#I also made the start date visible so it's easier to keep track I guess

[eldrtchmn]

October b&w commissions are open on Ko-fi 🖤 🎃🍂

[angelsndragons]

Clay Timeline

Or our best guess at it, really. I am trying to reference Matt primarily because it is his world and because Taliesin has admitted to being fuzzy on some details, owing to Caduceus’ own navel-gazing/not paying attention to said details. There is also the chance that Matt swapped things around in the background in the six irl months between Dust and Clay and Family Shatters. 

Update as of 130/131: No one can keep track of the Clays and it is hysterical. You know you have a problem when the Lorekeeper has to ask for a family tree. 

~545 - Molaesmyr falls to whatever corruption or experiments its elves were running. This corruption is eerily similar to that of the corruption found in Aeor, a floating city once known for having god-killer weapons. Ref. EGtW and the timing of Ludinus Da’leth founding the Cerberus Assembly in A Game of Names.

~735 - The Corruption of Molaesmyr begins assaulting the Blooming Grove. Ref Caduceus and the Clays saying the corruption within the Savalirwood began overtaking the temple about a century before the start of the game.

~715-755 - Caduceus Clay is born. Taliesin has said he is anywhere between 80-120, however the lower numbers have come up more frequently. What is also interesting is that the reference age for Caduceus settled into early 20s/23, down from mid 20s/23-26.

826 - The Gorgon comes to the Menagerie and petrifies the inhabitants. Ref Family Shatters, Eremus Stone confirms he was frozen ten years ago.

826-827 - Constance and Corrin leave the Grove together. Ref. Family Shatters, Constance confirms that they left around 827. Also reference Calm before the Storm.

828 - The last of the Clays leaves the Grove. Ref Family Shatters, Caduceus says that Clarabelle left eight or seven years previously. Also Ref Within the Nest, Caduceus says that one of his sisters was the last to leave, heading East.

      - Okay, so Taliesin talks like they left one by one once they had their visions but we know that is not strictly true because of Constance and Corrin. Either way, this timeline lines up with Taliesin’s ‘once every six months the next one would leave’ comments; you can accommodate more individual trips by adjusting the time of year they left. For example, put Constance and Corrin later in 826 for leaving pairs or put them earlier for the rest of the family leaving individually. Remember that the Exandrian calendar only has 11 months.

        ---Update from Episode 130, Calm before the Storm. Caduceus says that after Corrin and Constance left, Calliope left by herself, followed by Colton (who may have left with Cornelius), Cornelius, and finally Clarabelle.

We also know that the Family Shatters Clay pairs probably did not travel together exclusively throughout their journeys.

- Constance and Corrin arrive separately at the Kiln. They also leave separately, lacking the residuum they need. This was ‘a few years ago,’ according to the Dusts. Ref Jeramiss Dust in Clay and Dust.

     - On a maybe relevant note, Corrin is the Clay who comments on Uthodurnian food, stating she likes it a lot better than the Empire’s food in Family Shatters.

- Constance and Corrin arrive at the Menagerie together and are petrified. They came hoping the Stones might have some residuum to use at the Kiln. Ref Family Shatters, Constance confirms they came together and that the trip took ‘quite a few months.’

- At some point, Colton also arrives alone at the Kiln. He leaves like his mother and aunt do, confused and lacking materials. Ref Clay and Dust. Note that we do not know if Colton got there before or after his mother and aunt, he is simply brought up later in the conversation, as though it was easier for Jeramiss to remember Constance and Corrin than him.

- Colton is found with Clarabelle inside the Menagerie Cave, protecting her from something.

- Clarabelle is the most visibly confused of the Clays re Caduceus’ apparent age. She also is not panicked or defensive like Colton is when he awakes. I would guess her lack of darkvision meant that she did not see the statues or the gorgon when she entered the Cave, even if she brought a light source.

- Calliope has a single residuum seed on her when she is restored, indicating she too went to the Kiln at some point and had residuum on her when she did so. Ref Calliope Clay, Family Shatters, she straight-up tells Beau she got it at the Kiln.

- Notably, she is found with Cornelius, who has residuum glass on him but no seed. He states that he got confused when Caduceus shows him his residuum seeds. 

- Also notably, Cornelius had spotted Constance and Corrin before he was petrified, indicating that he and Calliope arrived after them.

835,  Fessuran 22 - Mollymauk Tealeaf dies.

835,  Fessuran 23 - Caduceus Clay has visions of eyes in the trees, sky, spring, and stones in the Blooming Grove. He then sees nine butterflies.

835, Fessuran 24 - Caduceus Clay joins the Mighty Nein.

836, Thunsheer 25 - Cornelius, Calliope, and Constance Clay reunite with Caduceus. Corrin, Clarabelle, and Colton are found but are unable to be restored due to a lack of spell slots.

836, Thunsheer 26 - The Clays reunite as Clarabelle, Colton, and Corrin are all successfully restored. They begin their trek back to the Grove. 

     Update as of 131: Reani totally dished the deets on the Nein while she escorted the Clays home. Reference Clarabelle asking about the Xhorhaus’ tree when no one mentioned it around her in 96 or 130.

836, Brussendar 19: The latest date the Clays make it home; Jester checks in with Calliope on this date and confirms that they have planted the seeds. They probably have been back for a while at this point, as Colton and Corrin are on a supply run on Brussendar 31 during Calm Before the Storm.

Speculation on the timeline below - 

Updated as of 131: Matt and Taliesin apparently mixed up which sister is the crafty one, aka which one made the armor. Clarabelle is the sensitive artist while Calliope is the warrior but according to 130 and 131, Calliope made Caduceus and her own armor (which honestly was my thought the whole time, the two of them being a matched/equal and opposite set, but the idea of Clarabelle making her siblings’ matching armor is too dang cute). Obviously Calliope can be a warrior and make her own stuff, in fact, it is probably smart on her end considering she wants to go out on her own.

The fact that Calliope has a seed but no residuum and her father has residuum but no seed and seemed confused by Caduceus’ indicates to me that Calliope and Cornelius met up at the Menagerie not too long before they were petrified. Calliope did not have the time to explain to her father how she got the seed or perhaps that she even had it in the first place. I lean towards lack of time because she, like Colton, seems really gung-ho about being the hero of the family/Grove. It seems weird to me that she wants that validation but would withhold the seed from her dad.

Given that Calliope does have a seed but was not mentioned at all during the stay at the Kiln, I wonder if she came in behind Caduceus and made it to the Kiln after the group reforged the sword and left. I thought that Caduceus mentioned he wanted to leave a record of his time there but I cannot find it at the moment. Maybe someone else will or maybe that was all in my imagination. If she actually did come in behind Caduceus, that means that she was aging for the vast majority of her time away from the Grove, as was her father if they met up at the Menagerie. CritRole Stats tells me that the Nein were at the sanctum on 18 and 25 Misuthar, while the Clays are reunited on 25 Thunsheer, two months later. It would be a tight schedule for Calliope to make across the entire freaking continent in that two months but considering that Matt has said that Molaesmyr is only a few days to a week from the Sanctum and the fact that she is a badass, it might be possible.

I think we can reasonably say that Clarabelle found the Menagerie first and that she probably came alone. Colton found her statue when he came and tried to protect it before he succumbed. Or Clarabelle and Colton met up at some point and she wandered off for a hot second before being petrified.

Out of universe, I think Matt just flubbed with which sibling made it to the Kiln and flubbed the girls’ introductions; I think he meant to have Clarabelle and Cornelius together outside and Colton and Calliope inside, esp given the potentially poetic imagery of Calliope and Colton being that close to saving their home before they are taken out of the game. But if mistakes were made, they have yet to be clarified so until then, we just have to deal with what canon gave us.

[oftenderweapons]

Apple Of My Pie (5) — Jin

A Small Town Swoons story Chapter 5.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Buttercup)

Wordcount: 3.8k

Genre: non-idol!AU, Baker/Café owner!Seokjin, University student!reader Flatmates!AU, Friends To Lovers; angst, very little fluff

Rating: suggested 18+

Trigger Warnings: swearing, slight anxiety, verbal fight, generic allusions to sex.

A/N: Hello my cupcakes! Welcome to the Small Town Swoon Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: As Jin and Grace grow more intimate, Buttercup realises she needs a way out of her situation, and Namjoon and Jeongguk offer her just that. However, as the events develop, she understands that her decision needs to be even more drastic. Jeongguk teaches Seokjin a very tough lesson — maybe the  toughest of them all.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Swearing. Allusions to sex; accidental overhearing. Seokjin is kind of a jerk, Jeongguk is very angry at him. Verbal fight. Buttercup feels slightly anxious/panics at the thought of going back to the apartment.

Remember to vote for next prompt (check the link in my bio) and in case you need it, here’s my masterlist 💜

If you’d like some company, here is the music companion (Spotify only, sorry 😔)

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

There were things you never thought you would have to do, things that made you realise the absurdity of your position, the complete stupidity of the circumstances.

Real people don’t need to handle this. Real people live banal lives, date, fall in love, break up. Or get married, have kids, grow up and grow old together.

Real people aren’t awake at four am because their crush’s date is mewling from the opposite side of the apartment.

You didn’t want to ask yourself questions.

You wanted to sleep and possibly wake up cold. That is, dead.

She mewled. Of course, not actually cat sounds but rather that kind of small, shy squeals that usually mean “I’m shy but I love whatever this person is doing”.

You didn’t allow yourself to dig into that.

You just turned to the other side and pressed the spare pillow against your head, trying to mute the sounds — and maybe mute your thoughts in the process.

Maybe accidentally suffocate yourself.

It was ridiculous.

This had happened about a month ago, with reversed roles — you being the squealer and Seokjin being the unfortunate listener.

You wondered whether he had felt just like you were feeling at that moment.

You thought about wearing your headphones and blasting some music. You thought about rushing out of the apartment and smashing the door on your way out.

You knew you had no one to call, no one who could rescue you at four am on a winter night, sheltering you from the shards of your heart precipitating and stabbing your guts.

Maybe you were allucinating. Maybe it was the sound of your pulse getting too loud because you didn’t trust yourself breathing without emitting a sob.

No, it was the headboard. There was no other way to explain the thumping.

You turned and grabbed your phone, sending a hopeless shout in the void. Just a text to the one most likely to answer, even though the chances were pretty thin.

Are you awake? Perhaps?

The thumping subdued.

Your vision blurred as you stared and stared, occasionally tapping the screen and praying for a miracle.

You thought you had fallen asleep, trapped in a nightmare, when a small bubble appeared.

On the hunt. We’re just back from Mulbreigh field. I guess you’re home?”

You shook yourself up and got moving, not even caring to keep quiet. The thumping had resumed, and so had the mewling.

At Ginger’s in five.

Gotcha.

You did exit the apartment in a few minutes, grabbing just the bare necessities, and closing the door quietly.

By now you were familiar with nightly runaways.

And you were also familiar with the trio headed toward you.

“Buttercup, is that you?” A calm, familiar voice asked.

“Joon?”

“Yeah, it’s us. We have just one field left.” He said. “We’re hoping to get the last one in time for the meteor shower.”

You raised your eyebrows. “There’s a meteor shower tonight?”

The other man at Namjoon’s side was a vet from a city nearby, who occasionally helped him track new wild animals that inhabited the area. “Yes. At around five am. It will be barely visible, but it will be there. Nice to see you, Buttercup.”

“Hello Marcus, always a pleasure.” You said kindly, still shaking your head at the nickname. Shortly after, you noticed the third man greeting you. “Hi Buttercup!”

“Hello Guk!” You said. “How many did you find?”

“We found three owls and got them chipped and registered. And we found a new fox, just out of Mulbreigh. We’re going to track him or her soon, hopefully. No wolves, fortunately.”

You smiled. “That’s good news!” You said enthusiastically, thinking about how the farmer would have menaced those. The four of you walked toward the last location, taking a long path stretching north. 

“We’re hoping to find deers, honestly. Remember when we found that doe, last year? Apparently she found a way to remove her tracker and we’re hoping we can keep her monitored, just in case she has more fawns this year.” Marcus explained, at which you nodded in interest. 

Staying focused allowed you to remove some thoughts from your mind, but at the same time you kept yourself out of their way, letting the experts work, following them from a distance as they combed the field and placed pheromones signals around the area, hoping to attract the doe to the trees near the field, where it was easier to find her traces and where it was potentially easier to catch her.

“There’s no point going on here,” commented Marcus. “We can only wait. It might take weeks.”

Namjoon huffed and nodded. “Oh, there!” He said, pointing up. A white sign resembling a scratch slashed the horizon in the west, Jeongguk whipping his head in the direction, his pretty eyes widening in wonder as he saw one more shooting star zoom through the sky lighting up at dawn in such delicate shades, from rose to periwinkle to deep royal blue.

For a moment you stared at the sky, feeling its immensity, peace and beauty heal you slowly and steadily. How could such tiny human matters affect its infinity? You let your eyes drown in the greatness of everything, with the snowcaps rimmed in gold in the distance, and the meteors becoming invisible as the sky finally became too bright.

“Guk, Buttercup, why don’t you head home while me and Marcus drive back at the cabin and finish up the paperwork?” Namjoon suggested, by now extremely used to his routine.

Jeongguk looked intermittently at you and Namjoon, adorably confused before he nodded.

“Okay.” He agreed.

You smiled timidly before thanking him, the two of you starting your walk back to town. It was a thirty minute trek, at worst, but you were both fast walkers and in twenty-five you reached his small house. Bibby, his large, scary dog — who of course is a sweetheart, just like his owner — welcomed both of you, the oversized puppy throwing himself at you and barking just once before Jeongguk shushed him.

“How come you joined us?” Jeongguk asked, uncapping his orange juice bottle and pouring a glass, offering you some while you shook your head and declined politely.

You crossed your arms, your stance becoming defensive. You fidgeted and tried to speak, starting a couple times before stopping and starting again, trying to build an actual sentence.

Jeongguk looked at you and waited patiently. He was familiar with the blabbering, stuttering and reformulating.

“Okay. Don’t say this to Yoongi, but… Yeah, he took Grace home last night— That is, he brought her to the apartment and they… Slept together?” You said, your voice so squeaky by the time you said the final word.

“And by ‘sleeping’ you mean everything but, right?” Jeongguk asked tactfully.

You nodded and looked at the floor, busying yourself petting Bibby.

“I’m so sorry, Buttercup.” He said, coming close to you and caressing your back soothingly.

You didn’t have the energies to cry. You probably would, in a while, after waking up.

“You need some sleep, don’t you, Buttercup?” Jeongguk asked, patting your head.

Again you replied wordlessly, moving your head in approval.

“Bibby is a great nap buddy, and I can get the futon ready and let you sleep there.” He reassured you, already fluffing up the pillows and grabbing an extra blanket.

“I’d like to sleep on the sofa, please?” You said, sitting down and removing your shoes, Bibby immediately getting interested in your wiggling toes.

“Oh, you’d like that?” He asked in surprise, “try it first, I can still get the futon ready if you don’t like this old guy.” He joked about the piece of furniture.

You laid on your side, wiggling a little as you found the right position. “Can do.” You said with a barely-there smile. “Thank you, Guk.”

“It’s okay.” He said, throwing the blanket on top of you. “This one is just for guests. I washed it last weekend, don’t worry.” He reassured you.

Knowing Jeongguk, you didn’t even mind. He is a neat freak and a tattoo artist: cleanliness means everything to him. “Can I seriously keep Bibby?” You asked, soft eyed.

He beamed and nodded. “He only sleeps on the sofa.” He said proudly and, as if following his owner’s praise, Bibby climbed on the cushions, curling up in the space before you and laying his head on your arm, using it as a pillow.

You giggled and scratched the spot behind his ear.

“Ask me if you need anything.” Jeongguk murmured. “I’ll leave my door open, just in case you need help or something.” He commented sweetly, closing the blinds to the several windows before walking to the kitchen and coming back to you, placing a bottle of water close to you.

He noticed Bibby was already asleep and he caressed the dog’s head before whispering “sleep tight”.

You heard him leave the room. You closed your eyes, feeling Bibby’s lungs inflate and deflate regularly, his heartbeat strong, his short fur velvety and relaxing under your fingertips.

You fell asleep like a baby.

Waking up meant a lot of things happening altogether.

Realising Bibby was in your arms.

Realising you were on Jeongguk’s sofa.

Realising you were heartbroken and that the idea of going back home nauseated you so deeply you couldn’t even remotely consider it.

Jeongguk greeted you from the kitchen. “You’re up, Buttercup!” He cheered, while Bibby turned around and placed his big head under your chin, shading his eyes. He always marvelled you with his curious manners. “It’s midday, would you like brunch?”

You sniffed the air. Bacon and eggs.

“Yes, please.”

Bibby seemed to follow your lead, sniffing the air and running to his owner, acting way faster than you.

“Okay, what do we wanna do?” Jeongguk  asked once you were both seated at the kitchen table.

You ate some food, chewing quietly as you thought. You took your time.

“Honestly, I don't feel like going home, I guess.” You said, staring at your dish. You felt a bit lost.

“We can hang out. Watch TV, meet the guys, do anything you want.” Jeongguk said.

“I was thinking of… No, it's okay, I should go home.”

“But you don't want to.” Jeongguk opposed.

“No, but I don't want to go back later tonight and find myself dreading sleeping in my room.” You said. You couldn't explain the emptiness in your stomach as you thought of the room.

“You know you can stay here as long as you want, right? I have a spare room. We can put the futon there.” He said touching your hand.

That small sentence felt like the water threatening to drown you was slowly lowering.

“I don't want to abuse your kindness.” You admitted shyly, softly.

“I am your friend. It is my duty to help you” He reassured you.

You mulled over your various possibilities. “Okay. But I'd like to go home and grab some stuff. Maybe they're not around.” You considered, looking at Jeongguk doubtfully.

“It's okay. We can go together.”

You exhaled in relief.

Standing in front of the apartment door, you took a deep breath, Jeongguk rubbing his hand between your shoulder blades, over your jacket.

You could already hear them laughing and chatting.

You slipped the keys into the lock and opened the door.

“I'll wait here, yes?” Jeongguk reassured you.

You nodded and went in, walking to your room hesitantly, only to be completely overwhelmed by the sight in the kitchen.

Jin was standing behind Grace, helping her prepare his special avocado sandwich, an elaborate mug topped with whipped cream and crushed almonds waiting beside her while the breakfast table was filled with any kind of breakfast and brunch food one could only dream of.

However, what truly unsettled you was Grace, wearing an oversized shirt — Jin's — bare-legged, with Granny's thick handmade socks covering her feet and calves.

Seokjin said something in her ear and she giggled cutely, throwing her head back and leaning into his shoulder.

They ignored you completely, caught in their happy bubble, while you hid slightly.

You refused to hold on, rushing back to the front door.

Jeongguk spoke softly. “Where's your stuff?”

You shook your head.

“I'm coming with you.” He said, placing his hand on the small of your back and leading you inside, closing the door noisily.

“Hello, we're here.” He called loudly, bringing the two of you to the kitchen.

Seokjin's eyes zeroed in to the place the man's voice had come from, spotting you instead.

So this is it, he thought.

He. Grace.

You. Jeongguk.

Jeongguk?

His jaw contracted.

“Buttercup came by to grab some things. It won't take long, will it, sweets?”

You widened your eyes at him and shook your head. “Yes, sure.”

You almost ran to your bedroom, picking up the most basic stuff to spend a night out and to head off to lessons the following morning.

In the bathroom, you collected your toothbrush and beauty products before returning to the kitchen, your bag ready.

“Good to go, sweets?” He questioned, looking at you with his expressive, gleeful eyes.

You nodded and gave him the tiniest of smiles. “Let's go.”

Jeongguk turned towards Jin and Grace. “Have a nice afternoon, goodbye!” He greeted, letting you wave at the two before dragging you out, not before offering Seokjin a smug grin and winking.

Wearing that mask took a toll on him. He hated what Seokjin had done to you through the years, acting like a protective older brother without being one. He hated that the man kept you emotionally busy and never let you out of his influence. Most of your past relationships had dramatically been brought to an end by Seokjin's asphyxiating presence, by the incapability of your partners to rival with your best friend.

He had ruined you for everyone else, and Jeongguk couldn't find any words to define how cruel that was.

“Are you doing okay, Buttercup?” He asked.

You smiled a bit coldly.

“I'm sorry you had to see that.” He opened the door and let you in, Bibby welcoming the both of you.

“It's okay. They've been dating for more than a month now. He's been by himself for a long time–”

“But he had you!” Jeongguk objected as he took off his jacket.

Your mouth stretched sadly. “Not like that.”

Jeongguk scrunched his nose in disappointment. “Okay. You know I’ve had the biggest crush over you. And we know that by now it’s just water under the bridge. And maybe I never told you but it was so easy to get over you — no offence — since to me, actually to all of us, you and Jin have always belonged to each other. It’s canon. Anyone else would be wrong for the two of you. Obviously.”

You completely ignored Jeongguk’s mention of those old feelings. You already knew; it was all water under the bridge — just like he said — and the two had discussed it years ago. Instead, you focused on the belonging part. “He has Grace now. They’ve been dating for what? Six weeks?”

“He’s been in love with you for four years!” Jeongguk said, slightly upset.

“Well, apparently he didn’t do a great job of showing that! And it doesn’t matter now. He has Grace.” You repeated.

“The two of you are so stupidly dumb, I need to call Yoongi.” Jeongguk said, absolutely frustrated.

Silence lingered heavy in the room, like a thick fog. “Don’t call Yoongi, please.” You said, sitting on the sofa and curling up in a ball. “He’ll scold me and then snap at Jin and then Spice will kill all of us for stressing him and interrupting their kinky Sunday afternoon.”

Jeongguk startled and put down the phone. “Kinky Sunday afternoon? Is that a thing?”

“With Spice, anything is a thing, especially if it means alone time with Yoongi.” You explained, scratching your nose and hugging Bibby as he got on the sofa.

“Okay. Let’s think about happier, less traumatising things. Do you wanna watch some TV? I have some Disney DVDs from when Namjoon comes over. No Bambi and Dumbo because those make him cry.” Jeongguk said, exposing his friend shamelessly. “And I don’t want to pay for Disney plus, Yoongi would disown me and I would never tattoo him anymore and I don’t want that.”

You giggled, completely endeared. “Do you think you have Tangled?”

“Oh, yes!” Jeongguk checked the case and placed the CD in his PlayStation. “Namjoon loves Pascal. The chameleon.” Jeongguk gushed, sitting on the sofa, switching on a small lamp. “Oh, would you like some popcorn?” He asked, ever friendly and welcoming.

You smirked before nodding.

Pausing the film, he dashed to the kitchen, getting a bag into the microwave and coming back five minutes later with a large bowl, the whole room smelling of salted butter.

You hummed in approval and settled down, Bibby miraculously uninterested in the snack. He restarted the film and your mind got completely absorbed by that.

Seokjin was confused.

He had accompanied Grace home, and now he sat in an empty room — an empty house —, looking at the opposite end of the table, where you weren’t sitting.

Did you sleep with Jeongguk for revenge?

Did you maybe talk to him and he made his move and you said ‘why not’, just like you had with that dude almost a month ago?

Maybe you liked him. Maybe you had always liked him and the two of you had confessed — he had a different gleam in his eyes and he had called you ‘sweetie’ or some other dumb nickname like that.

He should have confessed. He should have stopped hiding his head in his ass and should have grown a pair and told you, Buttercup, I’m so far gone that I’d be ready to serve you for the rest of my life, hell, I’d even donate you my sperm if your husband was infertile and you wanted kids. I’d even give up a kidney, fuck, I’d give up my heart too for you.

He was a dumb, stupid fucker.

He wrote you a text.

I’m sorry about fucking Grace, please come home.

Erased

Please come home. We need to talk. I’m in love with you.

Erased

Don’t fuck Jeongguk, you can fuck me instead, please.

Erased

He realised he always wrote ‘please’, and the more he went on, the more he needed to add.

He tried to stop overthinking everything and focused on the actual reality of it all.

He stared at your empty seat again.

Are you coming home for dinner?

Sent

The silence felt eternal.

That must be how space rovers feel, he thought, thinking about that tiny robot that wandered over the surface of Mars all alone.

He felt like the whole apartment couldn’t possibly be home anymore.

He shook his head, telling himself he was being melodramatic. After five minutes, he decided to call you. You always answered texts about food! You knew how much it meant to him eating together!

With renewed tenacity, he found your contact at the very top of the list, three A’s added before your name to make sure it always stayed on top of the list.

And he called you.

The beeping sound of the call ringing went on for ages. He swore he could feel his hair grow and his skin wither.

He waited maybe for a bit less than a minute, his mind already knowing that you were upset with him, that you were making him wait and grovel. You were trying to get on his nerves. Most definitely.

The ringing stopped.

“What is it?”

It was Jeongguk.

“Is she with you?” Seokjin asked, cold as ice.

“Yes. Of course.”

“When is she coming home?” Jin asked dryly. He felt ready for a fight.

“When she wants to.” Jeongguk replied equally dryly.

“Give her the phone.”

Jeongguk breathed heavily. He didn’t want to pass the phone to you. Seokjin had no right claiming you like that, using that voice, acting so mean when he was the one at fault. “She’s sleeping.” It was true. You were really sleeping; you had completely crashed at the end of the cartoon, with Bibby keeping you warm and covering you in affection, never leaving your side. After all, some dogs have a sense of smell so fine that they can sniff at their owner’s skin and perceive the hormones making their human happy or sad.

Seokjin waited, trying to calm himself down. It didn’t work. “I bet you’re gloating. You finally have her, don’t you? You must be feeling so smug.”

Jeongguk stretched his neck, keeping his composure. “I don’t have her, okay? She came to me and I gave her space. I gave her somewhere safe—”

“Our home is safe.” Jin growled. “Here is safe.”

“With you breaking her heart by banging that girl you don’t love?”

“She also banged a man she didn’t give a shit about.”

Jeongguk raised his eyebrows. “Did you bang Grace for revenge, then?”

“No. God, I’ve been alone for years, can’t I have one good thing?” Seokjin almost screamed, his frustration spilling over.

“Maybe she banged him to get over you. Maybe she did that because she’s tired of being alone, too.” Jeongguk explained, his tone glacial. His anger was scary — it didn’t explode or break. It froze everything it touched. “You hurt her. The moment you chose Grace, and with every date you went on. When you went to her on Valentine’s, when you banged her the other night. And there’s a difference. The dude she banged? That was just sex. But you and Grace? There are feelings there. That’s the part she can’t stand. This morning, when she saw the two of you in the kitchen? You broke her heart, Jin. She was broken—”

“But you fixed that, didn’t you, sweetie?” He teased, sarcastic and poisonous.

“Stop talking about my feelings for her.” Jeongguk chastised him. “Unlike you, I told her. I told her I had had a crush for her. I told her three years ago and I also told her that my feelings died down once I realised how she looked at you and how you looked at her. And we’re friends, we’re cool. I would never be able to look at her like anything more than a sister.”

Seokjin shut his mouth. He felt horrible. Maybe because he was horrible. He needed your sparkly laugh and your soothing touch. To talk things out about last night. Make everything right again. “Please, convince her to come home.”

Jeongguk tutted. “I won’t. She’ll come if she wants to. At her own time.”

“Jeongguk...” Seokjin begged.

“You both need to move on from this toxic bond. And there’s no way other than separating. Physically first, and emotionally second.” Jeongguk reasoned, repeating something he and Yoongi had discussed a thousand times.

“She is my friend.”

“You’re not hers, though. You are the person she loves, and the person hurting her. She deserves a real chance, away from you.” Jeongguk rubbed the crown of his head. “I have to go. Goodnight.”

He hung up.

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

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

[wovenstarlight]

YWBK update: chapter 25 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 25 here, or start from the beginning here

okay, on to notes and commentary! first time i’m doing these, let’s hope this works out. commentary under the cut to save people’s dashes

Hamin laughs. “Given how bad you are at not being suspicious, that’s understandable.” “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.” Hamin screws up his whole face in a squint. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little bad.”

this part was really funny to me when i wrote it because i was like “hmm reasons for DHM to understand why HHJ wouldn’t work in the guild” and then i was like Wait. Their Whole First Meeting, Dude. DHM was lowkey convinced for the longest time that HHJ was like, on the run from the KR version of the mafia, and got plastic surgery to look like his little brothers, and is possibly in some sort of witness protection program??? or something??? how else does he not have cops on his ass this man is so suspicious all the time

“I don’t think… They said the dungeons were, like, different worlds? Did they find people there?”

mafia theory second place. dungeon theory first place

“Like, humans? Um. No, no humans.” “So then you can’t be from there. Okay.”

dungeon theory shot down. mafia theory back in the running

“Hey,” he says cautiously. “I’m— I’m gonna go get us some water, okay? Why don’t you… take a minute.” “Okay.” “The bathroom is over there, if you need it.” “Okay. Thank you.”

after four years working alongside a guy you start to notice when he’s feeling a little out of it and needs a bit of a break... but as JHW mentions later you also learn to be a little subtle about giving him one

jung heewon What’s with your typing? It reads like Jihye’s [HYJ]’s fine. Very energetic Too energetic? He’s going to burn out. How do I make him calm down

Epic Burnout Man makes a reappearance! when translating sclass one of the things that makes me want to shake HYJ most is his habit of constantly adding things to his to-do list while he already has 1 billion things on his plate. and all the time he’s whining about “UGH there’s SO MUCH WORK to do” No One Asked You To Do It

Anyway. the point is. HYJ isn’t about to be beat by HHJ at Developing Issues 😔

jung heewon I haven’t spoken to him directly about this because if he’s anything like you he’ll take it as an insult You wtf whts tht supposed 2 mean quit typing jung heewon Better not say shit, mr “No, I can’t take days off and cater to my interests or go out with friends or on a date, I’m too busy taking care of the kids and making sure their needs are met, no I don’t care that there are thousands of people out there balancing personal enjoyment and romance and work AND kids at the same time, are you suggesting I be a BAD GUARDIAN to MY KIDS?”

see above re: not being too direct with pointing out when HHJ’s having Issues because he doesn’t react well

You wht but our eyes r fine jung heewon Even if having glasses doesn’t run in the family, you should still get him checked, just in case

top 10 funny time travel moments: referring to you and your past self as “us” (our = my eyes are fine), but other people think you mean “our family” (our eyes are fine = no family history of long/shortsightedness)

Also. Sooyoung-ie says hi [Attachment: 20XX1213_144516.jpg] 

ok no lie this was one of the parts that pissed me off the most, even though it’s Literally One Line, because. i love chat exchanges. i really do. when done right they’re a lot of fun to read. But Do You Know How Long It Took Me To Figure Out A Calendar For The Events In This Fic. now everything’s TIMED i have to count HOW MANY DAYS IT’S BEEN since XY event so i can CORRECTLY NUMBER the FILE ATTACHMENTS!!! this sucks!!! it took me fucking forever to pin down a timeline just so i could write this chapter plus the few before and after it!!!!

anyway i gave up when i reached year. i just put 20XX. fuck it. we are running on fairy tail time now. (actually i think that’s XXnumber number? XX76? or was it X796. something like that. Who cares i stopped watching fairy tail forever ago)

Fuck it! Hamin will understand!! “If you Awaken you should come work with me,” Han Hyunjae says all in a rush. 

“HAMIN WILL UNDERSTAND” => he literally was cool with me giving zero context for half a dozen absolute balls to the wall nonsense bullshit things i’ve done before. he’ll be fine with this too. dog_in_burning_house_this_is_fine.png

“You already know about the guilds, those are going to be for dungeon Hunters, but I was thinking of forming something like an independent group of contractors. Awakened people with skills that aren’t useful for combat, but that might… that will be generally useful. It’d be you and me, and maybe one other guy I met recently. Probably more in the future.”

given that HHJ has no idea currently that peace exists (i’m so sorry baby i’ll find a way to shoehorn you in soon i miss you so much) he’s got no intentions to start a kiseungsu business yet! he mostly wants to live quietly while just acting as a manager for other Awakening-related services, like YMW’s forge and DHM’s tracking service, along with the information exchange/lowkey spy ring that he’s planning on setting up with JHW and the bar. since HYH is fine associating with him in this timeline, HHJ’s thinking he can get a foot in the door that way, then eventually spread out into dealings with most major guild leaders

RIP to this plan. you were well-made but you will not last long.

“Please, I can’t tell you how I know that, I really can’t, it’d put me and my brothers in danger if it got out. But—” “No need.” Hamin looks slightly alarmed, and Han Hyunjae feels himself settle at the obvious concern in his eyes.

MAFIA THEORY RAPIDLY RISING TO PROMINENCE??? THIS IS NOT HOW DO HAMIN WANTED HIS GUESS CONFIRMED

“I spoke to the Task Force Head and she said that there’s been discussion about hosting a meeting for the nearby high-rankers, where they’ll announce the guild proposal and see who else is interested in trying it out.”

“they’ll announce” i’m sorry king 💔 you deserved a nap

(OH ALSO FUN FACT choi eunyoung is a canon character, not an OC of mine! she appears in uhhh i think late 140s? 150s? something like that)

“I think there’s… probably only one other S-rank who’s Awakened right now?”

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehhehe

Hamin beams. “No, they’re doing great! Spookie’s taken really well to the new housing situation, but I think Spots might miss the store…”

shoutout to @daemonic-dawn​ for letting me borrow a pet name, love u king. i had a much longer ramble about pet names here but i finished typing and realized it was all entirely off topic so i removed it for convenience

Hyunjae makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t— I mean.” He huffs, visibly taking a deep breath, and Yoojin frowns reflexively. [...] “Is everything alright?” Yoojin kind of wants to be annoyed at his tone on principle, but he forces his shoulders to relax, matching Hyunjae’s posture. Though he can’t stop himself from being a little short when he answers.

things the brothers have learned in four years living together: getting confrontational often leads to arguments that just fizzle out anyway, so it’s way fucking easier to consciously tone down their combativeness in advance when talking to each other about things they have problems with, instead of screaming their heads off and then having to calm yoohyun down afterwards to boot

“I guess. Whatever.” Yoojin slumps. “Can I…” “Hm?” Hyunjae blinks at Yoojin as he gestures to the spot on the bed beside him, then jolts. “Oh! Yeah, sure, c’mere.” He opens his arms, and Yoojin goes over and flumps on the bed, head in Hyunjae’s lap. Almost immediately, Hyunjae starts stroking fingers through his hair, and Yoojin relaxes into the touch, listening as Hyunjae continues speaking.

cuddles 🥺🥺🥺 sorry i don’t have any other commentary here just. cuddles. extremely and overwhelmingly comforting for a man who spent the better part of 8 years(?) with no major positive relationships, and a kid who spent 12 years of early life basically abandoned by his parents. you had best bet they gave up on not hugging each other 1 year into this whole mess

Yoojin hums in acknowledgement. It’s not like he’d ever let himself get hurt; he has too many responsibilities to his family and friends. If he wants to be good enough to keep up, he can’t afford to fuck up like that. But… hyung will worry if he keeps working so hard. He can slow down a little for him. 

