blue beetle;

Indie Jaime Reyes/Blue Beetle blog. Tracking blueshelled. current M!A: none.  beetle(s)

[blueshelled]

role reversal

[impulsivelybartallen]

“Warm,” He breathed, voice soft and quivering. God, they’re warm and sort of soft, but there was callouses for his nose and lips to bump against. What’s wrong with him? When did he close his eyes? 

"Don’t be," Bart hushed him, eyes peeking open to watch Jaime Reyes. He offered a thin smile, and another sigh as he was pulled back into the warmth. Oh, he couldn’t breathe. This is getting ridiculous. 

How dare this damn human be so fucking warm, how dare he. It’s—not fair. The last time he even remembers being around other humans without having to monitor/kill them was when he was little. Even then, the hands of his mother were freezing cold. Much like himself now. Then she died and Bart got picked up by the Reach—and here he is now; Hellbent on initiating the takeover even faster, and more than ready and willing to cut down any pesky meathead that got in his way. 

Like this Jaime Reyes, the scarab dutifully offered the name once again. Maybe… He could keep this one as a pet. Bart’s never had a little pet before. This man isn’t a meta, though his intelligence might be useful to the Reach. When he gets out of here and things heat up, he definitely going to ask to keep hold of this meatbag.

This one’s his, he calls dibs. 

"Sorry I—" What else could he say to make himself more believable? Not that the shit he’s muttering about isn’t personal—He almost wanted to plasma cannon himself for saying it (Ambassador sure would have cut his tongue off for it)—but from the look on this man’s face…

Bart’s eyes flickered open again, staring straight into deep, warm brown eyes and dark skin and all he could smell was something sweet and musky. So nice to look at. So warm. Something he’s just not used to and never had. (God, this isn’t fair). But, Bart had to admit that it’s working.  

Is he leaning to him? 

Bart took the invitation with a pensive look and a bite of his lip. He closed his eyes again, leaned into Jaime Reyes and immersed himself in the warmth whilst fingers willingly cupped his face. 

The beetle froze once a clear, concise, robotic voice sounded above them. His eyes flew open, body going rigid and tight under Jaime’s hold. Bart looked frantic, like he’d been ripped out of a dream or fresh from a nightmare. Green-gold eyes darted around, it would be suspicious if he bolts now. no, he has to play the pitiful kicked puppy. No running, no plasma cannons, no suit. He needs to get this man to trust him somehow; befriend the main operator of the hideout and he could do anything he wanted.

Slowly, Bart re-gripped the hands on his face and pulled them down. His fidgety nature had the pads of his fingers dancing, drumming, and gently moving agains the bigger palms. He looked downcast, a weary smile on his face. 

"Lockdown," He breathed out, eyeing Jaime’s hands. "Going to be trapped? I understand that you don’t believe me, but trapping me—did you want me all to yourself?" The beetle teased coyly. "What… Was it you were saying?" Bright eyes looked up, somewhat hopeful and sad.

They’ve got all the time in the world, unless Bart gets fed up, kills him and decrypts the lockdown sequence. 

[blueshelled]

Allen was soft and pliable, one second, breathing sweetly against Jaime's skin, and then the next he was tense until he felt like stone beneath Jaime's fingers.

He was rigid for a mere moment before he regained himself and was soft once more, and Jaime's eyes narrow at the facade. How much of this was real, and how much of this was fake? How much of Allen could he actually manipulate?

Ugh. God. Jaime was just not cut out for this. For one, he wasn't really a very good liar (how Brenda always managed to get an excuse for him in Psych was ridiculous), he was awful at interrogations, and he couldn't even play Good Cop/Bad Cop. Honestly. He was god-awful at this kind of thing. Sure, he'd gotten much better on observing little expressions and body language over the years, but his interpretations were still lacking.

Life, he'd decided a while ago, would be much simpler if it were written out like-- like-- software. But, of course, then it wouldn't be life anymore, would it?

Allen's fingertips danced on Jaime's palms, whose ears suddenly decided to focus on the background hum of the computer program while his eyes fixated on Allen's moving lips. Scarred, chapped lips. It felt, for a slow, slow second, like his mind was too crowded by sound, and too muddled by noise.

Jaime swallowed.

"All I want," he began, curling his fingers around Allen's, until he held Allen's hands in his, too gently for perfect strangers, "are some answers."

Jaime let go of the hands, let his drop to his sides. He turned around to face the computer. The light keyboard hovered patiently in the air, waiting for his touch.

