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eberles · 3 years

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Memories

Jamie Oleksiak

Request: Hello!:) Can you write something (super) sad with Jamie Oleksiak? I don’t have a specific idea in my mind so I’d like to leave it up to you completely if that’s okay 💕

A/N: officially the longest thing i’ve ever written coming in at 5300 words!! based this fic off of The Vow, so it’s sad but not like sad sad. i hope you enjoy it i feel like this is one of my best works so hopefully you guys think so too! 🥰 italics = flashback

Warnings: angst, sad, mentions of car accidents & hospitals

Every Friday you and Jamie had a date night, it was the one night a week the two of you could wind down with each other and you never missed it unless Jamie was on a roadie. This Friday you guys went to your favorite restaurant and saw a movie after, the movie was some stupid romantic comedy and in all it’s cheesy glory it had the two of you laughing all the way to the car after the movie. It was a fairly hot night in Dallas, both you and Jamie wearing shorts and light t-shirts, walking back to the car hand in hand at around 11 PM.

“AC, I need the AC.” you groaned, buckling your seatbelt, not even in the car for a whole minute before complaining about the horrible heat.

“Don’t pressure her, it takes a few minutes.” Jamie spoke, softly patting the steering wheel as if to give the car some comfort after your harsh tone towards “her.” You laughed, putting up your hands in surrender as Jamie buckled his seatbelt and began pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road. It was fairly quiet tonight in Dallas not many cars on the road, so you and Jamie decided to have some fun and sing along to the radio at full blast not having a care in the world. Pulling up to a stop sign, you looked around before turning the music down and undoing your seatbelt, smirking at your husband in the driver's seat.

“You know, i’ve always wanted to get knocked up in a car.” you whispered as seductively as possible, Jamie smiling at you, his eyes going wide once he realized, and you took no time to lean over the center console and press your lips against his. Tonight was supposed to be like every other Friday night, dinner, movie, sex, it sounded simple, but it was truthfully all you wanted and everything you looked forward to during the week. Tonight ended differently than your other Friday night dates, only a few seconds into kissing and there wasn’t anything to stop what happened next. You never predicted for your once blissfully in love moment to be completely ruined within a matter of seconds. You couldn’t have predicted the drunk driver speeding up behind you and shoving your car full force through the intersection. Yet it happened. With your seatbelt undone the collision caused you to go right through the front windshield, your head suffering most of the damages as you landed on the hood unconscious.

Everyone’s life was based on moments and how one decision you make could impact you for the rest of your life, no matter how big or small. Jamie felt that meeting you was one of life’s greatest joys, he knew the second he saw you that you were meant to be, that you were his one true love. Jamie used the one opportunity he was given to talk to you and he knew it would change his life forever.

-4 years ago-

Jamie couldn’t stop staring at the back of your head from a few feet away from you in line at his favorite coffee shop. You paid the barista and said “thank you” before turning around with your drink and walking passed Jamie, stopping at the door briefly to turn and look back at him realizing that he was already looking at you with a small smirk. You gave him a smile and continued out the door and made it the short distance to where your car was parked.

“Ugh!” you groaned, turning around almost bumping into Jamie who came walking up behind you with a small bag in his hand.

“You forgot your bagel.” Jamie smiled, handing you the bag feeling giddy inside that he was given the opportunity to talk to you.

“Thank you, you’d think I would remember my breakfast after spending 20 minutes waiting for it.” you laughed, looking up at his broad figure just now noticing how tall he really is.

“Yea, it’s what i’m here for.” Jamie said, mentally face palming at the corny line he just gave you.

“Um, i’m Y/N.” you reached your hand out to him, and noticed a small blush on his face.

“Jamie.” he shook your hand, both of you laughing awkwardly and pulling away from each other.

“Well, thank you for this.” you said, opening your car door handle.

“You know, um, I noticed that we have the same coffee order.” Jamie mumbled, and you turned back to look at him, a smirk showing on your face.

“Is that so?”

“Yup.” Jamie nodded his head, as if to confirm it and you could already feel the butterflies bubbling in your stomach.

“How intimate.” you giggled, keeping your eyes on his and noticing how the squint when he smiles.

“I was thinking, we should drink our coffees together. You know, to create a bond over our joint tastes...in coffee.” Jamie said, looking down at you and giving his award winning smile. You agreed closing your car door, the two of you walking back into Weekend Coffee together. You grabbed a table while Jamie ordered his coffee and pastry, coming back to the table and telling you he swears by their pastries. It took Jamie all of about 5 minutes to fall in love with you and you with him. The next few months were spent getting to know each other and falling for each other's quirks and habits.

Jamie woke up in the hospital with virtually no injuries having to listen to the doctor explain to him that his wife was in a medically induced coma. He sat by your side as often as he could and made sure to place your wedding band on your finger where it belongs. Jamie replayed the significant moments in your relationship in his head while he sat by you.

“Babe, you can’t keep doing that.” Jamie walked outside to where you were crouched over a grey cat giving him some food to eat.

“I know, but I love him.” you frowned, going back inside his apartment.

“I can’t keep him though, I'm allergic.” Jamie mentioned, and you knew that already, but the poor cat having to stay outside in the heat made your heart ache.

“Do you want some fruit? I bought it this morning.” you pulled the bowl of fresh fruit out of Jamie’s refrigerator and looked at him while he just smiled at you. Jamie, in those moments, confirmed the thoughts he’d been having for a while now. “What?”

“I want you to move in.” Jamie continued looking at you as he flipped the pancakes he was making for breakfast and you gasped.

“Yes!” you put the fruit down on the counter, coming up behind Jamie and pulling him away from the stove to give him a kiss.

Jamie smiled at the memory, and looked over at you with a tear in his eye. You had a tube down your throat connected to a ventilator to help you breathe and he couldn’t get over the sight. He blinked back the tears and put his head in his hands thinking about your wedding.

“I vow to always love you, and always try the new pastry flavors at the cafe, no matter how weird they may be.” you said looking up into Jamie’s eyes, making him and both your friends laugh at your vow to him.

“You wrote your vows on a Weekend Coffee menu?” Jamie asked, noticing the paper in your hand and you smiled shyly holding it up over your face. Jamie held the same menu up with his vows on it and you both laughed in shock. “Okay, I vow to love every bit of you, now and forever. I promise that no matter what gets in our way, we will always find our way back to each other.” Jamie said, promising his love to you in every way as long as you were both alive.

“Do you take each other as man and wife?”

“I do.” Jamie said proudly, a wide smile covering his face.

“I do.” you smiled just as big, letting a happy laugh leave your throat as you said it. The wedding was small, just having Jamie’s bestest friends there who grew to be your friends as well over the years and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

A few days later you started breathing on your own so the doctors removed you from the ventilator and told Jamie you should be waking up soon and you did. The nurse told Jamie to give you some space when you woke up, knowing that you wouldn’t be fully coherent and probably scared.

“Hey.” Jamie whispered from the end of your hospital bed, seeing the eyes he fell in love with finally flutter open. You looked around the room feeling confused and avoiding eye contact with Jamie. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Y/N, it’s okay. You’re in the hospital, you were in a car accident, you suffered from some head injuries, but you’re okay.” the nurse explained in a soothing tone.

“Was anyone else hurt, doctor?” you asked softy, looking directly at Jamie and feeling uncomfortable under his confused gaze.

“What?” Jamie whispered, feeling his voice about to give out. “Y/N, you know who I am right?”

“You’re my doctor.” you stated, and watched as the man in front of you looked at the nurse and back at you before coming to sit in the chair beside you.

“Um, i’m your husband.” Jamie said, reaching for your hand and feeling his heart break when you pulled away from him holding a scared expression on your face. You glanced down at your left hand gasping when you noticed the wedding ring. Jamie walked out of your hospital room with the nurse feeling frustrated as she explained how brain injuries were hard to diagnose because of how unpredictable the brain is.

“She doesn’t remember me!” Jamie said frustratedly, pulling at the ends of his hair.

“The swelling in the brain can cause confusion and memory loss sometimes, but it’s normal.” the nurse explained, watching Jamie walk down the hallway of the hospital with tears in his eyes.

Jamie went home to pack a bag for you and came back to the hospital later that night. He fell asleep laying on a few of the chairs in the waiting room and was woken up by you tapping his shoulder lightly.

“Hi.” Jamie said sitting up, his voice gravely from the short slumber he was in.

“What are you doing?” you asked, wrapping your hospital robe tighter around your body.

“Sleeping.” Jamie yawned, and you smiled awkwardly before nodding your head. Jamie grabbed the bag he packed for you and moved it closer to you. “I brought you some clothes.”

“Thanks.” you spoke, sitting on one of the chairs next to him. “I’m hungry.”

“Okay.” Jamie laughed, grabbing your bag and walking with you to the hospital cafeteria. Jamie explained to you that you were a painter and had your own studio and you were shocked to find out you didn’t follow through with going to med school.

“I remember being in med school and...being engaged to Samuel.” you said, noticing how Jamie put his head down a little. “I just, I don’t know.” you got up from your seat in the cafeteria heading up the stairs hearing Jamie run after you.

“Babe, babe, just wait!” Jamie called after you and you tensed hearing the pet name he used, but stopped on the stairs turning to look at him.

“The best thing you can do is to go back to your life, with me. You heard what the doctor said.” Jamie said, putting emphasis on the word “best.”

“But I don’t know you. So what? I’m just supposed to go back to a stranger's place.”

“It’s our place.”

“There’s no proof of our love? A journal?” you asked, feeling helpless. Of course, you wanted to believe Jamie was your husband for the right reasons and that you were in love with him, but it was so hard for you.

The next day you got ready to leave with your parents not feeling like going home with Jamie was even an option at this point.

“Wait hold on, I have a letter you sent when I was away.” Jamie ran into your room, holding up his phone. “You said you wanted proof.”

Hey baby,

I’m at the studio right now and I miss you so bad these paintings are starting to look like you. I’m sending you a letter because I thought it would be a fun surprise for you on your roadie. I hope it actually makes it to you. Anyways, I love you and I can’t wait to see you when you come home next week.

Love you always,

Y/N

“Just think about it, you quit med school, you pursued being an artist, you moved to Dallas. These are all things you did way before meeting me, you know it to yourself to at least experience the life you set up for yourself.” Jamie said, grabbing onto your hands and pouring his heart into those few sentences. “Come home with me.”

“I guess I could try it out, to see if it will help my memory. If it doesn’t work out, i’ll come home.” you turned to look at your parents as you spoke and your parents understood. They loved Jamie and just wanted the best for you. You drove home with Jamie taking everything from Dallas in on your ride from the hospital. You spent the night looking around your shared apartment at the pictures and smelling the perfumes you had on your vanity. Nothing felt familiar when you went to sleep alone, Jamie sleeping on the living room couch.

When you woke up you took a shower and came out disturbed to find out you had a tattoo of a bird on your shoulder, and changed into an oversized sweatshirt before going into the kitchen area where Jamie was.

“You look nice.” Jamie said, smirking slightly, taking in your interesting clothing choices.

“Really? This is the only thing of mine I feel comfortable in.” you said, hugging the material around your body awkwardly.

“That’s mine actually.” Jamie laughed, pointing to the Stars logo on the front and you laughed while apologizing and he assured you it was okay that you wear it. Jamie went to practice and you managed to find the video of your wedding chuckling at your corny vows and tears up at Jamie’s. You noticed the name of the cafe on the menus and decided to go there for the afternoon.

The next few weeks went by as seamlessly as they could when you’re suffering from amnesia. You and Jamie made small talk in the mornings and at night before retreating to your own beds. Nothing felt normal for you, but you were trying everyday to discover new things around the apartment that might jog your memory while Jamie was at practice. Today you were feeling curious about your old life and Samuel and how things ended between the two of you when you remember being so blissfully in love with him. You called your mom and asked where he worked so you could visit him and although she was hesitant on telling you she eventually gave you the information. You took a short bus ride to locate his office building that he worked at and asked the receptionist to show you where his office is.

“Hi.” you said walking into his office, smiling widely when he turned to look at you and you realized he hadn’t changed a bit.

“Y/N.” Samuel said, shocked to see you standing in his office after no many years apart. You explained to him what happened with the car accident and how the last thing you remember is being with him.

“Can you please explain what happened with us?” you asked, shifting in your seat across from him in his office.

“Only you would dump a guy and then come back and ask for answers.” Samuel said, fidgeting with the pen on his desk. “A cruel, pre wedding dumping.”

