#i had three people today be annoying about me wearing my mask and one PrE mEd StUdEnT give me unwarranted medical advice

[goldencherryhazz]

And the Grammy Goes to....

I AM SOO PROUD OF HIM, I HONESTLY HAVE NO WORDS 🥲🥲🥲

(not proofread, notes would be much appreciated,pls don’t copy my work, hope you enjoy!!! 🤍)

Grammy!Harry x famous!gf reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, swearing.

WC: 3k

You and Harry were currently backstage at the Grammys, one of the biggest nights in the music industry, you honestly couldn’t believe you were here alongside him, even though you had walked many red carpets before by yourself and with Harry, being a well know singer yourself, having written 2 successful albums, but being alongside your 3 time grammy nominated boyfriend felt surreal. And to top things off you were about to watch open the show.

‘You okay baby’ he asked through the slightly ajar bathroom door where he was currently getting changed into his second outfit of the night after walking the red carpet, he wanted to surprise you with this one. ‘Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that, you’re the one who’s performing, virtually, in front of thousands and thousands of people’ you said from your perch on the couch. You were wearing a very pretty and expensive dress which you planned on not getting dirty or creased.

‘A little I guess, but I think I’ll be fine once I get out there I think’ he replies a bit breathless shuffling around probably trying to get whatever he was wearing on.

‘I’m dressed now, need you to close your eyes love’

‘Okay, they’re closed’ you replied, thinking about how little time it took him to get changed, getting more excited every second, and she had every right to be. When he comes through and stands right in front of you and tells you to open your eyes you’re met with Harry clad in a black leather suit jacket which no shirt underneath, with matching trousers. His toned abs graced with his butterfly and chest on full display, a green boa wrapped loosely round his neck.

Her eyes were wide, her mouth hung open in complete admiration ‘how do I look baby?’ he asks twirling round for her, she stood up placing her hands on his bear chest once he was stationary, then quickly moving her hands to his jaw pulling him in for a teeth clashing kiss, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths, he pulls back surprised by her sudden actions ‘I’m guessing you like it then’

‘You look fucking amazing H’ you could feel your panties getting damp, ‘I think I like it a little to much’ your lips grazing his. He hummed sensing where this was going, but not stopping at all, quickly ooking at the clock on the wall behind him ‘well we’ve get 20 minutes until I’ve got to be on stage, gives us plenty of time’

‘Are you suggesting we fuck in this dressing room right now, what if we get caught?’ You said still starting to grind your hips against his hardening bulge anyway.

‘If I remember correctly, that’s why locks on doors were invented lovie’ he says taking a few small steps towards the door of the dressing room and flicking the lock shut, then coming back to you ‘so what do you say angel, gotta be quick though’ you didn’t say anything, practically pouncing on him, gripping the green boa gently unwrapping it from his neck, before throwing it, not caring where it landed, kissing him again hoping he got the message, which he did loud and clear ‘let’s get this dress off you first’ he says, you quickly agreed as he reached behind you to unzip it, the dress falling off your shoulders to reveal you breasts, having opted to not wear a bra tonight, you stepped out of the garment before draping it over the back of the couch.

Once you had done, Harry gripped your hips, bringing you closer to him, bringing his head down to your chest wrapping his lips around your gardening nipple, you moaned out at the feeling, he does the same to the other before kissing and sucking hickeys onto you collarbones and neck, which you knew you would have to cover up later.

‘Jump’ he said between breathless kisses, which you instantly complied, wrapping your legs around his waist, gripping onto his shoulders, his hands gripping your ass, he manoeuvred around the dressing room until he got to the counter where various products laid, he swiped them off not caring if they broke, already making a promise to himself to replace them if they did. He placed you down, your ass making contact with the cold surface. He shimmies your panties down your legs, the sight of your pussy making him impossibly harder, he pressed a quick kiss to you clit, before going to undo his trousers, and shimmying them down his legs, his cock springing free as he had decided on no boxers, that there was no time for foreplay you both silently agreed. He then start tugging at the lapels of the leather jacket before you objected ‘can you keep it on’

He smirks ‘you want me to fuck your in this leather jacket baby’

‘Yes, fuck yes’ your eyes oogling the sight of his cock against his belly beading pre-cum ‘well your wish is my command’ he knew he probably shouldn’t, not wanting to get it sweaty or anything, but by the look on your face and the sight of you pussy pulsating around nothing, he knew this wouldn’t take long.

He gives no warning when he slams into you, making you scream out in pleasure, before he quickly kissed you to muffle your moans, not wanting to get caught, he sets a quick and hard pace, practically fucking you into the counter, his hands gripping you hips so hard it would probably leave bruises, you dig your heels into his ass wanting him as close as possible, feeling the smooth leather against you skin sending shivers up your spine.

‘Fuck you feel so good’ he groans burying his face into your neck, your hands tangling into his curls, quickly grabbing the opportunity to suck a hickey onto his neck, which you knew he would be annoyed at because he was going to be out on stage in 15 minutes, but you loved marking him up so everyone could see.

‘H I’m not going to l-last much longer’ throwing your head back, your arms behind you going weak from holding yourself, your fingers trying to dig into the counter, his thrusts hitting your special spot every time.

‘Me neither baby’ he felt like he was in cloud 9, the only sound in the room was moans snd skin hitting skin, feeling himself on the brink already, as your cunt was clenched around his length. He brings his hand down to your clit, his ringed fingers slightly shaky as he starts to rub deep circles on your clit to get you there.

‘Holy shit, I’m gonna cum’ you moaned ‘yeah, cum with me angel, cum around my cock’

Both moaning in unison you release around each other, his hot cum painting your walls, mixing with your juices, you swear you stopped breathing, your eyes continuously rolling to the back of your head as you ride out your high. Harry’s eyes were wired shut, his grip on your hips not faltering, mouth hung open. As your arms were about to give way Harry places his hand on your back, almost knowing that was going to happen. You look at him, pushing back some of the hair that had fallen into his face. ‘that was so fucking good, legs are shaking’ he slurs out, almost as if he was drunk on his high. ‘Yeah, fuck don’t know if I’ll be able to walk’ he slowly pulls out, his cum flowing out of you, he ducks his head down to clean you up, you legs spasming from the sensitivity.

He leans up to kiss you, tasting yourself and his cum.

‘Did so good for me baby, I’m gonna see if I can take this home’ he says pointing at the jacket.

‘And why’s that H’ you asks

‘Just think it’s going to come in handy one day’ says making you smile because you already knew the answer.

You quickly look at the clock ‘C’mon we gotta get ready, your on in 8 minutes’ getting up from the counter on shaky legs and walking to put your pants and dress back on, he chuckles at his girl desperate to see him out on stage again.

He gets dressed grabbing his boa that was discarded on the floor, pulling his shoes on, walking through to you, seeing you struggle with the zip of your dress, he goes over sliding it up, pressing a kiss to your back ‘have I told you how pretty you look today’ he asks as you touch up your hair and makeup. ‘Only about 10 times’ he gasps in fake shock ‘only 10, I need to keep up don’t I baby’ this makes you laugh. ‘You look pretty today too bub’ you say, but soon enough you cute little moment is interrupted by three knocks on the door and Jeff saying ‘Harry your on in 3 minutes, get your ass out here’ this makes you laugh because Jeff or anyone for that matter are oblivious to what you’ve just been doing.

///

Soon enough Harry is out on stage. Any nerves he had had dissipated. He was high in adrenaline from being buried in your cunt barely 10 minutes ago, shaking his ass and dancing around the stage, he gripped the boa throwing it to the floor, replicating you actions form the dressing room, you knew the world would be going crazy for him right now, singing the lyrics to watermelon sugar, you were in awe. To be honest you had gotten a little horny again from watching him but you knew that could be dealt with later. Most of all you were so proud, he was opening the Grammys for godsakes, how couldn’t you be, your pretty sure he would be able to see you smiling even through your mask.

He sings the last notes, thanking everyone before running off stage to you, ‘I’m so proud of you baby you say wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. ‘thankyou angel’ he says, over the past few days you had showered him in love and affection, and he had to admit that he was loving the attention. Harry quickly gets changed again into the outfit he was wearing on the red carpet, your stylist has asked if you wanted multiple outfits, but you said no because you wanted tonight to be completely focused on Harry and to be fair you loved the dress you were wearing it was so comfortable, so you didn’t really want to change out of it anyway.

After that Harry joined you again in the side of the stage again, where you watched various people perform, most being really good friends, like Billie, Taylor, Dua, Maren Morris, Dababy and so many more. Soon enough you were sat round a table with Harry and Jeff, one of his categories getting closer and closer to being announced, it was weird you had to say, doing the Grammys during a pandemic, without a whole audience bringing a whole lot of energy to the entire thing. You guess you just couldn’t wait for everything to be safe and get back to normal, you wanted to go on tour and sing your heart out.

You could tell Harry was getting a little nervous he had a hand on your thigh and he squeezed it every so often, almost using it as a stress toy. ‘Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine bub’ you whispered in his ear, he smiled at you comforting words, his head now resting on you shoulder and he held you hand under the table, as you both watched the show and clapped and congratulated people on their wins.

Soon enough the nominees for the category ‘best pop solo performance’ were being announced, Harry head instantly snapped up from your shoulder, Jeff grabbing hold of his shoulder, you let out a little squeal when his name popped up in the screen. Getting more and more excited.

The presenter starts to open the envelope, you were literally on the edge of your seat, Harry’s leg bouncing up and down.

‘And the Grammy goes to...Harry Styles’

You slapped your hand over you mouth, ‘you did it baby’ you practically screamed. He was pulled in for a hug by Jeff, taking off his mask in the process. The look on his face held shock and greatfulness. He pulls away from Jeff, pulling you straight into his arms, you swear you’ve never squeezed him tighter ‘I’m so fucking proud of you baby’ you say, tears in your eyes. He didn’t respond he was lost for words, which you understood, he pulled your mask down so he could catch you lips in a quick kiss, before pulling it back over your nose again. ‘Go on, get up there, go get your Grammy’ which he does.

He walks up to the stage, and you don’t know why but you stand up, your hands are over your chest as he thanks Jeff, Mitch and everyone who he made watermelon sugar with. You see him rubbing his eyes trying not to get emotional. He thanked his label and his fans especially, by now your tears are falling down your face you just had so much love for this man, you were over the moon for him.

‘And finally I would like to thank my wonderful girlfriend y/n who you all know very well. You have been there for me through everything, you have been my support, my muse, you’ve believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. I honestly would be the person I am today without you, i love you baby’

You knew everyone was staring at you, but you didn’t care at this moment in time, it felt like it was only you and Harry in the room.

He finally finishes his speech, grabbing his well deserved award, coming off the stage where he was bombarded with congratulations and praise from people left right and centre. He was whisked away to do interviews and conferences with you alongside him, you just looked at him awestruck when he was answering various questions, you being asked some yourself.

He had become very clingy after his win not wanting you out of his sight, touching you in anyway possible, holding your hand, having his arm wrapped round you, he even at one point wrapped his boa around your neck, with it being long enough for the two of you to wear, but didn’t end well for obvious reasons, but it did nearly have you on the floor laughing.

‘I’m so proud of you H’ you said for about the billionth time in the past half hour. ‘Thankyou angel, and I really do mean that when I say it’

‘I know you do H’ you say sweetly

‘And I mean it when I say I wouldn’t be the person I am today without you’

You could cry at that, but instead you wrap him in another tight hug, burying your head into the crook of his neck leaving a kiss there.

///

A little while later it was the afterparty, a very small one fire to the pandemic, but still and afterparty. Harry’s other category that he’d been nominated for had been announced, but he didn’t win, the Grammy going to Dua, which you were very happy about. At this point in time you didn’t care how many Grammys or awards he won, and Harry didn’t either the biggest award for him was having such supportive fans, he felt incredibly lucky to have the job he had and the people he had around him, being able to create music and tour the world. He also felt very lucky to have you by his side, he knows it’s cheesy but it was true.

So there you were catching up with old friends congratulating people on their wins, having a few drinks, you had the best time, you swear the smile never left Harrys lips, it was honestly the best being able to have normal conversations and just have lots of fun with some of your friends and some of your idols.

Soon enough it was home time, which was also very unusual because if there wasn’t a pandemic right now, there was no such thing as an allocated home time after the Grammys. You and Harry bid your goodbyes to Jeff who was going in a different car to go home. You and Harry piled into the backseat of your designated car, Harry telling the driver the address to you two’s house, he was kind of exhausted but felt like he was on top of Mount Everest, he was just so unbelievably happy, he pulled out his phone seeing messages from all kinds of people congratulating him, deciding he’ll respond to them later.

He once again pulls you into him, resting his head on your chest, your fingers card through his hair, before landing on his cheek rubbing up and down it.

‘Hey baby you won a Grammy’ you whisper to him, he looks up at you, your eyes getting lost in his.

‘I know, still doesn’t feel real, he pouts his lips silently asking for a kiss, in which you happily give him, pressing your lips to his before attacking his face, pressing tiny kissing all over it, making him laugh, which then made you laugh.

Ya know, I don’t know what I like hearing more, you moaning ‘I’m gonna cum’ or ‘and the Grammy goes to Harry styles’ he teases

‘Heyyyy’ she said in fake offence

‘I’m only joking’ he snickers ‘it will always be you baby’

‘I love you bub’ you hummed happily

‘I love you too angel’

#and the Grammy goes too... #harry styles #proud of harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles imagine #harrystylesisgolden #love harrystyles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #fine line #watermelon sugar #hs fic #hs imagine #harry styles is an angel #harry styles dirty one shot #harrystylesfluffy #harry styles clothes #harry smut #harry fluff #harry pics #harry imagine #im so fucking proud #hes so fucking hot #he’s literally so beautiful #i love you harry

[starlightinhumanform]

Friday Night Lights

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Romantic Prinxiety, Platonic Sleepxiety 

Summary: Roman and Virgil play opposite positions on their rival high school football teams. It’s the Homecoming game and tensions are high. Neither are willing to lose but one must rise above the other…

Warnings (in order of strength): Some language throughout, Just Gays Being Dudes (That is to say, some mildly mildly risqué content)

Genre: Human (High School) AU, Rivals to Lovers, Eventual Fluff 

A/N: I impulsively wrote a bullet point fic (*btw the bullet fic does contain some spoilers so beware of that before you read it*) several months ago and meant to flush it out a lot sooner but I only got a thousand words in before life hit and I wasn’t able to continue. I’m hoping to get the second part done soon, but in the mean time I thought I might as well post this! :D Love you all 🖤✨ 

Chapter 2    Ao3 Link   Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

The locker room light was sterilely bright, fluorescent lightbulbs glaring loudly above Virgil’s head. Bodies rushed back and forth in front of him, occasionally bumping into his knees or ruffling his hair. A hand clapped his shoulder but between the padding on his shoulders and the distance of his mind, he hardly felt it.

He sat on the wooden bench, neck bent, eyes closed, and breathing deeply through his nose. He did this before every game. While his other teammates hyped each other up- yelling and pounding each other on the back- he would go somewhere far, far away. It was how he got centered before all the chaos, how he rose above the adrenaline pounding in his heart, how he won. But today was different. Today he had to win.

“Hey, sleeping beauty, you ready to smash this game?”

Virgil grinned as he opened his eyes and turned to look at his fullback, Remy, “Yeah, dude. We’re going to wipe that smug grin off Prince’s face once and for all.”

———————————————

Roman Prince sat in a tight huddle with the rest of his team, wearing a smug grin. This was the homecoming game, basically the most exciting three hours of Roman’s year. Besides, this was his senior year and his last chance to show the rival school where they belonged. (That is to say, in the dirt).

With one last shout, the team started jogging out of the locker room, jumping as than ran and yelling at each other occasionally like they couldn’t even remember how to talk. The energy was electric. Roman lived for moments like this. The only thing he loved more than the pre-game hype was the post-victory euphoria.

He grinned and ran out into the field. It was dusk, a dark blue sky fenced off by the bright flood lights ringing the stands. He was hit by the strange combination of smells that was only found on high school football fields- funnel cake and sweat and turf and axe body spray and face paint. He waved at the cheering stands and blew a kiss at the opposing bleachers who booed at his arrival. This was his world and that ridiculous West Shore High didn’t have shit on him.

———————————————-

Virgil glared across the field at the pompous tackler from Monarch Knights. He was currently blowing kisses over towards his team and it made Virgil want to punch him. The boy was just so full of himself. Unfortunately, he had some right to be. On defensive, he was like a wall- one that simply refused to be knocked down. When he played offense, he moved like a tractor through the other team, mowing them down like they were cards and he was a quickly approaching tornado.

Remy laughed next to him, “I don’t think staring at him is going to do anything.”

“Well, if you do your job, I won’t have to do anything to him,” Virgil shoved him lightly in the chest.

Remy pushed back and it sent Virgil stumbling back a few feet. Virgil was by far the smallest on the team but he didn’t really mind; his job was to be light and fast. Being the halfback meant he got the ball and ran like his life depended on it. All the brutes around him were supposed to keep the field clear enough for him to sprint all the way to the end zone.

Usually it worked out well. Remy would run ahead of Virgil, knocking any threats out of the way and Virgil would carry them all the way to victory. Usually. Sometimes they would come across teams with some on-steroids sort of defense. Sometimes Remy would get pushed to the side play after play and Virgil would spend every down trying to weave his way through an oncoming river. Sometimes Virgil would get trapped in front of an oncoming wall and could hardly run an inch the entire night. More specifically, sometimes they played against Roman Prince.

Monarch Knights was the only school they had lost to the entire season. But not tonight. Virgil refused to be made a fool of.

———————————————-

Roman could feel that stare from across the field. Hundreds of eyes were on him at the moment, but none were so venomous.

It was the little creep who played offense for West Shore. He was one of the strangest people Roman had ever had the displeasure of playing against. Virgil Tempeste was like a chihuahua- tiny, aggressive, and buzzing with energy. Standing next to him felt just as idiotically risky as standing three inches from a lightning rod in the middle of a thunderstorm. When Roman had been forced to shake his hand earlier in the season, he had been half convinced that Tempeste was going to bite him.

As difficult as it was to admit though, he was Roman’s biggest concern this game. The halfback was fast and he knew how to weave through even the best defense lineups. He moved across the field like an ice skater across a rink.

Roman tried to give the little weasel a wave, but he was too busy bickering with the boy next to him to see Roman. Is was oddly disappointing; Roman would have loved to see how mad he could make Tempeste before the game even began.

——————————————————- The pre-game niceties passed by Virgil in a blur. Someone sang the national anthem, a coin got tossed, and the Student Body Leaders said something over the speaker system but it just sounded like overly enthusiastic static.

All that mattered was that they had possession of the ball. That meant Virgil could start his sprint from the very start of the game. Virgil liked his position. He was important, he had purpose, it gave him an opportunity to use all of the anxious energy he had bouncing around inside. Most importantly, his position was the very back of the formation which meant he got to see everyone else’s asses.

He looked out across the field and over his team. Past Remy, their quarterback, and the long line of guards and receivers, the red uniforms of the Knights blazed an angry red. It was such an arrogant colour, bright and brash and filling all of Virgil’s senses. Every time they played against the Knights, those stupid uniforms bothered him a ridiculous amount. Maybe that’s why they wear them- like that thing the matadors do with the red capes.

Virgil shook his head. He needed to stay focused; the game was going to start in seconds at most and he was idiotically thinking about the opposing team’s colours. But if he craned his back he could just see Prince…

—————————————-

Roman glared at the brute in front of him. His mouth guard sat heavily against his teeth. The bitter taste of plastic couldn’t mask the coppery adrenaline that coated his tongue and flooded his brain.

This was his game. His to win, his to conquer, his to dominate. And none of those Concord-grape-looking fools were going to get in his way.

The beast in front of him growled and Roman rolled his eyes. He really thought he could intimidate Roman? Bitch, please. He looked like the type of guy who would hurl slurs at Roman for wearing eyeliner just because he was insecure in his own sexuality (and probably thought that Roman was just a little bit hot). That type stopped scaring him a long time ago. Besides, he could brush that guy off like a fly.

The real threat was several feet behind him. Roman had come to refer to Remy Ristretto and Virgil Tempeste as Team Rocket because they were just as annoying and undermining- except they were often more successful than the cartoon characters.

Roman stopped trying to see Virgil and made eye contact with the wall just a few feet ahead, giving him a wink. He might as well have fun with this. Anyways, he’d have plenty of time to bother Tempeste later in the game.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist or my Friday Night Lights taglist, please just send me an ask or reply to this post :p (please specify which one you would like to be added to!) 

General Taglist: @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 @cas-is-a-hunter @reggieleigh07 @endless-rain-of-words @vicdehart @im-actually-ok @softnic  Friday Night Lights Taglist: @lcrnbw @itsvirgilelliot @amazing-creepyfloof

#prinxiety #prinxiety fic #prinxiety high school au #prinxiety enemies to lovers #high school rival au #prinxiety human au #prinxiety fanfic #prinxiety fanfiction #romantic prinxiety #platonic sleepxiety #virgil x roman #roman x virgil #sanders sides human au #sanders sides high school au #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #starlight writes #Friday Night Lights

[lambourngb]

Duty of Care and /or Gravedigger’s Union

I did Grave Dancer’s Union - a nod to my 90s love of Soul Asylum here.

Duty of Care was another torture Michael fic- I wrote it pre-season 2, when I thought the love triangle was going in a particular way. I don’t know if there’s still an appetite to season 1 au stories? There’s some season 1 characterization of Alex ahead, particularly in regards to Jesse.

Here’s what I had - some of which already appeared here before Last Year’s Wishes ate my brain.

****

“Can’t believe Maria is still wearing the pendant of alien poison around her neck while she dates your alien ass, Guerin..” Kyle commented watching the decay values multiply as Liz titrated pollen into the samples.  

The current theory on alien resurrection, and it said a lot about his life that he had competing theories on alien-involved resurrection, was that their ability to manipulate energy changed based on their needed life skills at the time of adolescence. Michael had been separated from his siblings young, and needed to develop defensive skills. The defiant and pained look on his face when he explained stopping an item being hurled at his head at the age of 7 was a needed survival tactic courtesy of foster homes he had passed through kept Kyle from questioning any further.

Isobel had through her mother Ann’s never-ending dinner parties and charity benefits, found comfort in seeing and knowing what was meant under the sugary sweet words of adults around her. Being a small child paraded around adults who were charmed by her blonde hair and blue eyes meant she had the most exposure to social events while Max hid in his books. 

Finally Max had anointed himself as a fixer early on in their life. He had taken responsibility for Michael being left behind, and had tasked himself to protect his sister afterward. The defensive use of healing fit with his offensive ability to kill in the service of keeping those he loved safe. 

At the most basic level, it was all energy from synaptic responses in brain waves to manipulating molecules to move or stop an object. How a pollen interrupted that energy use could theoretically solve the problem of how to jump start an ability.

“You think you might get around to telling her the big secret anytime soon?”

The mask over his mouth and face did little to block the glare Michael shot at him. “Shut up Valenti.” 

“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s Maria. She is a card carrying member of the ACLU and the Nature Conservatory. I had to bail her out of jail last year during an ICE protest. She’s not going to turn you over to the government.” 

“Kyle!” Liz scolded, “We talked about this. Agency. It’s up to Isobel and Michael who knows. I already broke that with you.”

Michael ran a gloved figure over the counter absently. “I hate secrets, okay. This isn’t any fun for me, especially considering how many people already know. I went from having just Max and Isobel, to basically the whole graduating class of New Roswell High in on it. A lot of loose lips.”

The habit of 20 years of paranoid silence was probably a lot to try and break with a new relationship if that was the basis of it. There was a good amount of slack that Kyle could extend to Michael, including trying to be understanding when he started up with Alex’s best friend in the wake of Max’s death, but exclusion of Maria from the secret felt wrong to him.

He couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind lying to someone that he wanted to be in a relationship with, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t because of worries that she would tell someone about the aliens living in Roswell. While he couldn’t outright call Michael an asshole on Alex’s behalf, he could poke and prod him when the opportunity surfaced.

“You should look at this way Guerin, that larger circle means if something does happen, you’ve got more back up than just Isobel, with Max being out of commission.”

“Oh yeah, so if the government disappears me to a black site, you’re going to ride to my rescue?”

“Yes.” Kyle replied seriously. “I wouldn’t be alone either.” The name Alex Manes went unsaid, but from the brief wince on Michael’s face, he knew exactly who was being referred to obliquely. Scored hit again.

“Well as fun as this discussion is, I’m going to take off. Iz and I have practice plans.” Michael slipped his hat on, and tucked the stool away. “Liz, call me if you have a breakthrough on nullifying this stuff. For a rare flower, there sure was a lot of it stockpiled in Noah’s cave.”

“Sure thing, Mikey.” 

“Valenti, make sure she goes home to sleep and eat at some point. I don’t want to have to put her in a pod next.” He ducked out of reach of her hand, laughing at the offended look she sent his way. 

“Far be it for me to agree with him, but he’s right. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends and the middle between rebuilding your lab, researching Max’s healing power, studying this pollen, not to mention working at the diner. We should make time for something else, like a drink or a movie. Recharge.” The past month since Max’s ‘death’ brought back the manic energy burst from solving the issues with the depowering serum. From one catastrophe to another, it was barely time to recover before the next happened.

“I know, I just. I need to stay busy. It’s so quiet without him.” Liz stretched and started to tuck her last slide away into the cooler. “But I think I am done today, if I work anymore, I’ll just be making mistakes.”

Kyle slipped on his coat and held the door. “Not that I don’t believe you leaving on your own volition, but let me walk you out.”

“Lucky for you, I’m too tired to be offended.”

Kyle kept his hand on her back gently steering her through the hallways. The third shift was on at the hospital, and he winced to think about his own upcoming shift at noon tomorrow. Balancing football, his pre-med studies and his social life in Michigan taught him valuable life skills in working on short sleep, but even the hours of residency had no competition on his current life of alien lab work and tracking down government funding of a black ops prison project with Alex. When he mentioned a night off, he wasn’t only including Liz in that need.