"I guess we'll start out easy," Jaime sighed quietly. "How many of you are out there?"

[blueshelled]

role reversal

[impulsivelybartallen]

"Feel free," He hummed with a tiny smile. "Just be wary of any corroded parts in there. Time travel is still pretty sticky business." 

Another step. Bart followed suit with a wide step. His plaything was starting to get antsy, he can tell. 

The beetle almost leered at Jaime. Almost. No, no this is good. This makes it a challenge. Jaime’s smart (and a lot more pleasing to eye then he’d like to admit). This could prove to be fun. 

Sure, he’s smart, but how gullible is he?

Give me a challenge, kid. 

Carefully, he looked down to spy the sign on his chest and fingered it absentmindedly. “What, this?” He inquired slowly, words rolling off his tongue. “If it bothers you so much, I could.. Take it off.” 

Bart wondered if he knew how the bug suit worked. Hopefully not a lot. The less, the better for him. It could prove difficult if his lie wasn’t bought and not being trusted. 

Slowly, the suit pulled away, metal armor retracting back. Funny, he almost forgot what his own skin looked like. He was left with tight jeans, a dark shirt and a jacket. All very monotoned colors. Bart paused, looking up at Jaime from under his lashes an shelf his hands out in a ‘Well?’ Sort of manner. 

"You’re getting so angry and you haven’t even heard my side of the story," he pouted at the frazzled man, and casually started waltzing forward. "Told you, I’m not working for anyone." He kept advancing, even when Jaime started inching backwards. Bart held up his arms in mock surrender, eyes half lidding and offering up a tiny smile. 

"Alright, you caught me. So I know your name, Jaime Reyes. And you know mine. Not going to hurt you.” That’s it, pretend to play nice. Once he got close enough and herded Jaime back into a wall, the pale skinned warrior collected the man’s hand and slid them over his face. He inhaled sharply—warm. Shit. Spit something out.

"See? Positively harmless. You can snap my neck if you really don’t believe me. At leeaaast hear me out.” 

His hands are so warm… God, his hands are warm. Oh maybe this was a bad idea. He wanted to melt. God, how long has it been since he’s actually had physical contact with another human? Forever. Tingles, he’s getting all tingly. 

Warm hands shouldn’t be a turn-on. No, they should not.

But, he couldn’t help himself, he sort of—well—nuzzled the hands and sighed and sort of smiled.

"You’re," He swallowed thickly, "Sorry it’s just been a long time since… The Reach don’t keep people around unless they’re being used for something.” 

[blueshelled]

Lockdown initiated in silence. Nothing about the room seemed to change at all, but Jaime knew better. It was loading, spreading from the center outwards, and would be slow until it reached the points on the floor that marked the inner ring.

The bug suit slipped away, leaving behind the body of a fit young man and pale skin. Jaime's throat worked. He was really starting to hate that lilt.

Jaime focused on something else. His eyes flickered to the floor, observing the little details that were noticeable only to him, and a limited amount of other people. And none of them knew them like he did-- none of them spent as much time as he did, tinkering with the tech and configuring codes.

The first heroes sometimes talked about the old Base. When M'gann, Kaldur, and Conner still used to work here, they would take on tender expressions, daydreaming of a lost home. Artemis and Dick had words for each other, words that they didn't extend out and share with the rest of the team.

Jaime understood the ache for the home that they all had bonded and really started the league in, all too well, really, after the Reach had destroyed a good fraction of his own town. But as far as he was concerned, this Base was far more advanced than the original, more expansive and with better technology. (He could say the same for the one in South Africa, and the one off the coast of Australia.) It was still a home-- perhaps not one that the old team could recognize as their own, but a home to the other members, especially ones that had already lost their own. Garfield, for example, although he was stationed in Africa, now.

A pair of cold hands took Jaime's, and his breath caught, and mentally he chastised himself for being utterly pitiful. If everyone were to fall victim immediately to someone's looks, Brenda's irritated voice started in his head... Well, there wouldn't be much conflict at all, when it comes to parallel-dimension battles. They'd all be fighting their damn hot selves, Jaime finished.

He exhaled carefully, looking up from his own hands and into a set of marbled topaz. Allen brought his hands to his face and nuzzled them. Some sort of screaming protest rang in Jaime's thoughts as Allen sighed, far too sweet for an alien warrior seeking to enslave an entire planet. This couldn't be right. Allen was far too vulnerable right now. That one statement alone could provide so much information on the Reach's labs, their current condition... With a little bit of coaxing, Allen could become a mole without even knowing it.