“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused not fathoming why you would call off your wedding to the guy sitting in front of you.

“You just changed. You weren’t sure about med school anymore, and you really weren’t sure about me.” Samuel explained. “It’s okay though, i’ve been with Rose for about a year now.”

“Right.” you shook your head slightly disappointed that the guy you last remember loving had moved on from you.

“I couldn’t wait forever, Y/N.” you nodded your head agreeing with him and stood up to leave.

“I’ll let you get back to work.” you said, both of you going in for a hug, something you hadn’t felt in ages. Feeling Samuel’s arms wrap around your waist made you pull back to look at him before leaning in to kiss him with your hands cupping his cheeks. “I’m sorry.” you said, pulling away and walking out the door.

The next day you woke up ready to explore a different part of your new life that you hadn’t yet understood. The artist side. The last time you wanted to be an artist you were in high school so owning your own studio and actually selling paintings to people was one of the biggest things you had to wrap your mind around.

“I’m ready to see the studio.” you said at breakfast with Jamie, hoping he would take you there and show you around.

“Yea? Alright! We’ll go after this.” Jamie said excitedly, ready to show you a huge part of who you were. It was a short walk from your apartment so after breakfast the two of you went there and Jamie unlocked the doors for you.

“This is it.” he said, opening the door and letting you inside first to take everything in. “It’s cool right?”

“Wow.” you said slowly walking around the room, looking at all of your art supplies and paintings all over the room.

“You used to come in here and blast the music and get so lost in your art.” Jamie explained, watching you look around at everything, stopping to touch a few of the pieces you had on the walls. Jamie handed you a paintbrush when you stopped in front of your latest unfinished piece and you hesitated before taking it. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t really know what i’m doing.” you felt panicked and insecure in those moments, with Jamie watching over you knowing he wanted nothing more than to know you still remember how to make art.

“Hold on.” Jamie said, running over to the stereo you had in the corner of the room and turning it up loudly before walking back to you with a big smile on his face. “Just try it.”

“Can you just turn the music down please?” you asked, voice shaky feeling anxiety erupt in your stomach and spread all over your body.

“I swear you used to listen to it way louder than this-”

“I have a clinically bad fucking headache! Please turn it down!” you threw the paintbrush, yelling over the music at Jamie and rubbing your temples. Jamie turned off the music, feeling anger bubbling up inside of him. He didn’t want to blow up on you, but he wanted you to realize it was hard for him too.

“I’m trying to help you! We don’t speak to each other like this, Y/N. This is difficult for me too.” Jamie explained, before turning around and walking out of your studio. After he left you spent some more time looking around before going back to your apartment. Jamie went for a walk and stopped at your favorite takeout place before returning home to you.

“Y/N?” Jamie called out, not seeing you in the living room.

“I’m in here.” you responded, and Jamie walked into your bedroom seeing you packing a bag. “My sister is getting married soon and I just feel like I should be there for her. She has an engagement party coming up so I want to help her with that.”

“Okay, but what about your life here?” Jamie asked, watching you walk around your room grabbing more things to pack away.

“I don’t know, I just- I can’t do it.” you said. “I’m sorry, it’s just going to be until after the wedding.”

You invited Jamie to your sister’s engagement party, per your family's request, and against your sisters. Your sister never minded Jamie, but she always preferred you with Samuel, since she was the reason you guys had met in the first place. Your parents insisted on Jamie being a part of this event, not as your date, but just so he could feel welcome in this aspect of your life since it was new for all of you.

“Y/N!” Jamie said, spotting you once he entered the backyard to where the party was happening.

“Jamie! You made it!” you said, walking over to him and noticing his suit. “You look nice.”

“I was thinking that we should try a new method. We should start from the beginning, and I would like to take you on a date.”

“A date?” you asked, feeling uneasy at his question when you looked behind him briefly noticing Samuel. “I don’t know, the weddings coming up-”

“But if we go before that, you could still take me as your date.” Jamie said, smirking. Suddenly feeling smooth and confident with his choice of words.

“Okay. A date.” you nodded your head in agreement, smiling widely up at Jamie before both of your attentions got turned to some toasts being made.

A few days later and Jamie was getting ready for his date with you. He picked you up at your sister’s house, just outside of Dallas.

“Where are we going?” you asked curiously, noticing that Jamie was driving back into the city.

“It’s a surprise.” Jamie said, and not long after you made it to your first destination which was parked on the side of the road, you knew it looked familiar from the day you explored on your own, but you couldn’t pinpoint it. “This is the exact spot where we first met. I’m gonna take you down memory lane.”

You guys got out of the car and headed into Weekend Coffee where Jamie brought you to the table you first sat at together and left to go up and get you the same order you both had that day.

“This is my favorite pastry of all time and the day we met I forced you to try it.” Jamie said, sliding the pastry over to you for you to try. You took a small bite and moaned in satisfaction making both of you laugh at your reaction.

“It’s amazing!” you took another bite, and listened as Jamie explained to you how you always order that pastry and whatever new flavor they have that time and split them. The next stop on Jamie’s list was the rink where the Stars practice and also where he taught you how to skate very quickly into your relationship.

“What do you think?” Jamie asked, handing you a sweatshirt to wear while you're inside the rink.

“Um, I can’t skate. I’ll eat ice.” you said, shaking your head and Jamie laughed throwing his head back.

“I got you, don’t worry.” Jamie said, finishing the laces on his skates before kneeling down to help you tie yours the proper way for them to be secure on your feet. Jamie stood up on his skates and walked towards the opening of the rink before turning to look at you. You nodded slowly wobbling behind him, and watching as he expertly took his place on the ice.

“Hold my hand.” you shrieked, holding both your hands out for him to take. Jamie grabbed a hold of your hands and led you onto the ice, but he quickly moved his hands to your waist to help stabilize you.

After a little while of him holding you tightly, you hadn’t realized when he started pulling away from you and you were skating on your own. You gasped realizing he was watching you from about a foot away and that caused you to lose your balance. You felt your skates come up from under you and you closed your eyes bracing yourself for the fall, but it never came jamie saving the fall, holding you in his arms.

“Oh my god! I thought I was gonna die!” you yelped, and looked up at Jamie seeing him smiling down at you.

“I think you learned even quicker this time around.” Jamie smirked, standing you up straight on your skates. The two of you wrapped up the lesson and made your way back out to his car.

“Kiss me.” you said to Jamie once both of you were in the car. Jamie looked at you with wide eyes and you were already smiling confidently at him.

“Are you sure?” Jamie asked, already starting to lean into you and you nodded your head yes before pulling him in by the back of the neck. Jamie put everything he had in that kiss and you could feel all his emotions pouring into it.

“This is nice.” you said, pulling away with a smile on your lips. Jamie nodded, leaning in to kiss you again, finally letting himself feel safe in your embrace because for the first time in months he felt close to you again. You pulled apart both of you breathing heavy and your faces flushed and Jamie drove you back to your sisters house and of course, walked you to the door like a gentleman.

“I miss you. I miss us. I love you.” Jamie said, and you gave him a sad smile before looking around to avoid meeting his gaze.

“I should get inside. Goodnight Jamie.” you walked into the house, giving him a small smile before closing the door. When you walked inside your sister was sitting on the couch watching tv and waiting for you.

“Hey! Were you out with Samuel?” your sister asked excited.

“No, I was with Jamie. I like him.” you smiled, trying to fight off the tears beginning to pool in your eyes, but that didn’t help and they came rushing down your face.

A few days later and it was your sister's wedding, you didn’t bring Jamie as your date knowing that it wouldn’t be fair to him to give him that kind of hope. Jamie kept his distance with you, not wanting to overwhelm you with his presence at the reception.

“Hey, you want me to introduce you to people. Can’t feel good to be the one left out.” Samuel said, coming over to where Jamie was standing at the bar.

“I’m not the one left out.” Jamie said confidently.

“If you say so. You just seem weird over here all by yourself.” Samuel laughed, getting his drink from the bartender.

“I’m just waiting for Y/N.” Jamie said, slight irritation in his tone of voice

“Good luck with that.” Samuel said, starting to walk away from the bar.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Jamie asked, before Samuel could get too far away. “Y/N leaves you, has a whole life without you with some new guy that's different and now you get to watch her reject all of that.”

“I like it a little bit, I guess.” Samuel smirked, a condescending chuckle falling from his lips.

“You wanna know what I like? I like that Y/N told me everything about you, that when she was with you she’d wake up at night panicking thinking, ‘is this all there is?’” Jamie said, taking a sip from his drink.

“She told you everything?” Samuel asked, a smile on his face. “Did she tell you that she kissed me a few weeks ago?”

“Look, you obviously love her and think that you're gonna get her back, but she outgrew you. It’ll probably happen again, man.” Jamie said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Well, i’ll be sure to think about that when i’m in bed with your wife.” Samuel said, and that was the final straw for Jamie as he threw a punch to his face knocking Samuel to the ground.

“Jamie!” you yelled, running over and seeing Samuel on the ground. Jamie turned to look at you and ran after you.

“What was that?” you felt Jamie coming up behind you so you stopped short turning around once you were out of earshot from everyone.

“I’ve been driving myself crazy trying everything possible to save us and you’ve been kissing Samuel?” Jamie said, frustration hitting him like a brick.

“That’s not fair!” you said, looking up at Jamie.

“No? I see the way you look at him, it’s the same way you used to look at me.” Jamie whispered, looking at the ground and back up at you. “Your memory’s not coming back. I’m a stranger.”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to hurt you Jamie. I’m so tired of disappointing you.” you let the tears fall down your face freely.

“I know. How do you look at the girl you love and tell yourself it’s time to leave?”Jamie asked, before turning and walking away from you.

9 Months Later

You were finally getting around to unpack your things from Jamie’s apartment. You hadn’t realized the last box was holding something very near and dear to your heart. It was your wedding vows, the ones written on Weekend Coffee menus.

“I vow to help you love life, to always hold you with tenderness, and to have the patients that love demands.” you read the menu outloud, feeling a pang in your chest and your breath hitch in your throat. You decided to take a ride to the small cafe where everything started, upon arriving you saw Jamie outside the doors reading the “closed” sign on the glass. Jamie turned, walking away from the door and doing a double take as he saw you approaching and stopped in his tracks.

“Hi.” Jamie said, walking closer to meet you halfway on the sidewalk.

“Hi.” you responded, both of you stopping in front of each other.

“I hope you didn’t come all the way to the city for a pastry.” Jamie said, turning to look back at the sign.

“Actually, I moved back here six months ago.” you said, smiling up at Jamie.

“Really? That’s great.”

“I’ve actually started to paint again.”

“That’s amazing!”

“It’s crazy what my hands remember, that my mind forgot you know?” you said, gesturing to your head as you spoke. “So, thank you.”

“Wasn’t me.” Jamie said, shaking his head noticing the tears pooling in your eyes.

“Yes it was. You did everything. You never wanted anything but the best for me.” you said, reassuring Jamie, wiping the tears that started to fall down your face.

“I just wanted you to be happy.” Jamie confirmed.

“Isn’t there somewhere we used to go when this place closed?” you asked, smirking at Jamie hoping he’s getting the hint that you want to go out with him.

“Yea, let’s go.” Jamie said, both of you walking the same direction. Jamie smiling down at you when you reached for his hand.

You never regained your memory, but the love between you and Jamie was true, it was real and raw and able to be felt no matter what forces were between you. It was a love that anyone could feel being in the same room as you, it was kind, patient, and honest.

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taglist: @sortagaysortahigh @sweeterthansammy @butgilinsky @kiedhara @taiter-tots @jjmaybanksbaby @jamiedrysdales @ana-maa @iamtheblondestblonde @elitebarzal @softboybarzal @himbos-on-ice @bestestbenn @dreamypeaches @mycaptaintazer @dunnerbarzal @matbarzall @sidscrosbyy @calgarycanuck @celestialblae @jackiesquinn

#jamie oleksiak #jamie oleksiak imagine #dallas stars #nhl writing

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dutifullybitchypeach · 3 years

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ACOSF FINAL THOUGHTS. 3/5

It was good. But it could have been EPIC. I think I got caught up in the hype and should have remained blissfully ignorant. Loved Nestas journey and her finding happiness. WELL DESERVED.

However lots of loose threads, ignored angst, rushed ending, pregnancy plot overshaowed a lot - 2 chapters wasted!