Inhaling the cool night air, he calculated if he made it home, heated up a meal, and fell asleep promptly there was the opportunity for 6 good hours of sleep before meeting up at the bunker to check in on the data mining project Alex was running. 

“You know, you should go a little easier on Michael.”

“I thought everyone in this town was in love with Max Evans, but apparently it’s Guerin.” Kyle retorted sarcastically. 

Liz bit her lip at the mention of Max before sighing softly. “I’m serious, Kyle. He’s really messed up right now. I was actually shocked he was somewhat sober tonight.”

“I’m not going to be petty here Liz, and mention the obvious that we are all really messed up right now. I get where you’re coming from about their need for secrecy, but Maria really deserves better. I’m not her best friend like you are and Alex was, but I’ve been here in this town with her. She was there for me after my dad died, and she supported my mom’s election for sheriff. With Mimi getting worse, she deserves to have someone to count on, not someone who is lying to her, and by extension, making all of us lie to her as well.”

“Alex was? Past tense?”

He arched his eyebrow in disbelief, “I guess I am going to be petty tonight, but seriously Liz? Have you talked to Alex lately? Every time Maria comes up in conversation he puts his best ‘Baghdad was a little warm and I was just doing a job’ face on and repeats to anyone listening how happy he is for them. Guerin messed him up, and worse, took away from him one of the few people he lets himself drop that soldier bullshit front he has.”

Liz sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know the history with Michael is a little complicated, but we don’t always get to choose who we fall for and who we don’t. Love is messy. It doesn’t color inside the lines and follow any of the rules.”

“Maybe you’re right about that, and maybe there’s no avoiding the heartache. I do believe though that you can choose whether or not to be a dick about things, and Guerin not telling Maria is a dick move and it’s got consequences.” Kyle unlocked his car, and opened the passenger side with a gesture. “Our sister doesn’t have many friends, and he’s robbing her of one right now. Rosa lost ten years because of aliens, don’t you think that’s enough loss for all of us?”

“Do you know how annoying you are when you’re right? I’ll talk to Michael, better yet, I’ll talk to Isobel about letting Maria in on the secret.”

He slid into the driver’s seat, smiling across to her. “Tomorrow. Tonight, what’s left of it, is for sleeping.” He turned the ignition, and stopped,  as the headlights came up illuminating the familiar green Chevy sitting across the lot from them. “That’s Guerin’s truck.”

“He left before we did, what’s it still doing here?” Liz ducked out of the passenger seat and ran toward the truck without waiting for an answer. Kyle swore softly, untangling his hand from the ignition to follow her. The truck looked undisturbed, no sign of the occupant. Liz reached for the driver’s side door, testing it, and gasped as the door swung open. The ever present black hat slipped off the dash into the floorboards.

There were three things Michael prized above all others, his truck, his cowboy hat, and his sister. To leave two out of three unprotected was highly out of character for him. Kyle turned around the parking lot, scanning for signs of him. 

“Kyle, look,” Liz grabbed his arm and pulled him down toward the wheel well of the truck. Gleaming silver in the light , tucked on top of the tire tread, was a syringe needle with a depressed plunger.

“That’s not good.”

She stuffed her hand into her pocket and withdrew a spare latex glove to wrap around her fingers as she lifted the syringe from the tire.  She peered closely at the vial, a sickly yellow liquid film thinly coated the inside. “I think someone took him, and without testing it, I’m guessing this is some sort of knock out drug based on the pollen.”

Kyle reached for his phone, mentally saying goodbye to the idea of sleep anytime soon. “I’ll call Alex, you call Isobel. And I don’t know, I guess call my mom? I mean, we usually call the police when someone gets abducted.”

Liz thinned her lips, holding the needle with one hand as she dug out her phone with the other. “I don’t think you can call the cops on the government, which I’m guessing that’s what we are dealing with since they knew how to knock out Michael.”

The government, or more specially it was probably someone related to Project Shepherd. Kyle sighed, holding his phone to his ear. It rang once, before he heard, “What’s wrong?”

He pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure he had called Alex and not the psychic alien sister, “How did you know something was wrong?”

“You’ve called me twice in the last three months, once to tell me you put my dad in a coma and once to tell me about Max. You’re a texter, even though I explained it’s easier to keep things secret if you call. So again, what’s wrong?”

Kyle slowly walked back toward the hospital. He should have volunteered to call Isobel, because this was not going to be easy. “It’s Guerin.”

“Is he okay?” 

“We don’t know. We think someone took him. Liz and I found his truck at the hospital, unlocked. It looks like he got jumped by someone who knows how to incapicitate him.”

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” 

Kyle wasn’t surprised to see the call disconnected. It was a forty minute drive from the cabin to the hospital if someone followed the speed limits. 

*** 

“It’s Guerin.”

Alex was somewhat aware that he must have replied. He was in his SUV and away from the bunker, before he’d registered that the call had ended. He could only be thankful that today had been a ‘pull day’, rather than a ‘push day.’

Alex could divide his days into two motivations, he either wanted to be as far from town and the chance of running into someone he knew (Michael) or he wanted to be close in case something happened that he could help fix (for Michael). The cabin was isolated enough that only Kyle made the trip from Roswell, but not in recent memory with the pace of lab work and hospital hours. Alex could comfortably avoid reality with his laptop until the second feeling took hold. The Project Shepherd bunker was an easier location to reach Isobel or Liz from when the inviatble call for assisting an intoxicated Michael came. 

Seeing Maria meant seeing Michael in the evening hours, and it was strange to resort to in his post-service life the habit of a decade before; lying and hiding himself in every interaction. His calendar had a weekly reminder to join Liz and Maria at the Wild Pony for a beer, usually scheduled early enough that Michael was still at Sanders working, but late enough that the automated work emergency text to his phone could reliably give him cover for an exit. 

Psychic as she was, Maria always let him go with a pained but relieved look. It wasn’t her fault that he was still in love with Michael. It wasn’t her fault that Michael wasn’t in love with him. Neither he nor Maria had so many friends that they could afford to lose one, but neither was fooling the other that the relationship hadn’t changed in the aftermath of her dating Michael. 

This wasn’t his first go around with unrequited love. 

He’d survived Brendon Urie, and he wasn’t ashamed to have been a sixteen year old pouring over fan meet and greets on livejournal before hitting the road with Rosa to see Panic at the Disco in Albuquerque just after school let for the summer. He might have mapped out Los Angeles coffee shops to busk at after he turned legal and could escape west to be a musician, coffee shops close to Silver Lakes and Encino neighborhoods to be organically discovered by his crush.

He had survived his fourteen year old obsession with Kyle, that lasted until it was safer to love unattainable rockstars versus the childhood friend now high school bully. He could laugh at himself for thinking that Kyle had turned on him because he felt the same way but just didn’t know how to articulate it outside of shoving him against the lockers and jeering at him in gym class. 

Unrequited love that had once been returned was a higher bar to clear than a fan fantasy or a childhood crush, but then the sins Alex carried were deeper and more lasting as well. More than a ruined but now healed hand and a discarded scholarship, he had the murder of Michael’s mother to carry.  He would survive Michael not loving him, he was reasonably sure of it. He wasn’t sure if he would survive something happening to Michael because of the Manes family legacy. 

Someone knowing how to subdue and take Michael pointed to his family’s involvement. 

He didn’t bother with the visitor’s desk at the hospital foyer this time, walking purposefully toward the elevator and wing where Liz’s new lab resided. The door opened to his touch, revealing Isobel hovering anxiously near Liz’s shoulder as she swabbed a syringe. 

“You made good time.” Isobel greeted.

“I hacked the traffic lights.” Alex informed, setting his laptop case on the lab table, and popping the case open. A few keystrokes and he was inside the hospital network and probably breaking a dozen federal laws of privacy. 

Kyle closed the door, and shook his head, “Seriously?”

“No. I was at the bunker.” He brought up the internal security logs, noting visitors and elevator access. “So what do we know?”

“Not a lot,” Liz replied, her gaze fixed on a spread of swabs and slides. “I’m trying to pull as many samples as I can from this syringe so I can analyze it. There looks to be a reservoir of 3 CCs. My original serum required a dose of at least 6 CCs to incapacitate, so whatever they used was more concentrated.”

“Hopefully less lethal,” Isobel observed. “Are you in the hospital network already?”

“Just what’s linked to the internal wifi signals. I’m going to need access to their security office since it appears the actual camera footage is on a closed circuit.”

Kyle pulled out his ID badge, “I can take you there, but how are you going to get the guards to let you look at the footage? I can still call my mom and make this an official police investigation.”

Alex dug into his pockets for a thumb drive, and then turned to Isobel, “I’m hoping you can influence the guard into letting me download the footage. If you can’t, then we will need to bring the sheriff into this.”

Isobel tapped her forehead knowingly, “If I can’t influence the guards to let you in, I can at least make one of them think he left his car unlocked or his coffee pot plugged in.”

“Let’s go then. Michael has been missing for at least an hour.”

Kyle tapped his badge at certain checkpoints, opening the electronic doors as they headed down to the security room. Alex made a mental note to scrub the ID tags once they were done, on the off chance someone was curious about the movements of a doctor who should have been long off duty.

The windowless room was covered in screens and held one guard boredly sipping his coffee while he watched a television show on his phone. There was a chance they didn’t need a psychic to gain access, but it was probably better safe than sorry.

Alex moved quickly after Isobel held the security guard’s mind in hers and slide behind the desk to call up the footage on the parking garage. Mindful of time, he plugged in his drive and started transferring all the raw data from the camera recordings. The antiquated hospital computing system did nothing to soothe the anxiety. 

Long experience working with poor computing power and broken infrastructure while deployed in Iraq was the only thing that kept his inner impatience off his face. Touching the mouse or tapping his fingers never moved data faster. 

Finally the file clicked over complete, he slid back from the bank of monitors, and nodded to Isobel. The security guard took a deep breath and look around briefly before picking up his phone and restarting the television show on his app.

The door clicked shut as the three of them hastened back to Liz’s lab. His hip barked at the hurried extension he placed on his body. With the clock ticking, the discomfort slipped into the box marked ‘to deal with later’. Once the drive was inserted, it was a matter of minutes to set up a scan for vehcile traffic entering and exiting the hospital parking lot. 

Liz dug out a bottle of acetone for Isobel, who accepted it with a small smile and then nodded over to the laptop. “I hope you are having more luck with the security footage, than I am having with this drug.”

“I grabbed everything from the last 72 hours, just in case. It’s possible someone followed Michael to the hospital,” Alex balanced carefully onto the stool, keeping the weight off his prostetic. “I would have found a less populated area for a snatch and grab, but maybe they were worried about Michael’s powers and if so, then likely they scouted the view points of the cameras before they made their move to minimize their exposure. At least that’s what I would have done, if I had discarded the open road or home as possible targets.”

“Well we all know what a paranoid and careful asshole you are, Alex.” Kyle observed, working on a second set of samples. 

“I try not to repeat my mistakes.”

“Like Caulfield?” Isobel asked pointed. 

A sharp stab of pain went through him at the reminder. As if the prison ever left his mind for a moment these days. “Yes, like Caulfield. I should have found a more covert way to gain information than assume it was abandoned. I should have realized my dad had more going on than surveillance on Roswell.”

Kyle touched Alex’s shoulder with a comforting clasp, “At least we know he’s not personally behind this. Master Sergeant's main nurse likes me, she would have called if something had changed.” 

Alex stayed silent, knowing that his next task would be gaining access to the long term rest home in Santa Fe where they had transferred his comatose father after he had attacked Kyle. There had been initial protests regarding the forged records until he had pointed out the other option had been to kill Jesse. 

The classic body Chevy truck flashed on the screen with the timecode marking it as Michael’s arrival at the hospital. Alex paused and marked the frame for reference, then eased through the later clips watching for his exit. There were two cameras concentrated on the parking lot, one at the entrance/exit, and one with a long panoramic view of the lot, primarily to ward off a car thief or would-be mugger. It was grainy in grey scale, but at least he could be thankful that Michael drove such a distinctive truck. The task of finding an unremarkable Honda Prisius would have been daunting.

His hand stilled as he paused the footage on the slow but unmistakable swagger of a figure striding away from the hospital entrance toward the parked Chevy. Michael’s black cowboy hat hid his face but even absent such an identifiable marker Alex was sure could have picked out his body in a sea of others without question. 

Michael reached his truck with no issue, unlocking the driver’s side door. His hand swept off his hat and casually tossed it into the front seat of the cab. Behind him, in the next parking aisle a nondescript panel van, a door opened slid open and a glint peeked out. Michael reached behind his neck, his body half in the truck and slapping at the skin there. 

Alex inhaled sharply, fear and dread rising. It was a terrible thing to watch knowing it had already happened. Two figures dressed in plain dark clothing emerged from the van, and started toward the truck. Michael’s body half fell from the cab, and curled around the front wheel. Alex watched as the two effortlessly brushed off the weak struggles to fight their grasp of Michael’s shoulders, tugging him backward to the waiting van. 

His body was tossed without care into the back, the door sliding shut blocking the last view of Michael. The two men split up from the van, circling around to the front doors. Alex numbly clicked on the frame, saving it, and switched over to the second camera focused on the entrance. 

Watching his brother Flint calmly pay the ticket machine was not much of a surprise at this point. 

“Kyle, I’m going to need you to call your nurse friend to check on my father.” He was proud that his voice was calm and even, despite the rising sickness within. “The good news is, this wasn’t a government issued black ops team that took Michael.”

“And the bad news?” Isobel prompted.

“It was personal, which means they aren’t as invested in keeping him alive.”

* * * * 

[Isobel details their mental bond. That it feels blank]

“I was always closer with Max. I don’t know if it was a twin thing or being raised together, but Michael was always harder to connect with until recently. We’ve been practicing so much together, he started to take up a bit of space here, “ she patted her chest. “Not enough to fill the void where Max was, but enough that I could tell if he was happy or if he was angry. Strong emotions only came through. Lately it was a lot of anger but he wouldn’t tell me what was going on… “

“And now? Do you feel him now?”

Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “It’s empty. Blank. Like it was when we kids before he moved back to Roswell. I think he’s still alive, but he feels very far away, or very weak.”

[Alex waits patiently for the call. He thinks this is going to be an exchange of Michael for his dad, until he realizes his dad is not at the long-term care facility any more]

[Round table discussion at Max’s house to figure out what Jesse wants. Isobel finds out more about the shared past of Michael and Alex- and Maria shows up at the end looking for Michael]

“It’s been 2 days, why hasn’t your dad called with his demands? Is he not reading from the classic villain script this time?” Isobel wondered bitterly. “What is with your family, Alex?”

Kyle injected, “We don’t know that Sergant Manes is involved.”

“Don’t we? He disappeared from the nursing home just before Michael was taken. It seems pretty convenient timing to me.”

Alex pressed his fingers under his eyelids to relieve the building pressure. It had been a long two days of nothing after he received the call that the psuedonmyn he had checked his dad in unrder was no longer a patient in the long-term coma ward in Sante Fe. The staff was calling it a miracle that just after a devoted son had prayed at his bedside, he had woken up. Alex knew it was anything but divine intervention to have Jesse awake and free in the world. 

“Isobel is right, this has Dad written all over it. Somehow Flint found out what had happened and woke him up. It’s been two days because I’m guessing he is still weak from the inactivity.”

Liz stirred from her claimed spot on the couch, cracking an eyelid. “What makes you think there’s going to be a demand, Isobel? Manes has what he wants, a new alien to test and torture. If you look at the research side of things, the aliens in Caulfield were all weak and elderly, and Michael’s a healthy 28 year old. Whatever fucked up weapon he was developing might need a younger test subject.”

“Now there’s a comforting thought.” Kyle muttered. 

“I don’t think it’s research. This still feels personal to me. Michael still has an offensive power to defend himself with, the softer target would have been Isobel if he just wanted an alien to grab.”

“Gee, thanks Alex. Come closer and I’ll show you what I’ve been working on and see if you think I’m still a soft target after I turn your skull into crushed bone.”

***

Alex’s fingers were numb, as he pressed in his code to access his Whatsapp account. Waiting in his inbox was an unknown number and a video attachment. He abruptly dropped into the deck chair as the video opened to his worst fear made real.

Michael’s left eye was swollen shut, blood staining from the corner of his forehead, dripping down his cheek bone. His arms were stretched high above his head, disappearing out of frame. His shirt was missing, and there were sluggishly wounds striping over his shoulder and licking across his collar bone. 

The camera turned, Michael blurring out of view. The monster that starred in seventy percent of his nightmares filled the screen. “Hello, Alex. I was hoping to keep you out of this, son, but this creature is being very uncooperative.” 

Off screen, he heard a weak, “Go fuck yourself, Manes. I keep telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jesse nodded to someone out of frame, and Michael screamed in agonizing pain. Long hiccuping gasps for air puncuated another softer, “fuck you.”

“Like I said, uncooperative. When we last saw each other, you had something that belonged to me. Jim Valenti stole it from our base, and refused to tell me what he had done with it despite my best efforts at persuading him.” 

Michael cried out again, choking on a soft sob. Alex forced himself to watch, drinking in every detail for his later plans. 

“With N-38 gone, I can’t hurt this thing the same way I did dear old Jim so I’ve had to get creative. Electricity just makes some of them stronger, but good old heat and sharp still work on them. We both know you can break its bones with enough force.” Jesse turned, pointing the camera toward Michael again, focusing on the dangling bare feet. “There are more bones per square inch in the foot, than anywhere else in the body. I am telling you this so you don’t doubt my resolve. This thing is relatively harmless for its kind, and I’m willing to return it to you in more or less good condition, if you bring me what Valenti stole. Let me know what you decide to do.”

The video cut off. 

****

There was an expected role to play, like there always was when Jesse Manes was involved. Once it meant peppering his speech with ‘yes sir’ and ‘sorry sir’ and toning down his clothing in hopes of escaping his fists, and when that proved futile, it went in the opposite direction with makeup, nail polish, and piercings.

For all of his proud talk about the service, his father never served anywhere but stateside. His knowledge of tactical defense and enemy counter measures were likely twenty years of date, and Alex was counting on his father’s pride from keeping him unaware of the technology shift. The set up of the Project Shepherd bunker confirmed that.

He tucked his personal side arm into his thigh holster, securing to his left leg and reached for his secondary weapon to slip into his boot strapped to his prosthetic. The weight of the kevlar and vest registered briefly on his shoulders before it slipped into the blank shroud that had enveloped him as soon as he heard Michael’s cries. Knives and a pair of percussive grenades weighed down each side of his pockets.

A floorboard behind him creaked, his gun cleared the holster before his mind caught up on who would have followed him to his cabin. It was a little concerning that the sound of a vehicle hadn’t registered until now.

“Whoa, don’t shoot.” Kyle lifted his hands, halting abruptly.  He took in the dark clothing, combat hardware and the array of weapons spread on the cabin’s table. “I guess we are going full cliche today, good to know.”

Alex dropped his arm away, resecuring his gun. “Then you know what I’m going to say already.”

“Humor me, then. This is a trap, Alex.”

“I’m well aware.” Alex flipped open a black case and pulled out his phone and laptop. Carefully he pulled out three silver discs, and a pair of jeweler’s glasses. He sat down in the chair, slipping the glasses on to peer down at the discs. “I’m going anyway.”

Kyle sighed, aggrieved. “Well I did promise Guerin if he got his ass kidnapped by the government, I would come to his rescue.”

Alex didn’t look up from his work, pressing a small pin on each disc. “You’re not going with me, Kyle.”

“I know this face is distractingly handsome, but tell me you remember all the time we spent on the range together as kids. I can shoot a gun.” 

“Shooting a paper target is different from shooting at a human being.” Each disc beeped softly, then went silent. He pulled the glasses off with a satisfied smirk, “Besides, I need you to come with the cavalry. These are military grade GPS trackers that I’ve linked to my laptop and my phone. Once my father sees I’m there without the piece of the ship, he’ll take me to Michael so he can teach me a lesson.”

“What makes you think your dad won’t find these trackers?”

“I’m sure he will, but I’ve got a back up plan on that as well. My father has underestimated me my entire life. He thinks I am weak, that my emotions and desires cloud my judgment. He’s going to see he was wrong.”

“Alex.” Kyle hesitated, struggling for a moment before taking a seat at the table. He gently laid his hand on Alex’s wrist, stilling the other man. “We all want Guerin back safe but I want you to consider for a moment that your father is right, that your emotions are clouding your judgment. Because what I’m seeing right now is kind of freaking me out, dude. You’re dressed from head to toe in black ops murder gear with GPS trackers, which I didn’t even know you could buy, talking about going in alone, guns blazing, against your dad.”

“I got them on Ebay.”

“That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?”

“What are my other options, Kyle? He’s got Michael. He’s had him for two days, and there is exactly zero chance he doesn’t want both the UFO fragment and Michael.” Alex wrenched his hand away,. He inhaled deeply and pushed down the swell of thoughts of what had already happened to Michael in two days.

“I agree, but back when I laid him out with barbiturates in our bunker, you and I had a discussion about killing him. I seem to remember we decided against that.”

“No, Kyle, you decided against it and I went along with it. Which was clearly a mistake. This has been a long time coming, okay? He brought this on himself when he took Michael.”

“I knew there was no talking you out of this. I just don’t want you to do this alone.”

* * * 

The lights were all on at the formerly known as Evans-Bracken residence, now just Evans. 

“You look like you’re ready to storm the castle.” Isobel commented, before pushing the door open and turning back into the house. “I still haven’t felt anything from Michael. He could be dead, and all of this would be pointless.”

Alex winced and acknowledged the point before pushing the thought down. “He’s not dead.”

“How do you know? Your so-called cosmic connection?” She sipped from the glass in her hand, the scent of chemicals wafted to him. It was clearly not water.

Gently he wrapped his fingers around her hand, guiding the glass away before resting it on the table next to him. “Maybe, but in reality, if he was dead, my father would have taken someone else as leverage and he would have taunted me with my failure to protect Michael.”

****

[ So as you can see it needs a massive rewrite to fix my characterization- but I still like the plot of Jesse taking Michael for the ship piece- especially since the show fumbled on this so badly in 2x10-2x11. ]

#oh man early hiatus fic has a feel don't it? #Anonymous

[docholligay]

Constants

Patreon release!! I was looking around for something else today, and realized I never felt this got the attention it deserved, SO. (I never did find what I was looking for. I lost some 500+ words. I am...annoyed at best.) It was sponsored originally by @amberlilly!!

Anyway you can see where this fits on the MAIN HON HON HON DIRECTORY 

“This had better be an emergency.” 

Pharah stood in front of Tracer at her front door, a very perturbed expression matching the middle of the night quality of her Calgary Flames shirt and flannel pajama pants. 

Tracer took it as a certain measure of the closeness she had Pharah had, whatever Pharah said otherwise, that she rarely felt the need to wear her arm around Tracer. Most people, Tracer knew, she’d have seen out the window, and quickly made herself what she considered ‘neat’. It didn’t matter that it was two in the morning, that was just who Pharah was. She’d quickly comb through her hair, slip her arm into its place, and toss a clean sweater over the top of her pajamas. Pharah was together, as a rule, and this was how she defined herself, and however silly it seemed given the lateness of the hour, Tracer had come to love Pharah as the uptight nerd she was. 

But it made her feel a particular warmth to see Pharah throw open the door, left sleeve empty, with her hair sticking up, asking Tracer what the hell she wanted. It was even more tender, to Tracer, that Pharah didn’t wait for an answer, simply left the door open as Tracer removed her shoes and flopped down on the couch, muttering that Tracer was very lucky that she hadn’t woken Mercy, if she enjoyed being alive.

Tracer enjoyed being alive very much.

“‘Ow do you define emergency?” Tracer flopped her shoes next to the door and shut it, ambling in behind Pharah with her chest puffed out in a false sort of casualness.  

Pharah looked at her flatly. “Medical responders are about to find out, if you don’t tell me what you are doing in my house at two am.” 

Tracer shrugged and sighed, pacing in front of the couch. “Em and I ‘ad a bit of a row. Not really, I mean, yes, really, she is cross with me, but I still think she loves me, think that’s why she’s so angry with me, in fact. I think. Yeah.” 

“What did you do?” 

She said it in a way that was not accusatory, as only Pharah could. She waqs looking for information, not blame, and somehow that made Tracer feel more under the microscope. A sense that she should not have come filled her, but where else could she go? 

“I--” Tracer looked at her, her eyes flicking back and forth across the room, across Pharah’s face, and Pharah cocked her head slightly at the shade of fear she saw in Tracer’s eyes, looking foreign as a polar bear in Egypt. 

“Do you need money?” Pharah hoped, moments after she said it, in the way she was often frustrated by her own bluntness, that she had not been too insulting to assume it. “I mean,” she intentionally softened her voice, “Angela and I would help you, with anything. I know weddings are expensive.” 

“Not that,” Tracer shook her head and slumped into Mercy’s beloved chair, “I--I can’t tell you, love. Why she’s so cross with me.” 

Pharah closed her eyes in frustration. “How do you expect me to help?” 

“Right, right,” Tracer stood up and rubbed her palms against the corduroy of her pants and grabbed the back of her neck, nodding, “Shouldn’t ‘ave come, love, shouldn’t ‘ave come, ‘ere I am bothering you at all hours of the night, and, I’ve no bloody intention of saying nothing, and if you keep things to yourself, you ‘ave to deal with them yourself, and that’s the truth, inn--” 

“Lena.” Pharah leaned forward and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it, “You seem afraid.” 

There it was again, the bluntness, but as annoyed as Pharah was with the way Pharah would be all the days of her life, Tracer only saw the kindness in it. In that moment, she almost told Pharah. That this was never how she saw her life going, how it seemed cruel and awful and how she’d done the wrong thing with Emily, to protect Emily but also to protect herself, if she was being honest, how Emily didn’t hate her and that made it worse, how Winston was going to be so angry. 

How she was, like Pharah said, afraid. 

Tracer smiled and squeezed her hand back. Not today. She wouldn’t tell Pharah today. She didn’t have to, yet, and so she wouldn’t. 

“Only nervous.” Tracer sighed. “I love ‘er, Fareeha. To be married in a fortnight.” 