Problems disorder man when will you stop. the way he sees “getting hurt” as an inconvenience and an obstacle to his duties rather than a danger to himself. the way he doesn’t really care if he himself gets hurt, but if it’ll worry his family, then it’s a no-no. it’s just. wow. i know i wrote this but i hate him

“Not really. I talk to Myeongwoo about it sometimes.” “Ah, right, Myeongwoo.”

haha gays

“Don’t be weird about him,” Yoojin warns[...]. “I won’t, promise.”

if the “i won’t” line had a dialogue tag it’d be “Han Hyunjae lied”

“Is Eunwoo still in his relationship?” “Mhm, happy as ever. Apparently they’re trying long-distance, now that Eunwoo’s gone off to university abroad.”

three guesses for who eunwoo’s dating and you won’t need the first two

Hyunjae raises his hands like he’s going to deny the accusations levelled against him, so Yoojin seizes him by the collar and shakes him until he cries for mercy

oh my o/rv ass struggled so bad with not writing “shakes him like a man betrayed” here. it killed me not to. but in the end i prevailed (against, uh, myself. don’t think about it too hard.)

“Jeez, okay, he’s an F-rank!” “Eh?! Then why—” “He’s also got an SS-rank potential skill,” Hyunjae admits[...].

play-by-play of this scene because god if i draw any scene in this fic it would be this one just for the sheer hysterical nature of HYJ’s reaction:

YOOJIN: I HATE YOU WHAT THE FUCK WHY. TELL ME HIS RANK

HYUNJAE: HE’S AN F

YOOJIN: WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK?

HYUNJAE: he’s also got an SS-rank skill,

YOOJIN:

[sapphicmsmarvel]

SG: Livewire JR

masterlist

the first story in my livewire jr series! 

Okay so this is a marvel x dc crossover, the reader is an inhuman (as well as Leslie because you two are sisters in this) and instead of the terrigen crystals transforming the inhuman person, the electrocution and supergirls DNA helped transform Leslie. 

And you, transformed before Leslie so she hates you. You are also more powerful than her. 

(For those who never watched Agents of SHIELD, inhumans are a breed of humans who have alien DNA in them. And the powers get awakened by terrigen crystals, terrigen crystals can get attached to any person, but only inhumans survive. And they will survive as a normal person with powers or become a monster)

The reader is also related to Lincoln from AOS. Spoiler warning for those who have not watched the entirety of season 3 of AOS. 

Idk i just think this backstory is cool! And it was really freaking fun to write! This story has been in my head for (not joking) three years and i finally got to write it!! 

(also im totally rewriting the end of the livewire episode, it fits my story better😂)

You learned to be invisible. 

Being an Inhuman with a psycho power hungry family that abused you both physically and mentally as well as emotionally; you learned to hide in plain sight. 

Your brother, the only person you loved in your shithole family died. His girlfriend, Daisy, went AWOL after and then you left SHIELD.

There was nothing without Lincoln, you wanted a fresh start so you moved to National City. Fitzsimmons had tried reaching out but you told them you’d come back if they needed help but you couldn’t be around somewhere that Lincoln lived. 

Your parents told you to keep an eye on Leslie, so you went to National City and that was your version of following your parents rules. 

Once Leslie fucked up and you could send her away, you would be from your helicopter parents. 

Leslie was the loose canon that always listened to mommy and daddy. You listened and followed what they said, and you were good at it. Being evil. Lincoln….Lincoln challenged and then broke away when he was eighteen and took you with him. Showed you that being evil wasn’t okay and neither was hurting innocents. Then years and years later, Daisy taught you more good morals to have. 

She became the sister you were proud to have, she still called you sister-in-law even though Lincoln was gone and they didn’t get married. 

Your heart sank, you flipped over your phone, it had a clear case and there was a polaroid of you, Lincoln and Daisy. Gemma took it, you three were smiling cheesily. 

You looked up at National City’s version of Times Square. It was your sister’s photo.The headline read, “Radio star injured in near helicopter crash, Supergirl saves the day.” You sighed. 

Damnit. 

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

You hated hospitals, the smell, the suffocating walls and feeling of death. You would need to take about five showers after this. 

You walked passed a cute girl in glasses with Leslie’s boss. She was blonde and had adorable blushy cheeks. They went redder when you smiled at her, and when you walked away you looked over your shoulder and caught her staring at you. You winked as you turned the corner. 

Your dating life in National City has been scarce. It was fun to flirt, it made you feel happy that somebody paid attention to you since your parents didn’t. 

That happy feeling diminished when you walked into her room. 

Leslie was gone. 

You walked around the room, the thing about having lightning as your power and in your DNA was that you could detect amounts in the air, like static. And there was a smell to you, it was metal. 

It reeked of metal and the static choked your throat. You quickly fled the room and walked as quickly as you could down the halls. Trying to follow the smell like a dog. Leslie was considered a disappointment in your family. 

The terrigen didn’t work for her, she was considered a dud. But you guess this crash awakened something. Something powerful in a horrible person.

You had work to do. 

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

Daisy had taught you a few things about hacking. You traced her cell signal all day, random power surges in the city, her credit and debit cards. Anything.

It was late at night when she started heading towards CatCo. You raced to get there, if you didn’t, Cat was gonna die. 

You hacked into the security cameras at CatCo from your phone, Supergirl and Cat were in Cat’s office. Cat Grant was most likely the first target on Leslie’s list. Supergirl might be next, you knew that Supergirl would be hard to kill but Leslie was hellbent on hating her. 

Even sexualized her on her radio show, it was disgusting. Especially coming from another woman. 

You traveled through the electric wired through the building and popped in at the doorway of the office. But with Supergirls hearing, she heard you. She spun around, her cape following dramatically. She pushed Cat Grant behind her. Her eyes, glowing. 

“Easy, laser eyes, relax. I’m not a threat.” You held out your hands, showing you had no visible weapons, she didn’t know of what ran in your veins just yet. 

“Who are you and why are you here? Office hours are closed.” Cat said. 

“If you think I work for your office, you truly are unobservant for a boss. I would think someone of your social status would make sure she knew everyone in her building to insure your own safety.” 

“You really aren’t helping your case, as far as I’m concerned you are a threat.” Supergirl stood her ground, which wasn’t surprising to you. 

You sighed. “I’m Leslie’s sister.” You said to Supergirl. “And I want her locked up as much as you do.” 

They both stopped in their tracks and spun around, shock coloring their faces. Cat Grant walked towards you. “What? Leslie doesn’t have a sister. She never mentioned one to me and I was her mentor.” 

“Yeah, Les doesn’t enjoy the fact that we share a father so it’s not shocking that she never mentioned me.” You shrugged then stepped closer to Cat, Supergirl eyed you. “Relax, I’m here to stop Leslie.” 

“You knew about her powers?!” 

“Yeah, in fact, Supergirl, I have the same exact powers Leslie has.” You swallowed, ignoring nerves. 

“How is that possible?” Supergirl asked. 

“I’m what they call an Inhuman. Thousands of years ago aliens came to earth and mated with humans. There are thousands, possibly millions of Inhumans out there who have no idea what they are.”

“And your point?” Cat asked. 

“My point is, we aren’t well known. But, my other point was, use me to lure Leslie or something.” “Use you?” “Leslie has always had a problem with me. She was desperate for not only our parents approval but our brothers. Then, he died. She moved to National City, I followed because she’s got a lot of anger issues and sooner or later, she’d come in contact with terrigen and maybe it would work this time.” You stepped closer to Supergirl, “or some other alien component that reformed her DNA and made her a monster with anger problems.”

“Am I supposed to apologize for saving peoples lives?” Kara asked, getting in your face. 

“No, but if you would’ve let her die then my life would be a hell of a lot easier.” You hissed.

“What a sweet sentiment sissy,” you heard that bitches voice, you all spun to face the many, many TV screens on Cats wall.

“Leslie, the people you’re hurting are innocent.” You said, 

“Innocent?!” She laughed, “you’re standing with Cat Grant, she is not innocent.” 

You looked at Cat Grant, “I feel like Cat was more nurturing to you than our own mother.” You deadpanned. 

“I gave her one hug.” Cat recalled. 

“Yeah, that makes you more nurturing than our mother.” You said. 

Then Leslie let out a blast. You all flew back, you bashed into the glass wall, Supergirl went flying out the doorway and then Cat fell onto the couch. Then Leslie went for Cat. 

You pulled energy from the lightbulbs in the room, and then shot in front of Cat, putting a forcefield in front of her. “Oh my God,” Cat said, gasping at the sight of you in front of her. You heard Supergirl walk closer and then pause. 

The room was lit up in purple and blue. Leslie’s powers were blue, yours were purple. Your eyes glowed like hers. It was a terrifying sight, and you knew it.

You used your leg strength to push her back, she flew into Cat’s desk. You leaned down and gently but quickly got Cat back on her feet. You rushed towards Supergirl who was still staring at you in shock at your powers, “I told you, I wasn’t a threat to you.” 

Then Leslie threw a bolt at Supergirl, and while you knew that she could handle herself, you wouldn’t let her get hurt. Or anyone get hurt at the hands of Leslie ever again. You pushed Supergirl and Cat Grant out of the way as you shot out at Leslie. You kept the power streaming at her powerfully as she got pushed back, “negative on negative, sista.” You said, “doesn’t work out too well.” 

She screamed in agony as you pushed her further into the floor, you pushed her further into the ground, “call your friends.” You said to Supergirl. “She’s getting locked up, for good.” 

“Too much of a pussy to kill me.” Leslie choked. 

You gritted your teeth, and used your free hand to deck her. 

She fell to the floor with a thud, your knuckles throbbed as you watched blood come out of her mouth. You sighed, then used your electricity to form a net around her to hold her. 

“I called someone to come get her,” Supergirl said. “I didn’t know...her powers could do that.” She said, gesturing to the net. 

“She can’t.” You said, kicking the bottom of her boot. “I can because I’m stronger than her.” 

Supergirl nodded, “respect.” 

Cat went to the hospital (with a lot of pushing) while you guys waited for Leslie to be taken away. Your makeshift jail cell glowing as Supergirl asked you, “how’d you take her down?” 

You folded your arms, “science. Negative on negative energy never goes well.”

“And you seriously want her put away?” Her head cocked, it was adorable. She was like a cute puppy.

You nodded, “my family sucks ass.” You deadpanned, “Leslie was the worst of them, the only relative I got along with was my brother.” 

“You said he died.” 

You nodded, “he saved the freaking world and nobody knew it.” Tears rimmed your eyes, Lincoln was always a sore subject. “He’s a hero, and I promised him once that I’d take down Leslie if her powers ever happened.” You sighed, wiping away your tears. “I guess I have no purpose now,” you shrugged, chuckling to yourself out of sadness. “My parents are psychopaths, my brother is dead and my sister is locked up forever.” 

“Do you want another purpose?” She asked walking up to you as DEO people came up the elevator with tech to transport her. 

You looked at her, “yeah, I do.” 

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

Three months later: 

Kara and you were having a platonic (to your sadness) picnic on the top of CatCo. Cat Grant knew of your abilities and your superhero name, Sparks.

In your opinion, you thought it was cheesy, but you’re starting to enjoy Cat and she has kept your secret. You had a mask on your face now when you were Sparks. So you could still walk around without having a disguise.

You also knew that Kara was Supergirl because you two worked together. She told you the second you signed on to the role of being the darker hero of National City. 

Yes, they called you ‘the night to Supergirl’s day.’ People said you were ‘the ‘evil’ version of Supergirl’. To be fair, you did have different attack methods than Kara did and you did admit that you were not as kind-hearted as Kara was. You did not believe everyone was good like she did. 

It was one of the things you loved about her. Her good soul. You were surrounded in darkness your entire life, as well as sheer evil, your parents were not kind people. 

“So,” Kara said munching on cheese. “You never told me something.” 

“Hmm?” You asked, you thought you had told Kara everything.  

“How did your brother save the world?” 

You scoffed, looking at the sunset, “there was this creature, Hive, he was a sort of virus thing I guess. I’m honestly not too sure what he was. Nothing could kill him, guns, superpowers, lethal injection, absolutely nothing. He could adapt to any planet but he needed a planet for his power.  So, Lincoln trapped him in a space shuttle, then drove them both into space and blew it up. He kept Hive from making this world into something horrible. Nobody will ever know. Our parents found out and said he was a disgrace for killing something like that. They said Hive was amazing.” You wiped your tears. 

“You never talk about your parents,” Kara said fiddling with her glasses, she did that whenever she was anxious. 

“That’s for a reason.” You said, eating the baguette with homemade pizza deep. Cooking helped you cope. 

“You can talk about it with me if you want.” She offered. 

You smiled lightly, “my parents are cruel people Kara. The thing with our lineage is that we are perceived as villains. Even at the refugee camp that my brother and I sought solace at, those people feared us because of our ancestors. They had a right to, my family did awful things. My parents raised me to be evil, Leslie is the only one who turned out how they wanted but she was messy.” You grimaced, “they said she did things sloppy, and brash. I was neat, I did what mommy and daddy said until Lincoln showed me the issues.” 

“What were the issues?” 

“Killed anyone who went against them. I thought, since I was raised that way, it was normal. Then I met a woman named Daisy, she showed me that killing willing nilly was bad-don’t look at me like that, I was raised way and I fixed my attitude when I was thirteen.” You scolded as she gave you a look. 

“My parents….they think I’ll come around, but I will never be that way again. I hated it. It always felt wrong to me, but my parents called me broken, stupid, ignorant. They’d beat me around if I didn’t hurt someone.” 

“How many have you hurt?” 

“I used words not violence, I killed two people and I still know their names, I still know how it felt. It was awful. I still think I’m a bad person, isn’t that crazy? I think I’m crazy for not being a sociopath or psychopath.” 

“It shows you have a soul.” Kara answered, “it shows you are no longer that person, that you’ve not only grown from your mistakes, but you learned from them.” 

You shuddered a breath, “I never want to kill again, I can fight to defend with no problem but I will not kill again if I don’t have to. But I will kill if someone's safety is in jeopardy, no problem.” 

Kara grabbed your hand, “you give me hope.” 

You scoffed, “I give you hope? Babygirl you need a new role model.” 

She blushed at the nickname, it made you feel better to flirt with her, but at the same time broke your heart because you were falling hard for her. You didn’t flirt with anyone. You flirted with the girl you really, really liked. 

The girl who stuck her neck out for you. Who vouched for you and gave you this amazing life. You couldn’t mess this up.

[meterokinesis]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,032

Fandom: Batfamily, DC Comics

Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul, Tam Fox, OFC, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Fasir Nasser

Pairings: Tim Drake & Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Chose not to use archive warnings

Tags: Canon divergence, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Evil!Tim Drake, Blood and Gore, Psychological Trauma, Survivor’s guilt, Unreliable narrator, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Post-Battle of the Cowl, Bruce is dead, Tim is not having a good time right now

Summary: When Tim Drake leaves to find Bruce, he doesn’t expect to get stabbed. He doesn’t expect to die. And he certainly doesn’t expect to be resurrected. However, the Tim who goes into the Lazarus Pit is not the same Tim who comes out. This Tim is ruthless and unguarded in a way he never was before. And when Ra's starts to take him under his wing... well, what's a disgraced Robin to do?

Author’s Note: This work is part of the Batfam Big Bang! (@batfam-big-bang) I couldn't have done this without my lovely betas, @bisexualoftheblade, @crystalinastar, and @houser-of-stories. There's also some amazing art for this fic that I’ll be posting soon!

Read it on AO3

The desert night was cool, with a breeze that shifted the sand beneath Tim’s feet like waves. The stars gleamed overhead, and for a second he was caught up in how clear the sky was. It had been years since he’d seen stars without a haze of light pollution around them.

Owens and Z were in front of him, his babysitters for the night. Pru was off to his left, fiddling with the safety on her gun. The ride here had been as light-hearted as was possible, given the circumstances, but that jovial tone had ended quickly. Their off-roader had died on them maybe half an hour before, and the small group was still huddled around the machine, waiting as Z checked the engine. Every few seconds, Pru glared at Tim, as if blaming him for the hold up. Though the others had made it very clear that this was a fool’s errand, Tim knew that Bruce was here, somewhere. He had to be, or Tim had thrown everything away for nothing.

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Tim might be the world’s greatest detective, now that Bruce was… out of commission. But his hunches could still be wrong. What if- no. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He would bring Bruce back, he had to.

“Hey, Drake, are you done brooding yet?” Pru’s voice echoed over the empty land. Tim huffed noncommittally and looked up to see the bald assassin twirling her gun on her finger.

“I’m a Bat. We’re never done brooding,” he quipped, before fiddling with the little radio receiver he had brought along. It didn’t do more than give off static when it was on, but having something to do with his hands helped.

Rolling her eyes, Pru gestured over to a precariously balanced pile of rocks. “Wanna see if I can hit the top one off without knocking over the others?”

Tim sighed heavily and dragged himself over to her, Owens trailing behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Z peek out from behind the hood to watch.

Squaring off, Pru brought up her gun and fired off a shot. To no one’s surprise, the top rock went flying and the others remained still, albeit with a slight wobble.

“Fuck yeah! Z, did you see…” She trailed off, her face blanching. Tim followed suit, only to be greeted with Z on the ground, chest bleeding in a way his medical training told him was too much. His brown eyes were already glassy, and his chest wasn’t moving anymore. It was then that the rest of the image came into focus, and Tim’s eyes finally latched onto the cloaked man holding two bloody swords.

“I am the Widower,” the man said, his voice low and bone-chilling. “And here I was, thinking you’d put up a fight.”

Tim drew his bo staff, eyes tracking Pru and Owens as they rushed toward the Widower, guns at the ready. He had barely taken a step, but they were already on the ground, Pru bleeding from a large gash in her neck and Owens trying in vain to keep pressure on the wound in between his ribs.

Quick--what were his weaknesses? No visible limps or injuries, no issues handling the weapons. He moved like a snake through grass, smooth and precise. The Widower’s blades gleamed in the moonlight, and Pru’s blood dripped onto the sand. Tim lashed out with his staff, catching one of the swords right as it flew toward his throat.

“I guess dead birdies tell no tales,” Widower whispered as he drove the second sword, the one Tim had forgotten about, into Tim’s stomach.

The vigilante staggered back, and fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. The blade slid out and even through the gloves of his suit, Tim could feel his blood, warm and sticky. Was this how he was going to die? Mission incomplete, estranged from his family, bleeding out into the desert sand? He had never assumed he would survive in this job, but he’d at least thought he’d die as Robin. Oh god, he was never going to be Robin again.

The ground rushed up to greet him, sand in his mouth and eyes and hair. He supposed that it didn’t matter--it’s not like corpses care anyway. With his last ounces of strength, he rolled onto his back. Somewhere, some last shred of knowledge told him that this would keep him from bleeding out, but deep down he knew it was too late. Tim just wanted the stars to be the last thing he saw.

As darkness encroached on the corners of his vision, his mind drifted back to Bruce. This was it. The only father figure he’d ever had, or at least the only one who liked him as he was, would be doomed to never return. And it was all Tim’s fault.

The afterlife was dark. And cold. Tim had never been religious, aside from that year of Hebrew school his parents insisted he take in middle school, but even he knew that this wasn’t right. It took a second, but the cold and dark sharpened into something Tim knew well, his kitchen at home. Well, at Drake Manor.

The marble countertops gleamed, as did the floors, and Tim recalled tiptoeing around in his early childhood, so not to dirty them. The kitchen--really, the whole house--had always felt like a mausoleum. Cold, impersonable. Lonely. In some ways, a lot like Tim.

He drifted through the house, looking pointedly away from the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. It had been painted a few months before his mom was killed, right after he became Robin. They all looked so stiff, like actors playing a family in a movie. Actually, actors would probably do a better job than they did. That portrait had been the first thing Tim had put in storage when his dad died.

The curtains were drawn, letting in the gray sunlight Gotham was so well-known for. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his lawn, except… not. Gravestones dotted the otherwise pristine lawn, some new and some old and worn. He hesitated at the door, fingertips just brushing the doorknob. He was dead, it wasn’t like he could get hurt. Maybe this was some kind of purgatory that he had to deal with before he could move on. He pushed against the door, anticipating the old hitch in the hinges that had been around for years.

The air held the same chill as the house, pulling at Tim’s breath. Front and center, practically in the doorway, was Bruce’s grave, the one they’d buried him in just over a month ago. But now the death date was scratched out, in its place a sticker like the ones Tim used to put on his skateboard. It read: Eternally Damned To Disappointment. It’d sound like the name of a band Tim might’ve listened to, if he didn’t know that the disappointment was in him.

The next grave was older, cracked and crumbly. The ground in front of it was disturbed, and dried blood streaks marked the bottom of the headstone. Here lies Jason Todd. Well, that didn’t last long. And unlike Jason, Tim knew he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t that lucky.

Next was Steph, or at least the grave she pretended to fill. It was covered in flowers, some of them bouquets Tim had left himself. Tim had spent hours in front of it, telling her how much he missed her and loved her, praying for the first and last times. When she came back… well, they were more distant than he would’ve liked. That wasn’t Steph’s fault, at least not entirely, but it did make him wonder. What if he never took back the mantle? Would this have been easier? He could’ve been a semi-normal teenager, living with his dad and stepmom, mourning his girlfriend and being blissfully unaware of the shitshow that was heroism. But he wouldn’t have been happy.

And speak of the devil, there’s his parents’ graves, right next to each other. It was almost funny how they were closer in death than in life. A boomerang was lodged in his father’s gravestone, with an old flip phone opened at the base. It listed Tim’s number as the last call. His mother’s had a sticky substance that a voice deep inside Tim told him not to touch. He lingered at these graves for a moment, breath caught in his throat. It’s not that he didn’t miss his parents--he did. But he had only known a piece of them, only just deeper than surface level. They weren’t parents as much as guardians with high expectations. And for the most part, he had met or exceeded every goal they gave him. But it never was enough. There was always another class to ace or language to learn or party to schmooze at. Worst of all, they were cold. If Tim was the chill night air, his parents were Antarctica.

The next grave stopped him in his tracks. Bart. One of his best friends, his ally in all things. Gone, but not in the way Bruce or Steph were. Bart wasn’t coming back. There would be no more Hawaiian pizza and donuts shared over a comic book, or sleepovers on the floor of Mount Justice. No more Wendy the Werewolf Stalker Marathons. There was no more Bart, and it stung in a way that Tim didn’t have a name for.

He turned around, expecting that to be the end of it, but there it was. Conner. All at once, the weight of the world fell on Tim’s shoulders, like his own personal Kryptonite. His best friend, someone he had been more than a little in love with once upon a time. He knew Conner was safe now, alive and saving people once again. Without Tim. Conner’s death had been the one that broke him, more than any of the others. Because if Conner Kent, Superboy and heartbreaker extraordinaire, hadn’t made it, what chance did Tim have? Well, obviously not much. How was Conner going to take this? He wasn’t like Tim, this was the first time he’d be alone.

Aren’t you tired of losing the ones you love? Aren’t you tired of being the one left behind? A quiet voice murmured in the back of his skull.

Yes. No. Yes. A sob tore from Tim’s chest, and his hand flew to his mouth. This was so stupid. He had dealt with loss before. Hell, the past year had been one unending funeral. Of course he was tired, who wouldn’t be?

This had to be Hell, but that felt like even more of a betrayal. Even Jason had made it to Heaven. Was this his punishment for toeing the line? Had he not suffered enough? Biting back another sob, Tim ran blindly toward the door, slamming it shut behind him in a way that would’ve made his mother shriek. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his living room anymore, but the Batcave. Even with his eyes full of tears, he would know it anywhere. And there was Dick in the Batsuit. And the demon in his Robin gear. Tim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Dick looked up, expression weary.

“Tim, I already told you. Bruce isn’t coming back. I’m Batman now, and that means I get to choose the Robin. It’s about time you accept that.” It sure sounded like Dick. “Besides, it’s not like you were doing a great job anyway. You let Batman be killed on the job.” Damian sneered, leaning against Dick’s chair like a bully in a high school rom com.

“That-That’s not my fault!” Tim cried, heart pounding in his ears.

“Look, there’s an heir and a spare. There’s a new Robin now, you can be whatever you’re calling yourself now. Go do whatever you have to on this suicide mission, but leave Gotham out of it.”

Damian smiled like a demonic cherub. “Yes, Drake. Not even Grayson wants you anymore, if he ever did.”

Tim stood in shocked silence, unable to find words. Sure, Dick was focused on Damian, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care anymore. After all, they were brothers, right?

He’s taken the only thing you had left. Don’t you want revenge? He took your mantle, you should take it back. The voice sounded like Tim, but contorted--like it would on a recording.

Tim--no, not Tim, something else--reached back for the bo staff. As his hand gripped the metal, something flew toward him, hitting him directly in the stomach where he had been stabbed. It clattered to the floor, and through his pain, Tim realized it was a Batarang.

Don’t you want more, Timothy Drake-Wayne? It coaxed.

Yes.

The new Timothy Drake-Wayne took his first breaths in a cave deep in the Iraqi desert, hundreds of miles away from the house and the graves that had haunted his dream. It was cold here, nearly as cold as that dream had been. If he was in Hell, it would be hotter, wouldn’t it?

Tim swallowed hard and pushed himself up. His stomach, where he was pretty sure he had just been stabbed, was free of wounds or scarring. If anything, he felt stronger than he had before. As his feet touched the stone cold floor, he took note of the ninjas scattered around the room. Okay, so he was back at the League. They must have… The prior strength he had felt disappeared as his legs gave out. Normally he would have rolled or caught himself or something, but his gaze was fixed on the other side of the room, where a glowing green pit resided.

Oh, no.

No weapons, outnumbered, barely able to stand. The disadvantages stacked up before his eyes, screaming that there was no hope of him getting out of this one. Not to mention that he was probably already on his way to insanity. Fuck, the last time he’d seen Jason, the former Robin had almost killed him. Would Tim end up like that, homicidal and cruel?

He struggled to his feet, clutching the stone table for support. He could take out two, maybe three, if he just stopped thinking. He was trained for this, he could--

“Hello there, Detective,” a cold voice purred, quiet but deafening in the silent room. A chill hovered under Tim’s skin. It had been a long time since he’d last heard that voice. Detective? Isn’t that what he calls your mentor? There was the voice again, the only remaining fragment of the dream.

Ra’s al Ghul was one of those people who intimidated you just by existing in the same space. He reminded Tim of every strict teacher and cruel board member and snotty dinner party guest all rolled up into one. Oh, and he was the leader of the world’s largest assassin guild. That was important too.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Timothy?” Ra’s said in the same tone.

The teenager opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for words. “No,” he managed to force out. “No, I didn’t.”

Are you sure?

Ra’s smiled, like a predator that had just gone for the killing blow. “Well, I suppose that you will have more than enough time to complete your quest during your stay with us.” And just like that, he turned, a group of ninjas peeling off to escort him back to whatever pit of Hell he’d crawled from. “If you need anything, ask for the White Ghost. Welcome to the Cradle, Detective.” And just like that, he was gone.

Tim was only alone with his thoughts for a minute before a tall man with alabaster skin and medieval-style chainmail entered the cavern.

Okay, so this was the White Ghost impersonator. The League wouldn’t kill someone they’d just resurrected, so maybe once he was alone he could escape? Go back to Gotham and see Dick and Sebastian and Zoanne one last time before he truly went insane, then start going to that therapist Dick recommended. He could make it through this, he wouldn’t end up like Jason--

And then in walked Tam Fox, looking terrified but for the most part unharmed. And all of Tim’s plans came crashing down.

Tam was a civilian, and a Wayne Enterprises employee to boot. Her life, and his identity, were in danger now. He was both her only savior and her greatest danger. New plan: listen to this knockoff White Ghost, do whatever it takes to gain their trust, then make it out with Tam at the first possible chance. And do it all without going off the deep end.

Easy. Not.

“I am the White Ghost,” the shitty cosplayer said, his chainmail clinking as he moved.

“Isn’t he dead?” Tim murmured under his breath. He’d definitely seen Dusan die. But if Tim was still alive, then maybe…

“There has always been a White Ghost,” the older man responded, as if that answered anything. “Now, it is time you and your guest retired to your quarters.”

Tam looked over at Tim, big brown eyes wide with fear. He nodded once, tried to conjure a press conference smile, and allowed them to be led to lavish bedchambers. They looked like beautiful, windowless prisons.

The next few weeks blended into their own lethal monotony. Tam stayed in her room all day and Tim went to meetings with various members of the League’s regime. It was a little like working at Drake Industries or Wayne Enterprises, just with more murder. A lot more murder. But the meetings were easy enough, and Tim soon found himself getting to know the people he once despised. He didn’t like them by any means, but he wasn’t terrified anymore.

He kept looking for Bruce. The desert gave no answers.

Tam didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push too hard. She had to know everyone’s identities by now, didn’t she? Tim was just one Robin-shaped piece of the puzzle. Here he was, in the desert, yet another failed Robin. His whole tenure, he’d been trying to live up to Jason Todd, and now in a sick way he had. Wearing Jason’s uniform, having been resurrected the same way, he now dreaded catching up to the boy who had once been his hero.

On nights when he cried silently into the silk sheets, trying to forget the way Jason had looked when he first came back to Gotham, the voice soothed: You can be greater than he ever was. You can outshine all of the others. You will be remembered when they are dust.

The desert was cold. There was no comfort here.

His bedchamber was nice enough. There was a large bed with silk sheets and gold accents and an ensuite bathroom. A large mirror took up the space where a window might have once been, like some sort of philosophical conundrum that Tim was too tired to try to unpack. There was a small passageway between his room and Tam’s, and if Tim was just a little more naive he would have believed that the League forgot about it when they placed him in this room. But he knew better. The League never forgot a thing.

Sometimes Tim caught himself in the mirror and for a second he swore his blue eyes looked green. Tam came in the next morning to glass littering the floor and cuts covering Tim’s hands. She said nothing while she helped him wrap up his knuckles.

Tim had always been adaptable. It’s easier than the constant push and shove of rebellion. When his parents told him to take those classes and join these clubs, he did. When he was instructed to give impromptu speeches at galas, he did. He put in the effort, he always had. He was never the best fighter and never would be, but he was smart and quick and brave. That had to mean something, right?

Maybe that’s why Ra’s al Ghul liked him so much.

The first time Ra’s al Ghul asked for a private meeting with Tim, the ground seemed to tilt under him. The well-trained vigilante tried not to show the fear in his eyes as his vision blurred and his heart thundered in his chest. But he went, because one did not say no to the Demon’s Head.

“Detective,” Ra’s began as he sat down at a large, stately desk that seemed out of place in the rest of the Cradle. The voices--he had taken to calling them whispers--that had been clogging Tim’s thoughts preened at the nickname, ignoring its former bearer.

“Tell me what you know about my grandson,” the assassin drawled, his fingers tapping on the desk rhythmically.

“Don’t you have spies for that?” Tim responded, not quite a retort but not an innocent question either. He’d seen enough of the League’s intel that it was clear how much they truly knew about the world outside the Cradle.

“Yes, but I’d prefer to hear it from someone… familiar with him. My eyes can only do so much from afar.”

Tim had no doubt that Ra’s knew everything about Damian: from the route he took to school to the cereal he ate for breakfast to how many times he pet Titus when he got home from school.

“He’s a brat.” Tim’s chagrin even took him by surprise, like it wasn’t really him talking. “He’s rude and inconsistent and incredibly immature. He’s aggressive and undisciplined. A sorry excuse for a Robin.”

And there it was, the green monster of jealousy rearing its head again. Yes, Damian had taken Robin from him unfairly, and yes, he was all of those things. But why did Ra’s care?

“I see. Would you describe him as a leader?”

“No. If anything, he’s a bully and a mama’s boy. Leaders need to be able to listen to others.” Where was he getting this? Damian was a kid, he could learn. He still had time.

“Interesting.” Ra’s rose from his chair and paced the edge of the room. Tim refused to look back and follow his movements. That would be a show of weakness, a drop of blood in a shark tank. “Detective, what do you have in Gotham? What do you have there that keeps you from dedicating yourself to your cause?”

Nothing.

Tim stifled a gasp as he thought of the instant response. Dick and Damian didn’t need him. Stephanie hadn’t called in months, even before Bruce died. Jason had tried to kill him, last they’d spoken. The Teen Titans were getting along just fine without him. Truthfully, the whispers were right. There was nothing left for him in Gotham. If there was, he would have stayed.

“Nothing.” The anymore went unsaid.

“Then I may have a proposal for you.” Ra’s eyes glowed a dangerous green. A pit formed in Tim’s stomach, as the last few vestiges of him that hadn’t sided with the voices screamed at him to just escape.

“Oh?” Tim responded, mouth bone-dry.

“Stay.”

And Tim’s world crumpled.

“Learn under my agents. Train to become better than you are. Continue your quest with my resources behind you. All you have to do is stay and work for me,” Ra’s smiled like a hunter who had just shot big game.

This was a terrible idea. Tim didn’t kill people, he refused. He was supposed to help people, not hurt them. But he couldn’t deny that feeling like he belonged again was incredibly enticing.

Tim opened his mouth, but Ra’s cut him off. “Your friend will not be harmed. I won’t even think about putting you on an assignment until you’re up to par with my best ninjas. I will not make this offer again.”

The voice that responded was not Tim’s own.

“Yes.”

Tim thought that six months of training with Bruce was brutal. Ha hadn’t known brutal until now.

His first day of training, he showed up in his Red Robin suit, now patched and reinforced where he had been stabbed.

The tall ninja that seemed to be in charge scoffed, then sent him away. Not fifteen minutes later, a tailor descended on Tim’s quarters with a tape measure and a face made of solid stone.

“Can’t have you looking like a target, all in red. What was Batman thinking?”

Maybe he wants them to be targets, Tim and the whispers thought in tandem. He balked at the thought, but the tailor’s firm hands kept him in place. What was he doing? Bruce had loved him, did love him. He had taken care of Tim when no one else would. Bile crawled through the back of Tim’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

The tailor finished her measurements and scanned Tim up and down.

“It will have to be black, of course. Reinforced joints, kevlar, the whole nine yards,” she stated in a lilting accent. “Maybe some green accents, dark ones. Classy. Half-mask, no more cowls or dominos.”

Red, yellow, and black were his colors and had been for years. A tribute to a boy he loved and lost then loved some more. But Conner was back now. And Tim was tired of mourning, especially when no one was dead. Well, except him.

“Green,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t Red Robin anymore, not really. And he could always wear the suit again. This wasn’t a finale, just a hiatus.

She nodded once and then swept away, leaving a teenager clutching the last thing he had of his old life. Tim folded the suit, the way Alfred had always chastised him for, and gingerly placed it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. He wouldn’t need it anytime soon.