It was Nestas book with Cassians POV to balance. It was interesting to read how skewed, almost backwards it was the way Nesta saw things. Like the IC behaviour/comments at times to her was counter acted then with Cassians interpretation. Really showed her low her self esteem was.

I know it's Nesta letting go and being happy with herself and I believe SJM wrote it this way to be deliberately CLEAR that the IC are NOT perfect and are 100% capable of being total pricks. BUT that they are not held accountable for their actions the same way Nesta is, was frustrating. Cold hard facts: Nesta never murdered/stole/lied/tortured/assaulted anyone. She was a bum and a drunk who spewed hurtful shite. An angry bitch. However the only thing she ever wilfully killed was the King of Hyburn at the NC's request. The level of disgust from Amren/Rhys/Mor directed at Nesta in the beginning was uncomfortable to read and didn't sit well with me.

I'll have to read it again but I was not satisfied . Nestas character arc started half way through ACOWAR. She stepped up when they needed her to.

Feyre agreeing despite her experience in Spring was a step backwards for me. Then again it's exactly what Nesta needed. Cruel to be kind. And Feyre had Nestas back repeatedly throughout the narrative.

Loved Nestas story all of it, training, friendships, self love, etc etc. Gwyn and Emerie ❤ All epic. And she's well...more interesting! Detail on Cassian killing all those monsters, scene in the big, wow so good.

Feysand overkill or perhaps Rhys overkill. Sorry SJM but you need to pull back.

Nessian happened the way I thought it would. That Cassian isn't perfect is normal. His heart is Nestas, it's pretty clear. Smut scenes, I've read better sorry !!! Intensity was not the same as previous books. More sexy and less crude for me. Missed Cassians swagger but I guess we are in his head, and he's a big cuddly insecure bear. With a big d**k.

More thoughts (in my humble opinion).

Feysand pregnancy DRAMA. Unnecessary. Keep it, just don't let it happen the way it did. I've already said I thought the sacrifice should have been for Gywn/Emerie and there is a simple tie in IMO (see previous posts). Or perhaps Cassian actually stabbing himself rather than hurting Nesta with the Queen. But I get SJM and 'losing' her power, that much power just undermines the remaining plot for next few books. Nesta could just blast them all to hell. And she stole it in anger and has let it go with love. Growth! She is clearly still hella powerful. We don't know the half of it.

For me the above was the most irritating. The ending squeezed in. And I like Feysand. But Nesta healing with Feyre needn't have been so convoluted. Or drastic. More private, perhaps a real angsty, tense conversation and confession. They didn't discuss anything.

The last few chapters too much went on...important moments; first females to win The Rite, sidelined. Accepting the mating bond, sidelined. WTF is Nestas power now, sidelined. Queen dead, sidelined. An ILLYRANIAN FEMALE KICKING ASS sidelined. I mean Christ that was Cassians goal! And nothing. NOTHING. Not even a handshake.

Rhys. It was plain uncomfortable. But someone mentioned SJM deliberately wrote Rhys that way for this book and that's true. In the Feyre POV she mentions "two mates" the reasonable one and the asshole so that, I think, is telling. He's def more HL and pulls rank in this book with everyone.

Rhys clearly witnesses Nestas trauma from her nightmare but there is no recognition with Nesta. Not a peep. Yet he clearly feels massive regret. Is that for our benefit, the readers? That at least we know. Don't hate on Rhys. (I like Rhys btw)

I'd have liked a full circle scene where they are back in THAT sitting room admiring baby Nyx and Nesta just says a few things. Cooly and calmly. She's happy they intervened, but for all their wisdom and years of living it left a lot to be desired. Nothing too crazy, just a few delivered lines, Nesta style.

Felt Nesta lost a little of her fire. But maybe you see it more from the others POV. Though they always provoked her and it was a defence mechanism. And she was a bitch at times. With others outside the IC it's clear she is not like that. Make what you will of that.

I know SJM doesn't like to over detail things but a moment with Feyre/Nyx/Nesta alone would have been nice.

The sisters never meeting Gwyn or Emerie. A scene like that would have been powerful.

Amren is as Mor rightly said is a "cranky old bastard". And "Welcome back to the Night Court Nesta Archeron" screamed, now that you've scrubbed up love come on home. I don't know. Amren was clearly done with Nesta she was the one that stood by her the most and got sick shit of her. All Amren can command is respect now and Nesta really wanted hers, possibly the most.

Can I make a point about people harping on about slut shaming. Amren made one catty observation, that Nesta would ride almost anything. No other character mentioned it. Not one. And Nesta enjoyed her bed partners, she refers to some of it (threesome!). There was zero shame. And SJM hates slut shaming. So stop. It's not a thing.

I'm nitpicking but there was a lot of hurt just left off. Perhaps that was the point. SJM was like, fuck it, Nesta doesn't want to feel that anger or resentment anymore she wants to live and be happy. She's found inner peace with herself and those that matter most. Me wanting justification for how they treated her at timea is not the point!!! Lol.

The painting, that stood out for me in ACOFAS. It hurt to read it. Maybe Feyre had nothing to paint of Nesta. They didn't talk. Share thoughts. I think Feyre asking Nesta herself to show her memories of The Rite so she could paint it would have had more impact. But it read very plainly like now you've earned your spot here...or I like you now or something. She was deliberately not there, perhaps until she wanted to be. Or finally accepted and embraced life with the IC. It was an unnecessary detail that just fueled the Feysand halo (again I like Feysand).

Nesta made those weapons therefore they are hers. Amren is power hungry. Rhys seems happy to hand them over. High King drama, I can see it. It could happen.

It's clear that Nesta didn't want to leave the NC, therefore she had to fall in. People have a problem with 'who's boss' but we've only ever had court dynamics from Rhys/Feyre POV. And they are the top dogs in the NC. We are going to have to get used of seeing Feysand make decisions from the outside. It's THEIR court. And to be fair, Feyre always had Nestas back.

And yes I believe you always have a choice with Rhys. I know some scoff at that.

Rhys kneeling to Nesta further proves our gal is a Queen. Feyre is the only one he's ever bowed to. SJM gave us that moment for Nesta and we will have to be content despite he's questionable aggressive behaviour. He clearly has issues with family given his past.

Enjoyed seeing a bit of Elaine. Finally. And Nesta delivered some home truths! Elaine needs to find some backbone. Really looking forward to her story. Go mad SJM!

Feysand POV should have been the fallout of Rhys keeping baby drama from Feyre. Now THAT I would want to hear. And perhaps Feyre saying to Nesta I'm "secretly glad you told me".

Eris I always found super interesting. It's clear to me he knows Mor is gay. Him helping her would have meant she was trapped in the AC. 'Rejecting her' allowed Rhys and Co to save her and to have freedom. She screwed him by keeping it secret. His arc will be with Lucien I think.

Az and Elaine not for me. Sorry. I'd like Lucien to find some happiness. I've spoken of this before see other posts. Az tortures people for a living, he has serious issues.

I've already spoken about Mor....remember her lol. Where is she! Ha! Actions speak louder than words with Mor. Winnow please my mate is being a dick, teach me to dance, dress shopping. But I guess she's Feyres friend, Nesta has hers. Nesta feeling ashamed as to how she treated Mor, will be interesting to see how Mor feels about that oul time when I was such a hypocrite, lol, what I really meant was....

There are 2 more books and a novella so who knows. Nessian ain't over.

Going to look forward to the fanfiction!

Thanks SJM.

#acosf spoilers #nesta archeron #nessian #a court of silver flames #elriel #feysand #sarah j maas #sjm #lucien vanserra #elucien #azriel

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hoaryoldbitch · 3 years

Photo

Acts of service

@jonsa-valentine

Winterfell, 308 AC, Winter

And it's hard to write about being happy

'Cause the older I get

I find that happiness is an extremely uneventful subject

Sansa doesn't look up when Jon enters the room, she only offers him her cheek when she feels him approach. She accepts his kiss without looking up from the ledger she's reading. He moves to stand behind her, folding his arms over the back of the chair and resting his chin on her shoulders.

"What are you doing?" he asks her.

"Just trying to recalculate a couple of expenses," she murmurs back.

His lips are on her neck then, murmuring, "It's late."

She nods. "I know," she sighs. "But the false spring has caused some serious setbacks for the North, and it's given me a lot of unexpected work. The lords are concerned."

"They'll still be concerned in the morning."

"I'll put this down in a minute," she promises, "but I have to write a short answer to two letters. And I have a meeting with Lord Glover in the morning."

"Why did you schedule that in the morning?" he wonders. "Your entire day will be ruined after an hour with Glover that early."

"An hour? I'll be lucky if I don't lose my entire morning to whatever it is he wishes to discuss," she huffs.

"True," he chuckles, leaving her to pour himself a cup of ale. From the corner of her eye, she sees him put it down after only a couple of sips to return to her side. He starts running his fingers through her hair, tucking strands behind her ear, knuckles grazing the shell of it, tracing her hair down her neck and shoulders, and pressing a kiss to her temple, and then her cheekbone.

"You're distracting me," she mutters.

"Am I?" His voice is both amused and husky.

"If you keep distracting me, this is only going to take that much longer."

His lips move to her ear, and his hot breath tickles the sensitive skin there when he whispers, "I'll be good then." He walks away from her and starts undressing right there in her line of sight. She forces herself to look away and focus on the letter she's supposed to be writing.

She's just started her second letter when he calls her. "You ready to come to bed yet?"

She turns around to find him reclined against the pillows, arms folded behind his head and the furs pushed down to reveal the hard planes of his chest and stomach, dipped low to emphasize the narrow line of dark hair running down from his navel.

She bites her lip when she looks up to find the smirk on his face. "Soon," she answers, allowing herself another eyeful. "I'm almost done."

When she looks up again, she discovers that he has fallen asleep. She smiles and rubs her eyes, holding back a yawn. She should join him. Her candle wicks have almost run out, and the time is probably closer to dawn than to dusk.

***

The bed is so snug and warm, and Sansa doesn't want to be awake yet, even before fully realizing that she is. She turns around, trying to find a better spot on the pillow and pulling the covers closer around her. She's blissfully close to drifting off again when she's startled awake.

When she sits up, pushing away the sheets and furs, she doesn't feel comfortable at all anymore. She's sweating and gasping for air, feeling disoriented. The light is too bright. And then it hits her. She missed her meeting with Lord Glover.

Groaning, she flops back against the pillows. No, no, no. She needs to get out of bed, but she's already dreading having to apologize to Glover. "Why?" she mutters to herself as she pushes her hair back from her face.

The door swings open and Jon steps into the room, closing it behind him and offering her a smile. "Good morning," he greets her. "It's almost noon."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she complains. "Glover will be insufferable!"

"Don't worry," he answers, "he won't be."

"What do you mean?" she asks as he climbs onto the bed.

He takes her by the ankle so he can squeeze himself between her legs, hands curling around her thighs as he rest his cheek on her left knee. "I told Glover you were feeling unwell. I suggested he could discuss the matter with me or come back in the afternoon. He insisted it was too urgent to wait, so I took care of it."

"You did?" she mumbles, brushing a stray curl from his brow. "I can't say I'm very sorry about having to miss out on our meeting, but I hope he wasn't too awful."

"He was agreeable enough," he mutters back, turning his head to kiss the inside of her thigh.

Sansa hugs him closer with her legs, cupping his cheek. "What did he wish to discuss?"

He turns his head to kiss her palm. "Oh, the Hornwood again."

"That's what was so urgent it couldn't wait till the afternoon?" she sighs, sinking back into the pillows.

He moves up to rest his cheek in the space between her breasts, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You were already planning to grant the lordship to Larence Snow, weren't you?" She loves how the warm rumble of his voice permeates her body.

"He was one of the few who answered the call to take Winterfell back from the Boltons. He risked a lot to support our cause back then, and he's been loyal ever since."

Jon hums in agreement, letting one hand wander down her side to her hip.

"I could get used to this," she tells him, stroking his hair as she drags the heel of her foot up the back of his calf. "Having you so close all the time, having someone to rely on." She would marry him if she could. In spite of the fact that she swore that she would never wed again. Despite the fact that he's forbidden from entering a marriage.

HIs hand has found the bare skin of her thigh and the only answer she's getting out of him is a faint grunt.

"We could find a place for you. Captain of my household guard, steward," she tries carefully. Kings and queens have installed their paramours in important positions before. And he is so much more than that. He could stay by her side. He could even give her children one day, and no one would dare call them bastards. She pushes back the memories of the child they already could have had together.