“She will forgive you.” Pharah let go of her hand and leaned back into the couch. “There is nothing I know about Emily that makes me think she could stand to stay angry with you.” Pharah sighed and crossed her arm across her chest. “I have no idea why you refuse to tell me what it is you’ve done, and I won’t ask again. But I would help you, if you would let me.” She shrugged. “Many people would. You don’t have to be this way.” 

Tracer sighed and whirled around, throwing herself next to Pharah on the couch. “No one can ‘elp me.” She closed her eyes. “Just…’ave to get through it, is all. Carry on. All that.” 

Pharah looked over to her, trying to divine what could be bothering her. Tracer was so rarely bothered for any length of time. She wanted to say, that she and Tracer had been through too much together to be keeping secrets now. Tracer had saved her life, and she had returned the favor. They had built a new Overwatch, one that was becoming trusted again, and doing good, and recruiting. They had been tortured alongside each other, though they never spoke of it. What could be so terrible that Tracer had to hide it from Pharah? What could she possibly have done? 

“You make me worry.” Was all Pharah could manage, and she could not even manage to look at Tracer as she said it. 

There are three conversations, in this cozily decorated living room in London at two twenty-five a.m. 

There is the conversation Pharah is having in her head, where she tells Tracer that she is hurt by her lack of trust, that Tracer should know how Pharah feels about her, that after literally sleeping with the enemy Tracer was unlikely to come up with anything that could make Pharah hate her.  That she was good at solutions, and she was good at help, and she would take the opportunity to provide Tracer with either. 

There is the conversation Tracer is having her head, where she wraps her arms around Pharah, buries her face in her shoulder, and pours out all of her fear and anxiety and sadness. In this conversation, Tracer no longer bears anything alone, and she stands beside Emily and Winston and Pharah and all of the people she’s tried to protect with her silence. In her head, they love her anyway. 

Then there is the conversation spoken into the air, the masks that Tracer and Pharah both put on, the closeness they have to each other no competition for the roles they’ve played for so long. For their need to protect the other from things more frightening than any omnic. Tracer’s fear. Pharah’s sorrow. 

As much as Tracer could be less brave with Pharah, and as much as Pharah could be more vulnerable with Tracer, they could not do it in these pre-dawn hours, in the Zeigler-Amari living room. 

And so, Tracer grinned, shook her head, and laughed. “God, Fareeha it’s nothing like that,” She remembered herself, and bounced to her feet, “If I can convince Em to marry me any’ow, be nothing to worry about. ‘Onestly, won’t be a problem, I don’t think, a touch of dramatics in the middle of the night, is all. What I really need from you,” she leaned forward, still smiling, “is only to tell me it’ll settle. That it’ll be right, after all. And promise me,” Pharah noticed Tracer’s hands shaking as she said it, “promise me you’ll treat me all the same,” Tracer put her hands in her pockets, but did not let the smile drop. 

Pharah rose to her feet and tugged at the edge of her t-shirt, smoothing it against her stomach. 

“To change my feelings about you would be very difficult.” She did not meet Tracer’s gaze, but stuck her chin out resolutely, moving to clasp her hands behind her back and being forced to remember that the other was charging,  “If I am angry, or disappointed, you will have to trust that my...my heart will come back to you.” She snorted. “That sounded less flowery in my head.” 

Tracer’s eyes sparkled with gratitude, and she took a deep breath. “Thank you, Fareeha. Was all I needed. Sorry to bother you love, I feel everything at once, from time to time, takes me a bit to blow it off.” 

Tracer skipped over toward the door, kneeling to put on her shoes. The shaking in her hands had lessened, and she tied her shoes quickly before popping back to her feet and facing Pharah, who had shuffled back over to the door, wondering what she was going to tell Mercy about this very strange interruption of less than an hour, somehow feeling that she shouldn’t tell her about any of this at all. That it was a secret between them, though Tracer had never said. 

Tracer was not a secretive soul, and yet Pharah had no more clue why she was here than she had when she opened the door, if she were honest. 

“Lena--” Pharah touched her shoulder gently, and she turned to it, “Promise me someday, when this,” she shook her head and gave a small smile, “very likely stupid concern of yours has passed, that you will tell me what was the matter.” Tracer’s eyes searched hers, and she nodded, “We will have a laugh at your expense. You’ll owe me a beer, I think, for the inconvenience.” 

“Right.” Tracer giggled. “Bet you’ll think I’m daft, when I tell you.” 

“Tracer,” Pharah laughed at her own joke before she said it, “I think you are daft now.” 

Tracer grinned and leaned against the doorframe. “Know what that is now, do you?”

Pharah chuckled and scratched her eyebrow. “To my regret, I am beginning to understand the Brits.”

“Invented the language, we did.” Tracer clipped back, all the joy and comfort of the bickering patter between them filling the entryway. 

“Still in Beta, I think.” 

At that moment, Tracer leapt forward and hugged her tightly. Pharah felt the pure need of it, how whatever her face said, Tracer was in need of comfort, and Pharah drew her arm close around her shoulderblades, burying her cheek into Tracer’s hair. 

“Whatever it is, it will be alright,” She whispered, as Tracer gave a short sniffle, “You feel life very deeply. Things pass.” 

“They do.” Tracer nodded into her t-shirt. “They do.” 

“Remember.” Pharah pulled her back and squeezed her shoulder. “I told Mercy to leave me a handful of months before we were meant to be married. I told her I wouldn’t go through with it, and that she deserved better. She loved me anyhow. She had every reason to hate me.” 

“She didn’t.” 

“She didn’t.” Pharah nodded “And Emily is good, as Angela is.” 

Tracer wiped her eye and smiled. “We don’t deserve them, really.” 

“You deserve her,” Pharah patted her shoulder, “I am sure she is waiting for you. She must be worried. She loves you. Go to her.” 

Love is a strange thing. It grows with time and care, but that isn’t the whole of it. Tracer and Pharah’s love had grown like wildflowers in the manicured garden of Pharah’s very precise life, and it had taken her years to recognize that she appreciated the beauty of Tracer’s messy and scattered affection, its hardiness, and now she could not imagine Emily, or anyone, wanting to let go of that. Tracer could not have imagined how she would come to love the walls of that same garden, how she would grow stronger against them and cherish the strangeness of them against her own rambling nature. 

Standing in the doorway of the Zeigler-Amari residence at two fifty-three a.m, neither of them fully understood what the course of their lives would look like. There were ideas and fears and hopes and understandings, but there was no knowledge. To imagine what the future might be was to read ancient Etruscan, guessing at the signs and hoping it was the right way to go. 

But whatever Tracer couldn’t say, and Pharah couldn’t see, it hardly seemed to matter, overwhelmed by the fact that had been true for many years without either of them noticing: They would always love each other.

[suggahsweet]

20 for 2020 - Updated List

Having a baby amidst the Coronavirus pandemic has been an experience tho. And it means I need to update my New Year’s Resolutions because some of them just reallllly don’t or can’t apply anymore. I don’t know how long these resolutions will apply (if things get back to a more “normal” state I may want to update them again), but I think for at least the next few months, this is what I’ve got:

1. Shut off phone for 8 hours once a week: I use the phone religiously to track EJ’s feedings, diapers, and sleep. Sometimes when I’m nursing it’s the only form of entertainment accessible. The argument could be made that I should just enjoy the time with my son, but I spend about two hours a day at this activity, and I really enjoy reading on my phone while I do it. SO, the new resolution: turn my phone to airplane mode for 8 hours a week, with at least 4 of those hours being consecutive. This should allow me to use the phone for tracking and reading but also be free of the constant mind-numbing lure of Instagram/checking emails/playing endless Clash Royale games. 

2. No phone for first 30 mins of day. I honestly did pretty well at both of these first two resolutions for the first three months of the year. But staying off my phone in the morning now feels totally unthinkable. (See above re: tracking, reading, etc.) I do really enjoy the calming ritual of looking at the weather and pollen count for the day, looking at my sleep patterns on my Fitbit, checking in on my goals on League, etc. So I’m going to nix this goal entirely. Since part of this goal was so that I could go to God first and not get distracted, I’ll change it to - do devos 5x a week. This has been surprisingly difficult having an unpredictable baby around - which I knew it would be, by the way!! (I had one friend insist that “babies sleep all the time”, which, woof. We’ve had to alter our expectations on that one.)

3. Dedicate baby to Jesus. I am going to go ahead and be optimistic and believe this could still happen! I just sent an email to the church office asking how it works. 

4. Join a woman’s Bible study. Done!

5. Ask a friend to church. Again, with the specificity of this goal, going to hold out hope that this becomes a possibility before the year is out! 

6. Make a health tracker for all 3 of us. Done, and because we’re keeping distanced from others, praise God for His protection and safety, I really haven’t had to use it. Which is great, because I worry about every. little. thing. when it comes to EJ. Motherhood is an exercise in surrendering to God and living fully dependent on Him the way EJ is fully dependent on us! 

7. Get outside and walk for 20 minutes daily. I’m pretty proud of how I kept this up throughout my pregnancy and started back up about a week postpartum! Again, thanking God for great weather, an easy delivery and recovery, and an able body! 

8. Go to prenatal yoga 6 more times. I did this one, albeit modified - I did yoga using videos at home. 

9. Start running again post-birth. Done! 

10. Get back down to minus 140 lbs. Sadly, I had checked this one off on the one day I was like 139.8...but I’m back up. Significantly. And I don’t really feel like putting in the effort to lose it while I’m breastfeeding and pretty much always hungry. Sooo we’ll see what happens.

11. Eat less sugar (be mindful). Ha! May as well change this one to “bake more”...lol. In the spirit of being healthy and recognizing that food is one of my few great pleasures during this time period, I’ll rejig it to be - exercise three times a week. 

12. Go to a BBQ place with Johnny. Alas, no one is going anywhere. But I am going to change this one to have 8 date nights with jnils - works out to one a month from now until the end of the year!

13. Eat at Olive Garden. Done, and so glad I checked this one off before the borders closed!

14. Buy a better frying pan. Honestly, I don’t really care that much about this one anymore. But in the spirit of the kitchen, I would like to learn how to make my mom’s macaroni beef casserole!

15. Wear lip colour once a week. I kept up with this during the school year, but my face looks better with eyeliner and mascara, and lip colour is a waste if you’re wearing a mask! So I’m switching it to: wear makeup once a week. 

16. Buy new glasses and/or contacts. I would like to keep this one and see it completed because my glasses are old and my contacts are expired, lol. 

17. Buy and complete a puzzle. Done!

18. Read 60 books. I’m at 40 currently so I think I’m going to make it! 

19. See 10 movies with jnils. Whelp. I had watched two with him, and I meant in theatres. BUT, we did start watching through the Marvel movies pre-baby, and that is something I would really like to finish! So I’ll say watch all the Marvel movies, in order of release date.

20. Meet up with someone at least once a week after the first month of newborn has passed. Ugh. This was one I was really looking forward to. I looove getting out of the house each day, even if it’s just to go to the garden centre to pick up flowers or hang out with my parents, so I really think I would have done this one sans COVID regulations...but for some reason, I find scheduling FaceTime calls and Skype calls etc etc really difficult and energy-draining. Part of it is most people are still working and can only do them at night, which is witching hour for EJ dearest. So I’m going to do a complete about-face away from a social goal and go for one that is guaranteed to make me happy and not take away from my more limited energy resources, not that I don’t love my friends and family: Plant tulips in October! 

BONUS! Look into becoming a milk donor. I currently have about 80 ounces in my freezer and I think I could do it (you need 150!), but I don’t want to hold myself to it because then I have unnatural reactions to “wasting” my milk (like when I spilled an ounce of it today after pumping 3 and got really, really annoyed). I’m sending them an email today too! 

Overall, I’m really excited about revising my resolutions and almost feel like I should do this every year, baby/COVID or no. In any case, I am SO grateful that I and my family are all healthy and safe, and I pray that God would continue to protect us, and you too, if you’re reading this. :)

[shadedrose01]

Crushes and Cuddles

Ship: Parkner (Harley Keener/Peter Parker)

Summary: Movie night at Avengers Tower

Tags: Movie Night, Febufluff, snuggles, Couch Cuddles, Sleepy Cuddles, Platonic Cuddling, Romantic Cuddling, all of the cuddling, we love cuddles, Avengers Family, Pre-Relationship, Peter is smitten, Precious Peter Parker, Bisexual Peter Parker, Gay Harley Keener, Boys In Love, The Outsiders movie, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure

Day one of Febufluff: "Snuggles"!

--

Peter swings higher, pushing his body forward into a flip before he lands graceful on the metal balcony, the air puffing out of his lungs. He checks the clock in the corner of his vision one last time as he walks into his room, and grins. 7:28pm. Perfect timing.

Normally, Peter would still be out at this time, swinging around the town, helping old ladies cross the street, stopping robberies, saving lives, his usual routine patrol. However, today was always different. Today, Peter always cut his patrol short.

Today was Friday. Friday's meant movie night at the Avengers tower, and every second Friday, Peter got to join them. And today, this friday in particular, he knew (or, he hoped) that somebody else would be joining them too. Just the thought of it caused butterflies to grow in his stomach, and his heart to race, a big, goofy smile on his face as he rips off his mask and taps the spider emblem on his suit.

Peter changes quickly, knowing the others wouldn't wait on him if he was late, and rushes downstairs. As soon as the elevator doors open, the sound of hearty chatter and laughter rushing to his ears, the smell of buttery popcorn fill his nose and making his mouth water.

He can only take one step into the room before someone is shouting out to him, "Hey, shortstack! Thought you weren't gonna make it!"

He rolls his eyes at Sam's tease, strolling into the room, following the sweet, sweet, delicious scent over to the three leather couches surrounding a wide screen tv. "I'm almost as tall as you now, you know. And I wasn't that late! I was only-" he glances at the sleek black watch on his wrist, a gift from Tony for his birthday a few months back. "Three minutes late!"

"Three minutes too long!" Bucky chimes in, a shit eating grin on his face. Peter just rolls his eyes again.

The Avengers were scattered across the three couches, Bucky sitting in between Sam and Steve on the far right couch, the smaller one of the three, Bruce, Natasha, Wanda and Clint all sitting on the middle couch, the longest one, while Tony and Pepper were sitting on the last remaining couch, the far left one, similar in size to the right side. There was slight personal, polite spacing in between all of them, but Peter knew that wasn't going to last, not that he was complaing. So, he strategically chose to go sit beside his mentor, who wraps an arm around him as soon as he sits down.

"Leave him alone, you two," the older man states, ignoring the immediate whining of "always taking the kids side!" and "no fun!" coming from the two grown ass men sat across from them to put his full attention on to Peter, his face softening. "How was patrol, kid?"

Peter beams. "Good! There wasn't anything crazy happening tonight, so I just helped some people out. One lady locked her keys inside of her car, and only left the window open a crack, so I had to send out my renessant drone to swoop down and grab them for her. I helped an elderly man across the street! He was so sweet, and offered to buy me ice cream, which I totally would have accepted but I had just eaten my sandwich, so I had to decline, and then-"

"Can we watch the movie now?" Clint cuts him off abruptly, but clearly without malicious intent, just impatience. It was Clints turn to choose the movie, and he was clearly ready to watch whatever he chose. Peter wasn't offended, he tended to ramble anyways.

Peter smiles sheepishly as Tony rolls his eyes and waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead, drama queen."

As everyone settles in and the beginning credits for 'The Outsiders' starts to play, Peter glances around the room one last time and frowns, leaning into Tony, whispering. "Is Harley coming down?"

Harley. Harley Keener, the boy who had helped Tony fight the Manderin as a kid, who had finished high school early and moved in with Tony to start scouting out Colleges and Universities, who had caught Peter's eye the minute he had walked into the room for that first time, and hadn't left his mind since. The object of Peter's growing, apparently obvious affections, as literally everyone in the tower knows about his not so subtle crush except for Harley. And they all love to tease him relentlessly about it, much to Peter's embarrassment.

Now is no exception, if the twinkle in Tony's eyes is anything to go by. At least he has the decency to whisper it back to him so nobody else will hear. "He had to write an essay or something, said he'd be down later. Don't worry, Petey, lover boy will show."

"Not my lover boy." Peter grumbles, feeling his cheeks burn as Tony snickers beside him and turns back towards the screen.

It happens slowly, as it always does. Everyone starts to relax, sinking back into the cushions as they watch Ponyboy and Sodapop bicker playfully, the small space between bodies slowly slipping away. Wanda is the first to truly break it, her upper body slowly slipping to the left before connecting with Clint's, her head resting against his shoulder. He just slips a hand around her waste and pulls her gently closer before proping his feet up on to the coffee table placed in the center of all of the couches. After that, its like a chain reaction, everyone falling into each others space. Bruce lays against the armrest, his arms wrapped around Natasha who lies on his chest, her legs stretched out over the couch and falling into Wanda and Clint's laps. Both Sam and Steve cuddle into Bucky, Steve resting his head against Bucky's chest, arms wrapped around him tight while Sam just leans against him, seeming content.

Pepper, Tony and Peter were already sort of cuddling before the movie even began, but Pepper shuffles in closer to Tony, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he turns and presses one to her lips, and Peter takes a page out of Natasha's books, squirming out from under Tony's arm to lay across the couch, head cushioned by a pillow and feet pushed underneath Tony's tights, his toes warming up instantly. Tony glares at him lightly for breaking the moment, Peter just sticks his tongue back out in response.

It's about midway through the movie, Ponyboy having just bleached his hair blond when Peter hears the elevator doors opens, and soft footsteps pad out towards the doggie piles.

"Took you long enough, Keener." Tony teases first, head turning just as Harleys figure comes into view, and Peter's breath gets knocked out of him. He's not wearing anything fancy; in fact, Harley is in his pjs, wearing a pair of old red flannel bottoms and a ratty black t-shirt that's full of holes and stains from working in the workshop. His hair is messy, not combed and obviously just tossed back by his hands, and he looks like he hasn't gone out at all today, he probably hasn't. To anybody else, Harley probably looks comfy, lazy, but to Peter, Harley is stunning no matter what he wears, his beauty shining through whatever clothes he throws on, and he has to remind himself to breathe, looking away quickly before he gets too worked up, his face ablaze.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at him, smirking, but he thankfully doesn't say anything, doesnt point it out as Harley responds, "I had important shit to do, old man, you know that."

A chorus of "language!" rings out as soon as the words are out of Harleys mouth, the boys only response being a heavy sigh, sounding annoyed but with an undertone of amusement. The boy then glances around, his light, bright like a summers day blue eyes clearly searching for a spot to sit, and Peter feels a shot of anxiety, knowing that it was now or never if he wanted to put his plan into motion.

When Harleys gaze lands on him, Peter swallows his nerves and holds out his hands, putting on his best puppy dog pout while doing grabby hands, hoping, praying that Harley will get the hint. The older boy rolls his eyes at him, but his face brightens with a wide smile that causes Peter's heart to flutter, and he reaches forward to clasp his hand into Peter's, practically sending Peter into cardiac arrest. Peter tugs him over gently, Harley flopping onto the couch, his back pressed against the back of the couch but the rest of him is pressed against Peter, his legs tangling around Peter's, one arm wrapping around Peter's back, the other curled into his chest, still hand in hand, his head resting against the crook of his neck and shoulder.

"This okay?" Harley murmurs, his breath puffing against Peter's collarbone, and Peter's body is on fire, full of a burning warmth that wraps around his chest and leaves him breathless. He can't answer verbally, so he just nods firmly, wrapping his own arm around Harley's waist to hold him in place, a wide grin firmly placed on his face. He doesn't care if Harley only means this in a platonic way, if hes only doing this because everyone else is. He cant seem to care, savoring every moment he gets of Harley pressed in close, almost as close as possible to him, and trying to retain it in his memory.

Near the end of the movie, the day catches up to Peter, the heavy pressure and warmth on his chest soothing him into exhaustion, his blinks getting longer and longer as Ponyboy jumps into the burning church until he cant find the energy to open them again, giving into the tide of sleep that gently eases over him.

Peter wakes up to a message on his phone of a picture of the two of them wrapped around each other, Harley curled up to his chest and Peter pressing his face into Harleys hair, fast asleep. And a month or two later, when Peter finally confesses his feelings for the older boy, and the two start to date, the picture ends up being framed, placed on the small table beside Peters bed.

#febufluff #Febufluff #parkner #parley #harley keener/peter parker #harley keener #peter parker #avengers #avengers family #the avengers #fanfiction #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #marvel fanfiction

[pjstafford]

Random Thoughts

Hello, world, friend and family

I have been doing weekly blogs. Not sure anybody reads them or anybody cares. This will be my last one of this series. I have tried to be as soul searching, in depth, the good, the bad and the ugly with these blogs as I could be in the midst of a time when we are all experiencing the same thing in slightly different ways.

Today I have nothing earth shaking to say. I only have the random thoughts which pass through my brain.

Saturday New Mexico opens up with a lot of restrictions. My world will change little as I can work mostly from home and, if you can, you should. When I go into the office or out for supplies, I will go, do and come back home. Despite no change for me in the foreseeable future, there is a sense of relief and a sense of lightness. We survived for now. No one I love have been deeply affected yet. Those caveats at the end of sentences! I started this blog series with a list of all the emotions I was experiencing. I end the same but with slightly different emotions. Grateful, relief, hesitant, determined. I am the same as I have ever been. I have changed in so many fundamental ways.

The last two months are divided up into two different time periods. The first month I had this almost paralyzing fear...not so much for me but for mankind. I thought this could be the apolcalypse. It has not been to date. The silliest of some of my thoughts make me shake my head. I still have toilet paper. I’m ok with higher prices for meat...become more plant based, friends, move on. I was so often annoyed that first month with the time wasting. So many zoom meetings designed to “check” in and, guess what, I have real work to do. I’m not sure if people became more used to working from home or I became better at putting in boundaries at what I would do, but wasting work time not working has never been my strength. I am a person who likes to be helpful. The second month seems more productive. There is worth in my work. I’ve developed a pattern where my work day hours may be longer but less compact. I can work two hours, take an hour, work two more, repeat. The ebb and flow of work becomes mostly my own except for meetings I must attend which seem more relevant now. When the subject matter I’m dealing with is depressing I take more self care moments and then am more productive because of it. Those large projects I thought were vital sit unfinished. The projects I’ve done instead seem more relevant in the moment.

I gained weight I wish I hadn’t. Drank too much for a week or two and then realized I wasn’t enjoying it. It wasn’t helping me to sleep or relaxed so I went back to my pre crisis drinking ways. I was brave enough to dye my hair and I like it. I hate the thought that the more life gets back to normal the more I will have to wear shoes. It’s worth it, but it will be an adjustment. I haven’t binged watch nearly as much as I could have over the last two months. I found myself having difficulty concentrating. When I stream I am drawn to children movies about talking animals. I am hoping that won’t last. I have done no creative writing except a couple of poems. I’m hoping that will change. I have not been able to sleep well. I am often fatigue. I hope that changes as well.

I want to keep my zoom time meetings with distant friends! Those have been great. Can we actually spend three hours talking about X-Files? Yes, yes we can. But we manage to talk about many other things as well. I hope Drive in theaters make a come back! I’m sad about concerts going away but I kind of hope couch tours will be embraced by far more bands. Dylan is doing original music again and Duchovny has a new novel coming out. Art continues; perhaps is made better.

I marvel at human resiliency. We all have to wear masks, so let’s start cottage industries and make them a fashion statement. What do I really want to do that I know will be delayed? Get a pedicure, hug someone tightly, go to an Isotopes game. What will I do soon that will feel normal and glorious? In June when restaurants are reopen I will spend an hour with a cup of coffee in the presence of company I enjoy.

I am the same from this time. I did not lose my quirkiness, my oddness, my stubbornness. I did not become a clean freak despite my disinfectant frenzy moments. Those will pass in time. I am still an introvert who enjoy my solitude. Even now.

I am different. While I have always struggle with a sense of balance I am more determined than ever to keep that balance going forward. That lesson I blogged about a few weeks back of keeping the structure of a weekend still lives within me. I am fine with giving up a weekend day and gaining a week day, but the need to decompress and hear myself think is stronger within me now. I think I can live in the moment better. I think I can be grateful for the air I breathe more.

Larger picture focus?

People are so worry about kids having education. Can surviving a pandemic offer no life education for these kids? Must all education be in a classroom or online?The kids will be alright. Let them breathe, learn, grow. And give them an old fashion book to read and some open space to run. Watch them be a better generation that we can ever believe.

Isn’t it amazing how clean the air is right now? Seriously, can we consider how we commute. Eat less meat, my friends.

Can we be kinder to our workforce? I fear we will take advantage of those desperate for jobs, but consider how many of our essential workers are low wage employees. Can we allow a parent with a sick kid to work from home without taking PTO? Can we become more humane? Unfortunately I see no evidence that this is our future despite the lessons of today.

I hate racism. I hate it. Because I hate racism I hate Trump more than ever. I hate the way he says China. I hate him with every fiber of my being. I have never hated a human soul more.

And I have so many Dylan lyrics in my head right now. There is one for every emotion and thought. Same with David Duchovny Gifs by the way. There is no single thought or emotion you cannot find or create a Duchovny GIF for, if you are so inclined...I digress. I do that a lot these days. Back to Dylan

This man is a genius and an enigma. After 8 years with no original music, in the middle of the pandemic, he drops a 17 minute song about the assassination of President Kennedy. Isn’t that bizarre? But he has given us three original songs now and a new album next month. Whoever is doing his social media now deserves a hug. He is communicating and expressing himself to fans. I don’t feel worthy.

These words from from thirty years ago keep rolling through my head

I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man

Like every sparrow falling

Like every grain of sand

Those words are always true. They are not more true now than they have ever been. It is only that we can understand their truth more fully now.

Keep on keepin on, my friends.

[codename-bewareofthefangirl]

Hey hey, are you familiar with the TFS team from KnB? Can you make a scenario with this team please?? I love this team and I wish to see it real

Hi sweetheart! I’d never heard of this team before you told me, so I looked around. I found very little information about it, but I love it! Takao & Momoi’s friendship is one of my fave headcanons, they would rock. So, here’s a…thing? Absolutely self-indulgent and out of contest.

Have a wonderful day!

