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sukirichi · 3 years

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earned it [05]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. domestic abuse, car accident, slight angst, sexism, suggestive scenes, unedited and my naoya simping is obvious with this one,

notes. TEAM NAOYA LET’S GOOOO *sighs* finally got this out from my drafts. anyways, here’s an earned it update while i recover from migraines because my schedule was so hectic last week and i’m so tired, might be sleeping a lot these days hence the hiatus :( also ik i keep saying this but future chapters will finally be more...UH SPICY AND MORE DRAMATIC, I guess? this is mostly an angst fic btw so please don’t expect too much fluff of heartwarming romance. there WILL be romance,,,it just takes some time hehe, anways ENJOY...or not :)

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Women were weak. Trained to be voiceless, compliant, and unable to fight – Naoya found them weak.

His own mother was the perfect epitome of that. For years, he’d watched her leave his father’s room with dried tears, wiping them away with the back of her sleeves. When she saw a little Naoya standing at the edge of the hallway, she’d immediately usher him back to his room, her tears replaced with a smile so convincing Naoya wouldn’t have believed she’d been crying if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. How could he be when day and night, he’s surrounded by tutors, expected to take over his clan and lead them all to a brighter future?

How could he be stupid when he can’t sleep at night, for the screams and cries of his mother, the sound of palm hitting cheek resonating just from the other room, accompanied with the insults directed her way by his own father?

How could he be so stupid when he looked up to his mother – who he believed was the only source of light in the rather desolate walls of their manor – only to see that her beauty faded with each passing day, the brightness of her eyes now filled agony, with pain, with fear? She no longer smiled; not even for him. She no longer came around his room to read him bedtime stories no matter how much Naoya pleaded because he’d gotten tired of reciting scriptures and poetry. She no longer kissed him on the forehead as a morning greeting, opting to stay in the sidelines with her head bowed, acting as if she was a servant and not his mother.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. As the future leader of the Zen’in Clan, it was his duty to hear and see everything, to be wary of everyone around him and to observe. He knew his father abused her. He knew his father hated her, looked down on her, stepped on her at each moment he could. And as if that wasn’t enough, Naoya found out they weren’t married in the first place.

She had been nothing but a mere concubine whose role was to birth an heir. Now that Naoya had come to life, her purpose to live ceased to exist. And people who had no role in the Zen’in estate had no reason to stay any further.

“Mother,” Naoya cried out, tugging at his mother’s sleeve. “Mother, please don’t go, don’t leave me!”

She was crying again; he wished she’d stop doing that, that she’d stop being so weak. He wanted his mother to be strong and fight back, but she’s not even attempting to wipe her tears away this time, displaying her vulnerability and meek self to him. Had his father been there, she’d be scolded again, claiming that Naoya shouldn’t be exposed to behaviors of surrender and weakness.

His mother cupped his face, trying her best to keep the younger version of himself from dangling onto her robes; the expensive, silk material the last evidence she’d ever been a part of them.

“Naoya, baby, it’s okay. You need to grow up strong and be the clan leader, okay?”

“But why do you have to leave? Why do you never fight back?”

“I’m sorry, dear...” was all she said, finally kissing him on the forehead like she’d failed to do so for the past months. Somehow, it didn’t make him feel any better. Instead, Naoya’s cries grows louder with each minute, loud enough that he caught the attention of his manservants who paled at the Young Master’s wails that was sure to displease his father locked inside his study. His mother sent a glance their way that expressed messages he couldn’t yet understand due to his innocence. Strong arms wrapped around his smaller frame until they dragged Naoya away from his mother, the sight of a luggage behind her turning him weak in the knees.

“Remember, Mother always loves you.”

“No!” he fought against their hold. His servants did all they could to not harm the Young Master’s skin, but Naoya was too strong, too desperate that they were unable to hold him back.

Naoya kept running and running, uncaring of the fact his loose robes hindered him from going at full speed. He didn’t stop, even as his servants had trailed after him, desperate pleas for the Young Master to come back falling into deaf ears. His mother had arrived on a nearby bus from the open roads that led outside the Zen’in Estate’s outer gates, her hand frozen on the doors with her head slightly tilted to the side.

That slight moment of hesitance – to look behind or leave everything behind – was what made Naoya stop in his tracks. He breathed hard, sweaty palms on his knees as he silently prayed to the divine beings to bring his mother back, for her to look at him one last time.

But she didn’t.

And Naoya was frozen in his tracks, everything colliding into one crash and burn that he failed to make sense of everything. He stood there and watched his mother hop into the bus, her decision to leave him behind final and irrevocable. What had rung louder then? The way his heart shattered into pieces, or the loud honking of an incoming car that not even his skilled team of guards could protect him from?

Naoya figured it must’ve been the muffled cries of his mother behind the windows that rung the loudest even if he hadn’t heard it.

Until now, he carried the mark his mother left behind; a gnarly scar running inches from his kneecaps that throbs until now. It reminds him every day what could happen to someone once they’re weak, once they’re vulnerable, the horrifying consequence of not being strong enough to face in this world like a huge slap in his face. In a way, he felt grateful for the scar; at least it was proof he’d done his best to run after his mother, and this injury just taught him it was best to face things head on instead of running away.

This scar would always tell him that running away was never the option, and that was why Naoya felt so strong, so disappointed when he met you. Naoya saw much potential in you – the wrath firing in your eyes and the will to fight back is what pulled him in on the first place – and yet you were already trembling on the ground, your sweat dripping on the floor.