The next day, a precisely wrapped package sat outside Tim’s door bearing no signature. He knew exactly what it was.

Upon peeling back the paper, he saw the full glory of the new suit. It was midnight black, with dark green stitches that were beautiful up close, but would be near-invisible from far away. It looked like a cross between the ninjas’ garb and body armor--sleek and sure of itself. A hood was attached to the back of the neck, with the green stitching spelling out something Tim couldn’t discern. A half-mask with built in air filters covered the rest of the face. As he patted the suit down, he felt where all the separate compartments were for weapons and utilities. It reminded him a little of the costumes from high-tech spy movies.

Sitting on the floor with his new suit in his lap, Tim added another item to the long lists of debts he owed Ra’s al Ghul.

His first real day of training, Tim was beaten so badly he could hardly drag himself to his room.

It wasn’t that they had intended to hurt him, but he had gone almost a month without training. Bruises laced up his cheekbone like their own little domino mask, a little memento of times gone by. His joints screamed out in pain as he collapsed onto his bed. At least he hadn’t broken any bones. Or been stabbed. Or died.

Tim only had a few minutes to contemplate the stuntman funniest fails video that was his life when a gentle knock came from the door.

“Come in,” he groaned, flopping over onto his side so he could see his company. His mother would have scolded him for not standing up to greet a guest, but she didn’t have much sway from six feet under.

A girl with olive-tan skin and a brunette bun stepped into the threshold, her smile the gentlest thing he’d seen in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Aminta. I figured you could use some help with your wounds.” Her voice was lower than he expected, but pretty nonetheless. A dark, untraceable accent threaded through her words.

He peered up at her, frowning.

“Is this a hazing thing? Am I being hazed?”

She chuckled, then sat on the ottoman at the edge of his bed.

“Not hazing. The new recruits tend to help each other through the first few months. Safety in numbers and all that. I thought you might want some assistance.”

“So, you’re all friends?” That didn’t sound right.

“No,” she hesitated for a moment, “not exactly. Friends is too... common. We are assassins, but we have honor. When we need to, we take care of our own.”

Ah, so he was one of them now. For some indescribable reason, that didn’t fill him with as much dread as he thought it would.

You have no friends. You never did. Just those who you will rule and those who you will crush, the whispers added.

Tim smiled, the shy grin he used when he wanted teachers and Wayne Enterprises board members to underestimate him.

“Thank you, Aminta. I’d appreciate that. My name is Tim.”

She winked at him, clearly a joke.

“Believe me, I know.”

The League had a mole.

Or at least, they were going to. Tim had known enough corrupt businessmen in his time in Gotham’s upper echelon that he was well versed in the signs of someone double-dipping. At first it was little things: missing pieces of inventory, strange new guard shifts, incorrect mission intel. By the time it escalated to money being skimmed off the top of jobs, Ra’s was furious.

When he called Tim in for a meeting, something that was becoming increasingly normal these days, Tim was expecting fiery rage. Instead, there was steel-sharp cunning. It was a little like looking in a funhouse mirror.

“Detective, it appears that we have a liability in our ranks,” Ra’s began, his fingertips caressing a blade. “I assume you’ve read the data I sent to your quarters, and I’d like your thoughts.”

Tim cleared his throat. He had spent the night before reading the reports, putting together the pieces. If this was a test, it was a wicked one.

“The incidents began shortly after the attacks by the Widower. It’s a piece of misdirection intended to frame either Pru or I as a mole. However, neither of us has any reason for betrayal. Pru is, and has always been, loyal to the League. And you are well aware that I have nothing left for me in Gotham, nor would I be stupid enough to allow myself to get caught.” His voice was smooth, the prince of Gotham giving yet another speech.

“There is someone who has means, motive, and opportunity. After reading your files, it is incredibly clear. He has a family of his own that he is loyal to, and during my resurrection, he was not in the Cradle. His computer prowess would allow him to mess with the system in a way few others could. It would have been a very clean job, if he had spread it out over months or years instead of a few weeks.”

Ra’s stroked his goatee.

“You mean the Expediter.”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Ra’s rose from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now that we’ve established the perpetrator, it is time to establish the punishment.”

Ah, so here was the test. Ra’s wanted to see how ruthless Tim could be. It was a very good thing that Tim never failed an exam.

“Kill him. It will send a message to our other agents and whoever he worked for that we are not to be trifled with.” Tim’s hands shook, but his voice was full of conviction. He had always been a good actor, but it wasn’t clear how much was truth now.

“And his daughters?”

“Bring them to the Cradle. They’re young enough that they likely won’t remember him, and we’ll be able to shape their childhood. Perhaps one will become just as intelligent as her father, and wiser as well.” The whispers hissed wordlessly in disappointment, but it was worth it. Tim refused to order the execution of a child, no matter how loud the shrieking in his skull became.

There was a beat of dead silence, then Ra’s nodded sagely.

“Wise choice, Detective. I’ll put those orders into effect at once.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming as his dagger had. “I’m looking forward to the rest of our partnership.”

Oh, how the whispers laughed.

Life in the Cradle was, well, nice. Tim was training harder than he ever had, under much more strenuous conditions, yet he felt better than he ever had. He was stronger, for one thing, but for the first time since he’d discovered Batman and Robin’s identities, he was able to rest. He didn’t need to be up until dawn chasing people across rooftops or finishing reports or writing an essay for English class because he’d been too busy on patrol. Even in a den of killers, Tim felt almost safe.

That said, he refused to let his guard down. He’d sat in on meetings with the inner circle of the Cradle for months now, trying to use his famous brain for something important. Which for his purposes, meant destroying the League as best as possible.

That was the only reason he’d stayed, or at least that’s what he told himself during nights where he twisted and turned trying to justify his choices. He’d exploit the League’s generosity to train himself and find Bruce, then take it down. Bruce would have to be proud of him after that, they all would. Maybe he’d even be Robin again.

He’d already taken out the Expediter, Ra’s’ guy in the chair. The guy confessed to the mistake of having a family and trying to work for the League at the same time. Good thing Tim didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

This is good, but it is not enough. You crave more. Do not be a coward, take it.

Now Tim was the techie for an international assassin guild, which would look moderately impressive on a college resume. Maybe it could count as an internship. Ra’s seemed like the guy who would make a relatively okay reference when Harvard came calling.

It always felt strange when he had lunch with Ra’s. It was eerily similar to the fancy lunches his mom used to drag him to, or the etiquette classes he was forced to take where he learned how to properly use a melon baller. Of course, it wasn’t like he was going to be killed for using a melon baller wrong then. Now, he knew that any wrong move could result in death.

Not his own death, of course. There was no point in Ra’s bringing back Tim, just to kill him again. Tam, however, was expendable. And that made the marrow in Tim’s bones shiver.

This particular lunch was more focused on memory lane than shop talk.

“So, Detective, tell me: what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Tim swallowed hard around his tea sandwich, his throat suddenly painfully dry.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a clown. Not a great career path in Gotham,” he began, attempting to keep his voice light. Ra’s looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, I wanted to be a photographer. Then, my father said I would be a CEO or I’d be disowned, so I wanted to be a CEO. I could always do photography on the side, you know?

“And then I became Robin.” He let the weight of that sentence sink over the pair.

“So? What happened after that?”

Tim resisted the urge to stare at his sandwich, instead choosing to meet Ra’s’ bright green eyes.

“Then, I stopped thinking I would grow up.” There it was, the thing everyone had been trying to pry out of him for years.

“I mean, Dick barely made it out. Jason died, came back, went crazy, and now murders people for shits and giggles. Stephanie died, but only kinda. Damian’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. In the wild, robins live for a year, maybe two if they’re lucky. I don’t think anyone realized how similar we all are to those stupid birds.” Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he didn’t need to cry. All that pain was gone now, replaced by something else. He couldn’t name it, but it kept all the sadness away.

Tim had been sad for his whole life. It was a relief when the roiling ocean inside him froze over. Numbness was an improvement.

Ra’s leaned across the table, his face barely a foot from Tim’s.

“You know, Detective, you remind me of myself. Not when I was young, of course, but when I had just begun to build my empire. All your life you have been told to quiet down and listen instead of speaking. You’re a fine leader because of it. You adapt when others are stubborn. You make plans while they push through without a second thought. You are a snake lying in wait, anticipating the right time to strike. I admire that.”

The air hung in silence as Ra’s stared directly into Tim’s soul.

“You know,” Ra’s finally said, “I think you could be truly great one day.”

Tim barely breathed as he nodded his thanks. When Ra’s finally leaned away, his first breath felt like the first gasp of air from a drowning victim.

“Before our lunch concludes, and I do so enjoy our lunches, I have a query for you.” This wasn’t out of the ordinary, Ra’s liked to give him riddles to keep him on his toes. “Some of our ninjas, though I will not say who, have gone rogue. A year or so ago, they got themselves caught up in some nasty business. My current intel places them here, in this compound, where they’re using innocents as collateral, should they not get what they request.”

“What do they want?”

“My head on a platter.” Ra’s’ smile was bloodchilling. “Oh, Detective? I feel it’s important to note: international news stations are currently reporting you and Ms. Fox as having been kidnapped by these rogues. Any advice on how to fix that?”

So this was the second test. Another chance to prove his loyalty. Let Ra’s’ enemies go free, or kill them and forfeit his old life for good in return.

“I assume extraction is not possible?”

“I’m afraid that those deserters are incredibly well trained. The special units from any nation’s army wouldn’t even make it into the compound. My ninjas could make it in, but there’s no way they could take out the traitors and save the civilians.”

Tim nodded, pretending to contemplate. He already knew his answer.

“Bomb the compound, kill everyone inside. It’s better to cut off the rot now than give it the chance to spread.”

Ra’s did not smile, but his eyes glimmered with pride.

“My thoughts exactly, Detective.”

And just like that, the death warrant was signed.

Tam was waiting in his chambers when Tim got home from a long day of training, his body littered in bruises and cuts that would sting tomorrow. Her crossed arms functioned as a hug, like she was the only thing keeping herself together.

“Tim,” she whispered when he came into view, the word like a prayer.

He glided across the room wordlessly, and she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I managed to get someone to sneak me a newspaper. Th-They think we’re dead, Tim,” she said into his shoulder, words slightly muffled by the fabric.

His hand came up to stroke her hair, the way he used to comfort Cass after a particularly long day. Tim didn’t respond, and instead let her tears soak into his shirt.

Good. Now you have the element of surprise.

The Council of Spiders had a worthy namesake, as they were just as quick and deadly as any arachnid. Somehow they had crept past the League’s defenses, disabling the ninjas that got in their way. True to form, the assassins’ deaths were just as silent as they were--shadows fading out as dusk began to form.

Tim was preparing for another day of strategy and mind games when Aminta burst into the room.

“The Spiders are here. They managed to sneak in--no one knows how. You’re needed,” she gasped, as if she’d ran a marathon to deliver this message. Judging from her state of disarray, maybe she had.

“Tam?”

“I’ll protect her. Go!”

Tim didn’t have time to question these motives or worry about much more than tugging on his cowl and pulling out his bo staff. He sprinted out the door and into the madness, moving in a dangerous dance with the assassins he had trained alongside for the past few months. The League was good, great even. But with the element of surprise, the Spiders were better.

He couldn’t afford to think about what could happen if they lost. Failure was not an option, not anymore.

A shadow glided toward one of the empty hallways and away from the rest of the frenzy, a sword glinting in its hand. Something that had dug its claws deep in Tim’s bones pulled him toward the figure, urging him to follow. To finish the job.

If others saw red when enraged, Tim saw green.

The figure purposefully stalked toward the large office Tim had started to spend increasing amounts of time in. The footsteps were near-silent, but in his mind they echoed almost deafeningly loud.

The shadow had to know he was there. It had to. Tim was good, but a few months of training could never rival lifetimes.

The shadow glanced over its shoulder, a feline-esque smile on its face. It said something, probably a witty yet scathing remark, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of whispers in Tim’s mind.

Do it.

Finish the job.

Show them who you are, who you can be.

Prove yourself.

You are not a bird, you are not a bat.

You are a demon, and you do not know weakness.

Not a Robin, not Red.

You are Green, Green, Green.

Become who you were always destined to be, Detective.

Tim struck out with his bo staff, right into the shadow’s skull. It faltered, just for a millisecond, and that creature that was both Tim and not lashed out, quicker than it had any right to be. A dagger in his hand, sharpened to a razor-thin edge. He did not remember doing that. That same dagger, buried into deep tan flesh.

Then he was across the room, bones aching from being thrown into the stone wall. If he was still human, still able to rein in whatever was drowning out his senses, he would know to expect pain tomorrow. But he didn’t, and all he felt was the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

And he was up again, throwing himself at the shadow with the conviction of a greek hero who knew that this fight would be his last. A fist full of rings connected with his cheek, and he could feel the skin tear beneath the metal. Maybe it would even scar.

The shadow leaned heavily to one side, though whether it was from the stab placed between its ribs or a prior injury, Tim didn’t know. It lurched toward him, and he stabbed it again, this time twisting the dagger until he felt the give of a lung. The shadow was down now, and deep down Tim knew that he never should have beaten it, never should have landed a single blow. In a logical world, Tim would have lost ten times over. But in a logical world, Tim would have been dead for the past six months.

As if time was in slow motion but he was at normal speed, Tim glided through the seconds, pushing pressure points with the tip of his blade. The shadow’s sword lay across the hall, too far out of reach for retaliation. This wasn’t torture, but it was revenge--for pain and sacrifice and nights spent clawing at his own skin, wishing it still felt like his. Payback for months of sins he never would have committed, for the green that clouded his vision. But most of all, it was a promise.

After minutes that held years of heartwrenching pain, Tim delivered the killing blow, straight under the shadow’s chin and into its brain. He was covered in blood, tacky and rust-toned, but where a past Tim--a lesser Tim--would have balked or vomited at the sight, this Tim stood, cleaned off his blade, and hefted the cooling corpse onto his shoulder.

They can try to revive it with the Lazarus Pit. You cannot allow that to happen. You cannot fail, the whispers urged, but he no longer needed them. They were him and he was them. Green in every breath and thought.

Tim escaped into the desert and finished the job, just as he had always been taught to do. Ra’s would have been proud. Bruce would have been proud.

That night, after the Spiders had been exterminated and the mess cleaned up, Tim sat at the foot of his bed, staring at his hands. The ninjas had looked at him with what could be called pride when he staggered back into the fray, his face bruised and bloody and sporting a wound on his thigh. His silky clothes brushed past the injuries every few seconds, but he couldn’t muster the energy to wince, even though he knew he should.

Tam had managed to hide during the clash, and Aminta had kept her promise. Tim liked people who followed through.

After being given the all clear, he stumbled back to his room to wash out his wounds and scrub the smell of smoke off his skin.

He had only just changed into his silky clothes when a knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, the White Ghost was in Tim’s room, staring down at the teenager with an unnameable expression on his face.

“Timothy Drake,” the man said by way of greeting.

Tim glanced at him and blinked owlishly, but did not respond.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

This gripped Tim’s attention, and he finally made eye contact with the assassin, his brow creasing in concern.

“You’re going to revive him, right? He told me that you have more Lazarus Pits near here, he can use one of those. How did he die?” A million scenarios raced through Tim’s head, films of the death of the Demon.

“They burned him on a pyre and left him in his study. No trace of cause of death, and we can’t revive him. Any DNA has been destroyed.”

Tim stared blankly, processing. The Demon’s Head, the invincible Ra’s al Ghul, was dead. Gone forever.

“Ra’s made plans, should he die,” the White Ghost continued. “Those plans include a new leader of the League of Shadows. And that leader is you.”

Tim sputtered, “What? You can’t be serious. I’m seventeen years old. Why not you? Or Talia or Nyssa? Or Damian?”

“I do not make light of these things. He said you, so it is you. I am the White ghost. He had not contacted his daughters in years, and his grandson is too unpredictable to be suited to the position. You are the Demon’s Head, Timothy Drake.”

Tim stared back numbly. He was the Demon’s Head. The Cradle was his, these assassins were his, the world was his. He wanted power, and now it had fallen into his lap. The White Ghost kneeled before him and bowed his head. “I will serve you, Timothy Drake, in whatever way you see fit. I will be your eyes and ears and hands. I will obey you and carry out your orders. I pledge my allegiance to you, and only to you.” Satisfied with his vow, he rose to his full height.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked back up. “I accept your vow and thank you for your loyalty.” Then, “When… When will the rest know?”

“Tomorrow, at noon. I thought it might be best for everyone to rest, and for you to know first. We can discuss further details tomorrow morning, but for now, know who you are.”

Tim nodded stiffly and pushed himself to his feet, straightening his spine the way his mother had taught him to. He had been raised to become a prince of Gotham, one of the pretty boys that graced magazine covers and made headlines at charity events. Now, he was a king of assassins, an emperor of the underworld. If only she could see him now. Maybe she’d even be proud of him, for once.

“Thank you, White Ghost. We will speak again tomorrow. Should there be any issues during the night, I would like for you to inform me immediately.” He may be clad in silk pyjamas, but there was leadership in every fiber of his being. The whispers hissed in agreement.

“Fadir Nasser. My name is Fadir Nasser. Long live the Demon’s Head,” the White Ghost--Fadir--said as he left the room, the last remark stinging with a hint of a joke.

The door locked shut behind him, and Tim flopped backward onto the bed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His gaze fell to the closet, where his suit was stuffed in the corner, smelling of smoke and burning flesh and the irony tang of blood. The whispers quickly supplied a description of the events, but Tim could picture them clear as day--carrying Ra’s to the desert, building and lighting a pyre, then bringing the body back and placing it in Ra’s’ study for someone to find. It was incredibly simple, almost too simple for no one to have done before. But Tim was Green, Greener than anyone had ever been before. And no one would ever know.

He’d need to invest in a new suit befitting his new role, maybe bring back some green accents. He no longer needed to mourn Conner. He no longer needed to mourn at all. He was the Demon’s Head, and he would never die.

The whispers laughed cruelly, like the audience of a poorly-written tragedy.

The transition of power wasn’t smooth, but it was quick. Assassins weren’t particularly known for their loyalty, and Fadir made it clear that any dissenters wouldn’t even make it to the door. They only had to clean blood off the stone floors once before that lesson sunk in.

As far as coups go, it was pretty successful. The whispers had quieted, just a little. Tim could sometimes make it hours without the hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him that he couldn’t rest. With power comes paranoia, and Tim was intimately familiar with both.

Now to rid himself of liabilities.

It had been a particularly lucid day, and Tim’s near-silent footsteps were the only hint of noise in the hallway. Tam had been given the option to move her room closer to his, but had refused. He didn’t blame her, it was hard being the civilian favorite of the assassin king. Tim knew this well.

Tim knocked on the wooden door, two quick raps. Somewhere deep in his memory, he wondered if this would have been his life, had everything been different; maybe he’d be knocking on Tam’s door before picking her up for a date. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, put on the shy smile Tam thought was his true one, and waited for her. Shuffling on the other side of the door, then a creak as it swung open. Tim glided in, and Tam looked at him with those big brown eyes, her expression tainted with a touch of fear. He didn’t remember her ever being afraid of him before.

“Do you want to go home?” Tim asked. No preamble, just his soft question in the quiet room.

Tam didn’t even think about it first.

“Yes.”

Tim nodded, then drew out a one-way ticket to Archie Goodwin International Airport, leaving tomorrow night. He held it out to her, that soft smile on his face and a promise in his eyes.

Tam tentatively took it, but kept looking at him. “Are you serious?”

“You’re not a prisoner. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you leave earlier, I just wanted to make sure the League was stable first. My intention was always to get you home.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim slipped his hands in his pockets. “You’re my friend. I just want you to be happy.”

Tam pulled him into a hug, and for a second it felt so nice it almost hurt. Then it was over, and he could be comfortably numb again.

“Aminta will be coming with you, just to make sure you get home safe. Once you’re with your family, you won’t have to see any of my… agents ever again.”

Tam nodded, her face screwed up in an effort to keep from crying. He turned to leave and give her privacy, then paused.

“Tam? Thank you. For being my friend.”

Then the king of shadows disappeared into the night, yet again.

Tim frowned at the wall, a small comms unit tucked in his ear. He hadn’t moved from this room in a day, not since Tam and Aminta left.

“Okay, Aminta, I need you to keep close. You said that it’s just Batman and Robin? No Batgirl?”

“Just Batman and Robin. They haven’t spotted me yet. Robin’s really fallen behind since leaving us.”

Tim growled under his breath and carded a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Who did Ra’s go to for haircuts? Did he just do it himself?

Focus.

The facts were these: Tam had been contacted by Batman and Robin immediately after Lucius Fox gave word that she was home safe. Tim had been expecting this, and Aminta was sent to follow Tam and ensure that the interaction went favorably. Which is to say that no one killed Tam because of what she knew. Aminta was currently hidden on the same rooftop as Gotham’s favorite heroes, listening in on their rendez-vous.

“What’s happening? Report.”

“She’s telling them--why don’t I just play their conversation? I have the capability.”

“Do it.”

A crackling came over Tim’s comm unit for a few brief seconds before it shifted to three familiar voices.

“It’s okay, Tam. Just tell us everything. From the beginning.” That was Dick. He sounded the exact same way he had when Tim left, tired and a little pained. Serves him right. “Yeah, okay,” there was Tam’s voice, slightly higher pitched than normal. “So my dad sent me to find out where Tim Drake was. And I managed to track him down to Iraq. So I’m in my hotel room one night, and I wake up to someone putting a cloth on my nose. Then everything went black, and the next thing I knew I was in this cold stone room. Then this albino guy tells me to stand up and we walk into this big hallway and there’s Tim. And he’s all sweaty and looks super freaked out. Then they brought us to these bedrooms and told us that we’d be staying a while.”

“Why would they take you?” A third voice asked, the snobby tone immediately registering as Damian. The brat.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my search for Tim sent up some flags? No one ever told me.” Her voice cracked a little, and maybe once upon a time, Tim would have felt sorry for her. Not anymore.

“It’s okay, Tam. After you moved into the Cradle, what happened?”

“Tim spent a lot of time training or with Ra’s. He couldn’t tell me much, but apparently Ra’s took a liking to him. One of the inner circle guys turned out to be a traitor, so Tim took his job. I didn’t see him a lot.”

“Who was the traitor?” Damian again, with a hint of anger in his voice. Or was that fear?

“Some computer guy. The Executioner or something.”

“The Expeditor?” It was definitely fear in Damian’s voice. He sounded like a child when he was scared.

“Yeah, him. I just hung around for the most part. They had books. They gave me makeup and nail polish when I asked for it. I was bored, but never threatened.” Tim snorted. Tam knew more than anyone that just because she didn’t have a knife to her neck didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger every moment of the day.

Dick cleared his throat, then spoke again, “Why did Ra’s let you leave?”

Tam went quiet, just for a second.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

A beat of silence. Tim would have paid millions to watch them right now.

“How?” Damian, his voice filled with fear, and maybe a little pain.

“I-I don’t know. There was an attack by the Council of Spiders. Tim had them lock me in my room with a guard. Some of the girls I talked to said that Ra’s was burned afterward so they couldn’t revive him. No one knew until the day after.” Tam’s voice was shaking now.

“Then where’s Tim?” Dick asked, finally caring about his younger brother after all this time. What a joke.

Tam stuttered a few times, but eventually got the words out. “Tim… Tim’s the new leader. Ra’s named him his heir before he died.”

A hiss sounded over the comms. That had to be Damian.

“Thank you, Tam. I appreciate you answering our questions. You know where to find us if you remember anything else.”

Some shuffling obscured any new words, then Aminta’s voice appeared. “They’re leaving, do you want me to follow them?”

“Yes,” Tim responded, massaging his temples. The whispers were getting louder now, to a point where it was impossible to understand any one message. It was hard when they got like this, harder than when they teamed up. At least then he didn’t feel like a helpless teacher in a rowdy classroom.

Maybe a minute ticked by before Aminta was back. “They just went a few rooftops away. Robin’s clutching Batman’s cape and crying, but it’s like angry crying. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t understand it. Batman’s rubbing his back, but he looks miserable too. Less angry, more sad.”

“That’ll be all, Aminta, thank you. You can return home tomorrow,” Tim sighed. “Our dear friend Tam has done us a favor, so we should be ready for the consequences.”

“What favor? Telling them everything?”

“Not everything. We still have an ace up our sleeve.”

“What advantage could we possibly have, other than knowing that they know?”

“Tam didn’t tell them about my little swim.”

Somewhere, there was a universe where Timothy Drake-Wayne woke up on the morning of his 18th birthday and put on a suit, ready for a day of meetings at whatever company he was interning for before he started college. Maybe he had a party with his family or a date that night. This is what Tim thought about as he busied himself getting ready. He had never been one for birthdays. Jack and Janet were rarely home, and even when they were in Gotham, they had better things to do than celebrate a child. He didn’t blame them. Before he came to the Cradle, he wasn’t worth celebrating.

The ornate mirror in his bathroom showcased his attire: a loose-fitting white shirt, tailored brown silk pants, and a dark green cape that almost resembled snakeskin. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but he left them. They made the blue stand out. Here was the heir Ra’s had craved so badly. The old Tim would have made a joke about how he looked like a dark prince from a young adult novel, but not anymore. He was the Demon’s Head now. No, not just its head. He was its hands and heart as well. Tim Drake was a demon through and through.

His guests had landed in Iraq the day before, and he had it on good authority that he could expect them that evening.

Tim drifted around the room, preparing for the meeting as one would prepare for battle. His fingertips lingered on the rings he had inherited from his predecessor, and with a deliberate movement he chose the signet ring Ra’s used to wear. He slipped it on and smiled to himself, a snake poised to strike.

Carefully, he patted his wrists, hips, and ankles to ensure his knives were still there. He had always favored batarangs, but he was no longer a bat or a bird. He had left them behind, just as they had left him.

The White Ghost was waiting at his door, ready to escort him to his study. As they walked, Tim absentmindedly ran his thumb over his knuckles. The whispers hissed inaudibly in his ear, wailing for attention.

“Has the room been secured?” He asked, face neutral.

“Yes. I have placed ninjas along the walls and at every access point. Any familiar with the al Ghul child have been sent on missions abroad, though they remain loyal to you.”

“They leave here alive. If they attempt to attack, I want them subdued but not killed.”

“That’s not wise. It will be seen as a show of weakne-”

“Do you think I am weak?” Tim’s voice was as ice cold as he felt.

“No, of course not,” Fadir backpedaled. “But how can you justify it?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no need to kill them. This is just a courtesy call, a reminder that my prior allegiances are no longer viable.”

Tim swept into the study, his back straight and his jaw square just the way he had always been taught. From birth, he had been raised to be a prince of Gotham, one of the many pretty boys in suits who graced Forbes covers before they could legally drink. He had been bred for greatness, and he achieved it in his own way. Here, no one would ever best him. He was finally free.

Soon you will have everything. All you have to do is make one order.

Tim’s hands shook slightly, but he tightened his grip on his fountain pen as he sat down. The day was full of reports, requests for missions, and invoices. He had been doing most of this paperwork anyway when he was just a lackey, so it wasn’t an inconvenience. It was methodical in its ruthlessness. $750k for a political assassination in France, 40% taken for the League, the rest wired to a private bank account in the Cayman Islands. $25k to kill a cheating spouse in South Africa, the same 40%, and this time headed for a Swiss bank account. A request for a league member to “take care of” an abuser, which Tim set aside. An invoice for new training blades, as the older ones had been dulled. A new Lazarus Pit that was discovered in Iceland.

The sun began to sink outside of his window, and Tim collected himself, drawing the last shards of who he used to be away from the surface. That Tim was dead and gone, and in his place was someone who was finally worthy. If the old Tim was a bleeding heart, this Tim was the knife that stabbed it.

Fadir knocked on the large oak door to signal that their guests had arrived. Tim pushed himself out from behind the desk, pulled back his shoulders, and stalked out of the room, refusing to look back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t show any weakness--it was that he wasn’t weak at all. Not anymore.

Tim walked down the now-familiar hallways, the whispers humming in happiness as others averted their eyes respectfully as he passed by. Aminta stood at the left hand of the large stone throne in the formal hall, and dipped her head in greeting when he approached. Tim took his place on the throne, relaxing into the smooth stone. Fadir took the right-hand side, his hand on his sword’s pommel at all times.

Ninjas lined the walls, all ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Most had been training for decades, long before Tim was even a thought. And now they served him. One lone ninja entered the room, first bowing to Tim and then scurrying up to the throne.

“They have arrived, sir.”

Tim grinned darkly.

“Bring them in.”

Dick looked older than he had eight months ago. His cowl was pulled up to hide his face, but Tim could see it in the set of his jaw. For a man in his late twenties, Dick looked positively weary.

Serves him right.

Damian was stiff, both an heir and a stranger in a child’s body. He glanced at the ninjas placed around the edge of the room, as if searching for a familiar face. He wouldn’t find one.

Tim did not smile when the man he had once considered his brother approached.

“Hello Dick. Damian.” His voice was colder than he ever thought it could be. “You can remove your masks, everyone here knows who you are.” Or they did now.

Dick hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pulled off the cowl. Damian followed suit with a grumble, peeling off his domino.

Satisfied, Tim smoothed a neutral expression onto his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, the words pleasant but the tone as sharp as a blade.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” Dick burst out without preamble. It was a shame that he couldn’t exchange pleasantries, even after all of Alfred’s lessons.

“Not exactly. I was in Paris for a bit, caught up with some old friends.” An old friend, one who probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. None of them had.

You are powerful because you are alone. Others would betray you. You can trust no one. The whispers chimed in, though they were merely repeating what he already knew to be true.

Damian hissed his displeasure, which earned him an evil look from Dick. Look, he’d already been replaced.

“Tim,” Dick began in a gentle voice, the one he used for scared kids. “Come home. We can figure this out. We’ll get you help, maybe even try that therapist I told you about. Or we can shop around, it doesn’t matter. I miss you. I miss my little brother.”

How pathetic.

“Oh, I believe you misunderstood. This is a business meeting, not an intervention,” Tim hummed, examining his fingernails. The cold steel of the knives tucked in his sleeves was a delicious reminder of who he was, who he had always been destined to become.

“In that case, I believe some clarification is in order. Following the death of Ra’s al Ghul, I became the head of the League of Shadows, a position I am very proud of. I will not be returning to Gotham, unless it is for League business, and I will certainly never fight at your side again.

“In truth, Dick, I have not thought about you or your brat once since coming to stay at the League. I understand that our previous relationship may have led you to believe that I would be a naive fool forever, but that is not the case. I have found meaning now more than you could ever dream of achieving.

“Here is my proposition: I will cease training of any assassins younger than age sixteen immediately. I am also currently updating how the League accepts jobs to minimize the amount of innocent casualties. I will waive all rights to Wayne Enterprises, though anything Bruce willed to me will remain mine. In exchange, you leave me and my assassins alone. You will not contact me unless seeking my services. You can keep your Robin, but he lost his birthright a year ago. These are my conditions, and they are non-negotiable.”

The chatty Dick Grayson was speechless. Instead, it was Damian who spoke.

“You stole my birthright.” For a child, he sounded downright murderous.

Tim smiled. “And you stole mine. I believe that makes us even.”

The child nodded, then drew his sword. Along the walls, ninjas drew theirs as well.

“Damian, no!” Dick hissed, glaring at his brother-ward. “Tim, you can’t be serious. We’re family. This is insane!”

Tim’s expression did not display the glee that bubbled in his chest.

“We were family. But you know what they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He dismissed Dick’s other accusations with a wave of his hand. “I have given you my terms. You have forty-eight hours to make your decision. Until then, I believe you have overstayed your welcome. You should leave.”

Green pulled at the corners of his vision as the whispers shrieked, begging him to go ahead and kill them. He couldn’t, of course, that would just invite more prying eyes to the League. But he could think about it, and that was enough.

Dick and Damian were almost at the doors when Dick stopped and turned to face Tim, his posture teenagerishly defiant.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” he spat, as if Dick Grayson had ever truly known Timothy Drake.

Instead, Tim smiled. “I’m the Demon. And you should leave before I make you see Hell.”

A second later, they were gone. Watching them go felt like getting an injection--the pinch lasted for a second, but afterward there was no pain at all.

Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon, the whispers howled as Tim’s blood sang, welcome to your kingdom come.

His hands had always been cold. Ariana used to comment on it all the time--how his touch was borderline freezing. At the time, it had been a running joke: Tim Drake, the boy made of snow, with eyes made of ice and snow-pale skin. It seemed now that even in the heat of the desert, his heart had frozen too.

Nighttime was comfortable in the desert, at least for someone accustomed to Gotham’s climate. Still, the breeze that danced across Tim’s skin left goosebumps in its wake. He couldn’t remember when he’d come out here, let alone what for. He barely even noticed how he gripped the banister of the balcony until his knuckles went stark white.

A little prickle of emotion prodded at his subconscious, but he couldn’t identify it even if he wanted to. There was no room for feelings anymore, if there had ever been. If anything, feelings had gotten him into more messes than out of them.

He had become a vigilante because he felt that Batman needed a Robin. He worshiped the ground Bruce walked on because he felt like Bruce saw him as a son. He broke the rules for Stephanie because he felt as if she could love him. He wanted to be with Conner because he felt that someone finally saw him for who he was. He rejected power time and time again because he felt that it was the right thing to do.

But feelings meant nothing. All that truly mattered was knowledge and wanting. And Tim knew more than ever. And he wanted it all.

Once, he had considered them his family. They had loved him, maybe, but they had never known him. He used to believe in a future spent fighting by their side, but he knew that was a child’s dream now--the same child who believed that he wouldn’t live to see twenty-one. Tim had no such concerns now.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the League was his new family, nor did he need one. But they would not underestimate him or take him for granted. Here, he had respect and power, and that was enough.

The lights of the nearest city glimmered far on the horizon, promising happiness and gaiety somewhere in the night. He smiled, a secret only for him.

One day, you will rule it all, the whispers promised. One day, you will be king. And you will destroy any who stand in your way.

Long live the Demon.

[squirrelly831]

Leaving Him [Minseok, Junmyeon, and Yixing]

Note: This is JUST a reaction. I do not think you should EVER be in a violent relationship. NEVER let yourself get abused by another [mentally or physically]. You’re worth more than that kind of life.

Not all my mafia/gang reactions will involve violence against the OC by the member. These relationships are supposed to be loving and not just down right abusive. But there will be violence in some reactions.

Enjoy

Minseok

Minseok sat in front of the piano as he waited for his girlfriend, Zoe, to arrive for their date night. Today was going to be the day, the day he would finally ask Zoe to marry him. It had been three and a half years and he felt like now was the best time. Not only because he wanted to be with her forever, but marrying her would also make it easier to protect her. Protect her from his enemies who would love to find her and torture her to hurt him. But, if they were married, he could have her with him at all times. Zoe could travel with him to the meetings, though her involvement in the actual meetings would not be necessary. 