He braces himself on one arm, tracing her lips with his thumb, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Captain of your bedchamber?" he suggests, arching an eyebrow.

She grins and heat rises to her cheeks. "Well, yes, that too, obviously."

He swallows her next words with a kiss and she lets him. He is not ready yet, and even though she wants and wants and wants, if she's perfectly honest with herself, neither is she. What they have now is enough.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa ff #jonsa fic #my writing #jonsa valentine #and there would be no grand choirs to sing

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ziracona · 4 years

Note

Dwight/Jake wedding headcanons maybe? They deserve it.

For sure!

It’s a couple years down the road. They’ve been living in the Indiana house with Adam, while the others orbit in and out from Springwood and Lockport and Haddonfield and Indianapolis and Bloomington and New Jersey and Missouri and New York and such every few days. It’s peaceful and fun there for them. Woods, big house, familiar smells and people and memorobelia and Ron’s grave and markers added nearby for Vigo and Alex and Lisa and Sujan and the person from the lab with no name and the survivors who came before them and never got to be buried. It’s home. They’re just chilling, Dwight and Jake talking with intent but also very relaxed about something while Adam edits a sequel in his easy chair, deep in edit mode, when Jake calls over, “Hey Adam, do you want to be a best man, or do you want to marry us?”

Which Adam hears the wrong homophone for for a second and almost takes him out before he realizes they meant the other version of ‘marry’ and remembers how to breathe again.

He stutters out a, “Well, I, uh—I mean, I can do whichever you’d prefer, but I’m not ordained. In. Anything. I know I did Min and Nea’s, but—”

“—Yeah, we know, but we just need it to be legal,” Jake shrugs, “and we don’t want a stranger at the wedding period, so someone’s getting ordained.”

“I think you can get ordained online in like an hour,” adds Dwight helpfully, “and we’re not religious either, but—and now that I’m saying this it was Meg so that means I should make sure becuase sometimes her memory for numbers is uhhh bad, but she told me like a week ago you only need ten people to officially get your new religion recognized. And we could be ‘the survivors’ or something. I don’t know I believe in much, but I believe in that.”

Jake nods. “Whatever is true, this group of people can rip a hole in the fabric of the universe for each other. I’d ascribe to that.”

“I kind of like that,” says Adam, “I would too. But if we have a spiritual ‘leader’, wouldn’t Ace be a better choice than me? Or Jane?”

This is considered a good point and they debate between Adam, Jeff, Tapp, Jane, and Ace for a bit, [Philip is also briefly considered, but they realize just as fast he’d be overwhelmed and stressed by having to do it & mercifully swap him to another role], then decide on Ace, who’s always been the kind of...not exactly dad, not exactly uncle, but not not those things, and certainly some kind of an early spiritual or morale core for them, parentish figure, and a comfort and hope leader for them all. Also, they know he’ll get a fkn kick out of being ordained for this.

Dwight takes Quentin as his Best Man, Claudette his Maid of Honor, and Jake takes Nea as Matron of Honor, Andrew as Best Man, and Meg as Maid of Honor. They decide fuck it, and it’s kinda Parks & Rec (an argument used by and against Jake many times the next few weeks) anyway, and also both take Adam and Philip as Best Men because fuck it, it’s too hard and also wedding rules are arbitrary and made to be broken, and so then Jake adds Kate as a bridesmaid, Dwight adds Laurie, they realize the number of survivors is dwindling dangerously and decide fuck it, our wedding is for us might as well be fkn weird and cool, and add David, Min, Tapp, Jane, Jeff, and Laurie as groomsmen and bridesmaids too. This still leaves Michael, Anna, Sally, Benedict, Susie, Jeff’s three Legion kids, and everyone’s families which is like fkn a lot of people, to be audience party (sans Nancy, who is pleaded with to be wedding party and run the music pre-reception because the number of people that they want involved /and/ who won’t give in to or be tricked by Meg into some kind of terrible flash mob stunt is very small, and in fact, basically is just Nancy. She is happy to do it and thinks their desperate reasoning is hilarious).

They break the news to Meg and Claudette and Ace first (after Adam), ask Ace to marry them, and tell Meg she can run post-weddding/reception music however she wants, except the songs for a couples dance & parent dances. She is /thrilled/. Claudette is very happy and cries. They call up Quentin & Nea to add to the conversation and Jake says Nea and Meg and Susie are in charge of setting up the wedding because he knows they’re gonna fight him for the role anyway, but they have to throw whatever they can together with only the stuff they own already and $50, they want only family & the other survivors/their families at the wedding, the service short and sweet, and to have it at the cabin, by the river. Meg loses her mind with indignance and joy together, and goes buckwild. They hit thrift shops for fairy lights and streamers and more.

Everyone is thrilled to be asked, Jane says “about time,” and Philip can’t think of anything to say and gets overwhelmed emotionally and taken off guard to be asked to be a groomsman. It’s sweet. Everyone with fashion sense takes everyone else shopping or through their wardrobes for fun wedding clothes and to at least have accent pieces that match a color theme. (Complimentary blues, yellow/gold, and pinks to the grooms’. More on that). It’s super fun & they make a fashion show of it. There’s no matching in form, just color, which is just the best version anyway there’s really no goddamn reason to spend thousands of bucks on a wedding when you could just have a funky cute good time with the people who love you & no stress.

Jake picks a deep blue hanbok (bc the hottest Jake I’ve ever seen is the one @eggchef did for lunar new year & the note in the tags about an actual hanbok has been banging around in my head ever since), and when they’re going through stuff for Dwight, he comments a pink one is surprisingly nice because it’s not the color he’d expected to think about, and Jake remarks offhand that if they do deep blue and pink they’ll be stealing their girls’ looks, and the second he says that, they both know there’s no other choice now. Dwight gets a light pink suit and a tie that matches Jake’s blue. They’re adorable and both look exceedingly handsome.

The wedding is short and perfect. Ace does a great job, it’s a nice day, and Meg works wonders with her $50 budget and (notably obscenely large) preexisting store of party supplies, + help from her mom who is passing down the legacy of being the best tiny budget party planner on earth. It’s very open, but with near arches and dangling glass and prisims that cast rainbows everywhere, lots of meaningfully chosen for their blessings and symbolism flowers and flower chains from Claudette. It’s a little reminiscent of the birthday decorations Min and Nea did plus the prisims, and that accidentally makes all the survivors super emotional like 1 minute in.

Only the moms get to speak in the wedding (besides Ace and the grooms), and Andrew and Meg and Nea and Quentin and such all gotta save their roasts for the reception. It’s sweet. Ace knows them super well and it shows in the best way. The grooms write their own vows, and both echo their statements in the hatch tunnel without knowing the other was going to do so too. Jake starts with an “I am deeply, unendingly, ridiculously in love with you,” and Dwight brings in a, “I wouldn’t be who I am without you.” They end it with Dwight saying, “Will you still stay with me, now that it’s all over? Through whatever we’re thrown to next?” And Jake replying, “Wherever you go, I’ll always follow.”

I cry.

The reception is a party by the house. It’s just a huge prepared buffet made by the family who can cook, so no one has to sit and wait. Meg starts the music with Cascada’s Evacuate the Dance Floor because she doesn’t “want to see people dragging their feet like a bunch of fuckin weenies, I want asses on that dance floor!” There’s a lot of 90s and early 2000s pop, but also many many classic dance songs. Lots of ABBA. Lots of it. Everyone has great fun. Min, Nea, Susie, and Meg made the playlist, except for a few of the specific dances. Muriel Fairfield’s mother-son dance with Dwight is to Song For Ten by Neil Hannon because he knows she’s a sweet big emotional nerd and it’s the song she wants, and he’s willing to do it, and she sobs and is a mess but also the happiest she’s been since the day she got the call he was alive.

They have literally zero idea where they’re going when they drive off for a honeymoon. They’re like “Uhh so I’ve been looking at our complete and utter lack of wedding structure and planning as a good thing? But we might have overstepped that a little here....”

Dwight drives while Jake searches the web for LGBT safe honeymoon locations because there’s nothing that would ruin a trip more than that not working out, and reads off a list and Dwight is like, “Wait wait holy fuck, I though you meant what US cities or maybe Canada. Switzerland? Do we even have cash for the plane fare somewhere like that?” And Jake just looks at the page silently for a few seconds, shuts the laptop, and without expression says, “...I really hate this, but I’m gonna let myself be a rich boy, just once.”

They take Andrew’s jet to New Zealand (Jake calls him and listens for 2 minutes then just monotone goes “Okay but you owe me for being a dipshit for fifteen years,” and they get the ride). Jake picks a relaxed pace and some scuba diving, some hikes, but no overnight camping. Lots of just seeing the world and holding hands and grinning at how absolutely breathless and shocked Dwight is at every chunk of nature like nothing he’s seen before. They are disgustingly, blissfully happy.

#ask #anonymous #dead by daylight #in living memory (fic)#in living memory #ILM spoilers #long post #parkfield #dwake #Jake park #Dwight Fairfield

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sarahwritesss · 4 years

Text

koala + forgotten

Koala has forgotten a lot of things.

She's forgotten her mother's smile, her father's laugh, the way Tiger's hand felt on her head as he guided her; the list goes on and on and on.

And it hurts, not remembering some of the only good things in her life, but remembering, snap, snap, snap, goes the whip and “Smile, brat, or you’re next,” as one of her fellow slaves dies next to her.

She's forgotten a lot of things, but none of those things could have compared to losing the entirety of her first ten years.

She's always had a lot of sympathy for Sabo, knowing his first ten years - his entire childhood - just went poof in one burst of fire. He's never really minded (or at least, he pretended not to mind. The way he always seems to reach to the side when asleep, trying to wrap an arm around presences that aren't there, which she tries to fill in but it's just not enough says differently).

But, he’s always lived life as if it didn't matter - as if that hole inside him didn't bother him. Koala had always jokingly offered, "Here, let me give you a concussion, maybe that'll knock something loose."

Sabo would laugh, say, "No, thanks," and they'd move on with their day.

Now, watching her best friend clutch at his hair and sob on the hospital bed, she wishes she had tried to knock his memories loose.

"Koala..." Sabo's voice breaks on her name, and her heart clenches as he looks up, eyes teary and cheeks red with past tears.

Koala crosses the room quickly, sitting next to him, and gently wraps an arm around his shoulders. She tugs him closer, murmuring soft nothings in his ears. He doesn't seem to hear them, though; his hands are still clutching at his hair and sobs are still breaking through, shaking his whole body.

(God, Koala doesn't know how to help him. They've always been each other's support system, always been there for each other – soothing each other's nightmares and listening as they scream and cry their anger at the world, but this is a whole other beast.

After all, how do you scream at the beast if it's within you?)

"Koala," Sabo repeats, and she hums comfortingly as he leans into her. "How could I have forgotten?"

"Shhh," Koala hushes. "It wasn't your fault, Sabo-kun."

"Wasn't it?!" Sabo jerks his head up off her shoulder, and stares at her, eyes wild and full of tears. There's pain in them, so much pain, and Koala wishes she could take it away from him so, so bad. "I didn't even try to remember! Ace is dead! Luffy is alone, and I didn’t even try to remember them! How can I even call myself-"

"Sabo-kun," Koala cuts in. Sabo cuts off, and his eyes lose their focus, staring just past her shoulder as yet another memory flashes through his brain, looking right at her but not seeing her.

(God, Koala's glad, so glad he's got his memories back, but part of her wishes he could have continued to have forgotten, blissfully unaware of the pirate who died's relation to him.

At least, if that happened, her best friend wouldn't be in the seemingly-unending pain that he's in right now.)

She tries again, "Sabo-kun, you didn't choose to get shot at by a World Noble." (Part of her still shudders at the thought of those pieces of trash, but she forces that aside, focusing on her best friend.) "As much as I joked about trying to bring back your memories, Sabo-kun, there wasn't anything you could do."

"But-"

She cuts in, "No, Sabo-kun, no buts. If your brothers are anything like you – and I know you, you wouldn't have chosen anyone different to be your family – they would just be insanely happy that you're alive."

Sabo's looking at her, wide-eyed, and she continues, softly, "They wouldn't blame you, Sabo-kun. You can't blame you. It wasn't your fault."

Sabo stares at her before letting out a wail, collapsing fully against her, and she just holds him, rocking him gently as he breaks apart.