Jaime felt dirty, plotting against a man that seemed like he'd been locked away and deprived of mere human contact for years. But the enemy had never been too just to avoid psychological persuasion, and sometimes you needed to fight like the enemy did.

"I'm sorry," Jaime started gently, leaning into Allen and gingerly curling his fingers onto Allen's cheekbone, "You're gonna be--"

A low buzz quickly rose into a background droning, into a language that Jaime knew better than anyone else. It was not unbearably loud, but terribly noticeable, in the previous silence of the room, and Jaime shut his eyes briefly while muttered a curse.

"Lockdown confirmed," TETRA monotoned, "Ring A. Ring B. Ring C Sequence loading."

[blueshelled]

role reversal

[blueshelled]

impulsivelybartallen:

Human stepped away. Bart tilted his head almost inquiringly at the gesture, and then followed suit and took a step forward, but relented enough space for himself to be comfortable and maneuver around if need be. (By maneuver he generally means bolt away or use the plasma canon. You know, usually.) 

The human, who is not Jesus—that much he’s sure of (as he is that he himself is not this Jesus)—actually stops whatever he was going to give Bart the look over. More than a little amused by it, he stilled himself and quirked his head to the other side. “Like what you see?” He taunted, obviously teasing the poor guy with his impish grin. 

It was funny to see him sweat. Kind of cute, really amusing. Definitely not a bad human. He’ll store that bit away for later to mull over.

His hands were crossed in front of him, but he adjusted. One hand held his elbow and he rested his cheek on his propped up arm, enjoying the feel of the cool metal on his skin. 

"I’m Bart Allen,” The beetle spoke as he advanced the given amount of steps, though made them smaller, shorter. More space for him, but it gave the meatbag comfort… Oh well, there’s always time to make him uncomfortable. “Then be more specific!” He spoke with amusement and delight, smile showing teeth as a laugh tickled his throat. 

Bart gestured behind him to the time machine, “I’m from the future. You can tinker with the thing all you like if you want. Just make sure not to hit buttons.” Considering it was useless to him now, he could careless, but he had to feign some interest. 

He takes a moment to look up at the flickering lights and the screens disappearing. “What… don’t feel like sharing your super secret info with a stranger? How rude!” He chuckled.

"Oh drat!" Bart pouted whilst patting over his armor. "I must have left my ID and library card in my other bug suit! Do you take credit cards?" Those should exist here right? Humans mentioned the oddest things and his scarab chattered quietly in the back of his mind, feeding him any extra related information. "Mmm.. Let’s see. No one, the time machine travels time not distance, and I didn’t realize I was in some fancy club…" He was about to say the guy’s name but… No can’t do that.

“Actually. And your name would be?”

Allen kept stepping closer and closer, walking— ugh, god, that was an awful word for it. It didn’t feel like he was just walking. It was more like— like stalking, like a cat would, and was making Jaime feel dangerously similar to a mouse. Not even two minutes of interaction and he’d already become the prey. Imagine him battling a parallel-dimension catwoman-- that'd just be pitiful. Maybe it was better he wasn't out there, then, keeping from being a nuisance to the rest of the crew.

But Jaime didn't feel much safer here, trapped by the mere stare of a stranger.

(Jaime reminded himself to get DNA samples of the man. When Tim comes back, they'll be able to work something out together.)

"I might just take you up on that offer," Jaime muttered, mostly to himself, eyes flickering to the machine before returning to Allen. He took a small step backwards, without thinking. It almost felt natural, running away from his predator.

Jaime snorted at the other man's comments. "You guys still have library cards in this future?" He crossed his arms and tried to maintain an authoritative stance. It was much easier when the other people in the room were trainees (namely his sister), not grown men from the future dressed in peculiar bug suits.

It hit Jaime like a bullet, nipping the side of his mind only seconds before tearing right through. "That insignia belongs to the Reach." His eyes narrow. "You're working for them." He stepped back again, fingers tapping softly against the hovering keyboard platform. Jaime kept himself from pressing any buttons, but the urge to put the Center Room on lockdown was unbelievably tempting, gnawing at his thoughts. He certainly couldn't take this guy down, not without any weapons or chemicals on hand. Lockdown would prevent Allen from accessing any of the records, among other things, that Jaime would assume the Reach was looking for.

They hadn't heard from the Reach in a few weeks. Everyone'd been suspecting that something was going on. This must have been it.