However, Zoe was entirely in the dark of Minseok’s criminal activities. She didn’t know that the man of her dreams lived such a dangerous lifestyle. To her, running into Minseok was a chance of faith. She was his waitress one day and the next she was hired as his personal secretary. It was her first secretarial job and after a year of work, her relationship with Minseok went from secretary and boss to girlfriend and boyfriend. Zoe felt like she was walking on air dating Minseok. She hated comparing things to being perfect, but Minseok was perfect. Everything from his smile to his personality was perfect and he treated her like a queen. 

Zoe had left her job as Minseok’s secretary after she began dating him and started working in a cafe as a barista. She was closing up the cafe when the front door opened. “Sorry, we’re closed” she called from the back as she picked up the mop and bucket. 

“Sorry to disturb you so late Ms. Zoe Burchman, but do you have a moment?” 

Zoe set down the mop and the bucket. She walked out front to see two detectives, “Can I help you, detectives?” She gave them confused looks as she watched them glance at one another. 

The younger one stepped forward with a smile, “We were just wondering if you have a moment to come to the station with us. We wanted to talk to you about Kim Minseok.”

Zoe pulled off her apron and gave a concerned glance, “Oh--sure. Let me just lock up and we can go.” The detectives’ shoulders relaxed as they flashed her a smile and waited for her to finish closing up shop.

“Are you sure you don’t know anything?” 

Zoe had her face buried into the crook of her elbow. She shook her head as her other hand pushed back the pictures of Minseok in Hong Kong. “I never would ha--” she shook her head as she sat up, “I would never be with a killer.” 

“But you knew he went to Hong Kong?” The young detective held out a handkerchief.

“For a business trip” she grabbed the handkerchief and rubbed at her eyes. “I didn’t know--” She looked back at the picture, “Oh god…” 

The older detective took the pictures away from her sight, “We’re sorry to do this to you. You’re free to go.” 

Zoe stumbled as she stood. She bowed to the detectives as she wondered out of the police department numbly. Her head spun as she walked down the sidewalk. Her home was only mere blocks from the police department, so she walked the way home. The fresh air helped her breathe better, but when she got home and she shut the front door, Zoe flipped. Zoe let out a sharp cry as she flung the small end table by her front door. She sank to the ground and sobbed into her hands unsure what to do.

Minseok called Zoe’s cellphone for the fourth time that night. After the third call, Minseok sent out his men. He waited at home in case Zoe showed up, but when one of his underlings entered the room with Zoe’s phone in hand, Minseok’s heart dropped. He feared the worse. He felt he was too late to protect her. Sehun entered the room and dismissed the underling as he handed Minseok a picture. “What is this?”

“She was at the police station. Apparently, they took her down after the cafe closed.” Minseok stared at the image in his hand. “She made it home, but then she took a taxi. I haven’t been able to track her since she took a train, but I’m working on it.” 

“So she knows…” He ran his hand in his hair as he let out a light-hearted chuckle. Zoe was alive, she was safe. She was still breathing and okay. 

Sehun’s eyebrow rose, “Shall I go look for her?”

Minseok shook his head. His hand went to his suit pocket where the engagement ring rested, “She’d be better off without me… But keep an eye on her. If any of our enemies find her, who knows what they would do to her.” He walked out of the room to his bedroom where he hid the engagement ring in the nightstand along with any happiness he had managed to keep since becoming a gang leader.

Junmyeon

Bianca felt like she couldn’t stand still as she watched the cars pulling up and driving off from the airport. Her longterm boyfriend, Junmyeon, had planned to spend a week and a half in Japan for a business trip. It took a lot of begging and pleading from Bianca to get Jumyeon to agree to let her spend the weekend in Japan with him. It was to be her 25th birthday and she wanted to spend it with him as her family still lived in the US. 

A cop cruiser pulled up in front of her and Biance moved believing they were just trying to get out to check the airport. However, the cop from the passenger seat exited the car and approached her. He spoke to her in Japanese at first which only got a raised eyebrow from Bianca. He spoke again, “Bianca Guerra, we need you to come to the station with us.” Before she could really say no, the second cop had reached for her luggage and threw it in the back of the cruiser while the cop in front of her guided her to the cruiser. As if to show no ill intent, the cop let her sit in the passenger seat while he took a seat in the back.

Junmyeon was only ten minutes late when he swung by the airport to pick up his girlfriend. His meeting with a yakuza member ran later than he intended as they ironed out the details of their alliance with EXO. Junmyeon sent Bianca a text to let her know he was on his way to the airport and how excited he was to see her. When no text came in, Junmyeon called Bianca to check on her. The phone just rang and rang until he hung up. He pulled off to the side of the road and checked the GPS to see Bianca’s location. His blood boiled when he saw her phone ping at the nearby police department. Junmyeon threw his phone on the passenger seat as he gripped the steering wheel tightly and took a u-turn to the police station. 

Bianca sat in the interrogation room with a detective who interpreted for his partner who sat beside him across from Bianca. She was shaking and visibly upset as the interpreting detective leaned towards her. “Just tell us what we need to know and you’re free to go. We won’t press any charges against you if you come clean.”

She wrapped the cardigan tighter around her body as she cried harder, “I don’t know what you want from me… I told you--”

The second detective slammed his hands down on the metal table and rushed Bianca, “Look at these pictures!” He pointed at the open file where pictures of corpses rested. Bianca shut her eyes tightly. “Look at them!” She let out a cry as she shook her head. “You know Kim Junmyeon. You know he’s here in Japan. Is he here to kill someone else?”

The detective who interpreted for her broke the other detective away from her as he tried to keep the peace. “I apologize for my colleague. We just need to find the victims’ killer.”

“It’s not Junmyeon” she whispered. She looked at the interpreter, “He’s a kind soul, he’d never kill someone.” 

The detective gave a sympathetic smile, “I hope for your sake, you’re right. Here’s my card. If anything happens, please call us.” 

“Don’t let her go!”

She slipped the card in her pocket just as the door to the interrogation room swung open against the protest of officers behind the intruder. Junmyeon fixed his tie as he entered the interrogation room calm and collective as he eyed the two detectives. 

“Junmyeon” Bianca shot out of the chair and rushed over to Junmyeon who wrapped his arm around her protectively. 

“You’ll be hearing from my attorney. Good day, gentlemen.” Junmyeon led Bianca out of the police station. 

Junmyeon sat Bianca down on the couch in the living room before he retrieved a hot cup of tea. “Here, my love.” He handed her the cup and knelt in front of her, “Did they hurt you, angel?” Bianca shook her head and Junmyeon took her hand in his. He pressed a kiss on the back of her hand, “I’m sorry. That must have been scary for you, but I promise this won’t happen again.”

That night, the two were in bed when Junmyeon received a phone call. He thought he had answered it before it woke up Bianca, but as he left the room to take the call, Bianca climbed out of bed. She followed after him and hid in the hall as Junmyeon took the call in his office. “Why are you calling me? I told you I’d call you” he growled. “What do you mean--are you that incompetent. Get rid of him. I never want him to be found again, do you understand me? And never- NEVER call me again. Meet me at noon at the docks, we’ll do the exchange there.” Bianca rushed back to the bedroom making no sounds as she returned to bed. She buried herself in the covers just as Junmyeon entered. When he saw her shift, he crawled in bed and wrapped an arm around her, “Did I wake you?”

“Yea… Who called?” 

“No one important. Just my employee in Germany. I guess he forgot about the time difference.” He kissed her cheek as he snuggled up to her and he went back to sleep. However, Bianca was wide awake and hoping for morning to come so he was away from her.

The next morning, Junmyeon pecked Bianca’s lips before he headed out claiming to go meet up with a business partner. Bianca was surprised by how calm and natural she could act around him when she could feel her heart race against her chest. As the front door shut behind Junmyeon, Bianca let out a shaky breath as she pulled out her phone. She wore the cardigan she had the day before and pulled out the business card of the police officer. She dialed the number and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hello, Detective Younghwa speaking?” 

Bianca gasp, “Detective! It’s Bianca Guerra.”

“Ms. Bianca, are you okay?” The detective asked with concern laced in his voice. “Did something happen?” 

Bianca sank down to her knees as she cried, “I think you’re right-- Please. Help me.” Detective Younghwa spoke to her in a gentle voice as he explained what she needed to do. Bianca rushed through the home getting dressed as she texted Junmyeon to let him know she was going to a cafe.

She sat at the cafe with a coffee trying to act natural when a man approached her, “Ms. Bianca?”

She jumped at her name and saw it was Detective Younghwa in casual clothes. He led her out of the cafe and to his unmarked vehicle and drove her to his temporary housing. Once there, she told him about the conversation she had overheard the night before. Detective Younghwa took her hands and squeezed them reassuringly, “You did great, Bianca. This information will be helpful. I have to go back to the station, but you’ll be safe here.” 

It was noon, Junmyeon met with his hitman. He handed over the briefcase to the hitman. However, after the hitman checked the content and began to walk off, a ring of police cruisers circled them. Detective Younghwa was the first out with his gun as he ordered the two men on their knees. Junmyeon glared at him as he did what he was told and he was put in cuffs. It would only be in the interrogation room where Junmyeon would learn Bianca had heard the conversation from the night before and turned him in.

Yixing

As much as he loved his fiancee, Vivianna, there was one thing about her that annoyed him. Her constant need for answers. If he came home late, she questioned him. A little blood on the corner of his shirt, she questioned it. He couldn’t just tell her about his work as a collector-at least not about what he really collected. Vivianna knew he was a debt collector in Junmyeon’s company, but not the type of debt she had thought. 

He wasn’t going to correct her that the debt he collected usually ended in death. He was the last resort if people who screwed over Junmyeon didn’t pay him back tenfold. Yixing was one of the best killers in EXO, but there had been times where he slipped up. It was one slip up that brought Yixing’s criminal activity to light. 

Yixing invited Vivianna to stay the night at his place as they hadn’t been together in some time due to Yixing’s job. They were in bed relaxing from another round in bed when Yixing heard the deadbolt on the front door unlatch. His eyes darkened as he got out of bed and gave Vivianna an excuse that he was getting water as he slipped on a pair of boxers before he retrieved a knife from his drawer. He slipped out of the room and made his way down the hall towards the living room. He heard the shuffle of feet and rolled his eyes amateurs. Yixing fixed his grip on his knife, loosely holding it between his fingers as he stepped into the living room. “What brings you to the dragon’s lair?” He smirked. 

The amateur hitmen were startled by his sudden appearance, but quickly recovered and rushed him. “You gotta be a lot fast than that” he huffed as he jumped over the first attacked slicing the man’s throat as he landed behind him. Yixing whipped around to the second attacker and stopped his attack midair. 

The sound of the first man’s body alerted Vivianna. She quickly got dressed and grabbed her cell phone. She was leaving the room when she was pulled from behind, a hand pressed against her mouth silencing any cry that would have left her lips. She felt a sharp blade press against her neck as a cold voice told her to slowly walk to the living room. The two of them entered the living just as Yixing yanked his knife out of the second attacker. Vivianna felt faint as she saw the two bodies and Yixing standing over them with excitement dancing over his face. 

Her captor cleared his voice and Yixing’s head turned in their direction. His smile faltered when he saw Vivianna. His demeanor changed and both Vivianna and her captor shivered at the change in the air. “You have five seconds to get your hands off her.” He flicked the knife in his hand as his eyes never left hers. 

Vivianna felt the rush of air by her ear and her captor let out a gurgled grunt. The blade at her neck fell away from her as her captor reached from his own throat. Vivianna was yanked by Yixing just as the man collapsed on the ground as blood began to pool. Vivianna let out a cry as the situation she was in finally set in. 

Yixing tsked as he looked around the room covered in blood, “They made a mess in my apartment… bastards.”

Vivianna turned to him in disbelief, “We need to call the police!”

Yixing glared at her, “We will do no such thing.” He took her phone and dialed a number. He waited a moment until someone answered the phone, “D.O. get over to my place. Those fuckers came just as you said.” 

Vivianna broke up with Yixing after that night. After finding out the truth about Yixing, she packed up and left. She was still distraught, but she didn’t call the police. Yixing didn’t threaten her, but he really didn’t have to. He made a show of what he was capable of doing. More shocking was that Yixing let her leave, a smirk on his face as she walked out of his door. “You’ll come back, love. You always do!” Their relationship was a testament to his words. Their relationship was an on and off affair, she had walked out of the relationship but each time she returned after a few weeks.

However, when the fourth month passed with no sign of her, Yixing began to grow frustrated. He wasn’t going to cave in and drop by her apartment, at least that’s what he said. He drove passed her apartment periodically but never checked to see if she was inside. Then one day, he received a text message from her phone. He was in the middle with Junmyeon when his phone flashed with her name. He smirked as he picked up the phone to see what Vivianna said. He had planned to make her beg for him to take her back. He opened the text and his smirk fell. His jaw clenched as he viewed the text. He stood quickly, “I got some business to take care of” he growled. 

“What could be so important?” Junmyeon’s eye twitched as he looked up from the file in front of him. 

Yixing tucked his phone in his pocket and reached for his gun, “Look, I take care of people who fuck over EXO. I’m not your personal hitman who takes out the men who steal your women. Unless you wanna start paying me for it. Or you handle it your damn self.” With that, he stormed out of Junmyeon’s office ignoring his calls for him to return. Yixing checked his gun for bullets as he rushed to his motorcycle remembering the image of Vivianna bound to a chair with a blindfold. He was going to make whoever kidnapped her pay and he was going to enjoy making them suffer. 

Vivianna had been at home when she was kidnapped, but she was knocked out before she could see her intruders. When she came to, she felt the blindfold ripped off her face down and it fell around her neck. She took in the new sight still trying to gather her bearing. She noticed the two men lounging around her with a cigarette in each mouth eyeing her as she came to. Both were huge, they reminded her of two bodybuilders. A third guy walked up in front of her, he much smaller, but even the two men stood to attention at his presence.

He flashed her a smile, “Sorry they were so rough with you. They don’t know when they should hold back their own strength.” He pulled a chair and sat with the back of the chair at his chest. He reached out and touched the wound on her head. “You’re probably confused why you’re here.”

“Yixing…”

His eyes widened with surprise, “Well guess it’s not much of a surprise. If you don’t try to fight us, I can guarantee your safety. We’re just after that bastard. You’re just the thing that will bring him to us.”

She shook her head, “We broke up. He won’t come and save me.” 

As if on cue, the sound of a revved motorcycle rang out and shouts could be heard from the entrance as the motorcycle grew closer. The guy in front of Vivianna chuckled as he stood from his chair as the motorcycle was switched off. Yixing smirked as he got off it with his gun in his hand, “I heard you picked up my fiancee. How nice of you, but I think I’ll take her from here.” 

The man nudged his head and the two body-builders rushed past the two towards Yixing. He fought against the body-builders. Yixing had used the body-builders as a distraction as he reloaded his gun and took a shot at their leader. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but enough to bring him to his knees. The gun was knocked from his hands, but the two men went down by Yixing’s hidden knife. Yixing wiped off his hands and picked up his gun. He approached their leader with a cocky expression as he pointed the gun at him. “I’d kill you, but I need you alive long enough that you can let others know not to touch what belongs to me.” He let off another shot into the man’s knee before he pocketed the gun. Yixing turned to Vivianna and his smirk only grew.

Part II || Part III

Credit to gif owners

Written & revamped by Squirrelly831

♕ REQUEST

☮ EXO MASTERLIST

∞ ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

[anika-ann]

Nothing but the Truth - Pt.4

The Interrogation

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader        Word count: 2890

Summary: A fake dating AU. Time to seal the deal; you become Steve’s fiancé, officially. Kinda. You really have to talk about the rules of engagement; read PDA.

Warnings:  the fluff gets real y’all, some swearing

Story Masterlist 

Your life took quite a turn after such an insignificant event as knocking over your lunch on you.

Here you were, an engagement ring sitting on your finger, twisting as you fiddled with it nervously, seated next to Steve on a too comfortable sofa in a TV studio.

Everything was hazy, like a dream. You blamed the sharp lights of which you hoped were about to get dimmed at least a fraction, because otherwise you’d be blind before the interview was over.

As if the gaffer could read your thoughts, he dimmed the reflectors a bit, allowing you to see the interviewer’s face. Yay for you.

You were not in any sense ready for the questions, let alone coming from a TV host. You had been skilfully dodging your family’s inquires by telling them you’d explain later, you ignored your friend/colleague who was blowing your phone with texts and phone calls and you avoided everyone at work, mostly because for the past two days, you weren’t there to begin with; not in your office anyway.

Steve might be sitting by your side, his hand around your waist reassuring, but it did little to soothe your nerves. You truly were an awful liar and people from TV industry, reporters and such, there were like sharks; you did not feel like facing the sharks, thank you very much, they could smell lies as if they were blood.

Tony Stark had sworn that the host was an acquittance of his, good people, he had promised, and in collective effort, you had put together a list of acceptable questions for her to ask and a list of answers for you. Also, you had received one simple advice: stick to the truth as much as possible, because it is easier to keep track of. Also, Tony Stark had smirked when you confessed to being a terrible liar and had told you that you and Cap were apparently a match made in heaven and that it was just another good reason for you to try and lie only as little as possible.

Surprisingly, once the interview started, you felt yourself relax only enough to not to stutter too much when speaking, so it only appeared you were shy and nervous and not losing your mind. It had little to do with the friendly host who somehow managed to make the interview flow naturally despite using rehearsed questions and everything to do with Steve’s comforting presence, his thumb drawing calming circles on your hip.

You successfully got through the questions about how you met – via Sam, of course, stick to the truth as much as possible –, how you started dating, adding only tiny bits of information about you too, easily explaining that you wanted to keep your family and some of the privacy out of the spotlight.

It all naturally led to another burning question.

“So, it might be obvious, but I gotta ask… why all the secrecy?” she queried, still smiling invitingly and Steve shrugged in response as he clearly did find the answer evident.

“I like to keep my private life separated. This…” he looked at you with one corner of his lips raised and continued, “she doesn’t deserve thousands of people trying to stick their nose into her life – into our life. I just… I guess I wanted… uh, I wanted to spare us that for as long as possible.”

You confirmed his words with few delicate nods.

“Well, people know now. How do you feel about that?” the host turned to you.

“Mixed feelings, I think? I don’t enjoy being the centre of attention much. On the other hand, it’s a relief not having to hide.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Steve agreed. “I mean, we didn’t plan it, I honestly wasn’t thinking about anything than cheering up my best girl after a bad morning that day, but this might be a truly good thing. Maybe now, her other suitors will finally lay off.”

Your heart skipped a beat and judging by the subtle squeeze of your hip, Steve noticed and was trying to tell you to stay calm – despite the fact that this was not planned at all.

What the hell was he doing?

“Other suitors?” the host questioned, intrigued, as she eyed your reaction; which was absolutely genuine, a 100% undiluted shock.

If you were lucky, the audience would think it was you being self-conscious, surprised at the idea of other people being interested, which… wasn’t that far from the truth, but seriously, Steve, what the hell?

Utterly confused, you attempted to cover your shock with only thing you could think of; with humour.

“Yeah. There are so many! I can see the line forming right there,” you joked lightly, making the effort to point somewhere behind the cameras and the host chuckled when she caught on the playfulness in your voice, knowing all too well what you were doing.

“You’d be surprised,” Steve stated lowly, making you pause and blink in confusion. He was just messing around, right? There were no other guys interested in you. Yes, you had been complimented before, yes, you had been in relationships before, but it wasn’t like guys fought over you or something.

Once more hiding your inner turmoil, you turned your head to him, eyes narrowed.

“Steve!” you scolded him, mocking offence. “Are you telling me you knew there were others and you didn’t introduce us?!”

The interviewer’s eyes flickered between the two of you, an expectant smirk forming on her lips. Well, glad you’re having fun, because I still have no idea what this is all about, apart from Steve proving a point which I’m not quite getting yet. Though you had to admit, it probably looked natural, a banter between friends turned to lovers and you suddenly realized that this was Steve making this whole one single interview you were willing to give, which was suspicious enough, much more believable.

And damn, was he smooth about it.

Steve’s smile was innocent, a glint of mischief in his irises as he shrugged. “What can I say? I just want you for myself.”

Feeling heat rising to your cheeks at the confidence he spoke with and at his palm squeezing your hip once more, shifting you subtly and yet visibly closer to his side, you smiled at him and leaned your forehead onto his shoulder. His lips landed in your hair so easily as if he had done it thousand times before.

“I guess you are forgiven then.”

“Well, it looks like you two have it figured out,” the interviewer, Laurel, because you were all on the first name basis to cut the tension, remarked. “And I suppose the strategy would work, Steve, the ring isn’t extravagant, but it is hard to miss.” She beckoned to it and looked at you expectantly. “What was it like? The proposal?”

Well, shit. You really wished Steve would get this one to answer, because you would have to lie through your teeth, but it was expected that you’d be the one to be asked about it since being proposed was a big moment in woman’s life. Or man’s, sure, but in your position… stop trying to distract yourself, big lie ahead! Focus!

“It was… a blur. I mean, we aren’t together for too long despite knowing each other for over a year now. But… I guess when you know, you know, right? It was just so sudden! This ring is beautiful, but we actually picked it after the question.”

You were meant to say exactly that – just in case someone who was too close to you noticed the absence of the ring before – and overall, you weren’t lying in the true sense of the word, only omitting the truth… it was just so damn complicated!

“Oh?”

“Eh, that one is on me,” Steve saved you and you truly tried your best not to show your relief when he took over. “I wasn’t prepared. She deserves the best, but… eh, I suppose that with all the secrecy I was bottling up emotions for too long and I couldn’t contain it anymore, I… I asked without finding the perfect ring.”

You weren’t sure how he accomplished that, but a blush actually crept its way up his neck as if he was embarrassed at his own impulsiveness. You found it unbearably cute and clearly, you weren’t the only one.

“Aww, that is so precious! Can’t imagine any woman to be oppose to that. Right? Truly romantic, succumbing to the spirit of the moment, the rush of emotions!” the host gushed and you grinned at the nice pass she offered.

“Don’t I know it. It was… unusual. But our relationship isn’t exactly typical.” No shit. “So it suits us, I think. And yeah… I…uhm… I couldn’t believe it was happening.”

Once again, 100% undiluted truth.

“I have no doubt. The important thing is the two of you being happy. And I think all of our viewers can tell you two look very happy together.”

Did you?

“Well, she is a wonderful woman and she said yes. How could I be not delighted?” Steve beamed, effectively causing your heart to flutter foolishly.

A part of you – a very sizeable part of you – was enjoying this little pretending immensely, alright, trying to push all the possible outcomes for the two of you after breaking the fake relationship aside and succeeding, but at times, you couldn’t but feel overwhelmed anyway.

Like when Steve said that and it warmed you from inside out, your brain screaming at you that had this been real, you would have melted into a puddle of lovesick jello.

‘She is a wonderful woman and she said yes. How could I not be delighted?’

Why did he have to sound so unbelievably genuine? He had told you he was a terrible liar. Liar!

You forced a shaky but hopefully sweet smile and stretched your neck to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. In for a penny…

“That is so sweet!” the host commented instantly, basically cooing. “And chaste!”

SHIT, you totally walked into that one! But Steve kissed your head before and had got away with it without a single remark! How was this fair?

You tried to swallow your panic, instantly explaining, while your heart raced, slightly panicking.

“Uh, we’re not much for showing affection publicly and with the secrecy-“ you babbled, while Steve started his own reasoning: “The time I grew up in-“

“Ah, that’s understandable,” the woman agreed and the sound of the heavy rock which had seated itself in your stomach hitting the floor must have been caught by the audio tech, you were sure. That was how loud it must have been. Crisis averted. “But… come on. Don’t play all coy on us…”

Spoke too soon.

You gulped, eyeing Steve, who was no doubt better at hiding his panic than you were. You could tell by the intensity of his gaze though that his nerves were as wrecked at the moment as yours.

What else could you do though but comply, being on a TV and being asked to kiss? How obvious would it be if you refused?

…in for a pound.

He searched your face, observing every tiny motion of your mimic muscles, every twitch. You lowered your gaze to his lips – and damn, didn’t you, in your heart where you pretended this whole situation on hand was not going to end up in a terrible heartbreak on your part, want to kiss those full lips, so tempting – and raised you gaze back to lock it with his. You hoped you looked determined enough, but you confirmed it in soft-spoken words, simultaneously checking if he was alright with this.

“It’s okay, Steve. We can handle a bit of PDA this once, can’t we? I mean… we’ve made it official, after all.”

A barely visible smile appeared on his lips, an inconspicuous nod sealing the deal.

Two of his fingers slipped under your chin, angling your face just a bit, brining you closer to the paradise. That was what it was; your eyes fluttered shut and the moment his lips brushed yours to test the waters, you knew you tasted heaven.

You felt the shudder running through your body, but you couldn’t help it, unable to conceal the excitement mixed with nerves. Your palm found haven on his toned chest, an anchor to the ship raging on the sea of emotion that pulled you in, just as his lips explored yours more thoroughly, as if searching a haven of their own, finding it exactly where yours were. They sank in, thirsty for home, caressing and oh, oh so soft and warm, safe and wonderful.

He was the one to withdraw for some oxygen, reminding you that breathing, in fact, was a thing. Quite an essential thing. On instinct, you breathed in swiftly, but couldn’t help but kiss him again, only a tender brush of lips on lips, relishing in the sensation for only a fraction of second longer.

You forced your eyes open and your hand to slide to his waist, trying so hard to remember that you were, in fact, not alone. At all.

“Well… wow,” the interviewer breathed out, her chuckle carrying a pinch of surprise in it. “That’s what I call pure love. Thank you so much for coming here, Captain and future Mrs. Rogers.”

You wanted to say thank you for having us, but your brain was buzzing with million thoughts, still processing the sensation of Steve’s lips on yours and was epically failing, colours bursting inside instead, sending pleasant heat through your veins.

Luckily, Steve composed himself much faster and boy, wasn’t it saying something about your dynamics with each other.

“Thank you for having us, Laurel.”

Yeah, thanks, Laurel. Thanks to you, I reached the point of no return.

In other words; now I’m officially screwed.

Sam overestimated his time-managing skills, still finishing the stretching after his training when the interview started. For once, he was grateful for Tony’s need for extravagance, as every one of the Tower gyms offered a TV for Sam to watch while he wrapped it up.

At few times, he wasn’t able to tell whether he was groaning at his sore muscles or at the way his little sister and his best friend were sickeningly sweet on each other.

Seriously. He wouldn’t have questioned it if it they truly had been in a relationship (read: if they pulled their heads out of their asses and finally admitted how they felt about each other, for real), but the fact it was all pretend (not, except neither of them was aware of the other not pretending and Jesus, Sam’s head hurt) was worrying him.

The kiss was a case of its own.

Would they be able to walk out of that mess and stay friends, possibly more? Or would it drive a wedge between them forever, messy feelings and misunderstandings getting in the way?

He resumed watching on his phone as he made his way to the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of juice, but stopped at the door when he heard voices coming from the room and instantly knew what was the subject of the discussion.

“Well. I say the interview was alright, not perfect, but alright, almost cute like the two of them together, after all… but the kiss did look like their first time,” Tony stated, sighing in disappointment.

“It was their first time, what did you expect? You didn’t really think they would be practicing beforehand, right?” Natasha snorted and Sam couldn’t but agree.

This was Steve they were talking about. The man had done a fair share of changes to his believes as he found himself in the new millennium, but certain principles he stuck to, which was something Sam was immensely grateful for.

He was about to join the discussion with his own input, when he froze in his tracks at Tony’s next words.

“Good point. But hey, she made them finally smack their mouths together. I call that a win. She was a good choice, we’re geniuses.”

“Yep,” came Natasha’s reply and Sam heard the distinct sound of a high-five, only to see their hands still up when he stormed into the room.

For the moment, he ignored the creepy fact that the screen was frozen at the image of their lips locked together and glared at the two Avengers, irritated and hungry for answers.

“What the hell do you mean you’re geniuses?”

“Blyad'!” Natasha cursed, frowning as she spotted the look on Sam’s face and how his hands were balled into fists with enough force to nearly snap his phone in half.

Tony eyed Natasha, not sure what exactly she said and not quite caring; the sentiment behind the word was apparently clear enough to him as it was to Sam.

The expression on Tony’s face spoke a thousand of words; or perhaps only three: We are screwed.

Sam wholeheartedly agreed as he paced to the pair, fuming.

“Start. Talking,” he hissed, each word clipped, as he was staring them down, ignorant to the fact these were a billionaire and a former KGB assassin he was ordering around. “Like right now.”

Part 5

Tags: @mermaidxatxheart @bobertswagert @kakakatey @ccolz88-blog @joeyrumlow​ @lovemeterwrites​

If anyone wishes to be added to/removed from the tags, shoot me a message or something. 

[letsbenditlikebennett]

Everyone’s Having a Ball || Ariana, Lydia, & Simon

TIMING: Friday. May 15th PARTIES: @inconvenientsimonstrocity @inspirationdivine & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Lydia has to join Simon for Ariana’s Senior Send Off game because she’s magically bound to Simon. 

After a win against the boys’ soccer team in their short match and earning a fun award for being Most Likely to Survive The Hunger Games, Ariana was feeling pretty good about the night. Once all the awards were given out, she made her way out into the crowd to find Simon. She thought it was super cool that he’d taken the time to come and watch her play. Celeste had always worked a lot growing up and it was kind of nice knowing someone out in the crowd was rooting for you. When she found him in the stands, he brow furrowed slightly in confusion. He seemed to be with someone- a really elegant looking someone at that. Had he brought a date to her soccer game? She didn’t even know he was dating anyone. Hugging her trophy close to her she looked between the two of them before finally giving them an awkward smile. “Simon, hey,” she greeted, still looking in between him and Lydia, “I didn’t realize you were bringing a date.”

After yet more one-sided debate which eventually ended with Simon rather stubbornly and uncharacteristically boiling it down to ‘I’m going whether you want to come to not’ in so many words, the unusual duo ended up attending Ariana’s sendoff soccer game. Fortunately for the both of them but mostly Lydia, Simon was quiet and remained seated the whole time though he DID don monochrome face paint in his show of support and he paid very close attention to the game, namely her as his head tracked the ball back and forth and the moves she made, subconsciously scooting to the edge of his seat as if read to jump up and participate if someone asked or offered. The smile that crossed his face when she and her team won and was given the award was rare and full of pride for her. They remained where they were - he didn’t like siphoning out when other people did and figured it would have been easier for them to stick together and Ariana found them first, which prompted him to stand. “Ariana, you did beautifully!” He gave her a smile first before the smile faltered and he cleared his throat again, feeling that this was becoming a running trend. “Oh, sorry, this isn’t--” He faltered. “Uh… Ariana, this is Lydia,” He introduced in the same motion he had used many times previously. “Lydia, this is Ariana.”

Lydia was, unsurprisingly, not amused. Simon had been, of course, entirely polite about the whole thing. It was as fruitless as arguing about going to the morgue to clean - and ultimately, as they lived in her home and in her bedroom, and as he spent many hours sitting still while she worked on the paintings, she couldn’t protest too much. Especially considering the secrets in her home that he was almost certainly aware of, she wanted to keep him sweet. She drew the line at the face make up, and drew the line at actually watching the game. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate soccer as a sport at the highest levels. Lydia just couldn’t believe that it was a high school soccer match, not even the local leagues. She spent the entire game on her phone, and sighed when they didn’t leave with everyone else. When he stood, she did too, trying to give at least the impression of poise. “Hello Ariana, I suppose it’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

Ariana did little to hide the confused look upon her face. If she wasn’t a date and clearly had little interest in meeting Ariana, why was she here? Was this like a crush sort of thing? Seemed weird, not that she was like an expert on the subject or anything. Still the woman was at her game with her friend, she could at least have the decency to pretend to be interested. “Right,” she said slowly, “Good to meet you, too, I guess.” She turned back to Simon, holding up her little plaque with her superlative on it, and excitedly said, “Thank you so much for coming. Was pretty happy with my superlative and the win. Oh, the girl who won Most Likely to win The Voice is my prom date. She’s totally awesome.” She realized she was getting a bit over excited and took a deep breath to calm herself down. With the plaque tucked away under arm, she looked to Simon and asked, “Did you enjoy the game? Wanna go grab some snacks or something? I’m starving.”

Though Simon noted the distinct awkwardness in the air and that it strangely wasn’t caused by him. This was fine. It was fine. He leaned in to look at the plaque, feeling Ariana’s energy and finding himself smiling because of her vivacity - the past few days have been relatively muted when he spent forcible time with Lydia, which was fine but it was nice to be around someone more high energy. “Ah, really?” He asked. “That’s awesome! I’m happy for you!” He straightened back up and glanced sideways at Lydia, knowing by this point that her dietary habits were…. Decidedly not the same as theirs. “Snacks?” He asked, tilting his head slightly as if asking for permission, which… well okay, he kinda was.

Knowing that she ought to at least try, Lydia set her phone away, she could at least manage a pleasant smile and a mildly interested look as the teenager described her prom date. Simon was much more enthusiastic, but then, he was the one friends with a teenager. As if remembering she was there, he straightened, and looked at her cautiously. While he was asking permission, what was she going to say? No? “That sounds like a plan. Don’t let me interrupt anything you’d like to do. Lead the way.”

It was strange that Simon seemed to be asking this woman for permission to join her for snacks. Ariana wasn’t quite sure why she’d be here if she didn’t want to be, but she seemed a bit more personable now. “Perfect, I’ll grab us some stuff from the concession stand before they close up and we can grab one of the picnic tables?” She looked quickly between the two of them, “I usually get a pick of whatever’s left for free-- do you guys want fries, hot dogs, nachos-- that have shaved ice too which is pretty nice if you have a sweet tooth.”

The mention of it being free gave Simon brief pause as he was reaching into his pocket to pull out some money to give to Ariana - when she says ‘a pick of whatever’s left’, he didn’t think they meant ‘here take it for you and your friends’ so… he pulled out a 20 and offered it out to her, resisting the urge to say that he wanted as many hot dogs as they could spare. “Just one hot dog and shaved ice, if either of those are available.” He looked over to Lydia again, then down as if expecting to see the rope between them but, as usual, he didn’t. “We can grab a seat while you get the food, if you want,” He offered, his body language insinuating that Lydia could pick a place she’d feel...less uncomfortable sitting since he was well-aware that she didn’t want to be here.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Lydia replied with a small smile, and watched as Simon gave the girl money. “That sounds like a good idea. It’s such a--” The sky was dreary, grey, but the sun behind the clouds was more.  “The weather is pleasant enough that others might have the same idea, we wouldn’t want to miss out.” She flashed Simon a small grateful smile as they found a picnic table that didn’t have too much mud around it, a little out of the way. “Does this suit you?”