TFS Team (Takao, Momoi, Himuro, Kasamatsu, Mayuzumi and Kiyoshi), Slice of Life, Pre-MomoMayu, Bonding, References to other couples, Stupid Jokes, SomeoneSaveKasamatsuSenpai

 Bonding

“We’re here!” Kiyoshi’s loud voice echoed in the peaceful afternoon. He and Kasamatsu walked down the path of the park until they reached the tree under which the rest of team was waiting.

Mayuzumi was reading a novel, trying to shut out the, noisy, world outside. Momoi was seated with Takao’s head on her lap, as she chatted excitedly with Himuro.

“Senpai!” Takao waved his hand cheerfully, followed by the others. Only Mayuzumi decided to just nod in acknowledgment.

“Yo,” Kasamatsu curtly greeted, seating in the grass with them. In his hands, he had a plastic bag full of small treats.

“You’re all here!” Kiyoshi commented warmly, looking at them with fondness.

Momoi nodded happily, “I’d never miss a reunion!”

Takao grinned, “I’m actually surprised Mayu-chan came too, after his salty messages on the group chat.”

The boy looked up from his book and glared, “Stop with the nickname.”

Takao’s Cheshire smile widened.

“I bet he didn’t want to miss the chance to meet with our pretty manager,” he hummed teasingly.

The girl blushed furiously.

“Takao-kun!” she scolded flicking his forehead as the boy laughed loudly.

Mayuzumi’s cheeks reddened, but he remained impassible.

“I came for the free food.”

“I think it’s a lie,” Himuro argued with his fake, polite smile and Mayuzumi’s eyebrows twitched in annoyance.

“Didn’t you have to babysit the big purple baby?”

“Didn’t you have to serve your psycho emperor?”

“Alright brats,” Kasamatsu interrupted them before things went out of hand since Kiyoshi was laughing carefree at their bantering, “I’ve just arrived and I already want to go home.”

“Aw Captain, I know you love us!” Takao taunted, batting his eyelashes and grabbing the older boy’ sleeve.

Kasamatsu grimaced disgusted and slapped his hand away, “Do you want to get hit?”

“Kinky senpai!”

Kasamatsu nearly choked on air, eyes wide and cheeks scarlet with embarrassment. Himuro had to hide his smirk with a hand and even Mayuzumi snorted. Momoi tried to glare at his friend, still resting on her lap, but a giggle escaped from her lips.

“I’ll end you all.” Kasamatsu’s tone dropped to icy cold and all the boys in the group froze, internally debating if they had to stand up and run or not as Kasamatsu cracked his knuckles. Truth to be told, except for Momoi, all of them had been hit at least once by Kasamatsu, some more than others, and nobody was keen on experiencing it again; as Mayuzumi had cynically observed, the Captain’s sheer strength was probably the reason why Kise was so stupid: all of his neurons had been brutally killed.

Before Kasamatsu managed to kill anyone, Kiyoshi patted his back and put a hand on his shoulder to keep him down.

“Come on, Kasamatsu,” he smiled cheerfully, “We’ve other things to discuss today, I need them to be conscious.”

The others sighed in relief.

“You can chase them afterward.”

And then died inside.

“You’re the evilest one in this group…” Mayuzumi whispered frowning, as he imperceptibly moved away from Kiyoshi.

Kasamatsu seemed to ponder the offer and finally relaxed, resting both palms on the ground as he slouched in a more comfortable position. Still, he gave his preys a small, warning smirk.

“What are you planning, Kiyoshi-senpai?” Momoi asked, absentmindedly braiding Takao’s hair. Her face clearly showed she already knew, or at least imagine it, but wanted to hear if she was right from him.

“I’d like to organize a match against the Vorpal Swords next weekend, what do you think?” He explained, excitement showing in his eyes.

Mayuzumi cringed internally. He knew! He should have stayed home.

“Against Shin-chan?” Takao beamed, “Count me in!” He was wearing a scheming smile that made Kasamatsu grimace internally.

Himuro shrugged but behind his poker face burned a competitive fire.

“I haven’t played against Taiga in a while…”

“We’re not on their level,” Mayuzumi commented in his matter-of-fact tone.

“What,” Takao immediately replied, “Are you scared, Mayu-chan?”

“You still haven’t recovered from the last defeat against Kuroko?” Himuro rubbed it in.

“Of course not,” the boy bit back, adding colorful curses under his breath, “I’m just saying we need a good plan if we want to beat them,” he growled, before losing any animosity and turning to Momoi.

“We’ll be in your hands, Momoi-san.”

The girl brightened, clapping her hands, “Leave it to me!”

“Be careful,” Takao slyly smirked, “Mayu-chan would love to be literally in your hands!”

“Takao-kun!”

“Takao!” Kasamatsu burst, blushing.

Mayuzumi hit the boy in the face with his, heavy, novel, but the raven was too busy laughing his ass off to care. Momoi, with warm cheeks, pressed the book against his face as to suffocate him until he whined, rolling to hug her waist.

“Don’t be mean Momo-chan!” he childishly complained, burying his head against her stomach.

Mayuzumi felt the need to throw another book.

“You deserve it!” she scolded, trying to peel him off, but he chuckled, tightening his grip until she gave up, throwing her hands up.

“You’re impossible,”

“And still I’m your best friend.”

“Dai-chan is my best friend.”

“He’s the childhood best friend. I’m the smart best friend.”

She would have liked to argue but since it was actually the truth, she just shook her head exasperated, trying to mask a giggle.

“Do you like annoying people or being hit?” Himuro asked Takao, as the boy returned to his original position.

“Tatsu-chan, stop asking dirty questions when the Captain is here,” the raven innocently batted his eyelashes, “What happens in the bedroom is a secret between Shin-chan and me!”

“Oh for the love of-” Kasamatsu nearly combusted

“Disgusting!” Mayuzumi hissed, but only received a wink in reply.

“Okay, okay, let’s stop here,” Kiyoshi intervened suddenly distributing the sweets, “Eat and keep calm, okay?”

Nobody even got angry anymore when he used his parental tone, they all rolled with it and took the treat. If Kasamatsu was the Captain, Kiyoshi was the Dad of the team; it was a silent agreement.

“Kasamatsu-senpai,” Himuro asked politely, “Are you fine with the game? You have time?” His concern seemed sincere for once, so Kasamatsu nodded, relaxing his shoulders.

“Yeah, I finished my assignments for this month.” he explained taking a bit of chocolate, “And, if I have to be honest, I can’t wait to play with the brats and knock some sense into the Dumb Duo.” Kasamatsu clenched his fists with a tense, maniacal smile.

Kiyoshi could have sworn he had seen flames burning behind his friend.

“Oh?” Momoi raised an eyebrow and her eyes sharpened, “He has called you too?”

The others, except for Takao, who hid his mouth to stop a giggle, looked at the two confused.

“It was three in the morning. Three. In. The. Morning.” Kasamatsu growled, trembling from the irritation.

“Dai-chan directly crashed into my room. From the window.”

“Kise kept me on the phone for two hours. When I tried to hang up he threatened to call my roommates.”

“I had a test the next day!”

“I didn’t even want to know all those details about their love life! Why does he even run to me every freaking time?”

“I had to watch with him three basketball matches as he ranted on and on about their stupid argument.”

Kasamatsu and Momoi exchanged an understanding, icy stare.

Mayuzumi sent an interrogative glance at Takao, who mouthed “Aomine and Kise quarreled again.”

He rolled his eyes. Nothing new.

In the meanwhile, the two victims had reached a silent agreement. Funny since at first Kasamatsu couldn’t even look at Momoi without freezing.

“I want to beat their asses and make them feel my pain,” Kasamatsu admitted bluntly.

Momoi nodded, as serious as him.

“Don’t worry, you have me on the team. I’ll have you all crush them. Hard.”

Himuro felt shivers down his back and turned to Kiyoshi, “When she has this look, I think we could really win.”

“Yeah, that’s why I chose her,” Kiyoshi grinned knowingly.

“Then let’s go,” Kasamatsu, now fired up, stood up and stretched. Kiyoshi followed him,  literally emitting satisfaction and happiness.

“Where?” Mayuzumi inquired blankly.

“To train, Mayu-chan,” Takao jumped up, bouncing on his feet, “Captain needs to vent out his stress.”

“You are the one who causes me stress.”

“Not as much as Kise.”

“That’s not a compliment,” Himuro snorted and caught the ball Kiyoshi threw him.

Mayuzumi sighed and was already going to bitch about how he would have preferred to read his book, when a small hand entered his view. He looked up and met Momoi’s gentle smile.

“Let’s go, Mayuzumi-kun!” she chirped, still offering her hand.

A small smile escaped his lips as he took it, standing up next to her.

“Only this time.”

“You always say that,” she replied cheekily.

“Hey lovebirds!” Takao called laughing, already ahead with the others, “Come on!”

“Can I beat him?” Mayuzumi hissed scowling and Momoi chuckled, tugging his sleeve.

“Only at basketball, Mayuzumi-kun, only at basketball.”

#kuroko no basket #knb #TFS team #Takao Kazunari #Momoi Satsuki #Kasamatsu Yukio #mayuzumi chihiro #Kiyoshi Teppei #Himuro Tatsuya #Momoi & Takao friendship #Momoi & Takao & Himuro are the mean girls #someone save kasamatsu #kasamatsu is the captain #kiyoshi is the dad #mayuzumi can't take it #mentions of aokise #mentions of takamido #mentions of momomayu #slice of life #stupid jokes #basketball dorks

[lusilly]

streets of gotham: secret origins

finally a complete introductory fic for the Streets of Gotham 2 team: Colin Wilkes (Abuse), Ellen Nayar (Ember), Nell Little (Spoiler), Jordan Joyce (Jabberwock), and Niloufar Ghorbani (Seraph). (lucas comes later lmao)

Since Jordan’s got the most complicated backstory, xe has xyr own intro fic you can read here. The SoG2 team is featured heavily in Fiat iusticia and in Wheel in the Sky.

This fic was an exercise in Mark Waid’s advice on how plot is nothing more than setting upon which to hang emotion.........and that was Tough lmao. extremely unsatisfied with the ending. Relies heavily on story from Batman: The Black Mirror. Damian is about 16 here. My fav part of this is damian beating the shit out of a joker stan. Enjoy!

NAME:  Damian Wayne ALIAS:  Robin DATE OF BIRTH:  5 September 1996 (approximate) BLOOD TYPE:  O-  (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT:  BW, DG AFFILIATIONS: Teen Titans, Team Ember EVAL: [File Encrypted] NOTES: |Robin| Eval needs to be de-encrypted. Any information contained therein cannot possibly be worse than not knowing |Nightwing| Yeah thats kind of a dick move B. Lol |Batman| Notes are to be relevant to the file in question not a space for airing personal grievances |Red Hood| Im airing my personal grievances here just to spite you. You suck |Batman| If this continues I will remove editing privileges for all of you |Red Hood| You still suck Editing on NOTES is locked

----

           Damian got up early; patrol had ended before two AM last night, the city quiet and still in the early winter lull. A cold snap had settled across Gotham this past week, creeping in from the bay. Though it did not snow, the clear skies brought the temperature to well below freezing, which led to slow nights on patrol. The heat of summer pushed people outside relentlessly. The cold, on the other hand, made criminals lethargic and cautious, preferring to stay inside with their families.

           So Damian rolled out of bed around nine in the morning, the sunlight shining into his window through blinds he had forgotten to draw last night. The first thing he did was take his phone from its perch on his bedside table and scroll through any new notifications. Both Iris and Lian had texted him. He responded to Iris’s but not Lian’s, then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Not ten minutes later he was in the drawing room downstairs, where Titus slept before the great brick fireplace, which was empty.

           Damian patted his dog on the stomach, whistling through his teeth. “Come on,” he said, getting down on his knees and drumming his hands on Titus’s sturdy body. The dog lit up with energy, reaching up to lick Damian’s face, tail wagging furiously as he got to his feet. Damian scratched him behind his ears. “You ready for a run, boy? Come on, let’s get some exercise.”

           Alfred appeared, hot coffee in hand. “Good morning, Damian,” he said. “Taking the dog for a walk?”

           “Yes,” answered Damian, glancing around. “He’s been indoors too much lately because of the cold, he needs to stretch his legs.”

           “You too?”

           Damian offered Alfred a little grin. “Me too,” he agreed. “It’s slow out there.”

           “And here I thought that was a good thing.”

           “It is.” Titus bounded across the room excitedly, chasing his tail, ready for a walk. He started to paw at Damian’s leg, and Damian only held up one hand to indicate Stop. “Down. One moment, alright?” To Alfred, he asked, “Do you know what time my father got home last night?”

           Alfred gave sort of a shrug. “Not long after you.”

           “Oh,” said Damian. “When he wakes up will you tell him I’m heading to school later today? I’ve got an exam at three.”

           Alfred made a face of enthusiastic pride. “Your first university exam,” he said, sounding impressed. “In which subject, may I ask?”

           “Multivariable calculus,” Damian answered, kneeling down to rub Titus’s big head. “It’s simple stuff. A pre-req for applied math.”

           “Not finance?”

           Damian flashed that grin at Alfred once more. “I’m just testing out my options,” he said. “I have time.”

           “Indeed you do,” agreed Alfred, with an approving nod. “In any case, good luck and I shall inform your father as soon as he wakes. Which,” he glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway, and took a disapproving sip of coffee, “should be quite soon. He’s quite worse than you, isn’t he?”u

           Damian opened the French doors to the back garden. With a wave to Alfred, he said, “We’ll be back,” and he whistled for Titus to follow him, then took off jogging past the flowerbeds. Coffee in hand, Alfred watched him go.

           The morning was brisk, but Damian felt warm and alive underneath the early wintertime sun. Taking it slow, he scrolled through his phone, searching for an appropriate playlist, then tucked earbuds into his ears and his the phone itself into a holder at his bicep. Whistling once more at Titus, he took a wide berth around his vegetable garden, knowing that Titus was prone to digging around in it sometimes, upsetting his crops. From there he stayed close to the tree line, heading out across the Manor grounds. The route he liked to take eventually led to a field and a set of rolling hills littered with public paths; he preferred, however, to take a less intuitive path, slightly different every time and designed to get the most out of the slope of the hills.

           Damian took great joy in his morning runs with Titus: it was productive and refreshing and outside, instead of careful training in the facilities under the Manor, which, though state-of-the-art, could feel a little claustrophobic. It was good, he thought, to get out of the house for a little while, out from under his father’s watchful eye. This was the same reason why he’d been spending so much time with the Titans lately.

           Cutting through the edge of the woods, where the trees were sparse, Damian suddenly realized that Titus wasn’t following him anymore. When he glanced around, Titus was nowhere to be seen. He came to a stop and turned around, tugging his earbuds out.

           It was mostly quiet, except for the wind shuddering the tree branches. Damian whistled. “Titus!” There was no response. Muttering an oath under his breath, Damian jogged back down the path he’d just cut. “Titus!” he called again, searching between the trees on either side of him. “Titus, come!”

           His heart jumped as he heard suddenly a piteous whining, as if Titus were afraid of something, cowering in fear; with a little more urgency he headed into the woods, following the source of the sound. “Titus!”

           Off the beaten path, obscured by some low underbrush, the scene Damian found jolted his stomach, making him feel immediately sick before his well-practiced professional instinct took over. “Titus,” he hissed, approaching the dog, who laid whining beside the ugly sight. Grabbing Titus’s collar, he tugged the dog away, retreating to a nearby tree. Titus whined as Damian took out his phone, but Damian just said, “Sit. Titus, sit,” and the dog did so, albeit reluctantly.

           In Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne’s personal cell phone, which sat neatly in a charging device by his bed, started to ring.

           Bruce, raised his head groggily from the mess of sheets and limbs in which he typically slept. Narrowing his eyes at the screen of the phone, which displayed an close-up selfie of Damian’s annoyed face that Dick had assigned to his civilian contact, Bruce started at it for a moment before reaching out and plucking it off the charger.

           “Damian?” he said, masterfully masking his confusion.

           “Father,” replied Damian shortly, heading back to the path by the edge of the woods. “Did I wake you?”

           “I – where are you?”

           “A few miles away from home, almost at Brentwood. I took Titus for a run.”            This was not unusual, but it was unusual for Damian to call home halfway through. Unsure what was happening, Bruce began, “Is…everything all right?”

           “I found a body,” he said bluntly.

           Bruce’s eyebrows shot up. “You what?”

           “Well, Titus found it, really. It was sort of tucked off the main path, we never would’ve seen it had I not decided to loop around past the Kai estate. A boy,” Damian informed his father automatically, pausing to bark, “Titus, come,” before continuing, “maybe my age or slightly older. Wearing a Brentwood uniform.”

           “Signs of assault?”

           “No,” answered Damian. “Dead for a few hours now at the very least, but I can’t determine COD. Suppose we’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report.”

           Sitting up in bed, calm and alert, Bruce began, “All right. Bring anything you’ve gathered back here and we can look into it tonight. Good work so far but for now the best thing to do would be to call the police-”

           Damian interrupted him. “I already did,” he said. “Father, I’m sorry, I think you may be misunderstanding me? I wasn’t actually calling about the body, I’m calling to ask if you can come pick me up.”

           Bruce blinked in surprise. “What?” he asked. “Why?”

           “Because I already called the police and they’ll be here any minute, and I’ll have to act all traumatized because of the dead body, and anyway you know I don’t like civilian encounters with police without you.”

           This more or less made sense, but it wasn’t what Bruce had meant. “What do you mean you aren’t calling about the body?”

           “Oh,” said Damian, as if he hadn’t even thought of this. “Well. It’s by Brentwood.”

           Again, Bruce did not immediately understand. “So?”

           Almost apologetically, Damian said, “A five mile radius beyond campus limits…isn’t your jurisdiction, Father.”

           It hit Bruce then with the force of a freight train: he, like a goddamn amateur idiot, had ceded actual turf to Damian’s pet side team made up of Gotham natives and sometimes headed by Damian’s closest friend in the city, Colin Wilkes, who boarded at Brentwood Academy on a Wayne Enterprises scholarship. The agreement itself had been a bit of a farce meant to keep the team out of trouble, given the specific area the Batman had permitted the team as their responsibility was located in the richest neighborhood in Bristol County, slightly outside Gotham city limits. He had not imagined that any terrible crime might go down five miles away from a wealthy private school, but in retrospect, of course it would.

           “Damian,” said Bruce matter-of-factly. “I appreciate your loyalty to your friends,” he didn’t want to legitimize it by saying your team, and besides the Titans were more Damian’s team in any case, “but even you need to admit, this is out of their league.”

           “This is one dead body,” answered Damian skeptically. “If that’s out of their league, they shouldn’t be doing this at all.”

           “Well, perhaps that’s a fair point-”

           “No,” said Damian shortly. “It’s not. You wouldn’t have given Ember her uniform if you really believed that.”

           This was true enough, but frankly Bruce thought Ember was the only member of that team capable of joining the fight, and ideally he’d absorb her into the Batfamily at large before she got too committed to her own team. But this was not a conversation he wanted to have over the phone, so he shoved the sheets off the bed and said, “Don’t move for now, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

           “Will you hurry, please?” Damian asked, sounding bored and slightly annoyed. “I hate calling the cops.”

           Getting out of bed, Bruce reminded him, “You should be used to it, it’s half of what we do on patrol.”

           “Yes,” muttered Damian, hearing the distant wail of sirens. “But I’m not exactly in uniform at the moment, am I?”

           Feeling a little awkward at the reminder of the constant presence of race in Damian’s life which Bruce could never really fully grasp, Bruce assured his son that he would be there very soon. As soon as he hung up Damian sent him a pin dropped into a map at his location.

           Bruce arrived not long after the police; a detective was talking to Damian, taking down notes. Titus got anxious around people he didn’t know, so Damian had his fingers hooked around his collar, keeping him close. The detective – a rookie who Bruce didn’t recognize on sight – had a few questions for Bruce, then patted Damian’s shoulder reassuringly. Taking Bruce aside, he recommended considering having Damian speak to a professional about the trauma of the sight he’d just witnessed, and Bruce nodded in what he hoped looked like naïve paternal concern.

           Damian coaxed Titus in the backseat of the car, then got in himself. Titus hung his big head in between the two front seats, panting from exertion and excitement.

           On the ride back to the Manor, Damian mercilessly mocked the police. “Now, this is so traumatizing, but you’ve been awfully brave – for Christ’s sake, it’s like none of them have ever seen a dead body before.”

           “Well,” said Bruce fairly, “most sixteen-year-olds haven’t, Damian.”

           “It’s not as if it was violent,” Damian pointed out. “There wasn’t even any blood or anything.”

           “Which is…curious,” said Bruce thoughtfully. “No external evidence of foul play. Suicide?”            Phone in hand, Damian replied, “I already sent photos to Colin, he should be able to identify him and pull his school records. We’ll check for a history of depression or mental illness, but my gut tells me a Brentwood student wouldn’t stagger into the woods to kill himself unless it was going to be uglier than that.”

           Bruce nodded; this made sense. “Could’ve been an accident. Alcohol poisoning, or an overdose.”

           “I’m leaning towards overdose personally,” answered Damian, texting something on his phone. “Colin’s files should have any record of drug activity at the school. I’ll meet up with him and the others tonight and we’ll get started.”

           There was an awkward sort of pause. Bruce began, “You know, if you or the rest of the team ever require any help-”

           As the car came to a stop in the Wayne Manor garage, Damian shook his head, interrupting his father. “You’re micromanaging,” he pointed out. “I told you, they’re never going to get better if you keep stepping in and taking over their investigations.”

           “I understand that,” replied Bruce, turning the car off. “I’m merely remarking upon the fact that they lack experience, and therefore could benefit from guidance.”

           “Namely, me,” said Damian, watching his father. “I’m their guidance.” He waited for a moment, eyes on Bruce, as if expecting confirmation. Little tink-tink-tink sounds came from the car’s engine as it cooled. “Right?”

           Bruce began, “You already have a team-”

           “You have, like, four teams,” Damian countered. “Not to mention whatever secret society you’re funding this week.”

           “A murder is serious business.”

           “You don’t even know if it’s murder yet.”

           “If it were-”

           “-then you still wouldn’t be in any position to take this from them. Just,” Titus stuck his head forward again, whining, and Damian reached out to scratch his face. “Unclench, alright?” Damian asked his father. “I can handle this.”            Bruce didn’t reply to this, so Damian got out of the car and opened the door for Titus, who happily jumped out and followed him back into the house.

           Later that day, Damian drove to Princeton for his first college exam. He finished early, and called Colin on the drive home.

---

NAME:  Colin Wilkes ALIAS:  “Abuse” DATE OF BIRTH:  9 December 1996 BLOOD TYPE: AB+  (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Jane Brown LSW, Caseworker AFFILIATIONS:  Team Ember EVAL: Behavioral history of paranoia and violence in multiple foster homes, though likely a result of instability in childhood rather than pathological root. Experimentation by SCARECROW led to increased physical abilities through transformation which includes augmented strength (no evidence senses are affected) as well as moderate invulnerability. Venom appears to have had long-lasting effects on body chemistry despite its degradation.

Decent field skills complemented by extreme strength. Only cleared for patrol if transformed. hand-to-hand and weapons training negligible. Defense training and development of damage-resistant uniform necessary to compensate for tendency to take fire. Precision training vital for development of fine offensive skills.

NOTES: |Robin| Consistent attitude improvements since enrollment at Brentwood. Some instability with transformations likely due to a mental block, have seen improvement past 2-3 months

---

           “You’ve got to get a permanent HQ,” said Damian, in full Robin uniform, standing before a laptop computer in an empty Brentwood Academy classroom.

           “This is good though,” Colin insisted. “This way we’re close to the action, right?”

           “Well,” Damian replied, trying not to hurt Colin’s feelings. “Yes, though it really isn’t worth the lack of security or tech resources. Batman operates almost solely out of the Cave, and you know that’s a bit removed from the city.”

           Colin said, “I don’t have a house to stick a secret lair underneath, though.”

           “I mean, yes,” Damian admitted, nodding. “But the point stands. Besides, most of your team has trouble getting all the way out here. Spoiler’s bike can only hold two people.”

           “That works fine anyway, Jordan doesn’t need a ride.”

           With a long-suffering inhalation, Damian gently corrected, “Jabberwock, Abuse. Jabberwock. We use codenames in the field.”

           “Oh, yeah,” said Colin, clicking through some files on the computer. “My bad. Anyway.” He gestured towards the screen. “This is what I got so far.”

           “Aren’t we going to wait for the others?”

           “Oh, should we?”

           “Ideally, yes, we should. But if you’ve any sensitive information to share with me first,” he gestured at the screen, “by all means.”

           Colin hesitated for a moment, watching Damian. Then he began, “Well, you know how I was kind of sort of maybe dating Ethan a while ago? So it turns out-”

           “Abuse,” interrupted Damian loudly, holding up a hand. “I don’t mean – I meant sensitive information related to the case. You can call me and update me on your social life any time, so let’s try to avoid it while in uniform, yes?”

           A little hurt, Colin replied, “This is related to the case. The dead kid is Joey Fremont, OK, and his roommate is on the wrestling team with Ethan, and so a while ago Ethan asked me to go to one of the wrestling team parties after the meet, and I didn’t go ‘cause he was being weird cagey about us and I could tell he wanted to go as ‘friends’ and it was annoying because like I asked him out and everything so it’s not like he didn’t actually have like feelings-”

           Softly, Damian reminded him, “The point, please.”

           “OK, OK, so – Ethan heard from Joey’s roommate that he was dealing in some shady shit.”

           A frown creased Damian’s brow. “Define ‘shady shit.’”

           “Dealing,” Colin emphasized, as if that had made it obvious. “Like, drugs.”            This seemed a little far-fetched. “Joseph Fremont, seventeen-year-old trust fund baby, was a drug-dealer?”

           “Yeah. Some shady stuff.”

           There it was again, shady, Colin’s favorite ambiguous descriptor. Damian felt a migraine coming on. “We’re still waiting on the tox report,” Damian told him. “But it’ll be easier if we know what to look for. Do you know what he was dealing?”

           “Drugs,” said Colin.

