Eunwol would have to create it on their own.

“That’s fair,” agreed Eunwol. “We’ll make you a dish you’ll never forget.”

“Make it quick!” said the giant. “I’m hungry now!”

“How are we supposed to feed someone that big?” hissed Mercedes, looking incredulously at her companions.

“We could… maybe… cook the balrog we left outside?” suggested Phantom, earning a round of disbelieving stares.

I’m doomed, thought Luminous.

And that’s where I woke up. I wish I had more time to let this dream play out haha. I also wish I was this creative when I was conscious, too :’)

Sorry if the personal notes are a little distracting? I thought about cutting them out, but I like to keep my dream recordings as honest as possible, so I try not to change any details.

Anyway thanks for reading all of that!

#maplestory #fanfic #i guess this is a fanfic? #;;☽συтσfɗαякηєѕѕ☾ #long post #tldr; everything was going smoothly but then i hecked up and lumi got rekt #;;☼ тнє вєαcση ☼

[cineresis]

Prompt from twitter: Talon + a deafening sound. From this meme. Warning for child abuse, self-harm ideation, and suicidal ideation.

They said the Owl of Gotham stole people away in the night.

Dick knew what it meant when they said something. It meant that you could trace the knowledge back from person to person to person who had all thought it was worth sharing, who had all heard it from someone they knew and trusted enough to give the benefit of the doubt, from Marco the knife-thrower to Sally the clown to Sally’s cousin to Sally’s cousin’s best friend’s uncle from Gotham’s oldtown, all the way back until the source of the knowledge disappeared into history. You could tell information was probably reasonably trustworthy when it was written down and you knew where it came from and whether the writer was smart and honest. But it was the things people didn’t write down but that they passed on anyway that were most important. Things like how and why to be respectful, and how to sucker people, and how to keep your balance on a highwire without getting vertigo, and what to do when someone in the circus died, animal or human.

They weren’t really clear on what happened to the people the Owl took away. Luna Alba, the psychic, said that those the Owl didn’t bring before the law were spirited away to his (its?) court, where he (it?) put them under his thrall forevermore. Sally said his cousin’s friend’s uncle had known someone who saw the Owl snatch some poor schmuck who’d wronged him back to his nest, where (the uncle’s acquaintance claimed) the Owl ate them. Haly said the same victim had no doubt been chopped up and dumped in the river or buried in concrete, because the Owl was just a man who’d gone dark like any other lord of Gotham’s underworld. Which Sally said couldn’t be right, because the Owl always left a sign when he took someone so people would know to follow his rules and pay his tithes, and if he left evidence behind someone would find the bodies. At which point Annamaria, Marco’s assistant, pointed out that how would anyone know if he took someone and didn’t leave any sign other than their disappearance?

(Dick remembered thinking that the person the Owl had taken would know, but he didn’t say it aloud because it wasn’t a particularly clever observation and that wasn’t what Annamaria meant, anyway.)

Dick’s mouth tasted like blood.

He could hear, vaguely, over the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears, the barely-audible scrape of footsteps against the stone floor. Dick tried to get up, but his body wouldn’t respond. A flash of primal fear, sharper and more fundamental than the pall of imminent dread he’d grown used to until it nested deep inside his very bones, flashed through him – a broken spine, neck twisted at an impossible angle, lying helpless and immobile on the ground. Just as swiftly, he shoved it back down into his hindbrain where it belonged. If he’d broken his neck, everything wouldn’t hurt so much.

The footsteps stopped beside him and Dick struggled even more urgently to move. If he couldn’t – if he couldn’t even do something as simple as standing up –

“Can you feel your fingers and toes?” Owlman asked.

The first time he’d heard the Owl’s voice, Dick had thought it was exactly what a ghost should sound like, if Gotham’s spectre was indeed a ghost. Hollow and quiet and resonant, somehow able to find the gaps in your mind and grip them like a grapnel until it filled your skull from edge to edge with no room for anything else. A question like that should sound inherently ridiculous in a voice that spooky. It didn’t. It sounded like a threat. (It was a threat. Everything Owlman said was a threat, even if he wasn’t stating the threat aloud.)

Dick tried to respond. Instead of words, the sound that slipped out between his lips was inarticulate, a half-voiced sob of what little breath hadn’t gotten knocked out of him, practically a whimper. Something inside him cringed in horror and before he could embarrass himself further he gasped for enough air to say, “Nn-hnn.”

That…was almost an affirmative.

“Can you move them?” Owlman asked.