Though she was pretty sure she didn’t need it, Ariana took the twenty from Simon for the sake of not making the situation even more awkward. Lydia seemed to be more friendly now. She could admit that maybe she came off a little strong with the being shocked over him bringing a date thing. She still wasn’t entirely convinced they weren’t dating, but whatever. Simon could tell her when he was ready to. She grabbed a couple of hot dogs, fries, and shaved iced cups from the stand before sitting back down at the picnic table with Simon and Lydia. She put the twenty back down in front of Simon and looked between the two. “So, how do you guys know each other?”

Simon smiled gently at Lydia’s softening up, nodding in agreement when she found a place that suited her and he debated on whether to sit next to her or across the table… ultimately deciding it’d be easier for them to suddenly move if they were next to each other so he did, still giving her space as he rested his spidery hands on the table in front of them. He took the opportunity to look around at their surroundings more, then up at the sky and hoped it didn’t start raining. Surely he’d have been able to smell the moisture in the air, right? Or… he should’ve been if he was smart and took some meds, which he forgot to do because he got caught up in the moment of going to a game. He looked back ahead when Ariana returned, stopping just short of licking his lips visibly when he saw the food. “Uh--” He hesitated, recalling when they actually first met in person. “About… three days ago?” He asked, glancing to Lydia for confirmation as he pulled a hot dog over to him but kept the money on the table.

Lydia looked to Simon as he sat down beside her, sighing deeply. “Please know I’m only enduring this because you have to sleep in my bedroom,” Lydia said under her breath, but the teenager was already back, carrying hotdogs - the worst of human foods - and fries. Simon was practically salivating for it, as he pulled the hotdog towards him. “Yes, three days. The circumstances are… complicated to explain. What about the pair of you? I was under the impression Simon didn’t have any children.”

This whole thing was weird even by White Crest’s standards. Ariana couldn’t wrap her head around why he brought someone he’d only met three days ago to her game. She also happened to catch that they were sharing a bed as she listened walking back up. Why were they sharing a bed? Lydia didn’t seem happy about it… and the circumstances were complicated. She’d taken the seat across from them and had been picking at her french fries. “Three days ago and complicated…  Right,” she said slowly, still looking between them kind of confused, “Oh, I’m not Simon’s daughter. We’re… well, we have a lot in common. It’s a totally not creepy relationship. He’s like my adopted uncle.” As she shoved a few more french fries in her mouth, she couldn’t drop the thought of wanting to know the circumstances. She blurted out, “Are the weird circumstances natural or not?”

The hot dog was gone in about three or four bites, vanishing from the plate almost as soon as it had been put on the table though Simon was still very polite about it though he almost choked when Lydia referred to Ariana as his child, coughing on his bite and pounding his chest as he situated his esophagus. Fortunately, Ariana seemed to have the answer under control and he gave a thumbs up, holding his breath for a few moments. ...Good? Good. Okay, now that he wasn’t dying-- wait adopted uncle? He felt himself get a little hot. Hopefully not that BAD type of uncle. He quietly crunched his shaved ice in a moment of silence before Ariana suddenly confronted them with the next question and he regarded her for a second with an expression that seemed to say ‘what weird circumstance WOULD be natural’? He didn’t know the answer so he didn’t expect her to and he fumbled for an answer before not answering at all and turning to look at Lydia again; he knew what all three of them were and he knew she was private regarding matters so he was going to let her answer that one.

Lydia looked at Simon in bafflement. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Surely you knew she’d ask.” She asked, before looking at the teenager again. Adopted uncle. It was sweet, in a slightly strange roundabout way. If Lydia didn’t personally feel attacked by the very notion of being dragged to a high school soccer game, she might feel more guilty about how she’d been behaving. “Yes, darling, it is complicated in a rather unnatural way. Obviously, we won’t discuss that too loudly here. Safe to say it’s… inconvenient, to say the least.”

Ariana couldn’t help but let out a giggle at the little bit of sass Lydia had going on. Poor Simon. He wasn’t the most confident dude, but she was determined to change as much. It did leave the question of Lydia not being very thrown off by the whole supernatural thing. Wait, she wasn’t a wolf was she? She sniffed as subtly as she could, the full moon had been a week ago so her sense of smell was still pretty strong. Lydia didn’t smell like a wolf or another animal. She nodded, “Okay, I get it now. That’s like… really random though.” She gave a quick glance around the area, trying to keep an eye on anyone who could be listening. “Thanks for coming then… I know you probably don’t care for high school soccer, but it means a lot that Simon could be here.” She offered a friendly smile, Lydia could have refused to come altogether. She still didn’t understand what was happening, but she could go with it.

“Sorry! I just… didn’t know if--” Simon cleared his throat and fell silent, spooning another bite of shaved ice in his mouth awkwardly and giving a more pronounced sniff than the one Ariana had been subtle about in what he assumed was an attempt to find out what Lydia was. “Thanks again for inviting me,” He said, giving the teenager a friendly smile. He paused again briefly. “It’s invisible,” He said quietly, looking at Ariana this time. “Like… an invisible tether that’s keeping us from being too far apart.” He tried to explain. “We don’t know how it came about but it’s, like…” He held his hand up and moved it in a ‘swish and flick’ motion.

Did Ariana just… sniff her? Lydia frowned in confusion, leaning back slightly. She tapped her fingers along the wood as Simon shovelled ice into his mouth, waiting for his awkwardness to pass. “It was certainly very random.” Lydia agreed. Her features lost some of their harshness as she listened to Simon explain. They’d told this story in so many ways now, with demonstrations of one kind or another, and here the public space added a new dimension. All the same, by the end of his little hand swish, she had a small smile on her face. “That’s roughly the gist of it. Anyway, I believe we’re here to celebrate your victory, Ariana. Simon was adamant about not missing it.”

Apparently Ariana hadn’t been as subtle as she hoped to be in her sniffing and Simon was far from discreet. As much was apparent by Lydia’s frown. As much as she loved socializing, other wolves really were so much easier. They didn’t find it weird when you were always sniffing the world around you. She listened as Simon explained further and nodded, “Hm, I know a couple of people who are pretty good at the magic thing. I can see if they’ve ever heard of anything like this.” As Lydia directed the conversation back to her, she smiled. It made her happy that Simon was so dead set on being able to come to her last game of the year. He really was the sweetest and she loved having him in her life. “True, I just might be a curious w- person. Thank you for coming with him though, not that you had much choice, but Simon’s like family and it’s awesome that you guys came.” She turned to Simon, “Did you see that goal I made in the first half? The look on Mark’s face was so priceless. That was definitely a highlight for me.”

He knew that Ariana might know at least one magic user so Simon nodded in agreement at Ariana’s suggestion - extend feelers, try to get this thing sorted. He felt a weird rush of emotions at these mentions of Ariana calling him a family member, feeling his face redden slightly and he looked down at is dwindling cup of shaved ice; it was strange, having gone so long without having any friends and now here he was forcibly bonded to a woman who he didn’t think hated him anymore with a teenage girl calling him an adopted uncle. He was thankful for the distraction from his own thoughts when she brought up some of her moves from the game and his expression lightened. “Yeah, it was amazing!” He said enthusiastically. “Soccer games are always the most entertaining; never a dull moment. You’re very deft on the field; I’m surprised anyone could keep up with you.” He wondered if anyone else on the team had supernatural blood, giving them an edge without it being an EDGE.

“I would appreciate as much discretion as possible,” Lydia replied to Ariana’s offer, especially after Simon had accepted it. She was much more comfortable as the conversation moved on to more pleasant and less interesting things. Although she couldn’t help but notice the way Simon shifted in response to Ariana’s words, straightening, reddening. He really couldn’t take a compliment. All she did in turn was raise an eyebrow at him, as the conversation turned to the game. Lydia hadn’t been watching, so didn’t have anything to add there, but was happy to check out while the two of them talked for a little.

Ariana nodded as Lydia expressed wanting discretion on the whole magical bond thing they had going on. Lydia seemed polite enough, but she had the feeling she should probably avoid pissing her off. As Simon spoke of how well she played, Ariana was positively beaming with pride. There was little in this world she enjoyed more than soccer and she loved working with her team to make winning happen. “Is it cocky if I say I know I am? To be fair, I may have a slight advantage physically and all.” The full moon had only been about a week ago so her legs still felt stronger than they would a week from now. “Soccer is definitely one of the more fun sports to watch. That and basketball. American football is just. Ugh. It moves so slow comparatively.”

“Non-American football is definitely one of the more exciting sports,” Simon agreed almost verbatim before shaking his head. “I don’t think it’s cocky; you’re confident and I think people are drawn to that about you.” He explained. “It’s a team sport for sure but people look up to those traits in leaders. Obviously. And I think that confidence and speed - and perhaps your slight advantage, but that’s just a bonus if anything - were instrumental to half the plays you and your team made tonight.” He paused, then cleared his throat and ate another spoonful of watered down shaved ice. “S...sorry.” He quieted down and itched at his nose, rubbing off some of the paint that was on his face.

When she heard the apology, Ariana gave him a stern look and reminded, “You say sorry too much.” Even when he was being helpful or talking her down from being upset, he always apologized. It was something she couldn’t quite understand, but she wanted to help break the habit. Help him gain some confidence. “But also, thank you. I try to be. In a team setting, I find it to be contagious.” She smiled thinking of her team, though she was going to miss playing with them. “I’ll miss the team, but I’m going to be coaching a children’s soccer camp over the summer which will be fun. May have to drag you to some of those games, too.” She took a few spoonfuls of the shaved ice and set the spoon down. “We still have to find you a piano so you can practice, too! You still have to play Moonlight Sonata for me.”

Simon chuckled despite the look she gave him at first; Moonlight Sonata, such a cliche choice for a wolf… certainly more-so than Post Malone. “In time,” He hadn’t played the piano in months… could he even still play a coherent melody, let alone something as iconic as Beethoven? He shook the thought off. “I’m more excited about you teaching the next generation - I can’t help but admire people who take time out of their lives to teach others, especially about a topic that interests them,” He remarked. “I think you’d be a good teacher - and you don’t forget that you said you’d show me a thing or two, too,” He pointed his spoon at Ariana playfully. “So no dragging me anywhere; I’ll show up on my own volition.”

Lydia drifted out of the conversation for a moment, satisfied to let Simon do his small talk. Although, her ears did perk up at the mention of a piano. Even moreso that the melody Ariana proposed was Moonlight Sonata. Now that was interesting. Lydia blinked as something cold dropped on her head. The clouds overhead had only grown darker. Lydia looked up to the sky, holding her hand upturned. After a second, another drop landed in her palm. “As cute as all this bonding is, I think it’s time to leave. I draw the line on walking through fresh mud to leave here.” She looked apologetically to Ariana, and less so to Simon.

There was a proud grin on Ariana’s face as Simon spoke. It was pretty cool she’d be teaching soccer to kids so they could share in something she loved. “Yeah, it’ll be rewarding. I’m looking forward to working with the kids,” she explained happily. When a drop of rain hit her, her smile faded into a frown. She’d have to call Ulf to pick her up so that she could avoid smelling like a wet dog. “That’s a good idea,” she responded to Lydia before giving them both appreciative looks. “Thank you both so much for coming. I’ll catch up with you soon, Simon!”

Damn, and the conversation had been going so smoothly. Simon found that he was frustrated at himself (again, as usual) that he wasn’t able to smell the rain coming - before the whole werewolf nonsense, he could but nowadays, the odour of wet dog just irritated his olfactory senses… he hadn’t mentioned yet today how much he actually hated this sometimes. He stood up quickly, catching Lyida’s gaze as he did so and returned Ariana’s look with his own smile. “Thank you for having us,” he replied with a small wave. “I look forward to the next time we meet. Be safe on your way home!” He spoke rather hurriedly and spent little time going back as far as he could towards the car, reaching the edge of their bond in an usual sense of urgency - get inside before you get wet, get inside before you get wet. He wondered if he and Ariana would ever have an exchange that didn’t end with him having a problem… maybe next time.

[pynches]

a/n pride month is over but pride has just begun in amsterdam so i had to write this and i’m not sorry at all

mainly pynch but slight henry/blue/gansey

word count: 2461

Kissing one of the most attractive guys Adam had ever seen during his first Pride was not something he had expected beforehand. And yet here he was.

Adam had come out only recently, to Blue first and then Gansey. Blue had coaxed it out of him gently, giving him the reassurance he needed every step of the way there. She had realised there was something bothering him but Adam didn’t know what it was himself until he started daydreaming about one of the other students in his Molecular & Cellular Biology class. A male student.

At first, he had wanted to keep it to himself, something to figure out later when he had more time, but the next time he saw Blue, the words jumbled out of his mouth with no way of stopping it. She had been lovely because of course, she had, she had come out as bi the moment they started dating, so he didn’t expect anything else.

They had sat together with some of her mom’s tea that was supposed to help with clarity and talked until deep into the night. Adam had finally settled on a term to describe himself that he felt most comfortable with: bisexual.

He had then told Gansey, who was more than interested and immediately checked out multiple books from the library that explained what his and other sexualities entailed. Adam felt embarrassed by it but he knew Gansey meant well.

Not long after, Gansey had come out as pansexual.

Since then he had come out to a few more people. Students who asked about his girlfriend, which he corrected with “or boyfriend”, that one lovely professor who always looked at him with kind eyes. It was getting easier every day and Adam finally started to feel comfortable in his own skin.

Pride took place a few months later. Blue had come to his and Gansey’s dorm, her backpack filled with pride flags and self-made outfits, and proudly presented him with chalk in the colours of the bisexual flag.

His first instinct was to say no. He had only just come out and he didn’t know how he was going to react to the crowds, the loud noises, the craziness of it all. Despite himself, he nodded though, knowing somewhere deep in his heart that he wanted to meet his people. Others like him that would make him feel less lonely in the world.

When he saw Blue’s beaming smile directed at him, he knew he had made the right decision.

“You’re gonna look great,” Blue said, carefully lathering his cheek with chalk. “I’m an amazing artist.”

“It’s just some chalk, Blue,” Adam laughed, taking in the slight pout on her lips. “But I’m sure you’re doing great.”

“You bet your freckled ass I am!” Blue exclaimed, never losing her intense concentration. Adam could feel her stare burning through his cheek. “Now hold still and let me finish this.”

When Adam checked himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but smile. Blue had made the flag perfectly square and the eyeliner she insisted on, turned his eyes into molten gold. He carefully pulled his old t-shirt off and put the crop top Blue had given him on. He then settled the blue and pink flower crown on his head which was also made by Blue and gave himself one last look.

He had never looked more like himself.

Adam stepped out of the bathroom and found Blue torturing Henry this time. Though he received kisses on the nose as a way to keep him quiet.

“She’s going full out,” Gansey said from beside him, a soft smile on his face directed at the two. Adam felt a surge of happiness for them. It wasn’t always easy for the three to be together, they often got shit from other students who didn’t understand the love they had for each other but Adam always saw it as nothing but beautiful.

Gansey got up and pecked Blue on her forehead. He murmured something in her ear and her loving smile turned mischievous.

“Close your eyes,” she told Henry, while Gansey got behind him and cuddled him to his chest.

“Are you seriously tag-teaming me?” Henry asked indignantly but leaned back into Gansey’s chest all the same.

“You’re gonna love it,” Blue assured him and joined them in cuddling for a second. Adam averted his gaze to give them some privacy and fiddled with his phone instead.

He wasn’t jealous of their love, not even jealous of Blue dating other people after they broke up, but he did wish he had a love to call his own. A deep and profound connection with someone that would make your heart race and feel comfortably familiar at the same time.

He had tried, of course. Went on dates with girls, guys, everything in between and out of it, but he never found that spark with someone he was so desperately seeking.

When he finally turned his attention back to his friends, Henry’s eyelids were painted in the colours of the rainbow. It was skillfully done and if he hadn’t been anticipating Pride so much, he would’ve asked Blue to do the same to him.

They finally arrived at the Pride parade half an hour later and Adam didn’t know where to look. There were people with numerous flags everywhere, waving around in the wind. There were people of all kinds happily talking among themselves, couples of all genders kissing each other lovingly, little kids with on the back of their parent’s neck with tiny rainbow flags.

Adam felt overwhelmed but in the best way possible. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked down at Henry smiling.

“Take it all in man,” he said, patting his shoulder softly. “I felt this way too the first time. Let it all out.”

Adam hadn’t even realised a few tears were rolling down his cheeks. He immediately thought of the flags decorating his skin, but Blue must have noticed the panic in his eyes.

“I used setting spray,” she told him kindly. “I was prepared.”

They walked around for a bit, laughing and smiling at the antics of other people. They lost each other in the crowd but Adam didn’t particularly mind. He would find them again and it was nice to take in the experience without the distractions of others.

Adam was just in the middle of waving at a girl who was proudly waving her Bi flag when he felt soft fingers circling his wrist.

“Are you single?” someone shouted in his ear. By luck, they had chosen his only hearing ear. He turned to glare at the person who rudely asked him that but stopped dead in his tracks.

The guy was around his age, Adam guessed, and a bit taller than him. His pale skin was slightly reddened from the sun yet he was still wearing all black. The tank top he wore had a long cut where the sleeve should have been and Adam could see the muscles rippling under his skin.

When he finally found the courage to move his eyes up, he found intense blue eyes staring back at him. Adam eyed his buzzcut and imagined what it would feel like to touch it. He was so lost in thought he almost missed the dark tattoo that curled from the boy’s neck to his shoulders.

“I asked,” the boy said again, visibly losing patience. “Are you single?”

Adam could only dumbly nod. The boy’s lips turned upwards into a cutting smirk and pulled him along to the outskirts of the parade. He could hear the chanting before he even saw the protesters standing behind the fences. The boards they held all said the typical cliche and homophobic things they always said.

“Being gay is a sin!”

“God hates gays!”

“Adam and Eve!”

Adam would’ve laughed from the sheer absurdity if it wasn’t this upsetting to see. This was a day for him, for his community. Not for people who took one book out of context.

Anger coiled low in his stomach. How dare they ruin a perfect day like this. Did they really have nothing better to do?

“I know,” the boy said, eyeing Adam. “It makes me fucking angry too. That’s why we’re doing this.”

“Doing what?” Adam asked, struggling to keep up with the long legs of the boy next to him.

“Giving them the performance of a lifetime,” the boy said dangerously, stopping right in front of the protesters. He leaned in and it took Adam some time before he finally realised what was happening.

He had every chance to pull away.

He stood on his tiptoes and held on for dear life instead.

The boy’s lips were soft and oh so gentle. Adam lost himself into the feel of them entirely, to the point where he didn’t even hear the shouting of the angry protesters anymore. The only thing he could focus on was this beautiful boy. His smell, the taste of his mouth, how his fingers felt tangled into his curls after his flower crown was knocked off.

The kiss deepened and somewhere, far away, he heard cheering. But Adam was more focused on the fingers tracing his bare midriff and the way the boy sucked his bottom lip into his mouth.

They pulled away and Adam subconsciously followed the boy’s lips. He opened his eyes and got one last glimpse of the boy smirking at him before the stranger turned around and disappeared into the crowd.

He didn’t even realise phones were pointing at him until it was too late. Adam smiled sheepishly and hauled ass, frantically looking for his friends.

When he finally found them, he nearly launched himself in their arms and blurted out the entire story. His friends were silent for a few seconds before Henry sighed.

“Are you saying your Pride was infinitely more successful than mine?”

Gansey rubbed his back in a comforting manner but Blue turned to him. “Why is it such a big deal? You’ve kissed guys before.”

“I felt it!” Adam exclaimed, pulling a full belly laugh from Henry. Even Blue and Gansey couldn’t contain their smiles.

“Tell me, Parrish,” Henry wheezed, “what did you feel exactly.”

Adam looked down and kicked some pebbles with the toe of his sneaker.

“Adam?” Gansey asked, sobering up immediately.

“The spark,” Adam sighed. “I felt the spark.”

“Oh no,” Blue said softly, hugging Adam tightly with as much power as her tiny body could.

“We have to find him,” Gansey said resolutely. Henry, Blue and Adam all eyed each other. They knew this side of Gansey all too well. The Gansey that stays up hours passed midnight because there is so much research he wants to do and not enough time in the day. The Gansey whose mind won’t shut up and he has to do something or he will go insane. The Gansey who lives off coffee and his mint plants and barely eats or drinks anything else because there is not enough time.

Telling this Gansey no is not an option.

Lucky for them, it didn’t take long to find the mystery guy at all.

One of the videos people had taken of the entire spectacle, got viral on Twitter. Within a few hours, the video had 25K retweets and nearly 70K likes. Adam couldn’t watch himself making out with someone but his friends could.

Gansey recognised him immediately.

“Ronan!” he had yelled excitedly, shoving his phone in Adam’s face. The video was open and paused just as the mystery guy was tracing Adam’s belly.

“Lynch?” Adam asked, his eyebrows shooting up. He had heard Gansey mention his best friend from high school many times. Gansey had told him about the drag racing and the alcohol but also about the farm he had and the crow that followed him anywhere.

“I’m calling him right now.” Gansey shot up with his phone already pressed onto his ear. Adam let his head fall forward onto the table in front of him and let out a deep sigh.

“There, there,” Blue said, patting his head gently. Adam tried to smile at her but he felt nervous. Would everything be different if he and Ronan talked to each other? He felt the spark, the cliche fireworks in his entire body that he used to roll his eyes at, when they kissed. Talking was an entirely different thing, though.

“He’s coming,” Gansey said, holding his phone triumphantly. “It only took me six times to reach him.”

Adam let his head fall back on the table again.

-

There was heavy knocking on their dorm room and Adam had locked himself up in the bathroom. He felt his stomach twist and when he looked down, his hands were shaking. Even when he went on dates with people, he never felt this nervous beforehand and this wasn’t even a date.

He could hear Gansey open the door and say, “I didn’t even know you were going to Pride! I thought you were spending time with Matthew”

“He had tests or some shit,” he heard a deeper voice reply, one he had dreamed of ever since they met. “So I went instead.”

“You should’ve called.”

“I figured I would find you somewhere,” Ronan said, audibly bored with the conversation. “You, Cheng and the maggot are hard to miss.”

Adam breathed in, counted down from three and unlocked the door to the bathroom. He stepped out, fulling expecting to be disappointed but Ronan was just as beautiful as he remembered.

His lips looked sharp, pulled back into that knife-edging smirk of his but Adam knew what they felt like on his own. He should have felt threatened, by the stories Gansey told and the way Ronan looked, the way Ronan looked at him but there was something oddly familiar about him.

Ronan seemed at a loss for words and Adam felt very much the same. Gansey coughed awkwardly and left the room, leaving the two of them standing in the middle just staring at each other.

“Couldn’t get enough of me?” Ronan finally asked teasingly, cutting the deafening silence.

“You wish, Lynch,” Adam retorted, unable to hold back a smile.

The next year, when Pride rolled around again, they all went together. Even Gansey’s new friend Noah went along.

Adam felt just as overwhelmed as the first time but this time, with his fingers curled around Ronan’s it felt comfortable and familiar.

Ronan kissed his temple and smiled down at him. He then pointed at something in the distance and Adam had to squint to make it out.

“GOD HATES PRIDE”

Adam laughed and grinned at his boyfriend. “Shall we?”

“I don’t think we have another choice.”

[the-blind-assassin-12]

I See You: Part Seven

A/N: I’m obsessed with flashbacks. Sue me, okay? Lots of background here. i promise that we swan dive head first back into the talk in the next part...but this is some important stuff. 

Word Count: 4,037 

“Don’t you know that I loved you, Billy?”

Shit. You hadn’t meant for those words to come out, but they had. Even if you could take them back, though, you wouldn’t. Your biggest regret, the one you carried with you every day since your last conversation with Billy, was that you’d never told him that you loved him. It should be in person, I’ll wait until after this next tour, I don't want to do this over the phone or in an email. They were all sound excuses, but that’s all they were- excuses. I don’t want to ruin the friendship, what we have is already so great, he knows that I’m here, that I care… that’s enough. But it wasn’t and you couldn’t fool yourself or him into thinking that it was anymore. You loved him, and that love eclipsed everything and anything he could possibly tell you, any reason he could possibly come up with for why he wasn’t worthy of you. You loved Billy Russo, and you had for years. The fact that it was out in the open now changed nothing. You were glad, tired of keeping it in. You thought you’d lost your chance to tell him, but you hadn’t. You heard his breath catch, and then the world went silent as your mind found the memory of the first time you realized it...the moment that you knew that your heart would always belong to him.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

You were halfway up the second flight of steps when you felt a vibration coming from the front pocket of your bag. Suddenly, the dim lighting and drab, peeling taupe paint of the stairwell brightened as you dug out your phone and read the name on the caller I.D. Russo. The extremely disappointing lunch date you’d just escaped melted away as you swiped your thumb across the screen, smile spreading wide. Forgoing a normal greeting, your excitement bubbled through the speaker. “Did it get there?” You took the rest of the steps two at a time, bright green flats slapping the crumbling tiles of the ancient staircase, hurrying back to the seclusion of your apartment.

Billy laughed in response. “Yeah, it got here.” Your grin spread wide across your lips and you imagined the way that laugh would look on his face; how his cheeks would rise up towards his eyes, how that little shine would be there in those onyx depths, how his nose would crinkle and his tongue would be visible just behind a perfect set of white teeth.

“Did you open it yet?” You reached your floor and practically ran to your door, jingling keys already in hand. Shoving the main one into the lock and giving a quick turn, you threw the door open and closed it behind you.

He laughed again, and the deep sound travelled down into your chest, making it swell. You loved hearing Billy laugh, mostly because you knew that it wasn’t a common occurrence. But, if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you also loved knowing that you had an easier time coaxing that laugh out of him than anyone else in the world. “Of course not. I know better than that. You told me to wait until I called you, so that’s what I did. You home?”

“Just got in. Okay, Russo,” you tossed your bag onto the loveseat and flopped into the overstuffed chair by the window. Your shoes slipped from your feet as you pulled them up beneath you, leaning back into the warmth of the sunlight coming through the glass. The date had all but left your mind, completely forgetting about how Jack had called you by the wrong name, droned on extensively about the ins and outs of his job at the Sam Adams brewery- he was a tour guide, but he was trying his damndest to glorify that position and you weren’t having it- and asked you absolutely zero questions about yourself nor showed much interest in you at all. I’ll have to remember to thank Ant for setting me up with this paper thin excuse for a man, you had mused, leaving the cafe as quickly as you could. But even the carefully and colorfully worded “thank you” you were planning to deliver to Anthony had evaporated completely as you could hear the sound of a blade opening on Billy’s end of the line. “Open ‘er up.”

You heard a zip as he dragged the sharp point across the packing tape, slicing your package open. You’d only sent it three days ago, thrilled that this year you wouldn’t have to wait the extra time for it to make it overseas, through all the security checkpoints, and then for him to actually have time to open it while there was an available phone line that he could call you from. Last year you’d had to wait a full week after your tracking number showed that the package had arrived at the APO in Mosul before Billy was able to call you for the unboxing, and the anticipation- along with the worry for his safety- had driven you slightly nuts. It was much better when he was in New York for his birthday, for a lot of reasons. Boston to New York isn’t that far, he’s safe, I can hear his voice today and not a week from now…

Not that you actually knew when his birthday was. You’d gotten the story on Billy’s birthday early on in your friendship, only a few months after you’d invited him to stay when he’d been stood up by Lexi. It had been your birthday, and you were going out with some friends- Lexi, of course, her sister Drea, Anthony was coming up from New York, and a few others that you no longer kept in touch with- when he sent you an out-of-the-blue text as was his M.O. You’d texted back and forth for a while, telling him that you’d really rather be home in sweatpants with a beer and a good movie, and he’d teased you a little for being a homebody, prompting you to ask the question that had started this gift-giving tradition: Okay then Russo, if you’re the expert on Birthdays, what do you do for yours?

Lexi and Drea were bickering about who would get the next round, the current round still sitting on the bar top before you, bright pink and nowhere near the type of alcoholic beverage you would have chosen for yourself, but you were preoccupied with the three little dots at the bottom of your phone screen indicating that Billy was typing a response. Nothing. I don’t celebrate. I hate my birthday.

The short, hard, punctuated sentences carried hurt and bad memories. Even though you were out with your friends, and the atmosphere was light and jovial, you suddenly felt a frown form on your lips. It wasn’t the response you’d expected, and it bothered you to think of why he would feel that way. You chewed your lower lip as you thought about how to respond, but the little dots were back on the bottom of the screen so you waited to see what his next message said. But don’t let me rain on your parade. You takin’ shots? Take one for me...and Happy Birthday.

You looked at the vibrantly colored drink in front of you and slid it down to Lexi before raising a hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Can I get a double Maker’s, please?” You ordered a replacement shot, the bartender pouring with a very heavy hand. Thanking him, you ignored the lingering look and the brush of his fingers on yours as he passed you the glass at no charge. You wasted no time in snapping a photo of yourself and your shot, and sending it to Billy. Cheers, Russo. You clinked your glass to Lexi’s as she took both unnaturally magenta drinks in one gulp, before throwing back the amber liquid. You sent one more text, before the girls pulled you out onto the dance floor: Can I call you when I get home?

The response was immediate, the dots barely even registering this time. Of course. Be safe, have fun. Talk to you later, birthday girl.

With that, you let Lexi and Drea pull you out to where Ant was already making a fool of himself with his moves. You danced to a few songs, snapped a few pictures, and then made a pitiful excuse to turn in, claiming that your feet were killing you. Drea seemed drunk enough to buy it, but Lexi shot you a questioning look before flicking her eyes down to your shoes- bright green flats that she knew for a fact were your comfiest pair of “going out” shoes, as she’d borrowed them plenty of times before. She quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head questioningly in the direction of the bartender that had been flirting with you before. You made a disapproving face, explaining that you were in no way trying to leave with the bartender, you were just tired, it had been a long week, and that you really were looking forward to your sweats. “Fine, guess you really are an ‘ol lady now,” she rolled her eyes but gave you a hug as you pulled your phone out to call a cab. You thanked Lexi and Drea, hugged Ant and a few others goodbye, and climbed into the cab.

Trudging up the three flights of steps, you pulled your phone out and dialed Billy’s number. It rang three times, and just as you reached your door, debating whether or not to leave a message, he picked up, greeting you by name. “You home?” he asked. “Or you still out?”

“Hey, no, I just got in. Are you free? I don’t mean to bother-” You suddenly realized that it was Friday night, and though you had turned in early, the rest of your age bracket most likely hadn’t, Billy certainly included. You wondered if he was out at a bar looking for someone to leave with, or maybe he’d already found the lucky winner and was on his way to the next location. You didn’t have too much time to wonder, though, because he cut you off as you opened the door to your apartment and flicked the lights on.

“You’re not botherin’ me. I’m just payin’ my tab and headin’ home.” You could hear the distinct sounds of bar noise in the background- glasses clinking and music playing, people talking and laughing, the crack of billiards balls as someone broke them up. You could also hear a female voice sounding a bit miffed to hear that Billy was leaving.

“You sure, Russo? I don’t wanna interfere with any plans you might be in the middle of making.” You couldn’t help but tease a little. Afterall, you only knew Billy, only had this friendship with him because he’d picked Lexi up at a bar.

“Yeah, I’m sure. So tell me how your birthday went. S’kinda early to be gettin’ back, isn’t it?” You heard the background noise diminish and figured that he must have been heading away from the crowded bar. A jingling bell told you that you were correct as he stepped out into the street.

“Yeah, but  you know, I’m an old lady now so I can’t be out with the young whippersnappers until all hours of the night. Plus, one greasy bartender hitting on me was enough. The quality of the dudes that show interest goes down as the night goes on, so I figured I would quit while I was not at all ahead.” You laughed and plucked at a loose thread in the arm of the overstuffed chair you’d just dropped into. “Partying like that isn’t really my scene, anyway. Lexi and our friends...I really went just for them. Like I told you, if I had it my way, we’d all be in our PJs drinking cheap beer and eating pizza.”

“You really are an old lady, you know that?” You could hear the shit-eating grin on his perfect face. If he were there you’d throw a pillow at him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” you said, and he did. It felt good to hear him laugh, made you smile. Even though you hadn’t known each other for very long, his friendship was important to you and you found yourself wanting to know everything you could about him. Even the parts that he hid away. Like what he’d said earlier about his birthday. “Hey...Billy? Can I ask you something?”

You heard him clear his throat as his laughter died down. “Yeah, birthday girl, shoot.”

You bit your bottom lip before asking. “Why did you say you hate your birthday?” Your heart rate picked up and pounded dizzily against your ribs. “I just...You said you hate it, and...nevermind, you don't have to…”

He sniffed, and again cut you off. “Nah, it’s okay. I brought it up...it’s just not, you know the happiest story, but...I just...growin’ up for me...things were…” he sighed and you imagined those long fingers running through his glossy, dark hair. “I didn’t have the best childhood, ya know? I...I grew up in this state run home. And my birthday… it was always a reminder that no one really cared about me. They’d always have a gift you know? Like a matchbox car or some shit. And one of those flimsy blank cards you get as a thank you for donating to like the SPCA or Easter Seals or whatever...you know with some hack painting of a red truck or a city skyline? I guess that was somethin’. But it was always just… I dunno it always just kinda rubbed it in for me that no one cared. I didn’t even like matchbox cars, ya know? But they didn’t care. Givin’ the kids gifts there...it was just like checkin’ a box so they could feel like they did all they could to give us normal lives.” His voice didn’t waver, just carried evenly as he delivered this heartbreaking detail as though it were a fact of life. You didn’t breathe, afraid to shatter the moment as he continued.  “And I still don’t really have anyone to...to celebrate with or...so yeah, I just...don’t.”

“I care about your birthday, Billy. I’d celebrate with you.” A friend could say that, right?

There was a slight pause on the other end, and you worried that you’d overstepped. Oh shit...maybe I can claim that I'm drunk and rambling and not making sense and- “Well, thanks,” he said, silencing your thoughts. “It, uh...it passed already this year anyway though, so...don’t give it another thought, okay?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Okay.” No way I’m not giving it another thought. In fact, you already gave it all the thought it needed, and you smiled to yourself as you continued on with your conversation with Billy, telling him about your night- about the bartender that had struck out miserably, about the neon hue of the drinks Lexi and Drea insisted on ordering, about Anthony’s horrible seizure-like dance moves. But it the back of your mind, you were already orchestrating what would become one of your favorite traditions with Billy- the celebration of his birthday on random, surprise dates each year, by sending him small, personal gifts that only someone who knew him, really knew him, and cared for him, could possibly know that he’d want.

The first gift you’d sent had gotten to him only a few weeks before he and Frank were set to ship out, and you were glad he’d received it before leaving the States. He’d mentioned once in passing that on his first deployment it had shocked him how chilly it got in the desert at night, and how his freshly buzzed head was cold for a whole month before his hair grew in. An endearing image of a shivering Billy with nothing but military grade peach fuzz covering his head filled your mind as you dragged Lexi to a knitting class at your local craft store one afternoon. She’d complained and rolled her eyes, but by the end she had a purple and black scarf that she’d wear for several winters to come, and you had a burnt orange skull cap to keep Billy’s head warm on those frigid desert nights.