"I wish I remembered. I should have remembered," Sabo chokes out, and Koala simply holds him. There's not anything more she can do than do that (though she wishes she could do more (and god, it's been forever since she's felt this powerless)).

She's forgotten a lot of things, Koala thinks as her best friend shudders against her.

But she's never going to forget the pain on her brother's face as he finally remembers what he has forgotten for the past ten years.

#sabo #koala #one piece #dressrosa spoilers #opfics #my writing

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rosegoldannie · 4 years

Text

Living a lie

A Rowaelin Angsty/fluffy Hollywood!Au fic with a happy ending.

Also I had an idea for a quarantine TOG or ACOTAR fic. Comment which couple I should write it about! Also on a side note, my birthday was a few days ago, and now I’m 16!

Masterlist

They were living a lie.

In public, they were loving, and affectionate, and the couple that absolutely everyone wanted to be. They would walk down the street, Rowan’s hand around her waist, and smile for the cameras. She would smile, kiss him, and gush over her husband, how he was everything she could ever want. How their life was a blissful paradise.

Home was a nightmare. A neverending nightmare. They fought constantly, never able to go more than a few hours, maybe a few days if they really, really tried, without some form of an argument. And that was exactly where Aelin found herself yet again, fighting back tears, on her birthday no less. Reaching for her favorite eyeshadow, she contemplated how she, a twenty-three year old, found herself near-sobbing at the thought of attending her first major movie premier. Near sobbing, and not with joy.

Her emerald gown was set across her bed. Yes, her bed. Recently, they had been fighting so much that she couldn’t stand sleeping in the same room as her husband, but had been totally unwilling to stay with a friend. Something about the finality of that set her stomach turning. As if it were announcing to the world - because one way or another, if she spent the night at a friend’s, the whole world would know - that their marriage was over.

As she finished up her makeup, a single tear slipped out, which she quickly swept away, not having the patience to touch up the ever so slightly smudged makeup. She stood, making her way over to the bed, where that damn dress lay waiting . The gown whispered cooly against her arms, sliding smoothly over her skin. She sighed, almost wanting to forgo the entire event, and spend the night with her dog, a pint of ice cream, and maybe, just maybe, her husband.

There was a slight knock, then- “Can I come in?”

Aelin sighed through her nose, some strange sense of dread settling further in her gut, and turning the roasted salmon she’d had for lunch to lead. “Yeah.”

Her husband slipped through the doorway, and her jaw nearly dropped. Those pine eyes which were almost always so very cold were warm,and gentle, and brimming with love. He was in sweats, and clutching a bouquet of sunflowers, a box of chocolate, and a small, velvet box. “Happy birthday, Ace.” He murmured. On any other day, Aelin would have sobbed, and thrown herself into his arms absolutely showering him with kisses and sweet murmurs, because by the gods, Rowan Ellys Whitethorn, who rarely remembered what day of the week it was, let alone the date, had remembered her birthday, and all of her favorite things. But this wasn’t any other day. And she didn’t jump into his arms.

“What the hell are you wearing?” She rasped through the tightness in her throat.

Rowan blinked, the warmth in those green eyes cooling ever so slightly, as mild panic filled them. “What? Were we going out tonight?”

A sense of panic washed over her. “Yes! My premier? We have to leave in twenty minutes!” Some small part of her roared that this was why they fought: He didn’t listen to her. Didn’t hear her. She had been raving about how excited she was for this for weeks. He knew how much this night meant to her, and yet… he still forgot.

His face visibly fell as he placed the gifts on her bedside table, and slipped from the room. All the while murmuring that he would be ready to go soon. She nodded, telling herself that she trusted him enough to pick out his own suit, which was most definitely not a way of avoiding having to see his tattoo, and everything it promised and implied. Even though she couldn’t avoid it totally, as it weaved and snaked its way up the side of his face. But still. The most painful part was hidden under his clothes. For her eyes only, he had murmured in her ears years prior, whilst they were intertwined between the sheets and so irrevocably in love. Oh, where had the passion gone? The heat? The love?

Twenty minutes later, they were in the throes of yet another screaming match.

“If you had told me before hand, maybe-”

“Don’t pull that shit with me, Rowan. You have all your shit organized. There’s no way you could fuck up this badly on accident.”

“And? Did you forget I’m colorblind?” She flinched, and he paused for a moment before continuing. “Did you forget because it isn’t something in your phone?” Again, she flinched. Because he was right; she had forgotten that he was colorblind and she was an awful person for it.

Regardless, those gold-ringed Ashryver eyes hardened. “There is absolutely no way this is an accident.” She held his gaze as she gestured to his black shirt, green tie and jacket, and black pants. While he’d definitely had worse red-carpet outfits, she was still upset. Partly because this was her first premier in which she was the sole star, and partly because of a word that had been whipping around in her mind for days.

“Alright, fine! I was trying to match your dress but I ran out of clean clothes.” He snapped. Something small cracked in his voice, and there was such desperation that she had to clench her eyes shut.

When she finally opened her eyes, she forged ahead and prayed. “Ro, we have to talk about it. This isn’t fair to either of us.” Rowan inhaled, and she waited for the barrage of pleas and promises, but they never came. He only sighed, clenched his jaw, and nodded. And something within her cracked, something ancient and primordial which had long lain dormant within her, roaring that he couldn’t just give up.

But they weren’t what everyone thought.

The entire world thought they were perfect.

The entirety of their families thought they were blissfully in love. Even Aedion.

But they were miserable.

She - truly - didn’t know who said it, only that during one of their fights a week prior, someone had screamed at the other that if things were truly so awful, then they should file for divorce. And for the last week, it had been the only thing on her mind. She was young, young enough to find love again-

Aelin damn near gagged at the thought, unable to even look at her husband for several long moments, even as a metallic, revolting taste remained in her mouth for a long while. “Are you happy? Like this?”

The driver of their limousine called back that they would be arriving soon, and they chorsed back their thanks.

He at last semi-met her gaze. “Am I happy?” He repeated, as if not totally processing the words. “I’m not unhappy.” He murmured, eyes trailing over her, over the shoulders exposed by her gown, to her lips painted a dark red, to her jewelry. His pine-green eyes trailed down to her hand, and the blood drained from his face. “Your ring….”

Confusion lanced through her, until she followed his gaze. To her empty ring finger, a band of pale skin where that silver and emerald wedding band always sat. To where she had forgotten to put it back on after her shower. Then the panic set in, a thousand different scenarios playing out in her mind. What actually occurred was so, so much worse.

Somehow, he paled even more, then clenched his eyes shut. A single tear slid down his cheek, which her fingers itched to wipe away, as their limousine pulled to a stop in front of a mob of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. Silently, she begged him to yell or scream, or beg her for another chance. Anything at all, any show of emotion. All he did was let out a soft, “Oh.”

Her panic rose, as she internally begged him to meet her eyes. “Ro, please.” She pleaded, her small voice cracking on the last word.

Those eyes snapped open, and her heart clenched at how utterly unable to read the boundless emotions swimming in them she was. “No.” He murmured, gently taking her hand, and pushing open the door. “We’ll talk about this at home. Tonight is your night.”

And so their masks slipped into place, even as her chest tightened to the point of pain. Together, they weaved through the crowds towards the red carpet. Arm in arm, ever the perfect couple. They even paused to pose for the paparazzi, Rowan wrapping an arm around her waist, and pressing a seemingly sweet kiss to her forehead. But she felt it for what it was: a goodbye, and an apology. Her heart began to crack.

Then they were pulled apart, and it could have been her imagination, but it seemed as if he seemed eager to be away from her. Nevertheless, she was whisked away by a reporter, who was shoving a microphone in her face, and a camera flashed brightly behind him. “Mrs. Whitethorn, how does it feel to be the star of your own movie?”

“Amazing,” She answered robotically, “it feels like a dream.”

“And are there any mini-Whitethorns on their way to us?” He teased, shoving that damn microphone further into her face.

And suddenly she was nineteen again, wrapped up in Rowan’s hoodie, curled up in his lap in their favorite armchair, back in their crappy, old apartment with the leaky faucets and drains that never really drained.

“What do you think of children?” He murmured, nestling his face into her neck.

Aelin pulled back, giving him a coy smile, even as her gut erupted in butterflies, and a warm feeling seeped through her every limb. “I absolutely detest the idea.”

Rowan pouted, eyes pleading with her teasingly. “Oh really, and why is that?”

Grinning devilishly, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Because I already have a man-child of my own, whom I love very much.” She then pressed another kiss to his soft, precious lips, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Groaning, he pulled her impossibly closer, and she adjusted her position so that she straddled him, and plunged her fingers into his hair. Rowan’s strong hands trailed up and down her thighs, exposed by her athletic shorts that she wore purly to torment him.

After a long while, he reluctantly pulled back, his eyes serious. “In all honesty, what do you think of having children? With me?”

Again, she grinned, and again she attacked his lips. “I’d love them.”

She was pulled out of her reverie by a gentle arm snaking around her middle from behind, a chiseled chin coming to rest on her shoulder. Almost instantly, tears welled in her eyes for a multitude of reasons. When was the last time she had even considered that day? And how so very much she wanted children, with no one but the man wrapped around her. Her face flushed. And she prayed that Rowan didn’t notice, or if he did, that he thought it was simply from the constantly flashing.

Rowan smiled deeply, but his eyes remained sad on a level only she could see. “No, I’m afraid not.

The reporter sighed, then proceeded to hammer them with more questions, until they finally made a respectful exit and rushed into the theatre. And now, curled up unceremoniously in the plush chairs in front of that giant screen, she felt as if she might be sick.

And then the movie began.

There was one scene - only one - that she could barely stomach watching. It was when her love interest, played by Dorian Havilliard, was brutally whipped, as her character screamed in the background. It was all too similar to the worst night of her life, where she had watched her best friend had been so brutally killed. How she had been locked in a small, lightless room for weeks, listening helplessly as Sam was-

It was as if he had sensed her distress, for she had never truly told him what had occurred those weeks she had been missing from school, that his warm, gentle hand came to cautiously rest over hers. And when she didn’t push him away, he slowly drew their intertwined hands into his lap, to fully enclose her small, nimble hand in both of his. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks. It had been so long, and yet he still remembered

Once it had passed, Aelin breathed a sigh of relief, as her favorite scene was coming up, in which she - as Liliana - got to leap off a cliff, and soar through the air after escaping her captors. That scene had been such fun to film. Smiling, she thought back to the day she had filmed that, and had returned home so happy and excited that she and Rowan had actually had a pleasant evening, in which she had told him all of the details of the film.

Slowly, she glanced over to Rowan under her lashes, and was surprised to see him staring awestruck at the screen, tears rolling freely down his tattooed face. And it was as if the fog which had been clouding her mind, her eyes for months…. It was if that fog had lifted, and she saw him. She truly saw him.

Pride, love and awe were abundant in his incredible eyes.

And she simply couldn’t help but to press a kiss to his hands.

Rowan jerked slightly, his head whirling towards her, his handsome features comically surprised and confused. Aelin cracked a smile, and snuggled into his side. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around her and it felt like coming home.

And as the movie carried on, she allowed her mind to wander, back to their most recent fights in which that wretched word had been flung.

“I never see you.” He spat, pinning her in place with a livid glare.

“I come home every night, I made sure that-”

“You stay here, but I never see you. It’s like you’re avoiding me.”

She crossed her arms and huffed.

Rowan pursed his lips. “So you are avoiding me, then.” He shook his head, eyes lingering on the fireplace behind her, rather than actually on her. “Can I ask why?”

Aelin shifted slightly. “Because I’m tired of fighting with you.”

“Really?” He scoffed, those chiseled features hardening. “Then why do you find fault with every damn thing I do?”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do.” He hissed. “When I went to pick you up from the set last week, you refused to come home.”

“Because I had a meeting.”

“That you didn’t tell me about. I had told you I wanted to spend the evening together.”

“No, you didn’t!”

“Yes I did, Aelin. You were just on your phone.”

“And? I’m busy, Rowan.”

“Yeah.” Rowan huffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t I know it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re always on your phone! You don’t listen to me!”

Fury began to set her blood boiling. “Oh, I don’t listen to you?” She shouted, face growing redder with each passing second. “You don’t hear a thing I say! It’s like I’m married to a brick wall.”

