#even in fifteen they come together in a way which is unbeatable

[lady-tortilla-chip]

I’m curious about why the fandom rn be going so hard with “Dazai’s weak/Chuuya is stupid” like for starters that’s so incredibly false and the narrative makes that clear. But also, WHY is it so EXTREME with y’all? Dazai can’t be strong because Chuuya’s stronger? Chuuya can’t be smart because Dazai’s smarter? How does that make sense? Especially when the story/narrative directly contradicts that idea?

[yellowocaballero]

hi i know it's been the hottest of seconds but director's cut for the prophetic spring if you're still doing these? 👀

Sure! I’ve spoken a lot about the prophetic spring, but I’m fairly certain I could give some meta information about my intense life-long obsession with Tim Drake. Dude has been showing up in my fics since I was 14.

But actually, the ficlet I wrote ages ago might be more interesting? So here it is. Exploring a dynamic that was WAY underserved for how important it is: the Steph, Cass, Tim dynamic!

No CW that haven’t appeared in the prophetic spring, but specific mention for drug addiction and drug depiction, as well as references to molestation, abortion, torture, and suicide. Story under the cut. 

Tim stared down into the toilet bowl. It was a little yellowed. He needed to clean it. 

He stared at the small baggie of pills in his hand. 

He visualized dropping it into the bowl, flushing it. Possibly mutating an alligator, or giving the race of mole people that lived in the Gotham sewers a nice surprise. 

Tim sighed, and pocketed the drugs. Maybe tomorrow. 

**

A month after the incident with a runaway foster kid and a, in retrospect, kind of embarrassing fake fight with his older brother, Tim got a text from an unknown number. To make matters worse, it was at an insane hour of the day - noon. 

Texts from strangers were hardly uncommon. Tim had an extensive contact network, growing larger by the day, but he had set up a Google Voice on his computer so they were all routed through a program there. Being bothered at all hours of the day on his phone was hardly his idea of a good time. The only people who really had his real number were his bullshit ‘friends’ and his asshole ‘family’. He hadn’t even given his number to his ‘friends’ - he had given it to Kon under strict confidentiality, and then Kon had given it to all of Young Justice. Asshole. 

405-555-1998: dropping by in three hours so make sure ur presentable :)

As Tim had just woken up, most of his brain was occupied by a single whuh? 

Just as his mind swirled in sleepy confusion, his phone buzzed again.

405-555-1998: B1706XQE45

The code checked out. It was an ally, not an unknown or an enemy. 

Tim groaned, covering his eyes with an elbow. He needed coffee.

****

The coffee was a new thing - rather, it was something he had drunk plenty of growing up, because there had been nobody around to inform him that coffee was bad for developing brains. Growing up completely unsupervised was probably why Tim was a drug addict now. He could totally blame this on his parents never loving him. 

Not a drug addict, Tim thought to himself anxiously as the coffee sputtered into the extra large gallon pot. Just someone who...uses drugs...in an unhealthy way. Substance abu - substance user, who just used it maybe as a bad coping mechanism. Not that Tim had good coping mechanisms, but it was better than sawing off heads or becoming a drug lord. When you thought about it, it was either being a serial killer or doing drugs, so logically it means that he should do more drugs to decrease the amount of fun little murders he does -

Tim made toast.

The coffee was a new thing, because he was trying to use it to replace the drugs. He had cut back. The stupid little sorority that called themselves the Birds of Prey had been talking to him about it. He had agreed to try. It was best to set expectations low, so he couldn’t disappoint. Actually, Tim loved disappointing, maybe he should set them higher. Maybe he could make inspirational speeches about how he was a good guy now? Ha ha. 

The three hours had been a deft move. The texter knew noon was his average wake-up time at best, and the three hours gave him enough time to sober up if he had been high or drunk at the time. Tim didn’t like to start popping the minute he woke up, but - well, sometimes he did. Or sometimes he was awake at noon because he had been on an all-nighter drug binge. They hadn’t given their name, either, which meant that it was somebody who he wouldn’t want to see. 

He could bounce, escape to some corner of Gotham until they gave up. Except he had the sense that whoever had gone through the effort to get his number wasn’t the type to give up. Almost nobody Tim knew was the type to give up. His ‘friends’ and his ‘family’ never gave up. On anybody but him. 

A voice in his head, not quite yet suffocated, sounding altogether too much like the Replacement, echoed in endless attempts to get him to come back. Oh, whatever. Kid was a try-hard. He needed better taste in made up families. 

Over the next three hours, he debated his tactics. If he wasn’t escaping and the texter was playing the buddy card, then the situation probably wasn’t dangerous. He strapped in his armor under the baggy pyjamas that he never took off anyway, and spitefully made no effort to control his hair. He did put on make-up, an old hand from keeping CPS off Bruce’s trail - man, he should have pretended Bruce was molesting him, that would have been funny as fuck - to hide the bags under his eyes. No use looking pathetic. 

He hid a few more weapons around his apartment. He anxiously checked his phone, staring not at the new texts but at Harley’s offer sent a week ago. He still hadn’t replied. He didn’t know what to do with it. 

As if he could ever feel safe sleeping under the same roof as her?

As if he ever felt safe anywhere?

Maybe he had nothing to lose. That was the greatest part about this, the most wonderful aspect of what he had done to everybody in his life. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. That’s freedom, or so Janis had always told him. She knew what she was about. Overdosing on heroin at 27 - that was understanding what it meant, to have nothing. To be free.  He was almost jealous. 

At two on the dot, a polite knock echoed through the apartment. Tim looked up from where he was relaxing on the couch, with all of the possible entry points in his line of sight. That wasn’t a knock he had memorized, and he had memorized everyone’s knocks. 

Nothing for it. He’d have to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Maybe he can pull the insane sociopath schtick again; that had always been effective in ditching his parents. Tim sighed, walked over to the door, swiped his thumb against the keypad, undid the three deadbolts, and opened door only to see - 

Stephanie Brown, hands propped on her hips and smiling widely. Cassandra Wayne, standing right behind her, serene as ever. 

Tim closed the door - or he tried. Steph had expected the move, and the minute he had opened the door her foot had jutted out and blocked him from closing the door. Effortlessly, she wrenched it back open and stepped into his apartment, forcing him to press against the wall and scowl as insane women infiltrated his space. 

“Wow,” Steph said loudly, “this place looks like a wreck!”

Tim groaned. 

***

The thing with Steph and Cass was this:

How to describe it?

The sister he had never expected, the best friend he had never thought he would have. Cass was his twin, Robin’s shadow, the other side of his mountain. Bruce had adopted Cass barely five months after he became Robin, and Tim had unabashedly resented her for stealing Bruce’s attention so quickly. He had always liked her more, but Bruce had liked everyone more than Tim, so maybe it was no surprise. She was sweet, kind, gentle, and no trouble. Tim wasn’t any trouble either, but he couldn’t be the rest of it if it bit him in his ass. 

Robin was the brain. Cass was the muscle. They were a team so closely linked, conjoined at the hip, that Tim couldn’t remember a patrol ever done without her. Bruce had let them start patrolling alone at fourteen (“You didn’t let me work alone until I was fifteen, and I was an assassin,” Damian had spat), and they had been an unbeatable team. Robin’s hand-to-hand was weak, but nobody ever got through Batgirl. Batgirl struggled with technical knowledge, reading and writing and investigating and chasing down leads, the only area where Tim had ever excelled. Together, they had almost been as good as Batman. Sometimes, Tim had let himself think that they might be better.

They had been so similar. Everyone had always said so. They’re both so quiet, the Justice League had said. Emotionless little freaks, the Rogues had said. Neither of them blink, their schoolmates had said. But there had been nothing to say, not between them: they could have a conversation without words, without even Sign. Cass had known every twitch of Tim’s body, had understood him down to his core. Nobody else ever had. Everybody had always called Tim inscrutable and impossible to understand - but to Cass, Tim had been an open book. She knew every inch of him. And she had loved him anyway. 

And Steph! When Steph had found them when they were fourteen veering on fifteen, and from then on it was as if she had always been there. She was so big, so smiling, so much, and she had never apologized for any of it. Nothing scared her. To Tim, that was the perfect vigilante - somebody who was scared of nothing, who never hesitated, who was good. 

Not even Bruce could intimidate her. When Tim was fourteen, he had thought that was the most amazing thing in the world. Bruce intimidated everyone, but Steph had just stuck out her tongue and kept badly backflipping off roofs anyway. Through twin convincing, Tim and Cass had convinced Bruce to give her a chance, and Spoiler had slot into their dynamic perfectly. She was their best friend, always. 

She wasn’t good at hand-to-hand at first, but Tim had improved by then, and they could cover her. She improved faster than he had, and judging from the reconnaissance footage Tim had frantically consumed after he came back to life, she was amazing now. She was wickedly smart, practical and down to Earth. If Tim was better at hacking into a computer, Steph was the one who found the post-it note with the password stuck under the desk. 

But more than any of that, she had brought the social skills. She had brought the calming presence, the sweet hand to victims and civilians, and her good humor was infectious. Steph was good with people. She was a born leader. Resilient. Brave. Everybody liked her. Everybody loved her. Tim had. She had loved him too. She could have done so much better than Tim and Cass, weird little societal rejects, but she had chosen them as her family. 

It had been the three of them. For as long as Tim’s life had meaning, for as long as he had been loved, they had loved him. Tim had grown up alone, in a world of one, and they had infiltrated it. They had expanded it, and they dragged his life into more than just Tim. Into Tim-and-Cass-and-Steph. Into Robin-Batgirl-Spoiler. Into meaning, and love. 

Tim hated them. And he wanted them to suffer. 

“That’s the Stephanie Brown I remember,” Tim sneered, closing the door behind him. Steph had quickly thrown herself onto Tim’s couch, clearly somewhat surprised at how comfortable it was, and Cass had  perched daintily on the arm. Cass had always refused to sit like a normal person - she would rather sit on the backs of sofas, or on the arm, or perched on chairs like a bird - “If I had known you were coming I would have jumped cities.”

“We would have chased you down and you know that,” Steph said cheerfully, like she said fucking everything. “Besides, if you had known we were coming you would have gone into witness protection. You’ve been avoiding the fuck outta us.”

“Wonder why,” Tim said, injecting as much mean-spirited sarcasm into his voice as possible. “I need more coffee, don’t go through my shit.”

The apartment was small, and the kitchen had a cut-away wall where he could see through into the living room. Stephanie hated nothing more than being ignored or looked down upon, and if he dismissed her and didn’t react then she’d grow infuriated with him and leave. He couldn’t fight with her, because if it came down to a battle of rhetoric or emotions she’d win single-handedly. She was so good with words. Cass...had no weaknesses. 

Which was inconvenient, because it was Cass he absolutely had to get rid of as soon as possible. She was very emotional, and more than a little sensitive. Especially to rejection. If he was cruel enough to her, she’d start crying and leave. There was only one problem with that. 

As he jammed more grounds into the machine he watched the girls out of the corner of his eye. They weren’t talking or whispering to each other, both fully aware of how well Tim could read lips. They weren’t even having one of those body language conversations they could only have with each other, aware that Tim could crack that too. Instead Stephanie was casually sprawled on his couch, looking for all the world like a middle aged dad watching the football game, looking around the room. Cass, as usual, was zoning out. Or, of course, looked like she was zoning out - Tim could tell that she was waiting for something to happen, and was preparing herself for it. 

Shit. Tim fought the urge to gnaw on his fingernail. Cass was going to be a problem. 

He risked another glance backwards. She could see him, so she knew. Fuck. He had never been on the other side of her mind reading. It was fucking inconvenient. Psychics should be shot on sight. 

The coffee sloshed into the biggest cup he could find in his kitchen, and Tim began draining it immediately as he leaned over the cutaway. He kept the cup held up to his face, obscuring it. Face covered, everything under the elbows covered - best he could do without preparation. 

“This little field trip sanctified by Sgt. Brother?” Tim asked, sipping the scalding hot coffee. Not hot enough. He needed - he needed - they’d see -

“We’re nineteen, we don’t need his permission for everything we do,” Steph said, amused. So she was going to speak for Cass - hardly unusual, as whenever they were all together Steph tended to be the only one who spoke - but seeing as Tim was Tim then it was definitely a strategy. 

“He lets his precious baby sisters knock on the door of drug lords for fun?” Tim sneered. 

“If they’re incompetent and retired, sure!”

Tim gritted his teeth. Don’t rise to her bait. Don’t. She was the best person in the family at getting a rise out of their enemies. He didn’t stand a chance. 

“What do you want?”

“We thought we’d take you roller skating at the rink,” Steph chirped. 

Tim stared at her. 

“Or the pool,” Steph said, faux-thoughtfully. “Or just the mall?”

Fuck this. Tim headed for the door, ready to walk out of the building barefoot in his pyjamas. He tugged at the doorknob, only to find that it wouldn’t open. 

Tim breathed in through his nose, then out through his mouth. There were other exits. He was not trapped. Had his apartment always been so small? He could have sworn that it was bigger. 

He turned around slowly. Stephanie was grinning at him, twirling what looked like a small plastic cylinder. Tim recognized it instantly - fancy League tech. Overrides all electronic locks and controls them. They all used it to trap perps and heighten their fear tactics. Tim jammed his thumb on the keypad. Nothing happened. 

Cass glanced at Steph, and made a small motion. Tim couldn’t interpret it. Why couldn’t he interpret it? Did they have a new code? It was Cass. When nobody else had understood her, Tim always had. Now they had their own language, one that Tim couldn’t interpret anymore. Tim was lost in translation, always drifting. 

“We aren’t bringing you in,” Steph said, just as light as ever. No trace of pity or caution or gentleness in her voice: just relentless cheer. “Literally all we want to do is talk. Play a board game, maybe?”

 Tim’s eyes flickered to the hidden panel in the wall next to him where he had stashed a gun and a sword. 

“Bro,” Steph said, “you really don’t want to escalate this.”

“Do you think you can take me?” Tim asked curiously, letting his hand drift to his arm. He shook his long pyjama sleeve down to cover his wrist. “That’s pretty cute. Last time I checked, you’re the shittiest at hand-to-hand in your team.”

But Steph just rolled her eyes. Shit, wasn’t he supposed to be ignoring her? He couldn’t, not so long as she kept pushing and pushing. Not so long as she was in his house. “Leave off. Just because Jay and I are the last people in the fam who weren’t trained in Mystical Ninja Arts doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. Hands in the air, by the way.”

Stephanie was overly sentimental. New tactic. He raised his hands slightly in the air, caught reaching for the weapon hidden in his armor. “Incompetent enough to let me die.”

There. Finally. Thank god, Tim thought he was losing his touch. The muscles clenched in Stephanie’s jaw, and just a twitch of her eye - banishing a bad memory. “Everybody’s been saying you’ve turned rude. I guess you’ve just been avoiding us because you don’t want to hurt our feelings, right?”

“I didn’t remember a lot when I was first resurrected,” Tim said casually, despite the fact that he had never told anybody about the first awful six months. Something about Steph and Cass just pried it out of him, like invasive surgery. Or an autopsy. “I remember everything about those six months, though. Homeless. Practically retarded. Brain damage does that to you, you know. I lived on the streets, did you know that? It was a miracle I lived through it.” He gasped, as if he was remembering something. “I slept on 34th street! You lived near there, didn’t you? Maybe you even walked by me.”

Steph went white. Cass’ expression froze. He was pushing hard, but these two wouldn’t react to anything less. Steph could trade barbs better than he could, even now. 

“It’s a good thing Talia found me,” Tim continued. “She was the only one who cared.”

That did it. Steph tensed, leaning forward, and even Cass stiffened. “Is that what she told you? How can you believe her?”

Tim just shrugged, walking back to the kitchen and hiding his body language again. He took an extra loud slurp of the coffee, just to be annoying. “Talia never lied to me. She said that nobody cared enough to save me. And guess what!”

Steph’s jaw clenched again. She was a hot head. A fierce temper, an impulsive girl who jumped in feet first and sanity second. Woman, now. When had that happened? “Cut that shit out. We all know what you’re doing. You’ve been doing it to everyone. Did you think Connor didn’t warn us?”

Snitch. Tim slurped his coffee again. “Connor’s been telling everyone to give me space.”

“Yeah, everyone but us.” She stood up now, ignoring the flicker of a frown on Cass’ face, and folded her arms. A challenge against the world. Against Tim. It didn’t matter. “You don’t believe half the shit you’re spewing. You’ve never believed your own bullshit, Tim. You’re just saying it to drive everybody away. It’s not going to work on us.”

“Why?” Tim asked innocently. “You’re too thick?”

“Because we love you!” Steph cried. Tim rolled his eyes. As if he hadn’t heard that one before. “Saving Richie proved it, you aren’t as insane as you keep pretending you are. You know what you’re doing is wrong, you just don’t care.”

“Wow, you caught me.” Tim took another long swig of his coffee. It was making his hands jittery. Good. “Local genius aware of his actions. Call the press. Call Uncle Clark, he needs a scoop.” He arched an eyebrow at Steph. She hated that expression of his - she had always found it so aristocratic and pretentious. Joke’s on her, he was pretentious. “Do you mind if I go do a line? I’m not high enough for this conversation.”

If she had told him who she was, he would have done a line anyway just to spite her, and she knew it. “You don’t want to try,” Steph said stubbornly, “but you’re trying. You don’t want to care, but you care. You don’t want to feel it, but it hurts so much you can’t bear it. You can’t get anything past us, Tim. It’s always just been us. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Doesn’t that mean -

“What that means,” Tim said, and he found the words scraping his throat. He found himself talking a little louder than he meant to. The coffee, you know. Made you jittery. “is that you should have saved me. If you loved me so fucking much, you would have been anything other than useless. You’ve always been the most useless girl in the world, Steph. You couldn’t save your crook of a dad or your junkie of a mom. You couldn’t save your baby and you couldn’t save me. You’re ghetto trash putting on airs, and everyone can smell it on you.”

As soon as he said it, he tensed. He shifted his stance, ready to throw the coffee and spill the scalding liquid on her. Obscure her vision. It would take a second for her to vault the cover, so he could duck down. From there he could get the gun, shoot the window, jump out the window. She couldn’t win. Tim had the most powerful weapon in the world in his disposal and that was his infinite, burning hate. His hate for Steph and Cass burned him to the ground, and his world with it, and he was going to burn them to cinders because he couldn’t do anything else. 

But Steph didn’t move. Cass got off the sofa. She walked up to Steph, and gently pressed a hand on her shoulder. She squeezed. Steph exhaled, long and shaking, and nodded at Cass. She walked into Tim’s bedroom - hey! - and shut the door. 

Then Cass stared at Tim, and there was no more need for words. Not between them. 

Tim vaulted the cut away wall, aiming for her feet first. Cass didn’t dodge - that would imply that she moved like an object moved. She moved like water moved - swift and supple, with such infinite grace and precision that it was like she wasn’t human at all. 

But he had gotten better. He didn’t spend two and half years trained by the League of Assassins in crochet. Tim lashed out with a foot, she dodged again. He threw a punch, she moved. He feinted, clearly leaving her an opening, and she didn’t take it. 

Bitch. 

Cass shoved away his coffee table, sending it skidding across the floor and opening the floor space. The rug became their arena, tight and intimate, no room for maneuverability. Tim acted and she reacted, Tim lashed out a sweep kick and she jumped over it, Tim tried to grapple and she broke his hold. She never threw him to the ground, never pinned him. She just moved. 

She was good, but not good enough to toy with him and win completely. The way to win against Cass was to leverage your height - Tim was taller than he once was, although that wasn’t saying much - weight, and strength against her. A couple good hits and she was down. 

The issue, of course, was hitting her. 

He got a hit in. It was much easier when she wasn’t even fighting back. She rolled with it effortlessly, taking the impact to gain a little space between them. She breathed deeply, sweat rolling down her neck. Tim used to take a cold compress and press it to that neck. She used to smile at him. Thank you. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

“Too bad,” Tim said. 

Fights weren’t like in television, long and choreographed extended scenes to entertain and thrill. When Ro - Tim was in a fight, a real fight, it was typically finished in less than a minute. The only way that a match can get long is if the other person was deliberately tiring you out - a risky strategy - or if you were of completely equal strengths with similar fighting styles. Or if it was a spar. 

As Tim tried to hit her again and again, he realized that it was a spar. 

No, not even that. It was a conversation. 

Tim grabbed her wrist, and said: I want you to hurt. Cass broke the hold, telling him that he can’t. Tim leveraged the motion and kneed her in the back, telling her that the only goal of this fight was pain. Cass let the impact take her down to the mat, an incredibly disadvantageous position, but rolled out of the way just as Tim tried to exploit the opportunity. I’m not scared of you. Tim hit again, and again, and again, failing every time. I want you gone, Tim said, and this is the only way I know how to do it. 

This is what Tim said: as much as I once loved you, I now hate you. The infinite depths of my love, my twin sister, how we moved in perfect sync. I hate it all. As much as I cared, I now hate. Feel this hate. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

They moved in perfect sync, even now. Cass couldn’t predict his movements before he made them, like she used to - his training was different now, developed and refined. But Cass knew the League of Assassins too, had been trained by them just as he had, and they were written into her bones when they were only carved into Tim’s. After his third patented Talia move, she adjusted to fit his style, and their fight metamorphosed into more of a dance. Like they used to. 

“Why not!” Tim screamed, the stupidest possible thing to do in a fight, but Cass didn’t take advantage of his exhale. He lashed out a fist to cover the opening, but it was lazy and over-extended, and she dodged easily. “I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tim desperately tried to call the green to his vision. It was so easy. All he had to do was tap into that rage. Talia had called it blood lust. Said it was normal, even good. But it wouldn’t come. Where was it? It was his only friend. 

Desperately, Tim went in for another punch to the face - Cass’ jaw was the weakest part of her body, an old injury - but he over-extended again, and this time Cass took the opportunity. She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, dropping him to the mat. She didn’t try to twist him around, instead landing him on his back. Bad move for her. 

She kneed him in the chest, putting her full hundred and thirty pounds on him. She twisted his hands behind his back, pinning him, and Tim could do barely more than wheeze. 

He looked at her in the eyes for the first time. They were infuriatingly calm. Her hair was tangled and clumped with sweat, but she wasn’t breathing hard. Her expression was placid and serene, as if she was watching one of her stupid fucking nature documentaries instead of pinning her brother to a hard and scratchy rug in a shithole apartment, three years after he was tortured to insanity and shot himself in the head. 

So much time had passed. So much had happened, nasty and festering and putrid, and Tim had let it happen. He had made it happen. There was a rot in Tim, and it had eaten him up until there was nothing inside. If you cut him open, would it spill out? Would it infect her, infect Steph? Could he make them suffer?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass repeated. “So don’t be scared.”

“Scared?! I’m not fucking -” Tim wheezed, cut off by the lack of air as Cass pressed down. 

“I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. But I did. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to kill -”

Cass pressed down on his chest again, cutting him off. She had finally done the one thing nobody in Tim’s life had ever figured out: how to make him shut up. “You can be as mean to me as you want. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll stay.”

Tim wheezed. In that, maybe, Cass heard something, because she continued as if he had spoken. Or maybe she just wanted the chance to talk. It had been stolen from her for thirteen years, and it was valuable to her. 

“You do not have to be kind. You do not have to hug me, even if I want you to. You do not have to be my brother. I know it hurts too much. But you are me. I am you. You do not even have to try for that. I do not have to give it to you. You have it.”

Tim couldn’t help it. He cried a little, and then he couldn’t stop. 

Cass got off him, but she kept her promise. She didn’t hug him. She just propped him up against the sofa, holding his hand, and didn’t speak. At some point the door creaked, and he felt Stephanie next to him. 

This is why, Tim thought hysterically, he had been avoiding them.

He knew this would happen. There was no hiding from Cass. There was no posturing, no pretending. She didn’t want anything from him. She never had. There was nothing he could say that would drive her away, because Cass did not listen to the words people spoke. She spoke only for clarity, when she could not afford for her words to be misconstrued, and for the comfort of others. 

Cass knew that he had been lying out of his ass. Cass knew that he wasn’t as insane as he pretended, as cruel as he wanted to be. 

He couldn’t make Cass hate him. Shit. 

None of them said anything. Nothing needed to be said, not between the three of them. Cass might be having a silent conversation in Sign with Steph, but he didn’t care enough to open his eyes and look. When they had first met, it used to make Steph so mad that Tim and Cass were having ‘secret conversations’. She had poured over her dictionaries, learning as quickly as physically possible so she could keep up. Everything Steph had, she had worked hard for. 

Steph was in college now. Premed. She wanted to be an ER doctor. Steph wasn’t a genius, she had to study hard. She wouldn’t be able to superhero in med school, so she was ready to hang up her cape for a few years until she achieved her dream. Steph said that she could do just as much good as a doctor as a superhero. She hadn’t always wanted it. When they were kids and Bruce used to ask her what she wanted to do when she grew up, in his awkward faux-dad way, she had always shrugged and said that she might be a nurse. 

“Why not med school?” Bruce had suggested, between sleepy spoonfuls of oatmeal. She used to spend more nights at their place than at her own. Her mom hadn’t noticed. 

Steph had just shrugged awkwardly, nibbling her whole-wheat organic toast that she would stare at suspiciously. Rich people, she would say, sighing. “I would never be able to afford it. And no way I’m smart enough.”

“You’re good enough,” Bruce said, which was the closest he ever came to praising somebody. “I’ll pay for it.”

Steph had gaped. Cass had eaten her Lucky Charms smugly. Tim had rolled his eyes. “An in-the-know doctor for the vigilante community would be invaluable,” he had informed her, pretentious and callous. “We could use you.”

“You deserve it,” Cass had signed. 

“You have a bright future, Stephanie,” Bruce said, buckling under the panic of being a responsible adult. “I would hate to see you waste it.”

He would hate to see any of them waste their future. He had hated to see what Tim had become. He knew that. The last time he had ever seen Bruce, it was just to disappoint him. Bruce was the only parent he had ever had, and his standards were so sky high it was impossible to do anything other than disappoint. 

The fact of the matter was this: he loved Cass and Steph more than he loved Bruce. He could hate Bruce. He could hate himself. But Cass and Steph…

Bruce had ear-marked a lot of money for Steph, both for whatever continuing education she chose and for her future. It had raised a lot of questions among the lawyer team, but ultimately she had been written off as another of his strays. Tim had left her a lot of money too. There probably wasn’t any point: when she married Cass she’d have equal access to the fortune. Rich people, Stephanie used to whisper in awe, looking at organic toast. 

Cass was majoring in dance. She wanted to be a ballerina. 

Tim’s future...Tim’s future…

“Or we can watch a nature documentary,” Steph said out loud. “If we all promise not to say a fucking word.”

Incredibly, unmistakably, irrevocably, Tim groaned. “Not the fucking bee one again.”

“I like the bees,” Cass said serenely. 

“If you aren’t going to get out of my house can I at least smoke up?” Tim asked miserably. 

“I brought gummy bears,” Steph said, chipper as ever, “which are way better.”

“I’m going to the fucking bathroom,” Tim grumbled, which everybody knew was as good as a yes. 

“If you take anything I’ll know,” Cass said serenely, and also threatened. 

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Steph and Cass high-fived, and Tim sulked angrily to the bathroom. He took a second to look at himself in the mirror - looking for Tim Drake, failing, as always - before opening it and grabbing his baggie of pills. 

He looked at it. He looked at the toilet. He looked at the baggie. 

He didn’t flush them. He put them back in the medicine cabinet. Tomorrow. He’ll do them tomorrow. Not today. He can hold out for 24 hours. It’ll be fine. 

For a wild, stupid, insane second, Tim wondered if he could say that tomorrow too. If tomorrow he would look at them and say: maybe tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that…

If there was a future, for a fuck-up like him. 

The faint strains of Cass’ stupid fucking bee documentary began playing through the thin walls of his shitty little apartment, and Tim turned out the lights of his bathroom and closed the door, locking it securely behind him. 

[artificialqueens]

Never The Same, Always Together (Diamond Chaney) - pureCAMP

A/N - Well, this started as a fic challenge entry but very quickly veered off in a different direction so I’ll have to see if I can make something else for that. In the meantime, here’s around 12.3k words detailing two average Scottish gals.

CW for mentions of body image and body shaming, although fairly brief

Summary: Lawrence and Ellie from the start, and the story of how they came to be.

“How did you know she was the one?”

-

It’s mid-September. The last dregs of summer are still clinging on, far from ready to abandon ship, and although the leaves on the trees around the edge of the playground are starting to turn brown, sunlight still warms their bare arms as they run with blue cardigans tied around their waists in loose knots.

Lawrence is a proud five years old in comparison to some of her classmate’s barely four years, an advantage that makes her feel powerful. Adults often describe her as “a right little character”, but her young mind has yet to realise that they mean bold, talkative, and still untouched by the childish nervousness that claims many of her peers. She is, in essence, blissfully unaware of what the world thinks of loud little girls with accents so thick they question her coherence.

There is another little girl sitting on a bench. It’s the friendship bench, Miss Darling told them, where children can sit when they feel lonely and upset, allowing other children to invite them to play. No one really sits on it because nobody wants to waste their precious play time sat down when they could be running like the wind and making up stories.

The little girl is crying, very quietly. She has blonde hair in two neat plaits, tied off at the end with pink checkered ribbons, and she’s wearing one of the school summer dresses with a little patterned collar. Lawrence’s mum didn’t want to pay the extra money for a patterned collar, so she’s immediately a little jealous that this girl has one and she doesn’t. Her cardigan is all rumpled, falling off one shoulder, the sleeve over her hand which she uses to wipe her face dry every so often. She has clean white socks pulled up mid-calf, and black patent shoes on her feet, dangling in the air as she’s too little to touch the floor.

Lawrence is tall for her age. She can reach the floor with her feet when she sits on the bench.

As yet unaffected by the aforementioned nervousness, Lawrence bounds her way towards the crying girl. The girl looks up, teary blue eyes meeting tactlessly wide ones, and wipes her nose with her sleeve.

“Why are you sitting on the bench?” Lawrence asks, too young to know better than to speak bluntly. Subtext is a skill for older children, one that she will one day wish she had never had to learn. Life is easier as blatant, honest children.

The girl sniffs. “I’m on my own.”

“No you’re not.” Lawrence tells her, arms folded across her chest. “I’m here, so that’s not true. Why are you crying?”

“My brother’s in the other class and they won’t let us be in the same class and he’s playing with the boys and not me,” The girl explains, still crying but less so, pointing a shaky finger across the playground.

Lawrence follows her gaze towards the big stretch of field that, for now, they’re still allowed to play on, soon to become banned once the slightest hint of autumn rain hits and turns it into a mud puddle treacherous to school uniforms everywhere. A group of boys, scruffy and dirty, are kicking a foam football around, running like crazy, shouting at one another. She counts carefully, finding six in total. More than five and less than seven. One of them is blonde and little, like the girl.

“What’s your name?”

“Ellie.”

With little patience left in her small body, Lawrence grabs Ellie by the wrist and pulls her up off the bench. “Right. You’re the princess and I’m the big scary monster, you have to run away or I’m going to catch you! Rarrrrr!”

Ellie screams, tears her wrist away, and starts running as quickly as she can, little legs moving at a million miles an hour. Lawrence chases her, growling and biting behind her to let her new friend know how close she is. For fifteen minutes, though to their five and four year old selves it could have been days, they are a flurry of squealing, yelping, monster snarls and giggling.

When the bell rings, Ellie stands behind Lawrence in the line - she takes the front, unafraid to lead her peers back to the classroom, where Miss Darling is waiting to teach them about ai and ay. She sits next to Lawrence on the carpet, both cross-legged, her tears of separation from her brother quickly forgotten. She giggles as Lawrence is told off for her wandering attention span and chatty nature. At lunchtime, she plaits Lawrence’s hair the same as her own, and though it looks bad, they see it as the same perfect standard of Ellie’s mum’s handiwork.

-

Birthdays are the most specialest days in the world ever. Something about them is just magical. It’s the way that Lawrence goes to bed in her house as normal and when she wakes up, there are banners and balloons everywhere, diagonal on every door, above the fireplace, even on the letterbox. Presents neatly wrapped that seem to appear from the middle of nowhere, hidden expertly well and then piled in the living room ready for eager hands to tear open and play with. A day where no reasonable request can be refused, and silly hats can be worn.

Silly hats make both adults and children laugh, and Lawrence loves to be the centre of attention and making everyone laugh. At seven - no, eight now, eight today - she has been labelled a “class clown”. This, supposedly, is a bad thing, but it depends on how you look at it. Classmates and friends love class clowns, invite her to play their games because she’s funny, pay little attention to her big height and chubby body because she makes them laugh. Teaching assistants like class clowns, they laugh at them when they should be chastising them, and gently warn them to tone it down a little with kind smiles. Teachers, like Mr Macpherson, don’t like class clowns. They put them in time-out and shout at them.

But Lawrence doesn’t care, and Ellie always laughs.

Her party is at the big play warehouse, and the whole of Primary 4 have been invited, because they all wanted to come. Everyone is wearing baggy jeans and colourful leggings, racing down the rainbow slide, throwing balls from the ball-pit at each other, climbing through the foam structures with cherry-red faces and sweat dripping from their wet foreheads. Everyone is sectioned off into their little groups, playing as they see fit, exploring every inch of their veritable wonderland.

Lawrence is with Ellie, at the very top. Ellie is still seven, and as such, a bit scared of the great height that comes with the rainbow slide. Her sparkly unicorn t-shirt says “go, girl!” in swirly pink letters, a sentiment that she enthusiastically repeats to her trembling friend. They are sat in the very middle, classmates whizzing down on either side of them, building up the courage together.

“It’s too high! I can’t do it!” Ellie pleads, her eyes huge. Her cheeks are bright pink, play exertion written all over her, but her energy still not depleted. Lawrence is raring to go, but has learned the art of tact, kindness, and helping a friend.

“We’ll go down together, Ellie Bellie!” She proposes, an idea that makes Ellie pause and consider it. “I’m bigger than you so if you hold onto me we’ll get to the bottom super fast and then it’ll be over, and when you see how fun it is we can go again and again and again!”

She chews her lip. “What if you let go?”

“I won’t!” Lawrence assures her. “Look, we’ll hold hands all the way down, and then I’ll race you back to the top. Bet I’ll win.”