He’d called you when it arrived, a curious lift to his voice as he asked “Why is there a box on my doorstep with your address as the return?”

“Just open it, Russo,” you’d answered, nervous excitement rising in your chest as you bit your thumbnail and listened to the rustling sound coming through the phone. You’d tucked a card in the package, right on top so he’d have to open it first. Paper tearing told you that he’d found the bright blue envelope, his name written on it in big looping letters with balloons drawn on either side.

“A birthday card? But it’s not...I told you it passed already...what is…”

Happy Birthday, Billy. I know it’s not your real birthday, but I thought maybe this could be a way to celebrate it anyway. Just thought maybe you’d want to know that I care. You’d signed it with your name, simple, no need to wax poetic, but you hoped he felt the meaning behind your few words.

“A hat?” there was a smile in his voice, replacing the confusion. “You...did you make this...for me?”

“I did, Marine, so keep your criticism to yourself because I’m very new to knitting and my fragile constitution can’t take harsh comments about the uneven stitches or-”

“Why did you do this for me?” he was quiet, and it hurt you to know that he was so shocked by such a small gesture...to know that he really must not have had anyone show him even the smallest inclination that they cared, that they listened.

“Because you’re my friend, Billy. And I don’t want your noggin to freeze next month when you’re shivering in a tent somewhere. Now put it on and tell me how perfectly it fits. And if it doesn’t fit, lie to me.”

“No it’s...it’s perfect...it’s…” he chuckled and you thought it sounded a little choked. “Best gift I’ve ever gotten. New favorite hat. Comin’ everywhere with me...Thank you, I...I don’t… thanks.”

You’d never forget the warmth you felt as your lips turned upwards and you swallowed the lump brought on by his gratitude for something so small. “You’re welcome, Billy. Wear it well.”

And just like that, Operation: Billy’s Birthday began. But sitting in your armchair as he opened your gift that third year, you could hardly contain your excitement. The hat had been good, and the second year you’d given him a pair of reflective aviators because he’d told you that Top Gun was one of his favorite movies, but the box he was currently opening contained a piece of his childhood...one of the only happy pieces you’d ever heard him talk about. You’d been trading stories about the “best day of your lives” one afternoon on the phone, and he told you about the time he’d ditched school with some friends and caught a train from Albany to NYC for a Yankees game that they’d been saving for. He was 15 and obsessed with baseball, but had never gone to a game.

“No adults tellin’ us what to do, nobody makin’ us feel like we didn’t belong there. I ate my weight in peanuts I think, and caught a pretty bad sunburn...but the Yanks won and Williams made some great plays...the guys and I, we couldn’t shut up the whole train ride back. Got in some deep shit when we got back to the home but...it was well worth it. Only regret is that I don’t have a picture or anything, not even my ticket stub.”

You’d tracked down the scorecard from that game- April 13, 1999, New York Yankees over the Baltimore Orioles- online, and stuck it in a frame. Simple. Easy. But part of the best day of Billy Russo’s life. So there was nothing simple about it. And hearing him gasp when he opened it, imagining his mouth dropping open and his fingers running over the little boxes on the sheet of paper beneath the glass...there was nothing at all simple about that either. In that moment, eyes closed and listening to Billy open his birthday gift, listening to the absolute joy in his voice as he thanked you...in that moment, you knew that you wanted to hear that joy for the rest of your life. You wanted to be the one that made him happy, that made him realize that he was worth caring about. You wanted to listen to him and learn about him and show him that you…

That you loved him. That you still loved him. That you always would.  

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

“Don’t you know that I loved you, Billy?”

His mouth went dry and his eyes went wide and wild. She… she loved me… how… he looked at you, leaning forward, tears shining on your cheeks. He’d just told you about the pile of dogshit he’d gotten himself into. About how he lied to you, about the dirty money he’d used to start Anvil, and how he betrayed his brothers...betrayed Frank. You’d held his hand and listened. You’d told him that you’d always cared about him...told him that you’d accepted him- all of him, even the broken parts and the ugly bits. Billy ran a hand over his face, feeling the jagged skin beneath his palm. How could she love me? I’m a fucking monster.

But he wasn’t always. And maybe he didn’t have to be anymore. He stuffed a hand in his pocket, fingers curling around the soft, well worn material of the burnt orange hat you’d made him all those years ago. “Comin’ with me everywhere,” he’d said. And it had. He pulled it from his pocket and ran his hands around the folded brim, thinking for the millionth time about how you’d made it from scratch, thinking of your hands holding the knitting needles, probably getting frustrated and yanking stitches out before re-doing them. She did this...she did so much...for me...because she loved me and… He pulled the hat over his short hair, despite the warm temperature.

“I…”

He thought about the time he’d spent the night at your place, about how you hadn’t wanted anything from him, only wanted to be there for him. He thought about your cards and notes, your emails and the pictures you’d sent him through the years. He thought about that one picture in particular, the one he’d deleted when he deleted your number. He thought about the moment that he knew he loved you- when you’d threatened to send him a romance novel with Fabio on the cover, joking freely only minutes after you’d told him that he deserved more than what he allowed himself to have. He loved you for the way that you cared. He loved you for the sound of your voice. He loved you, but he was too afraid of losing you to say anything.

But now you were here. You were here in front of him and you weren’t running away. And he wasn’t going to miss another chance. He still had things to tell you, and you still had a lot to share. But even if the rest of the conversation lead to you telling him that you wanted nothing more to do with him, he wasn’t going to let the moment pass again.

“I should have told you this a long time ago…” he wet his lips with his tongue, reaching out to take your hand in his again. You jumped, but only slightly, and allowed him to mold his palm around yours, to slip his knobby knuckled fingers in between your own.

“I...I loved you, too. I love you...I always will.”

 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire  @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @agent-bossypants @zaffrenotes @songforhema @thesumofmychoices  @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed! 

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

Title: runnin’ on my mind, boy Pairing: Sana/Yousef Summary: Sana gets a part time job in a café, has to face Yousef Acar once again and then ends up as his date to a wedding. Rating: T

 Written for the lovely @stressedoutteenager as my @yousanaexchange gift. I hope you like it!

THURSDAY 23 NOVEMBER: ISAK AND EVEN'S APARTMENT

It really starts in November when Sana sits down with all the Russ budget calculations - because even though their bus is small, it's still a Russebuss - and her list of things she needs to do and buy in the next few months. She and her family only do a small christmas celebration, which started when Sana and her siblings were little and jealous that everyone else got presents but they didn't and has since just become a nice winter tradition, and she usually ends up taking part in a few parties that have a secret santa concept, which also means that she'll want something new to wear, maybe a cute christmassy sweater. Sana had expected to be able to save up money from the summer, but she doesn't have nearly as much saved as she'd like. While Sana is sure her parents would be willing to help her out, she really doesn't want to have to ask her parents for anything. Instead, she applies to every job she can find that she could possibly do. A few weeks down the line, she's gotten zero replies. She complains to Isak about it, about how she really doesn't want to ask her parents for more money. Isak is really unsympathetic because he's not going to be part of any Russebuss so he doesn't understand the stress. They're sacked out on his sofa, trying to revise for chemistry. Or, Isak has begged Sana to help explain something that he missed so he doesn't fail. Still, Sana counts it as revision.

Isak pauses, strangely thoughtful, then calls out, "Hey, babe, didn't you need extra staff at KB?"

Even leans out of the kitchen, soapy gloves and all, "Yeah, we kind of always do," he sighs, "why, what's up?"

"I've been applying for part time jobs, but I'm not getting anywhere," Sana sighs.

Even's face lights up. "Sanasol, come work with me! It'll be amazing!"

Isak looks purposely over at Sana, "You're welcome."

SATURDAY 2 DECEMBER: KAFFEBRENNERIET

Even ends up getting both Sana and Chris interviews, and the boss seems to trust Even's judgement, or they just really make a great impression because they both get hired.The introduction at KB is pretty basic, but the coffee machine looks intimidating. Even assures them that it looks scarier than it really is, and that he has every faith in them.

"But, it's easier if you really get to practice with it so I think we nominate one of you to get the hang of it first."

Christ immediately backs into the back, saying "I'll go wash some more cups," while Sana glares at the door swinging shut behind her.

Even pats her on the head. "You're gonna be a surgeon, Sanasol. Don't let the espresso maker beat you."

Even is a surprisingly good teacher, though he claims that Sana is just a brilliant student, and she picks it up pretty quickly. She doesn't burn herself nearly as much as Chris, and she's pretty good at handling pressure and multitasking, so she prefers making drinks while Chris takes the orders. And Chris, being the social butterfly that she is, also prefers it that way. She chats up literally every customer, and flirts cheerfully all day long. But it keeps the customers from getting grumpy when Sana takes too long or has to redo something, so it's all good.

Of course, once their friends and Elias find out about their new jobs, they suddenly get a lot of customers that they know. Elias tries to get family discounts, which Chris finds hilarious, while Sana just wishes she could escape through the wooden floor. But then Mutta steps up to order, which shockingly stuns Chris into silence for a hot second, before she turns the flirting up a whole lot, leaning over the counter and fluttering her eyelashes. Sana can't help but snort and look over at Elias, only to lock eyes with Yousef friggin Acar. He's smiling like he can't really help it but he's also flicking his eyes between Sana and the Chris-and-Mutta thing like he can't look away, even though he wants to. Thankfully, Mutta doesn't look intimated at all, instead he's leaning into it, heart eyes focused on Chris with a giant smile and just the slightest blush visible high on his cheeks. When it's Yousef's turn, they're still flirting so Sana sidles up to the register to take his order before she makes both drinks.

After Sana has greeted him normally, Yousef smirks, tilting his head, "So, I guess everyone doesn't get that special treatment in here, huh?" He gestures to the side.

Sana laughs, feeling her cheeks flush slightly, "Flirting is more Chris' job, to be fair. Or Even's." Chris finally snaps out of her flirting enough to at least take Adam's order, though he's laughing too hard to really be bothered about the wait.

"That's a shame," Yousef says, still smiling wide. Sana's brain goes into a panic mode and she turns away and grabs two mugs in auto mode, stumped as to how to even respond to that comment without embarrassing herself completely. She hasn't seen much of her brother's friends since she started her last year of high school. To be fair, she hasn't seen much of Yousef since he came back from Turkey and their flirting fizzled out. Seeing him up close like this brings back all the nice memories and the realization that she is no longer desensitized to Yousef Acar and his ridiculously lovely smile.

She finishes his and Adam's coffees, and once she hands them over, she makes eye contact and tries really hard to not react to his warm hands or that smile. "I know you're busy with university applications and all that," he says, "but it's really nice to see you," and Sana thinks she's gonna explode. After all the time she spent convincing herself that they wouldn't work, and that Yousef wasn't the right guy for her, she's still putty in is palm. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembers her mother's advice about marrying a non-muslim, and even without that, it's been over a year and there's no way Yousef could actually still like her in that way if he ever had. It's just been too long, and surely he's moved on at this point.  She sighs, moving back to the espresso machine to start the next order. When the boys have all sat down in the corner, Sana turns her back to the cafe and blows out a loud breath, planning to get Chris to take over so she can escape to the bathroom for a while. When she looks up, Chris is grinning like the cheshire cat.

"What?!" Sana snaps, defensive as always when people see her showing emotion or weakness.

Chris' face softens. "It's just nice to see you smile at someone who isn't the girls. Or your brother. You're cute when you prove that you're actually a human and not just the 'perfect hijabi robot'."

It's sweet and at the same time way too perceptive for comfort, but they're in public so Sana rolls her eyes, but bumps Chris' shoulder and then there's another customer approaching and Sana forgot all about her desperate need to escape Yousef's perfect face.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON 09 DECEMBER: YOUSEF'S HOUSE

Yousef has always regularly frequented this specific KB, though not really until he and Even made up, but he'd be a liar if he said he didn't go in more often to see Sana. One Saturday afternoon, a few weeks before Christmas, Yousef's chatting to his cousin Metin, who is the same age and is about to get married, while he tries to figure out a plan for his exam revision. He's stressed and tired and when Metin starts asking about Sana - because Metin was one of the few people Yousef could tell about his feelings for Sana - and how Yousef needs to get a move on with the relationship before she loses interest and the teasing just ramps up until Yousef accidentally says that he's fine on the relationship front, thank you very much. He's never been able to keep his cool when he and Metin end up competing over something, but this is definitely the dumbest thing he has ever said. Even worse is the fact that his aunt overhears him - he may have yelled a little - and comes over to gush at him, then runs out to call her mom probably, which means that everyone in the entire family will know. His grandparents, all his aunts and uncles, just everyone. And they'll all be expecting him to bring someone to Metin's wedding - because that's what his family does to everyone over the age of 15 at weddings - but specifically they're going to be expecting to meet his long time girlfriend. In less than a month's time. Shit. Yousef's left blinking at the screen while Metin laughs at his expression for a long while, and then Yousef just hangs up.

SUNDAY 10 DECEMBER: KAFFEBRENNERIET

As the most reasonable out of the boys - and because Even is busy - Yousef tracks down Elias at KB and recruits him to listen to the entire shitty situation - though he leaves out all the details about him still pining over Sana because Elias is her big brother after all. He rants at Elias for at least half an hour, while Elias sips at his frappe, laptops and textbooks pushed aside. When he's done Elias looks at him for a while, eyebrows furrowed.

"Why the hell did you tell him you were dating someone?" is what Elias has to say. Yousef sighs, dropping his head onto the table. "No, seriously. This situation was so unavoidable."

"Yes, thank you, Elias, I realize that. I didn't mean to do that. Can you help me fix it? Literally my entire family knows. My mom asked me about my girlfriend this morning and why I didn't tell her already, and was that the girl I brought soup that one time, and will she meet her before the wedding and blah blah blah."

Elias looks at him like he's dumb. "I truly don't understand how you could accidentally say you've got a serious girlfriend when you so clearly do not." Then shrugs. "The only real solution is telling everyone you lied, but that makes you look kinda crazy. And showing up to the wedding alone after would make them all pity you so hard. So, I think you should bring a fake girlfriend."

Because Yousef's life is a soap opera, Sana appears at the end of the table to clear some empty plates, and asks, with that slightly condescending, but still playful smirk she has, "what's this about a fake girlfriend?"

If Yousef hadn't mashed his face against the table, he'd have seen the way Sana's smirk faltered a little like she actually cared.

Elias sighed, "Yousef accidentally told his family that he's seeing someone, and doesn't want to tell them the truth because that would expose how truly embarrassing his life is and then everyone would spend his cousins wedding pitying him. So I said he should bring a fake girlfriend to the wedding."

"Wow, Elias, thanks for that." He chances a look at Sana, sighing and running his fingers anxiously through his hair before he looks back at Elias. "I don't know any girls, and I can't ask some stranger to go to a wedding with my entire crazy family. I'm just gonna have to admit that I lied and I'm pathetic."

When he looks back up at Sana, she's looking at him with a slightly tilted head, then inexplicably says, "I'll do it."

Yousef just gapes at her. "Really?"

She shrugs, smiling. "Wouldn't want your whole family to know you're a mess."

He profusely thanks her and promises to make it up to her. Sana rolls her eyes but she's smiling. "Oh, you'll owe me."

Yousef has never been more in love. She turns and walks away, literally taking his breath with her.

"You're welcome," says Elias, smug as anything.

Yousef chokes on his latte. "What? That's crazy, Elias, I can't fake date Sana!"

Surprisingly, Elias laughs. "Okay, so we're pretending you guys haven't been flirting with each other for years? Do you remember that time you threw grass in her face? Or all the times you go to 'get a drink' when Sana happens to be in the kitchen and then you don't come back until we drag you back."

"Oh my god," Yousef buries his face in his hands. "I can't believe you knew."

"Yousef, buddy, pal, friend," Elias huffs, "I can't believe you thought you were subtle."

Yousef's still convinced that Elias doesn't realize that he and Sana might have been going somewhere serious with their relationship, and he doesn't really think that it would be a good idea to tell him.

MONDAY 11 DECEMBER: KOLLEKTIVET

Sana and the girls are making gingerbread after school, Vilde and Chris had prepared the dough over the weekend and they'd all brought in some cute cookie cutters. When Sana gets there Noora is fiddling with the christmas playlist while Vilde wipes the kitchen counter and Chris is stood to the side, sneaking little bits of dough into her mouth. Sana catches her eye and Chris winks while Sana gives her a disgusted look. She's about to say something when her phone chimes and she pulls it up to see that Yousef has been dragged into wedding preparations and he's sent her a frowny selfie of him surrounded by ribbons and dry flowers and other random wedding things. Sana can't help but send a selfie back, followed by a line of crying laughing emojis, and then brag about her free afternoon. Yousef replies with a crying Jordan meme which makes Sana laugh out loud.

"Well, well, well," Noora says, making Sana look up. The girls are all watching her, smirking.

"Who's got you so smiley this afternoon?"

Sana clears her throat, trying to appear unfazed, "It's nothing," she says, shaking her head.

Chris, the traitor, goes "Are you texting Yossi?" causing Noora and Vilde to gasp loudly. Noora had bugged Sana for a while about Yousef, and what had happened.

"You have to tell us everything," Vilde demands, crossing her arms.

Sana sighs, and almost refuses on principle. But she knows that she needs to share more things. So she takes a deep breath and bargains, "I'll tell you while we start baking." Vilde purses her lips as she thinks it over but then agrees and hands Chris a rolling pin, grumbling at her to stop eating their beautiful creations. While Chris is rolling out the dough, Sana gets handed a mug of tea by a winking Noora and she decides it's better to get this over with. So she starts talking about how Yousef's come into the shop a few times and then ends up telling the girls the whole story.

"Wait," Noora interrupts after a while. "You're going to a wedding with him?"

Sana nods.

"But it's not a date?" Vilde asks. "Like, you're his date to this wedding but it's not a date date."

"Right."

"What?! Why would he ask you to go to a wedding if it's not a real date? You don't take a friend to a wedding. Weddings are super romantic."

Sana's phone chimed again and Noora laughed. "Yousef again?"

Sana looked down. "Yeah, he has to get fitted for a lilac suit because he's in the wedding party, and he's not happy about it." When she looks up, the girls are all smiling at her and she realizes she has a dopey smile on her face. She coughs, trying to change the subject.

"I really hope he's not leading you on, Sana," Vilde says. "That's not okay."

--

Yousef agonizes for a while, and then decides he has to try and come clean with someone. He goes to tell his mom that his girlfriend is actually fake because he feels guilty about how she keeps smiling at him and ruffling his hair. It goes like this:

Yousef walks into the kitchen while she's putting away clean dishes and clears his throat gently. "Hey, mom, I just wanted to say something, you know about um my girlfriend-"

"Oh, honey, you know I'm just so happy for you. I wasn't going to tell you but I think you've been different lately, less stressed maybe and I'm just so happy that you've found someone who you feel so comfortable with that you're bringing her to a family event." She looks over at him with slightly teary eyes and Yousef just opens and closes his mouth a few times, before giving up. "Sorry, sweetie, what did you want to say?"

Resigned, he says "Um. Just, that I'm excited to introduce everyone properly." Then he walks back into his room and drops, face down into his pillow.

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON 13 DECEMBER: KAFFEBRENNERIET

Somehow Yousef gets Sana to agree to help Yousef shop for a new dress shirt, and he needs to go to the wedding suit place to check that his lilac suit fits properly. The fact that they're making plans to hang out on an afternoon feels like a date, even though Yousef knows in his heart that it really isn't. He waits for Sana at KB, having a sandwich and chatting with Even who is wearing a Lucia crown in honour of the day. Even gives him a lot of strange looks, and wiggles his eyebrows a lot during their conversation, but Yousef doesn't understand why, or what it's supposed to mean. He buys himself and Sana some drinks, and when Sana shows up they head out into the snow.

They start with his fitting, and then head toward a fancy-ish department store. Yousef gives Sana control over his shirt and tie choices, and she seems to immediately know what she wants and picks out both items within 15 minutes. It's all very impressive. Sana then drifts over to the jewellry section while Yousef pays, and he can't help but notice which necklaces and bracelets she lingers over. Once they've picked up everything they'll need they go for dinner and then Yousef walks Sana home. All without ever touching on the elephant in the room. Or any hint of awkwardness because of said elephant. A part of Yousef wants to ask why Sana was so quick to agree to pretend to be his girlfriend when she seemed to give up on them as a couple a few months earlier. Maybe her mom really didn't approve of him. Or maybe his struggle with his religion was just too much for her. But he doesn't know if he wants to hear the answer.

FRIDAY 15 DECEMBER: SANA'S PLACE

When Sana gets home from school, texting her mom for help with a hijab style she thinks she wants to try out for the wedding, Even appears and demands details. When she looks at him questioningly, he whispers "Details, from your date with Yousef. I need all the deets, Sanasol."

Sana blinks at him for a while, and can't help but sigh. "There are no details, Even. It wasn't a date."

Even frowns, "But.."

Sana shrugged.

"What the hell," Even exclaims.

Sana's mom calls for her from the kitchen, and Even pats her on the head before going back into the living room.

Sana heads into her room and pulls out her prayer mat. She's starting to feel nervous about spending a whole evening pretending to be his girlfriend so she prays, revelling in the habit and the normalcy, and hopes that she'll gain clarity. She's nervous both because it might be really awkward, but also because they've gone back to kind of flirting with each other so easily that it might not be awkward at all. She doesn't really know which would be worse or what each possibility might mean.

Her mom comes in as she's securing the hijab, fiddling with the back, even though she can't see it, and sits on her bed, looking at her with a thoughtful expression. "So, you and Yousef are going to a wedding.." she starts, and Sana sighs. She'd had to explain the whole thing, but her mom hadn't believed that it wasn't a real date. "Sana, you remember the conversation we had-"

For some reason, even though she doesn't think that she and Yousef are ever going to be together like that, Sana decides that she needs to just ask her mom to trust her in this. She doesn't want to hear a repeat of that conversation they'd had. "I remember, mom, you don't want me to be lonely in a relationship so you think that it would be harder if I marry someone who doesn't have the same kind of faith as me. And I've thought a lot about that, really a lot, and I don't think that's true for me. Whenever Yousef and I have talked about Islam, I don't feel like I'm having to explain myself like how I feel with the girls sometimes. I know he understands me, even if he believes differently or expresses his faith differently. He gets me. You know, what is important to me is marrying someone who has the same values as me, who respects Isak and Even and who respects me, and not just someone who says he believes." Sana stops for a moment and realizes how she'd just blurted out what she wanted to say to her mom those months ago when she should have. Now, there's nothing going on with her and Yousef at all. Trying to backpedal, she says, "I mean. It doesn't matter, nothing is going to happen-"

While she's talking, or ranting really, she realizes that maybe she needs to muster up the courage to actually tell Yousef how she felt and still, apparently, feels. To see if he feels the same, officially. So she can properly move on if he doesn't feel anything. Even though her stomach turns at the thought, she knows she can't just keep flirting with him and pulling back, and then flirt more, and pull back again.

"Sana, sweetheart, I was going to say that I think I was too rash in my advice. I think that your faith is so strong, and you are so strong in yourself, that whoever you deem worthy will be the right person. I would never have married someone I liked at 18 but I know you are mature and I shouldn't dismiss your feelings."

Sana goes into the kitchen for some air, and of course there is Yousef, making tea. He makes her a cup, smiling sweetly at her. Adam comes in to help, and Sana realizes when he keeps looking between her and Yousef that they're completely silent. For once they're kind of awkward around each other, and she doesn't know what that means. She mumbled out a thanks for the tea and then runs back to her room and hangs up the hijab, pulling on a big hoodie.

After the boys have left, Elias begins to worry that something's wrong. Sana's fidgeting on the other side of the sofa, something she never does. Then, suddenly Sana starts talking, more like ranting, and Elias' stomach drops.

"That was really weird, Elias. Was that not weird? It's like. He flirts with me on and off, he sent me all these cute memes on facebook. And then he lied about the vodka to protect me. And -" she doesn't really want to go into further detail. "And now I'm going as his fake date to a wedding. What does he want? What am I doing?"

Elias just looks at her for a moment. "You really like him, don't you? Like, you genuinely like him."

Sana looks away. "I don't know. I guess. I- I shouldn't. There's no point, anyway. He doesn't like me like that. Not after all this time. And we're too different, that's-"

Elias sighs. "I thought he was more into you than you were into him. I didn't realize, or I would've stopped this whole thing."

Elias is woken up at 7 the next morning by text messages from Yousef in increasing levels of panic, which end with "she's literally my soulmate and I just asked her to pretend to be my girlfriend and i messed up our friendship but she's my soulmate. your little sister. what is life. what do i do now? how do i fix us??? how do i ever impress a girl who was my pretend girlfriend bc i'm a mess and a coward??" Elias sighs and texts back a supportive "just tell her the truth, idiot. just ask her out for real" text before he turns over and pulls the sheets over his head. He's not awake enough for this yet.

SUNDAY 17 DECEMBER: METIN AND AMELIA'S WEDDING

Before the ceremony, Sana is introduced to a bunch of Yousef's relatives and she chats with his mom for a while, because she hasn't seen her in awhile. During the ceremony she sits behind Yousef's family, while Yousef stands next to Metin.

When Yousef walks up to her after the ceremony, Sana brings up how lovely the wedding was and Yousef agrees which makes her wonder how he sees his future wedding. So she asks.

"I'd definitely want something like this," Yousef says, shrugging. "As long as the person I'm marrying wouldn't think it was blasphemy, you know. I might not feel totally comfortable saying I believe, like I did when I was 13, but I'm realizing that's partly me being too much in my head you know? Even helped me a lot with that, we've talked a lot about religion and stuff since we started talking again. And I've started going to the mosque, I don't know if Elias told you? I realized that I can question some things within my religion without fully rejecting it. After all, I grew up muslim and it's felt strange to just completely back away. I don't know, maybe it doesn't make sense to you."

Sana's looking off at the other end of the room where the bride and groom are talking to their parents. "No, I get that. Maybe you wouldn't expect it from me, but I do question things, too."

"So how do you fully accept that?"

Sana sighed, looking over at Yousef. "You're asking me like I have all the answers."

Yousef shrugs. "Sometimes I think you do."

Sana laughs. "Wow, Yousef. I really don't have any answers. But the way I know islam is as a religion that thinks every single person is worth the same. So, therefore it doesn't matter if you're gay or if you're a man or a woman. It just matters that you're a good person. That you try to be good to others."

Yousef nods, smiling. He doesn't say anything, just looks into Sana's eyes for a long moment, which both unnerves Sana and gives her massive butterflies. Sana slips away to the bathroom, and once in there she stares at herself in the mirror for a while. She had expected some awkwardness, or for her or Yousef to slip up and say something that showed they weren't actually dating, but the whole night had gone by without any awkwardness. They've laughed with his relatives and danced and laughed. When Yousef's aunt asked how they got together, Sana smirked at Yousef and told the story of how he flirted by criticising her carrot peeling skills and the whole table laughed as he blushed. In the end, it's awful because it's not awful at all. It feels normal to be at this wedding with Yousef, and everyone seems to believe that they're actually dating. Sana even feels like she did in the spring, when she genuinely felt like she could go on to marry Yousef. But now she really doesn't know what to do. She rejected him for what she felt were the right reasons, but she's realizing that she was probably just scared to fully commit.

THURSDAY 21 DECEMBER: KOLLEKTIVET

Because Sana's turning 18, and this is going to mean a giant family affair, the girls plan a nice, chill party for her a few nights earlier, gathering the balloon squad, Jamilla, and Jonas and the boys in the Kollektiv for some food and celebrations. They tell Sana to come over for dinner, and maybe neglect to mention the fact that it's going to be a party. The look of joy on Sana's face when she comes in and sees Jamilla and Elias joking with Eskild and Isak, and Mutta flirting with Chris in a corner, is totally worth the secrecy. They've put on a vegetarian feast with only non-alcoholic drink options and a dessert table, with a Tupac cake as the main attraction, but they hide it in the fridge until they sing happy birthday.

As the party is winding down, Yousef walks over to Sana who is talking to Chris and Mutta, and asks to talk to her for a second. Sana hasn't really talked to Yousef since the wedding, apart from a few texts. They head outside, because there's nowhere else to get away from their curious friends. So, they're standing in the snow, and Yousef steels himself before he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a little box.

"Happy birthday," he says, looking nervous.

Sana opens the box and inside is the rose necklace she'd seen when they went shopping the other day. She looks up at him, brows furrowed. "Yousef, this is way too much."

He rolls his eyes. "It's really not. I wanted to get it for you. And I wanted to apologize for the whole wedding date thing.I- Honestly, I just jumped at the chance to spend more time with you. Because I think you're amazing, and extremely out of my league and I think you know by now that I can't flirt like a normal person when I'm around you. Still, I shouldn't have asked you to be my fake girlfriend when I want you to be my real girlfriend. That's not cool"

He looks over at Sana who's gaping at him, with slightly watery eyes which seems like a terrible sign. Sana swallows. "You shouldn't apologize. I- I think, even before, if you had asked me to be your girlfriend I would've said yes. I've been scared of our differences and what that means but my feelings haven't changed, Yousef. I do like you. Too much, probably."

Yousef kind of feels like crying himself but he looks away for a second instead, thinking and gathering his courage. "I never said anything, because it felt like a lot but. You really make me feel like I'm a strong, capable person. I never thought for a second that we would fight about our differences because we had deep conversations about islam from the beginning and I never felt judged."

Sana hums and takes a sip of her coffee. "I think I kind of got that, but maybe we just weren't ready. We're older and more mature now. At least I am." She smirks at him, then looks away. Yousef bursts out laughing, mostly because the relief he's feeling has him floating.

"But it's. Elias once asked me if it's better to have a guy who says he's muslim and believes in Allah or if it's better to have one that acts like a muslim, and I think the answer is pretty obvious."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Yousef can't help but grin and Sana grins back, the two of them stood on a street in the middle of Oslo in the freezing cold, snow swirling around them, just smiling at each other like idiots.

[megaphonemonday]

never ends well

there were a heady few days where I got a bunch of au situations thrown into my inbox and I came up with little blurbs for them, which was super fun! So fun, in fact, I couldn’t resist turning a few of those into fics of their own, starting with this one.

read on ao3

Mike maintained that seven times out of ten, it was a bad idea to get a person’s name tattooed anywhere on your body. Which didn’t mean that he hadn’t done a million tattoos of girls’ names on smirking, AXE smothered dudes and a million matching ones on their swooning girlfriends. 

(Why people thought getting matching tattoos was the height of romance, Mike would never understand. Then again, he owned a tattoo parlor. Most of the romance had fizzled out the first time he’d had to mop up the contents of some guy’s stomach. The poor sucker hadn’t realized getting jabbed over and over with a needle gun would result in blood.

Seriously.)

But since he also got to charge (many of those same) idiots for cover up designs whenever the regret set in, it was just good business sense to keep his opinions to himself. 

What? Just because he thought his clients were idiots didn’t mean he was going to talk them out of dropping $75 for something they’d regret in a few years. Or days. He wasn’t their dad and he had a business to run. He’d tried doing it a few times, early on in his career, but each attempt went worse than the last. Some people just couldn’t be talked out of their stupid, very permanent, decisions.

As long as his clients were sober and paid upfront, Mike was good to go. It’d been unofficial shop policy for years, and he couldn’t imagine changing it.

Which, of course, meant he was long overdue for some kind of shakeup.

It was quiet in the shop. Then again, it was a Tuesday night and Mike had already sent everyone home for the day. There wasn’t any point in keeping them around. Not with the zero appointments scheduled and the low likelihood of getting a walk-in in the remaining hour. 

That was just fine by Mike. He still needed to finish the design for a huge back piece he was supposed to start tomorrow, and the quiet made it easier to concentrate. It wasn’t like he needed to rely on walk-ins to drum up business, either. He’d built a pretty solid reputation for himself in San Antonio. People even came in from out of town sometimes just so he could work on them. Tattooing wasn’t necessarily what he’d dreamed of doing as a kid, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it, now. 

Even if it was a little harder to love when he had to deal with drunken idiots coming into his shop.

Which was exactly what he had on his hands tonight. The bell above the door chimed and two giggly women stumbled in. So much for a quiet final hour.

He set aside his pen and struggled not to sigh as he examined the pair.

Leaning up against each other out of affection as much as support, something seemed vaguely familiar about the both of them. It wasn’t until the shorter woman disentangled herself from her tall, curly-haired friend and marched up to the counter, though, that Mike realized he actually did know her. 

“Mrs. Sanders?” he double checked, although he was sure he was right. Evelyn Sanders wasn’t the kind of woman you just forgot. 

(Mike remembered it clear as day. The way she’d marched into his shop—stone cold sober that time around—looked him up and down with a critical eye, and declared, “If you mess up my husband’s body, I will make your life a living hell.”)

“Evelyn,” she corrected, more steadily than he’d been expecting from the way he could practically get drunk himself off the tequila vapors on her breath. “Good. You remember me. That’s my friend Ginny. G, this is Mike Lawson. He did Blip’s sleeve.” 

The other woman gave him a brief nod, but didn’t come towards the counter herself. Not that Mike much minded when she was studying the framed artwork hanging above the couch so intently. Unlike the opposite wall, which was covered with the the flash that anyone in the shop could recreate without much fuss, the pictures there were all Mike Lawson originals. It was all stuff he’d drawn over the years, but never actually put on anybody. Most of them felt too personal to use on some stranger, so they remained on the walls. 

If, as Mike watched her eyes roam, wide and admiring, he was grateful he’d never gotten anyone to pony up the commission for them if it meant this beautiful stranger got to see them, that was his business. Still, the soft smile that pulled at her mouth, making a dimple appear in her cheek, almost felt like payment.

Jesus. Maybe he had gotten secondhand drunk off those tequila fumes.

He turned his attention back to Evelyn and tried not to be grateful that alcohol had impaired her typically astute eye. “Do you need something?” he drawled. “A cab home, maybe?”

Evelyn ignored him. “Ginny,” she said, gesturing at her distracted companion, “needs a tattoo.”

Mike raised a brow. In his experience, there were very few people who actually needed a tattoo. Particularly when they were already tipsy. Especially when tipsy wasn’t even visible in the rearview.

The woman in question apparently agreed. She turned away from the art and rolled her eyes, swaying a little on her feet. “It’s not that I need one, Ev—”

“Oh, yes you do!” Evelyn’s lips pursed and she pointed one, authoritative finger at her friend. “Ginny Baker, you lost that bet fair and square. You’re getting that tattoo!”

Mike checked the desire to raise his eyebrows again. There were only so many times a night he could do that and he’d definitely used up his quota already. On the plus side, now he knew why she seemed familiar, too. San Antonio wasn’t such a big town that the only female baseball player currently in the minors wasn’t pretty recognizable. Even to a guy who hadn’t been to a baseball game in years.