"Fuck," he cursed very quietly, and glares up at Allen. "You're working for them. You should know at least half of all our names, by now." Jaime turned on Lockdown.

At the very least, before he potentially gets torn from limb to limb, he could get some answers. The computer is still a weapon.

[blueshelled]

"Jaime!" Bart chattered and pulled on Jaime's arm, "Dudewhat'sThanksgiving? People keep talking about it!"

Jaime quirked a brow. “No one’s told you anything about it? Not even Joan, or Iris?” Weird. He wriggled his arm out of Bart’s grasp and slung it around Bart’s shoulders, instead. Ahh, sweet circulation. “It’s… really just a day that we get to stay home from school and eat a lot, usually with family or friends. It’s one of those really warm fuzzy-feelings holidays.” He grinned at Bart. “Perfect for you, actually.”

[impulsivelybartallen]

"Not really! I didn’t really as though," The speedster grinned sheepishly and chuckled at the arm around his shoulders. He leaned against Jaime and reciprocated the motion—only Bart wrapped an arm around his ribcage. "That’s all? Really?" He wrinkled his nose, slightly confused. "Warm fuzzy feelings?" He laughed lightly, "Crash! Soundslikemykindofholiday! Can I spend it with you too?"

[blueshelled]

"Yeah," Jaime smiled warmly. "Of course, hermano. But I'll be spending it with my family. Including my extended family. If you're up for a sassy grandmother and crazy aunts and uncles, you're welcome to come." He frowned, a slight curve on his lips. "Joan won't mind, will she? That I'm stealing her honorary grandson for Thanksgiving."

[impulsivelybartallen]

"Cookie butter. It's a thing, apparently."

"Cookie butter? Cookie butter?!”

The speedster immediately latched onto Jaime’s arm. “Buy me cookie butter!” He paused, then came back with, “And let’s make cookies!!”

[impulsivelybartallen]

  "They don’t?" He questioned, eyes wide and curious and a little bit miffed that he couldn’t just go get it right now.

"Could we? Let’s make cookie butter!! Oreo butter? That’s like a thing? That’sathing!" He yanked on Jaime’s arm excitedly, excitement evident in his bright eyes. "Crazy crash! You, me, bake night. We’re making cookie butter! Quick—what do we need? We’re totally baking tonight!”

[blueshelled]

Jaime’s smile is affectionate when he ruffles Bart’s hair. “Well. I mean, we’d have to get all the ingredients first, hermano. Coconut oil, a ridiculous amount of cookies, and more stuff, obviously. We can’t steal Milagro’s, or she’ll throw a fit and attack me.” Jaime shook his head gravely, a solemn look on his face. “Little sisters are dangerous. We’ll have to go on an quest or something, to, like, a supermarket. Or Trader Joe’s.”

[impulsivelybartallen]

"Hey!" He laughed lightly and swatted at Jaime’s hand. "Stop it, dude!" Actually, he didn’t have to. He kind of liked that gesture. Okay, fine, he liked just about any affectionate gesture, but cut him some slack alright? "Can’t have you getting your butt whooped by your lil sis, can we now?" Bart flashed him a big grin, obviously teasing Jaime. "Thenlet’sgoonaquest! I wanna make cookie butter, her-man-oh! C’mooonnn, don’t be a tease. You can’t just tell me about cookie butter and not let me have it!” He took hold of Blue’s forearms and tugged. “C’mon! C’mon!”

[blueshelled]

Jaime snickered. "Never," he said determinedly, and ran his fingers gently against Bart's scalp. Yeah, just casually act like you're not doing something kinda intimate.

The beetle scoffed in the back of his mind and muttered something in another language, which Jaime assumed was probably better that he didn't understand.

"I'll tease you all I want," Jaime said, with as much dignity as he could manage, saying something like that, and waggled his brows at Bart. "Alright, okay, we'll go get some stuff. I've got some money on me, and I don't think Pathmark is too far away. Maybe a couple minutes for me, a few seconds or so for you." Jaime grinned. "At most."

[blueshelled]

 teenlantern is now following you.

Jaime quirked a brow and a soft smile. "Hey. I don't think I've ever met you before." Not that he had lunch dates with the entire green lantern corps every Wednesday and knew every member, but. Still.

[blueshelled]

 providencessecretweapon is now following you. 

"Uh... hey, hermano. Do I know you?"