Ellie gasps, affronted. “Will not!”

“Will too!”

“Will not!”

“Only one way to find out, Ellie Bellie!”

They grab hands, sweaty and gritty from playground rubber and climbing on all fours. Ellie screws her eyes shut as Lawrence starts them off, and before they know it, they’re zooming down the techicolour mountain at speeds hitherto unknown, records unbeatable, aided by the slippy fabric of pink leggings and purple capris. Their hands remain linked the whole way down, until they stumble into the netting at the bottom and break apart. Ellie flops down in breathless laughter, euphoric at both defeating her fear and discovering a new sensation.

“You did it!” Lawrence squeals.

Ellie’s eyes are wild. “We have to go again!”

They race to the top. Ellie wins the first time, Lawrence the second. The third time, they tie, and bicker about who won all the way down the slide and back up again, after which Lawrence claims another victory. Each time, they go down hand in clammy hand, fall over themselves laughing, and carry on.

It repeats until a little jingle plays, and all of Primary 4 race in a mass exodus towards the special party room, where they have buffet lunch and drinks. Lawrence guzzles her paper cup of orange cordial like her life depends on it, a dehydration like she’s never felt gripping her throat, and Ellie laughs at her so much that she chokes on her blackcurrant cordial, leaving Lawrence’s mum to run for paper towels to clean her up.

Lawrence wears a gold cardboard crown as her classmates sing Happy Birthday, Ellie sitting at her right with a lopsided paper tiara slipping off her head but in pride of place nonetheless. They eat chicken dippers smothered in ketchup and party rings and a slice of cake, and Lawrence ends up with a big ketchup splodge on her lilac t-shirt that, while making her mum go spare, makes Ellie hysterically giggly.

“Oh, Lawrie, what are you like?” Her mum fusses, smiling and shaking her head all at once. “How you and Ellie can be so different yet so close, I’ll never know. She’s all nice and neat, see?”

Ellie beams up at what is essentially her second mum. “I think she’s funny!”

“She is!” Her mum agrees. “Funny little madam, aren’t you?”

Little madam is another turn of phrase that Lawrence will come to learn has other meanings attached to it that previously she had not considered, but as a happy eight year old at the world’s best birthday party, she pays it no mind.

Ellie ends up with white birthday cake frosting in her hair, so she’s not really as neat as Lawrence’s mum suggests. It doesn’t matter that Lawrence is the one who put it there.

-

The first year uniform is ugly as sin, no matter how much Lawrence’s mum fawns over how smart and grown up she looks. It’s a white polo shirt with the school logo stitched on the right hand side, a heavy black blazer with white piping around the cuffs and lapel, a tie with your house colour, and black trousers if you’re Lawrence, or a black skirt if you’re Ellie.

Lawrence and Ellie are both in the green house, sporting their forest-coloured ties with fat knots and rucksacks at the ready on their shoulders. They’re in the same form, too, a stroke of luck that is appreciated by both of them. Most of their primary school went to another local secondary school, leaving the two of them to start elsewhere and forge their new identities as awkward tweenagers thankfully with each other side by side.

Their mums insist on a million photos outside in the driveway together, right up until the bus is about to pull up to the bus stop and they have to leg it to catch it in time. The photos, though awful, will come to be treasured by Lawrence one day, sweet innocent memories to be stuck inside albums, frames and on walls and mantelpieces.

Form is first thing in the morning, a group of thirty terrified first years headed by Mrs Buchanan. She’s an older lady, fifty or so, and not nearly as kind and gentle as they’re all used to, thus requiring a bit of getting used to. But they’re in secondary school now, so growing up quickly and adapting into a new way of learning and being is critical. Lawrence makes sure there’s space for Ellie to sit next to her, and as their timetables get handed out, she squeezes her friend’s hand under the table. The worry is soon alleviated; they have all classes together for the whole year.

-

Over time, the friendship group expands, even as Lawrence and Ellie remain firm best friends, ever the duo within the circle of new people. Aurora’s string of three-week maximum boyfriends earns her the nickname A’Whora, and she brings Tayce along with her, who brings Asttina. Ellie befriends Tia who brings Veronica. Bimini just appears out of nowhere and slots right in, and they have a designated little collection of people to spend all their time with.

Secondary school is rough. Mean-spirited girls and overconfident boys poke fun at Lawrence’s weight while having the audacity to laugh at her jokes, and Ellie’s girly nature is picked on and mocked as if there’s something wrong with just liking the things you like. Together they ignore the hurtful words, shake their heads in silence, stand up strong and pretend endlessly that it glances off them. Truthfully, it’s an unnecessary stress on two girls just trying to figure out who they’re going to be one day, but they’re glad to have each other.

They’ve learned to thicken their skin, at least. Lawrence can hardly believe the difference in shy little Ellie from Primary 1 to now, third year, virtually prepared to throw hands in defense of her best friend.

It’s PE, fourth period, right before lunch. The changing room is in a bizarre L shape, and Lawrence likes to change behind the bend, increasingly aware of how her body differs from the girls around her and conscious of it in a way she never has been before. Sometimes her eyes unwittingly fall on Bimini, in her bright pink M&S bra, or on the smooth slim back of a girl changing opposite her, but she just tears her gaze away and doesn’t dwell on why it ended up there in the first place. She usually changes red-faced, embarrassed of herself, having mastered the art of not removing any uniform until the sports one is safely on top of it.

A girl across from them watches Lawrence’s fail-safe method of changing and laughs cruelly, nudging her equally-bony friend. She pretends not to notice, swallows hard, fights the angry blush.

“Look at the fuckin’ size of her!” She overhears, a whisper not really meant for disguise, quiet enough only that the teacher won’t hear, but Lawrence will. It’s a deliberate trick to damage her self-esteem, and it works exactly as intended.

Besides her, Ellie bristles. Lawrence touches her arm, then takes her hand away, feeling weird about a platonic touch when they’re half undressed. “Ignore em, Ells. They’re just catty bitches.”

Ellie herself isn’t the waif of a girl she used to be - she’s tall, now, and not quite stout but sporting a thick athletic build, tied in with a girlish waist and a strong physique. Her fists clench at her sides.

“Get fucked!” She calls across the changing room, shocking even Lawrence. A hush descends over the girls, a mixture of dread, horror and excitement for drama looming over them. Undeterred by the silence, she continues, “Nasty wee cows, commenting shite like that. You’re mad because she’s got tits and you haven’t, and you’re mad because you’re built like a netball goal post. Embarrassing.”

Somewhere around the corner, Lawrence hears A’Whora, Tayce and Bimini stifle a burst of unexpected laughter, Bimini carefully styling it out as a cough that fools absolutely no one. The two offenders look bewildered, as if no one has ever taught them not to bully, and as Ellie’s words dawn on them, hurt flashes across their faces, visible even beneath the orange foundation. It’s a glorious moment right up until-

“Ellie Diamond! How dare you speak like that? Girls, what on earth is going on here?”

Miss Brown, the PE teacher, rounds the corner with a furious glare, which Ellie shrinks down under and swallows nervously. Her hands sit on her hips, demanding, waiting for an explanation that Lawrence knows Ellie can’t give. She’s lost her bottle, all of it used up on telling the girls not to be so vile, and now she’s left floundering under the inevitability of a detention no matter what her story is.

Well, Ellie just helped Lawrence, and she’s never been one to wait upon a debt.

“Miss, they were calling me fat and Ellie had just had enough of them being horrible bitches, treating her like the bad guy is a bunch of shite. She did nothing wrong.”

It’s carefully calculated; a defence of Ellie so that her anxieties settle down, and a cleverly thrown-in swear to ensure she gets nailed with a detention of her own. It works like a charm, of course, Ellie and Lawrence scheduled for Tuesday evening and the thoroughly humbled arseholes scheduled for Thursday.

Lawrence always takes goalkeeper in netball, so Ellie takes goal defence. They stand together at their third of the court, the entire game happening at the other end, rubbing their arms to keep warm.

“You didn’t have to do that, Loz. Now we both have detention.” Ellie complains, though she doesn’t sound upset. Lawrence knows she’s grateful, but saying so would just make it weird. Subtext makes up most of their conversations now, a series of vicious bickering and ridiculous jokes that convey you’re my best friend of course I had to do that in a language that only they can decipher.

Lawrence shrugs, unbothered. “Think about it, hen. If I don’t have detention and you do, I have to sit alone on the bus. If we both have it, we can walk home together, grab a couple of Monsters from the shop and have tea at mine.”

“You’re a fuckin’ genius,” Ellie grins, bumping her shoulder. “They didn’t hurt your feelings, did they? Once Brown’s not around, I’m not above smashing their noses in with a netball.”

Lawrence is fourteen years old. Breathing in her direction wrong hurts her feelings - comments about her physical insecurities and inferiorities are completely soul-destroying.

“Nah, babes.” She brushes it off, smiling at her best friend. “I mean, watch this.”

The game progresses into their third. The goal scorer for the other team is pretty good, tall enough to reach the hoop and rail thin, but Lawrence herself is tall and stocky and provides the perfect obstacle to scoring a point. She intercepts, lobs the ball as hard as she can in Tayce’s direction, and it ends up back in the opposite third once again. They score another point, and Ellie whoops at their victory.

“Fuckin’ smashin’ it, hen. A skinny bitch could never.” She gloats, chest heaving, beaming with pride.

Ellie’s hair is pulled into a high ponytail, the neat plaits of her past long forgotten. Over the game, little wisps have fallen out to frame her face, which is pleasingly pink and flushed with effort. She has a neat wing of eyeliner and mascara that makes her look like some kind of Disney princess, and as the nightmare of puberty goes on around them, Lawrence notes with an entirely unselfish happiness that her best friend is going to be really, really pretty.

She sort of already is.

-

Bimini’s sixteenth birthday comes with a party. She’s never one to go halves - her mum is thirty two, a fact that makes A’Whora and Tayce elbow her that she needs to get busy to continue the family tradition - and since the weather is uncharacteristically Mediterrean for the middle of May, up comes the gazebo, on goes the hot tub, and out come the drinks.

Lawrence and Ellie have a bottle of summer fruits rosé between them, two straws poking out of the top. Ellie insists on holding it because she doesn’t trust Lawrence, in case she decides to do something stupid for a laugh and spills it onto the grass. It’s not like it matters, because Bim’s mum will provide them as much as they like so long as they’re safe in the garden, but she lets Ellie take control anyway, because it makes her smile and her smile makes Lawrence flutter a bit.

She’s been realising some stuff recently. Sixteen feels like the right age to be realising stuff.

Ellie got braces when she was newly fifteen, prompting months of merciless teasing from Lawrence. She still has them now, at sixteen, a pretty pale pink colour that matches her Pretty Little Thing dress that she ordered on her phone with next day shipping at Lawrence’s house last week. Her smile is radiant, her glittery lipgloss only highlighting it, though over only a few years her makeup has progressed so far that Ellie paints herself like she belongs in a museum.

Her face is a work of art full of meanings that Lawrence could spend a lifetime pondering. Sometimes, alone, late, she wishes it was a viable career choice.

It’s only nine o’clock, but everyone’s completely bladdered and quite happy about it. Lawrence passes Tia, who can’t stop repeating “Oh my god I’m so drunk” to anyone who’ll listen, and finds A’Whora and Tayce leaning on each other for support, sloppily humming stripper tunes as Bimini wiggles down her ASOS dress to reveal the bikini underneath. She winks at them both, announcing “Bimini’s swimini is now open for business!” and hops into the hot tub, half of the party rushing to join her. Tia, A’Whora, Tayce and Asttina all follow Bim’s lead, stripping down and settling into the bubbly water with excited giggles and shrieks.

“Come on, Lawrence! Get in, join us!” A’Whora urges, gesturing wildly with a wet hand that splashes drops of water all over the porch.

Tayce nods eagerly. “It’s lush, babes! Come on!”

Lawrence snorts. “Fat fucking chance. If I get in, the water will get out.”

Everyone roars with laughter at her joke. It’s something of an ego boost, especially when she hears Ellie a little way behind her, giggling.

“Aww babes, please?” Bimini calls out, rising up out of the water so that she’s in up to her waist. “I’ll show you my tiiiiiits……..”

For show, she shimmies her shoulders, the whole garden erupting into wolf whistles, scandalised giggles and outright cheers. Lawrence rolls her eyes playfully and sticks two fingers up at her, internally wondering how and when Bimini figured it out. Still, her drunk brain doesn’t want to dwell on it, so she forces it away and stumbles back towards Ellie for another sip.

As the night grows darker and the girls grow drunker, the cloud of sleepiness starts to descend onto them. Bimini’s mum had set up the gazebo with a Tetris-like arrangement of sleeping bags and air mattresses in it, cleverly keeping her house from being infested by a bunch of pissed fifth years while still able to keep an eye on them. As usual, when Lawrence claims hers, Ellie claims the one next to it.

“Bloody hell, it’s like you two are attached at the blumin’ hip!” Tayce comments, an offhand observation that’s perfectly spot on.

Ellie is a bubble of pure light and laughter. Her face brightens at the acknowledgement of their friendship, her ponytail swinging from side to side as she lifts her head to look up at Tayce. She bumps hips with Lawrence and bursts into a fit of giggles, nodding her agreement.

“Look who’s talking, hen,” Lawrence teases, nodding towards A’Whora. “Attached clit to clit, eh babes?”

A’Whora splutters her indignance. “Oh my god, you’re vile! Shut your fucking hole, Loz!”

“I will when you stop Venus Fly-Trapping Tayce with your fanny,” She shoots back, high-fiving Ellie and dissolving into identical hysterics.

An empty can of something is lobbed at Lawrence’s head, but thanks to A’Whora’s shitty aim and however many drinks she chucked down her neck, it misses by miles and rolls off into the grass, never to be seen again. She considers throwing something back, potentially waging a fight of epic proportions amongst the girls, but one glance at Ellie reveals an undisguisable tiredness in her gaze that influences her otherwise.

Ellie always gets this tired look before she actually sleeps. It’s not something Lawrence can tangibly describe; it’s just a heaviness behind her eyes, a sort of barely-there serenity wiping her mind clean of anything other than its purest, most unfiltered thoughts and inclinations to sleep. A sweet, lazy smile crosses her lips and she starts to speak quietly, softly, like raising her voice is too much of an effort for her body to keep up with. Year after year after year of sleepovers has well-equipped Lawrence for an exam in all things Ellie Diamond, one that she’s certain she could achieve an A in without any revision at all.

They settle down in their sleeping bags, and muffled sleepy conversations float out for a short while. Bimini, drunk as a skunk and high on the birthday bliss, lays in the middle of everyone, doling out nicknames that ensure the night will live on in their memories long after the morning has broken. For years to come, Taycegarean - a strange bastardisation from Game of Thrones - will crop up in group chats and pub meetups seemingly out of nowhere, and the entire night will be fondly remembered.

Lawrence herself will remember it for a multitude of reasons. Good reasons, all of them happy and positive, but they will warm her heart at one stage of life and in another, sting like gentian violet on grazed knees.

She hunches down on her side and feigns sleep for what feels like hours, until a symphony of heavy breathing around her suggests that everyone is finally asleep. Once she’s sure, she shifts onto her back and laces her fingers together, just letting all her thoughts run wild in her head in the hopes they’ll eventually tire her into slumber.

Evidently, she’s not careful enough, as within minutes, a soft voice whispers, “Lawrence? Are you awake?”

Nevertheless, she can’t help the smile that crosses her face. “Yeah. Are you?”

Ellie snorts. “Nah, hen, I’m asleep.”

“Stupid question, stupid answer.”

“Stupid bitch.” Ellie quips, Lawrence acquiescing and laughing.

There’s an open flap in the top of the gazebo, right above Lawrence’s head. It’s not the most practical thing in the world, given the very real possibility of a downpour of Scottish rain soaking them to the skin, but the night sky is clear and Bimini’s house is just enough out of the way of the city that the stars are visible. She remembers reading somewhere that Sirius was the brightest star in the sky, but that can’t be true when Ellie’s eyes could rival the entire Milky Way.

Neither of them have anything to say; they lie side by side in a comfortable silence, connecting patterns between the tiny dots of light above them, content to just be. Still, one thought of Lawrence’s jumbled up brain won’t stop tugging on her vocal chords, begging to be freed, so she decides to give in and just let it have its own way.

“Ells,” She whispers, rolling onto her side to face her best friend. “I got something to tell you.”

Ellie mirrors her without even realising, turning onto her side and even resting her face on her hand the same way Lawrence has. It’s a testament to just how connected they really are, and it swells a little balloon of confidence and hope in her chest that this is definitely the right time to do it.

“Go ahead, chick. I’m all ears.”

“I’m gay.”

The night is quiet. Nothing rustles, nothing moves, the air itself is still and silent as if holding its breath at Lawrence’s coming out. She waits, both terrified and exhilarated, for the person she cares most about in the world to react to the news.

It’s a snorty giggle, well-intentioned and free of malice, that follows a few seconds of silence. “I could’ve told you that, hen.”

She’s a cheeky shite, always has been and always will be. Lawrence grins, shaking her head.

“Hey, bawbag, this is a big fuckin’ moment for me!”

Even without makeup - Lawrence made sure Ellie took hers off to save her skin, ever the helpful best friend -  Ellie’s a Renaissance beauty, her expression a picture of adoration and warmth. “Aye, I know. I’m really proud of you, Lawrie. Thanks for trusting me.”

With the gentlest of smiles gracing her lips, Ellie reaches out a hand and softly rubs Lawrence’s cheek. Her fingers are bitter cold on Lawrence’s flushed skin, but the gesture is so tender that she would endure the sensation for a thousand lifetimes before she would utter a complaint about it. Their usual way would be a joke, a mocking statement with subtext of support and gratitude, but now feels right for a fleeting moment of sincerity beneath the stars.

“If I can’t trust you, Ellie Bellie, I can’t trust anyone.”

Ellie snuggles down into her sleeping bag. “You can always trust me.”

-

Sometimes it’s baffling how quickly time flies. Lawrence crosses off days on her calendar as an old habit her mum passed on to her, and before she knows it she’s in her sixth year, exams on the horizon, the enticing glow of study leave calling her name in just a few short months. There’s an acceptance letter for the University of Edinburgh sitting on the desk in her bedroom, slightly crumpled and splashed with coke and scribbled on with pens she wasn’t sure worked or not, but nonetheless taking pride of place.

Poor Ellie is never out of the art block, slaving away on her twenty hour final piece that Lawrence just knows is going to look amazing. While she’s busy, Lawrence sits in the common room with A’Whora and bitches about stressful teachers, irritating students and the impossibility of having ever been as annoying as the current first years are.

Lawrence maintains she was never that short or that childish.

Every weekend, Ellie pops over to revise English, although it usually deteriorates into we hate the English why are we revising this shit again and turns into an excuse to hang out separately from the group. There’s a weird stigma about only inviting some of the group somewhere ever since A’Whora and Tia’s big falling out in fourth year, but it never really seems to apply to Lawrence and Ellie. It’s just a given that they can branch off at any time and no one’s being left out, it’s just their time.

It’s nice.

At present, Ellie lies flat on her back on Lawrence’s bed, legs hanging off the side, groaning loudly about how much work she has left to do. She reckons it’ll be done in two months, but only two months of hard graft with no social life, no sleep, and no eating.

“You better fuckin’ let me see it when it’s done, for all you’ve fucking moaned about it,” Lawrence tells her, spinning on her desk chair. “I deserve compensation of that at the very least, if not more.”

Ellie blows a raspberry. “How about I give you a blowie and we call it even?”

It’s one of those jokes that makes Lawrence laugh and blush at the same time. They’ve become increasingly common as of late, but as a far cry from her former bluntness, Lawrence masks with a disgusted face, a forced retch, and some exaggerated mimed vomit.

“You’re gonnae make me throw up, hen. I know you’re just gagging for a taste of the old Chaney to confirm your bisexuality but at the very least I expect to be taken for dinner before that,” She shrugs.

Ellie sits up, sticks out her tongue, and rolls her eyes. “I’ve paid for enough of your lunches, thank you very much! I feel entitled to it at this point.”

“Fuck me. Anybody’d think you actually wanna be with me.” Lawrence teases, one eyebrow raised.

In the last few weeks, Ellie had taken to drawing these tiny pink hearts underneath her eyes, a ridiculously cute addition to her already perfect makeup. It was only last week that they crammed themselves into Ellie’s mum’s bathroom and dyed her hair pastel pink to match Lawrence’s vibrant purple, and she’s since curled it, where it now rests prettily on her shoulders from the signature Ellie Diamond ponytail that she just can’t let go of.

Something unusual flashes across Ellie’s face, something Lawrence recognises with a jolt but hasn’t seen in years. Nervous Ellie feels like a thing of the past, but it’s definitely that - a moment of hesitation, a spike of courage followed by a drop. Ellie’s nervous about something.

She swivels her chair around to face Ellie properly. “Ells?”

Ellie coughs. “My mum always says the person you date should be like, your best friend. ‘Cause no one knows you better and understands you better than they do.”

Lawrence’s hopes shoot up before she can warn them not to, and she’s sure her face says it all, much to her embarrassment. “Aye, I’ve heard that before too. Interesting idea, don’t you think?”

“Very interesting.” Ellie agrees. Already she looks calmer, and Lawrence prides herself on her ability to always soothe Ellie’s fears, years down the line. She would argue it’s her only natural talent, but she’s big enough to admit that she’s also hilarious, great at sewing, and the fastest at chugging out of the whole group.

For the first time, she allows images previously forbidden to enter her mind. She imagines going with Ellie to the formal at the end of the year as her date, dancing close to something slow and sweet, dancing even closer to some Whitney Houston once the real bops start playing. She imagines how Ellie’s cherry lip-balm will taste, how it’ll feel to thread her hands through Ellie’s hair in a real, proper embrace. She imagines Ellie Diamond as her girlfriend, a sentence both weird and wonderful to think about.

“Ellie, darling! Your mum’s here!” The voice of Lawrence’s mum from downstairs interrupts them.

Ellie stands up. Lawrence doesn’t move.

“You need to pass your fucking driving test so you can stay here longer.” Lawrence states. Glaring subtext: I like you.

“Booking my test next week. Hoping I don’t kill any primary kids or drive over a roundabout.” Ellie grins back. Glaring subtext: I like you too.

“Fat fucking chance of you passing first time, Dirty Diamond. You’ll probably bowl over a pensioner.” You’re my favourite person in the world.

“You’ll visit me in jail though, right?” I know. I feel like I’ve always known.

“I’ll smuggle you some lipstick, hen, but don’t be asking me for fuckin’ Morphe palettes.” I’m willing to try.

“What else could I ask for?” What else could I ask for?”

Ellie smiles, and the room lights up. “Just a second, I’ll be there!”

The twenty seconds that it takes for Ellie to gather her books into her bag are excruciating, and Lawrence sits full of frenzied energy, fingers tapping on her knee as she tries and fails to play it cool. This is new territory, previously unexplored land, and she has no idea how to navigate it, nothing to fall back on except the cushion of thirteen years worth of friendship. It dawns on her that it’s an exceedingly soft place to land, should she fall.

As she makes to leave the room, Ellie stops right by Lawrence’s swivel chair, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright. With one hand, she turns the chair in her direction, and the other caresses the side of Lawrence’s face. Then she leans in for a brief kiss, eyes fluttering shut, and pulls away looking as if every bit of love in the world is concentrated into one beautiful girl.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Lawrie.”

Monday, they hold hands in the common room. Ellie’s feet rest on the table, her legs extended, and Lawrence leans her head into the crook of her shoulder, exhausted from a late-night History essay she’d totally forgotten about it (too busy texting her girlfriend, not that she’ll ever admit that). No one bats an eyelid, the conversation focused on Joe Black’s completely against the dress code and yet fucking amazing new facial piercings. It’s not like this sort of affection is unheard of between them, anyway. It’s definitely not enough to cause a stir.

Just for shits and giggles, Lawrence plants a casual kiss on Ellie’s cheek. The room goes dead silent.

“You! Fucking whores! As if! You two!” Tayce splutters, whacking an equally astonished A’Whora on the arm, as if she could have somehow missed the spectacle.

“What the fuck! You just- Babes! Oh my god!” A’Whora squeals.

Bimini whoops obnoxiously, then flips the bird at a disgruntled group of fifth years giving them dirty looks. “Oh, piss off with your negativity, we’re celebrating young love, you should try not being a bunch of miserable virgins!” She calls over, before turning back to them. “Aww, bless yous!”

Ellie flips her hair and smiles. “Fuck out of our business, you nosy shites.

Lawrence ignores the funny feeling in her chest, dismissing it as a reaction to the sudden change of all their friends knowing about it, and deciding that it’ll go away once she’s used to it. She kisses Ellie again, just for fun, and wills it to settle down.

-

The art classroom has to be one of the weirdest spaces in the school, though Lawrence quite likes it. In one of the corners, there’s several twisted models of human bodies, contorted and stretched in a way that makes her back ache just to look at, all splattered with paint. Elaborate pencil drawings and smudgings of chalk hang from the ceiling, and everywhere she steps seems to be a hazard to someone’s work.

Ellie stands tucked up against the wall, a huge canvas in front of her. Lawrence remembers something about the art brief she’d come up with, a commentary on prejudice and hate represented in a way that conveys - okay, she doesn’t remember much. She likes listening to Ellie’s art rambles, but they tend to go in one ear and out of the other.

It’s okay, though. Ellie knows this, and she chats away happily anyway.

Two months of work have shaped the piece nicely; it distinctly shows two embracing figures from afar, and upon further inspection reveals thousands of carefully printed words to make up the image. The darkest parts read negatively, homophobic slurs and hatred and bullying, and as the colours lighten and transition into softer, prettier shades, the words themselves soften, becoming love, light, companionship.

Apparently, Ellie’s art teacher had predicted her a grade B for her efforts throughout the course. Lawrence thinks she should easily get an A*, but then what does she know? She always thinks Ellie deserves the best.

Ellie deserves the best. Her stomach twists just thinking about it.

“Lawrie!” She greets, arms flinging upon for a hug before freezing and pushing her away. “Oh my god, forgot about my paint shirt. Sorry, no hugs. Can’t have this all over your clothes,” She gestures at herself, her everyday clothes covered by a big white t-shirt that Lawrence suspects is her own, not Ellie’s.

“What the fuck is this, then?” Lawrence jokes, her sarcasm sharp as ever, arms folded as unimpressed.

Ellie immediately shoves her away and laughs, grabbing her forearm to stop her from going too far away and pulling her back in. “Hen, shut it! What do you think?”

“It’s fuckin’ brilliant, Ells, it’s really really good. I told you you should believe in yourself, look what happens when you do!” Lawrence cheers her on, the facade not worth keeping up.

She should kiss her. Ellie’s her girlfriend and they’ve been together for two months and this beautiful piece of art that she’s been working on forever and consuming all of her time is finished and looks absolutely fantastic. Lawrence should kiss Ellie and tell her how proud she is, show her how proud she is, love her the way she deserves to be loved.

She can’t. She doesn’t.

Instead, Lawrence clears her throat awkwardly and steps back, taking in the canvas again. “Yeah, yeah, really good that. I like it a lot.”

They perch on the table, legs swinging for want of something else to do. Not that anything extreme should be happening, but they’re completely alone and Lawrence thinks to herself that love isn’t meant to be this awkward, this uncomfortable, this unsure. No one is watching them and yet it feels like an invisible set of eyes is there, and they’re performing for someone or something.

Ellie reaches for Lawrence’s hand across the table, neither of them making eye contact - the safe zone is the canvas, and that’s where they remain. Their hands link for a few seconds, but both girls pull away at the same time, an uncomfortable energy claiming the should-be romantic moment.

“This is fucking weird,” Lawrence mutters.

“I- yeah,” Ellie agrees, sighing. “I’m sort of glad you said it because I don’t know if I would have been able to.”

Something sinks; the anchor falls from somewhere in Lawrence’s chest and the weight crushes down on her, pinning her in place. Every decision feels like the wrong one, every direction blocked off in an endless route of diversions that leads nowhere. Going back the way she came seems impossible, but forging ahead can’t be done either, and every alternative route is full of brambles and obstacles and ultimately doesn’t exist.

“I don’t really know what to say.” Lawrence shrugs. There’s about four inches between them physically, but the emotional distance could be miles. Lawrence and Ellie are in the same room, but on different planets. Solar systems apart, even.

Ellie coughs, hesitating, horribly unsure of herself. “I think,” She laughs, though mirthlessly, empty, “Maybe mum meant the person you date should become your best friend, not start off your best friend. ‘Cause this is weird.”

Heartache is at once cold and hot, it freezes and burns simultaneously, a sensation that Lawrence can’t properly register or explain. On one hand, this is exactly what she’s been thinking about, the only real cure for the weirdness that taints the air around them. On the other… she doesn’t even know.

Pretending to be unaffected, Lawrence is conscious of her face tightening and forces herself to relax, injecting a casual note into her voice. “You think?”

Ellie starts chewing at her fingernails; out of habit, Lawrence gently takes her wrist and pulls it away from her, before dropping it like hot coal and going red. Why does everything require so much forethought now? Why can’t they just sit with their legs hanging off a friendship bench until the world rights itself with brutal honesty and a complete lack of tact? Why now does Lawrence have to consider feelings and implications that never used to exist?

“I mean, I dunno,” Ellie shrugs eventually. “We were more affectionate before this, honestly. We’re just thinking too much about it and it’s making things weird. Kinda liked it better before.”

It stings, but at the same time of the sting, there’s a wash of relief. It’s not to say that the two feelings cancel each other out into a calm neutrality - no, Lawrence feels both concurrently, at once nauseous and healed, not sure where she stands. All she knows is that it’s ending and it’s probably a good thing, definitely a good thing, and it’s what she wants, and she also doesn’t want it at all.

“Yeah. Yeah, same.” She manages, mustering strength enough to agree.

“Well!” Ellie perks up, claps her hands, dispels the tension in the air as much as possible. “We gave it a go, it didn’t work, and now we know. I count that as a win. Thanks, Lawrie.”

She pulls Lawrence into a side-hug, mostly just wrapping her arms around Lawrence’s neck and shoulders and squashing her face into Ellie’s chest. At least they’re both in-tune enough to know how they should pretend, Lawrence fooling even herself into thinking she feels fine as she plasters a smile on her face and wriggles away again. On a surface level, everything seems fine again, and they’re both grateful for it.

“Love you,” Ellie tells her, eyes sparkling. “God, it’s nice to be able to say that without it being weird. You’re my best friend in the whole wide world.”

Lawrence raises her eyebrows, laughs, masks everything behind her funny friend demeanour. “Oh fuck off with that lesbian shite. Love you too, Ells, now don’t ever talk like that again. Best fwend in da whole wide wowld.”

Ellie laughs so hard she collapses, head on Lawrence’s shoulder, shaking with giggles. Once her fit comes to a stop, she pulls herself upright and grins sincerely, the very weight lifted off her chest happily deposited in the pit of Lawrence’s stomach. Ellie deserves the best and I just can’t be that for her.

“Anyway,” Lawrence starts, smacking her hands down as she hops off the table and makes to leave, “Your art is fab, you’re gonna nail this assessment, I’m glad all your whining was worth it. See you tomorrow, hen.”

It takes roughly an hour and half after receiving the news that it amicably ended for their friends to start making jokes the following day. Lawrence, as the funny friend, is at the heart of everything, firing off quips about how everyone makes mistakes and relating everything to silly miscalculations and swears that with each laugh, her heart heals itself just a little faster. She even convinces herself everything is fine, and it’s better this way.

Her sole relief is that her friendship with Ellie remains unchanged through it all.

-

University is an utter shitshow.

Every second of it is awful, nothing like she’d hoped, assignments that she consistently fails and snobby students with weekly budgets higher than her entire student loan and flatmates that she fucking hates. Worst of all, she hates her course, hates the professor, hates that she decided to do this while still freshly eighteen. Worst of the worst, she’s further away from Ellie than she has been since the first day they met, Ellie off in fucking Manchester of all places having the time of her life on a beauty course while she’s hating her life in Edinburgh.

Ellie doesn’t need a beauty course, anyway. She’s naturally beautiful and naturally good at enhancing it on herself and others. Ellie radiates beauty so much so that even the ugliest people seem to be that little bit more attractive when Ellie is around.

It’s not that Lawrence hates Edinburgh, anyway. The city is stunning, somewhere she could happily see herself spending the rest of her life. It’s a hub of culture and art and life, a niche suited to everyone somewhere within it. Edinburgh is gorgeous, but Lawrence feels like she’s wasting herself at this university being so miserable.

Not a single person she’s met so far laughs at her jokes. She desperately needs someone to laugh.

She ends up in a smoky little bar one night, some dingy little place that hosts proper comedians during the summer and vaguely funny wannabes for the rest of the year. On a whim, she writes down her name on the amateur volunteer list for a slot doing some stand up and chats some shite on stage mostly pertaining to the comments she’s gotten on all of her failed essays. Mercifully, people laugh.

Being the centre of attention is something Lawrence knows she’s always thrived at. Even when Ellie was her sole cheerleader, the one little pest who stuck by her side and always loved her, Lawrence was good at commanding favour from others purely from being a right character and a little madam and all of the rest of it. She’s bolshy, loud, unafraid to call people out in the name of a laugh. Stand up is enjoyable, and she wonders what it’ll be like when she has time to actually prepare real sets.

The logical next step is to drop out of university. It’s the best decision she’s ever made. Lawrence works shifts at the big Tesco and volunteers all her off time telling stupid jokes on a little stage until she’s eventually handed a small paying gig, not quite enough to stop scanning eighty-five year old Barbara’s fem-fresh on the weekly, but enough that she feels like she’s progressing. Life finds a way, she thinks. Then she tears her mind away from the hope that it really does find a way.

Hopefully Ellie visits from Manchester soon.

-

“Aye, alright then, what’s your name? No, not him, you in the fuckin’ heinous orange shirt and green khakis like a fucked up Oompa Loompa. You, what’s your name?”

Lawrence is twenty two years old. She’s known for a couple of things - the colour purple, her offensively Scottish accent, and being the most highly recommended local comedian in the entire city. Sure, there are bigger and better stars in the world of comedy, but as far as a fairly cheap night that doesn’t require booking months in advance, Lawrence’s stand up is a sought-after night for anyone visiting the area.