“You’re really comparing me to a brick wall? Are you serious, Aelin? You downright refuse to even be in the same room as me. You refuse to communicate with me. Hell, half the time you refuse to even acknowledge that I exist! Let alone the fact that I’m your husband.” Hesitation shone in his eyes for a brief moment before dissipating. “Half the time I wonder if growing up in Terrassen really did turn your heart into ice.”

Aelin could barely school her face into neutrality. “If you really feel that way, then maybe you shouldn’t have proposed to me.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“No. You shouldn’t have.”

“So then you agree. We shouldn’t have gotten married.”

“No. No we shouldn’t have. It was a mistake.”

“Finally we agree on something.”

“Finally.”

Well. Since we both agree, I guess that means getting a divorce.”

“I guess it does.”

Suddenly she was blinking rapidly against the bright lights that now illuminated the luxurious theatre, as the credits began rolling across the screen. And the very first name upon that lengthy list was her own, scrawled in her cursive-printed combination handwriting that had so annoyed and upset her middle and high school teachers.

There was a loud, high-pitched squeal as a flurry of arms, legs, tulle, fluffy skirts and red-golden hair came flying at her, clambering down over the rows of velvety seats to wrap her thin arms around her and bury that scarred, adorable face in Aelin’s impeccably styled hair. And following close behind were several of Aelin’s close friends.

“Hello, Evangeline.” She chuckled, hugging the little girl back with equal fervor.

“You were amazing!” The girl squealed, beaming from ear to ear.

“Aww, thank you. You’re too sweet.”

“She’s right, Ace.” A deep voice murmured from behind.

Aelin whirled, after setting Evangeline safely down, to see Aedion. Clad in a crisp tuxedo, his hair brushed, and for once in something other than a hasty man-bun. “You made it!” She squeaked, throwing herself into her older brother’s arms.

Once they separated, he was grinning. “Of course! I couldn’t miss your first premier.” Then his grin turned positively sneaky. “And I brought friends.” Then out stepped Lysandra and Elide, and Aelin saw her friend’s boyfriend off conversing with Sartaq and Dorian.

The three women shrieked in joy, instantly wrapping themselves into a clustered hug. After only a second, Elide let out a squeak, as she didn’t even come up to either woman’s shoulder, and they leaned down to include her.

After they had at last pulled apart, Nesryn, Manon and Yrene came up to introduce themselves, followed by their respective partners. Once Aelin had introduced them to her childhood friends, and had established a flowing conversation, she looked around for her husband, the urge to speak with him nearly overwhelming.

Mild panic began to fill her when she didn’t see him anywhere in the theatre, so she excused herself and rushed as quickly as her stilettos and dress would allow. Bursting through the thick door, Aelin scanned the foyer for that telltale green suit jacket and white hair, but again, she didn’t see it anywhere. And again, she rushed as quickly as she could into the lobby of the theatre, once again scanning the crowds, but once again she didn’t find him.

That mild panic quickly rose and filled her, blurring her crappy vision - worsened by the fact that she had forgotten to put her contacts back in after her shower - and filled her eyes with tears. Quickly, she wiped them away and smudged her makeup, and rushed out of the lobby, into the cool night air, where hundreds of paparazzi instantly began snapping countless pictures of her.

Stumbling backwards, she rushed back into the lobby, and rushed for the back entrance, tumbling out towards the garbage cans. By now, her hair had come out of its beautiful waves and was now a messy, unkempt rats nest.

Any inhibitions she had gave way when she leaned against the slimy, brick wall and slid down to the ground, burying her face in her knees as the hot, hopeless tears began to freely slide down her cheeks. Her dress caught on a chip in the bricks, and ripped, exposing a portion of her scarred back. A new wave of tears began, and she tugged at her hair.

What had she done? How had she let him believe that she didn’t love him, that she truly wanted a divorce? And who could blame him, she had been a total bitch. She had yelled at him for his greatest insecurity, the one thing he was self conscious about. And all because he hadn’t worn what she wanted. And that was after he had brought her everything he knew she loved, because the man who would forget his own name had remembered her birthday, and had tried to make it special for her, because he loved her. And she had yelled at him.

So, really, was it so surprising that he had left? He had seen her empty ring finger, and thought that she was leaving him, that she truly did want a divorce. But…. she didn't though. Sure, things weren’t great, but… there was no one person responsible for it. At one point, they had simply stopped communicating, and simply expected the other to know or do things that they had no way of knowing.

She had stopped truly communicating with him, but Rowan had kept trying to reach her, and each time she had shut him down and berated him for it. And so, he had stopped trying.

Letting out a high whimper, Aelin wrapped her arms around herself as the chilly air soon seeped into her bones. Yet another wave of hot tears streamed down her face, but she again swiped them away, rubbing viciously at her eyes. When she pulled her hands back, she found that they were smeared with a mixture of eyeshadow, mascara and eyeliner, and Aelin knew that she most likely looked like a sleep deprived raccoon. Sighing, she used the hem of her dress as a tissue and again wiped at her eyes.

Overhead, the clouds rumbled ominously and rain began pelletting the ground around her. Again, Aelin sighed, and stood slowly, making to walk towards the street so she could order a taxi-

She froze. A taxi to where? Home? If Rowan was really leaving, he most likely was back at the house, packing her things. If she made it home, she could talk to him, convince him…. Convince him of what? That she deserved him? That she deserved a second chance? After everything that had happened, did she really even deserve a second chance? All she had done recently was find fault with every single thing he did, and make him unhappy. He deserved so much more than her.

But…. he had promised her. He had promised that no matter what happened, he would always love her. And he had meant it, because he had stayed by her side, failed audition after failed audition. Hell, he had even been the one to suggest that they move out to california once she had finally landed a role.

Sighing, Aelin hung her head as a painful revelation came over her: that she didn’t deserve a second chance. He deserved someone who wouldn’t close themselves off and leave him alone. He deserved someone who knew his insecurities and didn’t hold them against him when he made a mistake. He deserved someone else, someone better. Someone who wasn’t her.

The light drizzle became a full-fledged rainstorm, and she turned, making to go back to her corner, where she would be sheltered from the rain behind that rancid garbage can, but her stiletto gave a sharp crack, and she tripped into a puddle, soaking her dress.

She cursed, drawing her foot closer, to inspect the damage. The heel of her shoe had snapped clear off, her dress had begun to rip at the seam and was now soaked and stained with garbage, and her leg was now splattered with mud.

Cursing, Aelin stumbled back over to where she had spent the previous several hours: behind the dumpster.

No sooner had she resumed her earlier position, the door flew open, and she retreated further behind the dumpster, curling into a small ball. Whoever had come through that door stomped around for a good while, and then the door creaked open again.

Then she heard a sharp gasp, and her head jerked up.

Rowan, looking as dishevelled as she had ever seen him, was crouched before her, his tie completely undone and the top several buttons of his now wrinkled shirt unbuttoned. “Aelin,” He murmured, leaning forward to put his suit jacket around her. “What the hell-”

She interrupted him by throwing herself into his arms. “I’m sorry, Rowan.” She whimpered. “This is all my fault, I should never have shut you out, and I promise that if you choose to give me a second chance I’ll do better.”

“Whoa-whoa what?” He pulled back slightly, brushing the knotted hair from her face, and wiping away some dirt on her cheekbone. “What do you mean? This isn’t your fault, and why the hell are you out here?”

“I-I thought you had left, because… Fuck, Rowan we’ve been fighting so much, and…. And last week we all but said we were going to get a divorce, and all I’ve done for the last I don’t know how long is yell at you, and earlier when you saw I didn’t have my wedding ring on, I thought that you thought that was me saying that we’re done, but I promise that I don’t want that and if you’d only let me explain that I forgot to put it back on after my shower. But if you’ve already decided that we’re done, I promise that I’ll respect that and you’ll never have to see or hear from me again.”

Slowly, she watched him process what she had said, as he scanned her face. “Aelin… no. No, I don’t want this to be over, and of course I’ll give you another chance. That goes without saying. I know how busy you’ve been, and I’ve tried to be supportive, but I know that I’ve been distant. I had wanted to tell you that if you were willing to give me another chance, I’d be everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Silver began lining her eyes, and she pulled his jacket tighter around her to ward off the chill. “Rowan, I love you. You never have to ask for a second chance. You’ll always have it, no matter what.” Her cheeks reddened, and she found it hard to look at him. “Because, Ro, I…. you’re it for me.”

In less than a second, he had pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping himself around her. Hot tears began to dampen what little of her gown hadn’t already been soaked, but she didn’t care, because Rowan was here, and he still cared.

When he at last pulled back, his eyes were red and puffy. “You’re it for me too, Aelin. You’ve always been it for me.” With that, Rowan leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her cold lips. After only a few moments, he made to pull back, but she gripped his shirt, and pulled him back to her, and she pressed her lips to his.

And as his arms wrapped around her, she knew she was home. With his lips moving sweetly against hers, it was as if they were seventeen, and sharing a kiss behind the bleachers at a highschool dance.

Once they had finally parted, she couldn’t help the words that tumbled out of her mouth. “You still love me, right Ro?”

Confusion filled his gaze. “Of course.”

“But then….why did you leave me?”

“What? I would never leave you.”

“Yes, you did. After the movie, I was looking for you and you were gone. I looked everywhere.”

“After the…? Aelin,” He smiled sweetly, cupping her cheek, “after the movie I went to the bathroom. I never purposefully left you. I’d never do that.”

She blinked. “So you’re saying I’ve been out here for no reason?”

Rowan grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You always did have a dramatic flare. It’s part of why I love you.”

Humming, she leaned into him. “I missed you.”

Another kiss was pressed to the crown of her head. “I missed you too, love.”

It wasn’t easy, and it most definitely didn’t happen overnight, and their fight in the limousine wasn’t their last, but they rebuilt their relationship. It took a lot of counseling, a lot of tears, a lot of talking, and a lot of patience, but, well over a year later, they were once again happy and in love. Some days were better than others, and it was by no means perfect. But they were happy.

Balancing work and their personal life wasn’t easy, and there were still many times that one person accidentally began shutting down communication with the other, but they now made a point to spend time together, and to schedule weekends off so that they could relax. Another improvement was that Aelin was no longer sleeping in the guest room.

Only a few weeks after her premier, she and Rowan had decided to move into another house, as they both agreed that it would be too difficult to repair their marriage in the house that had some so close to destroying it.

Now in a new house in the suburbs, Aelin felt as if they had been gifted with a fresh start, and another chance together.

Several months later, nearly two years after her premier, as they were wrapped together under warm sheets and in each other's arms, buttery sunlight streaming in through the large windows, with her head tucked under his chin, she smiled a secret smile, her thoughts drifting to the growing secret within her belly, whose existence she would soon reveal to her husband. But for now, she roused him gently from his light slumber. “Ro. Ro, wake up. I want to tell you something.”

“Mnggh.”

She could simply grin, and attempt to rouse him again. “Please, it’s important.”

One green eye slipped open. “Wa’sit?” He slurred, pulling her closer.

Bracing her elbows on his bare chest, she traced his collarbone with her fingertip. “I’ve been thinking about something for a while, and...I’ve come to a decision.”

Now he was awake. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand, he met her happy gaze. “What do you mean?” He murmured, fingers combing sweetly through her hair.

Resting her chin in her hands, she gazed into his eyes. “So….I’ve been thinking that even though we’ve talked about it, and you’re completely fine with my acting career…”

“Mmhmm…” He hummed, smiling slightly.

“I’ve decided that I’m going to retire early, and get a real job.”

His eyes widened comically. “What?! B-but you love acting! Why-what… I’d never want you…. Aelin, you can’t! You-this is your dream job.” He sputtered, holding her gaze, and searching.

She cupped his cheek and brushed his bottom lip with her thumb. Trying to convey just how much she loved him with that gesture. “It’s my decision, Rowan. I decided to retire because I don’t like the strain it puts on our relationship.” Her husband began to protest, but she quickly silenced him. “No one made me do this. And, yeah, I know we’ve worked out ways to work through the stress my job puts on us, but… I don’t like it. I hate how we almost have to put on a facade for the paparazzi, and how absolutely everything we do is criticized and judged, and…” She took a deep breath, leading his hand to press against her stomach. “I don’t want our kids to grow up in the spotlight, where they’ll have no privacy be constantly scrutinized. I just...that’s not the life I want for them.”

Slowly, realization dawned on him, and he broke into a joyful grin, tears filling his eyes as he pressed a second hand to her belly. “Aelin, sweetheart, are...are you?”