           “What kind of drugs? Cocaine? Heroin?”

           “What the fuck, you think I know? I didn’t buy any shit from him.”

           This was going to be harder than Damian thought. “Do you know anyone who did buy it?” he asked. “Maybe Ethan, or someone else on the wrestling team?”            Offended, Colin told him, “Bitch, Ethan isn’t a fucking junkie.”

           “Right, since you have impeccable taste in guys.”

           “Wow,” said Colin, even more insulted. “That’s fucking rude.”

           Damian was saved from trying to apologize for his completely correct and true reading of Colin’s limited dating history by a knock on the window. “Cavalry’s here,” he said, heading to open the window.

           Ember and Spoiler slipped into the room. “We weren’t sure if we were supposed to use the door,” Spoiler explained. “We thought there might be cameras and stuff.”

           “Abuse disabled them,” Damian said. “And we’re far enough from the center of campus that security doesn’t patrol here.”

           “Oh, cool,” said Nell. She waved behind Damian. “Hey Colin.”

           Before Damian could correct her, Colin impressed him by chiming in. “Abuse,” he said, grinning at her. “Only codenames.”

           “Oh, shit, sorry!”

           “It’s OK,” murmured Damian, going back to the laptop. “Is Jabberwock coming?”

           “I haven’t heard from her,” answered Ellen, shrugging. “But I imagine if she was, she’d be picking up, um,” she gave a pointed pause, “you-know-who on her way over.”

           “Who?” asked Damian.

           “Voldemort,” said Nell, giggling.

           He looked around at Colin, expecting an answer. Colin made a beckoning gesture with one finger, and Damian went over to him and leaned in. “Niloufar,” he whispered.

           Damian pulled away, frowning. “Niloufar?” he echoed.

           Colin took great pleasure in going, “Shh! Codenames only!”

           “I don’t know who that is,” said Damian honestly. “Do they have a codename?”

           “Not yet,” answered Nell, taking a seat on one of the desks. “She said she liked Angel or something, I think.”

           “No, it wasn’t Angel,” Ellen said thoughtfully. “It was something Muslim I think. I can’t remember right now.”

           Damian hesitated for a moment, then said to Ellen, “Whether or not Jabberwock brings her, can you send me her information later? We’ll do a background check.”

           Ellen watched him for a moment, but beneath the scarlet mask her expression was indecipherable. “I can relay it to Oracle, if that’s what you mean.”

           It wasn’t exactly, but it would do. He nodded. “Now. Let’s get to business. Abuse, would you brief your teammates on the case?”

           Quickly, Colin got back to business. He did a decent job, though Damian interjected a few times with details that seem to have slipped Colin’s mind. Nell, in her caped eggplant-colored Spoiler costume, sat on one of the desks, whereas Ellen, her crimson-and-black uniform, took a seat, leaning forward over the desk thoughtfully. Her body language was tight and measured, inscrutable. When his mind wandered Damian found his gaze occasionally drawn to her, though it wasn’t really in attraction so much as curiosity. He still wondered exactly what she had done to prove herself to his father, who trusted her far beyond any other member of this burgeoning team.

           The specifics of the case were this: Joseph Fremont, seventeen years old, white male, five-foot-eight inches, approximately a hundred and ninety pounds, had according to his roommate never made it back to his bedroom on the night of November the thirtieth, and had the following morning been discovered dead one-point-eight miles away from campus. They were still waiting on the physical evidence, but Robin had called them all together tonight so they could hit the ground running. Colin’s revelation that Joseph Fremont might have been dealing was kind of disappointing to Damian, as it suggested that the kid might’ve just been sampling the product and accidentally overdosed. Not that he wished a murder had occurred or anything, but a good old-fashioned mystery would’ve been perfect training for the young team.

           When Colin told Ellen and Nell about the drugs, sparing them the details about how he knew, Ellen spoke up. “If he was dealing and there were no external signs of a struggle, don’t you think he probably just OD’d?”            “Perhaps,” said Damian, chiming in from his spot in the shadows behind Colin. “But we have to consider all the possibilities.”

           “What if his tox results come back positive for a shitload of heroin?” asked Nell.

           “Then we’ll rule it an overdose,” Damian told her, feeling like he was talking to a bunch of infants, “unless we find evidence that suggests otherwise.”

           “But what if it’s an actual murder but someone just like coerced him into taking a shitload of heroin so he died?”

           “That’s why we look into anyone who might have motive,” said Damian. “Even if this looks cut-and-dried on the surface, if there’s someone who would benefit from Joseph Fremont’s death, then we tug on that string. Tug hard enough, and something always unravels.”

           “The Fremonts are Wall Street money,” Ellen commented offhandedly. “I’m sure a lot of people would have motivation to target their family.”

           “Right,” said Damian. “Ember, you look into potential suspects. Colin, dig into the drug connection. Maybe something went awry with his supplier.”

           Nell asked, “What can I do?”

           “Stay plugged in to our contact in the coroner’s office,” Damian told her. “We need to know what killed Joseph Fremont. Until we have that, there’s only so much we can do.”

           “So you’re saying all we can do now is wait.”

           “No,” said Damian coolly, turning to Ellen. That blank red mask was starting to bother him, making it impossible to read her. “I’m saying you can look into potential suspects so we can get ahead of the game.”

           She watched him for a moment. “So you do think it’s a murder, though?”

           “I think it’s suspicious that our victim wound up two miles away from campus, in the middle of the woods,” Damian told her. “And I find it unlikely that no one knows any specifics about what occurred. Our job is to apply pressure until the cracks become evident, and then plug the leaks when we find them.”

           Ellen ran her hands down her long braid. “I think that’s a mixed metaphor,” she said.

           It wasn’t, though it admittedly was kind of clumsy. He ignored this comment, turning instead to Abuse. “I’ll find somewhere more secure to use as headquarters. In the meantime, collect your research. Remember to keep it all under secure encryption using the tech I gave you.”

           Nell raised her hand. Damian looked at her, then did a double take, then Ellen reached out and pulled her wrist downwards. “You don’t have to raise your hand,” Ellen told her.

           “Oh,” said Nell. “OK, sorry, but sidenote, are we allowed to use the computers you gave us for like, other things?”

           “They’re yours,” said Damian. “Use them for whatever you need. All of your encrypted files go to a drive that Batman and I can access, but other than that you can do what you want with it.”            “OK, cool,” said Nell. “I was just asking because I use it for homework.”

           Colin threw his arm around Damian’s shoulders, hanging onto his neck. Poking him in the ribs, he told Nell, “Just ask Robin for another separate homework computer, that’s what I did.”

           Though Nell’s eyes lit up, Ellen spoke before she could. Leaning back in her seat, she said smoothly, “I’m sure Robin doesn’t have the time to play sugar daddy to all of us, Abuse.”

           “No,” agreed Damian. “Fortunately Batman plays the part very well for you, doesn’t he, Ember?”            There was a silence so deep they could hear a pin drop. Damian felt belligerent and annoyed, and didn’t immediately regret the comment. He knew the grants and the scholarships and the job offers that had been extended to Ellen Nayar, and he didn’t think she had any right to sound so dismissive of his family’s generosity.

           Though Damian could not Ellen’s gaze behind her mask, she turned her head away from him first, indicative of breaking first.

           When she and Nell left, Ellen did not say a farewell to Robin.

---

NAME: Danielle Little ALIAS: Spoiler DATE OF BIRTH: 29 June 1997 BLOOD TYPE: O+  (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Rhonda Holmes Little, Mother (Contact) AFFILIATIONS: Batgirl (Formerly), Team Ember EVAL: Promising but untrained. Investigative instincts are excellent, but more practice is necessary. Very young and inexperienced, though a strong devotion to local community and neighborhoods is a good foundation for future efforts. Potentially a place for her in the Batman Inc. hierarchy whether as an official agent or otherwise.

NOTES: |Robin| Not ready for patrol |Batgirl| She’s just as ready for patrol as I was when I first started |Red Robin| Yeah cause that turned out so well |Batman| Notes must be relevant to the file in question or I will suspend editing privileges

---

           As dusk arrived the next night, Bruce sat in front of the computer in the Cave as Damian worked on some complex tech designs at the workstation below the computer hub. There was a comfortable quiet apart from the usual whir of machinery and fluttering wings of the bats in the eaves. All at once, the silence was broken by a gentle beeping notification coming from both the computer and Damian’s phone.

           Not a moment later, Damian was skipping the stairs two at a time, practically sprinting to the locker room area where his uniform was kept. “Oracle,” said Bruce, hitting a button on the panel before him, “get Jim on the line.”            Damian emerged, in full uniform except for his mask though his cap was only half fastened and his boots weren’t laced yet, while Bruce was still on the line with Commissioner Gordon. “I’ll look into it personally,” he was saying. “I’ll be in touch.”

           Bruce closed the line and turned around in his seat to look at Damian, who stood there defiantly. He pointed at Bruce with one accusatory finger, then began, “You promised-”

           Stoically, Bruce replied, “This could be very dangerous, Damian, and it would be irresponsible to let a bunch of inexperienced teenagers deal with something of this magnitude.”

           “You promised,” repeated Damian stubbornly. “You told me this would be our jurisdiction, and that you would allow us freedom to pursue this mission on our own time.”

           “Us?” echoed Bruce mildly. “So as soon as the mission interests you, it becomes us rather than them?”

           Rolling his eyes, Damian headed down to the garage below, where his motorcycle was kept. Raising his voice to be heard, he called, “I’m their leader, so-”

           “Ember’s their leader.”

           Damian stopped on the staircase, then went back up so he could look at his father. “I’m their leader,” he said again, offended.

           Bruce shook his head. “This team is designed to be closer to the ground than we are. You don’t have their experience when it comes to the city itself.”

           “I patrol the city every single night,” Damian protested. “I know it just fine.”

           “That may very well be true, but you still don’t have their urban expertise.”

           “Urb-?” Damian broke off suspiciously, watching his father. Then he leaned against the rail of the stairs slightly and asked, “Is this a race thing?”

           Bruce glanced around at him, an eyebrow raised. “A what thing?”

           “Are you being,” he paused, didn’t know what else to call it, so went with, “…racist?”

           “What are you talking about?”

           “Urban is just one of those dog whistle words that means people of color,” explained Damian; he was taking a sociology class at Princeton, and he’d just read a chapter of a book about this. “And since this team is mostly that, you emphasizing that their street smarts and inner city experience feels almost as if…” he trailed off, feeling suddenly uncertain under his father’s gaze. “I’m just saying,” he said, unwilling to admit his doubt. “You may want to…think about the way you talk about them, is all.”

           Bruce watched his son, surprised. Despite the fact that Damian’s words weren’t exactly flattering, he felt an odd stirring of pride. He nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I will.”

           There was an awkward sort of pause, and then Damian headed once more down the stairs. Though it was just barely dark outside, he took his motorcycle to the hidden entrance to the Bunker, where he did some minor rearrangements and set up what basically amounted to parental controls on the computers. Satisfied, he alerted the entire team that they would be meeting beneath Wayne Tower tonight.

           This time, Jordan and Niloufar were there first. “Ms. Ghorbani,” he said, holding out his hand to the girl in the headscarf, “a pleasure to meet you.”

           Niloufar shook his hand warily. “We’ve met before,” she told him shortly. “One time you and Batman saved a school bus I was in from tipping off a bridge.”

           When in uniform, Damian got comments like that all the time. Though a school bus falling off a bridge was far more memorable than most of the everyday encounters he had with citizens of Gotham, it still didn’t ring a bell. “That sounds like us,” he told her, with a killer smile. She just watched him suspiciously.

           Jordan, who had been using her powers of flight constantly since they manifested, floated near the low ceiling of the Bunker. “I don’t like it in here,” she said. “Feels cramped.”

           “It’s merely temporary, Jabberwock,” Damian informed her, heading to the computer. “It’s not an ideal location for your team, but I needed some place with the technical capabilities to fill you in completely on the status of your mission.”

           “Our mission?” Jordan echoed. “You mean the dead kid from Brentwood?”

           Damian nodded, typing something into the computer. “Joseph Fremont.”

           Niloufar asked, “Is this about the results from the tox report?”

           The file on the computer unopened, Damian stopped and turned around to face her. “What do you know about the tox report?” he asked her.

           “I’ve heard things,” she said shortly.

           He eyed her, then began, “How do you-?” but before he could finish, the doors to the garage opened and Ellen arrived with Nell and Colin.

           “Hey,” said Nell breathlessly, her laptop underneath her arm. “I might have to leave early, I have a lot of homework to do.”

           “That’s fine,” Damian said, looking past Niloufar and Jordan at her. “There’ve been some new developments in the case and I just need to make sure we’re all on the same page about it.”

           “Hey,” said Jordan, floating upside-down, her ponytail hanging down from the back of her head, “I have a question.”

           Suppressing a roll of his eyes, Damian looked at her. “Yes?”

           “This kid OD’d, right?”

           “Yes,” repeated Damian, “and I’m about to get into the specifics of what exactly he-”

           “But like. Why should we care about him?”

           The silence that followed this comment deepened considerably, broken only by the hum and whir of the high tech machinery surrounding them. “Jabberwock,” he said, “if you have to ask that question, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

           Before Damian had even finished this sentence, Jordan was shaking her head. “No,” she said. “I mean like, specifically him. There’s a dozen cases of this same thing every day on my block, and no one’s investigating that shit.”

           Damian explained, “This death occurred in your team’s jurisdiction-” but Ellen interrupted him.

           “She has a point,” she said, glancing at Damian. “It does seem a little biased that we suddenly care about an overdose as soon as it happens to a rich white kid. And I have wondered before why Batman decided we don’t get jurisdiction,” she framed it in air quotes, “over our own neighborhoods, especially because Jordan’s right, this kind of thing happens all the time in the city.”

           “OK,” said Damian, trying very hard to exercise patience, “well. When one of your neighbors overdoses on recreationally-developed Joker Venom, then perhaps we can look into that.”

           A frisson of excitement went through the Bunker, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Joker Venom?” echoed Colin, sounding almost delighted. “Joey got offed by the Joker?”

           “No,” said Ellen, a slight frown on her face. When she watched Damian as intently as she was doing now, he could almost tune out the scar, imagine exactly what she might look like without it. “Robin said – recreationally-developed? You think this kid was using Joker Venom to get high?”

           Damian nodded. “It gets worse.”

           Seated at one of the specimen analysis desks, her laptop computer already open, Nell asked, “How could it get worse than the Joker?”

           Damian pulled something up on the computer screen. “A few years ago – back with the previous Batman – there was a case that involved a drug called diaxamene which was reverse-engineered to attack the part of the brain which controls emotion, blunting the ability to feel empathy.”

           “Turn them into sociopaths,” Jordan said, sounding almost impressed.

           “Psychopaths,” Damian corrected. “But, yes. Essentially.”

           “Diaxamene,” echoed Niloufar, her gaze far away behind her thick glasses. “That sounds familiar. Didn’t it have something to do with a baby formula recall?”

           Clearly surprised that Niloufar knew this, Damian stopped short and looked around at her. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “The perp claimed to have dosed baby formula, though no evidence could confirm this. There was a recall just in case, though, which led to a shortage.”

           “Yeah, I remember,” said Niloufar, nodding. At Damian’s curious look, she finally added, “My younger brother was a baby at the time. I remember formula got really expensive.”

           Without replying to this, Damian nodded, then looked at her for a moment longer.

           Then he returned to the computer screen. “It looks like small amounts of Joker Venom were added to the reverse-engineered diaxamene. Because Joker Venom produces effects similar to psychopathy before resulting in death, diluting it with the diaxamene can reproduce the same feeling while decreasing its lethality.”

           “He still died, though,” Nell pointed out.

           Damian nodded. “It’s called an overdose for a reason, Spoiler.”

           “Oh,” she said. “Right.”

           “The modified diaxamene is a pharmaceutical, though,” said Niloufar, considering this. “It’s supposed to function long-term, not for a temporary high.”

           “Exactly,” said Damian. “For a young person like Joseph Fremont, the mild Joker Venom would have a slight narcotic effect while the diaxamene, if he even knew it was part of the drug, would be – nothing more than a placebo. At first.”

           Ellen nodded. “So what his death tells us,” she began, “is that this drug is on the market. That people are using it, and the more they use it, the more psychopathic they become.”

           “Yes,” said Damian, feeling an odd rush of pride at how quickly the team put this together. “That’s the real problem here. Someone’s pulling the same stunt as the baby formula plan, but aging up their demographic.”

           “Why not cut it with coke?” asked Jordan, seriously. “Or dope or something?”

           “’Cause it’s Joker Venom,” Ellen said, looking over at her as if this were obvious. “It has sex appeal.”

           Nell giggled, and Colin asked, “What about the Joker says sex appeal to you?”

           “Ember’s right,” said Damian, shutting the others up. “How many of you have seen firsthand some result of the Joker’s crimes?”

           Everyone except for Niloufar raised their hand without hesitation, but Niloufar eventually followed suit, making a noncommittal kinda sorta gesture with her hand.

           “Joseph Fremont never lived in the city,” Damian continued. “If you live in the wealthy suburbs your whole life, the Joker is something of a myth, and as a result anything with some proximity to him has a certain thrill to it – like forbidden fruit. It’s the perfect new drug to introduce to a privileged private school like Brentwood.”

           “Plus rich white boys are already a little psychopathic,” Jordan added.

           Damian decided to give her that one. “And that.”

           Despite this, Ellen didn’t seem fully satisfied. “But no one bothers to do a full tox report on a bum who OD’d in an alley in Midtown,” she pointed out. “This drug could be way more rampant than we thought.”

           Considering this, Damian answered, “True, but we haven’t seen the resultant wave of crime or violence you’d expect from that.”            “That’s assuming the drug has been out there for long enough. And Gotham streets are always full of crime and violence. How would you be able to tell the difference?”            He shook his head. “There’s no difference on patrol.”

           “You haven’t been on patrol all that often lately, though,” Colin said fairly, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You’ve been with your other team a lot.”

           Inwardly, Damian cursed Colin’s lack of filter. Ellen’s eyebrow cocked, but it was Nell who asked, “What other team?”

           Jordan grinned at him. “Are you cheating on us, Robin?”

           “It’s the Teen Titans,” he said stoically. “Yes, I am frequently away with them. But Batman and Oracle keep a careful record of nightly criminal activity, which has not shown any major spikes lately.”

           “What’s Superboy like?” asked Jordan, legs crossed, sitting in air. “Just like a mini Superman?”

           Chris was in fact very dissimilar to his adoptive father, so Damian replied, with a hint of annoyance, “No, actually. Now if we can get back to business-”

           “What about Arsenal?” asked Nell, from her computer. “She seems cool.”

           With a knowing grin, Colin added, “Not as cool as Impulse, huh, Robin?”            Damian shot him a dirty look. “Let’s try to focus, shall we?”

           “Ohh,” said Nell, laughing. “Wait, Robin, is she your girlfriend?”

           For fuck’s sake. As he opened his mouth to shut this down for good, Ellen mercifully came to his rescue. “Come on,” she said, sounding sympathetic. “Don’t tease him, Spoiler, that’s mean.”

           Which, naturally, set his blood boiling again. “Ember, please,” he told her. “It’s fine. Now. Back to the case?”

           She gave him a wry, enigmatic smile, but nodded all the same, gesturing for him to continue.

           His face felt warm, and he felt stupid for allowing himself to feel even the slightest bit self-conscious. “Some excellent thinking happened tonight, team, so thank you for that. Now that we all know where we stand, it’s time to get serious about this case.”

           Doubtfully, Colin asked, “We weren’t serious until just now?”

           “I mean we have a lead,” said Damian quickly. “That’s all. Niloufar, Jabberwock, I want you two looking into other recent overdose cases throughout the city, see if we’re missing something.”

           “Seraph,” said Niloufar.

           Damian blinked. “I’m sorry?”

           “Seraph,” repeated Niloufar. “That’s my codename. I mean, it was Hafaza, but then we figured that was a little harder for people to remember and the key to a good codename is its memorability, right? Like, branding.” She paused, a little awkward. “So. Seraph.”

           He watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Seraph, then. Usually the codename is accompanied by a uniform, though.”

           Apologetically, she admitted, “I’m probably not…super useful in the field.” At Damian’s expressions, she explained, “I failed P.E. last year.”

           Damian only had the vaguest notion what P.E. was, but he waved it aside. “Fine,” he said. “If you do need a uniform, Batman and I can help. Abuse,” he said, turning to Colin. “Have you dug up anything else at Brentwood?”

           Colin shook his head. “Not really? I think Joey’s roommate was clean, actually. He wasn’t dealing anything hard, just weed. I lit up with him the other day and he told me everything. He’s kind of fucked up over it actually, it’s kind of sad.”

           “Great,” said Damian. “Generally I would request that you try to avoid partaking in illicit substances, but otherwise, sure.”

           “Robin,” said Jordan, with a grin. “C’mon. It’s just weed.”

           “OK,” said Damian, ignoring this. “Keep pushing, Abuse. If you need backup, call me.”

           “Or me,” offered Niloufar. When Damian glanced at her, she added, “I go to Brentwood too. So I can help with that.”

           This was a relief; Colin was competent enough in the field, but his investigative work was still spotty. Damian had been considering an undercover mission in Brentwood himself to get the intel they needed, but if Niloufar also attended the school then she might be able to bolster Colin’s mission. “Perfect,” he said. “Seraph, you get double duty – work with both Jabberwock and Abuse.”

           Niloufar practically glowed at the extra responsibility.

           “Ember, Spoiler, you’re going to be investigating the Joker connection,” he continued. “Ember, I understand you have some familiarity with Arkham? This is your chance to demonstrate that. Meanwhile, I’ll-”

           Just then, he realized Nell’s hand was up in the air again.

           “Spoiler,” he said tiredly. “I’ve told you this a dozen times, you don’t need to raise your hand to ask permission to speak.”            “Oh,” she said, lowering her arm. “Sorry! I didn’t want to interrupt.”

           “It’s fine,” Damian told her, waving this away. “What is it?”

           “Would it be possible for me to sit this one out? I’m failing geometry.”

           Damian blinked at her. “You’re failing what?” he asked.

           “Geometry,” she repeated. “Tenth grade math.”

           Damian, who had mastered geometry when he was seven, felt suddenly and abruptly out of his depth. “Oh,” he said. “Yes, of course. That’s fine. All of you, never hesitate to tell me if you feel like you’re taking on too much. It’s fine. Civilian responsibilities come first.”

           There was an awkward sort of pause.

           Then he restarted, “Ember, I suppose that means I’ll be with you. We’ll also look at the previous case regarding diaxamene, but I’ll need a few days to round up my resources on that. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.”

           “Fine,” said Ellen. “Anything else you need to update us on?”

           Thoughtfully, Damian looked back at the screen. “No, I don’t think so. We’re dealing with a high tech trafficking ring by the docks again so if any of you find any unfamiliar weaponry or anything let me or Oracle know. Oh,” he said, turning around to face them again. “And I suppose I should warn you about something.”

           They all leaned in a little, as if intrigued by the hint of danger.

           Almost regretfully, Damian informed them all, “Batman is likely going to try and edge in on this case. He takes everything involving the Joker very personally, so I can almost guarantee he’ll try to take over. At the very least he’ll try to insert himself in an observational role.”

           “That’s not so bad,” countered Jordan. “Batman’s welcome to observationally roll me whenever he likes.” Colin laughed, obviously in agreement.

           Damian tried to keep his expression level. “My point is,” he restarted, “this is your mission and you all can take care of it perfectly well without his help. Don’t let him take this one from you.” He paused, looking around at them. “So. We’re all clear?”

           “Super clear,” agreed Colin. “I’m gonna head back to school and get a jump on this.”

           “Hold on,” said Niloufar, her gaze swiveling around towards him. “That’s not fair, I don’t board at school so I won’t be able to help out until tomorrow.”

           “Um, I just said get a jump on it,” Colin pointed out. “I didn’t say I’d solve absolutely everything so you don’t have anything to do.”

           “Abuse is right,” added Damian. “He can probably get a lot more done after hours than you can during classroom time. I’m sure he’ll fill you in on any developments in the morning.”

           Niloufar shot a glare towards Colin, but he shrugged and relented. “Yeah, for sure.”

           “We’ll get started, then,” said Jordan. “If we find anything out we’ll ping you or share it on the vigilante cloud or whatever.”

           “Thank you,” said Damian, as Jordan and Niloufar began to leave. “Good luck.”

           After them Colin headed out to return to Brentwood and Ellen, the only one of the team cleared for patrol on her own, also took off. Damian went over to where Nell still worked on her laptop. “If you need a tutor,” he said, peering over her shoulder, “I’m happy to help.”

           “You kind of already are,” she told him distractedly, focused on her work.

           He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

           Glancing at him, she explained, “I’m going to the Neon Knights center in my neighborhood for tutoring, so it’s cool. I guess I meant your family’s already helping out.”

           Damian stared at her for a moment. Though he knew rationally that the entire team had enough information at this point to deduce Batman’s identity and therefore his own, it was still a new and unfamiliar feeling, like danger. It set him on edge, despite the fact that they never would have let Nell or the others into the game in the first place if they didn’t trust them enough to be discreet.

           “Sure,” he said, straightening up. “Though I shouldn’t have to remind you not to talk like that when we’re in uniform.”

           This seemed to confuse her, as she finally took pause to glance up at him. “But…nobody’s here.”            “I know, but it’s a matter of developing a habit. If the mask is on,” he pointed to his face, “then I’m Robin. Only Robin. Do you understand me?”

           She nodded. “I got you.”

           “Good.” He hesitated, then added, “If you’d like you can stay here to do your work. I can program everything to shut down and lock up after you leave.”            This too drew her gaze away from the computer. She looked at Damian with big eyes, surprised and a little touched. “Wow,” she said. “For real? That would be super great.”

           “OK.” He shrugged, feeling a slight twinge of self-consciousness he normally only felt around Iris. He tried to push that out of his mind. “It’s no problem. And again, let me know if you need help.”

           “Yeah,” she said, beaming at him. “I will.”