The fact that people book tickets for the nights she’s working now rather than stumble upon her and have a bit of a laugh at the glamorous fat girl ripping the piss out of the audience before them - that’s shocking enough. Weekends always need booking a couple of days in advance, and she even manages to sell out on weeknights now. It’s slightly less fabulous than it looks, her sparkly purple outfits a stark contrast to her shitty flat, but she loves everything about her life.

Loneliness is a slight issue. Everyone is busy all the time, except at night, when Lawrence is working, and she misses everything. The group chat is most active when she’s on stage; messages go unanswered when she’s sitting at home just writing. But she’s learned to be okay with it. She hardly even misses El- hardly misses everyone anymore.

Adults naturally drift apart, sometimes. Life is busy, and no one knows that better than Lawrence.

Besides, she’s hardly been in the mood for socialising, this week. It’s nearly Ellie’s birthday - that’s not why, just a fact that has been burned into her brain - and she’s finally been booked somewhere else, a much better venue than she’s ever worked in before. It’s bigger, more well known, and when the list of comedians that have performed their sets on there is revealed to her, she nearly faints.

But walking inside in a purple glittery pantsuit, hair all done, makeup slathered on, she feels like this is who she’s meant to be and what she’s meant to be doing. She’s rehearsed her new set endlessly, could recite it in her sleep, drunk, backwards, in alphabetical order, anything and everything. Most importantly, she doesn’t feel nervous. She can just play it by ear, read the room, and the idea of not having a totally solid plan doesn’t terrify her.

Lawrence trusts herself to make the room laugh no matter what. No bad for twenty fucking two.

The orange-shirt man laughs and mouths his name. He likely shouts it, but Lawrence can’t hear, so she lipreads.

“Sta- did you say fucking Stanley?” She teases him, frowning in horror. “I’m sorry, you’ve thrown me off, who the fuck is called Stanley in this day and age? I’m assuming Albert and Brent were already taken? Your fuckin’ brothers or some shite? Jesus Christ, you’re called fucking Stanley.”

The laughter is uproarious; someone near the front row has this god-awful titter, snorting and high-pitched and breathy, but the fact that they’re so entertained that they can’t control their ugly laugh makes Lawrence feel like she’s killing it.

She walks across the stage, shaking her head in disbelief. “I mean, we were on the topic of mistakes, weren’t we? Fuck me, your mum made one fucking hell of a mistake naming you Stanley, I’ll tell you that one for free.”

Stanley shouts something inaudible.

“Eh? Shut up, you lot, I’m communicating directly to Stanley now. This show isn’t about you anymore, pipe down and let me bully him for a bit.”

The audience cackles and goes quiet. Stanley repeats himself, “My mum’s dead!”

A ripple of gasps and laughs emanates from the audience, waiting for Lawrence’s reaction. She’s good at this - faking it while knowing exactly what she’s doing. She pretends to pause, freezing in place and sucking her teeth as if this has thrown a spanner in the works, and then shrugs.

“Killed by your dad for giving his son such a stupid fucking name, I imagine.” She replies flippantly, the thunderous laughter that follows evidencing a job well done. “Mistake after mistake. I’ll tell you, though, not to worry Stanley, or the rest of you lot I guess. I’ve made tons of mistakes.”

She launches into a favourite crowd-pleaser. It’s the perfect set up, an emotional moment of her life, the build up to telling her mum a crucial bit of information about her life, and them wham- she imitates her mum, screams “Niiiiick! Your daughter wants to tell you she’s gaaaaay!”

It’s the perfect intersection of a joke well told, a slightly sensitive topic, and a haha gay is funny moment that always ends with howls of laughter from her audience. Maybe she’s slightly overconfident, but being this good at twenty two feels like a fucking achievement, and she’s seriously proud of herself.

Her next story has been told so many times she hardly thinks about it anymore. It hurt at first, the first few times she told it, the chuckles just solidifying the idea of having fruitlessly attempted something that would never work, but by now it’s just a cringey look back on the past and a good opportunity for some pity, relatable laughs.

It’s not like it matters, anyway. They text sometimes, every few weeks probably, but Lawrence hasn’t seen Ellie since she came home for a week in her second year of uni. The ache is virtually gone, and she’s always had a knack for finding the humour in pain.

“See!” Lawrence finishes, spreading her arms wide. “Making mistakes is fine, hens! I haven’t seen her in about two years but that’s in the fine print and we all know no one fucking reads that. It totally won’t destroy the things you love if you take a risk!”

She grimaces as if grinning in pain, feigning a heartache that has long since left her. Lawrence is at peace with everything life has thrown at her thus far, something that has taken patience, hard work, and plenty of distraction techniques.

“Edinburgh, as always you’ve been fuckin’ amazing, I’ve been your favourite fat bitch Lawrence Chaney and this has been a waste of your time. Goodnight to you all!”

There’s something she’ll always find funny about naming her show A Waste Of Your Time. It’s so stupid and yet so perfect.

Once she’s off stage, she disentangles herself from the microphone and reaches for her water and her phone, both parched and interested to see if anyone has tweeted about her in the five minutes they’ve had leaving the venue. Instead, she glances at the screen and her heart drops.

Ellie Diamond [20.04pm]: Hiya slag!! Good luck with your show tonight, keep an eye out for a familiar face in the audience ;) xx

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Lawrence tears through the dressing room, out through the little back door, aware of venue technicians probably gawking at this flurry of purple sequins and panicked yells. She all but races out of the fire exit and frantically scans every passing figure on the street, her stomach churning and twisting horribly.

“ELLIE!” She shouts, more than conscious of how ridiculous she must look. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. ELLIE! ELLIE DIAMOND!”

She legs it further down the street. It’s Scotland, it’s night, and it’s fucking freezing, but Lawrence ignores the cold. The streets are mostly full of people ready for their nights out, heels clicking through puddles illuminated by orange street lamps, and here is Lawrence barrelling through everyone, desperately hoping to see a flash of pink amongst them all.

Her heart feels like it’s beating at a mile a minute, thumping so hard it could burst right out of her chest. In some sick way, she hopes it does, hopes to see the wet muscle glistening and bleeding on the pavement before her in the hopes that Ellie, dependable Ellie, always there for her Ellie, will rush to her aid and help fix everything.

Why would she, though? Why would she when she’s just sat and listened to Lawrence slander their poor attempt at loving each other and shrugging it off as if they’re better apart, distanced, no longer joined at the hip? It’s all a lie, it’s all a fucking lie constructed for stage that Lawrence has foolishly duped herself into believing until now. She really had herself convinced that loving Ellie was a thing of the past, and that she thrived best on her own, when in reality Ellie held the key to everything that Lawrence considered good and right and beautiful about herself.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. Where the fuck is Ellie?

In the midst of her blind panic, it hits her that Ellie hasn’t moved home yet, meaning she will have gotten the train into Edinburgh for the show. Pushing down the wave of guilt that engulfs her at the thought of Ellie’s endless support, she dashes across the roads, dodging buses and running like her life depends on it towards the station. She’s lucky it’s not too far from the venue, but there’s still no guarantee she’ll find her before the train sweeps her away back to Manchester or wherever the fuck else she decides to go to get away from her shitty excuse for a friend.

Everything that happens next feels like it’s solely fuelled by adrenaline, panic, and sweat. Lawrence vaguely remembers squinting at little digital times and place names until she found one that seemed right, her eyes so frenzied in their search for the correct platform that it’s a wonder she’s not arrested or phoned an ambulance on suspicion of too many hallucinogenics.

On her way down the steps to the platform, she’s going so fast that her foot slips and she crashes all the way down, embarrassingly unhurt besides the humiliation and a bruised arse, but it makes such a commotion that everyone on the (thankfully almost deserted) platform turns to look at her.

Including a tall, pretty girl with pastel pink hair tied in a curly high ponytail, big pink heart earrings dangling from her ears, and a surprisingly not pink, but lilac, minidress.

“Oh my god,” Ellie murmurs, just as Lawrence swears, “Fucking OW, Jesus in a fucking minivan!”

She looks hurt; perfect eyeliner smudged in the corners, as if she’s been blinking tears away, but in spite of that she giggles. “A minivan?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Lawrence curses, dusting herself off and huffing at what’s now an uncomfortably wet trouser suit and a myriad of bruises from arsecheek to thigh. “My life just flashed before my eyes.”

Ellie extends a hand to help her up. Lawrence takes it, and doesn’t let go.

“Lawrence,” She says uneasily, “I- my train’s in five minutes–”

“Fuck your train.” She responds, too achy and upset for nuance. “Ellie, I’m so sorry, you have to let me explain–”

“You explained yourself quite well on stage, hen.” Ellie cuts her off, sniffing. “You were very eloquent. It was funny.”

The flatness in her voice is agonising to hear. Lawrence thinks she might burst.

“You- I- I mean, fuck me. You must- you must know when I’m bullshitting, right? Hen, I’ve been telling this narrative for years trying to make myself believe it but you always could tell when I was lying about something,” She rushes out, terrified that Ellie’s train will arrive and she’ll disappear forever.

Ellie’s face crumples. She pulls her hand away from Lawrence’s grasp and as she sobs, hides behind her palms, as if her shuddering shoulders and heartbroken cries will vanish along with her face. The loss of contact is felt sorely, Lawrence feeling as though a piece of her is suddenly missing, and reasoning that a piece has been missing for a long long time, and she’s only feeling the excruciating loss now that she almost had it again.

Lawrence has never known what to do what someone cries. It just hurts and feels awkward and she’s terrified that this will be another day in the art classroom, hiding feelings behind smiles and waiting uncomfortably for something else to happen.

“I know,” Ellie gasps through tears, surprising her. “God- Lawrence, I- I knew you were lying but it fucking hurts that you’d give me this stupid hope that something could happen when we already know it’s the shittest idea either of us has ever had-”

Ellie’s still talking, but Lawrence tunes out completely as the two glowing eyes of the train approaching glare at her with a malicious intensity. Times up, Chaney. Life doesn’t always find a way.

Fuck that, she thinks. Fuck relying on life to fix everything. Life didn’t hand Lawrence her comedy job. Life didn’t hand her Ellie on a friendship bench. Lawrence applied for the job. Lawrence approached Ellie. She’s in control, she can take control back, and she fucking will.

The train draws closer.

Lawrence kisses Ellie.

Both of them are crying - the kiss is uncomfortable, salty, wet. Lawrence didn’t even know she was crying, but she’s so close to Ellie slipping through her fingers that it’s no surprise her emotions have run away with her. It’s been too long without her best friend, too long suppressing and ignoring and laughing it off, and if this is another mistake then she’ll add it to her stand up routine and move on, but she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

The rest of the world disappears in the moments following the kiss. Their foreheads touch, and the only sounds are Ellie’s shaky breaths, the only smell is her sweet perfume, the only sensation is her skin against Lawrence’s. There are no trains, no passengers, no cold draughts sweeping through and chilling them to the bone.

There is just Ellie Diamond and Lawrence Chaney.

Reality, eventually, floats back in - just as the train pulls away from the station. Ellie looks at Lawrence.

“You made me miss my train home.”

“Hen, y’already are home. This is home, us, me and you. I’m shattered from pretending like that’s not the case.” She pauses. “No, actually. I’m fattered. Fat and shattered.”

Ellie laughs, and her eyes fill with tears. “Christ. Lawrence. I’ve missed you so much.”

-

Lawrence wakes up feeling suffocated. Upon closer inspection - she’s being suffocated.

She groans, low and tired. “Ells. Ells.”

The monster slumbers on.

“Ellieeeeee,” She groans again. “Move off me, you fat bitch.”

That one works. Ellie yawns, stretches, and slides back onto her side of the bed, rather than on top of her girlfriend.

“Rude,” She replies, voice thick with sleep. “I thought I told you not to mention the stone I’ve put on over Christmas.”

Lawrence snorts. “And I agreed not to, but you were crushing me to death. No more mince pies for you.”

Ellie buries her face in the pillow. “Yeah, ‘cause you scoffed them all.”

“Get fucked.”

This is her favourite kind of domestic bliss. They will never be able to hold a conversation without delightfully destroying each other’s characters, but as they do so, Ellie wriggles the covers back over them and cuddles up to her back like a warm little leech, hooking a leg over her and pulling her close. Christmas is a flurry of making sure everything’s done but Boxing Day has time for slowing down, sleeping late, giggling against one another’s skin.

Lawrence isn’t sure how they made it work, what they did different, but they’re four years strong and hosting their friends for Boxing Day dinner to make up for the family fiascos that Christmas inevitably brings. Somehow, they just found their way, and now they’re here. Wrapped up in bed in matching Snowman pyjamas (thanks to Ellie), having some kind of family of their own.

Ellie flips over, lying flat on her back, and groans. “Lawrie, I can’t be arsed to cook.”

“Well I’m not cooking an entire fucking roast for everyone by myself, you lazy bawbag. We’re in this shit together.” Lawrence tells her.

Ellie shakes her head. “No, think about it. What if we ordered one of the readymade ones from that place up the road and then just stick it in the oven to pull out when whoever gets here first gets here?”

Lawrence stretches, enjoying the satisfying pops and clicks. “You mean, when Bims gets here? Tayce and A’Whora will be late, we all know that.”

“Yeah. Like, ta-dah, we cooked this, no one’s any the wiser, Bob’s your uncle’s fanny or whatever.”

“Bob’s- Ellie, what the fuck did you just say?”

“I am very, very tired.” Ellie defends herself, as Lawrence howls with laughter. “I’m not sure what language I’m even speaking hen. Can we just order dinner and be done with it?”

Lawrence is a weak, weak woman.

The prepared meal smells amazing, a fake chicken absolutely smothered in all the goodness of a Christmas roast, veggies all neatly packed together, everything steaming and hot. Ellie turns the oven on to keep everything warm and they high-five one another a job well done before scrambling to get ready.

Everything goes according to plan. Bimini, predictably, is on time, and A’Whora and Tayce show up late, flustered, apologies spilling from their mouths as soon as the door swings open. Lawrence tries to play housewife and reveal her perfect roast from the oven, but burns herself on the tray and sits swearing next to the cold tap while Ellie, smartly equipped with oven gloves, takes it all out instead.

“Oh, this is lush!” Tayce clinks her glass with Bim’s, the Bucks’ Fizz freely flowing. “Absolute bang up job, gals, just brilliant. And the atmosphere too, so cosy! Love the candles. Especially love the distinct lack of pointed homophobic stares.”

A’Whora laughs. “Oh my god, don’t even. Yesterday was a disaster.”

Lawrence frowns. “I’m sorry, are my looks not reading as homophobic? They were meant to. I’ll work on it, don’t you worry.”

The table is merry; Bimini asks if every dish is vegan despite being told in advance that everything was, Tayce and A’Whora rant about their nightmare families, and Lawrence basks in the warmth of having a real family gathered at her table, deciding it was worth the effort to get them all to come.

Plates cleared, Bims grins. “Ellie, you’re not one to forget, make sure you thank Gosling’s down the road for this roast. Easily a ten out of ten.”

Bimini, Tayce and A’Whora all burst into laughter. Ellie gasps, Lawrence folds her arms.

“How’d you know?” She demands, certain their ruse was foolproof. Bimini points at the bin.

“The delivery bag’s sticking out, babes. Also, neither of you can cook worth shit. Not a joke, just a fact.”

Lawrence smacks Ellie’s arm. “You fucking twit! Didn’t even hide the bag!”

Ellie yelps. “Lawrie! Abuse! Abuse!”

A’Whora simpers. “Aww, I love it when you two get all cute and affectionate like that. It’s such a classic romance.”

Four simultaneous middle fingers, though great for getting their point across, make the perfect bait for a night of teasing to fill the rest of the evening. These girls are absolutely rotten to the core, and Lawrence loves them to death.

-

“How did you know she was the one?”

It takes a moment for Lawrence to flip through her rolodex of memories that contain Ellie; god knows there’s millions, and though she maintains that thirty five isn’t old, she has to admit at least privately that her memory isn’t as quick as it used to be. Tayce gives her the time to think about it, eager to be sure as if she’s not one of the most cautious people regarding relationships that Lawrence has ever met.

The café is in the middle of the city, yet tucked away behind the high street. It’s become something of a sanctuary, somewhere for her to relax, to write, or just waste the hours where going home feels too far but staying feels too close. Tayce has been visiting as a show of support, but undoubtedly her second motive was a factor in it too.

“Hen, there’s not a moment I could tell you. It’s just a feeling, you’ll know. I think you know, but you wanna know if I knew the same way you know.” She answers, feeling like a bit of a cop-out, but unable to muster the mental energy to come up with something better.

Tayce sips her latte thoughtfully. “Yeah, I mean…” She pauses guiltily, but continues, “the thought of doing what you’re doing - I feel like I couldn’t, but then I know that if it came to it I absolutely could.”

Lawrence nods. “Right. When you have to, you just do. You don’t think about.” She smiles, internally focused on what happened that made her so swoony and sappy after all this time. “Babes, when you’re ready, just do it. You don’t need me to tell you how you feel. The fact that you’re asking is enough.”

It’s pretty fucking sound advice, not bad for a university drop-out turned full-time comedian. What expertise does Lawrence have beyond her own lived experience? Certainly not enough to advise someone like Tayce, who still looks twenty five.

The woman in question looks down at her watch and sighs regrettably. “I’ve gotta go. Want me to walk you back?”

Lawrence shakes her head. “Nah. I know the way like the back of my hand, trust me. Go get your girl, get them invites out as soon as you can.”

They embrace tightly outside the café door; Tayce whispers encouragement in her ears, presses kisses to the side of her head, wills her to be strong. Lawrence watches her until she’s gone, then begins the same walk that’s etched into her brain, a groove of familiarity at this point. She even knows where the wind will whip through separations between buildings, when to put her hands into her pockets to stop the rush of cold from attacking them and when she’ll be shielded.

She knows the exact placement of each hand sanitizer dispenser so well that she can press each of them along her walk without stopping or fumbling. She knows roughly who will be on duty, whose smiling faces she’ll be greeted by. She knows that Ellie will be awake.

“It’s looking good!” Ellie informs her, mere seconds after she’s entered the room. “Just spoke with the nurse. No longer than a month.”

She looks tired, but she looks beautiful nonetheless; free of makeup, hair piled up on top of her head, dressed in a pink nightie that Lawrence had to run out and buy from Sainsbury’s since she didn’t need nor want one of the horrible hospital gowns. There are tubes and machines around her bed that Lawrence has grown to take no notice of, instead just leaning down to kiss her wife’s head before settling in the chair beside her and squeezing her free hand.

“A month? I like the sound of that.” She appraises, peppering Ellie’s fingers in kisses. “Plenty of time for us to get ready for Tayce and A’Whora’s wedding.”

Ellie squeals excitedly. “Stop it! Are they?”

She laughs. “Not right now, but any minute. Tayce just asked how I knew, as if I’d be able to answer.”

“Bitch.” Ellie sticks her tongue out. “Still not able to find a single nice thing to say about me?” She laughs at her own joke and then frowns. “Rude of Tayce not to tell me about her proposal plans.”

Lawrence rolls her eyes. “Hen, you were fast asleep. She wasn’t about to wake you up for random gossip.”

Ellie pouts. “Tell her I’m upset.”

“Will do.”

“And to reserve us the biggest slices of their wedding cake.”

“Oh, definitely gonna do that one. Knew I married you for a reason.”

Ellie beams triumphantly. “See! Stick that in your text to Tayce, having a wife is helpful.”

“I’d say you’re a handful more than you’re helpful, babes, but whatever you say.”

Lawrence promised years ago to love her wife in sickness and in health. She has kept true, and always will.

-

“If this DJ plays one more Lady Gaga song I’m going to fucking lose my mind.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, shushing her wife with a glare. “It’s the bride’s choice! You miserable old bitch.”

Lawrence looks at her, properly. She’s alive with light again, eyes like the starry sky, always complementing her prettily flushed cheeks with her pink hair and dress. Ellie bleaches her roots now to hide the encroaching greys, but Lawrence knows she’d be just as gorgeous with a full head of silver.

“I love you,” She says, the words slipping out before she can thinking about it.

Ellie smiles, and every problem in the world dissipates. “Sentimental old cow. I love you too.”

Fuck the brides. Lawrence kisses Ellie and promises she’ll dance to as many shit songs as the DJ will play. That’s just sort of what love is.

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Trophy Chapter Seven

Masterlist

Warnings: Adult situations +18, Smut ,Dub con, Coercive behavior, Daddy kink, Threats of violence, Masturbation, Swearing

A/n: So this has taken absolutely ages to write... there are many things that i wanted in the chapter that havent made it i was struggling about how much plot i added to this chapter and i can only apologize for how long it has taken m0but also wanted to covey the back story a little more. I'm happy with it and i hope you are to. As a head's up this story might end up being a fifteen to twenty chapters I hope. Any way I do hope this is worth the wait. p.s if you want the other chapters they are in order on my masterlist which is linked above as always.xx

Taglist: @havenoffandoms​ @aphrodites-punch​ @charlieferret​ @thatgirly81​ @two-unbeatable-beaters​ @viking-raider​ @iloveyouyen​ @black-ninja-blade

Trophy Chapter Seven

Henry sat behind his desk he was annoyed, you could tell by the way he sat shoulders, neck and jaw twitching every now and then, he was wound tight. The power radiating from him cast waves across the space leaving the air thick, yet behind it was something else, something that was echoing across the room each time he cast his gaze to you. He sent smirks to you when he caught you stealing glances at him. Feeling his glances linger you faltered scanning the same line of your book for what seemed the hundredth, willing yourself not to look at him not to give him a reason to approach you. You wanted to be left alone with your thoughts sighing you tucked your feet up on the sofa cringing you huffed as your bare ass pulled on the leather...You just knew you was leaving marks...The knowledge made you curl up tighter tucking your skirt under yourself shielding your center from His glances. You couldn't concentrate, to many things had happened already today and to many thoughts ran around inside your head. You could kick yourself ,was it right? You'd sold yourself to the devil...For what? You looked him over taking in the way his shoulders tensed as he moved pulling a slim tablet from his desk flicking open the stand connecting it to a wireless keyboard. Was this the plan all along...For him to back you into a corner like this, to make you hand yourself over willingly?  To resign yourself to staying with him. Trapping yourself in this house forever...To protect a fantasy of what could have been? A man who you started imagining a future with...An agent... A liar. You heaved a deep sigh moving a hand to swipe at your eyes then pinched the bridge of your nose dropping the book to your knees that were firmly tucked below your chin. Your emotions finally catching up with you. Tears were quickly forming in your eyes. It could have been a ruse, a cruel ploy to use as cover. Had it? It had felt so natural, so pure. Like you could have had it all but was it real?... Or did Stephan think you knew something was you just part of the job?.... You looked over to Henry he had said the day you got here that Stephan was using you... At the time you just thought it was the mans madness talking but now?...He could have been right...As far as things stood at the moment Henry had done many things to you...But he had not lied to you. Did he know all along? was he in some fucked up way trying to help you?. Could he possibly love you as he said he did?. Is he just acting now? Playing along? it was entirely possible Henry was a smart man. There was no doubt about that, you don't get to were he is being an idiot...And  it was convenient that everything was in  his favor that he was coming out on top again... You shook your head, they were some very dangerous thoughts. You felt him look at you again and he sighed at you watching tears fall landing on the pages open in front of you. He just rose out of his seat moving ,opening the door letting in Kal who had been waiting dutifully out side the door.

"Go see your mother" you blinked not quite understanding but soon realized he had been speaking to Kal as the dog jumped up on to the sofa beside you nudging the book from your hands to the floor. Henry moved collecting the hardback copy of Tolkien's Hobbit placing in on the small side table by you. He smiled as Kal stealthily made himself comfy on your lap, making you uncurl to accommodate him lathering you with kisses. Henry moved his hand ruffling the bears ears praising him"Good boy, you sit there and protect your mother hmm?...He is definetly taken with you, my fully trained gaurd dog becomes a soppy puppy around you" you smiled a little scratching Kals chin, Henry crouched down looking at you moving to pat your hip

"...Pet? try not to think to much...You have no need to be sad my love, now is a time for us to...move past everything to look forward to our future... I'm going to keep my word as long as you keep yours. Now try and cheer up for me" you forced a smile at him then let your face drop again. He sighed deciding to give you time to yourself then made his way across the office to his seat again. You whined digging your fingers into the dogs thick fur pressing your face into his neck as he rested his chin on your shoulder panting happily as you continued to cuddle the massive fluff ball. You closed your eyes it was pathetic that you'd throw away everything to protect the first man to ever show you attention. But what was done is done. There was no way Henry would ever let you back track, and if you did you knew for certain that you'd be wholey responsible for Stephan's demise. And to make matters worse in the middle of your confused despair you now had to face the man who had started all this, who had betrayed you. Fletcher who had set you up to be kidnapped. With no idea as to what would happen to you, or you'd like to think he had no idea but you doubted it. You turned your head resting the side of our face into the dog sniffling trying hard not to cry, this time with anger. You shook sitting silent,  you didn't want to attract the mobsters attention any more than you had. You could feel him getting worse feeling him seeth to himself as he tapped away at the tablet every few seconds cursing under his breath. You moved back leaning back as Kal followed your movements to lounge across you getting watching the door.

Finally after the longest hour of your life there was a timid knock on the door then a nasally voice you knew all to well.

"Oh he hasn't answerd must be busy-" you heard a thump as if someone had been slammed against the door.

"Get your ass in here fletcher!"  You jumped making Kal nudge your hand as if to say keep petting me. The good boy was helping with your anxiety over the whole situation. Your attention was brought back to Henry as he spoke his tone was dark, cool and calculated. He looked high and mighty, smug as he sat taller a lopsided grin upon his face he winked in your direction making you blink slowly this was business and he was most definitely the boss. Slowly the door opened and your ex-employer came in,the usually tall confident man was hunched forward trying to look as insignificant as possible. Nervous and flighty, he didn't want to be here and you couldn't blame him, hell you didn't want to be here. Henry raised a brow to the door left wide open making Fletcher turn sharply and close it you jumped closing your eyes tight as it slammed beside you prompting another nudge from Kal who was covering you leaning across you trying to be a wall between you ad the other male. The terrified man stood still then, took a few steps in the room as he quickly began stammering apologies to Henry which he rolled his eyes at and held a hand up .Stop. Fletcher moved forward with a forced smile and sat down in front of the desk twisting his hands.

"S-so Mr Cavill.....I erm wh-what did you need to talk to me about?"

"Get up"  Fletcher tilted his head as Henry leaned back in his chair placing his forearms on the arms of the chair taking a relaxed pose

"Wha-why?" Fletcher asked but soon moved when Henry's blues turned icey

"Did I stutter? Get. Up." Fletcher jumped leaping out of the chair as Henry's voice was sharp and foreboding. Fidgeting with his hands Fletcher took a a deep shaking breath and looked about ready to piss himself. Henry moved slowly closing the kickstand on the back of the tablet casually with a flick of his wrist, moving to place it and the keyboard in the drawer he had got it from. He looked up through his lashes at the man.

"You see Fletcher...This is the problem we have.....You make decisions....The wrong decisions and then you try to back track." Fletcher looked at Henry and swallowed.

"You are to do as your told and nothing more, things are going to change, your not going to make a move, decide anything talk to anyone your not even going to take a shit without my fucking say so is that fucking clear?" Fletcher moved forward wide eyed at the implications.

"But-Henr.....Mr Cavill I didn't say anything,  I just gave him the trail you .Gave me...That’s all!....I swear....I'd never betray you like that we're friends" Henry laughed loud at him then fixed  to coward before him with a stern look.

"Friends?...You think we are ...Friends?....Sure. I may have kept you out of prison which; you paid me for and I agreed to the loans... We drank together what once? Twice?...I may have even wiped your debt with our last little deal...." Henry's eyes swiped over you for a second his haze turning hungry for a moment then returned to the quivering man before him.

"But I am not your friend...I don't have friends...It was business....You are a pathetic little man who bit off more then he could chew. Now be a good boy and tell me What did he tell you? Was there anything that seemed strange about him? Anything at all think back.." Fletcher furrowed his brow confused and shook his head.

"I don't understand he was just an immigrant-"

"He used a false identity... Did you do a background check on him?" It was a test. Henry knew Fletcher didn't check him out, he couldn't have.For an agent the kid hadn't covered his tracks very well he practically popped up out of thin air. But Henry was more interested in whether Fletcher would lie to him, he needed to know how close of an eye to keep on him .Fletcher however went a deathly shade of pale, he hadn't known about Stephan.

"I-I don't... I don't know ...He seemed to check out when I hired him-" Henry slammed his fist down making you whimper into Kal’s fur closing your eyes.

"YOU GOT SOME FUCKING BALLS TO SIT IN MY HOME, IN MY FUCKING OFFICE AND LIE RIGHT TO MY FACE!! YOU DIDN'T EVEN CHECK HIM DID YOU?" Fletcher let out a little yelp taking a step back and shook as he nodded.

"Y-your right I'm s-sorry ple-please I rushed him through, I knew I-I didn't have long to replace Y/n...But I swear I didn't know, you have to believe me...He is just a boy...You said so yourself! A boy who doesn't know his place!.A silly little shit who thinks he is in love, or that's what I thought. That maybe he will give up after he realized Y/n wasn't the only place to get his dick wet....I mean she didn't look like she'd be the best fuck in the world you know?" Henry glowered at him the room got colder. Bad move. Henry was jumping down his throat before you even had the chance to be offended.

"Excuse me? What the fuck did you just say about MY woman? You wanna run that one past me again?...Well? come on don't hold back now tell me what you think of her... Oh you haven't got the balls now have you? Let me tell you something you sniveling little cunt you ever disrespect her again and I will personally cut that sorry excuse for a prick right from between your little chicken shit legs and choke you to death with it understand? you keep your fucking mouth shut if you know whats good for you!" stupidly enough you couldn't help the smile or small flutters in your chest as you heard this dangerous man defend you so quickly, even if it was murder...Something about it made you special? dare you say cared for? Fletcher shook realizing his mistake to late.

"Yo-Your woman?....I'm so-sorry Mr Cavill I didn't know you had taken her for yourself...Ple-Please forgive me I didn't mean-" Henry growled waving him off if he let the man continue to grovel then they would be here all fucking day. He sighed rolling his eyes before continuing.

"One check...One five minuet check and you could have avoided this fucking mess...There is no Stephan clermont...I’m pretty sure he was a fucking agent, we are not sure what branch.. You let an agent into your fucking cafe! Fuck knows what he has seen and heard because you didn't screen him properly..."

"H-he was a what? Oh fuck oh fuck! Mr Cavill? I'm sorry I am so sorry please..I-I didn't know! You have to believe me!" The poor man all but got on his hands and knees,pleading with the kingpin opposite him. He was trembling as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. Henry sat back keeping silent, he wanted to make the man squirm for a few moments, he thrived of the terror permeating the room.Finally he moved forward tilting his head sighing.

"However it has worked in my...Our favor....Hasn't it little one?" You shrunk into Kal as Fletcher looked at you shocked seeing you sitting by the door on the huge leather sofa,you scowled at him wanting desperately to launch the book in your hands at him, to scream and shout attack him even.

"Y/n? Yo-your okay? Thank god I was so worried- I was sure Henry wasn't going too hurt you...But there was still a doubt...But he hasn't and your here!" you stood up seeing red, Fletcher flinched as Kal strode past him looking at him warily. A part of you wanted Kal to take a bite but you didn't want to see him turn like that, he was the only one you trusted not to hurt you in this house. Tears blurred your eyes as you struggled to temper your anger.Worried?How dare he! How fucking dare he say that to you! Your stomach clenched as you finally registered his words. But before you had any time to think it over you was already screaming at him. Henry slowly pushed himself out from the desk waiting for the blow up about to happen.

"BULLSHIT! BULL-SHIT YOU WASN'T WORRIED AT ALL!  YOU CUNT YOU FUCKING SET ME UP, USED ME AS SOME FUCKING BARGAINING CHIP FOR WHAT?" You screamed at him moving across the small space towards him spitting out your words, you didn't notice Henry move to focused on the man in front of you as you gained on him as he shuffled back nearly tripping over the chair beside him.

"I TRUSTED YOU! WHAT DID YOU GET? WHAT DID HE FUCKING GIVE YOU HUH? TELL ME FLETCHER JUST WHAT WAS I WORTH?" He took another step back unprepared for your out burst he stumbled back. You cried as your anger overwhelmed you Henry bypassed him capturing your arms in his hands pressing you back with little effort. Standing between you and Fletcher, his massive frame concealed him, a huge wall of sculpted muscle. You frowned up at Henry for a second only to twist your head to the side around him and carried on screaming at the sleazeball cowering behind him.

"DID YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN TO ME?! TELL ME DAMNIT!" You cried as Henry quickly pulled you away from the man you struggle feebly as you was directed away from the man you wanted to claw at.

"I thought you were going to be safe! I was sure Henr-Mr Cavill wouldn't put you in the circuit in town-" You fumed crying torn between anger and despair. Henry finally moved sitting back down holding your heaving form flush against him making you lean his hand resting across your abdomen he moved kissing your hair. He rocked you slightly the caring gesture seemed to flip a switch as you immediately crumbled into his chest, your nerves were shot and you had just about enough. You gave in to the need for comfort, wanting someone to hold as the days rollacoaster finally caught up with you. You moved turning shifting on his lap tucking yourself into him sobbing, clutching and twisting at his shirt. Henry adjusted his hold on you, cupping your legs  and widening his own to support you more comfortably.

"I ha-hate you...Why?...Why did yo-you do this?....."  you brought a hand up to your face wiping away the tears looking up at Henry completely lost falling apart at the seams, you looked at him in that moment for answers. For reasons and reassurance.

"There is a fine line between love and hate, hasn't anyone ever told you that pet?" He smiled when you looked at him confused then sobbed he pulled your face to his chest again.

"What did I do to deserve this?" You whined against him ,loosing yourself into something you still didn't understand yet. Henry smirked feeling you give in. He just began shushing you and rubbing your back soothing you, his eyes on Fletcher the whole time. Fletcher watched in fear seeing first hand just what this man's cruelty truly was, how he had gotten under your skin and manipulated you, twisted you into doing exactly what he wanted. How he can redesign and remold anyone to suit his own ends. And that was his strength. That was the secret to his power Henry was a silver tongue and master at mind games. He made the game and everyone around him was playing it whether they knew it or not. Fletcher gulped he knew he wasn't going to walk away from this,  there was no escape you cannot outsmart this man. You cannot win against the devil himself.