And here she was in his shop. Ginny Baker in the flesh. 

Mike leaned back on his stool, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. Didn’t matter if she was the Queen of England herself. She wasn’t getting a tattoo tonight. Not until she, and her companion in all honesty, sobered up. If he could convince her to abandon the idea, though, it’d be better for everyone involved.

“You know a bet isn’t a great reason to get a tattoo, right?”

Evelyn swayed just a bit as she planted both hands on the counter indignantly, focus zeroing in on him. “Don’t think I don’t remember you telling my husband all about your first tattoo, Mike Lawson.”

He rolled his eyes. “So obviously, I’m speaking from experience, here.”

The other woman, Ginny, snorted, her nose wrinkling and her hand coming up to cover her mouth. That didn’t stop her laughter, though, as she finally drifted over to the counter, lightly hip checking Evelyn. She glanced at Mike, her hand falling away to reveal her bright smile. 

Any desire to flirt with her melted away as she swayed again, gripping the counter for balance. 

(More unofficial shop rules? Don’t flirt with clients. Or drunk people, but that was more a personal guideline. It kept him out of too much trouble.)

Mike did find himself regretting his decision not to do any work on her tonight. If she weren’t drunk, he’d probably enjoy giving the pretty ballplayer some ink, even if he couldn’t flirt with her. As it was, she’d just bleed all over the place, far more trouble than getting his hands on her was worth. 

Out of curiosity, he asked, “What do you wanna get?”

“Oh. Um, my boyfriend’s name?” 

Ginny shrugged and her ambivalence was more than enough to cement Mike’s decision into certainty. It definitely wasn’t the disappointment at finding out she had a boyfriend in the first place. 

“You sound so sure,” he replied dryly. 

“What?” She crossed her arms over her chest, sharp and defensive, finally beginning to frown. 

Mike rolled his eyes. “Just thinking you should sound a little more certain about something that’s gonna be on your body forever.”

“I am sure,” she responded, chin tipping up in challenge.

“Yeah, okay,” Mike snorted, shaking his head. He leveled Ginny with a questioning stare. “How long have you even been dating this guy?”

Ginny frowned. “I don’t know. A couple months?” She fished in her pocket for her phone, like she wanted to check her calendar to double check. 

“No,” Evelyn butted in, halting Ginny in her tracks. “It’s been six weeks. You went on your first date right before the boys’ birthday.”

Her forehead wrinkled, but Ginny nodded slowly. “I guess that sounds right.”

“It is right.”

Mike’s gaze darted between the two women. He didn’t bother containing his skepticism when he blurted, “Six weeks? That’s it?”

Both women turned to stare at him.

“Yeah,” Ginny answered, clearly bristling at Mike’s tone.

“And you wanna get this guy’s named tattooed on you?” he demanded, not bothering to keep the judgement out of his voice.

“Yes. Are you going to do it or not?”

“Not a chance.” 

Suddenly it wasn’t about her BAC, and everything to do with making sure that this girl’s first tattoo wasn’t something she’d look at and hate every day for the rest of her life. Hey, repeat clients were Mike’s lifeblood.

Frostily, she replied, “Isn’t that your job?” 

Technically, yes. But it’d been a long time since Mike had had to rely on dumb kids making stupid decisions to make rent. He’d spent the past sixteen years building up his business, developing a client base, perfecting his craft. He didn’t have to do any tattoo he didn’t want to.

Rather than tell her that, though, he said, “It is. But I’m not about to give you a shitty tattoo you’ll regret in three days.”

“I won’t regret it.”

Mike had some serious doubts about that. “Have you actually thought about this? At all? Size, font, placement?” At Ginny’s silence, Mike sighed. “Did you even want a tattoo before this one talked you into it?”

Evelyn opened her mouth to protest, but Ginny just frowned. 

“I’ve thought about it.” Her jaw set mulishly and Mike leaned across the counter. 

“Sure you have,” he mocked. “Always dreamed of getting some guy’s name inked on you.”

“Not just ‘some guy,’“ Ginny huffed. Her eyes were sparking and if she was pretty laughing, she was something else now. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“You couldn’t even remember when you started dating.”

Her lips pursed and she folded her arms across her chest again, but she didn’t argue. She just repeated, “Are you gonna tattoo me or not?”

Mike’s jaw worked side to side before coming to a decision. “How about this. You come back in six weeks and still want this tattoo, I’ll do it. For free. But,” here, he smirked, “if you come back and have changed your mind, I get to decide what you get. Deal?”

Ginny regarded him for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Evelyn’s gaze darted back and forth between them, a gleeful little grin spreading across her face. Finally, though, the pitcher unfolded her arms and held out her hand. 

“It’s a deal,” she agreed, her grip firm and dry as she and Mike shook. 

Even as he watched her and Evelyn leave, Mike knew it didn’t matter whether or not Ginny changed her mind. She wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge. 

This definitely wasn’t the last he’d see of her.

Six weeks and a day later, Mike finished up with a client and walked back to the front of the shop to see Ginny Baker waiting on one of the couches, staring down at her phone. 

He didn’t even listen as the receptionist pointed him her way. He was already rounding the counter to go stand before her.

“So,” he drawled, “you came back.”

He’d been so sure she’d return, but when all of yesterday went by without an appearance from her, Mike had forced himself to admit that maybe he’d read her wrong. Tequila could make anyone brave for a night. It didn’t mean she was like that all the time.

It wasn’t disappointing, not at all.

Ginny looked up at him and as with his estimation of her nerve, there was part of Mike that had been sure he’d inflated how pretty she was in his memory. 

He hadn’t. 

Fresh faced and wearing work out clothes, she was almost more beautiful than she’d been that night six weeks ago. Far more comfortable, certainly.

Her lips quirked in a funny little smile. Still, she agreed, “I did.”

“And you still want what’s-his-face’s name branded on you?”

The smile didn’t drop, but something in her eyes turned sad. “No,” she said. “It seems pretty stupid to get a tattoo of your boyfriend’s name after you break up with him.”

“No arguments there,” he replied because what else could he say to that? Actually, scratch that. Mike could always find more to say. “Almost as stupid as drunkenly trying to get his name tattooed on you when you’ve only been going out for six weeks in the first place.”

Thankfully, Ginny didn’t seem too offended. A sharp, surprised burst of laughter barreled out of her instead. Mike couldn’t help but smile in response. Nose wrinkling, she tipped her head to the side. “You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

He shrugged. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“Well, you definitely called this one.”

There were a quiet few moments as Ginny looked down at her hands. When it became clear she wouldn’t say anything more, Mike shifted his weight and asked, “You ready for your tattoo, then?”

That startled her into looking up again. She squinted at him, suspicious and surprised. “Excuse me?”

“Our deal. I get to pick what you’re actually getting now.”

Mike definitely hadn’t spent the last six weeks designing something for this exact eventuality. He’d definitely thought about it, sketched out a few rough ideas in his spare time, but he hadn’t locked in on anything.

He kind of figured inspiration might strike when he saw Ginny again.

She seemed like a pretty inspiring kind of person.

But she was just shaking her head. “No way. You can’t seriously expect me to just let you put whatever you want on me.”

“You backing out of our deal, Baker?” he asked, eyebrows climbing up his forehead. That was a twist he hadn’t foreseen. 

Judging by the twist to her mouth, Ginny didn’t much like that implication. “No,” she drew out, shifting on the couch. “Just, I should get a say, too.”

He smirked. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Not even a little.”

It was Mike’s turn to laugh. “Fair enough,” he said before jerking his head towards the back, where his small office sat. “We’ll turn this into a consult, then. Let’s go figure what you want.”

Ginny rose from the couch and Mike didn’t notice the long, lean line of her legs. He couldn’t because he’d already noticed that, six weeks ago. He did take half a breath to admire it, though, before settling back into professionalism. 

Well, as professional as he ever was.

Once they’d settled themselves in Mike’s neglected office—at least his desk was clean of invoices and junk mail for once—Mike leveled Ginny with an expectant look. She stared back, a quizzical brow creeping up her forehead. 

Finally, he drawled, “Any ideas?”

“Oh,” she said, apparently startled. “Um. No?”

“Seriously?”

Ginny shrugged. “I just wanted veto power. Can’t let you put something really embarrassing on me. Life in the clubhouse is hard enough already.”

“So I don’t get to deliberately misspell some shitty quote and put it right on your forehead?”

She laughed bright and loud, shaking her head. Mike could really get used to the sound of that. “Not unless you want my agent to come down here and stomp you into the ground.”

Mike would’ve laughed, too, but there was something in Ginny’s expression that told him she was utterly serious. 

“Let’s avoid that while we can.” He tapped his fingers against the bare surface of his desk before spinning in his chair and pulling out a hefty binder from the bookshelf behind him. She could go through some of his older stuff and see if anything caught her eye while he tried to get a read on her style.

For some reason, he was reluctant to show her the design he’d been toying with the past few weeks. There was nothing wrong with the strong, geometric pattern, though he couldn’t put a finger on what. While Mike was pretty sure Ginny would like it, it didn’t feel right for her. It had been designed with the woman who came in wearing a leather jacket and the remnants of red lipstick. Not the one sprawled in her chair with an unassuming ponytail and running tights. 

The strength was good, but she needed something softer, too.

All Mike Lawson knew was that if he was going to put something of his on her, he needed it to be right. 

So, while he tried to figure out what right was for Ginny Baker, she could look through the binders of his portfolio for some inspiration. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, still staring at page before her.

“For what?”

Ginny didn’t look up, just flipped through the binder, her jaw set. Finally, though, she darted a quick look at him. When she saw he was already looking at her, she went back to studying the page. They were silent for a moment before she replied, “For not saying, ‘I told you so.’”

Mike cleared his throat and shifted. He wasn’t such an asshole that he’d rub the poor girl’s breakup in her face. 

But, well, it wouldn’t help his carefully cultivated reputation as something of a hardass to let her know that. 

He shrugged it off. “I figure you letting me actually ink you is all the ‘I told you so,’ I need.”

Ginny huffed, but it sounded more amused than anything. She idly flipped through a few more pages, chewing on her lip. Each image received some consideration, but with none of the intensity that she’d given the art out in the lobby. What did seem to catch her attention, though, if the way she kept sneaking what she clearly thought were subtle glances at them, was the ink on Mike’s arms. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his flannel at some point during his earlier appointment, so she had a pretty good view. 

“See something you like?” he asked, dry. Or. It would have been, but for some reason, the words came out almost playful, flirty even. 

Jesus, Lawson, he chastised himself. Remember the rules.

Ginny’s attention rose back to his face and she smiled sheepishly. Nodding at his arms, she asked, “Did you design everything yourself?”

“These ones, yeah.” When she looked suitably impressed, he continued, “Did most of my left arm myself, too.”

“Do you mind?” She was reaching across the desk even before he replied.

Mike laid his forearms flat on the desk anyway. “Knock yourself out.” 

Yeah, there were definitely way worse ways to spend a consult than having a real knock out—and Mike had seen more than his fair share of beautiful women in his time—lean in close and run her fingers almost reverently across the lines of ink etched in his skin. 

She tapped at something just inside his elbow, an intricate swirl of color he’d perfected long ago. He started explaining the technique behind it, getting far more animated about it than he usually would with a client. Then again, most clients didn’t lean in and listen attentively, fingers tracing up and down the colors as he described the process of producing them. 

When he ran out of words, Ginny moved onto the next spot that caught her eye and the exercise started again. And again. 

Mike got so wrapped up in walking Ginny through his ink, he completely lost track of time. She was wry and sweet and smart and he couldn’t remember the last time he actually liked talking to someone so much. Honestly, he didn’t really want it to end. It wasn’t until a knock sounded on his office door, though, that Mike realized just how much.

“Hey, boss,” came his shop manager’s voice, startling both Mike and Ginny out of their eager discussion on the advantages of color versus grayscale, “your five o’clock is here.”

Ginny rocked back an inch, eyes going wide. Mike couldn’t blame her. They’d started this consult around two. 

Had they really killed three hours without noticing?

“Uh, right,” he floundered for a moment, his gaze darting between his employee and Ginny. “I’ll be out in just a minute.”

The door closed again, and Mike’s office descended into the first awkward silence of the afternoon. Slowly, Ginny withdrew her hands from his arms, fingertips trailing away almost reluctantly. 

“So, um,” she said, biting on her lip shyly, “we didn’t decide on anything, did we?”

“No, we didn’t,” Mike agreed. “I guess that means the design’s up to me.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Not on your life!”

“What, you’re just gonna keep coming in until we figure out something we can both live with?”

Something kept him asking if she didn’t trust him again. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear the answer.

Ginny shrugged, finally making eye contact again. Mike’s stomach didn’t jump or anything. “It is the off season,” she said, like that explained everything. “I’ve got time.”

“Well, if you’ve got time,” Mike said, doing his best not to grin and failing, “so do I.”

At some point, maybe after Ginny’s fourth—or was it the fifth?—consult, Mike accepted that she was no longer just a client. She had, in fact, become something far closer to a friend. 

It was the only explanation. Because while she made for a pretty good friend, she was a pain in the ass as a client. Ginny couldn’t, for love or money, make up her mind about the tattoo that Mike was beginning to suspect she’d never get. If she were just a client, he’d’ve given her the boot weeks ago. 

As it was, he was only gruffly fond of her indecision. 

So, okay, she was definitely a friend.

The main difference was that Mike no longer saw Ginny exclusively in the shop. Sometimes he’d meet her for coffee or lunch or even a run when his bum knee was up to it, which wasn’t often. 

Since, Mike was in the habit of making new friends even less often, his employees took great interest in the new regular coming into the shop. A regular who never seemed to leave with more ink than she’d arrived with. If they’d managed any kind of subtlety with their interest, rather than the flurry of excited whispering—the lousy gossips—that started up whenever Ginny walked in the door, Mike might’ve been more willing to humor them. As it was, he took a certain amount of pleasure in keeping them in the dark.

Not that there was anything to illuminate. Just Mike making a new friend. 

(Which, he supposed, was exactly what qualified as interesting.)

Because Mike was unwilling to provide more fodder for the gossip mill today, not after he’d fielded no less than four questions about when Ginny was coming back—apparently he wasn’t her only new friend, he’d taken an early lunch and told Ginny to meet him in the park if she wanted to shoot down some more of his design proposals. 

v funny, old man, she’d texted back, making Mike roll his eyes. How they’d ever started talking about their ages, he had no idea, but she’d practically dissolved in a fit of giggles when she found out he’d be turning 35 in just a few months. 

Well excuse him. They couldn’t all be 21-year-olds heading for a bright career in the nation’s pastime.

God, she made him feel old. But, at the same time, younger than ever.

It was getting to be a problem. One that Mike ignored, but still a problem. 

He had plenty to keep him occupied. It was pretty easy to focus on the puzzle of Ginny’s still nonexistent tattoo. He’d lost count of the number of ideas he’d shown her, only to be shot down for any of number of reasons. If any other client had been as big a pain in the ass as Ginny Baker, Mike would’ve kicked them to the curb long ago. 

Honestly, though, Mike hardly even thought of her pickiness as a problem. It just made him want to pick her brain some more and figure her out. 

So he could pin down the perfect tattoo for her, of course. Nothing else.

Before Mike could dig himself any deeper, Ginny jogged into view, sweaty and flushed and still prettier than anything he’d ever seen. 

She plopped down next to him on the bench and snagged his water bottle without asking. Which was entirely expected. He mostly brought it for her anyway.

For as long as they’d been meeting at the park—Mike noticed early on how fidgety Ginny could get, cooped up in his office, so he leapt on the chance to meet her away from the prying eyes of his employees—she’d used it as an excuse to get a cool 2K in. 

The first time it happened, Mike had been more than a little taken aback. It wasn’t that he was surprised by her casual display of athleticism, though. The woman was a professional baseball player. She was paid (if anyone could call her minor league paychecks payment) to be athletic.

No, he was mostly worried for her safety. A lone woman jogging through the less than pristine parts of town? How many episodes of Criminal Minds started just like that?

Ginny’d had the grace to hear him out before proceeding to shrug off his concern. She jogged to every consult session they scheduled, no matter how many times Mike worried about it. Shockingly, the few times he’d deigned (read: managed) to run with her weren’t enough to keep her in fighting shape. Mike had never before met someone who worked out as hard or as often as Ginny Baker. She was a force to be reckoned with. 

(And if Mike were made even more aware of that fact by the view her clinging workout gear provided—miles of toned muscle and lean strength—that wasn’t quite as helpful as he might’ve hoped.)

She did, at least, soothe his ego and accept the rides home he offered. Mike was somewhat comforted to find out she really did just live a few minutes away by car, but he never gave in and let her walk back home. Not on her own, at least.

Once she was done guzzling down water, Ginny turned to face him, propping one leg on the bench. “So,” she grinned, looking far too composed for someone who’d just run three miles, “whaddya got for me?”

Wordlessly, Mike handed over his sketchbook and sat back to watch Ginny tear through the week’s log of designs.

It’d practically become a tradition. Ginny’d give each design its due consideration, but inevitably, she’d hand the book back with an indifferent, if apologetic, shrug. 

Even Mike could admit that none of them were right. He’d tried every style in his repertoire, from simple line art to intricate patterns of color, from the traditional to the avant garde, but nothing seemed to catch her eye. If he’d been even a degree less confident in his abilities, it would’ve killed him. As it was, he mostly tried to enjoy the challenge.

Honestly, Mike had mostly given up on coming up with anything real on his own. Week to week, Ginny seemed to change her mind on any number of things. Size, placement, color. It was easier to just have her with him while he worked. He still doodled a few designs for her to look over when he had time, but more and more, those were just silly little things to make her laugh. 

He really loved to make her laugh.

And he was successful this time around. Ginny’s sharp, startled giggle made Mike’s attention turn from her face to the drawing. She angled it towards him and he chuckled a bit, too. He’d been pretty proud of that one.

“You want me to get a tattoo of myself?” she demanded, flapping the page, and the drawing of herself in the Rosie the Riveter pose, around indignantly. 

“Hey, you told me last week that none of my ideas were ‘you’ enough. What’s more ‘you’ than—”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Ginny was still laughing, though, one long-fingered hand covering up her dimpled smile.

“Too on the nose?” he asked, innocent.

She just shook her head and handed back the sketchbook. Once the last of the giggles faded away, she slumped a little to the side. It brought their shoulders into contact. Mike couldn’t remember ever feeling more like a fourteen-year-old on his first date with his crush at the movies. Not even when he was a fourteen-year-old on his first date.

Rather than wind his arm around her shoulders the way he wanted, though, Mike tapped his pen against the pad and tried to come up with an idea Ginny would actually like. 

Inspiration struck as he recalled last week’s discussion of movies, and he began to ink in a rough sketch, speaking as his pen flew across the page. 

“What about that line? The ‘There’s no crying in baseball’ one. That’s a thing, right?”

“Not if you’ve ever met an actual baseball player,” she snorted, though she tilted her head to the side to watch him draw. Once, a few weeks ago, Ginny admitted to being fascinated by the process. Mike tried not to be too into how intently she watched his hand move across the paper.

He didn’t pause in his work as he asked, “You saying your teammates are a bunch of cry babies?”

Her lips pursed like she didn’t want to laugh. Or confirm. “It’s a lot of stress,” Ginny replied instead, far more diplomatically than Mike ever would in her shoes. “Tensions run high.”

“If this is your way of telling me you cry a lot—”

“You are not nice,” she cut him off, lips pursing. But only to rein in her reluctant grin. 

“Never said I was,” he shot back, aiming for snide and sounding far too fond. He cleared his throat and continued, “C’mon, Baker. You can tell me. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know,” Ginny assured him, pulling at her lip the way she did when she was thinking something over. Finally, she rolled her eyes and huffed out a stream of air. “It’s just— It’s one thing for the guys to do it. If the girl does—”

“You’d never hear the end of it.”

Ginny’s mouth quirked to the side, not quite bitter, but not resigned, either. Good. She shouldn’t have to just put up with that bullshit.

Before he could come up with anything to say, Ginny tapped his sketch pad, right on top of the finished peach surrounded by fluttery scroll work and that iconic line. She shook her head even as she grinned. “Cute. It should be a nectarine, though.”

“Weren’t they the Peaches?”

“Yeah, but for me, it should be a nectarine.”

“Is there even a difference,” he deadpanned.

Ginny huffed, her lips pursing. “Nectarines don’t have fuzz. And nectarines are what my dad made me practice with when I was learning to throw a screwball.”

“Really?” 

As much as Mike liked hanging out with Ginny, most of their conversations only scratched the surface of anything remotely personal. This was one of the first real details he’d learned about her. Sure, he knew that Ginny was from North Carolina and had a brother. He knew she’d been playing in the minors for three years now and her father passed away when she was still in high school. That was the kind of stuff anyone could find in any profile ever written about her, though. 

(So what, he’d looked up more than a few. Sue him. He’d gone looking for inspiration and got sucked into an internet black hole.)

But, God. He wanted to know it all. Every scrap that she’d give him, he’d take, and gladly.

“Yeah. After I made my first travel team, he wanted me to learn it, give me an edge against the boys as they started to outgrow me. But he wouldn’t let me throw a real ball until I’d gotten the technique down. So, nectarines. He must’ve bought out every store in driving distance for months. I still can’t eat ‘em without thinking about that summer.”

There was a far off, nostalgic look on her face. One that Mike was loath to disturb. So, he sat quietly and waited for her to come back. It didn’t take long. Between one blink and the next, Ginny shook herself out of her memories, offering up a sheepish smile. Mike just leaned into her shoulder a little harder and tried not to dissect how ridiculously pleased her hand patting his arm made him. Instead, he flipped to a clean page and started the process all over again.

“All right. How about this? Now, stay with me, but what if...”

Mike tuned himself out, only focused on the way Ginny leaned in closer and hummed her approval in his ear. 

“Lawson, you better be ready to go!” 

Mike startled out of the groove he’d seemingly just settled into. A quick glance at his watch, though, disabused him of that notion. He’d been drawing for the past hour and a half without pause, and his hand was cramping. But it was for a good cause. 

It was ready, the perfect design for Ginny’s tattoo. 

He dropped his marker and shook out his wrist just as Ginny rounded the corner into his office. 

She took one look at the chaos of his drafting table—and probably the slightly glazed look in his eye, too—and sighed, fond but long suffering. “You’re nowhere close to ready, are you?”

He blinked and shook off the last remnants of his daze. Adjusting to the real world after immersing himself so intently in art always took a second. This time around, Mike wasn’t helped by the sight Ginny currently presented. 

While he’d gotten used to Ginny in her workout gear and ponytails, that wasn’t quite to say that he’d gotten used to her. To how beautiful she was. In fact, Mike still lost track of his thoughts sometimes, he’d get so distracted by the sweep of her eyelashes, the column of her throat, the shadow of her dimples. But all that was natural, unstudied and unassuming. 

The woman standing before him now was something else entirely.

Draped in a short black dress, her hair falling in soft curls around her shoulders, Ginny painted quite the picture. Mike couldn’t figure out where to look first and had to settle for staring, practically open-mouthed in awe. 

Dear God, she was fucking stunning.

“Earth to Lawson,” she teased, snapping him out of his staring.

Wondering if the burning in his ears was just in his mind, Mike cleared his throat and did his best to shake off the shock. Jesus Christ. She was gonna give him a heart attack, showing up looking like that. Still, he dragged his mind back to the matter at hand: not looking like a complete idiot. 

“Uh, hey,” he managed, ever articulate. “What am I supposed to be ready for?”

Ginny snorted and shook her head, coming fully into the office. If she came any closer, well, Mike wasn’t sure what he’d do, but he didn’t think she was ready to find out.

He, however, might be.

“We’re getting drinks with Blip and Evelyn, remember?”

Right. 

Somehow, in befriending Ginny, Mike had also been welcomed into the Sanders fold as more than just Blip’s tattoo artist. Not that he was complaining. Both Blip and Evelyn were excellent people generally. 

Specifically, though, Mike wasn’t sure they were the kind of people he’d want to hang out with when 97% of his brain function was going to be devoted to Ginny and the way she was wearing that dress. Honestly, there probably wasn’t a kind of person he’d want to be around in such circumstances. 

A particular person, sure.

“It slipped my mind,” he admitted, haphazardly neatening his workspace, shoving a few stray papers over his open sketchbook. Positive as he was that this piece was the right one for Ginny, he didn’t really want her to see it. Not yet. He didn’t want her to reject it out of hand and had to figure out how to prep her for it.

Ginny wasn’t at all fooled. “I can see,” she drawled, strolling over to cast a critical eye over his work space. “Working on a piece for tomorrow?”

“Actually, I think I landed on something for you.”

Well, so much for prepping her.

“Really?” A grin lit up her face and Mike suddenly knew exactly why he’d told her. She always looked so excited at the prospect of new art to inspect, even if she didn’t like much of it. 

At Mike’s nod, Ginny dropped into the chair that at some point had become hers and arched and expectant brow. “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I thought Blip and Evelyn were waiting,” he hedged, feeling self conscious. What if she turned this one down like all the others? There was no way he’d come up with something better.

“This won’t take long, right? You just have to show me the design.”

Honestly, that didn’t do much for Mike’s confidence. Nonetheless, he crossed over to his desk, the finished design tucked close to his side. He sank into his chair and laid the sketchbook on the table. Taking one last look at it, Mike rotated the page and pushed it towards Ginny.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Ginny stared at the page and Mike stared at her. When she didn’t come up with any snarky comment, he began to worry. Ginny always had something to say. He looked down at the design and tried to figure out what was hanging her up.

In a dark, bold script, the words “Endure. Endure. Endure.” peeked out from the blossoming branches of a nectarine tree, the frothy flowers drifting over the letters. 

When he returned his gaze to her face, Ginny’s hand was covering her mouth. Shakily, she took it away, blinking fast. She made brief eye contact with him and Mike was blown away by the sheer emotion hidden there. 

“Ginny?”

“It’s perfect,” she finally said, a faint frown puckering her brow. 

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” he joked weakly. “It’ll go to my head.”

“You already know how talented you are.”

“Do I?” he snorted.

Ginny waved him off. “Of course. I mean, you should. It’s so obvious, even I can see it.” When Mike snorted again, she rocked back, a little defensive. “What? Just because I don’t know anything about art doesn’t mean I can’t recognize talent.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

Mike couldn’t help but laugh, short and a little sharp. It didn’t do much for the hurt on Ginny’s face, so he tried to explain. It was something of a struggle, not least because he wasn’t sure how to do it without spilling his guts. 

“You’ve had me second guessing my every move the past three months. That’s never happened before, and I can’t even bring myself to be annoyed. You’re so goddamn picky, but I can’t help but wanna impress you. I didn’t think I ever would.”

“You want to impress me?” she breathed, something far sweeter than pride coloring the question. When he frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, unwilling to confirm, she grinned, bright and vibrant and beautiful beyond belief. “Mike,” her tone was gentle, warm and fond, but even better was the way she was standing up, coming around the desk, and drawing him to his feet. “I’ve loved everything you’ve designed.”

“Seriously?”

Maybe if Ginny weren’t threading her arms around his neck, the exact way he’d fucking dreamed too many times to count, Mike would’ve come up with a better response. But she was, and the soft press of body against his took up most of his brain power. 

Ginny loosed an eye roll of epic proportions. She’d learned so well. “Of course. They’re all beautiful, even the ridiculous ones. I just—” she cut herself off, a dark flush spreading over her cheeks. 

“You just?” Mike prompted, hands running up and down Ginny’s sides, the light fabric of her dress rising with every pass. 

He hadn’t even dared to hope that his feelings were mutual, but if the way she sighed when his hands closed on her waist was any signal, they definitely were. God, how much sooner could he’ve been doing this? Screw the whole “No flirting with clients” thing. Maybe she’d wanted him to flirt with her. And that was quite the realization to have, even with Ginny in his arms, leaning against his chest.

Still, Mike couldn’t ignore the fact that she refused to continue, even with other, much pleasanter, distractions at hand. His brain laboriously worked to fill in the gaps. A smug smile bloomed to life. “You just wanted a reason to keep seeing me?”

“No,” she replied, too immediate for it to be anything but a lie. 

The smugness of his grin kicked up by several degrees. Ginny’s own mouth lost a losing battle not to smile back, but she looked suitably annoyed by it.

“It’s all right, Gin,” Mike soothed, pulling her in even closer. God, he couldn’t pick a place to hold. Each curve felt better than the last. “You can admit you didn’t wanna give up looking at my face.”

“Maybe if I could actually see your face,” she muttered, though the way her back arched and pressed her breasts against him maybe undermined the point.

“You love the beard.”

Her nose wrinkled, but one hand swept up from his shoulder, along his neck, all the way up to his chin. Skeptically, she rubbed along his jaw, twining her fingers into the short strands. It wasn’t until she tugged, just firm enough to pull him forward, that she murmured, “I do not.”

Since she said it right into his mouth and sealed her lips to his after, Mike couldn’t complain. 

He could resolve to prove her wrong, though.

Just as soon as he was done kissing her, he’d get right to it.

Not even six weeks later, Ginny was frowning at the stencil Mike had just applied to her gleaming skin. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, not particularly worried she was going to change her mind at the last minute. She’d made it very clear just how much she loved this design. Several times, in fact.

“Nothing.” Ginny turned away from the mirror. “It’s just...”

Mike continued to set up his tray, waiting her out. 

“Aren’t you going to sign it?”

“Why would I? Are you going to forget who did it?”

She didn’t laugh, but her frown when Mike looked back up at her wasn’t all that serious. Sinking to the bench, her knee jittered up and down. He laid a soothing hand on it and Ginny heaved a deep breath.

“I won’t forget,” she answered, like there was actually a chance Mike would ever let her. As long as he had a say, no one would be forgetting who gave Ginny Baker her first tattoo. “It’s just. I came in here looking to get someone else’s name as a tattoo. It feels kind of right that I’d end up getting yours. Full circle or whatever.”

Mike laughed and only stopped when she slugged him in the arm. 

Okay, he probably deserved that.

Sobering, Mike took his girlfriend’s hand and waited until she’d looked him in the face. When she did, he smiled, and didn’t even worry about the endless shit he’d get about it from his employees. He smiled sometimes, okay? If it happened inordinately more often when Ginny was around, that didn’t mean anything other than he probably liked her best.

No probably about it, actually.

(Anyway, he’d sent all of them home, wanting the shop to himself and Ginny for this endeavor.)

“Gin,” he said, far too fond for his own good. She’d made him into a total sap and he didn’t even mind. “This thing took me months to get just right. Months of tearing my hair out trying to get a good read on you. Months of becoming your friend. Months that I wouldn’t trade for anything, by the way. It’s perfect. It doesn’t need my name on it. It shouldn’t have my name on it, not when it’s yours.”

She finally began to smile, though Mike didn’t get much of a chance to admire it. But only because Ginny leaned in and kissed him, slow and sweet. He could feel the stretch of her grin against his mouth, though, which was even better.

When they pulled away from each other, it took Mike a moment to reorder his thoughts. That was the thing about kissing Ginny Baker. It didn’t matter how often he did it, Mike was sure he could be old and gray and the feel of her lips on his would still send him sprawling. 

Not that she needed to know that. She had a healthy enough ego as it was. 

Clearing his throat, he managed, “Does that mean you agree?”

“You might have made a good point.”

“So generous of you.”

Ginny laughed as she lay down on the table, her bare shoulder blade and the stencil on it perfectly placed for Mike to begin work. Before he could pick up his gun, however, she turned her head to the side to smile up at him. 

"I don’t want this to be full circle anyway.”

Well. If that wasn’t the greatest thing Mike had ever heard, he had no idea what could possibly top it.

“Nah,” he agreed, not even trying to rein in his exuberant smile. “It’s just the beginning.”

[dragmedowntobeaconhills]

Escape || Liam Dunbar

Pairing: Liam Dunbar x Fem!Reader

Request: Liam Dunbar imagine where the reader is a werewolf too and they are both trying to escape hunters...fluff is welcome -thanks!

Word Count: 1287

A/N: I don’t know how I feel about this. It took a different turn than what I was aiming for. I hope you like it, I’m not too good with fluff so I don’t know about that. This is another one that I might change the title too as I couldn’t really think of anything else. I’m also not very good with intense scenes or the effects of Wolfsbane. I finished this in about 2 hours after receiving the request and shocked myself considering on how I haven’t finished a request that fast before but I really liked this idea, I just don’t feel like I did it justice. Let me know what you think I guess!

Crunching leaves and heavy breaths could be heard in the otherwise silence of the night as you and Liam ran through the trees. What started out as a calm date walking in the woods turned into a race in the dark with a group of hunters high on your trail. They were passing through Beacon Hills when they caught wind of werewolves which happened to be the two of you. They heard your playful growls towards each other and followed your tracks, finding you both quickly.

Liam was hurt but managed to keep up with you, although you found him beginning to fall behind a bit. Your eyes scanned the trees in front of you, searching for a place to hide. You caught sight of a large rock to your left and turned, veering off the path as you grabbed Liam, pulling him with you. Ducking behind it, the two of you tried to catch your breath. Liam looked down at his bloody shirt, lifting it up to reveal the gunshot wound in his side that almost shattered his rib cage. With blood everywhere and purple smoke rising out of it, it was clear he wasn't going to be able to continue much farther. His heart was thudding in his chest, sending the Wolfsbane rushing through his veins at a higher speed than it normally would.

He looked up at you, catching your worried gaze, "Its okay." He whispered, "I'll be fine."

The sound of multiple sets of footsteps caught your attention before you could reply, "That boy isn't going to last much longer." One of them spoke, his voice drawing closer as the group proceeded to follow your tracks.

"With all this running and the extra Wolfsbane in that bullet, I'll give him 30 minutes." Another added, his tone almost bored.

You whimpered, gripping Liam's forearm and he looked down at you, "We have to keep going." You breathed and he nodded, wincing as he shifted, "Liam." You caught him as he started to fall over.

He nodded again, the hunters' footsteps moving closer and with another look at each other, you started running again. The deafening sound of a handgun echoed through the night before you felt a sharp pain in your left shoulder, just under your heart. A loud yelp climbed up your throat but you refused to let it phase you any further. It wasn't until another bullet pierced your ankle that your body collided with the ground. Liam stopped in his tracks instinctively, diving towards the leaves to try to help you up. Your eyes were glowing, your fangs visible as you threw a glance over your shoulder, seeing five figures gaining on the two of you, guns drawn.

"Go!" You pushed him away, "Liam, go!"

"I'm not leaving you, Y/N!" He protested, picking you up before continuing his fast pace.

Breaking out of the woods, Liam ran through the lacrosse field, taking cover under a set of bleachers. He set you down before falling the rest of the way, breathing heavily. You moved to sit up, whimpering in pain. You could feel yourself losing your strength, becoming more lightheaded with every second.

You looked over at Liam to see him typing quickly on his phone, "What are you doing?" You whispered.

"Getting help." He put his phone back into his pocket.