She grinned from ear to ear, nodding her head vigorously. Rowan immediately wrapped her into a tight, loving hug and kissed her until their lips were numb and their stomachs roared for breakfast.

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vigilantesanonymous · 4 years

Text

start me up - poe dameron

(Title inspired by The Rolling Stones song. I don’t know why, it just came up on my playlist while writing this and I can just imagine this playing in Poe’s head every time he sees you. Especially the lines “You make a grown man cry, you make a dead man cum”.)

Story inspired by this anon: “think about it: poe meeting you for the first time, you're the best female pilot in the galaxy, oh no, not only are you his runner up but you're also incredibly beautiful and poe is a nervous, stumbling and stuttering mess.”

We love when the man who literally cannot stop talking is at a loss for words! Thank you for the suggestion anon!

Word count: 2736

***

You’re the best pilot in the galaxy. Well, okay, maybe not that. But what you are is the best female pilot in the galaxy. And boy, had you made a reputation for yourself.

You had been running with a Mandalorian for a while, the two of you racing around the galaxy on bounty hunting missions and experiencing the damage the First Order could cause front and center. At first, you really hadn’t cared to take a side. What was yet another war to you? That was, until your best friend was forced to go into the stormtrooper program, and you never saw him again. That first loss was what really opened your eyes to all the destruction that was taking place in the galaxy. No matter how badly you wanted to keep your head down and turn a blind eye to it, you couldn’t. Everywhere you went you saw the intense amount of damage that the First Order had caused. Broken families, dead bodies, screaming babies looking for parents that would never come to save them again. It was then that you decided you needed to do more than be a measly bounty hunter, and with your expert flying skills the Resistance took you in with open arms.

To say he heard a lot about you was an understatement. You were his runner up, and people all over the Resistance would tease him about being bested by a girl, but for some reason he didn’t mind. Instead, he was excited to meet the woman who was so incredible at the craft he loved more than anything. He liked the thought of having another skilled pilot on the side of the Resistance. Someone who was just as good as he was to keep his friends safe, someone who would care about the good of the galaxy as much as him. But when he first laid eyes on you? Stars. He didn’t know that being the best female pilot in the galaxy also meant being the hottest.

You had your hair in a half up, the top portion of hair pulled out of your face so there would be no distractions while flying (“Being a pilot isn’t the same as being a beauty queen,” you snark at anyone who asked). Still, it suited you, and the few whips of hair that managed to escape framed your face well. It brought attention to your rosy cheeks and your bright eyes, the eyes Poe couldn’t tear himself away from.

“Poe Dameron,” he said confidently as he held out his hand. Poe Dameron, best pilot in the galaxy. And it wasn’t just something that he said about himself, no. Everyone touted him as the best, even General Leia Organa, for whom he was the right hand man of. Despite the badass reputation, those were the last words he said to you with any amount of certainty to them. Your hand was soft, but your grip was firm. You introduced yourself, Poe feeling himself melt at the sound of your voice. He hadn’t even realized you asked him a question until you repeated yourself.

“Oh! Where I’m from? Yavin. Y-Yavin 4,” he stuttered awkwardly. He clunkily tells you about how his parents were in the Resistance, how he has a droid (Seriously, talking about the DROID?, he mentally curses himself). He scours his brain for anything to tell you that won’t make you snore, and surprisingly finds himself at a loss for words. Any questions you ask him are an Olympic feat to answer. He can barely open his mouth without stuttering out a weak reply. A wave of relief washes over him as Rey glides over to introduce herself, gladly letting her do the talking so he doesn’t embarrass himself further. It’s not that he didn’t want to be with you, talk to you, get to know you. But clearly he was not very good at it. No one had ever made Poe stumble over his words like this, or made him so incredibly at a loss for words. He felt as clunky as an outdated sand speeder.

You liked Poe. He was handsome, sure, but what you found most attractive was the way he cared about his team and friends. The way he took the worries of the war from everyone and put it on his shoulders. The way he hugged his droid whenever the little guy rolled up to his feet, happily beeping at his owner for attention. It was the little things about Poe that made your affection grow towards the man. You were stationed under him, and he was your superior, but Poe never made anyone on the team feel like they were anything but an equal to him. Even with his superstar reputation, you got to see behind the scenes to see a charming man who would do anything for the people that he cared about, and that he loves them fiercely.

It didn’t take long for you to rise through the ranks on the Black Squadron to be right underneath of Poe. But you couldn’t help but feel like there was a disconnect when it came to you and him. With the rest of the team, he would get really close and personal with them. He had inside jokes with them, his charming grin always readily available to anyone who needed some cheering up. After a mission, he would tell each and everyone how great they’re doing, but when he finally got around to you a strange look would wash over his face and could only stammer out a “Hey, great job kid,” before walking as quickly as he could to Rey and Finn. It was all Poe could do to not stumble over his words when he talked to you. Even after rehearsing them in his mind over and over. Which of course, he would never admit.

Of course he wanted to gush to you about how good of a job you did, how could he not?! And how sexy it was when you took out those Ties in one shot, and the way you were just so good with your X-wing. How courageous and admirable it was for you to take a risk, to risk yourself for others on your team. After a mission, when Snap was the first to congratulate you, and then hug you, well. Poe would be a damned liar if he claimed he didn’t feel a hot flash of jealousy come over him at the sight. But he couldn’t act on whatever this was that he was feeling. No, that would be unprofessional. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But try as Poe might, his feelings progressed. At first for him, it was just a crush. That was all he would allow himself to call whatever feelings he had towards you. You were just a really pretty pilot, and it was a crush, and there was a war to win. He didn’t have time to try to pursue you, or even try to have a relationship. Rey and Finn were exhausted by him talking about how he totally does not have a crush on you, because it seems like anymore you’re all that Poe can seem to talk about. But then you were on a mission and you took out 8 canons on Ren’s fleet all with your first shot at them, one of the shots so well placed that you took out the ship entirely. When you came back to D’Qar, you leaped out of your X-wing almost in slow motion, your hair tumbling out perfectly from your helmet as you pulled it off. The smile that lit up your features was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And then he was done for. Poe Dameron was undeniably smitten with you.

To add to the misery that is Poe’s continuing purgatory of pining, Leia had decided to put you as Poe’s second in command. Unbeknownst to him, she had told you of the happy news earlier that day, and allowed you to celebrate. You were getting drunk with a few of your friends, blissfully unaware of anything else going on. It wasn’t until later that the older woman called Poe to her private planning room. Poe happily sped to where she was waiting- he would be lying if he said he didn’t get a boylike joy from being called by name for help from the General. He relished being her right hand man and he would do anything for her. Well, almost anything.

“She’s going to be your second in command,” Leia says, mildly amused at the way that Poe’s dark eyes widen in shock. She, along with everyone else on base, knew how he felt towards you. And that Poe just needed a little push, that’s all. After all, she had been married to none only than Han Solo. She knows how these kinds of men tend to work.

“M-me?” Poe stammers. He gulps- No, he couldn’t allow it. There was no way that Poe could handle having you under him, having to rely on you constantly for missions or planning. How was he supposed to focus when you got that little crease between your eyebrows when you’re frustrated? Or how your face lights up when you come up with a great solution? His heart was racing a million miles a minute, his hands slick with sweat. He didn’t want to deny the General, but he had to. “I- General, I’m so honored, but I don’t think I can-”

“Can accept? Why, of course you can. I already talked to her about it, and she’s extatic to work with you. She said it would be an honor, Dameron. I can’t disappoint her now, can I?”

“No,” Poe sighs, defeated.

“Besides, I think you and her would work very well together,” Leia says with a knowing glance. Poe gulps- he knows she knows. “Don’t disappoint me, Dameron.”

“I won’t,” Poe promises.

It’s a few weeks after your promotion, and Poe is still a little shaky, but at least now he can say a few sentences without stumbling through them. Mostly. You take the fact that he talks to you at all as a win, because it’s a lot of progress from before. It’s your day off- the base is more quiet than usual. Everyone is sleeping in or lazing around, enjoying the fact that they don’t have to be up at the crack of dawn to work on a mission. You like waking up early though. There’s something about the quiet on base that’s nice, and the stillness of the morning. You feel like you can actually have some time with your thoughts before having to whisk off on another mission for the Resistance. You roam until you find your favorite spot on base, the one that has a little clearing into the jungle. You lean against a pillar, letting yourself get lost in thought as you watch the leaves tumble with the breeze.

Peace never lasts forever. You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the familiar whirring of a droid. BB-8 rolls to your feet, looking up at you expectantly. He beeps, but you can only understand a little bit of droid language. “Is it about your dad?”

The little droid lets out a series of beeps and whirs before zooming down the hallway. You grin to yourself- you loved to give your commander shit about the way he and his droid adore each other. You break out into a trot, following BB-8 down the hall to the hangar. Now you know why his droid had come to you for help- it looked like he was working on the compressor of his X-wing, but it wasn’t going well. Something was sparking, the smell of smoke hanging in the air from it. A pair of oil stained legs are sticking out from underneath the ship, and a voice stringing more curses than you had heard came from him.

“You look like you could use some help,” you say as you hear him spit out another profanity in frustration. Tools and rags are littered by Poe’s workspace in disarray. Poe pulls himself out from under the ship, his expression melting from grouchy to happily surprised.

“Hey!” he grins.

“Hey yourself, Commander,” you reply. Crouching down, you root around in Poe’s disastrously messy toolbox until you find what you’re looking for, handing it to him.

“U-um, thanks,” he says, but immediately he drops the wrench you found him.

“Is everything okay?” You ask as you pick up the wrench he just dropped.

His brain shorts out at the sight of you. How could he not think you’re stunning? You don’t have any makeup on, but the humidity from the jungle planet is giving you a sweaty sheen that makes you just glow. Your cheeks are flushed pink, you have a few strands of hair that refused to stay in your ponytail, and stars it’s all Poe can do to keep from slamming you against the X-wing to make out with you.

“Poe?” you ask again. He still hasn’t given you an answer.

“Yeah?” he asks, trying to sound fine.

“Let’s cut the bullshit,” you say finally, sitting down on the ground next to him.

The words cut right through Poe, straight to the core and making him feel like his heart is stopped. To say he’s nervous is the greatest understatement of the century. “I- I don’t know what you mean.”

“Poe,” you sigh. “Do you not like me? I mean, you always act weird around me, and you never really talk to me, but you talk to everyone on base. Even C-3PO. And you despise that droid! I don’t know... I guess what I’m asking is… Did I do anything to upset you or make you hate me? Because if I did, I’m sorry, I just need to be able to work with you as second in command and not have it be so awkward…”

“No!” he barks out, probably too quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” You can tell he means it genuinely, which makes you feel a little bit better. Tentatively, he reaches out to give your arm a reassuring squeeze. “I just- you’re right. I am acting weird. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why?” you ask innocently. Oh, how he really wishes you didn’t ask him that.

He looks over to BB-8, hoping the droid could give him some wisdom. Like the little orange buddy would know anything about romantic interactions, and if he’s going to epically fuck up everything for the Squadron if he tells you how he feels. He takes a deep breath, sighing quickly. So he’s doing this. “You know, when I heard about my runner up, I never thought she’d be this amazing,” he says slowly with a smile. “But then I met you. And you- I mean, what can I say? I’m smitten, sweetheart. You’re a great shot, you can fly anything, you were friends with a Mandalorian- like how badass is that! The way you know how to work on an X-wing is incredibly sexy,-” he chuckles to himself, you yourself grinning. “But you’re also one of the most kind and caring people I’ve ever met.” Shrugging, he looks up to read your face. “If you don’t want me to be your commander anymore, I understand. But I can’t keep going on pretending like I don’t feel anything for you.”

He braces himself for the inevitable rejection. But it doesn’t come. Instead, you scoot yourself closer to him, placing your hands on either side of him face. Your thumb brushes against his cheek, and your place your foreheads together. “You are the most incredible man I’ve ever met, Poe Dameron,” you whisper. “And I’d be fine with you being something more than just my commander.” Those words are music to his ears. He pulls you in for a kiss, soft and sweet, and the feeling of your lips on his makes him feel like he could finally die happy.

You two are so engrossed in each other that you don’t hear the footsteps of someone else walking into the hangar. “Oh, come on Dameron!” Snap yells.

The both of you knock your foreheads together once more, giggling like you’ve just heard the funniest thing in the galaxy before he pulls you in for another kiss.