To anyone in that moment Henry looked like the cat who'd caught the canary.A king sitting on his golden throne with his little sacrifice curled up in his lap. So pleased with himself and how things were playing out as he allowed you to wrap yourself around him willingly as you wept into his chest. Fletcher could see through the veneer for the first time and what he saw terrified him. Just what had he gotten himself into? And more importantly how was he going to get out of it?

Henry moved slowly whispering into your neck as he tilted his head down.

"Shh love thats enough....shh shh its okay your okay I'm here....Thats it good girl..... No need to get yourself so worked up...what's done is done and we can all put it behind us....." he finished with a chaste kiss to your neck , you could feel how Fletcher was uncomfortable as Henry worked on your neck slowly sucking making you gasp and wriggle as he dug his teeth in determined to make a show for the other male. He smirked against your neck as you whined, one of his hands had slid up under your skirt digging his fingers into the raised welts from yesterday,you flush as you jolted you hips to escape his hand. You felt ashamed as you  enjoyed the thick thighs below you rubbing across your ass even if it did sting, you have almost no control as his words relaxed you. Letting you melt into him closing your eyes giving yourself into his soothing tone.

Henry finally looked up at Fletcher through his lashes mouth still hovering at your neck he pulled back with a parting kiss, he moved his arms to wrap around you as he felt you settle into him completely relaxed , you had past the point of panic and simple stayed there soaking up what ever comfort he was willing to give you. Chuckling he grinned knowingly across the desk he knew the man across from him was panicking, that he had clicked that Henry was much more then he appeared and that letting him get away with this wasn't an option.

Well man? He was a little weasel- a little weasel that had owed him big time, tax avoidance wasn't the biggest thing Henry could help cover up usually he didn't bother but Fletcher was desperate when he came to him begging for his help. Two businesses and seventeen years worth of dodging the tax man ,national insurance pensions you name it he wasn't paying finding loopholes and then it had all caught up to him. It was enough to make anyone desperate when the tax man started asking too many questions, if he went down he wouldn't get out of prison at his age. So Henry decided to help, he needed to start somewhere in the new town and it was a piece of piss. He helped arranging everything, saving Fletcher's ass but it had come with a hefty price tag. Fletcher was getting brave after nearly a few months, out right refusing to pay him back. That is what prompted his visit to the crappy cafe, if he asked you probably wouldn't remember serving him or chatting to him but he did. He spent the days and weeks after obsessing over you, he was unsure how to go about seeing you he didn't want to leave anything to chance. He wanted you. He wanted to feel that peace that you caused in him, you were his refuge, his little piece of normality. It wasn't until the second visit to Fletcher that he had made a deal.It was simple, Fletcher had pleaded with him making promise after promise, first of money then assets, use of the cafe; which Henry had already been doing for smaller deals but then he finally offered something Henry actually wanted. You. He offered you as his payment saying that your were pretty enough and would make him a lot of money in the prostitution ring he had in town. He remembered that moment, he was filled with unadulterated rage and pure joy all at once. The mere thought of you being used in such a way made him want to step back and let his boys do their thing, yet he couldn't for the life of him let the opportunity pass.He was also frightened for you, the fact Fletcher was willing to sell you into that kind of life was to much of a risk, what if he sold you to someone else? And they did force you into that life?. No absolutely not he had to save you. Protect you. So he accepted.You for his debt. It was decided that you would keep working at the cafe for the time being.... With higher pay and better conditions, he couldn't have his woman struggling could he?.

He had got everything ready at that point he was going to become a regular customer and try to wrangle a date that way, yet when he visited you were never out front always in the kitchen. So he moved to his second plan the long game becoming your landlord and bumping into you as he visited the building...He would play himself of as a relative of one of the residents. It was the perfect plan he would have then have access to your building and apartment,have all security footage of you coming and going so he would know when to pop in he was going to up the security and such too. He could make it impossible for you to ignore him. Once you were going steady he would rocket the rent forcing you to move out....And in with him.That was the plan you'd have been content came to him willingly! thinking it was all meant to be just as much as him! You'd have fallen so in love with him all on your own!. All Fletcher had to do was keep you occupied for a few months as he bought your building. It wasn't a big ask really.Instead he had made you unknowingly train up your replacement. Stephen who he now knew had been posing as some danish pratt and HE had tricked you! quickly wooing you into a date.

"Fletcher...keep your eyes open for Stephan...I want him found...He gets in touch with you you tell me" he nodded quickly sensing this meeting was going to be wrapped up soon. You wriggled against Henry pulling yourself  out of your safe space still desperate for answers.

"No! Tell me what happened?" You struggled as Henry brought his arms around you tighter grunting in your ear.

"Enough my love!...That is enough...Like I have told you its in the past! Unless you are already backtracking on our little deal?" You froze twisting to look up at him, his voice was calm but firm and sliced past your ear in hot breaths. You shook.

"No!-no I'm not...I just want to know...I need to know why? Why he did this? Please...." Henry sighed looking at you for a few seconds then to Fletcher who was literally shaking on the spot.

"Leave...As far as we are concerned you now fucking owe me again...Same as before my boys will be there to collect on Thursdays as usual and I will be watching you, you fuck up again and its over for you we clear?" He took a step forward gasping motioning to you.

"B-BUT I PAID IT OFF...YO-YOU  GOT HER DIDN'T YOU!?" You froze as you got your answer. A debt. You were just a debt? Money... you thought he'd at least sell you of for something less common then  money. You sat shell shocked not really sure why you expected it to be over something else but hearing him say it so freely made you, you wasn't sure hurt? Insulted even. Your thoughts were cut short a Henry replied confirming what you'd just heard.

"Yes your right I do have her... And she has agreed to stay here with me of her own free will" he kissed your temple and chuckled but quickly snarled as Fletcher turned on you.

"YOU LITTLE USELESS CUNT! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?" You jumped and cowered sliding back grasping Henry's hand for comfort as Fletcher moved forward arms raised as if you try and grab you. For a second you panicked that he would and held onto Henry tighter. It was then that Kal crept from beside the desk growling his heckles raising looking frightening as he stood tall staring at the frantic man. Henry moved you to one leg hushing you, he was pleased you wasn't facing him as he couldn't help the triumphant smile as he realized he was your safety net, it was a tiny move but in the right direction. You wanted him to protect you and he wouldn't disappoint. He turned from you and growled low you pushed in to his chest your breath picking up as he looped an arm stroking your hip in small circles as he leaned forward pulling open a drawer next you heard as a click of a gun being cocked.

Instantly Fletcher's new found confidence dwindled and he stood back.

"I'd advise you not to talk to my woman like that, you'll find I'm not very patient when it comes to things like that. You ever raise your voice to her again and it'll be the last thing you'll ever fucking do...Your useless do you understand?...Expendable...And remember its you who fucked up big time...You who caused all this....I don't know weather your worth all the fuss....and I have to ask myself weather you are worth the risk? I mean where does this leave you?.....Bar from finding Stephan your fucking useless now and to be honest I don't think he is going to contact you again...And you royally fucked up,  you let an agent in your business, he knows what you've been doing...or more importantly what you haven't been doing...He also knows that you have ties with me and my...Associates and also thinks that you helped aid me in kidnapping...And that brings us full circle really, now I'm going to have to watch you. Have my men protect your business have the police and judge on my payroll find ways to overlook your cock ups all over again...Its only fair that you compensate me for all my hard work...Or I could end it right here..." Henry moved the gun higher aiming it at the quivering man before him, he was making a show wanting you to see he would never ever let anyone disrespect you or frighten you. He wanted you to know he was the boss and was here for you, that you could run to him and he would always protect you. He wanted to convey so much here and now but as he looked down at you he saw terror...You wasn't ready to see this side of business...You shivered turning to face him noticing his pause, he tilted his head and shushed you kissing your lips softly you closed your eyes tight and moved your hands clutching at his shirt. He sighed looking back up.

"But...I don't want to frighten my little one here...shes had a trying day already so you'll just have to settle for the Vonnie brothers have a go they are back this afternoon." He moved  tilting his hand with the gun checking his watch smirking, as the man tried to move out of the way.

"Two hours? you know what they are like messy brutal but they do get things done...And they do enjoy squealers you definitely fit that bill...Or you can go back the how it was before, nice and simple...so what will it be?" Fletcher just looked between the two of you and nodded.

"I-I will pay... I will tell you if he contacts me or I notice anything" Henry chuckled darkly at that watching in amusement as the man before him slumped looking to the floor giving up the fight defeated. Henry was a snake, you were within his coils before you realized what was happening and then once you were trapped like a rat that is when he decided to strike.

"That’s what I thought. Now fuck off"

within seconds the door shut and you were left in the office with him alone. Still placed on his lap you let out a breath you didn't know you was holding. he shifted you you face him knees spread around his waist ad he pulled you flush against him running his heavy palms up and down your thighs making you tense.

"Apart from your little outburst I am very please with you, such a good girl for daddy aren't you?" You blinked at him then looked to the door again.

"Are you gonna hurt him? When all this is over I mean?" Henry sighed his breath moving your hair.

"That doesn't concern you little one..If you start becoming to nosy I will have no choice but to correct you... You may have agreed to stay but that does not mean your free to do as you please, daddy is still very much in charge and will still spank you when your misbehaving...do you understand little girl?..." You just sighed sniffling you was tired to tired to even try and argue knowing that it would be futile you wasn't going to get any answers from him.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes Daddy"

It had been a week since Fletcher had visited. One week since you’d made the deal and one week days since Stephan had disappeared. You hadn't really been around Henry to ,much over the past week he had lots of meetings and phone calls. From What you could gather he had began changing locations and combing through his empire searching for bugs and stuff. You wasn't sure on details he caught you at the door once and that had swiftly ended with you over his knee in the office being spanked into hysterics then being stood in the corner pinning a penny to the wall with your nose holding your skirt up so he could 'admire his handy work'. You cringed at the memory your bottom tensing at the thought. Apart from that you don't really see him which is a god send in a way he was also to preoccupied with other things to touch you to much. You mainly saw him in the morning and evenings. Hearing raised voices from the office just beyond the sitting room. Henry was shouting at Luke again. No one knew where Stephan was but from what you over heard they had wheedled out another undercover agent, you wasn't sure what happened but Henry seemed pleased with himself over it. Suddenly the door opened and Luke staggered past dead on his feet moving down into the garage. You tilted your head to Henry who stood by the door sighing. He looked relaxed very happy...Maybe this was the time to ask him about it...See if they had any idea of where Stephan was...Who he was? over the past week you couldn't shake your doubts about him and the relationship you'd begun to build. the more you thought about it the more questions you had. And the more you began to question your feelings especially about Henry. It was concerning, you found yourself justifying his actions. You was starting to truly Question if he had taken you to protect you from Fletcher...If Fletcher was willing to sell you for his debt things could have been much worse you if you hadn't gone to Henry... You dread to think where you could be now. He also seemed to want to protect you from Stephan who you decided was just using you for cover and would only end up breaking your heart in the end. You blinked at the screen. The other terrifying reality was you had missed him this past week, you were isolated in this house and without Henry around it was really getting to you. It was late in the afternoon and you had spent the day watching films on Netflix in the living room. Trying to ignore the many questionable men and women coming in and out of the office. You looked at him as nudged Kal away and he took a seat beside you on the sofa rolling his sleeves up his arms.

"Hey love...What are you doing?" You moved the tablet showing him the screen coseying up to him below his arm as it settled across your shoulders, you took a deep breath breathing him in then stopped yourself.

"Watching stuff....Can...Can I ask you something?" he raised a brow at you has hand cupping your shoulder and looked down at you taking a deep breath.

"You can but it just because you ask doesn't mean I’m going to answer.." he finished with a grin then looked down at your face noticing how it had dropped as you swiped your your new tablet back to the home screen.

"Come on little one whats on your mind?" you sighed taking a breath. then face him for a second your breath hitched in your throat sometimes his looks just hit you, making your heart begin to jump in your chest you looked down flushing shaking your head going to flick back on your tablet only for him to cover the screen with his huge hand prying it from you.

"Now now don't be like that love, you remember what does daddy say about pouting?" you flushed again knowing exactly what he wanted to hear, you sighed trying to look down and hide yourself only for him to pull your face up again.

"If I don't stop pouting you'll give me something to pout about.." he nodded giving you a gentle kiss on your head.

"Good girl now tell daddy whats going on in that mind of yours" you sighed and twisted facing him fully. and opened your mouth a few times trying to figure out the best way to bring this up, you didn't want to set him off again you steeled yourself swallowing down your anxiety.

"I-I erm...I just wanted to know if..well I was wondering if you knew just wh-who Stephan was yet is all.." his frame grew rigid he blinked then opened his mouth then decided against what he was going to say, his eyes closed and his jaw clenched trying to compose himself. Then his eyes snapped open harsh and burning trapping your own gaze.Oh shit.

"And why would you need to know that little lady? Are you planning something little one?! Tell me your not still hoping he will come and whisk you away from me?! is that what you want?! for him to come and try to rescue you? to fall in love with that lying little rat?! When you have me?! and I finally have you...You are not going anywhere princess your mine or have you forgotten that?!" you tensed gasping as his voice got deeper carrying more weight with each word. You quickly started shaking as he pulled away from you sitting up taller his eyes grew wild as they darted across your form. You swallowed seeing the frantic madness in him coming to the surface, you needed to pacify him and fast. You leaned forward grasping his knee.

"N-No nothing like that I promise...It's just Ive been thinking a lot over this week..." you grew more worried as your words did not have the desired effect. He growled gripping your bicep holding it tight, you didn't wince or pull away you knew he would read to much into it. instead you sat there before him trying desperately to close the can of worms you had just opened.

"NO! Not like that...Please-Please Daddy I don't mean...H-he lied to me and..and he was using me I know what we hav-HAD wasn't real I-I see that now I just wanted to know who he was, Who he worked for to bring it home...For closure...Then I can move on..I don't want to think of him anymore but I cant stop wondering" that seemed to have helped as he took a deep breath his hard eyes softened and he let his grip on your arms loosen making you sigh in relief.

"Yo-You don't want him to come get you? you know he doesn't love you? he doesn't! he can't no one can love you, not as much as i do you know that don't you? that I love you so so much you are my world,Mine the most important thing in my life" you took a slow breath at his desperate words, his views and words still frighten you and these dark turns are still a worry. But you find yourself able to navigate them easier each time he has one. You swear he is schizophrenic or something, tho not as violent as they had been in the beginning they still happen at the slightest of things. you forced what you hoped was a convincing smile ready to butter him up praying to god this next line helps rather then hinders.

"No...I don't want him to come get me...I'm yours Daddy, your little girl...I agreed to stay here..I'm sorry, I just don't want him to haunt me when I'm trying to move on...With you...Ive missed you." It works, you can see in his face how his eyes sparkle and his jaw hangs slack suddenly your pulled in tight his arms caging you to his massive frame.

"Oh baby girl...Daddy is sorry...I'm so sorry I snapped at you I should have known!.. My precious little one! of course your finding it hard to move on...That boy has really messed with your head huh? tricking you like he did, leading you on...Your okay now I promise I won't let him hurt you ever again" he moved back cupping your face in both hands then kissed your cheeks his gaze was calm full of understanding and wonder. you sighed nodding to him know full well that it was best to agree. he tugged you up onto his thighs with a soft grunt puling you forward, you put your weight on your knees either side of him hovering lightly thee skirt you wore offering no protection from him what so ever. if he noticed your hesitance he didn't comment on it to wrapped up in himself as he tugged you closer making you gasp as your center came into contact with his bulge. You hissed whining as he pressed you harder onto him chuckling making him smile.

"Oh Sweetheart I know...I've missed you two but daddy is doing everything he can so we can stay together...I love you little one and as much as it pains me to be apart from you I do still have an empire to run hmm?" you blushed as he groaned a little moving you by your hips making you rock onto him.

"But fuck baby girl your so hot...I can feel you through my trousers" You gasped clutching his arms trying to make him stop as he let his head fall back bucking up into you coming to life below you. He laughed moving your skirt up your thighs making it rest high and shuffled down leaning back on the soft cushions tugging you down onto his chest by your wrists. He spread his thighs wider the with the sole purpose to force your legs to part further your body slide down his erection now pressing into your lower tummy. Once he had you laid across him he hummed into your ear holding you close before slowly letting a hand slither down your back sliding over your ass and cup the apex of your spread thighs below you. You tensed as he did this trying to pull yourself up.

"Ah Ah shh shh that's it baby don't worry Daddies got you...I wont let you fall love...Oh I know I know princess." you whined as he moved his fingers slowly over you grazing the pads of his fingers across your lips teasing the delicate flesh making you look around the room making sure no one was going to walk in on you. He sighed watching you for a few seconds then tilted your head to him.

"Hey eyes here pet...that's it...I'm sorry I haven't been around but luckily everything is now sorted out and we can spend our days together again...No no look at me princess...that's it good girl" you arched up as his fingers wandered forward capturing your clit in two fingers pulling and rolling it until making your walls flutter to life rocking down and forward unsure if you was trying to dislodge him or move him into a different pattern. he smiled tilting his hand so his thumb ran across your slit as he continued to manipulate your little bud. You twitched trying in vain to close your legs. but your thighs were no match for his as he held firm using one hand to gather your hair tucking it behind your ears as you bit your lip rocking against his wicked hand feeling you coat his thumb as he smeared it across you.

"Ah-AAHH F-fucK! PLease..pleEASE DA-oh god" you closed your eyes as he worked you up into a frenzy your cried gasping choking on air. Pressing the side of your face to his chest panting as he tilted his hand quickly rewarding your weeping center with two thick fingers knuckle deep holding them still. Groaning as your heat swallowed him rippling around him smiling he just kissed the top of your head, you quivered over him panting out small breathy whines. He got to work bringing his other hand to one of your thighs rolling the soft flesh massaging you as he scissored his fingers back and forth inside you. Then he began dragging them in and out making sure to open you up as far as he could with the digits, changing his angle slightly each time pressing on different nerves. You jumped yelping as the pads of his finger tips skimmed the soft patch of nerves that he has become accustom to stroking. He grunted winding his free arm around your waist  then used as much strength as he could, pinning your torso to his own need then quickly started pounding his fingers into that tiny spot of nerves bouncing you faster and faster making your tummy rub him through his own clothes sighed and grunting he started bucking his hips up to you. He hissed closing his eyes concentrating on the sounds you made, from the smallest of gasps as your breath got stuck in your throat to the louder more erotic moans and cries that his fingers forced out of you. He groaned louder joining you making your own duet of lustful cries. he hissed as he tensed his arms your tummy trapping his head between your torsos he moved his wrist hearing the wet slaps of his hand against you in a furious rhythm, definitely ready for another. he added a third finger and began curling them making you arch almost painfully tensing your legs trying to wriggle away from him when they pressed harder and harder to your weak spot.

"AHH UGHFUH-FUCK NOnoOnoOO!...PLease not-NOT HERE PLEASE DADDY!"  he grunted in response a you sat back up only to curl back down into him mouth open over his shirt crying out trembling. Trying to hold your release not wanting to leave any evidence in such a public room in the house. he slowed a little but only for a few short seconds as he moved another finger extending it making every stroke torture as the digit rolled over your taught clit. You clenched trying to hold back but couldn't finally grunting louder than you meant to as you rocked desperately onto his hand tears streaming down your face as your climax made your body cramp , nerves burning and shuddering as he forced you to melt across his hand. panting you  fisted your hands in his shirt shivering whimpering into him trying to catch your breath. he moved his hand away wiping your own release on your back letting it seep through your blouse you blushed and sobbed feeling your own warmth heat your back in puddles.

"Such a good girl...so good for me my love...OH look at all of that hmm? you really have missed me haven't you?..I promise I wont leave you alone this long ever again.." he moved you to sit up with one hand you looked down seeing the clear puddle below you on the floor and sobbed harder shaking your head at him embarrassed.

So wrapped up in your own mortification you hadn't realized what he was doing. his hands crept to his trousers with a few quick tugs ha was free standing tall and proud was quick to guide your hands to his raging erection. you jumped gasping trying to pull away but his grip was tight.

"Shh shh that's it little one...It won't take long here...Just hold it gently like this" he moved your reluctant hand making you grip him at the base then looked at you nodding to your other hand expectantly. You swallowed looking down at him still panting every so often trying to hold your breath. you met his eyes again and he smiled nodding to you.

"Go on...The longer you wait the longer we will be here" you looked down.He was firm and hot in your hand, you could feel his pulse on your palm from the thick veins that climbed across the flesh from root to tip, he was thick your hand felt tiny holding him. Slowly you took a deep breath wanting to get this over with. You just knew he wasn't letting you anywhere with out finishing him off. Moved your other hand to hold him above the other. your reward as a beaming smile. you blinked at him then slowly gave an experimental squeeze making him groan and bring his legs up a little quivering. At first your movements were light, slow then he intervened making one hand grip him tighter moving you faster. Then through his head back praising you closing his eyes.

"Here like thii-OH FUCK!" he swore as you tightened your fist watching your hands as his thick head dripped precum over you hand. It was hard to pull your gaze away forgetting about him as he through his head back moaning loud and grunting into the room. Not willing to miss this he moved his head resting the side of his face on the back of the sofa watching you through half lidded eyes. you blushed when he watched you, not your hands. Your face as you moved faster with both hands. You licked your lip watching his lips form a perfect 'o' then biting his lip as he began moving again thrusting his cock into your palms. You shook your head and paid attention to your hands telling yourself you were watching him to try and see what would help get this over with quicker, but in all honesty you needed a distraction from his handsome fucking face. Watching the way the head of his cock was getting a deeper color going from pink to red and fading fast into purple as you stoked away at him. How his cum came through thicker creamier as you worked it up and down on him. You enjoyed the way he bucking into your hands and clawed at the sofa watching his length slid through your palms finally, just as you thought his crown was going to go blue he swore loud grunting and thrusting into your hands.

"UGH F-FUUUCK YESyesYESFUCK B-BABY DONT STOP! UH UHAAGGH!" his moments through you for a second but you was quick to, on reflex you squeezed him tighter so he wouldn't slip away from your hands making him growl at you as he released across himself. you squeaked as he shot his load drawing a line across your chest making you freeze and cringe. he panted looking to the ceiling in a daze a lazy grin across his lips. You blinked looking around for something to wipe his cum from your top. Before you could move he laughed forcing you to lay down on him again ignoring your protests making you lie flush against him dragging you up to his face as he panted. then moved his face to you neck kissing you.

"Thank you Little one...Daddy really needed that..." you whined against him wanting to run to the shower feeling dirty and sated all in one. he took a deep breath in then stood up slowly on shaking knees cupping your ass then nodded to you.

"Put daddy away and we can go upstairs and have a nice hot bath together...how does that sound baby?" you whined making him raise a brow at you grabbed him quickly but he hissed

"Fuck careful baby you've left daddy sensitive...Play nice...that's it slowly god girl.." slowly you moved his cock tucking it back into place and zipping him up choosing not to delay, the longer it was hanging out the worse you will feel about what just happened and you just wanted to forget the whole thing. he smiled kissing your cheek then moved around the sofa heading up the stairs.

Stephan growled out loud as he walked away from his handlers office. They still said they hadn't got enough evidence on Cavill even with everything he found out about you.or should he say the little he found out about you, you'd been kidnapped by him that much was clear but he couldn't prove it. The closest thing he had to proof was that you hadn't boarded a plane. Coincidentally all cctv of the police station around the time of you and Cavill’s arrival and departure was gone. The paperwork was all gone as he didn't press charges and no arrests were documented on your record , there was no record of his car being impounded either. Someone on the ground as covering for him. Someone high up was on his payroll. So he couldn't help you not only that but his handler was pissed at him, him going off on one had lost them a valuable spot in the investigation he was now benched for a week, stuck on desk duty as punishment for fucking up. He was now to risky to use in the operation and worst of all he couldn't do anything to save you for the time being. He was out unless he could find a rat, someone to double cross Cavill, finding someone that stupid was as rare as hens teeth. So here he was hands tied by bureaucrat bullshit and red tape all because he cared enough to try and find out something, to actually do something!.

He stomped out of the small house being used as the HQ for the sting. And made his way down the road to his new accommodation a cheap b and b on the outskirts of town. Cheap and cheerful and most important of all out of the way.  Threes days....It had been a whole week since he saw you with Henry. The image of you burned into his head. Terrified crying he could see you wanted help and now with how his own investigation had gone down the drain he was afraid that no one not even the collaboration of FBI, CIA and MI5 could save you now, this man. Monster. Was just to cunning, to clean he was ahead of the curve on every aspect and as an agent all he can do for the time being is watch and pray Henry slips up or god only knows what was going to happen to you in the mean time.  

[advantageousaffliction]

The method! How To Design A good Custom Patch

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Reciprocate II

PART 1: Reciprocate I: Raven

PART 2: Reciprocate II: Damian (you are here)

PART 3:  Finale: Reciprocate III: The After

Reciprocate II: Damian

 In a sterile white room devoid of any color and of any indication of ownership or personalization from the owner of the room, laid a single figure on top of a white medical bed, white sheets tucked over her sternum. It was bright, and lonely and rather very empty—except for the pale woman with purple hair that reached just below her breast, on the bed. An empty chair on her right side and bedside tables with nothing on top, on either side of her bed. Her hands laid on her sides and her eyes close. There was no indication of movement except for her quiet breathing.

The door opens, to reveal Damian Wayne in a white button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black slacks and black dress shoes. Despite his neat outfit, his hair was a mess and his eyes were blood shot with eyebags underneath. He looked as though he had not slept well at all—which was likely the case.

Afterall, he had not slept well since the day Raven got stabbed. There were good days and bad. Now—today was a better day. He walks to the empty chair beside Raven’s right hand, his back facing the door. He sits on the chair and gaze longingly at the figure on the bed.

And he recalled what had transpired that night—the night that caused Raven’s current medical condition.

Raven had fallen and her eyes slowly fluttering close. He could tell that she was trying not to lose consciousness. Raven lifted a hand towards Damian and Garfield’s general direction. And Damian couldn’t help but wonder if she was trying to reach out to him or Garfield.

‘It had to be Garfield.’, he thought because it would not make sense if Raven was trying to reach out to him. Damian couldn’t help but feel very bitter inside. She would never choose him.

At this moment the creature was distracted by Tim who was on the other side, seeing this—Damian took the opportunity to run to Raven. He took note of the footsteps that followed behind him. Garfield was right behind Damian as they ran toward Raven.

Her raised hand was faltering and Damian felt as though his heart was about to jump out of his throat, out of fear.

No. You cannot close your eyes. I will not allow it! Damian ran faster towards Raven and as her hand fell to the ground, he finally reached her side. But her eyes had also closed, and Damian held his breath as he-- so very gently, held her in his arms.

“Raven! Raven!” He calls to her frantically. “No. No. No. Don’t close your eyes, please come back, stay conscious!” His breathing was ragged, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Damian bit his lip and held his breath in a conscious manner, as he tried to calm himself, and think. He had to think.

“Raven! Oh god no.” Garfield stood hovering above Raven, and the next second he was reaching out to Raven. But Damian pulled her closer to him and gave Garfield the darkest and cruelest glare Garfield had ever seen. And Garfield froze, he took a deep breath and gulped down his fear.

“Gar…” Terra came running towards Garfield, and her eyes laid on Raven. “No, if-if she didn’t try to protect me—” Damian gave Terra the same glare Garfield received, making her unable to finish her thought. She froze in fear too.

“We have to stop her bleeding.” Damian absent-mindedly say, his voice cold, and as he scanned Raven’s wound, his eye twitched. Raven had a gaping hole on her chest, Damian did not want to think about it—but the situation was truly grim.

“How are you going to—” Garfield received another glare from Damian.

Damian was not asking or seeking their help to stop Raven’s bleeding, he had said what he had said to inform them only. He will deal with Raven’s injury.

Damian reaches for something in his utility belt, and he pulls out three silver balls. His facial expression seemingly frozen into a cold and uncaring expression as he places the one-inch sized ball strategically on her gaping wound. He placed one on top and two at the bottom, forming a triangle. It beeps and glows a faint blue and came out a purple like foam.

Damian’s right eye twitched, his lips pressed together so much that his lips became pale and his brows drawn so closely together, that he looked like he would punch the next person who would touch him.

He had no choice. This was the only way to ‘plug’ Raven’s gaping hole. She was losing too much blood because of it.

Damian clenched his teeth even more, if that was even possible. He rests Raven on his right arm as his hands clenched tightly. Underneath the gloves, one would have noticed how white his fist had become. His brows still tightly knit together, it looked painful to watch his brows like that.

And to Garfield and Terra, he looked like the scariest man on earth. They seemed to fear Damian more than the unbeatable monster that had stabbed Raven into this state.

Damian hated what he had to do. He hated that he had to plug Raven like this. He hated that he knew he had to put her down now. Now.

There was a moment of hesitance, but Damian bit his lip till it bled to keep his focus.

“We need to put Raven in a safe spot,” He says in a clipped manner as he picks Raven up in his arms in a princess carry, “distract that thing and keep him far away from her.” He continuous absent-mindedly as his eyes quickly analyze the best spot to hide her away.

And at the same time, he recalls her injury. There were no organs that were damage, that at least is a good thing. And he hoped and prayed-- at that same moment-- that Raven can survive this.

With Damian standing on his full length, Garfield snapped out from his frozen state and had begun to reach out for Raven once again.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Damian snarled in such an unsightly manner that Garfield remembered the initial fear Damian gave him. Terra did not feel the fear again because she was looking at Garfield with worry and realization. Terra missed to see Damian’s expression and his words did not register in her mind because she knew at that moment while looking at Garfield—that Raven and Garfield will always have history.

Of course, she knew of Raven and Garfield’s relationship and didn’t mind it. Raven was simply his past. Garfield told her that he loves her, and that he would never go back to Raven—if that was something Terra worried about. And he must have kept his word. But the years Raven and him shared was something that could never be erased. And emotions built up throughout those years was something that couldn’t be replaced so easily. To realize such a thing now of all places—

Damian had accidentally hit Terra as he started moving, cutting Terra’s thoughts. For a second her eyes laid on the boy wonder—and to her, she did not see a hero protecting or saving someone. She saw a man holding someone in a way, that showed he was too afraid to hold any tighter in fear of losing her. A man refusing to blink, too afraid that it would be his last sight of her and that she would turn into dust any moment now. He held her in such a cautious manner—that it hurt to see him so forlorn like that.

That was something she thought she would never see in Damian Wayne. His body—every cell seemed to radiate a want to not let go of the woman in his arms. A conflict of holding her so tightly so he can remember how it feels to hold her and yet—still, he was a man of responsibility. Despite his desire to just be with her—he knew where he stands—the monster was still there.

Terra quickly turned, refusing to see Garfield’s expression—it was something she did not want to see right now.

“I will cover for you, Damian.” She tells him.

Damian sighed loudly in the white room, his forehead resting on his hands that was propped up on the bed beside Raven’s right hand. When they finally got to neutralize the enemy, the first thing Damian did was run to where Raven was. He was so afraid that when he got there, she would be cold and blue.

But she held on.

She held on.

He sighed again, as he turned his head that was resting on his right hand towards Raven.

He begged his father to help him keep her alive, and the first few months—God those were awful. When they arrived to have her healed, nothing was working. Whatever that creature was and what he did, messed with her. He begged his father to do anything—anything. Somehow, they found a way to stabilize her and close the gaping hole in her chest—of course every step was a struggle.

Seeing her with so much tubes and monitor, some advance tech and some actual alien tech, hurt Damian in a way that a bullet shot could not compare. And he felt so helpless.

Damian Wayne—son of Batman, son of Bruce Wayne, a robin—a boy wonder—an assassin at some point, still a man seen as the heir of the Demon’s Head—felt so powerless despite all the titles and honor and glory those titles held. He still felt powerless.

He held the woman he had loved for years in his arms, and had to leave her in her injured state to defend the world of the very same creature that injured her. He left her all alone in a corner—not even knowing if she would be alive when he returned. He knew that having someone guard her would be a waste of man power. He had to think of the bigger picture—because it is his responsibility, he couldn’t put her over that. And a small part of him hates himself for it.

He had seen her struggle to survive day after day, and night after night since then. The rejection her body faced—and his selfishness, thinking—hoping that she would survive it.

And she did.

She survived everything. And most of the tubes and monitors were finally taken away. Of course, she still had an IV drip and a monitor checking her vitals, just in case. Still, it was fifteen less tubes and monitors—and doctors and scientists.

Damian reached out for Raven’s right hand with his left, his palm resting on the back of her hand. He had gotten so used to all the tubes and monitors, that the first week without them was so unfamiliar to him.

Every time he visited her, he expected the tubes and monitors to multiply and revert back to when they couldn’t seem to cure her. Up until just a few weeks ago, he expected that they would return because she would become unstable again. But it never happened. He was so thankful it never happened. He slips his right hand under hers.

“Raven, won’t you wake up already?” He mutters, he had gotten used to talking to himself whenever he visited her.

“I still planned to confess to you,” He chuckles emptily “Won’t you at least let me do that?” He brought her hand to his forehead. “Let me be selfish…”

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door to Raven’s personal room opens, revealing Damian in his robin uniform, his mask off. He walks to her in a slightly slump manner. Takes her hand on his and sighs.

“I’m sorry Raven, it appears that I can’t visit you for the unforeseeable future. Something came up.” He looks at her sleeping face sadly.

“Don’t be angry, I try to visit you every day after all, even if it’s just for a couple of minutes, but I never missed a day since you got injured.” He pauses. “If you ask me, I’m pretty sure they were lenient on my lack of participation in missions recently because I looked as if I had lost a lover.” He laughs.

“It’s funny-- how I am reacting as if I had lost a lover—when we never really got to be together. It would be nice if you wake up—at least let me confess to you clearly. And you can put a rest to my pining.” He didn’t know why, but he felt that he had to rearrange her hair before he left and so he did.