Dick tried. After a moment, his fingers twitched, and he flexed and straightened them before dragging them back into clenched fists. It didn’t hurt as much as he was expecting. He’d scraped the hell out of his hands and torn calluses off before, and he still wasn’t used to the way gloves took some of the pressure off his own skin to stay intact against impact and friction. Having achieved that minuscule success, he did his best to wiggle his toes inside his boots. “Mhm,” he managed. God, his ribs hurt.

Before Owlman could say anything else or get impatient with him, Dick pushed himself up to his hands and knees – his left elbow twinged all the way to his wrist in the process, but at least it didn’t feel broken – and then forced himself nearly to standing before he placed his foot wrong, felt his ankle twist under his weight, and landed right back on his ass. Great going, Talon. Witness the last of the Flying Graysons: he’s beauty, he’s grace, he’s falling on his stupid face.

Owlman stared coldly down at him for a moment, then looked up at the obstacle course around and above them. Deliriously, Dick wondered if fate would be merciful enough for the ground to suddenly open up and swallow him. He wouldn’t have fallen if he hadn’t been trying to avoid a barrage of stun rounds – he shouldn’t have fallen even then – he’d never fallen like that from a simple aerial course unless he was trying some complicated new maneuver, and even then he knew how to recover by now, but his grappling hook had glanced off a stalactite and caught on nothing and by then it was too late to tuck and roll –

“It seems that twenty-six hours awake was too much for you.” Owlman looked in his direction again, and it was only months of relentless training and the bedrock-certain knowledge that it would just piss him off more that kept Dick from flinching. “Clean yourself up and take a nap. You’ll try again in four hours.” He turned away in succinct dismissal.

Dick’s vision was blurring and his breathing was wrong, static prickling in his fingers and toes and creeping up his limbs. He wasn’t even capable enough to be worth yelling at. At least if Owlman had hit him it would mean he thought Dick would learn from it.

“Please.”

He didn’t realise he’d said it until it was out of his mouth, whiny and wretched. He froze as Owlman stopped, then slowly turned and took a step back toward him. “Please what?” Owlman asked softly.

“Please—” His voice was perfectly even, his face blank as marble, as if showing any expression would make it crack and shatter. “Let me try again.”

“Why?” The question echoed through the cave like a cell door swinging shut. Dick contemplated cutting his tongue out so he’d never say anything stupid ever again. It would probably just get him in more trouble for hurting himself without permission.

“I’ll do it right this time. I know what I did wrong.”

“What makes you think you could accurately fire a grappling hook after falling twenty feet if you couldn’t before?” It was a very calm question. Very reasonable. Very matter-of-fact in how completely it demonstrated that Dick had the intellect of a five-year-old who hadn’t yet learned how cause and effect worked, hadn’t yet learned not to argue with people who knew better, couldn’t yet comprehend shutting his mouth instead of saying things he should already know were illogical. Maybe he could kill himself, if he weren’t more afraid of Owlman than of dying, and if he weren’t utterly certain that Owlman would make him suffer more than he ever could just from dying, whether or not he succeeded. And he was too scared of dying, anyway.

(If he hadn’t been, maybe he could have told someone about the Owl before his parents fell. Except that he wasn’t sure he would have even if he hadn’t known he’d be hunted down and made an example of for it, because when he’d seen that deeper shadow moving in the shadows of the big top, he hadn’t just been scared, he’d been excited, he’d felt like he’d been given a chance to see something special that no one else would ever get, and he’d looked up into the glint of owl-eye lenses and promised aloud that he wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone else. And then Owlman had smiled at him.

So Dick probably deserved to die, which meant that any decision he made himself was the last thing he should do. At least his life could benefit someone as long as he didn’t make any choices ever again.

Except that he wasn’t even good for that, as it turned out.)

When he didn’t answer, Owlman bent and took Dick by the collar. Dick couldn’t help twitching back slightly as the hand approached his throat, expecting Owlman to choke him or beat him into the floor, but all he did was pull Dick to his feet and hold him there so he wouldn’t fall again. “Get cleaned up and take a nap,” he said again, emphasising each word individually in case Dick hadn’t understood the first time. Before Dick’s sluggish thoughts could catch up to what was happening, Owlman swatted him across the face, dispassionately, like disciplining him was a mildly distasteful but necessary task. Dick hit the floor on his hands and knees, ears ringing. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Not trusting his voice, Dick looked up at Owlman and nodded, just once, precise and professional. (Owlman always liked that, anyway. He’d made it clear that he didn’t think anyone should speak unless they had something worth saying.)

Owlman turned and walked away without further acknowledgement. As soon as he was out of range, Dick bolted for his quarters, not waiting for his breathing to settle down enough that he could see straight.

Maybe he could get better. At least he’d been given the chance to try.

#justice league #crisis on two earths #earth 3 #dick grayson #owlman #i did this #my writing