[blueshelled]

coffeeshop au~

[blueshelled]

Oh, god, the kid is hitting on him. Jaime’s grin freezes and he sucks in lips and turns a very noticeable red. There is a middle-schooler hitting on him. Right now. He glances behind him, helplessly, hoping that at least Megan will be standing in the doorway or something, but alas, she’s not. (Okay, he doesn’t look like a middle-schooler, but he looks like he’s at that age where you could get arrested for just holding his hand. If the word jail-bait had only a photo to describe it, Jaime’s sure that it would be a photo of this boy.)

Jaime curses very softly beneath his breath and keeps his eyes trained on the cash register.

Hell, the kid is so— forward, too. Like, he very blatantly complimented Jaime maybe like four times in the last minute. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jaime mutters, blood heating his cheeks even more excitedly than before. His eyes flicker up without his consent, curious, and appreciatively take in the boy’s ridiculous smile for a split-second, before Jaime goes back to staring determinedly at the register. He punches in the numbers and has to press the backspace a couple more times than usual. Damn him.

"A tip for you," Jaime grumbles in response, ears burning up, "don’t flirt with men that could be easily six years older than you, kid." Okay, Jaime was only eighteen and the kid looked like he was in high school, but definitely not legal. Not even close to legal. And Jaime was not getting into trouble with this crazy-flirty vixen.

"What size would you like?" Courage returns to Jaime’s veins— honestly, was he really nervous because of a damn kid— and he looks up and gazes as he pleases at the boy. "For the Gingerbread latte. And you never gave me your name."

[impulsivelybartallen]

Oh man, look at that face. Look at that face. His grin turned all the more impish and he gave himself a pat on the back. That made him feel friggin’ sweet. In a funny way. Like ‘haha’ funny way cause this guy looked like a blasted tomato.

"Oh no, I’m always so serious. So very serious. You can tell by the frown lines in my face!" And his face has no lines etched into it. No, he was all smiles and fresh faced and only in danger of getting laugh lines in the far future.

"I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll give you another tip. You can only say that when you look less like a tomato and more your skin tone. Otherwise," He winked up at Jaime. "You don’t even know how old I am. And you sure don’t look like an old man. Roll with the punches," He waggled his brow, bright eyes teeming with unexpressed laughter. "Worse things could have happened to you."

Like spilling coffee on himself or something.

This is where he shows his inexperience with coffee shops. “The middle one,” He hummed then grinned wider than ever. “Oh, no name needed, Just write your number on there, that’ll suffice!”

God, please don’t let him throw coffee on Bart. Also Bart, don’t say that out loud. Good boy.

[blueshelled]

Jaime groaned, wiping his hand down a weary face. Frown lines? What frown lines? The only one with frown lines was Jaime. The kid looked like he'd never so much as pursed his lips. Damn young people and their perfect skin.

Okay, Jaime wasn't an old man with the world's largest wrinkle collection, and he didn't have pepperoni pizza skin, either (ninth grade was a dark, dark year), but his skin was no where near as flawless as the customer's.

"For here or to go?" To go, you damn not-attractive nuisance.

He glared at the boy, noticed the faintest of freckles just above his cheekbones, and consequently felt as if he'd just molested the kid. He quickly averted his eyes. God damn it. Stupid flirty minors.

"That'll be... twelve dollars, seventy cents. D'you want the pastry toasted?" The kid was still grinning like a moron-- an adorable, annoying, definitely-going-to-get-me-arrested moron-- and Jaime found himself pouting at him.

He scowled. Great, now I'm acting like a child.

"You are not getting my number," Jaime grumbled, "and don't tell me when or when not to blush. I can't control that." His cheeks were still heated, so he turned away to grab a coffee cup. Jaime poured the richly roasted coffee before he poured a sliver of milk and cream; and kept his eyes strictly fixed on the drink, swirling a gingerbread flavor shot into the coffee. A little bit of molasses, a little bit of brown sugar, a little bit of ground ginger and nutmeg. The whipped cream sounded loudly from the can as he spun it atop the steaming drink. He sprinkled it with cinnamon and powdery brown sugar and managed, thankfully, to keep from getting it all over the counter.

Pity that Megan couldn't see him now. Then again, if Megan had been here, she'd also have met the very-forward-customer, and would never let Jaime live it down.

Jaime glanced up at the boy. Golden eyes, still. It really wasn't a trick of the light. He snapped a plastic dome lid onto the cup and slid it gently toward the customer, along with a packaged straw. Jaime pulled a berry pastry from the display case, careful to avoid touching the other foods, and set it on a white plate with soft, mint-colored detailing. The cake pops, he pulled from the other display case and slipped into a clear plastic bag, tying them together at the sticks.