“I will come back, I promise you.” He says as he reluctantly let go of her hand. He refused to look back as he left the room, and takes his mask from his utility belt and puts it on.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door opens gently again as Damian Wayne in an all-black outfit walks in. He was in his signature black turtle neck. He had on a thin black framed eyeglass perched on his nose. He held a book on his left hand. He had gotten used to opening the door slowly and gently, out of the fear that when he opens the door she wouldn’t be there anymore.

At first, he thought that it was an unreasonable fear, but clearly it was not. He was afraid, that the time he wasn’t with her, she would have long been gone. And when he comes to visit, he would be greeted with an empty bed. And he would not be able to even say his farewells.

He closes the door even more gently—because when the door closes this time was theirs—well his. Because she was still unconscious—still very unaware of his presence.

“Hey Raven, I brought the book I last read to you—I have enough time today to read to you just a few chapters.” He says as he walks to his position beside her. He takes a seat on the chair and held her right hand with his right hand. “It would be nice if you woke up soon.” He smiles grimly, the words have started becoming something he said out of habit.

Damian gave her a little recap of what he had read to her before as he held her hand. After that, he continued where he left off, holding her hand when he wasn’t flipping through pages. He read in a slow manner; his mind more aware of the fact that her hand felt so very right against his, instead of the words he was saying aloud.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Raven was still lying unconscious in the white room, on her white bed. Everything was quiet inside.

“Damian it’s been almost eight months!” Came a voice from outside the room.

“So, what Grayson!” Yelled back the voice of Damian Wayne. He was in an argument right outside of Raven’s room with Dick Grayson, his adopted brother—also known as Nightwing.

“Are you serious Dami?” A pause. “At least let others see her!”

“By others you mean Garfield, right?” A loud bang was heard from inside the room.

“Well—shit, yes! Why won’t you let Gar see her? He has been asking about her or where she is.”

“Don’t you dare bring Garfield to see her—don’t you dare!” A furious reply from Damian as shuffling footsteps were heard.

“Look man, I get it. I really do. But Damian, you can’t just hide her away from her teammates.”

“You see her too.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” A louder bang entered Raven’s room.

“She planned to leave anyways.” Damian says defensively. There was silence for a few seconds and a frustrated humph could be heard from outside the room.

“I—I didn’t think anyone would be able to deal with seeing her in that way—I” Damian pauses. “I don’t think they’d want to see her in a coma—I thought it was for the best. I—I’m sorry Grayson, I will let them see her—but—just not Garfield, Grayson. That is all I am asking from you, just not him. He caused her enough pain.” And the door to Raven’s room opened. She still laid there asleep. Damian did not wait for Dick’s reply. He slowly closes the door behind him.

He was in a black button up polo shirt tucked into his black slacks, that was held into place by a silver belt and his black leather shoes. He looked tired and but there was no hint of anger.

“You must have heard our little argument, huh?” He says approaching the familiar chair he always sat on when visiting her. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep.” He continues as he sat down on the chair and takes her hand in his again. “Of course, I didn’t disturb your sleep, after all your still unconscious.” A hollow chuckle soon follows.

Damian places the back of Raven’s hand against his forehead. “You can wake up now. Scold me for being so selfish. For not allowing Garfield to visit you. In fact, for not letting anyone else visit you aside from a select few. But—mostly Garfield. I will not allow him in here too— in this space-- so why don’t you wake up and just tell me how selfish I am.” He tilts his head to look at Raven while her hand is still pressed on temple of his head.

But as usual there was no response. He was so used to talking to himself now. At this point, Damian was very convinced that Raven had tried to reach out for Garfield, one last time, before she fainted. And the thought was something that caused him bitterness.

Even in her near-death, Garfield was the last in her mind.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Damian was sitting on the same chair holding Raven’s hand. Three months has passed since Damian and Dick’s heated argument outside of Raven’s bedroom. He wore a red hoodie with black pants and black shoes. This time around, for the first time, he looked less tired since this whole ordeal happened.

“It looks like you had a lot of visitors this month too.” He glances at the flowers on both bedside tables, pictures in frames of Raven with the team and other things. Now the room seemed to have a little bit of personality.

“I think it’s great that you have some visitors. Though I admit, I think that eventually they will come to visit less and less, so I think you should wake up soon. Everyone misses you a lot. I think the longer you stay asleep people would forget about you. Everyone you know is a hero Raven, and even though you stay asleep—we still have to defend the people. Everyone’s priorities will shift and they would have less time to see you. And because they have started settling with your absence, for sure the visits will lessen. But I promise, I will visit you every day until you wake up.” Damian placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand and he froze.

His lips hovering over her hand. He wipes the spot he kissed her at, with this thumb.

“I’m sorry, I should be asking permission. I didn’t—” He stared at the back of her hand. “I’m sorry I don’t know since when I started doing that, but I’m sorry. I overstepped.” He gently places her hand back on the bed and stood up. “Let’s see what’s in the drawers, shall we?” He mutters to himself. And surveyed every nook and cranny and objects in her room, keeping a mental inventory.

“We will be starting a new book soon. I no longer keep track of the books we’ve read.” He says after finishing his inspection of the room and went to sit back on the chair and crossed his arms across his chest.

“Well—I mean I keep track of the titles but no longer itemize them…” He adds quietly, he used to count them but stopped at around the fifth book because it seemed like the list would continue to grow. And seeing the number rise would just be another reminder of the fact, that the days waiting for Raven to wake was stretching to impossibility.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It was a little over a year since Raven has been in her comatose state. The room felt heavy and she stirred because of it. Her breathing a little louder—a little labored. Her eyes fluttered opened—her vision a blur. She saw two figures at the foot of her bed. The taller one looking at the shorter man. The shorter one was looking at her startled—he seemed to have an odd skin color. She could almost swear it was green. Raven’s eyes started to roll back to unconsciousness.

“Dick, she’s awake!” It was a familiar voice; Raven couldn’t help but think.

“What?” Dick turned to look at Raven her eyelids slowly closing, her labored breathing slowly quieting down.

“I saw her eyes open; I swear it!” She recognized the voice as Garfield, but knowing who it was did not give her any extra motivation to fight her sleepiness.

“What the fuck is going on here!” Another familiar voice furiously entered Raven’s faltering consciousness. She wanted to wake up—to fight the tiredness she was feeling. But it was simply too late now.

The door had banged open when Damian entered. Damian was still wearing his black outer coat, his shoes dirty as he had just arrived from outside. He had no time to freshen up to visit Raven because he found out what Dick was up to.

When his eyes laid on Garfield who was looking at Raven, he wanted to rip Garfield’s head off. Damian Wayne looked like he was going to pop a vein on his neck. He glared at Dick with such open hostility that Dick was taken aback, and Garfield beside him recalled the fear Damian instilled in him that night Raven got injured.

“Her eyes opened; I saw it!” Garfield says frantically, hoping that would ease Damian’s anger. Damian takes a glance at Raven—but she was at the same state he had last seen her in.

Comatose.

“I asked you one thing, Grayson!” He growls as he slowly stomped his way to Dick whose hands were up in a ‘I surrender’ way. Damian grabbed Dick’s coat collar and pulled him close. “One thing Grayson!” He shoved Dick and points at Garfield.

“Look—you can’t continue denying someone who wants to visit a friend.” Dick tries to calm his brother down as he straightens his coat.

“Friend?” Damian snorts in response.

“Look, Damian I begged Dick to bring me to her.” Garfield says and he received Damian’s angry glare.

“Get. Out.” Damian simply said, he looked as though he would kill either of them any second now. For some weird reason Garfield got a little more courage at that moment, he began to open his mouth. Dick seeing Garfield’s lips open—quickly intercepted by pulling Garfield by the arm and pulling him towards the door.

“I’m sorry little D, we will talk about it outside.” Dick says as he drags Garfield out, giving Garfield a stern look to ensure Garfield’s silence. Garfield wasn’t happy but he understood that Dick was looking out for him.

Damian stood where he was, glaring at Raven as he waits for the door to close behind Dick and Garfield. He was stiff in his spot and his fists clenched so tightly. He was still very much angry. He stood like that for five more minutes before he tried to calm himself down. His fist unclenched and his brows unfurrow.

“So—well stop pretending then—his gone now—so wake up.” He demanded in a low voice as he hovered beside Raven near the chair. She did not move. And Damian laughed brokenly as he fell on his knees. He reached out for her right hand absentmindedly and rested his nose on the back of her palm.

“So, it turns out you just needed him to visit you to wake up?” Damian whispers as tears fall on her hand. “So why aren’t you awake already?” He sobbed.

It was never him—she never chose him.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It had been four months since Garfield have been regularly visiting Raven, and at times he would also bring Terra with him. Damian had conceded with Garfield’s wish to allow him visitation rights to see Raven. Damian could not stay angry at Dick for over two weeks, and the pair reconciled, despite Dick undermining Damian’s wishes. Damian understood that Dick was looking out for him.

Damian’s family was very much worried over him since Raven’s fall. He acted more detached and unapproachable. He wasn’t sleeping well and every second he could spare he was always hovering over Raven. In fact, he slept well hunched by Raven’s bedside with Raven’s hand against his hands and forehead. Damian was even unwilling to celebrate his twenty-second birthday with Raven still unconscious. And they could see the toll it was taking on Damian.

His family knew he needed a little push to try and let Raven’s state go and pushing Damian to allow Garfield entry was the way to do it. Damian needed to move on.

But here he was again, in the white room he specifically prepared for her. Her accommodations all arranged by him, and his visits always a constant. But the past four months were difficult, as he was also actively avoiding having to meet Garfield when Garfield was visiting Raven.

When Damian was able to take a step back from his anger at what Dick did—he knew that his family did it to distract Damian—to keep him away from lurking around Raven. He understood it was made of good intentions. Damian reaches out for Raven’s hand, a habit he has come to develop long ago.

He wore a plain white shirt with jeans. His hair not as neat as it usually was, and eyebags were under his eyes yet again.

“But I guess I am a man who will only love one person in their life.” He mutters placing Raven’s hand against his right cheek. “I’ve come to wonder sometimes if I am unfortunate to be such a man—or to fall for you—” he studies her face; he has memorized every detail about her. How could he not when he was here, beside her so frequently.

“I’ve come to learn that loving you is not something to be regretful about. In fact, I am rather thankful for it. But you really got me pining over you, Raven.” He sighs, his eyes not capturing even the smallest of movement from Raven. “I love you.” He whispers and brushed his lips against the skin on the back of her hand.

A week and a half after, Damian is pacing at the foot of Raven’s bed, very much frustrated. He paused and glared at Raven, running his hands through his head, a sign of his developing anger. He stomps towards his spot as he glared at Raven again.

His hair was a mess, his eyebags had gotten darker. His clothes that was a plain black shirt with jeans had creases, very uncharacteristic of him.

“I don’t get it!” He says containing most of his anger. “You obviously woke up the first time Garfield visited you! Tsk, as it turns out, all you need was for him to visit you-- for you to wake up. So why did you go back to sleep!” His tone louder now and he sighs to try and dispel a little of his anger. His hand at his side clenched into balls.

Damian was seething in anger, and he exhaled and inhaled in air as if he was palpitating. Finally, the anger he had dissipated. But it was replaced by raw hopelessness, anyone who would see him in such a state, would feel their hearts knot.

“You really—really got me pining over you.” Damian says as he knelt on the floor with a hunched back as he takes her right hand in between his palms. “It’s funny how you pined over someone else as I pined over you—it seems that your making me pine over you just as long as you pined over him.”

The chair he usually sat on was across the room, toppled down. A droplet of water falls in front of Damian’s right knee.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Two months passed just like that. Raven’s friends had long since stopped visiting her as frequently as they did the first three months. Asking them to take so much time off of their busy hero life, was too much to ask for. But Damian always made time for her, and at almost a year and a half the toll of doing so had fully manifested.

He looked so tired, his eye bags in the darkest shade it had been since the accident. He looked thinner, not scarily thin, but it was obvious he had lost some weight. His clothes were as neat as it could be. His white button up shirt crisp and so is his black slacks. His black leather shoes very shiny. He placed a lot of effort in his appearance because even he could tell that his health has waned, and he was compensating with his clothes.

When Raven was in ICU for the first three months, he was in such a bad state. When she finally got relatively cured but was on comatose, he looked better-- more relaxed. Then a little after, he had to continue with his responsibilities, particularly as a hero and somehow, he managed.

But now at almost a year and a half of juggling hero life, personal and family life. Being with Raven almost every day since the night she got hurt. To actively avoiding Garfield while Garfield was visiting and arranging his own visits to go around Garfield’s visitation, but also keeping to his schedule and preference of seeing Raven on a very regular basis. And Raven still not waking up—Damian was quite spent.

He was sitting on his chair facing Raven’s right hand. His head propped onto his hands which were propped up on his knees. He was looking at Raven’s face blankly, dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

Raven’s state was always at the forefront of his mind. And when he was in a mission, he tried to put it as a lesser priority. But when he is near to death his first thought is: If I die who will look after Raven? And so, he fights with every screaming fiber he had, even when he was in such excruciating pain. After all, he still had to see her wake up.

One would think a year and a half wasn’t really a long time—but it did not feel like it has been just over a year for Damian—it felt like he has been waiting for her to wake up for five years.

He had just realized quite recently, just exactly how much stress he had gotten due to all this. And it was taking a major toll on him. He now completely understood why his family was worried about it—about him. Hindsight after all is 20/20. And he now clearly sees, exactly how concerning his state was.

There was only one solution. His eyes flickered to Raven—he had not noticed that his gaze had drifted off of her and was surprised when his eyes laid on her again. He sighs and suddenly stands up, and picks up a lock of her hair.

“Raven, your hair has grown quite a bit—its already at waist level. I thought of having it cut—but I think that should be your decision.” He places it back down. “If you don’t wake up any time soon—I’m afraid I would have to let you go.” He mumbles to himself as he turned around to lean on the bed and gaze at the ceiling blankly.

Two weeks after, Damian was back in her room, looking even worst. This time he was just standing beside Raven with a very empty gaze. He had been standing there in his black slacks, black dress shoes and a green button up polo shirt for fifteen minutes already.

“I give up Rae.” He looks down on the ground. His words so soft because he was very much afraid of the implications himself. He knew he had to let her go.

“I—I don’t think I can visit you like this.” He fought the tears as he said his words a little louder. And there was nothing left to say, he just softly touched her hand for a second and pulled away and then looked at her blankly.

A month after Damian’s decision to let Raven go, he realized getting to the conclusion and acknowledging what had to be done and executing his decisions were two completely different things. He was still visiting her in the same consistency that he always had. And he knew he had to fight to break the habit that he had already formed. Seeing her was second nature to him, and he simply had to break it.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Two months after, Damian was finally able to decrease his visits. And had even met Garfield a few times and actually didn’t mind it. His visit reduction was not really significant but the fact he was able to decrease it at all, was a win for him.

He was in jeans and a red shirt, looking very casual and he looked more unbothered and not so tired. His hands in his pockets as he just stood. For the first time, he looked genuinely relaxed. His gaze at her was soft and the eyebags he had been sporting in different shades, for almost two years, were significantly less dark this time.

“I know I don’t visit often anymore—and you probably can’t tell—aside from the obvious,” A small twinkle in his eyes at the little joke. The fact that he could make a joke like that, spoke volumes of how far he had come. “You really made me pine over you for the duration you pined over Garfield. Nine years—you really made this whole thing come into full circle. You pined for him for nine years and decided to move on completely—but this happens.” He gestured at her generally.

“Now I have pined for you for the same duration, and I have decided to move on too.” He said grimly and the hint of playfulness he had prior was gone. “It really came full circle.”

He just stood to her right with a small smile. He tried his best not to stay so long to visit her nowadays. Damian found that standing was the best option in order for him not to stay longer than he intended.

Damian puts his hand atop Raven’s, he has also avoided holding her hand properly or else he’d find himself sitting on his spot and just holding her hand. He would then talk to her and the intended short visit would become like his regular visits from before.

“I have decided. I am moving on—I am letting you go.” And he pulled his hand away a little too quickly, afraid of the temptation that was the familiarity of her hand against his—or maybe it was his hand against hers. After all, it was always him holding onto her.

His head had looked away to look at the flowers on her bedside tables. He has been talking to her about visiting her less, and letting her go for a few months now. At first it was just a passing thought. But the last two months, it seemed Damian had to tell her every time he visited. He was unaware of how frequent he was telling her that. But in retrospect, he could tell now that he had been dropping hints.

It started from hints, to telling her absentmindedly, to repeatedly telling her every time he visits—until finally he was able to visit less. And because Damian turned his head, he missed the small twitched of Raven’s hand when he pulled his hand away, to look at her bedside.

There was silence, as he looked down and closed his eyes. He squeezes his eyes for a moment then sighs as he looks at Raven, a faint smile on his lips. He took a step back, feeling as though he was leaving his heart on this spot. He then turns feeling lonely yet strong and regretful at the same time.

When he was gone, Raven’s eyebrow twitched.

The next day when Damian decided to check on Raven’s condition, he was frozen in fear to see the scientist and doctors hovering over Raven who was attached to so many monitors and tubes.

It was like he had stepped into the time she was brought in to close up her wound. He was unfrozen when she saw her spasming. He ran towards her, as her chest lifted and she was choking, black almost slime like blood came out from her mouth and spilling from her oxygen mask.

“Sir—we need you out of the way.” A doctor pulled Damian away. “Who let this one in!” The doctor adds and a nurse took Damian away, trying to console him.

“This is odd—there seems to be no traces of the compound we found last time. But her body is rejecting something.” Damian hears the doctor say, at that moment Raven’s eyes opened and her line of sight fell on Damian’s instantly. Her hand lifted slowly to his direction; her eyes wet as her face slowly turned red from the lack of oxygen. A doctor had already punctured her lungs to assist her in breathing, but black blood was oozing out from it.

“Let me, the fuck go!” Damian yelled as he strongly shoved the nurse off of him. He was normally someone who didn’t do this, but seeing Raven’s face slowly contort to fear and resignation, he actually went against the nurse. He remembered when she was in ICU for the first few months he observed quietly from the distance, but he couldn’t now.

“Raven!” He called out as he knelt on the floor and held her right hand that she had stretched out. “I promise, I will not leave you. So, you have to fight this!”

She squeezes his hand in hers as best as she could as her eyes closed and a tear slipped from her eye.

“Sir—I’m sorry but you are being a distraction.” A bulky man approaches Damian, he lets go of Raven’s hand and put his hands up. And slowly left the room.

“She’s—I heard the subject has powers—”

“Patient.” A doctor cuts off the scientist.

Before Damian was shoved out of the room, he stole a glance of Raven, her hand was glowing a faint purple black hue. And it seemed that she could breathe.

“Sir—there seems to be something appearing—” And that was the last thing Damian heard before the door was shut close.

Two weeks later Raven was finally stable but still in a coma. They were fighting with her condition for those two weeks—cross referencing and analyzing data, finding and testing out new information. And everything has now calmed down. He was only allowed entry today after the stunt that he pulled.

Damian was sitting on his chair, holding her hand. He wore a white t-shirt with many creases. His hair a slightly better case compared to his shirt. And the outfit was complete with a plain pair of jeans and casual shoes. And to top it all off, his eyebags had become dark again.

”You really scared me. God, I forgot how afraid I was of losing you recently—you really know how to make someone remember, huh?” He mutters as he puts her hand against his forehead, he was shaking a bit, as he fought his tears. And he felt her hand twitch against his—and he choked as he looked at her face.

Her eyes were still close but for the first time, he actually felt her react. In two years, she finally moved. He smiled tightly and nodded his head. He brought her hand against his lips and softly kissed her hand.

“You reached out to me that night, didn’t you?” He put her hand against his cheek as he turns his head towards her again. “You have to wake up and clarify that to me.” And he hears her loudly inhale.

For the first time in months, he finally had hope that she would wake up. “I promise you; I will wait for you to wake up. This time, I will not break this promise.”

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door suddenly opens, with a panic stricken, Damian. He was unable to take off his outer coat and change into cleaner shoes because he heard a crash from generally where Raven’s room was located on the second floor.

“Raven!” He called out his fear practically at the base of his throat.

When he heard the loud crash, he feared for the worst. His eyes at first saw an empty bed, and his heart almost jumped out of his chest. The vase on her right bedside table with flowers, had shattered on the floor. He quickly searched for Raven, and exhaled deeply when he spotted her at the foot of her bed. She was holding onto her bed with great difficulty. Her eyes observed Damian wearily.

He approached her, thinking that maybe this was a dream.

“Raven.” He whispered when he was two feet away, her violet eyes did not show any recognition at seeing Damian. He picks her up and carries her in a princess carry, and despite not recognizing him at first, she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Damian.” She whispers and he squeezes her back. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, as he carried her back to her bed. He sets her down gently as he pulls away, she grabs his right hand.

“It feels so perfect.” She gently tells him, and Damian was startled by her words. A smile slowly forms and he found himself chuckling.

“I’ve been here almost every day, holding your hand. Maybe your hand molded into mine—” He shakes his head. "Or maybe the other way around.”

“I—my memory is kind of fuzzy,” Raven says as she lays back in bed. “But I know you, I remember you. I heard you so often. It became scary when you weren’t there.” Her eyes start to flutter, she seemed a little bit too tired. But she continued to hold his hand until she fully fell into slumber, to which her grip loosened.

Damian took the opportunity to call the doctors and scientist to inform them of her condition.

When she awoke again the doctors, scientists and Damian were talking.

  ~.~.~.~.~

 A month after, Raven was already walking by herself inside her room. She started walking around the villa quite recently. But she has not been able to walk outside yet. She found that once the door to go outside the villa was opened, her knees would buckle. So, for the past month she was mostly roaming indoors.

She had found out that this was one of Bruce Wayne’s property, and Damian had asked for the property. Damian was someone who would never ask anything of anyone if he could do it himself, so it was surprising to everyone that Damian had asked something. And because of that Bruce granted Damian the property, if not for that, in the very least to give Damian some peace of mind.

She also found out that Damian did not spare any expense in her recuperation. And her situation was quite odd. The creature’s origin could not be quite narrowed down, thus its effects on her was up on the air. But that was where the doctors and scientists and all the tech was for, alien tech included. With the collective resources provided, they were able to make something to assist Raven’s condition.

“Raven, I think you should really try to get out.” Damian says as he walks in. He looked so happy seeing her, just standing by the window gazing out. She turned her head to smile at him.

He looked better—in fact the happiest and relaxed he had ever been for two years. His clothes were pressed well, it was a casual attire, and he had no hint of any kind of weariness. No more eyebags, and his eyes no longer looked so dead.

“If you go with me, I can try.” She responded, she had not seen him in two weeks due to his busy schedule, with the team and talking to her doctors and scientist. Him learning and relearning everything about her condition since she got attacked, and he also had family matters, he didn’t really have time to be with Raven recently. And she understood.

She kept herself busy by building her physical strength through walking within the walls of Damian’s villa. She also used the time to comb through her thoughts.

“Okay.” He agreed as he offered her his right hand and she accepts it with both her hands. Until now he couldn’t believe that she was awake.

“I really thought I was dreaming when you woke up a month ago.” He confesses again as he sighs and lead her to the door.

“I’m here. Everything is still a bit fuzzy. But I know you—I trust you. Your Damian.” Raven responds unhurriedly as she places a hand on his arm.

Fifteen minutes later, Damian came in with Raven in his arms weeping.

“I—I can’t… it—it…” And she wept.

“I’m sorry, we will take it step by step. I will be here if you ever want to try and go outside.” He comforts her as he places her on her bed. She nods as he wipes away her tears.

“I thought I was going to die—” She sobbed. “There was something I wanted to do… I don’t—” Another sob, “I don’t recall what.”

He holds her hands and then she suddenly froze on the spot. She looks at him in the eyes, and she blinks as the tears fall. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

And this time it was his time to freeze on the spot. Raven pulled her hands away from his, and she placed her fingertips on either side of his face.

“I was afraid that I didn’t have enough time with you. I wanted to know you more.” Her vision seems to go back to that night. “I wanted to be with you.” She absent-mindedly brushed her lips against his. And when the pressure registered in her brain, she pulled away, an apology at the tip of her tongue.

Raven was surprised to feel an even heavier pressure against her lips. And she kissed back and deepened the kiss. She noted how she was reacting very naturally over the situation, and how inexperience Damian was. And she pulled away.

“Is this your first kiss?” She asks him. And he looks away with a small blush on his face.

“It’s—I’m very inexperience with dating…” He admits, and she observes him as she wipes her tears.

“I’m assuming, I have dated before.”

“Yes, Garfield.” He responds blankly, and when the name came off Damian’s mouth, he saw her expression soften. His eye twitched as he looked away. He suddenly feels her hands against his, making him turn to look at her again.

“Gar… field…” She mutters, his hand clenching at the way she called his name. “Was he the only one I dated?” Damian nods in response.

“I see…” She said with furrowed brows. “My head is aching a bit. I think I should rest…” Raven lets go of Damian’s hands.

“Can we try going outside again tomorrow?” Damian was pulled out from his reverie with the inquiry, surprise in his eyes.

“Of course, I would love that.” She smiled at his response.

“Can you—” She looks at him hesitatingly. “Can you hold my hand when we do?”

He was even more shock to hear those words, and he smiled as he placed a hand on her cheek. “Of course, Raven.”

“I would like to date you, Damian.” Raven stares at Damian, who just pulled his hand away from her cheek and straightened his posture as he looks away.

“Your memory isn’t like what it was Raven, I think it’s too early to say that.” His response wasn’t something she enjoyed. But Raven pressed her lips together and did not push him.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The sun was setting and the white room was filled with an orange hue from the setting sun outside. Raven and Damian had just arrived from walking outside. This time around she was able to stay outside longer without having flashbacks of the night she got stabbed. It was great progress. But she always held Damian as if he was the only remaining lifeboat in an open, turbulent ocean.

Damian and Raven was continuing a pleasant conversation they had outside, when suddenly the door opened.

“Raven!” Garfield came in with such a relieved look on his face, his eyes expectant as he searches for her. Damian and Raven’s happy conversation grew stale as they turned their head to the door.

“Raven!” He called out again when his eyes landed on her. Raven remained in place. “Of course, you wouldn’t tell me she is awake!” Garfield adds with a glare to Damian, whose head was casted down.

“Tsk, Greyson.” He mutters, Greyson right behind Garfield but was hidden from Damian’s line of sight. Despite Damian’s head casted down, he took note of Raven’s reaction.

She was still, just standing in place, but Damian could tell, she was so close to running to Garfield and hugging him. And all Damian could do was squeeze his eyes shut, as he inhales softly while clenching his fists.

Seeing Garfield, Raven felt like her soul from inside her was vibrating with excitement. And yet, at the same time it felt as though a thin layer of frost blanketed her entire body, and it was enough to render her frozen. Despite her deep desire to hug Garfield, her feet were so heavily planted on the floor, that she didn’t even move an inch. Her breathing was shallow and unhurriedly soft, and she just focused on that.

The days had passed so pleasantly after Raven woke up that Damian had thought that he had a place in her heart. But seeing her like this, he knew—Garfield still outweigh him.

“Get out.” Raven says, to which Damian snapped his head to Raven’s direction, who had simply turned her back and walked to the window. “All of you.”

Damian wanted to say something, his fists curling and uncurling by his sides, but he saw her stiff figure with crossed arms as she stubbornly looked outside. He was the last to leave.

He comes back a few hours later, to see Raven sitting by the windowsill looking outside.

“He hasn’t left has he?” She whispers hoarsely not looking at who entered. Damian shook his head as he replied, even though she would not see it.

“His downstairs, hoping you’d at least see him.” He got no response, but she tilts her head.

“I didn’t see him leave.” She mutters vacantly.

“I’m here to convince you to eat dinner.” And Raven turned to look at him, a frown on her face.

“Okay,” She sighs. “But you are eating with me.”

Damian was startled hearing this, a second passes before the words sunk in.

“Alright.” He blinks at her.

“Here.” She adds and he tells her he that he would be back, as he leaves for a moment to get them their dinner.

When he arrives with food, they sat on a pub table that was added a little after Raven woke up. It could only sit two people, and it was made of some nice honey brown wood. The cushions of the chair red and its frame made of the same wood as the table. It was rather small for two people, but they made do.

Raven was vacantly playing with her food while Damian observes her with a frown. He had not yet scolded her for not eating, as he was giving her just a little more time.

With a sigh she says, “It’s odd, when I saw him, it felt like I just realized the world was a puzzle with missing pieces, and his presence just made all the missing pieces appear on it’s designated place. He was familiar, he was someone I knew—love, maybe even… but something didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t want to approach him. And I didn’t want him to approach me.”

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It took Raven three days to be able to even meet Garfield. The sun was setting, and from Raven’s window, one could see Raven talking with Garfield. They were sitting on a bench facing the sunset, their backs facing the window in Raven’s room.

So, it was a given that the two did not see Damian observing them from the window. He did not look upset nor joyful with the scene he was seeing. But once Garfield placed a hand on Raven’s hand, and she tilted her head a bit towards Garfield, you could see Damian’s face slowly turn into unpleasantness.

When the minutes passed, and Garfield nor Raven had not pull away from one another, his face contorted to wanting to storm out from Raven’s room to staying still and just holding his breath—just hoping and wishing—that she had not chosen Garfield.

But the minutes continues to pass, and Garfield’s hand continued to rest on Raven’s hand. And Raven glances at him with a smile forming on her lips. And Damian couldn’t help but think, that despite Raven having a difficulty leaving the building with him, if it was Garfield with her—of course it would be easier for her to be outside with him.

And Raven started closing in on the space between her and Garfield, and Damian did not want to see that. So, he turned around quickly, and he stood with his back against them, as he flexes his fists, and sighed. He had hurried to see her; he had gone through the garage so he was unable to see them on the yard. Once he got into her room, and she wasn’t there, Damian absentmindedly walked to the window. That was when he saw her and Garfield together on a bench, looking like lovers.

He wondered how long he stood by the window looking at them. He closes his eyes and sighs again, by the end of the day it was never him. He walks to the door without looking back.

A few days later, Raven is pacing her room anxiously. She had not seen Damian in days, she worried he saw her and Garfield the other day and that was why he was nowhere to be seen. But she wanted to explain to him what he had seen wasn’t what he thought. She had to tell him.

And she could feel the panic go up onto her throat. She sat on her bed, facing the door. She had refused to step out of her room after she talked to Garfield—not without Damian. She could not find the strength to go out of her room after her chat with Garfield.

Raven buried her hands on her face as the tears started to stream from her eyes. All she could see under her close eyes, was the time—that night, when she reached out for Damian.

She recalled her desire to be with Damian, but right now she felt it so very intensely that she was afraid. She was so afraid that she has lost that chance. And the door opened, and she was up on her feet with wide eyes. Seeing that it was Damian, she sobbed as she ran towards Damian and tackled him with a hug.

He was startled and it took a moment for him to realize that she was hugging him so tightly. He gently returns her hug.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back. I was so scared.” She wept on the nook of his shoulder, her feet not even touching the floor.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” He replied softly, and tightened his hold on her as he sets her down a bit so that she could touch the floor. They stood like that for a moment.

Raven eventually pulled away and tried to collect her bearings. She wipes her tears and looked at Damian in the eyes. On the other hand, he was wishing she hadn’t pulled away-- maybe that was the only time he could hold her like that. And she reaches for his hands. And it felt so right.

“When Gar came, and guided me outside, I couldn’t find the strength to step through the door. All I could think about was that I need you. I need you to hold my hand as I step outside. While that night kept flashing through my mind. But he held my hand—and it felt so familiar. And all my fears just vanished.” She looked down on their feet. “And I found myself outside—with him.” There was guilt in her face and on the tone of her voice. And Damian honestly did not want to hear what she had to say next. But she held his hands tighter, making him decide to just keep quiet. A small smile formed on her lips as tears fall and splatter on the floor.

“I forgot the time I was injured, till the time before he held my hands. It felt like I could breath again.” Damian’s eye twitched, he wondered what was her point. She suddenly flicked her head to look at him, and he was startled.

“He will always be someone that matters to me, we will always have history. I have loved him for nine years, we shared so many memories—so many firsts. But I do not want to be with him. I want to be with you. And I know I am asking a lot, but if all these doesn’t bother you—I would love it, if you would date me.” But she was greeted with silence. “I want you. I want to be with you.” She softly added, her confidence fading.

“I don’t mind.” He said so softly, but Raven didn’t hear it.

“If that is an issue for you, then I completely understand.” She continues on.

“I don’t mind.” He repeated.

“I know it’s been two years, but there must have been someone you became interested in. Or maybe you’ve even dated a bit. I know we don’t talk about it, but I get that—” She squeezes her eyes, her tone ready to cry.

“Raven, I want to be with you.” He cups her cheek and tilted her head towards him. She looks at him with the slightest hint of distrust. “I’ve always wanted to be with you—I waited for you.” He says, being able to say those words felt like such a relief to Damian. And the tears started falling from Raven’s eyes as the distrust was washed away.

“I almost gave up, I admit that.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her anymore. She cups both of his cheeks.

“If I were in your place, even I would waver.” She tells him, trying to catch his dodging eyes. When she finally was able to lock her eyes with his, she adds. “Garfield will always have some meaning to me—his all I have known for nine years, even before sleeping for two years—my history with him is half of my life. I was afraid. I thought he was the only one who could possibly love someone like me—I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. I want my next memories and moments-- with you. And slowly those memories I had, and my history with him, will just be a fraction of my life. I want you. I want every possible milestone with you, Damian.”

He slowly nodded, and when Raven’s eyes registered the nod, he couldn’t help but smile and chuckle.

“I never thought this day would happen.” He leans in to rest his forehead against hers, and a soft smile formed on her lips. And they shared the moment in silence. After a while, Damian talks.

“I was afraid to ask, or open up about this, especially since you were still recuperating—and your memories is fuzzy. But who would have thought you would catch me by surprise and open up the topic yourself?” Raven took the opportunity to plant a kiss on his lips, and he conservatively kissed back to which she deepened the kiss. And she pulled away recalling Damian’s inexperience last time.

“We will take it step by step. I might still remember more about Garfield, and I might get a little confused. But remind me, that I choose you since that night.” She leans her forehead against his, eyes locked with one another. Damian’s eyes flickered with surprise and the confirmation that she chose him that night, made his eyes soften with the acknowledgement. He caresses her face with his thumb.