When he raised his gaze to look at you, pain was all he saw in your eyes. He reached down, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together.

"We're gonna be okay." He spoke softly, leaning towards you.

You nodded, trusting him with your life. He placed his lips over yours, sealing his promise with a loving kiss. It wasn't long before you felt your pain being drawn from you body, "Stop." You pulled away from him, "You're in enough pain."

"Y/N-"

You leaned forward, kissing him briefly to silence his objections. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead as the scent of the hunters reached you two and you looked through the spaces in the bleachers, thankful the field lights were off so they couldn't see you. The sound of a faint groan pulled your fearful stare from the group and to your boyfriend who was lying on his back in the grass.

"Liam?" You whispered only to get no response. Your eyes grew wide as you moved closer, shaking him a bit, "Liam." You whimpered, tugging at his jacket as you eyed the men who were walking across the field.

You jumped at the sound of a gunshot, looking up to see a familiar face walking onto the field from the parking lot. The men had their guns drawn, but he wasn't phased, advancing towards them calmly, his gun in his hand at his side.

"Don't come any closer." One of the men spoke just to be ignored.

Chris looked at obvious leader of the group, "What are you doing here?" He asked.

The leader's eyes scanned over him, "Argent?" He smirked, "Its been a long time."

"I said, what are you doing here?" His tone was more demanding this time.

"Hunting." The younger man replied, "Something you seem to not be doing too often anymore."

"This town is none of your concern."

"We've been tailing a couple of werewolves-"

Chris cut him off, "I'll take care of it."

"I-"

"Do I need to repeat myself? Again?" He raised his eyebrows, "Why do you think you only found two? I keep this town safe. They must be Omegas from close by." He continued, "I, at least, know what I'm doing. It won't take me long to catch them."

He held the leader's gaze confidently, quickly noticing the younger man gulp and take a step back under his intimidating stare. In the meantime, you were dragging Liam out from under the bleachers and towards the parking lot, trying to ignore the ever-growing pain in your foot that was starting to shoot up your leg consistently.

The man nodded, looking at the rest of his group, "Lets get out here, boys." As they began to depart and head back into the woods, Chris watched them, thankful they were a group he wasn't on good terms with as it made it easier to get rid of them.

He turned around, heading back towards the parking lot when he spotted a trail of blood. He followed it as he continued to walk and his eyes landed on you just in time to see your body hit the pavement. He found himself holding back a laugh as he reached you, helping you back up.

Chris took you the clinic, only leaving when Scott and Stiles showed up after the Alpha received your 911 text. Thanking Chris as he left, you explained what happened then proceeded to help Scott burn the Wolfsbane out of Liam's system.

It wasn’t long before you were sitting beside Liam in the back of the Jeep, the two of you still in a bit of pain from the removal of the toxic plant and the bullets. He laced his fingers in yours, catching your attention. You looked away from watching the passing trees out the window and smiled at him, "I'm glad you're okay."

His smile widened and he leaned in, kissing you softly, "I'm glad you’re okay." He stated, kissing your temple.

You giggled quietly, lying your head on his shoulder. He ran his thumb over your index finger repeatedly, kissing your hair when you nuzzled closer to him.

The two of you were oblivious to your Alpha's smile as he sat in the passenger's seat, thankful that his two troubled Betas were able to find love and comfort in each other.

All rights reserved @dragmedowntobeaconhills2017

Thank you for reading!

Masterlist | Fandom List

[tisfan]

Stark Truth

Chapter Four of that Tony/Doom fic that nobody asked for and I just can’t seem to stay away from... things are looking grim for our boys...

To Victor goes the Spoils - A Stark Reminder - Doom’s Day Scenario

At least, Tony thought, looking around at the burning city, the Avengers weren’t the only superhero group who regularly made mincemeat out of their surroundings. Hulk was really smashie, and Captain America hadn’t yet decided that opening a door was easier than crashing through the wall, not to mention the number of bad guys who tended to use Iron Man as their own personal wrecking ball. 

On the other hand, Johnny Storm was literally burning the place to the ground. Human Torch? More like human dumpster fire. Tony sighed. Fire, like biological weapons, didn’t care who was killed. Tony picked his way carefully through the burning building, getting feedback every few feet to make sure the floor was still stable and the roof wasn’t going to come down on his head. 

This was the warehouse that Richards had decided was probably storing Tony’s tech -- not certain what, and an in depth examination of Stark Industries records hadn’t shown anything missing. If the building hadn’t been on fire, Tony would have left it til the battle’s end to start putting pieces together. It bothered him to be letting others go into harm’s way as he examined crates and files, downloaded computer databases, and tried to figure out what Doom was up to. 

Which didn’t mean that he wasn’t fighting; the doombots were annoyingly persistant and several dozen of them had followed Iron Man into the building. They were also fairly standard grunt troops and not any of the specialized attack modulars that the Avengers had dealt with before. If Tony didn’t know better, he’d suspect they’d caught Doom entirely by surprise. 

He wasn’t sure he did know better, but nothing with Doom had ever been as easy and uncomplicated as he’d believed it should be. So, yeah, probably a trap somewhere lurking under the whole mess. 

In one room, Tony discovered a full layout of a superlatively upgraded Doomstahdt. Latveria’s founding, centuries ago, had given it some gorgeous architecture, for like, the 1200’s, but these days, the mud huts and fantastical cathedrals were a little out of date. Modern plumbing was scarce, and while the population was generally better off than some parts of the world, Tony knew families in coal towns with more luxurious  homes than middle-class Latverians. 

Except Doom seemed to be planning some major upgrades. Skyscrapers towered over the surrounding landscape, modern high-rise apartments, overly generous green public areas, underground power lines. This was going to take billions of dollars, years of work, but when it was finished… Doomstahdt was going to rival such modern cities as Singapore and Taipei.

Mobile readers, there’s a cut here. You can access Tumblr from your browser to read the rest, of check out the whole story on A03

“Guess Light Bright’s doin’ him a favor by speeding up the clearing process,” Tony muttered, leaning against the table to study the layout. At the heart, several meters underground… was a full-sized arc-reactor power source. Self-reliant, clean energy. A warm light for all mankind. Tony felt a peculiar squeeze in his chest. 

The underground power generator had some improvements, even to Tony’s model, amplifiers and storage cells. Tony had JARVIS capture some images; this deserved more scrutiny than he had time for right now. At least he knew what Doom had stolen, except really, Stark Industries kept careful track of the arc-reactors. Surely he would know if one of them were missing, if even the components had been illegally salvaged. 

Maybe it was theoretical, something Doom was planning, but hadn’t yet acquired. Still, it made Tony nervous; the arc-reactor was a great power source; could be used to anything. To run an entire city, or to power hordes of Doombots. Better check it out. Tony launched himself up to continue a search of the burning building. 

Doom watched from the sidelines; enough out of the way that his Doombots would do their job, along with the servo-guards, and others, without drawing attention to himself. He issued commands; keeping a small group of rotating servo-guards to occupy the Fantastic Four, the rest were directed to civilian evacuation and preservation tasks. 

Already, Richards and Storm had dropped over several buildings and completely disrupted emergency services in the city. Doom wasn’t even certain what they were here for; Doom had not been involved in anything besides infrastructure in the last several months. 

After tearing up several squads of guards, Doom finally stepped out, commanding his guards to act as if he was merely another Doombot, serving for the moment as the Voice of Doom. 

“What do you want with Doom?” he demanded, marching up the street to where Richards was involved in disgusting gyrations with half a squad of servo-guards, arms and legs stretched to ridiculous and grotesque lengths. 

Richards started yelling about illegal tech and weapons programs. Doom sneered behind his mask. 

“Doom has acquired nothing that is not necessary to the comfort of the population of Latveria,” Doom declared, putting his hands on his hips in aggravation. He should have known that he would not be allowed to rebuild his nation. 

“You should know that Stark’s tech is watched very closely, Von Doom,” Sue said. She wasn’t visible, not that that was anything new. 

“Should we forget, just because Doom rules this nation, that there are half a million people living there who just want good lives? These people, who live in an enforced monarchy, we should just allow Johnny Storm to blow up their city because he’s angry with Doom?” Doom gestured around at the burning city. “Whatever Doom has done in the past, the people of Latveria deserve better!” 

“They deserve better than you!” Johnny Storm yelled. 

“Perhaps,” Doom said. “But that is not your choice to make. You have come to Latveria on invasion, with no evidence. Doom --” Doom turned. The warehouse was burning. He squinted; a figure in red and gold armor whizzed past one of the windows. Iron Man had been strangely absent during the battle in the city. 

Doom narrowed his gaze; the fire was spreading rapidly through the building, racing toward -- 

Shit. The fuel packets for the arc-reactor. Stable, safe energy, but not when some idiot set it on fire. The explosion would put a crater in the middle of Latveria the size of Sudbury crater. “Fools!” 

Doom turned his back on the Fantastic Assholes. 

Richards tried to head him off -- literally, stretching his neck so far out to make a loop around Doom’s retreating form -- “This one’s him! Get him, Ben!” 

No. Doom did not have time for this nonsense. He tore free of Richards’s grip, moving as fast as he could. Tony could not, could not be in that building when it blew. 

Richards grabbed him again. 

“Idiot,” Doom growled. “If the core melts down, everyone will die!” 

Doom burst into the building. The air snapped, subtle, popping Doom’s ears. Sue Storm had surrounded the entire building in one of her force-shields. Well, at least she wasn't as stupid as Richards. What she saw in that man anyway was more than Doom could understand. 

Doom raced to the storage facility; the fire was already thick and even though Sue had contained the building, there was enough oxygen that it wouldn’t go out immediately. The red and gold of Tony’s armor glinted across the room. 

One glance was all it took. They were, not to put too fine a point on it, doomed. The core was already burning. 

Iron Man gazed into the crate, then snapped his head up to stare at Doom. There was no reading his expression behind that mask. “At least I’ll take you with me,” Tony snarled, the voice modulated by the armor, stripped of nuance. 

“No,” Doom said. “I’ll take you with me.” 

The core melted. Doom took three steps and crossed the room, weaving his magic behind him. A containment shield for the core, by necessity, stretching to fill the shield Sue had already locked down. The force from the inside was going to be a thousand times that of Hiroshima. Doom flung another, to protect Tony from the heat and sudden lack of oxygen, and then the building went up. Red and yellow flames engulfed everything, like being thrust suddenly into the middle of a volcano. Doom reached, grabbed Iron Man’s hand, and teleported them away. 

Tony wasn’t expecting to wake up. One of these days, he was going to be right about that. Something would explode in his face and he’d just not ever wake up from that. God, sometimes he was looking forward to it, because waking up after being exploded always, always sucked. 

Sometimes less than others; being blown up in Afghanistan had decidedly been worse. 

Tony was flat on his back, but the material under him was relatively soft. 

His body ached, but he’d had worse muscle pain after a few days of blackout drinking and partying. Not that he did that as much anymore so he wasn’t used to it. 

And there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room with him. Tony risked it and opened his eyes. 

It was decidedly not a hospital, despite the bag of fluids that hung on an IV stand by his bedside. Tony traced the line down to where it fed into the peripheral port in his left hand. 

The room was decorated, richly furnished, and the bed Tony was situated on had silk sheets, a rich, glowing gold. The other furnishings, a wardrobe, table, desk and chairs, were all elegant and tasteful, if not necessarily to Tony’s taste, at least to someone’s. 

Tony looked down at himself; he was wearing a white linen sleep-shirt of some sort and his wounds had been tended, cleaned and wrapped. He felt sort of shitty, but that was probably a result of battle and being exploded and not the care he’d gotten. 

He was, in a word, confused. 

Tony scrubbed his right hand over his face and swallowed; his throat was dry and he was thirsty. His hand continued down the side of his chin and then stopped cold. Something encircled his neck like a collar. More exploring proved that entirely right. He was wearing a god damned collar. Like a dog. Like a slave. 

Tony got to his feet, heedless of the IV stand, which pulled over and tugged at the site. Tony ripped it free, wincing a little. He pressed his fingers over the bleeding skin and held it down to staunch the flow. There was a mirror over the dresser on the far side of the room and he headed that way, aware of the plush carpet under his feet. What the actual fuck was going on? Where was he? 

The mirror threw back his face, a little beat-up, which was normal. Black eye, again. 

And a silver and green collar locked around his neck, metal, solid. 

Fuck. 

The door behind him opened and Tony reached for the first object he could find to use as a weapon. Not that a vanity bench was going to do him lots of good. 

The last person he expected to see was in the doorway. 

“Rabun!” The vanity stool fell from nerveless fingers and smashed into the floor, breaking into pieces. “What are you doing here?” 

Rabun spread his hands, his expression pained. “I live here.” 

“You work for Doom.” Tony’s voice was flat. His heart ached in his chest and he could barely breathe. But Rabun would never see that. Stark men are iron. 

“I work for Latveria, yes.” Rabun didn’t smile, didn’t try to explain, didn’t say anything. He pulled out a chair from the table and practically fell into it, his whole body screaming dejection. 

“You. Work for Doom. You work for the --” 

“Do not,” Rabun interrupted, cutting off Tony’s tirade, mid-rant. “I work for Latveria. I work for my home. I cannot change where I was born and I cannot change who I was born to be. I regret that this has come to pass. I did not wish you to find out in this manner.” 

Tony should be angry; he knew this, knew it like he knew his own name. He should feel betrayed. Lied to. Deceived. He should hate, with every fiber of his being, the man before him. He didn’t. Watching Rabun stare at the table, his whole body weighed down with grief, Tony could do nothing but ache. “It would put us at risk,” he said, slowly. “If it were known. Have I put you at risk, then?” 

“Not just yet,” Rabun said. 

“Doom saved my life,” Tony said, again, taking time with his words. There were too many questions, asking them would give away too much. He had to be careful, very careful, here, and lock away his heart. “Why would he do that?” 

“For me,” Rabun said. 

“He knows? About us?” What us? Was there an us anymore? When he didn’t even know the truth, when everything they’d made together had been built on a carefully constructed lie? 

“Doom knows,” Rabun said. “Doom has always known.” 

“It was a trap.” That wasn’t a question, but Rabun held out one hand, entreatingly. 

“No,” Rabun said. “If Doom had wanted to entrap you, Doom would have used bait.” 

Whatever ill-conceived thoughts Tony had harbored fell away. He would have fallen into that trap; he would have done anything, paid any price, if Doom had dangled Rabun in front of him. Tony had never been exactly reasonable when it came to threats against the people he loved. There were so few of them that fell into that category, Tony couldn’t stand to lose any of them. 

“He knew, and he did nothing?” That, Tony found a little hard to believe. 

“Doom knew. Doom allowed it. So long as it did not interfere with the project. The risk was not from Doom, but Doom’s allies. And enemies. Who would see you, who would see us, as an opportunity to exploit.” 

“So, why, then, are you not at risk?” 

“The world thinks you’re dead. Richards believed he was mistaken that Doom was in the explosion,” Rabun said. “Doom has made a public statement about the invasion. For once, the world’s outrage is enflamed on Latveria’s behalf.” 

“So what happens now?” Tony couldn’t help but raise his hand to the collar that someone -- probably Doom -- had put around his neck. 

Rabun winced. “For Doom, for you, for me,” Rabun said, “it would be best if you remained here. Not; I would prefer not as a prisoner.” 

“You might as well not sugar-coat it, sweetheart,” Tony said. “If I’m here for the rest of my life without being able to leave, or have anyone know I’m still alive, that’s a prisoner, whether I’m in chains or not.” 

If possible, Rabun looked even more despondent. “I know,” he said. “I wish I… that it had not… it’s worthless, my apologies. But you have it. This is not what I wanted for us.” 

“Us?” 

Rabun turned his head, eyes squeezing shut, his mouth twisting with pain. “I still love you,” he said. 

Tony blinked. His eyes burned and his throat ached. “You never said it.” 

“My great shame,” Rabun said, “that I could not say it when you would have believed me.” 

“Yeah.” 

Rabun sat there a while longer and both of them looked away, not able to meet the other’s gaze. Finally, without a word, Rabun stood up and left the room. 

Tony could not miss hearing the door lock behind him. 

He waited, until he was certain Rabun would not hear him, and then Tony fell to his knees and mourned. 

Years of experience, working hand in hand with spies and assassins, had given Tony more abilities than he’d had when he was a prisoner in Afghanistan. He could pick locks; he could subvert enemy robots, he could redirect the security cameras. 

He even managed to find tools and get the damn collar off his neck, which was a relief. 

What he couldn’t do, however, was actually leave. 

Tony arrived on the surface (because of course Von Doom had thrown him in some basement level type dungeon) and stared, aghast, at what had once been an amazing, if primitive, city. 

The city was abandoned; half of it burned to ash; smoke poured out of a few basements, the blaze still going hard underground. 

The warehouse that Tony had been in was completely gone. In its place was a sphere filled with what looked like a thunderstorm on fire. 

“What the hell?” 

“A warm light for all mankind,” Doom said, stepping up next to him. 

Tony didn’t allow himself to flinch and Doom didn’t… do anything. He just stood there, staring at the orb. 

“What happened?” Because even at the worst possible moment, Tony couldn’t help that cat’s curiosity about him, that need to know, followed up by the need to fix. 

Doom stood stiffly, hands clasped behind his back. “The arc-reactor core is melting down, constantly recycling, as more and more heat builds up. It is self-sustaining. Each moment, the force of it grows exponentially. Yesterday, it would have wiped out most of the city and surrounding countryside. Today it will flatten Latveria all the way to its borders and somewhat beyond. By tomorrow, half of Eastern Europe. In a week’s time, it’ll crack the planet down to the core.” 

“Holy hell,” Tony choked out. 

“Indeed.” Doom might have glanced at Tony; it was hard to tell with the mask that hid Doom’s face from the world. His voice, like Tony’s when he was in the armor, was modulated, emotionless. “Surrounding nations have closed their borders. Doom’s people cannot evacuate to a safe distance.”

“How long can the shield hold?” Tony shuddered. The shield was magical, something Tony rather abhorred, but at the moment he was willing to overlook it in the face of not being liquified immediately. All that Rabun had spoken of, earlier, was a lie. Doom had never intended for Tony to live. Or perhaps Rabun had not known. 

“Doom does not have enough data to be certain,” Doom said, “but Doom believes that the force will be too great to withstand within ten days. But Doom is planning to release it this day. The fate of Latveria is trivial, compared to the world. It will be remembered as a great disaster.” He tipped his head in Tony’s direction and said with a certain deadpan humor that Tony didn’t know Doom was capable of, “Perhaps they will even call it Doom’s Day, in the history books.” 

Tony couldn’t help but choke out a laugh. 

“You let me escape,” he said. 

“Yes,” Doom said. “All of Doom’s citizens are as far from here as they can get, with orders to storm the borders, if they must. You will join them. Doom will have no more deaths.” 

“And you?” 

“Doom will remain here,” Doom said. “Perhaps Doom can shunt the force of the blast. If not, Doom will still not abandon his home.” 

Tony stared at the orb, calculating furiously. “What day is it?” 

Doom gave him the date and Tony added the moon’s current location to his calculations. 

“You have a plan,” Doom observed. 

“Yeah. As it happens, I’m not in favor of large holes in the planet,” Tony said. “Conditionally.” 

“Name it.” 

Tony waited until Doom turned and gave Tony his full attention. “I want Rabun Alil. Let him go. Whatever hold you have on him, whatever he means to you, whatever he does for you. I want him to be free.” 

“Doom wishes he could do that,” Doom said, and even with the voice modulator, he sounded sincere. “It is not possible.” 

“Why not? He’s one man,” Tony demanded. “We’re talking about your entire nation, millions of people in the surrounding countries. What is he to you that you can’t let him live his own life?” 

Doom raised his hands to his mask. He touched two studs at the neck and lifted the iron faceplate free. He turned to face Tony, familiar silver hair spilling into his face, the amber eyes sad. “Because he’s me,” Rabun -- no, Victor fucking Von Doom -- said. “And if I ever meant anything to you at all, Tony, please… help me save my people.”

[veilingofthesun]

My Tänk Om(If/Then) review/report part 1

This will probably be very long, so I apologise in advance for that. I’ve made one part for each act to make things easier for both me and you. But I look at this also as a way for me to look back on Tänk Om and remember all the little details. Some small notes to get us started:

*It’s not set in New York. It was intended to from the start, but when they started working on it they realised that it wouldn’t work that well. Us swedes would not know about all the places they mention or get the New York jokes or references. Instead it’s set in an unspecified northern european big city. What was Phoenix on Broadway is simply described as the countryside, and sometimes a very small village. Which makes more sense for swedes...

*They’ve slightly changed some of the names...She’s still called Elisabeth, but with the way we spell it in Sweden. And her nicknames are Lisa and Betty, again, a more Swedish thing. Josh is called John, Stephen is called Steffen. Kathy is called Katarina. Oren/Otis is called Martin/Markus. Jake is called Tim and Cooper has no name. Well, he probably has but they don’t mention it. Probably to suit the rhythms of swedish better, I guess.

*Staging, choreography, scenography and costumes are more or less different from the Broadway production.I’ll talk more about those things later. Even though those things are a bit different, the story and the characters are exactly the same. Same thing with the dialogue, some minor tweaks so things will make more sense to us, but it’s mainly just the New York parts that has been tweaked a bit. After rewatching the broadway boot after seeing Tänk Om, I’ve noticed that the dialogue in some scenes has been extended a bit.

It’s still the If/Then that I know and love and fell in love with though.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, lets move on to the review.

It starts with Elisabeth running onto the stage, over the ramps and down on the ground. Then she makes the “Hey, it’s me” phonecall. 

What if

What If is really well made, the lightning really complements the scene and the choreography is awesome.The ensemble (which is brilliant and are fantastic singers and dancers) dance and move around on the ramps behind Elisabeth. Combined with the lightning they create silhouettes on the ramps and almost become a part of the scenography. The ensemble are all dressed in light grey clothes. The combination of all these things is visually stunning.

Lucas and Kate meet for the first time when Lucas comes riding on his scooter and almost smashes into her (he uses the scooter throughout the story to get everywhere and sometimes carries it on his shoulder)

You can tell from the start that the chemistry between Lisa/Kate is perfect. Lisa and Kate have an incredible bond and they’re very sweet and natural together. They put their arms around each other and laugh and giggle a lot.

Kate’s face when she says: I’ll get used to the name, Betty, is hilarious. It looks like she has swallowed something very yucky.

Lucas and Betty are equally good together. It’s heartbreaking to watch in a way. Because you can really tell how much he wants them to be together. I don’t know if it’s the live experience or if this Lucas pines extra much for her...It’s probably more visible live though..

Speaking of Lucas, in Lisa’s storyline he has his hair out and in Bettys storyline he wears a manbun. (He’s a total pro at making a manbun really quick and sometimes he dramatically shakes it out like in a shampoo commercial) It’s quite a clever way to help the audience keep track of which storyline they’re watching..

It’s A sign

It’s A sign is so well performed by the ensemble and Karolin Funke who plays Kate. She hits the high notes perfectly. Plus she’s hilarious and has perfect chemistry with both Lisa and Anne. This number is really cool, the costumes are very modern and edgy, but not over the top. Funny thing: When Liz replies No! to Kate, John says Yes! loudly. One thing I really like is that when Kate and the ensemble start singing about who’s read their signs today, John comes over to Lisa and Anne and sits down with them. Lisa and John only have eyes for each other. So Anne makes a typical ‘Jenn Colella Anne’ face and goes to join the others and John sits down next to Lisa. So they sit and chat and look embarassed by Kate while she sings. I thought it was a nice little addition. You get to see that they both feel it’s something there and that they do really enjoy talking and getting to know each other a bit. When John eventually leaves, Lisa is incorporated into the choreography. (You can really tell how much Linda, who plays Elisabeth enjoys that. It’s basically the only time she gets to dance)

A map of New York

In the meeting with Steffen, when he says: You should take the job. Betty replies: As a stripper? and knocks over the architectual table and the buildings spell out Tänk Om (as you can see in the trailer) It’s quite cool.

On the date with the ice cream guy, Lisa “accidently” spills her ice cream on his shirt before she runs up on the ramp to John. The abandoned guy then gets so upset that he eats the ice cream.  When John says Hi!, Lisa casually replies hi, but then you can see in her face that she has a plan... She the turns around, shouts hi (in a very high pitched voice) and runs like crazy to the ramp, climbs up and throws herself in his arms. When she lets go of him they look at each other and laugh.

On the date with the trader guy he says his lines in english. (the actor who has that track is an american living in Sweden, he says the end line in swedish though...I’m guessing he’s not completely fluent in swedish yet) He’s also a really slimy guy who starts poking her when he talks to her.

When Steffen tells her to romance the site, he makes a exhaling sound and hunches a bit. Which Linda/Betty makes a hilarious impression of.

I love this number though, I’ve always had a soft spot for this song and they all pull it off so well.I’ve always loved the ensemble parts in the choruses and it sounds amazing. Again, it’s very beautiful visually with the gray/blue/green color scheme and a very clean, yet effectful choreography.

I’m very impressed with the translation too, this song is filled with so many street names and specific places, they’ve had to strip all of that away. But the words and sentences they have replaced it with blends in so well. The translation is very true to orginal.

You never know

There’s no pro pic from you never know, so you get a cute pic from It’s a sign instead..

I’m just gonna use this to gush about Christopher Wollter who plays John. He’s like the swedish version of James Snyder. He both looks and sounds a bit like him and has the same mannerisms. He’s so natural and real and plays the role perfectly. But he’s not a carbon copy of James, even though they’re very similar. He’s got his own take on the role. You can’t help yourself from loving him... When he sings the steal your cat line, he looks around as if to spot her cat. I know a lot of people do it, but I like it...

The first thing she does when they enter her apartment is to kick off her shoes (it’s a swedish thing) and then she goes and sits on her bed. No hanging out and drinking wine in the livingroom. Straight to the bed, lol.

Their chemistry really starts to build during this number. They’re so lovely together, you can’t help but smile. I love their conversation before he starts to sing. The way they deliver their lines and play off each other is terrific. In the end, after saying the ‘I look forward to the next chance to spending 70-85 minutes with you’ he takes her hand and kisses it and then he leaves...

This is one of the few numbers without any dancers in it,it’s just John and Lisa sitting on her bed.

Ain’t no man Manhattan

Lucas is really pissed off at Steffen here.  He plays him so angrily in their scene together.

The scenes at the football stadium have been extended a bit. In the middle of Bettys and Steffens conversation, he jumps up and shouts at the referee. The ensemble collectively shouts shut up!. The ensemble plays a bigger part during the game, they shout Yes!, No! and Ohhh! at places that are appropiate to the conversations going on. It’s kinda hilarious, actually. For example, when Steffen says I wanted to be here with you, they go ohhh! And when he says friendship and politics, it gets complicated, they yell Yes!

Instead of having problems with his chickens, Lucas has problems with his beans. (In swedish beans is a slang word for beautiful young women.) When Lucas says that line he puts his arm around Anne and she gives him the ‘Jenn Colella look’ again, kind of like, I’m not your bean.

I like the fact that Anne is the only one of the main characters at the game who actually wears a football shirt and scarf. It’s like she thought: I’m at least gonna pretend that I’m here for the game even if Kate dragged me along to spy on Lisa.

Lucas and David are adoreable together from the start. The look on Lucas’s face when he says you have a house and Hi David is amazing, then he follows him like a lost puppy. And Lisa and John are veery pleased with themselves.

At the hospital party, John literally tears of his surgeon clothes as he runs towards her.

Small side note: I love the ensemble in this (well, I always love them) They sound so beautiful and the harmonies are so powerful.

What the fuck

There was a slight mishap with the props, something wrong with the sink. So one of the stage guys came out to fix it. She had just kissed John and turned to run to the bathroom, spotted the guy in the bathroom  and ran back and kissed John for a very long time. He was still fixing something when she went into the bathroom and her face was a picture. Like: There’s a man in my bathroom! So she giggled through the first few lines. She kills this song though. This one is really close to the orginal setup, there’s not much difference between this and the broadway version. Just her, the bathroom and her men. The setting feels a bit more homely and relaxed. It’s a good contrast to the tense feelings of the characters. Her coat, shoes and bag are spread around throughout her apartment...and she’s on the toilet when Steffen rings the doorbell..

Lucas shows up (on his scooter, as always) and seems really worried about her.

Betty seems more sad here after Steffen rejects her. She actually cries in front of Lucas, which only encourages him to make his move..He’s not being an asshole, but he’s trying to comfort her in the only way he knows.

Here I go

And the love fest for Christopher continues. He just gets John and his character so well. And he and Linda have the most amazing chemistry, it feels very real and it’s beautiful to watch. They’re so synced and blend so well together, both with their acting and their voices. They’re so hilarious together in the conversation leading up to Here I go, their facials and interactions are spot on. She goes through so many mood swings here, she’s angry, annoyed, scared, sad..basically everything. She’s so good at finding the right balance between all these emotions and switching quickly from one to the other. And he just rolls with it and responds in his usual calm way.

Part of their conversation takes place while she’s on the toilet.They have less clothes on than in the orginal. John is just in his boxers and Lisa walks around in a top and panties before putting on a longer shirt after a while.

Another routine without any dancers. Interestingly enough, it’s mostly the Lisa/John numbers that don’t have any dancers in them...

The only thing I don’t like is that they have cut out a bit of Here I go in the beginning. The second little verse before John starts singing has been taken out. I’m guessing it’s because the dialogues has been extended in some places. My guess is that they felt they needed more dialogue in some places and that they felt that the show was too long. Just my theory though...I really like the extended dialogue, but I wish they’d kept the whole song though. But I guess I’m not the right person to ask, I wouldn’t mind at all if it went on for even longer with both the extensions and the full songs. The general public who does not know much about the show might find it a bit too long then...

You don’t need to love me

Lucas hides out in the bathroom during Here I go. He enters the bedroom while Betty’s getting dressed and lays down on the bed shirtless, looking a bit smug. Betty goes into the bathroom and while she’s in there they have the conversation about what they are to each other. The dialogue has been extended a bit here aswell. When he talks about how there’s something more going on, he gets down on all fours and gets big puppy eyes and a sad face. Then he barks like a dog and puts his ‘paws’ up and follows her. And she laughs and affectionally says his name..It sounds kinda silly, and I don’t know how to describe it. But it’s not silly at all in reality, it’s sweet and also a bit sad...

She comes out and sits on the bed and they talk for a while before Lucas stands up and starts singing. While he sings, she sits on the bed watching him. When he sings “your excuse to take a sickday”, he comes over to her and touches her forehead as if to check if she’s got fever..

This number is fantastic. Jonas Brehmer sings it so emotionally and beautifully and the choreography is so beautiful. I really wish you could see it. There’s a single guy dressed in black on the ramp behind him who performs a beautiful dance routine. While he sings, Lucas mimics some of the dancers movements. So they kind of blend into one and the dancer helps expressing Lucas emotions. Again, the dancer creates a silhouette on the ramp behind him with help from the gorgeous lightning. Cue me crying for the first of many times...

You really feel for Lucas here, he’s so sad...(I’m probably gonna write small sections where I talk more about the main actors, but let me tell you: Jonas is amazing. His version of Lucas is so passionate about everything, and he’s also very much at the height of his emotions. He really wears his heart on his sleeve when it comes to Betty. He’s very needy and can’t hide the way he pines for her. It’s heartbreaking to watch)

No more wasted time

Kate’s face and voice when she says: “and three books about women...” is awesome. She really drags out the word three and you can hear how stupid she thinks it is.

This is one of my favourite songs and adore the parts where they all sing together, so I was really looking forward to this one and they did not disappoint. All four of them has got such strong and beautiful voices. Even Tuva (Elena) who looks so small and innocent in all the pictures. There’s a lot of power in her. They blend and harmonize perfectly together, the four of them.

Speaking of Elena, the actress who plays her is great. Very different from Tamika, of course. She plays her a bit more younger, but also happy-sassy. I don’t really know how to describe it...She and Linda have a great connection too. It’s more visible when you see it live how Betty sees herself in Elena and decides to take a chance on her because Steffen did the same for her even though she wasn’t the most qualified. It’s a nice little paralel.

The deputy mayor says to Betty(after talking about inviting the nycc to the groundbreaking): Kiss me from behind and and grab me in the ass (not a perfect translation, it’s a swedish thing don’t know how to translate it properly) in which she replies: You can grab yourself in the ass goddammit! Sassy!Betty.

Fun thing for me: The  deputy mayor has a different accent from the rest of the cast. Won’t mean anything to non swedes, but they’re totally making fun of people from Stockholm (our capital) with his accent. People from Stockholm(at least the inner city) talks in a much more snobbish and ‘proper’ way than the rest of us..

Kate says, it was nice to meet you Steffo! and gives him the evil eye. Steffen!, he yells after her, but she completely ignores him and stomps off with Elena in tow.

After Kate wraps the cape around Betty the ensemble  gathers around her and basically imitates the kindergarten kids, poking at her and pulling at her clothes. It’s like Kate brought the whole class with her to the groundbreaking. Which I totally can see Kate doing actually. Betty makes a hilarious uncomfortable face. Kate’s kindergarteners have made Betty a crown too, which Elena puts on her head. Later Betty puts it on Steffens head before she flings the cape in his face and walks off.

Surprise

Hilarious little thing: When Lucas says hide and David goes to hide elsewhere, Lucas yells: Hide on top of me! And David does, lol. So Lucas lays on his stomach with David on top of him. Their acting when they discuss having kids is spot on from both of them. Lucas delivery of his line is hilarious and the look on David’s face and the way he responds is perfect.

When Lucas finds out she’s pregnant he says OMG! really high, like falsetto high.

When Steffen arrives he tries to shake Anne’s hand. She doesn’t take his hand, instead she glares at him and puts up her hand and almost pushes him away. (I LOVE swedish Anne, but I’ll talk more about her in part 2)

Drunk Lucas is hilarious, he’s even more angry with Stephen. Anne has to pull him away and sends him off to the roof while pointing two fingers at her eyes and then at Steffen. When Lucas interupts Betty and Steffen talking he stumbles and falls flat on his face.

When John finds out she’s pregnant he picks her up and twirls her around (he’s so happy) and she squeals at him to put her down. Kate and Anne “make out” in the bathroom and Lucas and David slow dance in the background of the scene.

Another great ensemble piece. You can tell they love this number, they go all out here. The choreography is really cool, captures the slightly drunk party vibe perfectly. They dance on top of the ramps and they go all kinds of crazy up there. One of them almost takes off his clothes and is pulled back by another one who gestures at him to calm down. One of the ramps opens and lots of balloons flies out. 

In the end, Elisabeth stands on the middle ramp, the Lisa party with John and the big cake is on the right ramp and the Betty party with Lucas is on the left one. In the translation the song ends with Elisabeth singing: Time for a new start. It’s a nice connection to Always starting over.

Okay, that’s it for act 1 (if you made it this far) If you have any questions just ask. :)