"That's it, yeah?"

[blueshelled]

"Jaime!" Bart chattered and pulled on Jaime's arm, "Dudewhat'sThanksgiving? People keep talking about it!"

Jaime quirked a brow. “No one’s told you anything about it? Not even Joan, or Iris?” Weird. He wriggled his arm out of Bart’s grasp and slung it around Bart’s shoulders, instead. Ahh, sweet circulation. “It’s… really just a day that we get to stay home from school and eat a lot, usually with family or friends. It’s one of those really warm fuzzy-feelings holidays.” He grinned at Bart. “Perfect for you, actually.”

[voyagehour]

Jaime Reyes Blue Beetle comic book cover, finished, off to crit

i honestly don’t really like how the bottom portion is done but idk what to do, so gonna haul it in and ask

[impulsivelybartallen]

"Cookie butter. It's a thing, apparently."

"Cookie butter? Cookie butter?!”

The speedster immediately latched onto Jaime’s arm. “Buy me cookie butter!” He paused, then came back with, “And let’s make cookies!!”

[blueshelled]

Jaime shrugged, Bart still attached to his arm.

"I mean. They don’t really sell it in stores and stuff, hermano,” he grinned amusedly, “but we could probably make some. Milagro found some recipes. It’s like. Spread, sort of? Like instead of peanut butter on your crackers, you’d put oreo butter, or chocolate-chip butter. Crazy.”

[impulsivelybartallen]

"They don’t?" He questioned, eyes wide and curious and a little bit miffed that he couldn’t just go get it right now.

"Could we? Let’s make cookie butter!! Oreo butter? That’s like a thing? That’sathing!" He yanked on Jaime’s arm excitedly, excitement evident in his bright eyes. "Crazy crash! You, me, bake night. We’re making cookie butter! Quick—what do we need? We’re totally baking tonight!”

[blueshelled]

Jaime's smile is affectionate when he ruffles Bart's hair. "Well. I mean, we'd have to get all the ingredients first, hermano. Coconut oil, a ridiculous amount of cookies, and more stuff, obviously. We can't steal Milagro's, or she'll throw a fit and attack me." Jaime shook his head gravely, a solemn look on his face. "Little sisters are dangerous. We'll have to go on an quest or something, to, like, a supermarket. Or Trader Joe's."

[blueshelled]

role reversal

[impulsivelybartallen]

The door finally opened. Turned out Bart had to push some fancy buttons (he uses the term in the most sarcastic way possible) to pop it open. It slid open with ease, maybe only scattering some dirt that was lodged around the doorway and he slipped out of the cramped tiny seat (he could have fit when he was younger, he grumbled in the back of his mind) and—right into what he could only assume to be a human male.

One that’s calling him Jesus.

Bart’s superdeeduper speed infected time, just for him, allowed him to scrutinize the dark skinned boy in front of him about five times over without the meatbag noticing.

You know, probably.

His face wasn’t awful, Bart had to yank that out of his more human side and ignore the bug clipping away stats in his head. 

Unwanted, useless trash. I can figure that out on my own. 

Really. The only thing it’s good for is giving him the suit and extra weapons. He snapped at it to be silent, which it complied, not without one last quip which caused the speedster to growl under his breath. 

“Hello,” His voice lilted, face expressionless except for the eyebrows arching up close to his hairline until a smile curled on his lips. His bright eyes flickered, became half-lidded and crinkled at the corners from his wide smile, his mouth sort of quirked awkwardly due to the scar on his lips. 

The male hasn’t moved away yet. Bart crossed his arms and pressed their noses together.

"The name’s Bart Allen. Not Jesus. Though we seem to be confusable. I’m probably more attractive.”

[blueshelled]

Hi, a part of Jaime wanted to reply on instinct, too used to being polite, but he reminded himself to keep his mouth shut and study the man. Which. Well, it became much more difficult when the stranger decided to press himself against Jaime.

Jaime took a step back.

I'm hotter than Jesus, he'd essentially just said. Jaime swallows. It sounds like a really awful Ke$ha parody lyric, so Jaime's assuming that this Bart Allen doesn't know who Jesus is. Which. Most people happen to know. He is obviously not from around here.

So Jaime takes another deep breath, and stares up and down the other man's body-- not appreciatively-- and then the pod behind him. He's got an extremely disarming smile, and if he were any stranger at Starbucks, Jaime would certainly talk to him, maybe exchange numbers. But this man is standing, grinning, in the Base. Suspicion, on Jaime's part, is practically mandatory.