“I finally caught up to you.” He whispers, a giggle bubbling up on the base of Raven’s throat.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 A few months later, the white almost vacant room was no longer white nor empty. Raven had flipped the room with Damian’s help and approval. Its walls were now a soft lilac color. The room’s furniture was either accented with white, glass or silver metals. And the ceiling was littered with little crystals, that once the lights were off, would illuminate like stars in different colors. Her sheets were navy blue and white.

“Raven, are you ready?” Damian’s voice came from outside her open door. She turned in her white fitted dress with the thinnest spaghetti straps. Her long hair that passed her waist was tied into a fishtail braid.

“Of course!” She replied happily, as she ran towards the door, and tackled Damian with a hug and giggled.

“Excited for our brunch?” He teases.

“Absolutely!” She replied without missing a second.

Later that night they were in her bedroom. Damian sitting on her bed and she was kneeling over his lap. Raven’s hair slowly unravelling from its braid. Their lips have been intertwined with one another for minutes now. He had one hand on her waist and the other on her thigh, a bit too afraid to rest it on her bum. While her hands were on his neck and on his chest.

Raven broke off the kiss, and started kissing his neck.

“If we’re going too fast, you can tell me.” She mutters in between kisses. But when she did not hear any response, she pulled away to look at him.

“I know Garfield and I had a lot of firsts together, if that bothers you…” Damian broke away from his dazed state and looked at her questioningly.

“I admit, at first it did,” His eyes follow his hand as in travels from her thigh to her waist which he caresses. “Thinking of how he knows how to please you…” He looks back at her conflicted eyes. “But that just means I have to learn how to please you my way. You two were together for so long—it would be a given that I’m not your first. That is alright. But you are mine.” He admits a small blush on his face. And she smiles as she kisses his eye and trailed kisses to his jawline. He was being brought back to his dazed state.

“I feel honored.” She whispers in between her kisses. And she playfully bit his ear after. Damian was startled and grabbed her butt and she gasped.

“Then I will take the lead then.” She whispered alluringly by his ear, as her hands travelled under his shirt. Her braid completely undone.

 FIN.

(Or is it?)

 Bonus Scene:

Garfield and Raven were outside, they had been talking for hours that the sun had finally began to set.

“You know, when I woke up, I couldn’t find myself to walk out my room. Eventually, I was able to overcome it. But I found that it was so difficult to step outside the villa. All I could see was that night and being stabbed, and the last person I saw.” Raven confesses and Garfield placed a hand on hers for comfort.

“But Damian was there, he guided me and stayed with me as we walk outside.” A small smile on her lips. “I always held him like I was in open water and he was the lifeboat. I was afraid of losing him. I mean, I still am. I still hold him so tightly, because I’m afraid that it would be my last chance with him. I thought I was going to die that night, Gar.”

“But when you offered your hand and held me, after you said you knew of my condition—my fear outside.” She glances at the open area. “I forgot how afraid I was of going outside. It was like my fears these few months were nothing but a phantom. You were always associated with love and happy memories with me. But you and I both know, Gar, we were imperfect. We were destructive. We had become unhappy together for a very long time.” And she glances at him fully.

“I want to say goodbye.” She finally said, and Garfield looked at her gently as Raven extended her arms to hug him. “I want to start a new romance—with Damian.” She whispers as they embrace one another.

“I wish you two happiness.” Garfield says as he pulls away.

“Yes, thank you.” She looks back at Damian’s villa. “I was so afraid I would lose him, I still do now, its why I always hold him tightly whenever we go outside.” She looks back at the sunset that was facing them.

“I held on because of him—I’m sure it was him, I could feel his hand and hear him every now and then, until all I knew was his presence.”

 Alternate (timeline) Ending:

 Damian was asleep on the table, and had woken up with a jolt, all teary eyed.

“Damian, what’s wrong?” Raven says as she approaches the table.

“I had a dream, you got injured and you were in a coma.” He replied. And he tells her what happened in his dream.

 Alternate’s Alternate Ending: (Reciprocate timeline)

 “I had a dream, you got injured and you were in a coma.” He replied as Raven sat down beside him. She gently places a hand on his as she smiles softly.

“Damian, that did happen.”

Finale: Reciprocate III: The After

[castielista]

Lasers and distractions

A Cherik laser tag AU

So, this little fic is the first one I ever write, and it has encouraged me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and please, feel free to leave your opinion or criticism, I’d adore that. <3.

Prompt: the old but gold "take me laser tagging and then push me into a corner and kiss me. Then shoot me and walk away"

Words: 1508

Read it on Ao3

Charles, Erik and their colleagues go laser tagging, a game in which Charles has always excelled. But Erik turns out to be much better than him, and Charles is very distracted by that fact.

“Fuck." Sean fell awkwardly on the ground.

By the time he lifted his head up to identify his shooter, Erik had put his gun aside and was already far away, moving silently, searching for his next victim.

Charles watched it from a safe distance.

The afternoon the group decided going laser tagging, mainly at Hank and Raven's insistence, every single one of them had bragged about how skilled they were at this kind of games. And Charles, maybe more than anyone else, had boasted about his rather excellent aim, and his top-notch ability to sense enemies at a considerable distance.

"Darlings, you really believe you stand the slightest of chances?" he had said solemnly, his finger pointed towards them. "You'll witness what a telepath is capable of," he threatened, knowing that, as always, he would suppress his powers.

Since he was a child, Charles had thought that using his powers to get ahead was unfair, so in those games, he lowered them to a minimum. Erik, of course, couldn't disagree more on this choice. Nevertheless, now that his rivals were fellow mutants, Charles considered loosening up his powers a bit, and either way, he had already enjoyed himself terrorizing his colleagues, who knew deep down that Charles was far more powerful than he deliberately appeared.

But then there was Erik. He hadn't said a word in the whole afternoon until he directed a sly look towards Charles, insinuated a smile, and with the most innocent of voices he said something that no one really understood, "I will love seeing you do that, Charles.”

Now Charles understood what that had been all about. He most certainly did. By the end of the first fifteen minutes, more than a half of them were out of the game, and those left had been intelligent enough to stay as far away from Erik as possible.

And from his hiding place, Charles watched him in genuine awe.

He was dangerous (worryingly so, taking into account that they were only playing with harmless guns), but he couldn't possibly get his eyes off him. Erik didn't give away the slightest sign of unrest, and looked as if he was having a real blast of his own massacre. His gestures were subtle, deadly-aimed, as he got close, fired and vanished again. Never hesitated. His body always delicate as a feather and precise as a fine watch.

He looked like a dancer.

Charles thought that had to be the most erotic thing he had seen in his life. They had been together for more than eight years, and one would think that by that time they would have got used to each other’s quirks, but he kept finding it mesmerizing whenever he caught these glimpses of Erik being so... Erik.

He was so absorbed by it that if it wasn't for the skills that he had previously bragged about (and that he did possess), he was sure he would've been knocked out at the very beginning.

After a while, he shook his head. Enough was enough, he decided. It was time he took action. Erik could be an unstoppable force of nature (and an absolute delight to watch), but until that moment, Charles had been unbeatable. He prepared his gun and targeted Erik, trusting his brilliant aim.

But he blinked and his prey was gone.

Well, he thought, he should have seen it coming. It would’ve been too easy. Charles grunted as he lowered his gun and turned around to take a quick look. Maybe Raven wa-

"Charles."

It took him a millisecond longer than usual to pull the trigger, and when he tried, Erik had already taken his gun away from him with insulting ease.

"Erik?"

How could he..? How in hell did he manage to get there so easily?

Now Erik stood still in front of him. God, damn him and his natural elegance. Charles' eyes wandered mindlessly over his figure and for a moment he felt as if Erik had done the same, but he was too distracted to know it for sure.

"Charles, love, I can protect you. We could form an alliance, if you wanted."

An alliance? He sounded perfectly calm as he looked around. He was telling the truth, Charles told himself, brushing the very surface of Erik's mind and checking his words.

"You... you are amazing at this. Where did you... how did you find me?" Charles tried forcing his voice to sound even. He failed.

"I’ve been feeling watched for a while now." Charles could almost see himself blushing. Erik seemed incredibly serious, but there was a suspicious twinkle in his eyes. "Come on, Emma must be close," he said, returning Charles his gun and moving in front of him in order to protect him. "Follow me."

Charles hesitated. He would've sworn that Emma was already out.

But Erik's hand settled on his shoulder wanting to guide him, and instinctively, he followed him. Of course he did. He would've followed him to the ends of the earth. Even if in this game he was not completely sure of his intentions, Charles knew Erik wouldn't let anyone shoot him. At least, he thought, any other that Erik himself. No one trusted him as deeply as Charles, and they were both well aware that this utter faith was entirely mutual.

At that moment, more than anything else, Charles wanted to play Erik's game. He wanted to stop reading his thoughts and let Erik guide his curious mind, so that's what he did. They walked through halls and walls for a couple of minutes, ready to fire, guiding, protecting and trusting each other.

Suddenly, Erik turned abruptly towards a hidden corner, grabbing Charles from the collar and dragging him along. As they turned around, with his usual finesse Erik used the motion to place the telepath's back against the wall, while he kept a hand on his shoulder and trapped Charles with his weight.

They locked eyes for a moment, expectant, restless.

It was Erik who, after making sure there was no one near them, finally made the last inches that kept them apart disappear, kissing Charles fiercely, as if that would be the goal of the game.

Charles offered resistance for less than a second, before he helplessly let himself go into Erik's lure. Immediately, he moved one arm over his shoulders, and began petting Erik’s hair, which had been perfectly combed until that moment. Erik did the same with Charles, digging his fingertips into his much messier hair, toying with brown strands. As he did that, Erik's mouth started wandering around the side of Charles' neck, and left a handful of kisses there.

Charles let out a soft moan and felt its impact on Erik's mind, who felt encouraged and began biting the skin between neck and collarbone.

In the midst of that cloud of love, arousal and desire, Charles realized that he could easily reach for his gun. It only required a simple gesture, and he would most certainly win.

He didn't do it.

"I- I love you... Erik," Charles murmured.

He couldn't help it. Charles tended to be excessively verbal when they made love, or when he simply felt overwhelmed by Erik, and damn it, he was feeling overwhelmed by him at the moment. Though he often complained about his inability to shut up, Charles knew for a fact that Erik actually loved when he did that.

So maybe it was that what changed Erik's expression. The sheer desire in his eyes became a much more affectionate stare, and he slowed down the rhythm, as if he wanted to take a moment between kisses to study Charles carefully. Then he placed a hand on his cheek and brushed his thumb over Charles' lower lip. And he let out a sincere smile.

Surprised, or maybe just fascinated by Erik's last reaction, the telepath gave into the more languid pace, and he returned the smile. Because he felt, indeed, happy. Because with Erik, the complex and dazzling Erik, he felt at home.

By now, the kisses had stopped. They pressed their foreheads together, both seized by a soft feeling of euphoria, filling silence with their shallow breathing. And Charles knew, he was willing to make that little moment last forever.

A noise. Sudden. Metallic.

Charles' eyes opened in an almost comical way. “Erik?” he wanted to say, but his throat had stopped working.

Did he just...? Now, Erik couldn't stop grinning, satisfied. Without getting his eyes off Charles', he tenderly dragged a lock of brown hair away from his face, and put aside his gun as silently as he had pulled it out. There was a red light on Charles' vest. Of course he did.

For the last time, Erik crossed the little distance that was left between them, and pressed his lips lightly on Charles', "We can continue this later. I wanted to take care of you personally.” Then, he drew back, looked at Charles tenderly, and just before turning away and leaving, he said, "I love you, Charles."

Thank you so so much for reading <3

[sociallyawkward--fics]

Be Careful of What Lurks in the Dark

Did I get restless writing the chapter fic because I really wanted to post something and then write this in under an hour and didn’t edit it because I really wanted to post something? Yes, yes I did. Also, there are characters from the Witcher 3 game in this, but they’re not like,,,, a big deal at all so it doesn’t matter much, I just know a lot of my readers only know the show. They’re more just mentioned in the background lol. 

But for reference: Cerys and Hjalmar are siblings and their dad is named Crach an Craite and they’re from Skellige

Edit PS: Ciri and Cerys were 100% like “go distract Geralt for us” and that was the best Jaskier could come up with on short notice lol

Word Count: 1018 words

Summary: Geralt hadn't exactly been excited to be dragged off to laser tag, but that didn't mean he wasn't at least going to try. At least, that was the case, until Jaskier decided to play a dirty trick on him.

[ao3 link]

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

Laser tag was not Geralt’s first choice for how to spend his afternoon.

Unfortunately for him, Jaskier and Ciri both had very convincing puppy-dog eyes, and Geralt was a weak-willed man. Was he meant to be able to say no to those faces? Geralt didn’t see how anyone could, and it further proved his theory that Yennefer was somehow magic, seeing as she seemed to be immune to Ciri’s tactics.

Either way, now Geralt was in a dark, humid room ducking behind corners and trying not to lose to a gaggle of children. Granted, Jaskier was also a very good shot, but unlike the kids, he didn’t seem to be trying nearly as hard.

Probably because he’d gotten the dream team of Cerys and Ciri being elected as an honorary “girl” for their girl power team. The two together were unbeatable, combining Cerys’ smarts and Ciri’s determination. Meanwhile, Geralt had been paired with Dara and Hjalmar. 

The boys may have been older and bigger, but they didn’t know how to work as a team. Hjalmar had a tendency to act before he thought, and Dara had a tendency to do the exact opposite. As a result, both boys ended up getting frustrated and running off to do their own thing instead of making a game plan.

Which left Geralt to crouch behind corners that glowed neon under the blacklights and hoping that one of his boys managed to snatch the flag when the girls and Jaskier weren’t looking. At least he was getting some pretty good shots in, pecking off Ciri and Cerys both whenever he saw them. He got furious pouts (Ciri) and swears for revenge (Cerys) everytime, of course, but he wasn’t deterred.

They wanted to play laser tag? Geralt was going to play laser tag.

He hadn’t managed to shoot Jaskier, yet. He didn’t even know where Jaskier was, he hadn’t seen him once since the game started. Even after sneaking circles around the arena at least twice, Jaskier was nowhere to be found. At least, until he found himself backed into a corner hiding from his own daughter and Jaskier popped up out of nowhere.

“Afraid of losing to a couple of teenagers, Geralt?” Jaskier whispered in a honey-sweet tone, poking his head up through the “window” on the wall to Geralt’s left.

Geralt rolled his eyes and tried to get his gun into position as subtly as he could. “It’s laser tag, Jaskier. I couldn’t care less who wins.”

Jaskier skirted around the corner of the wall to crouch in front of him, gun also held in a ready position. “Please, I’ve seen you play games with your brothers. I’ve seen you play games with me. You, dear heart, are far too competitive for your own good.”

“They’re kids, Jask. I’m not pulling that shit here.”

Jaskier shrugged and relaxed. His mistake.

“That’s fair,” he said, seemingly unaware of Geralt’s gun pointed straight at his vest. “You forgot one thing, though.”

Geralt paused, finger on the trigger. “And that is?”

Instead of replying, Jaskier surged forward and pressed his lips against Geralt’s. Geralt made a surprised noise and overbalanced, feeling himself get pushed up against the wall by Jaskier’s weight. It only took another moment before he closed his eyes and started kissing back with just as much fervor.

Geralt tried to keep it PG. There were still teens rushing around them, after all. But Jaskier pressed closer and closer and Geralt lost himself more and more to this kiss, making tiny little contented noises that he hoped the kids wouldn’t hear over the music blasting through the speakers. He spared a brief thought for if there were cameras in the room, and really hoped there weren’t any pointed toward the corner Jaskier had him pinned to.

Either way, making out with his fiance was proving to be a far more enjoyable time than chasing around children with a laser gun.

Only, when Geralt was just far enough gone to be a little fuzzy around the edges and dizzy with love, Jaskier pulled back. Geralt couldn’t quite catch the embarrassing whimper that escaped his lips at the loss of contact. He felt Jaskier’s breath puff across his cheek as he chuckled.

And then his eyes shot open at the sound of a laser gun.

Geralt looked down in shock to see that his own vest was now dark to show that he was out of commission. A little screen on his gun started counting down from fifteen, preventing him from shooting until his time “out” was finished.

“That I’m even more competitive than you are,” Jaskier said with a grin.

“Cover me!” Geralt heard Ciri shout.

Jaskier winked at him. “That’s my cue,” he said, and then he rushed out of their corner and into the maze beyond.

It took Geralt a moment to gather enough brain cells to understand what Jaskier had meant, and another moment to actually remember that he should get up and follow to see what all the shouting was about. When he walked back out into the maze, he saw Ciri rushing down another corridor, holding the flag from Geralt’s team. Cerys’s bright red braid trailed after her, clearing the way up ahead. Jaskier jogged backwards behind them both, shooting down the hallway at what Geralt could only assume was the boys.

And sure enough, after a moment, Geralt heard an outraged cry and Hjalmar raced forward to try and catch them. His vest had gone dark, but Geralt had no clue how much time he had left before he reset. Dara jogged after a moment later at a much more sedate pace, vest also having gone dark.

Geralt’s gun played a powering up sound as his own vest began glowing once more, but it was too late. The girls had already gotten the flag back to their own base. They had won.

One thing was for sure, though. Geralt was 100% buying them another round, and this time Jaskier was going down. He wanted to use trickery and lies to win? Two could play at that game.

[itsclydebitches]

Salem mentioned somewhere in one of her opening/closing Volume monologues that if the world knew about her than they would all unite against her, and that seemed to be Team RWBY’s take on why, telling the world about Salem is a good thing. A common defense I see for it is, “These instances of Leo, Hazel, and Raven happened alone. If everyone knew about Salem than mob mentality would kick in and only a few people would actually go to her side.” What’s your take? Hope you’re doing well.

I am doing well! Hope the same can be said for you. 

I’ve touched on this a bit but my take is basically that we have to specify whether “telling the world about Salem” includes mentioning that pesky immortality problem. Another common defense I’ve seen is that Ironwood did tell Mantle about her and look, everyone banded together and swore to stop her. Thing is, they’re all working under the assumption that they can stop her. In a world populated by fighters who take out incredibly dangerous grimm, the problem is not Salem’s existence but rather an inability to kill her in a traditional manner. All the aura, weapons, and semblances in the world don’t (far as anyone knows) stand a chance. If you just tell the whole world an evil woman exists who we need to take out, you’re setting them up to be wiped out instead. Because, like Team RWBY and Ironwood, they’ll assume they can just attack with lots of firepower and win. But without a plan to circumvent the immortality issue - the issue the world doesn’t know about - it’s going to be a bloodbath akin to the one Salem herself experienced when she led her own army against another presumably unbeatable foe. She’ll wipe out all her attackers like the gods wiped out her’s. 

Now, let’s say we do tell the world about her immortality. Yes, Leo, Hazel, Raven, and even Ozpin were all individuals who crumbled under that information, but what evidence do we have that telling thousands of people would suddenly result in a more positive outcome? The “mob mentality” angle assumes that people are naturally inclined towards doing the right thing - the hard thing - and though in real life I absolutely subscribe to that, in RWBY’s world we’ve seen FAR more evidence that they’re not. Ozpin gave up (and everyone else doesn’t have lifetimes to get over it). Leo gave into his fear. Hazel and Watts let their anger consume them. Tyrian is straight up crazy. Cinder just wants power. Emerald and Mercury are doing what they think they have to to survive. Ironwood had turned to shooting allies. Team RWBY rejected and stopped trusting theirs. Qrow sunk back into depression and alcoholism... We’ve seen very little evidence - none really - that telling people about Salem’s immortality will lead to them coming together as a unified force. Instead that information breaks both individuals and communal ties. 

Which doesn’t even take the grimm into the mix. Even if we work under the assumption that no one will actively join Salem, or sabotage the heroes, or buckle under the weight of this knowledge... we think telling the world that an immortal witch wants to kill them all will generate happy emotions? This information will call grimm in droves to cities/communities that don’t currently have the defenses to withstand them. Telling the world would likely literally kill a whoooole lot of people. 

“But Clyde,” we might say, “telling the world means more people thinking about this problem and potentially coming up with a solution. A million heads are better than the fifteen or so we’ve currently got.” Which yeah, that’s the potential silver lining to all this. If the world can survive a Salem announcement and hold onto their hope, they can collectively try to come up with a way to beat her. But what’s required to come up with a potential plan? Like how Ironwood needs to know about Salem’s immortality to realize that his current plan won’t work, the world would need to know about everything else in order to understand what weapons they have to work with. Problem is, every one of those weapons comes with its own, serious downside. Tell the people that magic relics exist... you’re going to have more people trying to take them for themselves. Tell people the Maidens exist... you’re going to have more people trying to kill them for their power. Same with the SEWs. That’s already canon for both of them. Does Salem’s defeat lie in her backstory? Go tell the traumatized man to reveal his private life to the entire world. That one is arguably “less” of a downside than the others - personal as opposed to life and death - but none of these have any guarantees attached to them. Rather, history has shown Ozpin, and the show has shown us, that people tend towards the worst decisions when this information is made available to them. They’ll join Salem. Or hunt a SEW. Or try to steal the relic. Or even just make impulsive calls because they assume they know best. That was our heroes even before they heard about Salem. Oh, this relic answers questions? Let’s ask one right now! 

The risks, far as we’ve seen, far outweigh the theoretical rewards. Which is why Ozpin made compromises in the form of telling a few trusted individuals this info and keeping the Salem immortality secret under-wraps until he had some idea of how to deal with it. Which didn’t happen before Ruby forced the secret out. So I fail to see where there’s any evidence that telling the whole world is an obviously good idea. It’s like Ruby’s stay and fight “plan.” It sounds good and heroic on paper. Defeat Salem to protect Mantle! Tell the world so we can fight her together! But then you think about the practical issues and realize that what sounds good isn’t necessarily going to end well. 

[hamliet]

Lost and Found: the Rats and the Hansa

So in the last meta I wrote I touched on the idea of empathy and relationships in The Witcher. I want to take a little more about that; specifically, I want to discuss it in light of the two found families that blossom in Baptism of Fire: the Rats and the hansa. The former is essentially a painfully dysfunctional found family; the latter is a healing found family. 

Both groups are formed out of traumatized people seeking some kind of life for themselves. The point of this comparison, though, is not Rats=bad and hansa=good, but rather to highlight the tragedy of the Rats. Parentage and lost children are very common motifs and themes within The Witcher, and so if anything, I’d say the Rats end tragically because of a world that hurts children as soldiers, prostitutes, and nuisances, rather than treasuring them.

The “Rats” name is pretty telling--rats, after all, are animals that (fairly frequently) eat each other. Similarly, the Rats are all traumatized children who form what they want--a family--yet inflict their traumas on one another and on the outside world, ultimately leaving them all more wounded for it. 

I can’t deny that I liked Ciri going full Dark Side despite the pain, but that’s for another meta. I’ll just say that finally, finally I got to read about a heroic girl who is also bitter and angry, and allowed to be that way. Ciri goes full Dark Side after she ends up alone following Thanedd’s battle. Believing Yennefer and Geralt are dead, almost losing her unicorn guide, getting kidnapped by bounty hunters: it’s more than enough to psychologically injure a fifteen-year-old just beginning to mature. 

Mistle, of course, is the most prominent example of a character who is on one hand sympathetic, and on the other hand definitely reenacting her trauma. I know Mistle and Ciri’s sex scene was supposedly not written with this intention, but I think the text leaves little room for debate that what Mistle did to Ciri was rape. Even if Ciri then willingly engaged in a relationship with her, which she did, it was still rape. Mistle is a traumatized kid herself, and in particular, her trauma stems from sexual abuse, and so she inflicts that on Ciri and then proceeds to “heal” that trauma by loving and protecting Ciri, which no abuser ever did for Mistle. (That’s, unfortunately, not psychologically unrealistic either.)

Other characters in the Rats also reflect this: Kayleigh is just like Ciri, having lost his adopted parents in a Nilfgaardian attack. He found Reef, a Nilfgaardian soldier who had been abandoned for being wounded, and helped him physically heal. In an attempt to mentally heal, they stick together, forming the family and friends they had left, but they also hurt each other. Asse lost his family to soldiers and now he kills and takes family members from others. Giselhar flees from military service and is attacked by elves, only to team up with Spark, who was banished by her fellow elves. Giselhar acts like the military that conscripted him, leading the Rats. Spark loathes Ciri for her initial reluctance to kill, treating her coldly in a reflection of her own banishment from her people.

Ciri, too, gets to inflict her trauma on people, albeit not the Rats so much. As Falka, she threatens a baroness, which will later come back to haunt her. But Ciri’s frustration is more than just random callousness: she’s angry at what she sees as a representation of the life she would have had had Cintra not fallen and/or had Thanedd not happened. A girl beloved by her father (whom she believes is dead and feels abandoned by in Geralt), wealthy, without the need to worry about how she survives.

Ciri did not take her eyes off the coat of arms on the door of the carriage, a silver unicorn on a black background. A unicorn, she thought. I once saw such a unicorn... When? In another life? Or maybe it was just a dream?

‘Falka! What’s wrong with you?’ I am Falka. But I was not always. Not always. ... She put her foot on the ladder of the carriage, looking at the gem on the dress of the pale girl. ‘Give it.’ She said dryly. ‘How dare you?’ choked the matron. ‘Do you know who you are talking to? She is the noble-born Baroness of Casadei!’ Ciri looked around and made sure no one could hear. ‘Baroness?’ she hissed. ‘A low title. And even if this baby was a countess she would have to bend down to me so far that her ass would be on the ground and her head lower. Give me the brooch! What are you waiting for? Do I have to tear it from you, along with the corset?’

When the Rats are murdered by Bonhart, the townspeople do not bother to help. While the Rats were known for terrorizing people and Bonhart was pretty unbeatable, it’s still tragic, because the Rats were all children who were abandoned, abused, used, and thrown away. It was the only way they knew how to relate to each other without anyone there to guide them or offer them another, healthier way of processing their trauma. It’s an utter tragedy. 

The hansa could have ended up much the same, but it doesn’t--likely because most of them are adults with the distinct goal of rescuing a lost child (Ciri) rather than the Rats, who were scrabbling for a place in the world and found their only place was in inflicting or receiving pain. How many of the characters come to join the hansa symbolizes their entire arc and what they bring to the group, and it’s these ingredients they all bring that help each other heal. 

Cahir brings freedom and redemption to the group. He joins after he’s freed from a coffin by Jaskier, Milva, and Geralt. Obviously being sprung from a coffin is symbolic of death, but also calls to mind Cahir’s imprisonment for over a year in Blood of Elves, an imprisonment he never expected to be free of save for leaving for the gallows. The mistake Emhyr made was in telling Cahir that succeeding in capturing Ciri was Cahir’s last chance, which isn’t exactly true: Ciri is Cahir’s last chance. He’s freed and finds himself in the company of those trying to redeem themselves and run from their pasts, which forces Cahir to face the ugliness of what he did during the Fall of Cintra and the battle at Thanedd, and free himself from the constrains of hate (but more detail on Cahir’s arc in another meta).

Milva joins the hansa and articulates that she “does not know why,” which illustrates her flaw of deflecting and running. Milva was never safe, always was used by others. Her stepfather tried to assault her, so she killed him (accidentally) and ran. She was then used by dryads to manipulate people into heading into the woods to be killed (but the people wanted to kill dryads). She’s only ever been a tool, and yet the dryads won’t accept her as one of them, nor will people, not anymore. She runs to avoid facing people she’s hurt, and she runs to prevent herself from being hurt.

Geralt says that Milva is trying to save Ciri because she feels she can’t save her child:

‘I want you to find Ciri, witcher. With my help you can find and recover her.’ ... ‘That’s why you came with me... You wanted to help save someone else’s child. You wanted to pay. To pay off a debt and you were determined to do it at the time, when we left… Someone else’s child for your own.'

But it’s through the relationships Milva forms with the hansa, who all support her whatever her decision, that Milva learns to face what she’s been running from. She decides to keep the child, and even though she does miscarry, she is able to mourn. When Milva runs with Geralt and the hansa, she’s paradoxically not running. She’s found. She’s found herself and belonging in a group looking for a lost girl: Ciri, a symbol of her innocent younger self. 

Milva’s relationship with Cahir is also important: if Ciri represents an innocent younger self, then Cahir is a symbol of the violence and regret in her past. It’s telling that Cahir is the one who saves Milva when Geralt is gone, and she’s the one who plays a peacemaking role between Cahir and Geralt straight through Tower of Swallows. Geralt, too, struggles with violence and evil, and Milva is the one who forces Geralt to stop running from this. She whips Geralt and Cahir when they get into a fistfight, pointing out that they’re both wrong, forcing them to do what they helped her do: face themselves instead of running. Milva brings acceptance and determination to the group.

Similarly to Milva, Regis finds acceptance and belonging, as a monster and yet not a monster, among Geralt’s hansa. Meaningfully, Regis is very literally a healer, and brings healing to them. His act of healing Jaskier from his wounds is not just the moment Regis joins the hansa, but the moment the hansa first comes together as Regis, Jaskier, Geralt, Milva, and Cahir. Regis is allowed to be who he is (a vampire) and a healer. He admits to all of his flaws, forming an empathetic pathway for Milva, Geralt, and Cahir to walk along road to redemption. Like them, he’s a murderer, but he’s taken the very qualities he used to harm and now uses them to heal. 

Angoulême joins the hansa in the next book. Angoulême is a foil to Ciri (she’s noted to have a striking physical resemblance to her) and is significantly introduced pages after the Rats have been murdered. Having been a member of a similar group of street kids known as the Nightengales, Angoulême can be seen not just as a stand-in for Ciri, but as a representative of all the lost children. The hansa taking her in and allowing her to reform herself shows the reader what could have been with the Rats. 

Like the Rats, she acts as if others don’t matter because society tells her that she doesn’t matter: first as a bastard, then as a Cintran refugee, then as a forced prostitute and street kid. But with Geralt’s company, she’s able to save lives and matter. Angoulême shows the group that what they’re doing--searching for Ciri--is not futile, because they gave a lost girl a home and the family she’d never had. 

Jaskier, who is less traumatized than the others, is no less important, because Jaskier represents the best of life in many ways. He represents joy and hope, as well as the legacy they will all leave because he’s literally transforming their stories into songs as they travel. While they travel, they can’t forget to live. The journey matters, too, and so he brings life and, significantly, is the only one to live on in that world at the end. 

Geralt is reflected in all of these characters. Jaskier is just as loyal to Geralt as Geralt is to those he loves, and through parenting Cahir and Angoulême, Geralt starts to learn how to be the best dad he can be to Ciri (especially given Ciri’s own dark turn). Through supporting Milva and Geralt’s grief helping her make the decision to keep her child, he comes to terms with parts of his humanity (emotions) that he’s been avoiding. 

Through helping lost people come together, Geralt finds himself. Through everyone working together to save Ciri, a lost child who was capable of rescuing herself but not without others too, hope lives on. The lost children matter as children and also as broken adults, and it’s never too late to reach out and help heal someone else, which might just heal you as well. 

[sparksinthenight]

A story idea:

K I don’t have the time to actually write this, considering that I already have five WIPs. So if anyone has time and wants to write this, feel free.

Okay so it’s a historical fact that George Washington’s family was very racist, greedy, egotistical, exploitative, power-hungry, wealthy, powerful, etc. They owned slaves and we’re all-round scum. George himself was also all this. This is a historical fact. Watch RenegadeCut’s video about the Cult if Tradition if you’re want more information.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OwUIDNYwZRY

Okay so now the fiction comes in:

So the story starts when George’s mom is pregnant with him. His father has invested in some business ventures that are too risky for his likings - I don’t know enough about history to know why this would be at the time - and he stands to lose some of his obscene fortune. He can’t stand this and eventually his desire for money and also the power and status that come with money win out over his desire not to do anything too weird.

He follows a young poor woman to where she lives. There’s rumours of her being a witch because she lives out in the forest by herself without a man. But she’s also the best embroider there is and people really like her work so they keep her around. But anyways, Augustine (George’s dad) I’d hoping that she is a witch. Not in order to get the town to burn her but in order to blackmail her into doing magic for him. He has like a special copy of the bible given to him by a really sketchy priest with him that can help him detect witchcraft. He has it hidden.

The woman knows that he is following her, though he tries to be very secretive about it, and she confronts him immediately. He says that he is merely wanting to confirm that she isn’t doing some horrible witchy stuff or whatever and that he is merely trying to keep the town safe. She tries to get him to stop following her but he is really insistent. She recognizes that the power imbalance between them means she can’t do anything about him following her so she lets him.

It turns out that she lives in a small cottage that she found in the woods. Though he doesn’t know this yet, she is in fact a witch and also he helps slaves to escape. She sends out a magical message to the slaves hiding in her home that danger is coming and they should probably hide, so they hide in her cellar. Meanwhile Augustine, using the special bible, detects that she’s just used magic though he doesn’t know what magic she used.

So he calls her out in her witchcraft, shows her the proof, and she’s terrified. But he assures her that he will not tell anyone as long as she does what he says. She promises him that she will. And he commands her to see into the future to learn what is in store for his plantation.

She does so, and sees that there we’ll be great suffering for the many people who work on it, for generations upon generations to come. But she can’t really say that because even though she’s technically obeying him he’ll still get her killed if she says that. Instead she tells him that his profits will continue to improve and his bloodline will prosper. Not lies. But she really wants to stick it to him. She tells him that the first child born in his house February of this year will become a great leader and a hero whose honourable deeds would have effects for centuries to come. Augustine knows that his child is due in February and takes this as glorious news. But she knows that the first child born in the house in February will not be George. It will be a little black girl named Liberty (is that too in the nose?). She knows that Augustine never pays attention to the lives of his slaves and does not see them as people, so he won’t even notice that his maid is also pregnant. And of course he won’t pay any attention to a black girl.

So then we go to February. Towards the beginning of the month Liberty’s mother goes into labour and there is no-one around so she can’t get help and she gives birth on the cellar floor. It is a deeply traumatizing experience and terrifying and painful experience for her because she had no access to support or comfort or medical care or anything. Which obviously sucks, she deserves better, but stupid systems create injustice. But despite the traumatic birth, the girl is healthy and beautiful and she loves her immediately. It’s the middle of night by the time the child is born and there is incredible starlight, mirroring what happened when Jesus was was born. She gathers her strength and walks to her hut, to where her husband is, and they decide together to name the child Liberty.