---

NAME: Jordan Aguilar Joyce ALIAS: Wonder Girl / Jabberwock DATE OF BIRTH: 17 March 1995 BLOOD TYPE: B+ (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Maya Aguilar, Sister (Contact) AFFILIATIONS: Wonder Woman, Team Ember EVAL: Flight, augmented senses and strength from Themysciran heritage. Will follow-up with Diana. Deeply resistant to authority, but loyal to team. Need to develop discipline before regular patrol is instated.

NOTES: |Robin| Wonder Girl should not be listed as an alias nor WW under affiliation. Jordan has made it clear where she stands where it comes to the Amazons |Black Bat| Shes nice |Red Hood| How come cass doesnt get the Relevent to File in question spiel |Red Robin| Cause shes the favorite |Black Bat| :)

---

           “So Abuse and Seraph managed to get a lead on the Brentwood supplier – turns out a few of the older boys had been recruited by someone called the Dealer.”

           “Not very creative,” replied Ellen through her commlink, peering down at the city from the corner of a tall roof.

           “Yes,” answered Damian, “particularly because we dealt with someone using that name a few years ago, around the same time as the diaxamene case. In fact, the man who reverse-engineered the diaxamene actually bought outdated Joker Venom from the Dealer.”

           “Oh,” said Ellen, a little taken aback. “Then – that should sort of blow the case open, right? It’s the same guy.”

           “Impossible,” said Damian grimly. “The man in question has been locked up in a mental facility for years.”

           “In Arkham?”

           “No. I believe it’s somewhere in Chicago, far away from here. Besides, the version of the Joker Venom found in this new drug isn’t old or decayed at all, it’s very new, something we haven’t quite seen before, impossible to build up a resistance to. Enough of it would probably poison even the Joker himself.”

           “If our guy can reverse-engineer a prescription drug, I’m sure he could figure out how to update Joker Venom. And if he’s not at Arkham why are we even going there in the first place?”

           “Because,” Damian answered shortly, “sometimes you have to play with vermin to sniff out a rat.”            This was cryptic and annoying, and beneath her mask Ellen rolled her eyes. “OK. I can meet you there in an hour if-”

           “No need,” he said, just as the sleek and quiet hum of an energy-efficient stealth motorcycle came buzzing down the alley beneath the building on which Ellen stood. Robin stopped the bike, got off, and waved at her.

           She let out a sigh, then made her way down on the fire escape, jumping the last few feet. “How did you know where I was?” she asked, as he got back onto the motorcycle.

           “The tracer Batman put in your suit,” he answered; when she gave him a look, refusing to get on the bike with him, he grinned a little and added, “I’m kidding. But only a little. When you’re on a direct line, Oracle can pinpoint your location. If you toggled a private line or turned off your commlink, we’d lose you.”

           “Wouldn’t want that,” muttered Ellen, finally relenting and climbing onto the back of the motorcycle, behind him. She sat further back than was entirely necessary.

           They went most of the way in relative silence. They’d worked enough together – Damian had spent enough time training with her – that it wasn’t particularly awkward, but there was an odd degree of discomfort that neither of them were used to. When they made it to Arkham, stowing the bike in the woods behind it, Damian asked, “That reminds me, when are you going to get a motorbike of your own? You can’t rely on rides from Spoiler and Abuse and me forever.”

           “I don’t have my license,” she explained. She wanted to add, And I can’t afford one, but she knew that he would offer and insist and that would be unfortunate.

           “Oh,” said Damian, as if this hadn’t occurred to him. “Well. You don’t really need one, in our line of work.”            “Thanks,” she said, though her smile was not visible beneath her mask. “But I’m already toeing the line as is. I’d prefer to break as few laws as possible.”

           “She says,” he added, grinning slightly as they headed towards Gotham, “as we break into a private mental facility in order to interrogate a patient.”

           “He’s a criminal,” she replied smoothly. “Not a patient.”

           Damian shrugged. “They all are.”

           This wasn’t true, and Ellen wanted to fight him on it, but this wasn’t the time or the place. With the help of Robin’s gadgets and expertise, making it into Arkham was easier than it had ever been for Ellen – he did it with such nonchalance and finesse that it seemed positively casual for him. That sort of annoyed her.

           They made it to the Wayne Ward, which is where the most dangerous criminals were held, cut off from the rest of the world by thick steel doors. Somewhere in one of the cages, someone sang a children’s song. “Little Bunny Foo-Foo, hopping through the forest…”

           Another inmate moaned, “Shut the fuck up.”

           Damian brought her to an unmarked cell that looked no different from any of the others, and put his hand on the door, behind which the Joker still sang. “Scooping up the field mice and boppin’ them on the head…”

           Quietly, he asked, “You ready?”            She nodded, but didn’t speak. Looking away from her, he punched a series of numbers into the keypad by the door, and it slid open.

           He gestured for her to enter, and she did. He followed behind her, and the steel door clanged behind them.

           A pale man in an Arkham uniform sat cross-legged facing the wall across from them. “Down came the good fairy, and she said…”

           “Joker,” said Damian.

           The Joker’s head lolled back on his shoulders, his dirty green hair hanging down from his scalp. He did not look around.

           “Ah,” he began, his voice sickly sweet. “It’s my second-favorite little birdie. You’d be third favorite,” he said, almost reasonably, “but the dead one came back, and that’s no fun.”

           “Joker,” repeated Damian. “What do you know about a new version of your Venom?”

           Though he still did not turn around, the Joker made an unpleasant sound in the back of his throat, as if displeased. “None of that faker stuff. I’m no street corner dealer, little Robbie! I only have big plans, big shows, big-” he threw out both arms theatrically; in his left, he held a crowbar stained with blood, “-drama.”

           Without hesitating, Damian moved forward and grabbed hold of the crowbar, kicking in the Joker’s elbow as he did so. As Damian inspected it, the Joker started to laugh, then collapsed and rolled around on the floor so he was facing the door.

           “Where’d you get this?” asked Damian stoically, raising the crowbar.

           “Beirut,” answered the Joker.

           Damian shook the crowbar. “Whose blood is this?”

           “Yours,” answered the Joker. “Robin’s. Doesn’t matter which one, best not to get attached,” he looked past Damian, as if addressed Ellen directly, “they’re just gonna break your heart and move on. They always do.”

           Uncertainly, Ellen glanced at Damian, who only stared at the Joker.

           He raised the crowbar, and hit the Joker across the face with it. Again, the Joker laughed. “What do you mean that fake stuff?” asked Damian. “So you know someone’s dealing.”

           “Everyone’s always dealing,” Joker answered, with a shrug. “You know, dealing, coping, the human condition.”            “How do you know about the drugs?”

           The Joker lunged suddenly, throwing himself at Damian, grabbing hold of the crowbar tightly. Ellen instinctively moved to help, but Damian dodged, gripping the crowbar tightly and wrenching him away so that the Joker lost his balance and fell, half laying on the ground, still clutching the crowbar. He laughed and laughed.

           “The drugs?” he screeched, ecstatic. “You mean the Xanax? Oh, no, you mean the painkillers? Or are you talking about the meth, because that was what really made her spiral, huh? Just took a little while to get there, step by prescription step, and then all of the sudden bam!” His laughter turned higher, more frantic. He held up one hand in the gesture of a gun and pointed it right at Ellen’s face. “Right in the kisser!”

           Horrified, Ellen stared at him, frozen. It took Damian a moment to realize what was going on, and then he kicked the Joker square in the chest, sending him reeling back to the floor. “I miss Divya!” he called, as Damian, turned around returned to the door, taking Ellen’s wrist in his hand as he did so. “She was so much fun! Good stories! She missed you bad you know, she missed her beautiful son, her beautiful little-”

           A name came out of Joker’s mouth that Damian didn’t know, but he could guess what it was. “Come on,” he murmured to Ellen, who said nothing, her face obscured and made unreadable by her mask. As the Joker laughed and laughed and laughed, Damian led Ellen out of the Joker’s cell, ensured the door was closed tight, and they retreated out of Arkham. After a while Ellen pulled her hand away from Damian’s. He said nothing until they were outside.

           In the darkness, he turned to her heavily.

           “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought you in there.”

           “No,” said Ellen, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I had to meet him eventually.”

           “I don’t know how he knew that about you.”

           “It’s fine,” repeated Ellen, with a little more urgency. She tried to smile at him from underneath the mask, but obviously he couldn’t see it.

           Damian watched her cautiously for a moment longer, then suddenly jerked his head around, obviously hearing something at his commlink. Then his gaze lengthened past Ellen, behind her, and under his breath he muttered, “For fuck’s sake-”

           Despite the fact that Batman, from behind Ellen, should not have been able to hear this, he growled, “Language, Robin,” and Damian resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

           Ellen turned around uncertainly; she had only very infrequently been in the presence of both Batman and Robin, and didn’t really have the hang of their dynamic yet.

           Batman stood impassively before them both, watching them. “Are you here to talk to the Joker?” he asked, as if reserving judgment.

           “We already did,” Damian told him. “He didn’t have anything useful to say.”

           Thinking this was underselling the encounter a little, Ellen added, “He seemed to know a version of his Venom was being used on the streets,” Damian gave her an urgent look, like betrayal, so she continued, “but Robin’s right. He didn’t sound like he was involved in or even really approved of its production.”

           Batman gestured at the crowbar in Damian’s hand. “What’s that?”

           “A crowbar,” answered Damian.

           Batman only watched him.

           Damian held it up. “A man known as the Dealer tried to auction off an item just like this a few years ago,” he said, almost defiantly. “Nightwing brought it home, but he never entered it into evidence. He just got rid of it.”

           “Why?” asked Batman.

           “So you wouldn’t find out,” said Damian, “for obvious reasons.”

           Ellen wasn’t sure what that obvious reason was, but she just glanced in between Robin and Batman, sensing the tension there.

           Stubbornly, Damian continued, “The Joker was a red herring last time and I believe it’s the same thing this time around. We should be focusing our efforts elsewhere.”

           “Hn.” Batman headed past them, towards Arkham. “I’ll talk to the Joker.”

           As Batman passed, Robin reached out and physically took hold of his arm. “No,” he said. “You won’t.”

           Batman twisted around to look back at Damian, and there was a moment of deadly, pin-drop silence.

           “It’s my case,” insisted Damian.

           Batman glanced up at Ellen. “It’s her case.”

           Beneath her mask, Ellen’s eyebrows shot up. Reluctantly, Damian let go of Batman and turned to her. “Fine,” he said. “Ember. What do you think? Do you want a second opinion on the Joker, or do you think we should be able to proceed on our own from here?”

           There was no expression on Batman’s face, but then again Ellen didn’t think there was ever really any discernible expression on Batman’s face. Once more she glanced in between Batman and Robin, before finally admitting, “I…think we should be OK.” To Batman, she said, “I’ve studied your case files and I don’t really think this fits the Joker’s M.O. Right now selling drugs to rich kids sounds a lot more like this Dealer character, or maybe, um, what’s his face, that guy who poisoned the diaxamene.”

           Damian winced slightly when she said this and she suddenly feared she’d said too much; maybe there was something he’d been trying to keep from Batman. Though she didn’t really think that was all that smart – Robin’s pride be damned, this was about solving the case, not who got the glory of figuring it out.

           Batman watched her for a moment, then nodded. “I expect a mission report,” he said.

           “Of course,” responded Damian sourly.

           Without looking around, Batman added, “I meant from Ember.”

           Damian looked almost ready to blow a gasket, but he kept his mouth shut and nodded. Batman lingered for a moment longer, then swept away.

           There was an awkward sort of pause. Damian turned and headed back to where the motorcycle was stowed in the woods. “C’mon,” he said.

           She followed him, secretly a little pleased at this indication of Batman’s trust but also not wanting to push Damian at all. It was a weird place to be, staying quiet for fear of hurting Robin’s feelings – but then again, he was only a kid, at least a couple years younger than her. There was no need to be cruel.

           A minute or so after he revved the bike and they started heading back towards the city, he asked, “Are you hungry?”            His words came through clearly on her commlink, and yet she was still certain she had misheard. “Um. Sure?”

           “I know a place,” he continued, taking a sharp left. “Up by Amusement Mile.”

           Amusement Mile meant carnival food of some sort probably, which was fine by Ellen. Late at night as it was, the boardwalk was still all lit up neon, but Damian avoided that, heading instead for the less touristy area. There was a little shop – not much more than a booth – where he ordered falafel. Ellen got a kabob. The woman working there spoke warmly with Damian in a language Ellen didn’t know, but eventually she picked up that the woman was refusing to accept payment when Damian tried to pass it over the counter to her. He just grinned and stuffed a twenty dollar bill into the tip jar, and the woman laughed.

           They sat together on the rail of the pier, which was already closed for the night. She lifted her mask to eat, then took it off completely, leaving only a domino mask around her eyes.

           “Hey,” she said, nudging him a little. “Are you OK?”

           He looked around at her, confused. “What? Why?”

           “Your dad was kind of harsh on you. He didn’t really need to be, I know you have more experience at this than I do.”            For a moment he said nothing, just watching her. Then he looked back down at his falafel wrap. “You shouldn’t refer to him as my father when we’re in the field,” he said. “Things like that are supposed to stay in a civilian context only.”

           “Mmm, be careful about that. Everybody knows Robin is either Batman’s son or something a whole lot less wholesome, so I really think you should take what you can get.”

           She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back, only looked at his wrap unhappily.

           When he didn’t reply, she too looked down at her food, picking at it. She hadn’t been that hungry, but would’ve felt stupid turning down free food.

           Softly, she asked, “How do you think he knew all that about me?”

           Damian glanced at her. “Who?” he asked. “The Joker?” She nodded, and he considered this for a moment. “He knows everything about everyone. Don’t take it personally. He knows how to get under everyone’s skin, we’ve all been there.”

           “He knew my…” she trailed off. “He knew my mother’s name.”            He gave a shrug. “She was in Arkham, right?”

           “Yeah, but – not in the Wayne Ward. Not with him.”

           “No?” asked Damian, with mild interest. “What was she in for, then?”

           Glowering, Ellen muttered, “As if Batman doesn’t have a file with all the sordid details.”

           “He doesn’t,” answered Damian. “Or at least not one I have access to.”

           For a while, so long that Damian didn’t think she was going to answer, Ellen said nothing. Then, her eyes fixed out across the black water of the ocean, waves lit by moonlight, she said, “She…was transferred. For the Wayne Enterprises drug rehabilitation program.”

           “Ah,” said Damian, nodding. “Yes. I understand that whole project was – a massive PR disaster.”

           “You could call it that,” Ellen agreed. “It’s what happens when rich people throw money at problems and expect results. At any cost.”

           “We didn’t know it was going to go as badly as it did.”

           “I know.”

           “Arkham’s always been a mess. We really did want to reform it into something good. Something productive.”

           “I mean, it was productive,” said Ellen, her voice sharp. “Lobotomizing addicts did help them kick the habit, it just also had the unfortunate side effect of, well, I mean, lobotomizing them.”

           There was a short silence. Damian asked, “Is she alright?”

           “Kind of,” answered Ellen shortly. “She’ll be in assisted living for the rest of her life.”

           “I’m sorry.”

           “It’s fine. Probably not even your fault. She OD’d a couple times before, so she wasn’t in great shape to begin with.”

           “This can’t be an easy case for you.”

           “Why?” she asked, looking at him. “Because it has to do with drugs?”            He returned her gaze, then gave a little shrug.

           “If I couldn’t handle an overdose now and then, Batman wouldn’t have given me the mask.”

           “Why did he?”

           Ellen leaned forward slightly, setting aside her food and holding the blank scarlet mask in her hands. She shook her head. “When you figure that out,” she said wryly, glancing at him, “let me know?”

           When they finished their food and headed back to Damian’s motorcycle, Ellen nudged him again. “Hey,” she said. “Thanks for not asking.”

           He didn’t know what she meant. “Not asking what?”

           She gestured across her face, at the diagonal scar there. “If this was what she was in for.”

           Damian had of course assumed this, but he had been pointedly trying to ignore the scar at all costs since he met Ellen, so he’d avoided saying it outright. For some reason the scar across her face reminded him of his own hidden scar down the length of his back. How he got that was a sensitive story, and he didn’t imagine Ellen’s was any less sensitive.

           He took her back into the city, and they parted ways for patrol.

---

NAME: Ellen Nayar ALIAS: Ember DATE OF BIRTH: 26 August 1993 BLOOD TYPE: A+  (Relevant Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Kiran Kaur Nayar, Grandmother AFFILIATIONS:  Green Arrow II (Former), Team Ember EVAL: Mastery of basic defensive techniques at a young age provides a solid foundation for future training. Has a tendency to fall back on defense when cornered, relying on tools to compensate. Capable of much more but struggling to balance training as well as other civilian commitments; requires more investment both in and out of uniform. Significant pain tolerance. Easily identifiable due to the scar and also hair/body type, any uniform designs must compensate.

Strong field skills, hand-to-hand improving and introduction of nonlethal weapons going well. An apparent preference for the staff though she lacks martial arts training in that area. Sharp mind and eye for puzzles. Potential for leadership role assuming increased confidence in her abilities. Imperative to firm up her loyalties or risk alienation. Family history of addiction.

NOTES: |Robin| Hand to hand is fine but she needs to work on weapons and tech. Uniform needs an upgrade, face mask restricts breathing |Red Hood| She smokes

---

           “I have good news,” said Oracle, on the screen, “and bad news.”

           “Good news first,” said Nell, at the same time Damian said, “What’s the bad news?”

           They looked at each other, and then Damian gestured for Nell to continue. She beamed at him and asked, “Good news?”

           “We got a lead on our guy,” said Oracle, a big globular green head taking up the screen in lieu of her real face. “The one who reverse-engineered the diaxamene.”

           Ellen sat up a little straighter, alert. “I thought he was in some mental facility somewhere.”

           “Yeah,” continued Oracle. “That’s the bad news. I, uh – had a friend in Chicago drop by to see him.”

           “Oh?” interrupted Damian, with a tone that sounded unlike him. It was half intrigued, half snide. “Interesting. What kind of friend?”

           “Just a friend,” she said snippily.

           Damian just made a face, but didn’t protest. Ellen glanced at him, wondering what that was about. “What’d he have to say?”

           “That’s just it,” Oracle told them. “It wasn’t our guy, just some decoy checked in under his name.”

           “A decoy?” asked Niloufar, a frown on her face. “For how long?”

           “Presumably since he checked in,” said Oracle darkly. “Which means James has been out this entire time, no doubt plotting his next step for years.”

           At the name, Damian lifted his head slightly, as if surprised she would use it. He leaned against the wall of the Bunker, a little away from the others, his arms crossed over his chest. “James?” asked Colin. “Is that his name?”

           “Yeah,” sighed Oracle. “OK, confession time, you guys.”            The green icon which represented Oracle disappeared from the screen, replaced with blackness and then suddenly a crystal clear image, as if a window to another room. An older woman with ginger hair and glasses on sat before them, computer glare lighting her up.

           She waved at them. “Some of you have met me,” she said, “but I guess it’s time to make this official. My name’s Barbara, but I’m still O in the field, OK?”

           Nell and Niloufar looked a little starstruck; even Colin seemed impressed. “OK,” said Jordan, glancing with what may have been a tinge of jealousy over at Niloufar. “What does that have to do with our case?”

           With a look that was tight and worried, almost apologetic, Babs continued, “The guy we’re looking for – his name is James Gordon, Jr. His dad is Commissioner Jim Gordon of the GCPD.”

           Everyone’s eyebrows raised in surprise, except for Damian. He watched as Jordan asked, “Gordon? The cop?”

           “Commissioner,” Damian corrected, echoing Babs.

           “Didn’t he retire?” asked Ellen, glancing around at Damian, who shook his head.

           “He was on leave a few years ago, that’s all.”

           “Yeah,” continued Barbara, nodding. “He took some time off after what happened with James the first time. I mean,” she paused, adding, “first is relative, but – anyway. Here’s where it gets personal. Jim Gordon is my dad.”

           In a little bit of awe, Nell asked, “So this guy is your brother?”

           Making a face, Babs said, “Kind of.”

           “Kind of?” echoed Jordan derisively. “How can it be kind of-?”

           Abruptly, Damian noticed Niloufar; she kept glancing in between him and the screen suspiciously, as if she was just putting something together. “What?” he barked at her.

           Again, her gaze flickered in between him and Barbara. “You’re Robin,” she said, then pointed at the screen, “she’s Oracle. Aren’t you two…?” she trailed off. “Does that mean Commission Gordon is your…dad…too?”

           Damian just stared at her for a moment, arms still crossed over his chest. Then he pointed at the screen, and asked doubtfully, “Do I look like I’m related to her?”

           “You could have different moms,” offered Nell helpfully.

           Rolling her eyes, Jordan said, “Come on, Nilou, everybody knows Robin’s dad is-”

           Both Damian and Babs said, “Jabberwock,” and even Ellen added a scolding, “Jordan.”

           At these reprimands, she threw her hands up in surrender. “Nevermind.”

           “OK, so,” said Nell, turning back to the computer screen. “If we’re pretty sure it’s this James guy, then we at least know where to start, right? When was the last time time he was in Gotham, and did he have any favorite haunts? We can start there.”

           A little taken aback by Nell’s sudden professionalism, Damian snapped his gaze away from her and back to Babs. “Spoiler is right,” he said. “We’ll dig into all the leads we have on James Gordon Jr.”

           “This is the guy who poisoned the baby formula, right?” asked Ellen doubtfully, glancing around at the group of them. Returning her gaze to Babs on the screen, she added, “Of course you know more about him than I do, Oracle, but somehow that kind of crazy complicated scheme just doesn’t seem to fit the M.O. here. Why would he downgrade to selling to rich kids?”

           “Actually,” piped up Niloufar, “we went through a couple overdose cases in the city over the past few months and came up with three positive reports for the same Joker Venom-diaxamene hybrid that was found in Joseph Fremont’s body.”

           “We?” echoed Damian sharply, watching her.

           Instead of shrinking under his gaze, as Damian had expected, Niloufar turned to look directly at him, straightening up slightly. “Me and Jor- Jabberwock.”

           Damian watched her for a moment, then his eyes flickered over to Jordan, who nodded.

           “So it’s not just Brentwood,” said Ellen.

           “But it’s still a valid point,” said Babs, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “James is more psychological than that. I don’t really see him getting off on handing out drugs like some kind of common pusher.”

           “You think he’s working with someone,” said Damian.

           It was Colin who spoke up then, from where he was leaning against one of the specimen analysis tables. “The Dealer,” he said earnestly. They all paused and looked around at him, and he returned their gazes, nodding slightly. “It’s gotta be this Dealer guy,” he continued, “the one who’s been selling to the older kids at Brentwood? That’s his partner.”

           Babs considered this, twisting her lips thoughtfully. “That would make sense,” she admitted. “James can’t exactly hang around the schoolyard, but he could manipulate someone younger into working for him. He manufactures, the Dealer distributes.”

           “Then that makes things a lot easier,” said Nell. “If this Dealer guy’s younger, then he’s more inexperienced, which means he’s more likely to slip up.”

           “Exactly,” said Babs, nodding. “I think the important part now is to split up-”

           Behind everyone, Damian cleared his throat loudly.

           When the others looked around, he seemed a little apologetic. But on the screen, Babs hesitated for a moment before letting out a short sigh. “It’s your team’s case,” she admitted. “This is really important, you guys. Batman’s really taking a leap of faith by trusting you with this one.”

           “They’ve earned it,” said Damian, in protest.

           “Yeah, but.” Babs shrugged, her empty hands turned upwards. “This is Batman we’re talking about. It took him about ten years to even start trusting me.”

           “Well,” said Jordan shortly, shooting a slightly too-friendly grin up at Babs, “all that means is that Batman’s one stupid motherfucker.”            “OK,” said Damian loudly, moving forwardly to the computer. “Thank you, Oracle. Send anything you’ve got our way, we’ll get ahead on this.”

           Before she said anything else, something else seemed to occur to Oracle, and she said, “Oh, one more thing. Which one of you keeps saving your math homework to the encrypted file database?”

           There was a beat of pause as Damian turned to glance around at his team. Nell was staring up at the screen with her mouth in a little ‘o’ shape; Ellen nudged her. “That – might be me,” she squeaked, obviously humiliated. “I’m sorry! Robin said we could use the computers he gave us for homework!”

           Damian tried not to roll his eyes as Babs explained, “You absolutely can, but you don’t need to put it in the encrypted file drive. Just leave it on your desktop or something so it doesn’t get uploaded to our databases.”

           Mortified, Nell nodded. “Sorry,” she said, again.

           “It’s fine,” Babs told her. “Anyway, I’m here if you guys need anything. Keep me updated.”

           “We will,” promised Damian, and then the screen before them went blank. In the white glow of the Bunker, he turned around to face them all. “Jabberwock, Abuse, Spoiler,” he began, with no hesitation, “you three need to fan out, comb the city for James Gordon Jr. He’s got to be hiding somewhere. Take a look at the information Oracle sent, and then head out. This is our top priority for the time being. Ember,” he added, turning to her, “you’re with me.”

           Snidely, Jordan muttered, “Wow, what a surprise.”

           Glancing at her then back at Ember, he explained, “We need to figure out who this Dealer person is. If he’s dealing in Gotham, then it can’t hurt to check in with Red Hood.”

           Already, Ellen was shaking her head. “Hood doesn’t let his people deal to kids,” she told Damian. “If the Dealer’s been selling to Brentwood students-”

           “Based on Seraph’s intel, he’s been dealing on the streets as well. Anyway, I’m not saying Red Hood will know who the Dealer is, just that he may be able to point us in the direction of any suspicious activity lately.”

           Ellen considered this, then nodded. “Is he in town?”

           Damian nodded. Earlier that week the entire family had gathered to celebrate the final night of Hanukkah; Bruce wasn’t particularly religious, but as he grew older he started to take every opportunity he could to gather everyone under one roof. This had been the first Hanukkah celebration at the Manor Jason had attended since before his death. He had spent most of the night messing around with Damian and Cass, more or less refusing to talk to Bruce directly. All things considered, it went well.

           Anyway, Damian knew that Jason was still in Gotham because he’d been in a group chat with him, Cass, and Stephanie since. Steph, offended that she hadn’t been invited, had been alternatively demanding all the details and simultaneously assuring them she wouldn’t even have gone anyway.