This Bart Allen is wearing deep blue armor, with ridges similar to the exoskeleton of a beetle. His gear looks high-tech-- hailing from the future is a long shot, but alien tech? Not as unlikely. The insignia looks similar to Ted's suit, but not quite, and Ted is too busy fending off some sort of mutant plant-- thanks, Ivy-- with Booster right now to be of any help. He could sure use some, though. It's been a while since Jaime'd worked with his mentor.

"Who are you?" Jaime says, and then takes a few more steps back-- small steps, careful steps, where his feet land neatly on the floor and his gravity is shifted, slightly, so he won't be knocked down so easily-- and taps a hovering screen to power off without chancing to look at it. "I don't want your name; that's not what I'm asking for. Where are you from, Mister Allen?" 

The entire computer shuts down, vertical, blue platforms disappearing from the air.

Jaime rolls up his sweater sleeves to his elbows, exposing a line of clean, tan forearm. "I need identification. That you're even allowed to be here. Who do you work for, and how did you get in here?" His dark eyes are still trained on the stranger. "People don't get in without invites, Allen."

[impulsivelybartallen]

"Cookie butter. It's a thing, apparently."

"Cookie butter? Cookie butter?!”

The speedster immediately latched onto Jaime’s arm. “Buy me cookie butter!” He paused, then came back with, “And let’s make cookies!!”

[blueshelled]

Jaime shrugged, Bart still attached to his arm.

"I mean. They don't really sell it in stores and stuff, hermano," he grinned amusedly, "but we could probably make some. Milagro found some recipes. It's like. Spread, sort of? Like instead of peanut butter on your crackers, you'd put oreo butter, or chocolate-chip butter. Crazy."

[blueshelled]

role reversal

[impulsivelybartallen]

Welcome to the future.

The scene is painted in grey, grey, and more grey, with rocks and pale meatbags littering the background. Enter Bart Allen, yes Bart Allen. You’ve heard of him? I doubt so. Not this one. This isn’t any Bart Allen you’ve met before.

He wears a smile like no other, a cruel, sharp thing that terrified just about everyone. His bright gold-green eyes flashing and glowing. His body is thin and lithe, but not completely unhealthy. He’s got the body of a runner.

He is a runner.

That’s why the REACH picked him up. Took the remaining meta-humans and stuck a beetle to his back—none of the others made it. Boohoo for them he supposes. (Really, not much of a loss. If they couldn’t make it to the end then what good were they anyway?) Yeah, it was hard, it was torture, but he came out of it without too many scratches. And ta-da, there’s Bart Allen. But you can call him Blue Beetle.

Bart has speed in his blood, thanks to his family (The Flashes are blahblahblah, who cares? They’re dead by now. And if they aren’t he sure didn’t care too much) and now a scarab to his back. It relays messages, orders from the big cheese, updates him on stuff—You could say it’s like Facebook but more annoying because he already knows what it’s going to tell him before it says a damn thing. 

This is this and that is that.

Grey and dead people and a boss who’s somewhat intimidated by him—yeah, he knows. He doesn’t bother to comment but he knows—it all gets pretty boring.

Pretty boring until you find and confiscate a time machine, and fry the guy keeping it to himself. The speedster tiptoes around the machine, knocking it with his knuckles and overlooking the thing, his unhelpful scarab tittering things in the back of his mind. 

Juice and working parts for one trip then some of the parts would corrode. Fine fine fine. 

He reported it back to big lame boss. And, without so much jumping the gun, requested to use it. Why? To go back and start this whole wonderful take over faster (and better. He’d do it better for sure. Yeah, totally). There was a lot of debate over the matter, but he’s sure they would have agreed—you know, if he bothered to stay long enough to get the answer. 

Bart booted up the time machine, fingers idly tinkering ad pushing the buttons and twisting handles. He worked like a machine. (He’s only part that. The bug part, sure). It started up kind of shakily, shook around him almost violently, whirred loudly and bam.

Hello 21st century.

[blueshelled]

It's not like the air suddenly gets foggy, or steam starts to wisp around the weird transport-thing, and there certainly isn't a loud, bright pop of sound or light like they'd show in the movies. Funny that the movies could still be so inaccurate with dimension-jumping superheros saving the day now and then, but, Jaime wouldn't fault them for that.