So then we get to see George’s mother giving birth with a fictitious and a midwife and the best painkillers they had at the time, in her hugs and soft bed.

And we see both the children growing up. We see George being snobbish and racist and treating his slaves badly.

And we see Liberty being humble and kind and friendly to her fellow slaves. We see her suffering and doing child labour. But we also see her listening to the problems of her friends and family in the slave quarters, and offering them support and encouragement. We see her telling stories if hope and bravery and confidence go the younger kids, and even the older kids. She becomes a great storyteller, weaving tales of defying unbeatable odds, rising up against oppressors, showing silent, secret defiance, of showing compassion and togetherness and unity. And we see her living her ideals as much as we can. We see her stealing bits of extra food to share with her people when she could. We see her finding funny ways to secretly mock the masters. We see her lying cleverly to protect people from punishment. She is incredibly proud if her people. How they make it through the depths if hell by finding light in each other. How they try so hard to survive. Everything about them.

As George grows, he increased in his spoiled ness and his pride but also becomes charismatic and manipulative.

As Liberty grows, she only grows more protective and brave. She lives her people more than anything, and has inspired, helped, empowered, and even saved so many people. When she is fifteen she gets sold to another plantation. And that’s heartbreaking. She finds herself loving her new family of fellow slaves and supporting and sticking up for them just as much. She even draws attention to herself purposefully when the younger slaves mess up, so that the overseers’ wrath can be directed at her instead and they can be safe. People admire her for her selflessness and spirit. She admires then did their kindness, longing, community, wisdom, hope, the list goes on. They find hope in each other.

Liberty gets involved with the (well there wasn’t an Underground Railroad yet, but the equivalent) and she slaves run away to freedom. She never goes herself, knowing that if she stays on the plantation she can help many slaves become free. And she is hailed as a hero.

Eventually she is found out by the whites and hanged for all this. But before she dies she proclaims that they won’t be able to keep her people in inequality forever and that one day there will be justice. Then she dies. A whole bunch of black people see how she was defiant until the end. George Washington is in the crowd. He feels true fear for the first time in his life. For just a second.

And the truth is that with her humility, her selflessness, her pride and her ability to find power within an abjectly powerless situation, she positively impacted so many more lives than the president with his fame and his power and his glory ever did. She sowed the seeds of love, of hope, of true freedom, rather than the seeds of blind patriotism and capitalism and false freedom.

Sure, the president is the man that the history books remember, but his actions were based on selfishness, ego, and greed. He hijacked a revolution that should’ve been for and led by poor people and slaves. And he built the foundations of an empire that ended up being worse than the British one.  

It was the strength and the togetherness and the hope and the love and the ability to find bits of power in the most hopeless of situations, that all the slaves had, it was what built the foundations of true freedom in America. Every single slave was a necesssty key into opening true freedom. And Liberty played her part beautifully, inspiring hundreds of people to believe in their people, to fight for their people. Those people in torn found their own power and inspired other people, and so on and so forth.

And eventually the world that Liberty believed in triumphed over the world that George believed in.

[anarchistgumball]

Kirichako

I was going to get this to 2,000 words but im tired- No warnings necessary 

words: 1,856

Pairing: Kirishima x Uraraka 

This is in my bakukami AU to which the first part will be here

The first time he really noticed her was her fight with Bakugo. She was determined, strong, and had wits; there was no doubt about it, even if she did end up losing. Uraraka had earned Bakugo’s respect and Kirishima’s admiration that day. After that he started trying to hang around her more. Getting ice cream with her group and when Bakugo wasn’t around to help him, he studied with her. They had a stable, fun friendship and that was good enough for Kirishima.

Kirishima’s affection for Uraraka grew after graduation however, and he spent nights thinking of her. He was planning on confiding in Bakugo, his flatmate, but while the other respected Uraraka he probably wouldn’t understand Kirishima’s crush. So he told Mina, and Sero, and then Kaminari found out- telling Bakugo. Bakugo just snorted saying how Kirishima ‘wasn’t subtle’, while the rest were eager to play matchmaker. 

“Come on, ask her out!!” Mina said, shaking his arm. “Any girl would be lucky to have you anyways!” 

“Yeah, you’re like perfect boyfriend material, dude” Kaminari added. Kirishima went red and scratched at the back of his neck. “I dont know guys….”

“C’mon Kiri you’re like, perfect” While Sero meant it he also just kind of wanted to embarrass the other. Which he succeeded at. Kirishima was now hiding his face in his hands, but they could see him smiling. 

“Guuuuyyyss”

“What? You know its true” Mina poked his head.  “Go ask her out, what could go wrong?”

“Everything”

Mina sighed, and kissed him on the forehead. “Well I have to go but call me when you stop being a drama queen”

“I have to go with her but seriously dude, just go for it” Sero said getting up and following Mina. Kaminari smiled at him telling him “I agree” Then went to the table to start on paperwork.

He was patrolling with her today. Fuck. Normally this would be great news, patrolling with one of his friends? Awesome. But with the development of his feelings he didn’t trust himself to not say something dumb. The first fifteen minutes Uraraka chalked up to tiredness, though Kirishima usually woke up at ungodly hours… 

“You okay Kiri? Something up?” Kirishima yawned, okay tiredness then she guessed. 

“Just tired” He confirmed “Didn’t go to bed until like twelve am”

“Hm, did something keep you up?”

“Yeah, I guess my thoughts did” Kirishima wished he was less tired so he would know how to steer away from this conversation.

“Wanna talk about it?” They were rounding into an ally now and after Uraraka’s eyes swept over the area she looked up at him. She looked like she cared, Kirishima practically felt his insides melt. 

“You’re really pretty” Dammit. Abort, abort. That didn’t even relate to what she asked, maybe he was picking up on some of Kaminari’s dumbass since the other moved in. 

“Oh what? Uh Thank you, Kirishima.” She smiled slightly, and blushed profusely. Her fingers came up to twirl around each other, out of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t….” Mean it? He did for one thing and didnt want to come across as a dick. 

“Ah no, I just wasn’t expecting it is all, you’re pretty too….”  She internally cursed herself, while Kirishima tried to not faint. 

“Thank you!” His smile was bright, and his stance seemed taller, more confident than before. She wanted to see him like that more.

“She called me pretty, Bakugo! Pretty! Me!” Kirishima was practically gushing about Uraraka to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately for Bakugo he was home. He just snorted. Kaminari entered their flat while Kirishima was pouting in Bakugo’s general direction. He threw his keys on the accent table and headed over to them.

“What’s up?”

“Bakugo’s being mean” 

“Ah what the heck, Baku, how could you be mean to this puffball” He circled around the counters to playfully punch Bakugo on the arm. The tips of his ears flushed, something you wouldn’t notice unless you’ve spent years living with him and just as long listening to him talk wistfully about Kaminari. Kirishima stifled a laugh. 

The blond chopping vegetables just grumbled “Kirishima won’t stop fucking fawning over Round Face”

Kaminari turned to face him “So did something happen? Did you man up and ask her out?”

“No… but she called me pretty!” Kirishima was smiling again, head up in the clouds. Kaminari smiled, but looked sad? Shit. Kirishima should really think. His own grin dimmed seeing Kaminari. 

“Sorry, kami…. I wasn’t…”

“No, it’s fine dude, get your girl”

“I just-” He honestly didn��t know what to say for, like, the gazillionth time that day. Kaminari had just been cheated on and here he was flaunting how he might be getting somewhere with the girl he liked! Was he getting somewhere?

“I get it man, it’s not like you can control your feelings- the only reason i’d care is if you liked Jiro” 

Kirishima supposed he had wanted it to sound light and joking when it mostly just came off ... depressing.  Bakugo was silent, probably unknowing of how to help the situation and not really liking to talk about Kaminari’s feelings for Jiro. For more than one reason.

“Hey, Kirishima!!” Uraraka said, waving.

Kirishima looked up from his paperwork, which if he was being honest, he didn’t want to do. 

“Oh! Hey, Uraraka!” He smiled at her.

“I was wondering if you would want to go to the gym with me at some point? Deku has his schedule filled to the brim again” She laughed a little, shaking her head. The dude did need to take more breaks, even if he was the number one hero. 

“Uh, yeah, I would love to! What day works best for you? I’m open after five everyday this week, unless, y’know, an emergency.”

“Maybe Thursday? At 6:30?” She was twirling her hair around her finger. It was cute.

“Yeah, sounds great” He grinned at her and she brightened considerably, unless it was just him thinking that.

“Well I’ll let you get back to work now” He groaned.

“How could you leave me, Uraraka? I’m going to drown in this paperwork or die of boredom! Do you want me dead?” She giggled. 

“What if I did” She said playfully, he gasped, dramatically placing one of his hands against his chest. 

“You wound me” She laughed while walking out.

“I’ll see you later, Kiri!” 

It was Thursday, and he was on the phone with Mina. They were both freaking out over what Kirishima was going to wear to his “date”.  They were apparently too loud and an angry Bakugo joined them.

“What the hell are you guys yelling about?!” Bakugo, very appropriately, yelled. 

“What Kiri’s going to wear to his very, very important date with Uraraka!!” Mina said, speech semi garbled from the shirt covering Kirishima’s phone.

“Did he finally manage to fuckin’ ask her out?” Ignoring Kirishima to talk to Mina.

“No, but she asked him…. Well kind of…”

“The hell you mean?” 

“Well she asked to train with him, alone!”

“...Okay?”  Bakugo looked perplexed, brows furrowed. 

“Well she obviously wants to spend more time with him, so it’s basically a date”

Bakugo scoffed. Then he turned to Kirishima.

“She’s seen you in work out gear before, idiot, just wear something.”

Kirishima rolled his eyes, Mina sighing loudly. 

“Ooooooh I have an actual good idea!” Mina said.

“Let’s here it” Kirishima was getting a little impatient, but still wanted to listen to his friends advice.

“You know that one gray tank top that shows off your ribs and shit? Wear that with like, your light pink gym shorts!”

“Yes! Mina thank you! I love you, but I need to go now”

“Okay, fill me in later!” 

The call ended and Bakugo got up and left, rolling his eyes. Once Kirishima was dressed in the outfit Mina picked he headed for the gym.

Kirishima was on the treadmill warming up when Uraraka arrived, she didn’t seem to notice him so he waved.

“Hey Uraraka, over here!” She noticed him, smiled and waved, walking over. She started stretch near where he was.

“So how was your day?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Boring, mostly. Paperwork and the like, but Mina took me out to lunch!”

“Oh awesome! Iida and Deku were both busy so i spent most of the day laying around” 

“Oh you should’ve said something, I can always make time for one of my bros!” Uraraka blushed, maybe. Maybe it was because she started running next to him. They ran for about twenty minutes, then did some other exercises. At almost the end she asked him if they could lift weights together. She laughed a little when explaining. “I thought you’d be the best because you know….” Kirishima cocked his head in confusion. She was definitely blushing now. “You’re just really strong and I thought you could maybe give me pointers?”

“Of course!” Kirishima flexed, always showing off when he had the chance. Compliments were always amazing, especially if they were from Uraraka. 

She had done thirty- five now struggling with the heavy barbell. Her whole face was red, Kirishima having to remind her to breathe multiple times, but determined. She lifted the bar over her head again with Kirishima encouraging her. She got to forty before she tried to put it back, Kirishima finally grabbing it and putting it back for her. She had her eyes closed, managing her breathing.

“That was amazing!”  She grinned at him, still laying down.

“My arms feel like noodles…. But I’m going to keep at it until I can beat you”

“Excuse me I am unbeatable, but seriously, that was manly as hell” He felt his ears burning wondering if he should’ve said something else. She sat up slowly.

“Thanks, for what it’s worth I think your manly as hell too” She stood, walked over to where he was and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. She left saying ‘see you later’ grabbing her bag on the way out. Kirishima was frozen, probably looking like a tomato. 

He called Mina, squealing on the phone about what happened with her. The next day he realized he’d have to see Uraraka and almost screamed into his pillow, thinking of what he was going to say. What the hell was he going to say?

Was he glowing? He felt like he was glowing. Bakugo seemed to scowl at him but maybe that was because he kept him up almost have the night. Once he got to work (after being stopped by a villian attack) he saw Uraraka. She was talking to Iida and Shinso. He walked over to them, getting a coffee while saying hello to everyone. 

“I had fun last night Kiri” Shinso raised an eyebrow but Kirishima answered the question he didn’t actually say out loud. 

“Yeah, we should really work out again sometime…. But before that you wanna go out with me to this new restaurant?” He grinned, hopeful. 

“I would love too” He hugged her grinning, probably too much, waving at the other two before heading back to his office to excitedly text  Mina.

[quicksilversquared]

A Visit From the Future

No one can deny that an akuma with the power to pull people's future selves to the present has a ton of troublemaking potential. Even if they don't mean to, people from the future can accidentally give too much away.

How much will the Future Ladybug and Chat Noir spoil?

By the time Ladybug and Chat Noir caught up with her, the Seer had dashed halfway across the city, chasing after citizens and zapping them with her powers before they could get away.

"Her powers seem harmless enough," Chat Noir commented as they watched the akuma blast a couple more unlucky civilians caught on the street, light bursting forth out of her fingertips. As the light faded, what were clearly older versions of those same pedestrians appeared on the sidewalk as the original civilians fled. The older versions from the future gave themselves a shake, disoriented, but as soon as they spotted the akuma they just sighed, shoulders slumping in resignation.

Apparently they remembered this akuma. That shouldn't have been surprising, really, but somehow it was.

"I do wonder if Hawkmoth ever thinks his powers through," Chat Noir added as another few civilians got hit mid-escape. "As far as I can tell, if we get hit, all that would happen is that our older selves would appear, and does he really want older versions of us joining the team for the day?"

"Either she's not actually trying to hit us, there's a catch, or Hawkmoth is either an idiot or hasn't thought about that yet," Ladybug agreed. "Or he can't actually control how the akumas develop. I suppose that's a possibility, too." She leaned forward to get a better look at the Seer, focusing on the akuma's outfit. "She has a ball-shaped thing hanging from her waist. A scrying ball, maybe? I bet that's her possessed item."

"A glass ball? That's easy enough to break." Chat Noir adjusted his stance, readying himself to jump. "Ready?"

"Let's go!"

 As it turned out, not all glass balls were so easy to break. The Seer was fairly agile, jumping and rolling around and running away as she avoided the superheroes' attacks, and not a single crack appeared in the glowing ball.

"So much for an easy fight," Chat Noir panted as he rolled out of the way of another flash of light. He bounced to his feet and they resumed their chase, narrowly dodging the lights the Seer sent at them. Some rushed by so closely that they ruffled the superheroes' hair. "But I haven't seen any sign of her having any sort of control powers over the people she hit or their future selves."

"There might still be different kinds of light, though, we've seen that before. Different powers coming from the same source." Ladybug frowned as she considered the Seer as she fled several streets over. It was fully possible that the akuma's powers were ultimately harmless and that they could have already taken her down by charging in and tackling her, ignoring the blasts of light hitting them, but Ladybug didn't want to risk it. It was never a good thing to get hit by an akuma's powers and after Timebreaker, Ladybug had a healthy dose of caution about any sort of time-related akumas. "I suppose we could ask one of the people from the future, but what if they don't remember? This might just have been one more akuma to them, and they might have forgotten the details of what happened."

Chat Noir raised an eyebrow at her, narrowly dodging another blast. "Time travel wouldn't be memorable? Those people seemed to not be super surprised about it. I think that they've remembered."

Ladybug flushed at the incredulous note in his voice. "Well, that part would be, yeah. But more mind control? It would be easy enough to forget which fight it went with, we've had so many." Still, Ladybug gave the now-fleeing people one last glance before returning her attention to the Seer. "What do you say- split up, you distract while I try to get the drop on her?"

"Sounds like a plan!"

Ladybug dropped down and veered off as Chat Noir charged at the Seer with renewed vigor to keep her full attention, deflecting blasts of light with his baton as best he could. It almost felt like a few bits of light brushed up against him as he pushed forward, but Chat Noir couldn't spare even a moment to check.

He had no idea if even the barest brush of the light would have the same effect as a full-body hit. For all that he knew, it could. There was also no way to know for sure if the Seer was limited to future-self summoning, or if she had other powers hidden up her flowy sleeves.

Chat Noir worked his way forward, bracing himself against each hit. He was getting close when suddenly the Seer changed tactics, forgoing the light in favor of charging forward into Chat Noir and throwing him off balance. She took advantage of his surprise, flinging him over her shoulder into the space she had just occupied, just as Ladybug pounced. The two superheroes collided with a yelp and tumbled across the roof together in a tangled knot. Before they could recover, the Seer hit them with a flash of light and two more bodies appeared on top of them.

The entire pile groaned.

"Well, at least we were transformed when we were pulled back," a voice that was at once familiar and yet not said, and the younger superheroes' eyes went huge as they realized what the Seer and Hawkmoth had probably been trying to do with her powers.

If their future selves had appeared while detransformed, then Hawkmoth could have discovered who they were. Sure, they wouldn't look exactly the same now as they would in the future- especially since the people from the future tended to look about ten to fifteen years older than their present counterparts- but it would give Hawkmoth a far more solid lead to discovering their identities than either of them wanted.

"Considering that they're transformed, I'm guessing that the Seer's powers had to find a moment when we were bonded with Tikki and Plagg," a female voice added as the added weight on top of them shifted and lifted. Ladybug and Chat Noir looked up and came face to face with… well, with Ladybug and Chat Noir.

They stared, and Chat Noir's jaw dropped as he took in the sight of his older self and his partner. Older Chat snorted in amusement and reached over to close his mouth.

"Oh, that's not fair!" the Seer screeched, and all of them whipped around to see her glowering at them. "I didn't ask for more superheroes!"

With that, she gave them one more glare before whipping away and fleeing as fast as her feet could carry her.

"She didn't see that coming," Older Chat Noir joked, grinning. "Odd."

"Well, akumas never tended to be that good at planning." Older Ladybug stepped up next to her partner, close enough that their shoulders were brushing. "And she pulls people from a future, she doesn't predict the immediate outcome of certain actions.. She might have thought that it was a given that she would see our civilian selves."

"Now she has to fight us properly!" Chat Noir said triumphantly. "Unless she wants even more of us."

"I wouldn't write her off quite so quickly," his older counterpart told him. "She's going to keep going for avoidance and trying to startle us in order to get away, since I'm sure she knows that four against one isn't going to end well for her. She's not going to suddenly decide to make things easy for us."

Older Ladybug made a face. "She's going to keep stalling, then. Drag out the fight until it's more of a hunting game than a fight, maybe try to divide us up while searching for her. We might have to recharge right away, then," she added to Older Chat. "Plagg and Tikki weren't charged up enough for a drawn-out fight, just a quick run back home."

Older Chat Noir grinned. "I know just the place to buy some food for our kwamis, then," he said. "It's nearby and everything! You two will have to try to track down and contain the Seer while we're gone," he added to the younger superheroes. "We… well, we don't know how time is passing back home while we're here, and we kind of have to get back soon, so any progress would be good."

"Oh gosh, the kids are going to throw a fit make a mess of the house if we're gone for long," Older Ladybug muttered, burying her face in her hands. The comment was probably intended for the older version of her partner, but the younger superheroes exchanged started looks as their older selves both looked a bit worried at the thought of the trouble their kids could be getting into without them there.

Was...was this confirmation that they would actually end up together, then?

Surely their older counterparts knew better than to tell them something big like that, though...right? Right?

(Maybe they were talking about both of them having kids but not the same ones? Maybe their kids were friends and they were meant to be watching them? They- they shouldn't jump to conclusions, not yet.)

"Does she have any sort of control powers?" Ladybug wanted to know, reaching out before their older selves could leave. "Like, should we worry about getting hit again?"

The older Ladybug and Chat Noir exchanged a glance before shaking their heads. "No, I don't think so. She'd have been using it before if she did, I think."

"And I think the Seer will be a little more careful about her powers now," Older Ladybug added. "If she got six of us….wow."

"We'd be unbeatable in theory, but I think all of the differences in level of experience might throw us off," Older Chat pointed out. He glanced at the younger heroes. "Like, don't get offended if we sideline you for a bit during the fight or take over the planning. It's just been so long since we fought at, uh…."

The at your level went unsaid They all knew that the older superheroes had more experience and practice and would be better. They would have developed signals with each other that the younger versions wouldn't understand, but there would be no easy way to remember mid-battle which signals the younger superheroes would know. If something went unnoticed and they weren't where their older counterparts expected them to be, they could end up in trouble.

A beep from Older Chat Noir's ring caught their attention, and the older superheroes waved before quickly jumping away. The younger duo headed in the direction that the Seer had headed off in, glancing around to try to figure out where exactly she had gotten off to.

Really, the lack of screaming going on now that more people had headed inside was a bit of a hindrance. At least it was cloudy enough that they would be able to just make out the flashes from the Seer's powers when she found people to hit.

"She's gone quiet," Chat Noir commented after a couple minutes. "Maybe we should drop down, too, and see if she starts up again- oh, wait, there she goes!"

Emboldened by the knowledge that apparently the Seer's blasts held no unwanted side effects for them, Ladybug and Chat Noir went after the akuma again. She screeched when she saw them, sending a blinding flurry of blasts in their direction and using the cover of the bright light to escape.

Again. The superheroes let out twin snarls of annoyance.

This time, the Seer did a better job of hiding. The superhero duo zigzagged back and forth over the rooftops, trying to flush the akuma out. She remained stubbornly elusive, so Ladybug and Chat Noir found a good vantage point where they could see most of the city.

"I've been thinking, we could really take advantage of having our future selves here," Chat Noir said as they settled in, eyes trained on the buildings and streets below. "Like, fifteen years in the future- Hawkmoth has to be defeated by then, right? We could just ask who he is and track him down right away. Not that I don't like spending time with you or anything, but I don't want to be missing so much class all the time."

Ladybug nodded eagerly. "Yeah! We could even- if they told us, we could even go defeat him now, with their help. Once the akuma is defeated and before I do the Cure, I mean."

"Oh, that would be super cool! Getting to use Hawkmoth's akuma's powers against him? Amazing."

They fell silent for a bit, and Ladybug leaned forward as she noticed a familiar head of dark hair on the sidewalk below. Was that her older self, detransformed? She pulled out her yo-yo and zoomed in, enough to confirm that- yep, that was definitely her, hair pulled up into a distinctive braided bun. She beamed up at her companion as they sped down the street, wrapping her arm around his as they laughed together. She leaned up quickly to press a light kiss to his cheek- and oh, that was definitely an older Adrien, wow. He was stunning, with long hair tamed into a low ponytail and high cheekbones painting a picture of a fiercely handsome man. Time had definitely been kind to him.

But how had her future self ended up with future Adrien as a civilian? She was meant to be with Chat Noir, getting their kwamis recharged as fast as they could before rejoining the fight.

("Fight". Right now, it was more of a chase or a search, and that was crazy frustrating. Their older selves had asked them to try to track down and at least contain the Seer, and they hadn't done that yet.)

Unless… well, she couldn't be entirely certain that she hadn't gotten hit again, not with all of the near misses that hadn't necessarily been misses but she had just been too occupied to check. Maybe this Marinette was from another hit, and she had decided that having three of them out and transformed at once would have affected Tikki? Then Adrien must have gotten hit at some point, even though normally his bodyguard kept him far from the akuma fights if possible, and… well, maybe he didn't realize it? Maybe he had been swept up in a group of fleeing people and had left his future self behind, where his older version caught up with her future self and they decided to take advantage of their time together and do a walking cuddle down the sidewalk.

So… was she married to Adrien, then, after all? Just friends didn't act like that around each other, so that had to be it. Married to Adrien but just really good friends with Chat Noir and so their kids hung out together? That would be lovely. Ladybug had always hoped that she and Chat Noir would stay friends after Hawkmoth was defeated, since they worked together so well and got along.

Older Adrien and Marinette vanished from view around the corner, and Ladybug returned her attention to the Paris skyline. The clouds overhead were darkening, which meant that once the Seer came out of hiding and started going after people again, the light would be more obvious than ever.

"D'you think our older selves have charged up yet?" Chat Noir asked after another couple minutes had passed with no sign of the akuma. "I mean, we don't know where they were headed, I guess."

Ladybug had a pretty good guess, honestly. If they went to her parents' bakery, they could get sweets for Tikki and something with cheese in it for Plagg. They might even explain who they were- not that it would take her mom long to figure it out, not with the knowledge of the akuma out and about, and not with Older Marinette so clearly recognizable- and they would get the food for free. If the older superheroes had detransformed straight away, it would have been probably a five- or ten-minute walk to the bakery, and then time for the kwamis to actually eat.

"I'm sure they'll come soon," Ladybug offered, rather than telling Chat Noir all of that. Maybe she and Chat Noir knew each other's identities in the future, but that was years away. "And- oh, there's a flash, let's go!"

They ran, keeping low to the rooftops so that they wouldn't attract attention. They were halfway there when the older Ladybug and Chat Noir joined them, looking focused and fierce.

"We'll circle her," Older Ladybug told them. "Come in from each side. Running is her thing, but she can't escape if all of us are in the way."

"Before- before we do that, do we want to come up with a contingency plan?" Chat Noir suggested timidly. "In case she actually fights us? I mean, I know how my Lady thinks so I can figure out what her plans are, at least most of the time. But with you two, you've had more time to think of plans and, uh…"

"I believe our younger selves are calling us old, love," Older Chat Noir told Older Ladybug, grinning widely. Chat Noir spluttered.

"No! No, I was just saying that you might think of plans that we might not, and so it would be harder to communicate those plans with just looks when we're mid-fight and can't talk without the Seer overhearing us! I'm not saying you're old- you don't look old at all, you look in top condition really, you could probably take on both of us no problem-"

"Please stop tormenting your younger self," Older Ladybug told Older Chat Noir with a sigh, but the fond look that she gave him told everyone that she wasn't really exasperated. "He knows that you weren't calling him old," she added to Chat Noir. "He just enjoys tormenting himself, evidently. But I think that's a good idea."

"We wanted to ask about the future, too," Ladybug chimed in. "If you know who Hawkmoth is-"

Both of the older superheroes winced in unison at that, and Ladybug paused. After a moment, her older self spoke up.

"We do know who he is, but we can't tell you," she told Ladybug and Chat Noir. "You're not ready yet. You'll need to learn the power-ups that your Miraculous allow and how to use them effectively before you're ready to face Hawkmoth. Right now, he's learned how to access and stretch some of his powers, so a faceoff right away would not be wise."

"But if we don't do the Cure, you could help us with the fight before returning to the future," Chat Noir said earnestly. "And we could learn about the power-ups later on, and have more time to learn if we aren't having to already balance school and- and everything else with akuma attacks- no?"

Older Chat Noir was shaking his head. "You can't properly learn how to use the power-ups outside of battle. And even without Miraculous Cure, I get the feeling that the Seer's effects would dissipate pretty quickly once her crystal ball is broken. You don't want to be mid-faceoff and have us suddenly sent back. The future will change if that happens, and there's no way to tell how that would turn out."

The younger superheroes frowned. They hadn't thought of that.

"And if we let the Seer run free while we go after Hawkmoth, he could easily recall his powers and de-akumatize her. It would have the same effect as releasing the akuma, even without the Cure," Older Chat Noir added when his younger self opened his mouth to suggest something else. The younger Chat Noir made a face at that, and his older self grinned. "And yes, I did know that you were about to suggest that, because unless you've forgotten, I am you."

"We can tell you that you'll be stronger together," Ladybug told them, sending a fond glance towards her partner. "Never forget that you aren't alone. And don't let anyone else find out your identity. If you can find ways to hide your Miraculous or make it less suspicious, do that. Maybe be seen without it on occasion, but have it on your person somewhere."

Ladybug frowned. That made it sound as though Hawkmoth was someone who was close enough to them or saw them often enough to actually notice what jewelry they were or were not wearing. That was a terrifying thought, really. And it was a clue, as vague as it was.

"As for the akuma…" Older Ladybug exchanged a look with her partner. "If I'm remembering correctly, she's only been a problem because we weren't sure about the extent of her powers and then she was being really evasive. With four of us circling her and not giving her a chance to escape, we shouldn't have a problem."

"Hit before she notices us and tries to blind us, then," Older Chat added. "How about we have the Ladybugs come from behind? They can restrain her from a distance, and the two of us can be a distraction. That sound like a plan?"

They all nodded and split up, the two Ladybugs circling around to the back. The Seer was concentrated on a small, disgruntled group of citizens trapped in an alley, and she shrieked when the first yo-yo shot out and caught her arm before she could hit another person.

"I'm just showing them their futures!" the Seer yelled angrily as her other arm was caught and restrained. "I was showing the world that it is possible to see into the future, to know what's yet to come! I'm not hurting anything!"

"You're showing them a future," Older Chat Noir corrected her. "The future can change. You're just pulling people from a likely future."

"And likely isn't guaranteed," Older Ladybug added. "It never is. Things can change and shift, depending on what decisions people make."

The Seer struggled. "No! But the stars- our future is written in them-"

The older Chat Noir lunged, shadows trailing from his claws even before he hit the glass ball hanging at the Seer's waist. It disintegrated, swirly, glittery purple turning to dust and clattering to the ground. The akuma fluttered loose, and Ladybug snagged it in a heartbeat.

Before she let it go, though, she hesitated.

"Are you sure you can't give us any more clues about Hawkmoth's identity?" she asked hopefully. "Anything else at all?"

"As frustrating as I'm sure it is- no, we can't," Older Ladybug told them. "Really." She held out her fist for each of them to bump before exchanging a quick kiss with the older Chat Noir. They exchanged a quick grin before turning back to their younger selves. "Great fight, guys. Stay safe."

Chat Noir's eyes went wide as he watched. Ladybug, who had started to suspect that maybe their older counterparts weren't just friends, considering the looks they gave each other, only smiled. "You, too."

The older Ladybug grinned in return, then flung her yo-yo up into the air. They hadn't needed a Lucky Charm, but that was fine. "Miraculous Cure!"

A cloud of sparkling red and black rushed down from the sky, whisking the older superheroes away. It rushed across the city, bringing everyone back to their own time before turning the Seer back into a willowy woman draped in stereotypical fortune teller's outfit. She seemed more resigned than anything else as she pushed herself up off the ground, picked up her repaired crystal ball, waved to the superheroes, and left.

"That was a strange fight," Chat Noir commented as he and Ladybug headed back to their part of the city, going slower than normal since they hadn't used their powers and had the time to spare. "I'm surprised that our older selves weren't willing to tell us anything about Hawkmoth, but were willing to be all cozy in front of us."

Ladybug said nothing, just worrying her lip instead.

"But then earlier in the fight, I saw my older civilian self with- with someone else," Chat Noir continued with a frown. "So I just don't know what…"

They both paused for a few moments, puzzled, before Ladybug clapped a hand to her forehead.

"Oh, they gave us the answer, didn't they?" Ladybug said, a bit exasperated that she hadn't put it together before. She had caught on that the older superheroes were romantically close earlier, but had decided to leave the figuring out how that and what she had seen with Older Marinette and Older Adrien fit together until when they weren't in the middle of an akuma battle. Looking back, it was obvious. "When we were fighting the Seer, they said that the future isn't set, and that the akuma was only pulling people from a likely future. Which means that maybe both of the futures were likely for us."

"It would be interesting to know what differed between the two futures," Chat Noir commented. He chanced a glance at Ladybug, worrying at his lip as he did. "Like, why we were with different people."

Ladybug suspected that he wanted to know what path would have them ending up together. She couldn't blame him- after all, she was wondering how she ended up with Adrien.

"I guess we'll find out?" Ladybug suggested weakly. "It's good that we did see a second version, though. Otherwise we might make decisions based on what we were told, instead of acting normally. And who knows how that would have changed the timeline?"

"True enough," Chat Noir agreed. He shrugged once, then glanced at her. "See you at the next attack?"

"Sounds like a plan!"

  Alya was practically bubbling with glee when Adrien came into the classroom the next morning. She grinned as he sat down, wide enough that it was slightly unnerving.

"She's been doing this ever since I came in," Marinette told him wearily. There was a touch of pink on her cheeks, as though Alya had maybe been teasing her about something before he came in. Adrien turned a bit pink as well, remembering the second version of Older Him that he had seen running around with Marinette. "Apparently she has some sort of big scoop, but she's been refusing to tell anyone until you got here. She claimed that it was vital that you be here to hear it."

Adrien's attention moved to Alya. "Oh? Well, I'm here now. What's the big scoop about?"

Alya practically bounced in her seat as she sat up straight. "Your future."

"That's… ominous," Nino commented warily. "Uh, can you elaborate, or…?"

"Funny you should ask!" Alya clapped one hand down on Marinette's shoulder, and Marinette flinched. "So, during the Seer's attack yesterday, I just happened to be out and about nearby. I didn't manage to get hit-"

"Wait, you wanted to?" Nino exclaimed, aghast. "Why?"

"I wanted to ask my future self some questions, obviously," Alya said with a nonchalant shrug. "I was trying to interview some other people's future selves, but they refused to tell me anything. Something about messing up the timeline. It was ridiculous, honestly."

Adrien let out a small sigh of relief at that. After what the older Ladybug and Chat Noir had told them about them not being ready to rush into a final fight, it would suck to have their hand forced just because the information on Hawkmoth's identity got to them early and Alya would no doubt throw a fuss if they didn't do something with what she had dug up.

(Not that he had fully accepted that right away- he had been sulky about the lack of useful information after he got home, and it wasn't until after Plagg enlightened him about some of the possible power-ups that Hawkmoth might have obtained that he admitted that yeah, their older selves were probably onto something.)

"But not being told anything doesn't mean that I didn't learn anything," Alya continued. "I still had eyes, after all. Guess who's future selves I saw out together?"

Adrien felt a strange sinking feeling in his gut. He had an inkling that he might know where this was going, and… oh, gosh. How was he meant to get out of this without offending anyone?

"Who?" Nino asked, completely oblivious to Adrien's inner turmoil. Then he brightened. "Oh, wait, let me guess- Ladybug and Chat Noir? I saw some pictures of that, I think! They look super cool as adults. I liked the changes to their outfits!"