           Instructing the others to review Oracle’s information then spread out across the city, he made contact with Jason before riding out into the dark streets with Ellen on his motorcycle behind him. “Hey,” she said, her commlink transmitting her voice clearly into Damian’s ear despite the rushing wind, “what’s your deal with Red Hood?”            He didn’t answer right away. “What do you mean?”

           “He’s, like. One of you guys, right?”

           “Oh,” said Damian, taking a sharp right turn that nearly scraped the side of their legs against the street. He had thought she was speaking emotionally, as if she could detect faint strains of annoyance he thought he’d gotten past. But Ellen knew his identity and that of his father, so he wasn’t shy about admitting relation. “He’s my brother,” he told her, his voice a whisper in her ear. They entered the old block of Midtown, edging into Red Hood territory. “Adopted brother, actually, not that it really matters.”

           Ellen knew vaguely of Damian Wayne’s adopted brother, but she hadn’t realized he and Red Hood were one and the same. “Damn,” she said. “The papers would have a field day if they realized the founder of Neon Knights was a drug lord on the side.”

           This took Damian by surprise; he glanced back at her, confused, and then realization dawned on his face. With a laugh, he slowed the motorcycle, drawing close to their destination. “No, not that brother. Red Hood is older than him.”

           After a beat of hesitation, Ellen asked, “I thought the other guy was Nightwing?”

           “He is,” sighed Damian, pulling the motorcycle to a stop in a tight alleyway. Getting off, he explained, “Not very many people know this, but I actually have four siblings. Three brothers and a sister.”

           “Oh, shit,” said Ellen, impressed. She too got up, slipping off the bike. “And I thought you were an only child.”

           “In fairness,” he said, shooting a grin her way, “I do act like one sometimes.”

           There was a loud thump before them, and a red helmet shone in the darkness as Jason Todd descended from the fire escape above. “Sometimes?” he echoed, teasing. “More like all the damn time.” He jerked his thumb at Damian and to Ellen, he said, “Kid’s insufferable.”

           While Ellen gave Jason an uncertain smile, Damian got straight to business. “You heard about our case?” he asked, his voice low.

           Jay gave a shrug, shaking his head slightly. “Rumors, mostly. I heard some evil assclown is selling Joker Venom pills to kids.”

           Damian nodded. “We’ve pursuing all the leads we’ve got, but we’re trying to pinpoint a distributor. What do you know?”

           “Nothing, really,” admitted Jay. “Nobody on my payroll goes anywhere near kids, definitely not all the way out to the suburbs. Besides, I have kind of a,” he paused, and though Ellen could not see his face behind the helmet, she imagined she could hear him smiling, “thing when it comes to the Joker, so most of my people know not to touch that shit with a ten-foot pole. Sorry,” he said, and he sounded genuinely apologetic. “Wish I could help more.”

           “It’s fine,” murmured Damian thoughtfully, taking this in. “Have you caught anyone selling to kids lately? Maybe this is someone you dismissed?”

           But Jason was already shaking his head. “Nope,” he said. “My reputation is pretty well-known by now, Robin. People don’t usually try and test me.”

           Glancing in between the two heroes, Ellen moved slightly forward. “Is there anyone who left your operation lately, maybe for unrelated reasons? I don’t think a street pusher goes straight to working for a supervillain, if you know what I mean – it’d make sense if our guy had some exposure to you and yours before he ever made it to where he is now.”

           Jason considered this for a moment.

           And then he let out a very small groan. Though the helmet obscured his expression, Damian’s pulse quickened, sensing and impending revelation. “Yeah,” said Jay, nodding ruefully. “Now that you mention it, yeah. There was this one kid – I didn’t exactly, like, kick him out, ‘cause he never really did anything wrong, but he was just…” he paused for a moment, as if searching for the word, “…creepy. Not like, in a big-bad-supervillain anyway, but he was just kind of a creep. A lot of the women who worked around him had…complaints. He never did anything,” he added mildly, “but they just got weird vibes from him. Women’s intuition, huh?” Ellen heard the grin in his voice, and imagined he may even have winked her direction.

           “Anything else?” she asked.

           “Yeah,” answered Jay, his voice turning serious once more. “This guy – his name’s Scott Morrison, he’s maybe your age, Ember. But I caught him following me around on patrol a few times. Not following,” he continued, qualifying himself, “but – showing up in suspicious places. Like he memorized my route, which is weird enough, but then he’d start asking if I ran into any of the Big Bads. He asked me about Joker maybe once before I put my fist through his front teeth.”

           Disappointed, there was a reprimand in his voice when Damian began, “Hood-”

           But Jay just laughed and held up his hands. “Wasn’t that bad, li’l wing, just scared him a little. Anyway, haven’t seen him since then.” Damian nodded, but before he could say anything Jay added, “OH! I almost forgot – there was this one time, super fuckin’ weird, I kind of tuned it out.”

           At this, Damian and Ellen exchanged looks. “What happened?” she asked.

           “OK,” he began, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice. “Now this is super weird, and don’t tell your old man, Robin, ‘cause it’s the kind of thing he’d whoop any of our asses for – but one time, I got, you know,” he mimed gunshots with both hands, “beat up, a little, and I was bleeding all over the place try’na find somewhere to hang out and lick my wounds, and I swear to you this guy – I caught him, like, on his hands and knees on the ground following me with a fucking sponge in his hands.”

           Both Damian and Ellen stared at him. “A sponge?” Ellen echoed, with a hint of disbelief.

           “Yeah,” said Jay, nodding his head. “A fucking sponge. Blood is literally dripping off of my body, and he’s on the ground sponging it up. It was like, the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

           More heatedly than Ellen really thought was necessary, Damian demanded, “And you just let him take it? Why didn’t you tell Batman about this?”

           “Because,” answered Jay, rolling his head in a way that suggested he was also rolling his eyes, “no motherfucker’s dumb enough to try and clone me. You and your dad-” he broke off, glancing at Ellen, then corrected, “-I mean, the Big Man, sure, but me? Nobody gives a shit.”

           “It’s protocol,” said Damian stubbornly, but Jason shook his head.

           “Believe me, this guy wasn’t smart enough for anything like that. He was just fucking creepy.”

           There was a suspicious pause, and then Damian asked, “When did this happen?”

           “Like, maybe a month ago? But he quit working for me before that, maybe half a year or so.”

           Ellen glanced at Damian. “That fits,” she murmured. “Our first recorded overdose was almost four months ago. That leaves time for recruiting and initial distribution.”

           “Right,” said Damian, with a nod. The expression on his face was still severe. “Hood, we’ll need all the info you can get us on this Scott Morrison character.”

           “He used to have a place over in Midtown,” Jay said. “I think it was a motel or something, nothing permanent. Riverview, or something?”

           “Riverview,” repeated Ellen, with an urgent look towards Damian. “That was on Oracle’s list.”

           With a nod, Damian touched the commlink at his ear. “Thanks,” he said to Red Hood, and then into his comm he said, “Spoiler, come in.”

           Returning to Damian’s bike, they headed back through the city. By the time they reached Riverview Boarding House, Spoiler was waiting for them in Room 7. “I talked to the owner,” she said, as Ellen and Damian entered the room. “Somebody’s kept up-to-date on payments, but he hasn’t seen anybody come in or out for a couple weeks now.”

           “Probably since we started investigating,” said Ellen, as Damian moved forward to search the room. “He knew we were on to him and wasn’t about to get caught with his pants down.”

           “Robin,” said Nell, watching him search the walls for hidden compartments. He glanced around at her, and she jerked her head towards a door in the wall. “The closet.”

           For a moment he did not move, only stared at her. And then he turned to the rickety wooden door, and he opened it.

           Peering in behind him, Ellen made a face. “Gross,” she said.

           Damian said nothing, taking in the sight before them: a veritable shrine to the Joker, littered with newspaper clippings and amateur art and low-res photos printed from the internet. In the center, there was a small Robin action figure, the kind of thing sold at tourist traps in Gotham. The plastic Robin’s limbs and his head were all removed from his body.

           Gravely, Damian said, “He’s a Joker fan.”

           “That explains why he’s working with JGJ,” offered Nell, from behind them. When both Ellen and Damian glanced back at her, she clarified, “Uh, James-Gordon-Junior. He needed a snappier name.”

           Looking back at Damian, Ellen said thoughtfully, “It does explain the connection. Gordon used the lure of Joker Venom to recruit Morrison as his Dealer.”

           Still staring at the shrine, Damian’s brown skin had gone wan with disgust, and his lips were pressed tightly together. “I don’t understand these people,” he said lowly, then he stood up, getting to his feet. “The Joker is responsible for the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands of people. He’s a criminal. He’s not funny, he’s not interesting, and I don’t understand people who find him compelling.”

           “Yeah,” agreed Nell sympathetically. “I mean, the guy’s basically a terrorist.”

           Ellen caught the brief flicker of emotion across Damian’s face, a momentary tell that betrayed how much Damian disliked that word. Still; Ellen didn’t think Nell was wrong. “This is good, though,” said Ellen, to Damian. “It means we can bait him.”

           Damian paused, then, very slowly, he turned around to look at Ellen.

----

           “No,” said Bruce, shaking his head.

           “It’s an hour, tops,” Damian insisted, leaning against the computer’s control panel in the Cave. “The entire team will be on top of him the whole time. It’ll be fine.”

           “No,” repeated Bruce, shaking his head. “You are not removing the Joker from Arkham custody for any amount of time. He is in solitary confinement for a reason, he’s too dangerous-”

           “A hour,” Damian repeated, practically begging his father. “Tightly contained and surveilled. It’s the easiest way to smoke out the Dealer.”

           “The easiest is not always the wisest,” said Bruce shortly, “and I will not permit you to play games with a dangerous criminal. He always has a plan, and he’s bested you before.”

           “But the entire team-”

           “My answer is final,” Bruce told his son. “Harleen is out on parole, perhaps she may be of some help.”

           As if disgusted by this suggestion, Damian began, “I’m not retraumatizing Doctor Quinzel on the off chance that she completes Scott Morrison’s Joker fantasy. Most Joker-philes like him think she’s a meaningless distraction anyway.”

           “I’m afraid I cannot allow the alternative, Damian. It’s too dangerous.”

           “We’re so close.”

           “Then find another way.” Bruce’s voice was not unkind as he said, “I believe in you, and I believe in your team. But this mission has already exposed you and Ember to that monster enough. It isn’t going to happen again.”

           For a moment, there was silence in the cave except for the constant whirr of machinery and the far-off drip of slowly-forming stalactites. There was a profound tension between father and son, thick enough to slice; Damian was once more angry that his father was blocking the team’s ventures, and yet Bruce would not budge. There was no compromise here.

           On the specimen analysis table, unceremoniously contained in a plastic box, the crowbar remained. Bruce had not been sure what to do it, and so as he ran his tests he had kept it there in full view for all to see. Mercifully, Jason had not ventured into the Cave the last time he was here.

           A part of Damian wanted to tell Bruce about Scott Morrison, known Joker fanboy, on his hands and knees, sponging up blood. He wanted to tell him that he’d dug up records that someone fitting Scott Morrison had made a clandestine visit to the Joker’s cell in Arkham, presumably leaving him with a gift. He wanted his father to know that the crowbar was a complete plant, and if the crust of bloodstains on its curved end matched Jason Todd’s, it wasn’t because this was the weapon that had been used to kill him.

           But Damian was still a sixteen year old, and he was still petty. Perhaps Bruce was being especially strict because of this painful reminder of his own failure at the Joker’s hands, but Damian was just spiteful enough to keep this small knowledge from his father anyway, let him simmer in his own guilt and shame.

           “Fine,” Damian said curtly. “Then any further deaths due to this Dealer character are on your conscience, Father.”

           Later, he updated Ellen on the situation via commlink while on patrol. She sounded somber. “So that’s it, then?” she sighed. “That plan is out.”

           “Hm? Oh, no,” said Damian, leaping from one rooftop to another, his boots absorbing most of the shock of impact. “We’re still going to do it. We just need to keep it a secret from Batman.”

           “What?”

           He fiddled at his commlink. “Ember, can you hear me? I said we need to keep it as secret from Batman.”

           “No, I heard you, I just – that’s impossible.”

           “Not impossible,” he corrected, “merely difficult for the inexperienced. Luckily you have me, and I happen to be extremely adept at keeping secrets from Batman. You have to learn that kind of thing,” he told her, offhandedly, “when you live in a house with him.”

           “Breaking the Joker out of Arkham is a little different than sneaking out to meet your girlfriend, Robin.”

           Without hesitation, Damian said coolly, “That’s not what I meant.” It had been, actually, almost exactly what he meant. “All I’m saying is that I know him well enough to anticipate where he’ll be watching. We do this quickly and effectively, and it’ll be over before he knows it.”

           “That’s…optimistic.”

           “I have been told I have a very glass-half-full demeanor, yes.”

           Ellen laughed, and despite himself Damian caught himself grinning. “If you say so. When’s it going down?”

           Good question. Damian considered this, standing above a stone gargoyle, scanning the cold city streets below him. “The longer we wait, the more drugs the Dealer gets out on the streets.”

           “Fair enough. What’s the plan?”

           “Meet the others at the Bunker. I’ll explain everything there.”

           When all was said and done, it did take a little more time than Damian had anticipated. The first phase was dependent on the speed and inertia of rumor, which was spread both throughout Brentwood via Colin and Niloufar and throughout the rest of drug-dealing Gotham by Jason and a select few on his payroll. The rumor spoke of an anniversary: the birth of the Joker, or the rebirth, rather, when a man was swallowed by acid and spat back out as something else. It was a trap, designed to target the biggest Joker fanboy who frequented those circles, who, of course, naturally knew the apocryphal location of that fateful warehouse.

           All they needed was one night. It had to work perfectly, smooth as silk, precise as clockwork; but Damian had faith in his team. Well. Ember’s team.

           Ellen herself was stationed at the warehouse, staking it out. Colin and Nell were off on the other side of the city, waiting for their cue; Niloufar was spearheading operations out of the Bunker, and Jordan was with Damian, her speed, strength, and flight, a necessary part of his plan.

           Hidden inside the bowels of Arkham Asylum, Jordan hovering slightly above him, Damian watched the seconds tick by on his mask’s lens display. For a minute or so, there was nothing but tense silence.

           And then Damian touched the commlink at his ear. “Abuse, Spoiler,” he said, “you’re good to go. Seraph, how are we on security?”            “All disabled and looped,” came Niloufar’s voice, without hesitation.

           “Perfect,” he replied. “Ember, Jabberwock’s on her way.” He nodded towards Jordan, then took the lead, expertly navigating through the high-ceilinged halls of Arkham, avoiding guards.

           In his cell, the Joker was still singing. “Little Bunny Foo-Foo, hoppin’ through the forest…”

           Disabling the door’s security, Damian gestured for Jordan to take over. “Go.”

           She did so, wrapping her arms roughly underneath the Joker’s shoulders and heaving him up and out, shooting back the way she and Damian came, disappearing into the night. The Joker’s fading laughter echoed in Damian’s ears as he locked and secured the door once more, then slipped away, hoping no one would notice Joker’s sudden silence.

           As Damian headed back out to where his motorbike was stowed, he checked the open channel; the shit had, to put it delicately, apparently hit the fan, and Batman was barking orders at other Gotham heroes following an incident on the other side of the city, which meant he was far away from Arkham and from the docks where their plan was about to go down.

           It took him almost twenty minutes to make it to the warehouse. Leaving his bike some ways away, as he approached the empty, abandoned building he was certain he could hear that faint, familiar laughter. Their trap was lain.

           He found Ellen and Jordan in the rafters, high above the walkways which crisscrossed above vats which were now mostly empty. Jordan had dropped the Joker in one which had a foot or two of (probably?) nontoxic sludge at the bottom, and his laughter was so manic and so loud that its reverberations started to hurt Damian’s ears. He activated the dampeners in his commlink, relying on his teammates’ comms to hear them.

           “Nice work,” he told them both. “Abuse and Spoiler gave us an hour, tops. After that Batman resumes his normal patrol around the city, but we caught him as far away as we could, so it should be at least another hour after that before he realizes there’s anything amiss.”

           Though Ellen’s face was obscured, the sound of her voice betrayed her concern. “So Morrison better show up in the next two hours.”

           “He will,” said Damian, watching the dark and empty walkways below them. “He won’t be able to resist the lure of legend, and there’s no way he’ll stay away once he hears that.”

           “No kidding,” muttered Jordan, following his gaze.

           “That’s still leaving an awful lot to chance,” Ellen added, sounding uncertain. “The timeline seems kind of arbitrary, and I’m still not completely sure why we needed the Joker himself for this anyway? Seems to me we could’ve just used, I don’t know, a recording of his voice or something-”

           “Ember, please,” said Damian shortly, waving away her concerns. “I know what I’m doing.”

           “Yeah, OK,” she replied, maybe a little insulted. “I don’t doubt that, Robin, but I’m pretty sure Batman said that this isn’t your team, it’s mine, and part of me is starting to think the only reason you wanted to go get Joker in the first place was because your dad told you not to-”

           But before Ellen could continue or Damian, suddenly livid, could open his mouth to defend himself, Niloufar’s voice echoed in all of their ears. “Someone’s approaching the warehouse,” she told them, via commlink. “Good luck, you guys.”

           They didn’t reply, because at that moment they heard the big sheet metal door to the warehouse creak open. All at once, the Joker’s laughter suddenly stopped.

           Scott Morrison was not at all what Damian had been expecting. He was somewhere in his twenties, tall, slim, good-looking. His blond hair was gathered into a topknot, and he wore wide-brimmed glasses which appeared to have no magnifying effect on his eyes, and so therefore were probably only worn for the aesthetic appeal. Both he and Ellen shifted uncomfortably at the same time, perhaps coming to the simultaneous conclusion of, Oh no, he’s hot.

           “Hello?” he called into the vast warehouse, which Damian thought was a pretty stupid move. He went to the stairs which led to the walkways above the giant but now-empty vats, climbing them slowly, cautiously, peering around. “Joker? Mister J?” he called, which caused Damian to cringe slightly and Jordan to whisper, “Yikes.”

           Morrison continued, making his way across steel catwalk, his hands on the railing on either side. “I heard you laughing,” he called. “Are you here? Joker?”

           A low, sickly chuckle emanated from one of the vats. Morrison’s eyes went wide behind his fake glasses, and he darted across the walkway, leaning over the railing.

           The Joker leered up at him. His voice was low and frightening, like a purr in the back of his throat. “Who’s asking?”

           “Oh, shit,” said Morrison, in obvious excitement. “Holy fuck, OK, oh my God, Mister Joker, woah. Hold on,” he said.

           Morrison dug into his pocket, and Jordan muttered, “Oh, Christ,” as he took out a phone and literally posed for a selfie.

           “Oh my God, Mister Joker, big fan,” said Morrison, once he’d taken the picture. “Like, holy shit, I can’t believe this is actually happening-”

           Ellen gently nudged Jordan. “Go,” she whispered, but then Damian held out his arm.

           “Wait,” he said.

           In disbelief, Ellen blinked at him. “We have him,” she whispered angrily at him, “he’s right there, if we don’t move now then the Joker could tip him off to this whole operation-”

           But Damian was already shaking his head. “Wait,” he said again.

           This infuriated Ellen. Jordan just gave her an apologetic look and a shrug. Knowing Robin was the most experienced vigilante between the three of them, she forced herself into silence.

           In the vat, up to mid-calf in a thick yellowy-gray sludge, the Joker just stared up at Morrison, unimpressed. “Big fan, huh?” he echoed. “What era?”

           Morrison stared down at him. “Uh, what was that?”

           “What era?” repeated the Joker, sounding as petulant as a child. “Nicholson, Ledger, Leto? Who was your favorite?”

           “Um,” said Morrison uncertainly, “uh, no, sir, I think you misunderstand me, I’m just saying that like, you know, out of Batman’s whole rogues gallery, out of, you know, out of everything in Gotham that makes up the soul of this place – I mean, you’re it, man! Your presence is stamped into the very fabric of Gotham City! You’re everything!”

           There was a silence. The Joker stared up at him. “Not very funny, are you?” he asked, his lip jutting out in a pout.

           “What – I mean, no one’s as funny as the Clown Prince of Crime! But, like, I do have some stand-up material, if you like, want to hear?” He paused anxiously, then began, “OK, so, like, here’s one – why does Batman’s sidekick keep getting younger and younger?”

           Sounding bored, the Joker drawled, “’Cause the older ones keep dying.”

           “No,” said Morrison, “but – that’s funny too. No, it’s ‘cause – ‘cause he’s Robin the cradle. Get it? Like robbing?”

           There was a long, tense silence. And then the Joker let out a chuckle. “Hey, kid,” he called up, “that is pretty funny.”

           Beside her, Ellen could feel Damian tense, his entire body coiled tightly. He was aching to jump into action, she could tell. She didn’t entirely understand why he hadn’t already.

           “Hey, kid!” Joker called once more. “Why don’t you come on down here, and tell me a couple more of those funny jokes you got there?”

           A flash of uncertainty crossed Morrison’s face. “Oh, I – I don’t know-”

           “Aw, come on,” said the Joker, kicking around at the sludge under his feet. “Hey, wanna hear another one? What did Batman say to Robin before they got in the Batmobile?”

           Jordan leaned over and whispered, “I know this one!”

           “Get in the car, Robin,” said Joker, and then he wheezed with laughter, breathless in his own hilarity. A grin spread across Morrison’s face. Once more he dug into his pocket for something, then pulled out a plastic baggie full of pills. He snagged three or four out of the bag, and stuffed them into his mouth, swallowing them down.

           Then he climbed up on the railing, and he jumped down into the vat below.

           He hit the bottom with a sickening crunch, and let out a yelp of pain. “Got him,” muttered Damian, but once more he stopped Jordan from moving. “Wait.”

           The Joker stalked towards Morrison, who misinterpreted this as intent to help him up. “No!” he barked. “No, no, no! This is good! Pain is good, it’s freeing, like chaos of the mind!” He let out a loud, manicured laugh, as if it were something he practiced in the mirror. “See, Joker, man, I get it! I get you, the big joke behind everything, the ultimate gag! Laugh in the face of an indifferent universe! It doesn’t matter anyway, so why not try to burn as many bridges as you can on your way out, right? We all die in the end!”

           “That’s not very funny,” said the Joker.

           “It’s all funny!” insisted Morrison, as the Joker slowly neared him, like a shark stalking his prey. “That’s the point! It isn’t real! It doesn’t matter! That’s what makes the joke so damn funny-”

           The Joker grabbed Morrison’s topknot; his wide grin, usually so gleeful, was downturned into a comical frown. Though the slimy sludge at the bottom of the vat was only about a foot high, he shoved his face into it, sticking a knee on Morrison’s back to keep him down. Morrison started to struggle wildly, his shouts unintelligible as the ugly goo slipped into his mouth and nose.

           “It’s like babies in bathwater,” the Joker said, cocking his head, watching Morrison struggle. “Never understood it! You leave the kiddies alone for two minutes and suddenly they’re floatin’ on their bellies like a bunch of goldfish. How do they drown in that!” He let out a guffawing, belly-deep laugh, which sent a chill down Ellen’s spine. Pushing Morrison’s face deeper into the sludge beneath him, he roared, “It’s not that deep!”

           At that, Ellen disregarded her orders and moved. She leapt onto the steel walkway, sprinted down towards the vat, and jumped in, her feet landing squarely on Joker’s shoulders, knocking him off his feet. As Morrison lifted his face and gasped for breath, the Joker turned around to see her, and his face lit up. He laughed maniacally, gleeful.

           “Look who’s back!” he screeched. “How nice! How soon! Tell me, how’s Mama?”

           Ellen drew her fist back to throw a punch, but in a split second, the Joker had disappeared; she glanced up to see Jordan spiriting him away, presumably back to his cold cell in Arkham. There was a squelching thump behind her, and she turned around to see Robin glaring at her. As Morrison coughed, Damian said, “I had it under control.”

           Pointing towards the pathetic figure on his hands and knees, Ellen said, “Joker was going to kill him.”

           “He was going to scare him,” replied Damian pointedly. “Nothing like a healthy dose of trauma to cure you off your obsession with a criminal like the Joker.”

           Still wracked with coughs, Morrison’s head swiveled towards Damian, sludge dripping down his face. “S’not a – criminal – he’s an – artist-”

           Damian turned around, looking only mildly interested. He kicked at Morrison’s torso with his boot, and the man toppled over. “The eight-year-olds finger-painting at Neon Knight Centers are artists,” he told him. “The Joker’s just a two-bit con man who somehow stumbled into mythologization.”

           Gasping for breath, Morrison refused this. “He’s the – beating heart – of Gotham City! He’s Batman’s binary star! He defines the Batman!”

           Damian grabbed the man’s collar and swung a leg over his head so his feet stood on either side of him. His gloved fist connected solidly with the front of Morrison’s face. “He’s not that interesting,” Damian said shortly.

           “Where would Batman be without the Clown Prince of Crime?”

           Again, Damian punched him. “In better mental health than he is right now, that’s for sure.”

           “Who would he be? He’s the Batman’s greatest match! His greatest foil! The only other man he’ll ever truly understand!”

           His fist connected for a third time with Morrison’s face, and Damian looked over his shoulder to address Ellen. “People use that one a lot,” he said, sounding genuinely perplexed. “It really says something concerning about how people interpret empathy and intimacy in male relationships.”

           Once more Morrison attempted that terrible, overly-practiced laugh, and Damian turned around again to hit him in the face again. It was then that Ellen moved forward, placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “As satisfying as this may be,” she told him, sympathetically, “we’re here to get information out of him, remember? We need to know about Gordon.”

           “Gordon?” echoed Morrison; there was incredulity in his voice, even through the blood running out of his mouth. “J-James Gordon?”

           “That’s the one,” said Ellen, turning to him. “Junior, that is. Is he the one who’s been supplying you with the modified diaxamene?”

           “Diaxamene?” he repeated, but Ellen was already digging through his pockets for that plastic baggie full of pills, which she quickly found and removed. “I don’t know what the fuck diaxa-what is, that shit’s diluted Joker Venom!”