No, instead of all that stereotypical stuff-- well, there isn't much. Jaime is staring at the screen and then-- out of nowhere-- he feels almost a pull from behind him. He whirls around, of course, suspicious-- no one could have gotten into base already, right-- but he's staring at an empty room, one that he's in the center of. But he doesn't move. He sits and he waits, because one thing you learn from going up against mad men and malicious aliens is that they will not wait for you to face them to attack you. But there isn't anything.

Jaime is about to sigh, but just as he takes a breath, he hears a soft little sound, like the air released when you open a bag of chips. And while he's listening, a large pod just. It appears, in front of him, a couple yards away. There's really no way to describe it. It doesn't come from any direction, it just sort of materializes. Right. There. The lights in the Base seem to glow brighter for a split second or two, but that's about it, and then they're back to normal.

Jaime swallows.

He twists his head, quickly, and the energy readings and Base Status data are back to normal. Not even an intruder detection, which is weird as hell, because he's certainly never seen that pod before, and it's never been at Base.

He turns back around to stare at it. It's large enough for a moderately-sized human to sit in it, maybe a little uncomfortably. It looks very... damaged. There are dents in certain parts of it, and scorch marks and what looks alarmingly like smatterings of dried blood on the side.

"Jesus," Jaime murmurs to himself, rolling a pen to the capsule to check for any traps. You never know. Satisfied to see that it had no motion-sensor lasers or that sort of nonsense, Jaime carefully inched toward the thing. As soon as he was within maybe a foot or so of it, it let out a sort of sound like there was steam being released, but Jaime saw no steam. He froze.

"Jesus."

[blueshelled]

coffeeshop au~

[impulsivelybartallen]

“Hi,” Bart said for a third time, smiling widening a fraction, maybe even tipping into a more crooked smile.

"Jaime," He echoed, lips curling up at the corners. His brows arched a fraction, bright gold eyes looking over Jaime’s face a few times. Maybe it was his imagination but he looked a bit darker. Ahh well. "That’s a lot nicer than what I pegged you for. Jaime. Mhm, I approve. So much better. A lot cuter." 

"Well," He hummed and set his elbows on the counter, leaned forward and meshed his fingers together in front of his face, "No. Your customer service is totally blowing right now. But, that’s alright. The pretty ones get a free pass, don’t ch’a know." For added effect, he even winked.

Oh right, he was here getting coffee and food, not here to embarrass and or harass the barista—though it’s a plus if it works. Which it probably will.

He wondered vaguely if Jaime was the type of person to throw cups of coffee at people. Bart’s hoping for a no.

"Riiiight, I’ll take a… Actually, I’ll try a Gingerbread latte, that sound pretty good. Oh, and one of those berry coffee cake things. And a cake pop—no, I’m pretty hungry, make it three." 

His eyes widened a bit at the smile. “You should greet people with that sort of smile. Think of the tips you’d get. Like this one. Tip: do that more, it’s hecka cute.”

[blueshelled]

Oh, god, the kid is hitting on him. Jaime's grin freezes and he sucks in lips and turns a very noticeable red. There is a middle-schooler hitting on him. Right now. He glances behind him, helplessly, hoping that at least Megan will be standing in the doorway or something, but alas, she's not. (Okay, he doesn't look like a middle-schooler, but he looks like he's at that age where you could get arrested for just holding his hand. If the word jail-bait had only a photo to describe it, Jaime's sure that it would be a photo of this boy.)

Jaime curses very softly beneath his breath and keeps his eyes trained on the cash register.

Hell, the kid is so-- forward, too. Like, he very blatantly complimented Jaime maybe like four times in the last minute. "You've gotta be kidding me," Jaime mutters, blood heating his cheeks even more excitedly than before. His eyes flicker up without his consent, curious, and appreciatively take in the boy's ridiculous smile for a split-second, before Jaime goes back to staring determinedly at the register. He punches in the numbers and has to press the backspace a couple more times than usual. Damn him.

"A tip for you," Jaime grumbles in response, ears burning up, "don't flirt with men that could be easily six years older than you, kid." Okay, Jaime was only eighteen and the kid looked like he was in high school, but definitely not legal. Not even close to legal. And Jaime was not getting into trouble with this crazy-flirty vixen.

"What size would you like?" Courage returns to Jaime's veins-- honestly, was he really nervous because of a damn kid-- and he looks up and gazes as he pleases at the boy. "For the Gingerbread latte. And you never gave me your name."

[impulsivelybartallen]

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[impulsivelybartallen]

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