"No- well, yeah, I saw them too, and snapped some awesome pictures! And then I got close enough to hear them talking and they were worrying about what their kids might be getting up to while they were in their past! So that's future Ladynoir confirmed! I was in the middle of writing up an entire article about it last night, but I ended up having to babysit." Alya made a face. "So I'll finish it tonight. It'll be a huge scoop, I know it already!"

Adrien blinked. How on earth had Alya gotten close enough to the older superheroes- and stayed there for more than a couple seconds- to overhear enough of the conversation to pick up what their conversation had been about? Older Ladybug and Chat Noir would have been trying to go fast to get stuff for recharging, surely. But the fact that Alya had heard so much, when the older superheroes should have been able to go overhead in a matter of seconds.

So had the older superheroes intended for Alya to overhear? It seemed like that was the only way that that could happen.

Nino was grinning. "Miniature catbugs? That's so cute!"

"Yeah, but we all knew that they would end up together. It's cool to have that confirmation, but it was obvious that it was going to happen eventually." Alya's grin got wilder. "No, guess again."

Adrien tried to look confused. "I don't know?"

"I'll give you a hint- who got caught up in the akuma attack yesterday?" Alya prompted, giving him a significant look, and Adrien muffled a sigh. He couldn't play dumb any longer.

"Me?"

Alya pointed at him. "Bingo! And the other person- Marinette, I know you know I'm talking about you, stop trying to hide."

Marinette had turned a spectacular shade of pink and buried her face in her hands. Apparently she had caught on, which suggested that she had seen their older selves together and had deduced what kind of relationship they had.

Which...well, it wasn't hard to figure it out. Their older selves had been pretty obvious with the PDA.

"Wait, what?" Nino asked, suddenly interested again. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"That these two grow up and get married and have kids? You bet." Alya's grin turned into a smirk. "I knew it was going to happen someday. So, when are you two lovebirds going to start dating?"

"Alya-" Adrien started, but he didn't know what to say. It wasn't as though he would be entirely opposed to dating Marinette- his older self had looked very happy with her, after all- but he didn't want to be pressured into dating Marinette, either. That wouldn't be very fun for either of them, not when he was still in love with Ladybug.

"Actually, I don't think any of the future selves were guaranteed," Marinette's voice knocked Adrien out of his thoughts and he blinked in surprise. It was as though she had read his mind. "I got hit twice when I was trying to get away, and ended up with two different future selves."

Oh, well, that made things easy. Thank goodness he and Marinette were in the same boat.

"Same here," Adrien spoke up. He glanced up at Marinette, remembering what she had looked like as an adult. He hadn't seen the second version of her- maybe Other Future Marinette and her other partner had gone in a different direction, as to not cause any trouble between her potential spouses- but he was super-glad that she had ended up with someone either way. Marinette was too sweet to not find love. "I guess the future isn't set in stone, which makes sense. Our choices aren't set, so why would everything that depends on our choices be set?"

Alya's expression had fallen into complete dismay. "Wait- you mean the older versions of you were with different people?"

Marinette and Adrien nodded in unison.

"Oh, come on," Alya groaned, flopping back into her seat. "But the versions I saw looked so happy! And they had at least two kids, I overheard them talking about them when I was following them around. And I wanted to be Auntie Alya."

Nino snorted at that. "Babe, you're way too young to be any sort of aunt. And if the other versions of Adrien and Marinette had them having kids with anyone, you'll still get to be honorary aunt."

"Oh, I know, but…" Alya eyed Adrien and Marinette, then let out a long sigh. "Fine, fine. I'll still hope, of course, but I suppose I'll let it develop naturally."

"That's probably for the best," Nino commented. "If you rush stuff, who knows how that could mess up the future-"

"But at least let me show you the pictures I took of your future selves," Alya cut across, waving her phone at them. "They're adorable. We have a few minutes before class starts!"

As Adrien leaned over to see the pictures, he exchanged a look with Marinette. His friend was still pink, but she managed a small smile for him. He smiled back, glad that things hadn't gotten weird between them after the akuma attack. They could stay friends and see how things turned out between them, either developing into a couple or getting together with other people. No matter way it went- if he ended up with Ladybug or with Marinette, both of whom were incredible girls, kind and sweet and warm- Adrien knew that he would be happy.

For him, the future looked bright.

  Fifteen Years in the Future

Ladybug and Chat Noir grinned at each other as they reappeared in their bedroom in a flurry of red and black sparkles. They detransformed in a dual flash of light, and immediately started giggling.

"Remember how confused we were?" Marinette asked with a laugh, catching Tikki and setting her on the dresser. "We were convinced that there were two versions of us wandering around, each with a different partner!"

"I remember wondering who Ladybug's other potential husband was, and who else Marinette could have ended up with," Adrien admitted. "I spent a ridiculous amount of time obsessing about that, actually. I thought Luka, maybe, or someone in one of the other classes."

"He spent so much time talking about it, even when he was still in denial about having a crush on you," Plagg spoke up, avoiding Adrien's grabs to go perch on Marinette's shoulders. "It was all, who else do you think she could end up with? Do you think she would tell me if I asked? Plagg, who do you think-?"

"Curiosity and cats?" Adrien suggested weakly.

"I love you too, kitty." Marinette squeezed his side and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I can't deny that I was pretty curious, too. But I couldn't resist teasing our past selves a little."

"And you told me off for doing that. And only a little? We totally manipulated everything to be confusing as possible. Admit it, we were trolling our past selves."

Marinette laughed at that. "And your past self thanked me for stopping your teasing, don't think that I missed the look of relief on his face. Besides, if we didn't tease ourselves and Alya, we might have drawn some seriously different conclusions about what had happened in the future and tried to get into a relationship before we were really ready."

"I'll give you that." Adrien glanced at the clock on the wall. "But speaking of future- I can see some grumpy kids in our future if we don't hurry over to the bakery, because if we take much longer we're going to be late picking them up from your parents' place."

"They'll only be grumpy if Maman and Papa insisted on getting them ready to leave and they've just been sitting and waiting for us, but you know that my parents wouldn't do that. They like keeping the grandkids around for as long as possible." Regardless, Marinette headed for the door. "I'll text them if you drive."

"Sounds good." Adrien followed her out into the main area of their apartment, snagging the car keys on the wall as they headed out the door. "And Marinette?"

Marinette turned around, a small smile on her face as she looked up at him. Adrien would never get tired of that look, he knew that for sure. "Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're my future."

Marinette's smile softened, and she leaned up to exchange a kiss with him. "I'm glad you're my future, too."

[lenaisanerd]

i know it’s expected that i be serene

When Clary texts Simon requesting Fullmetal Alchemist, he knows something's up. But Clary seems to be in denial, and so Simon dispenses the ultimate cure-all: Hanging out with her best friend. (ca. 3500 words)

tunes.

Read on AO3.

 This story was co-written with my darling @raisehades. Please enjoy the hard-earned fruits of many late-night Google Docs comment battles.

Clary: can i come ober

  Simon: Ofc

  Are u okay?

  Clary: yes i just want so talk and cuddle or something

  Simon: Okay. Want me to set up anything?

  Clary: fma? 2009?

  Simon: I gotchu

Simon was slightly worried.

First of all, Clary wasn’t usually this reserved in her texting. Her lack of exclamation points coupled with the request for her favourite show could only mean one thing: his friend was way more down than she was letting on.

But he would deal with that when she brought it up because, well, he was also happy; Clary and him used to do this a lot – go over to each other’s (parent’s) place to hang out and watch something they both more or less enjoyed and maybe even talk about their lives and their feelings and- stuff.

But ever since the whole… half-angel manic pixie dream girl mom reveal (the HAMPDGMR) and everything that went down in consequence of the HAMPDGMR, they simply hadn’t done this sort of thing anymore. Sure, they hung out with all their other friends, at parties at Magnus’ loft or karaoke night at the Hunter’s Moon. And while that was fun, it was different when it was just the two of them.

Even during their brief dating stint, there wasn’t much they did that they’d done as friends. Simon had enjoyed what they’d done together, of course, but looking back it had been obvious that this wasn’t ideal for them.

Ideal was this: Lugging the connector cable for the TV into the vicinity of his laptop, powering both up and then loading a site with English subtitles of Hiromu Arakawa’s masterpiece Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

Also ideal: Clary bringing weird snacks with unpronounceable names from the Polish bodega down the street from their old high school. That store had become their first stop after class when they were younger and would sneak candy into movie theatres or curl up on the couch in Clary’s living room and watch Audrey Hepburn flicks with Dot. Simon was almost certain he would be able to eat some and keep them down by now.

Well, actually, in a perfect world, Simon would have loved to cook something for Clary (the food at the Institute was a far cry from what any sane person would call comfort food. Or edible). But one of the results of moving out of his mom’s place just after he’d become a bloodsucking creature of the night was that he owned basically no dishes, or pots, or kitchen utensils.

Even compiling his stuff with Maia’s (who had lived next to a Chinese restaurant for her entire adult life) yielded five plates, one bowl, two chipped mugs, and somehow a ridiculously large amount of cutlery. So cooking anything more than a bowl of cereal was out of the question until they got around to buying some usable stuff. Simon could already see himself and Maia filling their birthday and Christmas/Hanukkah wishlists with basic household items for years into the future. Ah, the joys of adulthood.

Still, this was almost the Saturday morning of his dreams. In the past year, Simon had come to understand that while moments of normalcy were few and far between, when one came along they had to hold on tight for as long as they could. Which was exactly what he was planning to do.

“I’m telling you, Polish Bodega lady has to be a Downworlder. We just have to find out what flavor she is.” Clary started on her new favourite topic as soon as Simon opened the door. She draped her damp jacket over the back of a kitchen chair to dry, dropped a plastic bag on the table, and re-tied her wet ponytail.

Simon started rummaging through the contents of the bag. “Okay, one: I don’t like “flavors”, at all, two: how do you know she’s not just a normal human being who just happens to own a windowless shop where she basically lives 24/7? Oooh, you brought those weird milk drops!”

Clary had her back turned to him while she stretched as far as she could to reach the plates and mugs on one of the high shelves above the sink, not quite managing it. “She never sleeps. Sometimes I come by that store when I’m on patrol, and she must be there all night. Every night. And every day, too. Either she never sleeps, or she has at least two clones.”

“Maybe she has an identical twin sister.” Simon took pity on her and handed her the dishes. Clary took them and ducked out under his arm from between the sink and his body in one fluid movement. Then she set to digging through the fridge for some soda for herself, and a bag of A+ for him, hugging the plates and mugs to her body with her free arm.

“I think I caught her staring at my runes. She definitely at least has the Sight.”

“Oh, so your angel-ninja sense is tingling? Tell me, is there a type of demon that loves to disguise itself as an old lady and watch reruns of Polish soap operas?”

“There’s only so many demons that can be terrorizing Manhattan bankers at a time, you know.”

Simon let out an undignified snort of laughter, of the kind that, had he been drinking at the time, would certainly have made him exhale his drink through his nose. Clary stuck her head over the fridge door grinning triumphantly. Then she emerged fully from its depths with a bottle of coke wedged horizontally under her chin, the plates under her arm, right hand holding the mugs, and left hand holding the blood bag. Standing up was a precarious balancing act, and Simon rushed over to take the bottle from between her chin and collarbone. After he snatched up the bags of sweets from the table they continued their procession into Simon’s bedroom.

Maia and him had moved in together just after New Year’s, into a tiny two-bedroom apartment in Fort Greene. They had decided against sharing a bedroom, though, mostly because of their sleep schedules. As Maia had put it, one partner strangling the other because a certain vampire keeps making noise all through the night while a certain werewolf is trying to sleep is not very conducive to a healthy relationship. Of course, they often spend the night together anyway, although those weren’t the nights when they did much sleeping.

“Come lie down, thought you wanted to cuddle,” Simon said, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him. Clary flopped down and threw her legs over his. Balancing the snack plate carefully on her lap she fluffed the pillows behind her and finally settled down.

It was several skipped episodes, an entire bag o’ blood, and a good two thirds of the coke later when Simon got to find out why  exactly  Clary was in such urgent need for Comfort TV Time.

“Did you know jat Ling’s name doejn’t need the ng sound at all? It’sh Lin in Japanese and”, Simon swallowed the milk drops, “the Chinese translation both, so they just changed it for us for some reason.”

“You’re going to regret eating those,” Clary said with such a comical expression of distaste on her face that Simon couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself. I won’t mop it up, though.”

Simon was still grinning when Clary reached forward to pause the episode on a rather unfortunate still of Major Louis Armstrong in motion.

“Do you think Izzy would like this,” she said, suddenly serious.

“Who wouldn’t like Fullmetal Alch- ”

“You’re right. Of course she would. Continue.”

Simon took her vague gesture towards the screen as a command to unpause. About half a minute later she piped up again, this time not even bothering with the pause button. “Her favourite character would have to be Mei-Chang.”

“Really?,” Simon indulged, reminding himself that he had in fact watched this episode several times in his life(un-life?) already and could live (hah) with not catching every subtitle, “I would have thought Olivier, Lan Fan… or maybe Riza? One of the really cool badass ladies.”

“Izzy may be a really cool badass but trust me, she loves little girls with a passion for science. Did I tell you about that dinner party at Magnus’ place? She was off in a corner with Madzie all evening, talking about chemistry or something. It was adorable.”

“Yes, I – I don’t know how I managed to forget. You’ve told me about it... several times now.” Simon was quite proud of his wallowing pause here.

Clary said, “Well.” and when Simon looked over to her she was visibly re-invested in subtitles. He suppressed a fond headshake and decided to let her have this one.

The next time they got through a good fifteen minutes during which Clary only noticeably stopped herself from interrupting twice and Simon started quietly wondering if eating those drops was a bad idea after all.

“Could we invite her to something like this?”

“Izzy, you mean?”

“Ah, yes. I just mean, like, we’ve hung out at the Hunter’s Moon and the Institute and stuff but I don’t know, would she like just… watching anime? Snacking?”

Simon really did put up with a lot, huh. “I don’t know, what do you think?”, he said in his least exasperated voice and leaned forward once again to press pause. He looked over to Clary, who was searching through one of the bags of candy for the last red one with the utmost concentration.

“I think she’s probably never been able to do something like this but that… she’d probably like to try. And I guess it depends on the show if she’d enjoy it. Her attention span is better than ours’ for sure, though. Maybe I’ll ask her.”

“Instead of me?! I’m hurt, Fray.” Simon placed a hand over his unbeating heart and pulled what he hoped to be the most devastating pout since Shrek’s puss in boots. He probably didn’t succeed in that.

Clary repaid his efforts by hitting his shoulder. He whined out an ooow and curled up to smoosh his head into Clary’s side. Her shirt muffled his sigh, and she recoiled from his breath, pushing him away with a giggle.

“Simon, stop that! You know I’m ticklish!”

Instead of letting up, Simon wrapped his arms around Clary’s waist.

“Zis vasn’t my decision.” Simon was using his best Bela Lugosi accent. Clary’s eyes widened in mock horror and the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “You brought zis on yourself. If Izzy is going to be your new best friend now, you must face...ze octopus!” His legs wrapped around Clary’s knees while she wriggled and squirmed and laughed.

“Hang on, what do you mean ‘my new best friend’? Simon Lewis, you’re not suddenly getting jealous, are you?” Clary asked when she had successfully freed herself from Simon’s grasp and they were both lying on their backs, looking at the ceiling.

“Pssh. No,” Simon lied. Clary had the decency to look slightly guilty. “Maybe you just have a crush on Izzy, ever thought about that?”

He had expected a pillow to the face for that tease, or another assault on his shoulder, or a bit of banter. What Simon had not expected was Clary suddenly looking all serious.

“Huh. You know, I’ve never considered that. Thanks, Simon,” she said, and Simon was quite proud of himself for being as good at identifying sarcasm as he was, but he really and truly couldn’t tell what Clary was thinking then. As his friend leant forward to unpause their series he decided she must just be a bit tired of antics for today. Understandable, really.

Yesterday’s summer storm had turned into persistent rain. It pitter-pattered against the fire escape and the windowsill, occasionally cutting through the sound coming from the TV’s speakers. During the peak of the heat wave, Maia and Simon had opened all the windows in the apartment to let in a breeze and had jammed whatever was handy at the time underneath to keep them from closing. There was a guitar foot rest wedged in the crack of Simon’s bedroom window.

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“I definitely have a crush on Izzy.”

The pause button had never been pressed so quickly. It would have been a world record, if world record judges liked to hang out on rickety fire escapes peering through windows to see if random teenagers performed laws-of-physics-defying feats from the comfort of their beds.

Simon lay back down, face to face with Clary. She seemed way more casual than what Simon thought was appropriate for the situation.

“So…Izzy. Isabelle. Really tall, beautiful, kinda scary. Terrible cook. We’re still talking about our Izzy here?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” Simon let that sink in for a minute.

“And, uh. How long have you known?”

Clary let out a hollow chuckle. “Consciously? About 30 seconds.”

Simon sat up. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Clary. I know you won’t like hearing it, but I’ve been your friend for over ten years, so I feel it is my duty to tell you this: You are such a dumbass.”

With a big sigh, Clary rolled over and buried her face in a pillow. Simon could barely make out her voice, but what she said sounded distinctly like a whine.

“What was that?”

Clary came up for air. ”I know.” Definitely whiny. With a very long vowel sound.

“I mean, you’re in so deep that I’m surprised you don’t need scuba gear yet.”

A groan.

Simon bumped her shoulder gently with his elbow. “Did I make you skip to the ‘wallowing in your own misery’ phase of having a crush?”

“No, it’s just...I can’t believe I never noticed.” Clary sat up, her legs crossed, facing Simon. “I only spent, oh, the last year with Izzy, every day. And– and looking back on some… things, it’s becoming really clear that I’ve had a crush on her for a while. And now I just feel like the biggest idiot in the world, and also what the fuck do I do now, Simon?” While she spoke Clary had let her head sink into her hands. Simon was of the opinion that they had just passed ‘wallowing’ and were well on their way to “breakdown”.

Simon leaned forward and, as gently as he could, pried Clary’s hands away from her face and held onto them for safekeeping.

“Hey, slow down, ‘cause this is bringing back really bad memories of pre-finals all-nighters.” This at least got a little smile out of Clary. “Now, can we back up just a bit to the ‘things’ you’re currently re-examining?”

Clary thought for a moment and then answered slowly, as though she was choosing her words with care. “Like, for example, why I love when she does my makeup. She’s really focused and just gets so close to my face and then she does that thing were she bites her lip and narrows her eyes, and sometimes I just want to lean forward and… kiss her?”

Immediately and seemingly instinctually, a grin tugged its way up the corner of Simon’s mouth. “Should I go get that scuba gear?” Clary rolled her eyes in response, but continued her recounting of Isabelle’s many virtues.

“And, uh, I always pick Izzy as a training partner, even though she does not go easy on me, because I kind of like when she kicks my ass.”

Simon only held in a dirty joke by viciously biting his own tongue. Clary was in distress. In distress.

His friend looked up at him from behind a strand of hair as if sensing his struggle but, judging by the nearly imperceptible untrackable movement of her eyebrows, refusing to acknowledge it. She headed on.

“Like, Izzy isn't really like anyone I've ever met before? And it's so - uh, exciting? Just to see her, like, do things her way. From the start she's made me feel like I belong, when, like, no one else really bothered to try?” Clary exhaled and shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe that's a bit much. I mean, what if we start dating and it immediately goes sideways? It’s just - we have too much history together. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense?”

Simon frowned. “No, I get it. She's really important to you.” He tilted his head to catch Clary’s gaze again. “And I know you’re really important to her. I don’t think one bad date could end your friendship. Also, you’ve known her for a year. If you want to call that ‘too much history’, I guess it might be, but when has that ever stopped you?”

Clary barked out a laugh. “Yeah, our relationship wasn’t exactly a success, though.”

“Okay, that’s fair, but Izzy isn’t me. And you aren’t the same you you were a year ago. Things are different.”

Clary looked ready to argue again, but kept quiet. Her body language was singularly vulnerable but her expression was more thoughtful than anything, brow furrowed tightly. She picked absently at her fingers which were still stained with oil paints, green and purple and gold. The rain continued its assault on the fire escape.

Eventually, after a long moment of silence, Clary stretched out on the bed next to Simon and, tugging at his shoulder, gently nudged him to lie down too. Clary tilted her head so it was lying against his shoulder and they lay there listening to the city they had been hearing their entire lives. But it was different now, wasn’t it? Simon had super vampire hearing and Clary had her angel ears and this wasn’t the city they had known anymore, because they knew what hid under the surface. But then, well, New York had never been the city they thought they knew. Simon had meant what he’d said: Clary had changed, and he had changed, and their old world felt lifetimes away. A year ago he would have said this was a bad thing. Today, he... wasn’t so sure.

“Should I tell her, do you think?”

“Hmm? What?”

“Izzy.”

“Oh.” Simon tried to get his train of thought off the existentialist detour track. “Uhh,” he said, intelligently, “I don’t know. Give me a sec.”

“Yeah, of course. Can you think while we watch?”

Simon nodded and Clary unpaused the episode. She propped her head up on her hand to get a more comfortable angle at the screen, and Simon’s eyes caught on the rune on her neck, right against the edge of her jawline. That was the first one, the healing rune that had seemed so out of place the night he’d found her by the church. By the Institute. Now, he couldn’t really imagine Clary without the runes, each a different part of her new life. There were the quick, simple ones Jace had drawn in the beginning, joined by the strong, decisive strokes of Isabelle and the slender script that indicated Alec, and of course Clary’s own hand, elegant and curving. Some for protection and some for strength, for courage and speed, fresh ones and older, darker marks. There was a story for every single one. A bit of experience. A battle won or lost.

He didn’t often dwell on this, but it sometimes occurred to Simon just how strong his best friend was. She had been through so, so much and come out on the other side a victor, maybe through luck, but also through sheer stubbornness. It was one of the things he loved (and sometimes loathed) about Clary. Simon was extraordinarily grateful that, even though both of them had lost a life, they had gained a new one, and one that had the other in it.

“Clary.”

She turned her head so she could look at him. One side of her face reflected the  flickering lights of the TV. “Yes?”

“I think you should do what you think is best. Trust your gut. You’re gonna be fine.”

Clary looked disappointed. “That wasn’t much of an answer, oh great oracle,” she said.

“Well, that’s the only one you’re gonna get. This oracle is closed for the day,” Simon replied. He crossed his arms over his chest to emphasize his statement. Then, very quickly and stumbling over his words a little, he added: “I just really respect you and I think you’re really smart and have good judgement, and you can sort this out for yourself. Also if anything goes wrong this means you can’t blame me, so–” The rest of the sentence was cut off by Clary rushing to hug him. Her shoulder banged into his chin rather painfully. He would, of course, not have it any other way.

“Thank you, Simon. I love you.”

Simon smiled into Clary’s shoulder. “Love you too, Fray.”

[trollkarlgteborg-blog]

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Request Google or some other search engine  How do you select them? And, how can you know they'll be the very important ingredient for your occasion?

You may observe many market on their sites exactly the very same buzzwords like'Unforgettable','Unique',''World Class Magician',''Absolutely Wonderful ',''Perfect to your occasion' etc , but just how much of this is fact, and how much that is fiction? Before long you will learn to distinguish the facts from the augmented reality.

Firstly, pick  Precisely what type of magician you believe could be ideal for your occasion. To assist you search with using search engines for the ideal magician to your event utilize the'magicians jargon' phrases together with the following to assist your hunts turn into that little bit simpler. If you'd like a magician which could mingle with your guests at a drinks reception kind surroundings you'll have to hunt for close up magicians in the regional area; should you require a magician to get a ball or supper exactly the identical search phrases or table magicians rather than close up magicians inside the regional area will provide exactly what you require, acquiring a magician work round the classes isn't any difficulty whatsoever to the practitioner, however the amateur could have a tricky time with coordinating their amusement round the meal. If you're seeking a wedding enthusiast, again you really do need someone who specializes in weddings, perhaps not especially someone that really does the'entire shebang' as it - as the old saying goes do not spread yourself too thin.  I strongly suggest not selecting a close up magician which also does children's celebrations, sadly there are lots of fantastic children's entertainers on the market, but a lot of them believe the very same rules apply to fun children as amusing adults - in fact it is an entirely different ballgame. Both are highly skilled arts.

Tricks and attempt to piggyback close up magical work out of their children's parties. Ideally in the event that you would like a children's entertainer, find someone who specializes in entertaining kids and should you'd like a magician for adults find someone that only performs high excellent magical for adults. Maybe you desire a cabaret magician, or point type amusement, there are lots of genres ; thoughts reading, humor, stand up magic, hypnotism, illusions,'Tommy Cooper kind' magicians and so forth, consider what could be ideal for your guests and event - should you believe that your audience would love a comedy magician over say that a mind reader, then hunt around for humor magicians in your region, a major trick here is to be sure they have a minumum of one video of them doing, there's not anything worse than an unfunny comedy magician!  Fantastic point magicians and illusionists are typically quite great audience pleaser's, but it is usually old fashioned style entertainment which will not suit everyone. Illusionists and conventional stage magicians are perfect when you've got international guests since they possess'non patter' acts which are performed simply to music. A fantastic mind reading series can be exceedingly impressive, it may be entirely baffling, entertaining your entire audience and also be quite amusing, however there's lots of dull mind reading reveals rather than all them are geared towards relatives when there are kids in the crowd, again check references and movies.

After  You understand just what you need for your occasion, and possibly a fashion which you believe will best fit your involvement, maybe you want the old looking magician type magician or your youthful fresh and contemporary near magician, take a look at a numerous websites until you encounter a couple that you believe could be excellent for your occasion. Pay attention to there style and picture - Whether it is a black tie occasion, you most likely don't need a magician who wears jeans and t-shirt and other casual wear to performances, even if you have got a young trendy crowd maybe you desire the rather young magician who really does dress much more casual. Maybe you need close up magic and stage magic, find out whether they provide both solutions - most will provide you a fantastic package deal for the two.

To employ someone non local for you personally who covers doing in your town, a great deal of magicians have a'one charge anyplace' for doing any place in the nation so that you aren't landed with a massive travel expenses in addition to the acting fee.

Each magician's site should have; real  Premium quality testimonials and references, photos - rather than only studio photographs but real performance photos, a movie if possible so that you may find a clearer idea about what they do, and eventually they ought to present to you all of the info that you need about there doing experience. It should let you know how long they've been doing, notable areas and businesses they've worked for and making them stick out over the crowd. When you get in touch with your brief list of magicians make certain to include all the essential info regarding your event; such as type of event, date, time, place, number of visitors, and in case you've got some notion of the budget you've allocated for a magician, or mention that as well.

Agency site will pop up with numerous magicians and other entertainments, recall brokers usually charge around 15 percent commission, which means you may wind up paying more via a broker. Sometimes it's far better to cut out the middle person to get one performer. If your event needs several functions of distinct amusement branches, bureaus are typically the best approach to visit supervise your amusement, nevertheless most magicians are going to have the ability to urge colleagues that work well together in the event that you would like to employ numerous magicians.

Unlike many professions where there Are constantly'cowboy' providers, surprisingly there are very few'cowboy magicians' on the market, but there's a massive range in grade. The simplest way to detect the fantastic excellent magicians in the reduced quality magicians is from the fee. A complete time specialist will work hard on his trade, he's got the expertise and the ability needed, devoting their life to doing magical, their commission reflects their clients will pay the commission each time to get an unbeatable support. On the opposite end of the spectrum you've got the amateur, the man just beginning, or the'experienced professional' that maybe should of retired if his tie went outside in vogue in 1963. These are normally the weekend amateurs who is going to do the task for you and will not bill you very much.  It takes a very long time to turn into a fantastic magician, amateur magicians could possibly mess up your occasion, but they may create an off the cuff remark towards the guests that's not well accepted, but their magical may not be that great or they may only be exceptionally unsuitably dressed for the occasion. Total time professional magicians need to be good in every facet of operation and people skills, normally you can not fail with a complete time professional which has all of the appropriate credentials I outlined previously.

Many Magicians provide close up magic within 1 hour or 2 hour slots, normally two hours to get about a hundred guests would be your best bet, which provides the magician sufficient time to view as many individuals as you can.

After  You've back your info, done by telephone or email, here comes the difficult part - that you will select? Unfortunately I can not make that choice for you, usually the greater magicians are going to be in precisely the exact same price range, as I mentioned previously - the reduced cost magicians will often be part time magicians which may not provide you the complete magic experience which can make your event stand out a mile. Magic is a really unique art form, the very best magicians aren't just good at magic they're also good with people which comes with several years of expertise.

 Your occasion. Magic is among the most enjoyable, interesting and enjoyable   Only can it be universal in appealing all ages but may bring individuals  Collectively, even help promote products or incredibly increase the air  Of an occasion.

[darquedeath4444]

Always, Together, Forever

Chapter FIFTEEN

"We're here to pay our respects to the new Kazekage," Kakashi said, handing the paper to one of the Suna gate guards. Said guard took the papers, checked over it, then handed them back with a nod. Once they had been granted entrance, Kakashi led the Hokage and his entourage towards their allocated inn.

The moment news of a new appointed Kazekage had reached Konoha, Minato had arranged for a visit to Suna. The peace talks had been held off for long enough, he had said. Immediately, Naruto had demanded to go, and from their, the group had simply grown.

Kakashi sighed and glanced over the shinobi behind him. Naruto and Sasuke, as well as Itachi, as the Uchiha heir, then Hinata with Neji as a guard. Additionally to that, Lee had insisted on going as well, and the heads of the Ino-Shika-Cho clans sent respective heirs. Tenten had also tagged along and Kiba demanded he to be allowed to go, and had dragged his teammate along. In the end, all of Konoha 11 ended up going.

Sasori met them at the inn. He handed them a set of keys, told them to be at the Kage tower at five, then took if with Itachi.

Temari and Kankuro then came along and offered to take the interested people around the village, seeing as they had an hour or so. Minato politely declined, as he has preparations to make. Kakashi had vanished. Shikamaru went to look for a spot to watch clouds. Ino grabbed Hinata and Tenten, then asked Temari to take them to the closest shopping district. The Suna Kunoichi agreed and they wandered off soon after.

Everyone left, unsure of what to do, followed the equally uneasy Kankuro around.

"So,” Naruto said. “Who's the new Kazekage?" .

At the question, Kankuro grinned. "That’s a secret." 

At exactly five, the Konoha shinobi met at the foot of the Kage tower. Sasori had vanishes after dropping off Itachi, leaving Temari and Kankuro to bring the visitors up to the Kazekage's office. However, soon after, Temari went on ahead, and Kankuro explained the plans for the rest of the day. "After you meet Kazekage-sama, you're invited to his house for dinner,” he said.

"Dinner at the Kazekage's place?" Neji asked, surprised.

Kankuro nodded, but didn't elaborate. Just then, Temari came rushing up to them. She whispered rapidly into Kankuro's ear, and the puppet user smirked. "Sure,” he said. “Just a few more minutes."

Temari grinned, then ran off again.

There were certainly perks to being the Kazekage. Especially the comfy chair he was sitting on. It was big enough to fit two people on it if they weren't exceptionally big or anything. Besides, they weren't actually sitting side by side.

The weight on his lap didn't really bother him, either, but that had nothing to do with being the Kazekage, he was sure. Sakura had always been on the small side. Sometimes, her lack of weight worried him.

Now, if only he could ignore the papers on his table. He let out a soft groan just at the thought and buried his nose deeper into Sakura's hair. 

Sakura's hair always smelled nice.

Said pinkette just let out a small sigh and leaned back into him, which please Gaara to no end. He slowly wrapped his arms around her and sighed in return. The good thing was that she didn't flinch anymore.

"Kazekage-sama."

Gaara looked up, scowling at the unnoticed arrival of Sasori. The Puppet Master was openly smirking at him. Sakura didn't even react, almost as if she had known Sasori was coming all the time. She probably did. At least she could have warned him. Then again, Sakura still hadn't managed to shake off the habit of following orders to the word. He hadn't said a single word about being on the look out.

Sasori's smirk widened, as if he knew what he was thinking. Gaara wondered if he should sic Sakura on him. Instead, he straightened. "What?"

"The Konoha group have arrived." Sasori raised an eyebrow. "They have been here for a while. I asked Temari to tell Kankuro to buy you more time for your...cuddling, but it may be impolite to make them wait anymore."

Gaara's scowl deepened at his cousin’s smug, amused tone. He grabbed the first mission request he could reach for and quickly read it. Perfect. "And you can leave first thing tomorrow morning and go help paint the Academy walls." He paused. "That is an order."

The glare Sasori shot him was worth it.

Kankuro was growing pretty desperate. There was only so much he could show and talk about in the Kazekage's office building. He was sure people were questioning the state of his mind as he tried to sound enthusiastic about the history of the second floor toilets. That was why, he was so glad he wanted to hug the first person he saw when Sakura arrived to tell him that the Kazekage was ready to see them. Only, he didn't. What would Gaara say if he caught him hugging Sakura?

Well, Gaara and Sakura weren't actually official, though anyone who knew them would think otherwise. Heck, if you saw them during one of their cuddling sessions, anyone would think so. Still, they weren't official, so usually, that would mean everything was fair game.

On the other hand, Gaara was Gaara, and normal social logic did not work when it came to him. He would probably commit fratricide then tell the council that he had been killed by a deadly dessert snake, or something, with a straight face, if he ever felt Kankuro was a threat. 

Then again, any thoughts of hugging vanished when Sakura arrived in her usual way, which was out of no where, and tapped him on the shoulder. No one from the Konoha group seemed to notice anything as they wandered around the waiting area outside the Kazekage's office, inspecting the vases and paintings and stuff decorating the area.

It took everything in him not to whirl around and stab a senbon into the person behind him. Now, what would Gaara say if he caught him trying to stab Sakura?

He probably wouldn't care if everyone and anyone saw him murdering his own brother.

If he became the feared Jinchuriki again, at least it would give him a reason to leave Suna with Sakura and go live happily ever after somewhere. After all, together, they were unbeatable. He quickly shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned to the Konoha guests. "I apologize for the wait,” he called, and everyone turned their attention to him. “Kazekage-sama is now ready to see you." Sakura vanished back into the shadows unnoticed.

Chapter SIXTEEN>

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