           “Yes, we know,” said Damian shortly, clearly still irritated. “You’re the one they call the Dealer, aren’t you?”

           “I – I don’t know, man, James just said to tell people that!”

           “James,” said Ellen, seizing hold of this. “He’s your supplier, isn’t he?”            His whole body trembling, he tried to nod, but it came out looking more like a seizure. Spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth, and his skin was quickly draining its color, turning pale. Quickly Damian pulled open one eyelid, inspecting his pupils. Tightening his grip on Morrison’s collar, Damian asked, “How many pills have you taken tonight?” Morrison started to shake violently, his eyes rolling back into his head, and through his teeth, Damian snarled, “No!” Removing one hand from Morrison’s collar, Damian flipped open a compartment on his utility belt, popped the cap off a tiny syringe, and plunged it into Morrison’s neck.

           “Anti-Venom?” asked Ellen. Damian nodded as Morrison’s shaking subsided, and he grew limp in Damian’s grip. “Robin,” she said, lowering her voice. “You can OD on diaxamene too if you take enough of it. The Anti-Venom may not work.”

           “Maybe not,” grunted Damian, “but it’ll give us more time.” He shook Morrison bodily by the collar, and the man’s head lolled on his neck, his eyes blinking out of sync. “Scott Morrison,” he barked, “we know you’re the Dealer, and we know you’re working with James Gordon, Junior. Listen to me. Tell me where he is, and I’ll do my best to save your sorry life. If you have nothing to give me, then I will leave you here, and you will die alone in a warehouse where no one will find your body for weeks, if not months, and you’ll go to your grave knowing that Joker himself thinks you’re not fucking funny. Now,” he said, his voice calm and collected. “Where is James Gordon Junior?”

           Something was catching in Morrison’s throat, making it impossible to reply; Ellen had a suspicion that it was vomit, his stomach protesting against all the poison he’d swallowed. Incapable or unwilling to form words, he merely lifted his hands, and he pointed out of the windows which lined the walls, just below the ceiling.

           Damian paused, then he twisted around, following the direction of Morrison’s finger. Ellen did as well, but she didn’t understand: all that was visible out of the window was the night sky, stars faded above the lights of the city, and the shooting spire of the tallest building in Gotham City – Wayne Tower.

           Grabbing Morrison’s hair, Ellen hissed, “Is this a game to you?” but Damian had already let him go, shooting his grappling hook out onto the walkway above.

           He touched the commlink at his ear. “Seraph!” he called wildly. “Seraph, come in!”

           Something dropped into Ellen’s stomach as she understood. Following Damian, she sent out a 911 call with Morrison’s location and status, then quickly followed Damian onto his bike. Niloufar had never responded to Damian’s call, and when he tried Jordan, he heard nothing from her either.

           As they raced through Gotham, Ellen asked, “You think Gordon knows about the Bunker?”

           “Maybe,” murmured Damian. “I know he knows about my family, and he knew about Batman back when we were based out of the Bunker. It’s a tease, Ember, don’t you get it? The diaxamene, the Joker Venom, the dead child so close to the Manor? He’s been playing us this whole time.”

           “How?” asked Ellen, confused. “What do you mean?”

           The bike shot into the secret entrance to the Bunker, and Damian was off of it immediately, sprinting into the main computer hub. “Seraph!” he called, looking around wildly, but there was no one there. “Seraph!”

           Before them, the computer screen glowed a blank white. Something blared on both Damian and Ellen’s comms, Batman sending out an emergency signal for something going down at Arkham. “Jabberwock,” said Ellen to Damian, fear tight in her voice. “Something’s gone wrong-”

           For a moment, Damian did nothing. On either side of him, he squeezed his fists tightly, gloves still stained red with Scott Morrison’s blood.

           Then he turned to Ellen and said, “We can’t leave. Gordon’s here.”

           “Where?”

           Damian gestured for her to follow him, then took her through a set of doors she’d never seen open; he peeled his mask off his face, then lowered his eye down to a retina display. It blinked green, and an elevator opened. He held out one hand as if to say to her, After you.

           “Where are we going?” she asked, unmoving.

           He shrugged, then stepped into the elevator first. “The Penthouse,” he said shortly. “It’s where Nightwing and I lived back when he was Batman. If I’m right, it’s where Gordon’s set up camp.”

           In disbelief, she finally boarded the elevator with him. “And how is it possible that none of your fancy security features ever picked up on anything up there?”

           “I don’t know,” said Damian shortly, pressing his mask back onto his face. The elevator moved so rapidly with such sudden force that Ellen almost stumbled. “But it’s stupidly obvious – where’s the one place we would never look? Right under our noses, of course.”

           Ellen glanced up at the ceiling of the elevator. “Or – above our noses, I guess,” she mumbled.

           They emerged in a hallway; Damian jogged to the door and took off his glove, pressing his thumb against a scanner, and then he said aloud, “Voice recognition, Damian Wayne,” and the lock of the door let out a little click.

           Lowly, Ellen asked, “If your security’s so tight, how’d he get through?” but Damian ignored her, pressing his gloved hand against the door and pushing.

           The Penthouse was dark, but a light was on down the hallway, coming from the kitchen. When Ellen and Damian entered, a voice called, “In here!”

           With a wary glance at each other, they followed the source of the voice. Turning the corner into the big modern kitchen, they found James Gordon Jr. sitting at the counter, glasses on his face, a spoon tucked into a pot of yogurt.

           “Hi,” he said, waving at them. “Hey, it’s nice to finally meet you, Damian.” To Ellen he said, “I don’t know who you are,” then continued, “Nice digs, huh? Dick could’ve decorated more probably, but personally I like it.”

           “Where is Seraph?” asked Damian, his voice flat.

           “If you mean the girl downstairs,” James answered, scooping up a spoonful of yogurt, “she left a while ago. Probably to help her friend with the Joker.” Blandly, he looked at Damian. “Really nice of you to break him out and everything for me, Damian. I didn’t even have to lift a finger.”

           “You’re done, Gordon,” Damian told him. “Your operation is shut down.”

           “What operation?” asked James, looking mildly interested.

           “The drugs.”

           “I don’t have any drugs,” said James, innocently.

           Damian stared at him, his expression stony and unreadable.

           “Go ahead, search the place,” James continued. “Not a lot around here except some personal mementos. Sorry for squatting, but, hey, life’s tough when everyone thinks you’re a psychopathic murderer, right, Damian?”

           Color dropped out of Damian’s cheeks, then suddenly rushed back in, flushing his brown skin. Sensing they had to take control of this situation, Ellen stepped up. “We’ve got you, Gordon,” she said simply. “We got the Dealer, too. We know what you’ve been putting out on the streets.”

           “I haven’t been putting anything on the streets,” James said smoothly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           Feeling a surge of anger, she suddenly sympathized with Damian’s fury. “Scott Morrison-”

           “-OD’d,” said James flatly. “Right?”

           Damian and Ellen exchanged a look. For all they knew, Morrison had died before the paramedics reached him.

           “Scott Morrison was a crazy man with a Joker fetish,” James said, with a shrug. He ate a spoonful of yogurt. “Nothing to do with me.”

           “The diaxamene-”

           For the first time, a hunt of frustration entered his voice. “Any idiot could’ve gotten ahold of that. Haven’t you heard, Miss Nayar? Prescription pills are all the rage nowadays. Oh,” he added, picking up a remote from behind him, pointing it at the television on the wall. “Would you look at that.” A Breaking News broadcast played, informing viewers that a potential catastrophe at Arkham Asylum had narrowly been avoided, and the Joker, who had mysteriously vanished from his cell, was back in custody.

           James smiled at Damian and Ellen.

           “All according to plan,” he said.

           Damian’s eyes were glued to the screen, slightly in shock as the news showed shaky video footage of a slim figure shooting into the sky, holding someone else in their arms. It was obviously Jordan, and it looked like she was carrying Niloufar, who had covered her face with her headscarf against the cameras. Despite himself and the absurdity of the situation, he somehow found himself taken by surprise that they had managed to solve the situation on their own, without his help.

           James Gordon Jr. did not fight back. He did not protest; when the police came, they arrested him, but found no evidence of wrongdoings in the Penthouse except, obviously, trespassing. Later, into his commlink, Oracle informed Damian that they were holding her brother temporarily, but they may not have enough solid evidence to put him away.

           Meanwhile, Ellen got a quick status report from the other members of the team, then checked on Scott Morrison. He was alive, but comatose.

           As the late nighttime hours began to bleed into the impossibly early morning, Damian and Ellen sat on the rooftop of a building, their legs hanging down over the side.

           “I know – technically – we won,” said Ellen, peering down at the city streets below them. “So why does it still feel like we got played?”

           “It usually feels like that,” Damian told her dully, without looking around at her. “Especially with filth like the Joker and Gordon, Junior. It always feels like there’s something we missed.”

           “We didn’t need to take the Joker out of custody.”

           “No,” agreed Damian. “I…suppose I just hate it when people think the Joker is bigger than he is. He’s a lowlife criminal. I wanted Morrison to understand that.”

           “I think that’s the problem,” said Ellen, glancing around at him. “It…strikes me that you really can’t take these things personally in this business.”

           Damian didn’t answer for a moment. Then, slowly, he got to his feet. “I understand that,” he announced, with some finality. “But…I don’t think it’s right to remove your own feelings out of these kinds of situations. I think that’s how you end up like Batman.”

           “And that’s a bad thing?”

           “It’s the worst thing,” he told her, his gaze flickering over to her. “A terrible option. The bad ending.”

           “I don’t know,” she challenged, with a shrug. “He took care of this city for a long time before you came along. Maybe he knows something you don’t.”

           This obviously troubled Damian. He bade her farewell, and then he made his way back to Wayne Manor, arriving in the Cave just as the very first edges of dawn began to break. His father was already there, seated in his throne before the computer, as always. Damian noticed the crowbar was gone from its place on the specimen table.

           He removed his mask on his way up from the garage, passing his father at the computer and heading in the direction of the stairs that led up to the house above. Before he reached them, though, he paused, and he turned around.

           “Father,” he said.

           Bruce moved only slightly, glancing over his shoulder.

           “I’m sorry,” he admitted, like pulling teeth.

           For a moment, nothing happened. And then Bruce turned back to the computer, his fingers clacking away on the keyboard. “What are you apologizing for?” he asked. “You won.”

           “The Joker-”

           “Is back in Arkham.”

           “But I-”

           “Maybe you made mistakes, Robin,” said Bruce, still facing the screen, “but your team was there for you, and they took care of it. I was impressed with Jabberwock and Seraph in particular tonight. Jabberwock should do very well on patrol, though I believe Seraph would benefit from a more permanent headquarters.” On the screen, Bruce flipped through a series of safehouses he’d long kept on reserve. “The Haven, perhaps?”

           Damian gaped at his father. “Headquarters?” he asked. “Patrol? You mean to say – this is it? You really trust them?”

           “I trust you,” said Bruce, “and I trust Ember. That’s got to be enough for now.”

           Still, Damian felt discontent. “Father,” he began, “I still think – if we had just-”

           “Ifs and should haves are poison, Damian,” said Bruce, without looking around. “You won. Red Hood and some of his contents are working on getting Gordon’s drug off the streets, but without a supplier, it should dry up on its own.”

           “And Gordon?”

           “From what I hear of him, he’s no criminal mastermind. He just likes toying with people. If he can, his father will put him away.”

           “His father,” echoed Damian, trying to ignore the obvious parallels suddenly rearing his mind. “I imagine you might be feeling some…empathy, for his situation.”

           “None at all, Damian. None at all.”

           Damian rolled his eyes, then turned to head up into the Manor, taking the stairs two at a time.

----

NAME: Niloufar Ghorbani ALIAS: N/A / Seraph DATE OF BIRTH: 16 October 1996 BLOOD TYPE: O+ (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Nazanin & Mahmoud Ghorbani, Parents (Contact) AFFILIATIONS: Team Ember EVAL: Observe for further development of metahuman abilities

#sog2 #earth 28 #damian wayne #colin wilkes #nell little #ellen nayar #bruce wayne #jason makes a cameo!!!!! #also i hated writing the joker #and this fic officially makes jewish!waynes canon #i'll fix some shit in here before i upload it to ao3 but i just had to power thru it and get it Finished #oh babs is also there

[tachibubu]

Despacito

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader

AU: Semi-Medieval, Pirates Era and Aftermath of Civil War.

Prompt: You haven’t meet Bucky but idolized him since you were a child from the stories of your parents. Bucky returned from being captured by the people from Hydra and King Rogers held a masquerade ball for the return of his best friend and you’re invited on it.

|I got to tell you something guys, I don’t really like Bucky that much. But since most of the people on tumblr likes him so I ask, why not? Also this would be semi-Medieval. Thought I’ll do something new! To be honest I didn’t quite like this since I CAN’T COMPLETELY EXPLAIN WHAT HAPPENED but when I finished editing (Which was weirdly fast.) I appreciated it a little bit. My thesaurus wasn’t working and there’s no Wi-Fi atm when I did this story so sorry! Anyways hoped you like it!

| WARNING: CONFUSING |

You haven’t met this man before, longhaired and piercing eyes. Just glancing at him can make you feel intimidated. Is it because he has the status as being the lone king of the pirates? Might be for the other people but for you, he is the type of man that yearned for love behind his façade. Something about him makes you feel connected at him even though you just meet him now.

Today, King Steve Rogers of the Northland held a party for the celebration on James Buchanan Barnes return. He was known as Bucky, the Lost Soldier of the Sea. The people in the discarded island known as Hydra when he was fighting for the Northland captured him. The people were happy that he was back, for you? You were ecstatic, your parents told you a lot about him. To be exact, he was your childhood hero and you can’t admit that you had a puppy crush on him.

“The theme would be Masquerade, requested by the King.”

Sam Wilson, best known as his battlefield name Falcon announced. He is known as the left hand of King Rogers as Bucky was known to be the right hand. The females scurried off, wailing and sobbing about not finding the right dress and masks as the males were distressed about their salaries and having not enough money to buy their suits.

“Ah, (Y/N).”

Wanda Maximoff, known as Scarlet Witch. She held great power in the battlefield, as she was a sorcerer; she was supposedly in the Southland where the wealthy King Tony Stark governed. Unfortunately, she didn’t like the rules that was set on that land and fled with Clint Barton. The King of Archery in battlefield and serves King Rogers, best known as Hawkeye. Speaking of him, he was beside Wanda smiling sheepishly and awkwardly waving. You weren’t really that close to him. But to Wanda. You treated her like the twin sister you never had.

“We have a surprise for you.” Clint grinned as he scratched the back of his neck. You stared at them confusedly and that’s when you feel a gloved hand covered your sightings. You heard a man giggled and you felt in glee as you uncovered your eyes and gawked at the sight.

“Peter!” you embraced the young man as he returned it.

Peter Parker, alias name is Spiderman. He is one of King Stark’s best soldiers; he was cursed to have the abilities of a spider when he was a child. He didn’t know it until he was took in by your mother, May and father Ben.

“Long time no see bug.” He spans you around and landed you gently on the rocky ground. “Wait,” you stared at him “Does this mean…?”

“Yes, King Stark would be attending the party.”

King Tony Stark of the Southland. Unlike King Rogers’s kingdom, which is only managed by the king himself. King Stark has the help of some few people that his residents voted at.

“Glad that the Iron dude would be here, he got any gifts? Iron again? How about gold, we need that.” Sam engaged in the conversation abruptly with Natasha Romanoff trailing behind. “Not going to happen,” Natasha puts her hand on her hip averted his gaze at Clint, giving in a small smile “Hey.”

“Nice seeing you again,” Clint laughed. Natasha Romanoff, known as the Black Widow. One of the soldiers of King Stark, she is the main spy in his troop of army.  

“Vision!” Wanda rushed in to give the robot a big hug. No one knew how the robot was made except for three people. They haven’t seen such advanced technology made rather than cannons that was found in Hydra. Vision was known to be one of the strongest, agile and enhanced knights at the South, serving for the better and loyal to King Stark. He embraced back and smiled at the form of greeting made by Wanda.

Peter smirked and averted his attention towards you. “So where’s the ant dude anyway?”

"The man went to his family for the time being,” Sam sighed, “The poor man needs time to heal after the War happened. Anyways how’s Rhodey and the Panther guy?”

“Well, King Stark has been by his side all day after the fall incident but he’s fine now. He’ll be able to join the ball and T’Challa returned to his kingdom, he wouldn’t be in the event sadly.” Clint glared at the members of the South. Guilt creeping in, “My bad, sorry.”

“Nonsense.”

The group including you twirled around to find both of the Kings together with their most worthy soldiers beside them. King Stark smirked at the acknowledgement he was getting as you and the others arched your back and bowed while King Rogers just face palmed in annoyance at the other King. “No need to bow for now. I told you that you should just bow when in front of other villagers! This is embarrassing.”

“Now, now Capsicle. Don’t you like the attention we’re getting?”

“Please just stitch your mouth.”

You and the others stood and watched the childish argument in amusement. It’s not any other day you see two Lord-like beings disputing each other in a foolish way since you were just a mere engineer unlike your adopted brother and his and your companions. While watching as the two males fight while Rhodey, the War Machine that stood beside King Stark tried desperately to cease the fight. You noticed a male that you’ve never meet before, longhaired and piercing eyes. Just looking at him can make your knees shook. He had this certain aura around him that you can’t pin point. His facial expression makes you think that he doesn’t care at all on what’s happening around him.

He observed the crowd of heroes and landed his eyes on you, taking note on how you were the only one staring back at him. He frowned then returned to look around who is around.

You sulked at the gesture, how rude you thought.

“Anyways, the reason I’m here it’s because I’m introducing my best friend that helped me through out the years in sailing.” King Rogers smiled and directed his thumb at the man beside him. “His name is---“

You couldn’t believe what just happened as Wanda styled your hair. “I COULDN’T BELIEVE THAT HE WAS THE SEA SOLDIER!” Wanda manipulated another rubber and made it land on her hand and proceeded to do your hair.

“I THOUGHT HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HANDSOME AND COOL LIKE MY PARENTS TOLD ME!”

“Now, now (Y/N). There’s no reason to call him not attractive, after all he’s a ladies man.” Wanda chortled as Natasha applied on a lipstick. “Don’t joke on me Wanda! Also he’s so rude for God’s sake, how could that be a ladies man?!”

It was a fact when you stated that he was rude, when you were walking around at the market place, which was filled with people and you are trying to find Wanda his body collided with you and left as if nothing happened and didn’t even apologized, you also took notice on how he has a covered basket beside him. There’s also one time when you’re going in the bakery store to buy some flour as requested by Natasha, just when you were supposed to open the door the pirate roughly exited the room as the door smacked your face. He even made an eye contact yet he didn’t say a simple “Sorry" and rushed out while you were rubbing your bleeding nose. Fortunately it didn’t broke. Now, the one person you idolized so much is now just an annoying fly to you.

“Well, talk to Natasha about that. She dated him.” You instantly turned your head on your right, not minding the call of Wanda as two of the pins fall off of your hair. “You dated that grouchy man?”

Natasha didn’t hesitated to answer as she puts on one of her earrings “Yes. Only for three months. He’s not like how you described him to be.”

You grumbled incoherent words as Wanda only snickered. “Well, he’s a kind man if you try to know him. Take this ball as a chance, though it might be hard since we’ll all be wearing masks.”

“Pfft,” you rolled your eyes “Not a chance.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going with my dear brother.” You smugly said and wore the mask you made that complimented your dress as Wanda finished the last touches on your hair.

“What?”

“Sorry bug.” Peter smiled and left with Mary Jane leaving you alone as your other friends left. Natasha is with Bruce and Wanda is with Vision.

There are a lot of people in the castle, every one of them in check. People were having fun dancing with their partner; no one is alone except you. While wandering you found a waiter bringing foods and champagne around so you took one drink. Nothing to do, you emerged out of the castle and entered the back of it which lead to a beautiful view of the ocean and the night sky full of stars. You couldn’t help but love this part of the land something about it was enchanting. You grinned and placed the wine glass down and took off your heels while launching down the rocky shore. Feeling free from the world. In every step you could hear the sound of the music playing from the indoors decreasing.

You could hear the waves and the salty water scent hits your nose. You sat down near the sea and admired the view of the constellations and the calming hums of the ocean. Something about this place reminded you something but you couldn’t pin point it. While you were engrossed in your thoughts heard someone sitting beside you.

“Nice view right?”

The person is a man in a suit; his hair in a man bun and his mask’s design was gorgeous. You nod, not entirely trusting this man. Though to you, he has this presence that was rather familiar.

“Mind dancing?”  He stared at you his eyes were ice blue. He stood and held out his hand. Something about that gesture made your head ache a little but you reassured yourself and took the hand as he pulled you up. He placed your hand on his nape and puts his hand behind you. His other hand took yours, conjoining it. He led the slow paced dance while humming a song that you were familiar with.

“What are you singing?” he only smiled a toothy one.

“You will know.”

Suddenly you could hear the music from the castle clear.

Sí, sabes que ya llevo un rato mirándote Tengo que bailar contigo hoy (DY) Vi que tu mirada ya estaba llamándome Muéstrame el camino que yo voy (Oh)

He lead the dance suddenly into a face paced one and adding a mix of touches and salsa, “Hey!” you were flustered, as you didn’t know how to dance on this type of music only slow ones but surprisingly. Your body led you to the beat, shocking you completely. You weren’t the dancing type of girl to say at least.

Tú, tú eres el imán y yo soy el metal Me voy acercando y voy armando el plan Solo con pensarlo se acelera el pulso (Oh yeah)

Ya, ya me está gustando más de lo normal Todos mis sentidos van pidiendo más                                Esto hay que tomarlo sin ningún apuro

You wouldn’t admit it but you were enjoying the moment. Chuckling here and there while looking at your partner who is in the same condition with you.

“Sing with me.” He said suddenly which made you gape in confusement.

“Despacito.” He began. The song was really familiar to you and you couldn’t help but hum along and then openly sang as well. Your mind was giving you the words to say in melody, surprising you once again.

Quiero desnudarte a besos despacito Firmo en las paredes de tu laberinto Y hacer de tu cuerpo todo un manuscrito (sube, sube, sube)

(Sube, sube) Quiero ver bailar tu pelo Quiero ser tu ritmo Que le enseñes a mi boca Tus lugares favoritos (favoritos, favoritos baby)

You chanted the lyrics along with him until the song ended.

“Despacito.”

You heard Sam’s voice echoing saying to take off the mask now. You and the mysterious man looked once again and untied the masks.

It shocked you who to see your partner’s face.

“Bucky?” your eyes were wide as a saucer.

“(Y/N), I have something to say.”

“How did you know my name? We haven’t even made a proper conversation until now!” you backed, the sand somehow calming your aggression a little.

“(Y/N), I know you before and one thing I want you to know is that I love you.”

“What?!” he smiled, his eyes showing the opposite. It held sadness, “I need to go now. I just want you to know that I’m going to Hydra tomorrow and I need to see you once again there. Promise me please.”

“I don’t understand…”

He moved forward and kissed you, you felt butterflies in your stomach. It was a short, meaningful kiss. When you stared at his eyes, it was no longer blue but it is now warm brown.

“Be safe.” He smiled then backed away and walked towards the opposite direction of the castle. You were left in trance and your mind was full of questions. When you were brought back to reality, you tried to call out for him and maybe follow him to demand questions but his trail of footprints were nowhere to be seen.

“God, Bucky is such a douchebag.” You grumbled while biting on one of the Turkish delight snacks that you bought from the bakery store, this snack was far by one of your favorites. “There you go again,” Wanda sheepishly pinpointed while she was drinking coffee.

“I heard that Bucky would be going to Hydra in a few minutes by now.” Natasha said while biting off plain bread. You choked at the thought; you remembered that Bucky said that you should meet him, which you didn’t know the reason behind.

“Hey are you okay?” Wanda initiated.

“Yeah, I just remember that I need to feed my cattle. I’m just going to buy food in a few minutes.” You responded, took your pouch and rushed outside, running towards the shore where the on-going boats decked are.

“Weird, she doesn’t have a cattle.” Wanda sighed and proceeded to steal some of your snack that was left. Natasha only smiled.

“BUCKY!”

The crowd ceased down and stared at you weirdly while the man that you called looked at you strangely as if he didn’t knew you. “What?” he countered and embarrassment floods you mixing with anger. How could he be all right after he just kissed you yesterday you thought. Now that you realized, you didn’t knew what to say and everyone is looking at you since you just yelled for attention at one of the most intimidating man in the land. To them it was an act for a death wish making you gulp

“Uh, eh… When you get back maybe, tea sometime?” you stammered “And augh, be safe!”

You proceeded to push towards the crowd in embarrassment. “Why did I even do that?!” you panted as you stopped in front the bakery store, your heart was pounding. “But I just noticed, why is his eyes are blue?”

Meanwhile at the boat, one of the passengers nictate his eyes at the scene and confronted his captain. “Do you know that lass?”

Bucky only smiled, remembering the catastrophic moment. “Didn’t knew that girl but maybe I’ll know her in the future just like she said.”

Around the enormous rock that was near at the Lone Soldier’s boat there was a cloaked man watching the scene, his face beaming at the act that happened. He then entered the forest that lead to an isolated shore. Basket in hand, his destination ended in front of a gravestone. He removed the covers as the sweet Turkish delight can be seen and set it in front of the gravestone.

“It’s been years, right? I brought your favorite sweet once again.” He brought out his hand to see it slowly fading. He frowned, “I’m slowly fading…”

“Well at least my other self would get to grow old with you now.” He choked in tears. “I’m coming now (Y/N).” He wiped his tears off, as there are only few parts that weren’t part of the air yet.

“Despacito all right.”

With one last breath, the longhaired man with piercing eyes was gone.

On the gravestone, it carved:

 “(Y/N) (L/N)”.

||The story was confusing I know but I was thinking, should I do a prequel thing that describes what happen before this? Let me know guys! Also if I do add one, who would want to be tagged?

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #x reader #reader insert #despacito #pirate #medieval #civil war #au #avengers x reader #avenger x reader #avengers