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x oc #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron request #request #slow burn #nervous!poe dameron

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brokenbutnotquiting · 3 years

Text

Say My Name

A Nace Oneshot where Nancy *really* loves the way Ace calls her name. (Because Alex Saxon makes it sound so damn enticing that I couldn't help myself)

I had always liked my name. Nancy Drew. Not so much Drew anymore, but it sounds better than Nancy Hudson. Or maybe that was just my habits talking.

In any case, I like my name. Nancy.

With the ever-growing confusion regarding my last name, it suited me better to opt for – what I call – the Ace option. Just casually dropping my last name until and unless it's an official or legal requirement.

For the very common folk of Horseshoe Bay, I am Nancy.

Just Nancy.

It was only after I realized and accepted my intense feelings for my best male friend – my partner-in-investigative-work – Ace, I often found my heart skipping a beat at my own name.

Purely because of the way he called it. Nancy. With that adorable lilt at the second 'n'. He probably never even realized that he did it, which made it all the more enticing.

But I would never tell him that.

__________

I ignored the screaming soles of my feet as I locked up the Claw. It was date night for George and Nick, and despite my best hopes, I was the one left in charge of closing up the seafood restaurant.

How had I ended up here tonight, I wondered sarcastically before a face flashed in my mind.

Ace.

How was it that most of my stupid impulsive decisions nowadays were because of him?

He had opted to lock up for the night, claiming to be happy to do it only if George allowed Amanda to stay with him.

"We haven't seen each other much since we returned from our road trip, and she has been asking me if we could just talk for a while without either of us running off for something or the other," he had said with a shrug.

Now, normally I am not a goody-two-shoes. Or a masochist. But seeing Ace with that utterly adorable little pout made my heart melt, and I jumped in to sacrifice my sanity to let him leave early. To be with his girlfriend, no less.

What can I say? Sometimes, I am just that much of an idiot.

Bess had side-eyed me so hard when I chimed in, I wondered how transparent I had become regarding my feelings for Ace. How did no one else notice?

But then, maybe everybody had noticed it at some point in time and had chosen not to comment on it.

Everybody except Ace. A sigh heaved out of me at that particular thought.

Ace was blissfully unaware. And thank God for that. I didn't need him to hate me for ruining his chances with Amanda. As much as I had rolled my eyes at his dopey smile that first time he had accepted his crush on her—almost endangering George in the process—I did want him to be happy, even if it wasn't with me.

Even if watching him fall for her tore my heart out every time, I thought about it.

Even if I was wrecking myself over him. Every. Damn. Day.

I looked around aimlessly. I only had to mop the floors one last time, and then I could leave. So I got the mop and the bucket— put on some music, and let my mind daydream about a life where I wasn't the girl one-sidedly crushing on her best friend as I let my body move on autopilot.

I didn't even realize that I wasn't alone until I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise, pulling me out of the daydream just before I got kissed.

I whirled around towards the door leading to the locker room to find him standing there.

Ace.

He looked angry. Really angry.

"Ace? What are you doing here? What's wrong?" I asked worriedly. Was someone in danger? Was there an accident or something?

"What's wrong is that I cannot fucking stop thinking about you," he snapped, his soft blue eyes flashing with barely concealed anger.

"What – what are you on about?" I stuttered with surprise.

His nostrils flared delicately. "There I was, with my girlfriend, finally spending some much-needed time together, and my mind kept reminding me that she is not you. That you are you. And that you are here. And I was so distracted by the thought of you being here alone with no one to protect you, should something happen, that I completely missed her telling me that she loved me."

He strode over to where I was standing, grasping onto the mop as if my life depended on it. The weight of his words, the complete and utter disaster of it all hit me at the same time he stopped barely half a foot away.

"Ace— ” I started and stopped. What was I supposed to say? Was there anything I could say that would help? Anything at all? It didn't seem so.

"There she was, looking all hopeful as she told me she loved me, and all I could think of was whether you were safe. Whether I would see you tomorrow." His voice held an undercurrent of fear. And I understood that.

After the Aglaeca and the Wraith and Everett Hudson and the threat of the Road Back still lingering, all of us felt overprotective of each other.

"I am not a marshmallow, Ace. I can take care of myself. At the very least, not drop dead while locking up the Claw," I joked half-heartedly. I admit that I might have intentionally ignored the part where he said he barely paid attention to his girlfriend. Or how my heart skipped several beats at it. I didn't need him more antagonized over my feelings for him.

"That's not the point, and you know it," he snapped. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, before he continued, "my girlfriend told me she loved me, and not only was I distracted enough to miss it, I couldn't even say it back."

He shook his head, eyes still closed, as if he could somehow forget everything that happened. I understood that feeling as well. Sometimes, I wished the same.

"Why?"I asked him softly because I knew that was the part he wanted me to stress on. I knew him well enough to know his cues. I could play along.

He opened his eyes at my question.

"Because, as much as I like Amanda, I don't love her. At least not as she wanted me to. I tried, God knows I tried so damn hard, but I just couldn't," he explained.

I didn't ask him the question on the tip of my tongue again. I merely kept staring at him. Ace knew my cues as well as I did his. If he wanted me to play along, he could as well.

Why?

"She broke up with me, rightly so. She deserves someone who isn't already in love with someone else," he whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the music, "what kind of a pathetic person does that?"

Even then, my heart beating fast enough to rival that of a marathon runner, I stayed silent.

"Nancy." He whispered almost pleading, for what I didn't know.

"I love the way you say my name, "I whispered back as if in a thrall. Completely inappropriate? Perhaps. But a kernel of truth nonetheless.

He raised his hands, cupping my face so softly as if afraid that I would break under his touch. He touched his forehead to mine, his eyes closed again.

A slight tremble shook me at his touch. His breath ghosted over my face. "Say my name again," I whispered to him.

"Nancy."

He shifted his face a tiny bit and kissed my cheek. I closed my eyes at the onslaught of feelings his adoration elicited.

"Nancy," he whispered before kissing my other cheek.

"Nancy."

A kiss on my chin.

"Nancy."

A kiss on my forehead.

"Nancy."

A kiss on my brows.

"Nancy."

A kiss on one eye, and then the other.

"Nancy."

A kiss on my nose.

"Nancy," his voice took on an almost worshipping quality as he whispered my name but didn't lower his mouth to mine.

Tell him, I chided myself. Tell him that he isn't wrong in his feelings for you. Tell him that if he felt condemned about his feelings for you, then you shared the damnation with him.

"I love you, Ace," I said, tears escaping me, my throat raw with emotion, "I have loved you for a while now."

There was so much I wanted to tell him and couldn't. So much he needed to know. Another day, I reasoned with myself. I would tell him another day when we were both far more clear-headed than we were at the moment.

"I know, Nancy," he said softly, nodding his head, "I love you too."

And then he closed the gap between us.

His lips were soft against mine. Unhurried. Moving with a languid assurance that he knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to claim it any longer. I played along with him, slow and steady, our form of normalcy until the heat growing in my body took over.

The kiss turned frantic as soon as I bit on his lower lip. His tongue was in my mouth, claiming me. He wanted everything, and I wanted to give it all to him. My tongue followed his, teasing him to a sensual dance of their own.

His hands, which were previously cupping my face, slid lower until one of them was grasping onto my neck – positioning my head as he wanted – the other grabbing onto my waist, pulling my body closer to his.

I let go of the mop, and it fell on the floor with a clang. I placed my hands on his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady, if not galloping at a faster pace, under my fingertips. I moved my hands on his body, feeling his muscles flex subtly until one of my hands took a life of its own and decidedly wandered over to his hair, tugging on it as if he could come closer than he already was.

I don't particularly know how long we stayed like that, devouring each other like the last meal, but when we did eventually come up for air, I knew I wouldn't be able to let him go, and I told him as such.

His chuckle was like music to me. I opened my eyes just in time to see his smirk, "after a kiss like that, I should hope not, Nancy."

"Jesus Christ, Ace," I swore, "the way you say my name is my favorite thing."

His used laugh vibrated through me at that, warming my core but you know what? I didn't care.

"That's all?" Ace asked me playfully. No more stoicism. It was almost as if he had pulled back another layer of his surprisingly dazzling personality. I smiled at him in answer.

His answering grin almost knocked me right out. Damn! I really did love this man.

I didn't know what my face showed him, but the grin dropped off his face as he asked, "what's wrong?"

Ah. I must have been emoting the pent-up sadness I had repressed for so long.

I shook my head at him, smiling again. I combed through his hair with my fingers and let all of my affection pour into my voice as I said, "I didn't think I would ever get to do this again."

"Touch my hair?" Ace asked amused, quirking an eyebrow.

"Just be with you. Touch you without having to worry about offending anyone," I explained.

He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, pulling me into a hug, "You never really had any sense of personal space when it came to being near me, Nancy. That was just so you, I never really questioned it further. I was so scared of you putting up defenses against me that I purposefully ignored all the signs. Even when they were glaringly obvious."

He kissed my cheek and said, "I shouldn't have tried as hard as I did to deny my feelings creeping up on me for over a month. And I definitely shouldn't have chosen the easier way out with Amanda."

I shook my head at that. "You did what you thought was right for you," I said, somewhat sadly, "I remember your smile. You told us that she made you bloom."

"She did. For a while."He said. There was a trace of sadness in his voice. It would take time, I knew, for him to stop blaming himself for everything that happened with her.

"Take your time before you move on, Ace. Both of you deserve that respect," I told him.

"I will," he said, a small smile gracing his lips again, "but not tonight." I nodded my acceptance of his decision. Whatever he needed.

"Nancy," he whispered my name in my ear a heartbeat later.

The groan that escaped me was obscene, and I rightfully snapped, "Stop saying my name like that, Ace, if you want to keep your clothes on."

His answering kiss made my blood heat up and my toes curl in my shoes in an instant. I kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands started roaming, and I gasped into his mouth as he cupped my ass. He chuckled in response. A challenge.

Very well, I thought to myself. I dropped my mouth, kissing his neck softly before biting on it. An obscene groan escaped him. I smirked.

Two can play this game, Ace. And I barely got started.

I licked the spot I had bitten.

"I won't be able to even see straight if you keep doing this," his warning rang. I ignored the moan accompanying the statement.

I took half a step away from him and said playfully, "You need some space, Ace?"

"Nancy," he almost growled before yanking my body flush against his again and dropping a searing kiss on my lips.

Dear God, in the heavens above! I loved the way he said my name.

Nancy.

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meterokinesis · 4 years

Text

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,032

Fandom: Batfamily, DC Comics

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read it on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

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

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

Oh, no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you sure?

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

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

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

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

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

Easy. Not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The desert was cold. There was no comfort here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

“Nothing.” The anymore went unsaid.

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

“Oh?” Tim responded, mouth bone-dry.

“Stay.”

And Tim’s world crumpled.

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

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

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

The voice that responded was not Tim’s own.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He peered up at her, frowning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She winked at him, clearly a joke.

“Believe me, I know.”

The League had a mole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ra’s stroked his goatee.

“You mean the Expediter.”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“And his daughters?”

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

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

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

Oh, how the whispers laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So? What happened after that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do they want?”

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

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

“I assume extraction is not possible?”

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

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

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

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

“My thoughts exactly, Detective.”

And just like that, the death warrant was signed.

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

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

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

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

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

Good. Now you have the element of surprise.

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

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

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

“Tam?”

“I’ll protect her. Go!”

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

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

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

If others saw red when enraged, Tim saw green.

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

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

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

Do it.

Finish the job.

Show them who you are, who you can be.

Prove yourself.

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

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

Not a Robin, not Red.

You are Green, Green, Green.

Become who you were always destined to be, Detective.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now to rid himself of liabilities.

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

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

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

Tam didn’t even think about it first.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Thank you, Tim.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Focus.

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

“What’s happening? Report.”

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

“Do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Some computer guy. The Executioner or something.”

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

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

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

Tam went quiet, just for a second.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What favor? Telling them everything?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They have arrived, sir.”

Tim grinned darkly.

“Bring them in.”

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

Serves him right.

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

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

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

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

Satisfied, Tim smoothed a neutral expression onto his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How pathetic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Long live the Demon.

#batfam #dc fanfic #batfam fanfic #batfam big bang 2020 #bbb 2020 #tim drake fanfic #tim drake #ra's al ghul #tam fox #no grave can hold my body down #ngchmbd #my writing #read the warnings

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