“Stand up!” he demanded, tapping his cane on the ground as he wobbled to his feet. “Do you really think being weak will make you survive in this world?”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” he spat out, matching the intensity of your glare. Had you been any lesser of a woman, a servant, he’d have your eyes gouged out. But to him, you were a vessel of hope, an embodiment of strength he could help you hone that he let you off. Still, he felt extremely let down that he expected so much from you, and you’ve been pathetic so far.

Naoya shook his head as he left. “You’re going to die the moment you step out of here. And to think I actually had high hopes for you. As expected, you women are weak and pathetic. Each one of you is useless.”

He didn’t get very far when his injury throbbed again. Naoya fell to his knees and immediately bit down on his lip to conceal his groans, but it was too late. You’ve rushed to him in an instant, already pulling his slacks upwards to get a good look at his knee. Worry is painted all over your features still drenched in sweat and exhaustion, and he pried your hand away, a frown deep on his lips.

“Get away from me. I don’t need a woman’s help.”

“You’re so uptight, you know that?” you rebutted with a roll of your eyes. Naoya watched as you skipped to the nearest medical kit he always kept in his training grounds (which he rarely used) and popping out painkillers to hand to him. “Just shut up and let me take care of you. Unlike you, I don’t walk around calling people weak, and you having this injury never made you weak in my eyes, but you’re not impotent either,” scoffing at him, you pushed the bottle of water to a very annoyed looking Naoya. “At least let me take care of you every once in a while.”

His whole life, Naoya knew nothing but the familiar bitter cold. Being served tea, scaring his servants with his mere presence, the toxic view that everyone was below them drilled into his own head – that had been his life, and his feelings about it were neither hot nor cold.

To him, it was just the way he’s supposed to be.

But the warmth of your hands, the tenderness of your touch to his scars not because you found him weak but rather you cared for him…it tugged at his heartstrings. That had been at least five years ago and Naoya still remembered that moment very clearly.

He couldn’t understand whether he hated his inability to run away or not, because to be around you confused him to no end. One moment, he saw you as nothing but his one way ticket to fortune, but when he was alone with you, he was beginning to see you more as a woman rather than a pawn to his game. Soon, you became more than that, and nothing had terrified him even more that he let someone in his heart just like that.

Did he love you? No, most definitely not. A man like him didn’t know how to love. But with you – every time he saw you – Naoya is confident to admit that he could somehow understand what love meant.

It had been a hellish trip – one he’d never admit it out loud that he wished to never go on again. He was just happy to be home before he laughed, because home? He’d never thought he’d ever say that, yet there he was, beaming at the sight of you pushing your weight off the limousine.

You looked as stunning as usual, running up to him even with your heels before wrapping your arms around his neck. Usually, Naoya didn’t like public displays of affection since it could greatly deter his reputation, but everyone knew both of you weren’t each other’s weaknesses that he didn’t care whether his people could see their leader grinning as his wife welcomed with a kiss. Naoya balanced himself on his cane to encircle a hand to your waist, pulling you closer and burying his face in your hair.

“I missed you,” you mumbled with your head buried in his shoulder.

Naoya’s smile wasn’t any less affectionate. “I missed you more.” And he did – a whole lot. Even as you both made it inside the limousine, the tablet passed to him per the usual to update him on what happened on the few days of his absence, Naoya couldn’t keep his hands to himself. His cane balanced between his knee and the door, while his free hand intertwined with yours, mindlessly caressing the matching rings that symbolized more trust than love.

“How did it go?” he brought your knuckles up to his lips and kissed it, his attention still focused on today’s stock market. “Did you convince him to lend us the lab?”

“Yes, my love, everything is under control. I told you I had it.”

“Cunning little minx,” he smirked at the confidence and triumph dripping from your voice. Naoya shut his tablet off with a click, hauling you until you were resting on his lap. Giggles erupted beautifully from your lips as you pressed your forehead to his, both your smiles equally mischievous. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No. Satoru is still hopelessly in love with me, so it didn’t really take much to push him to the edge with a few tears and white lies,” you smiled at him, soon dropping from your face when Naoya’s eyes darkened with an unreadable – no, unfamiliar hint of worry behind them. “Naoya,” you caressed his leg, “I don’t care about him anymore, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I just want to survive and put everything behind,” you cupped his face and forced him to look you in the eye, making sure he heard every bit of sincerity in your voice. “You know I love you, right? I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Him coming back doesn’t change a thing.”

“I know that,” he said, although deep down, in the dark recesses of his heart, something agonizing stirred within.

You were a smart woman – too intelligent that he may have feared you had he been any lesser – who could easily read through him, but Naoya wanted to be a step ahead of you that he caught your lips to stop you from seeking beneath his soul already. He knew that if you looked a little too close, you’d see everything, and that would be the last thing he wanted.

Snaking his tongue past your lips, he greedily swallowed your moans. Naoya’s touch was possessive as he gripped your thigh, seconds away from ripping off the material of your dress. He only stopped once he saw his driver pale in awkwardness, and he chuckled to himself, squeezing your hips to stop you from grinding on his thigh.

“You’re always so good for me,” he praised, “I might just reward you once we get home.”

Home. Prior to meeting you, home had been nothing but a word in his extensive vocabulary. Home had been nothing but something that carried a meaning but no significance in his living, but now that he’d met you, home felt familiar. Home smelled like rose-scented shampoos, it resonated of bubbly laughter and curious hands finding its way to its belt. Home…you’d just given him something to lose.

As per the plan, you managed to sneak past Satoru’s defenses. Naoya had once said that your secret weapon was not your tempting nature as a woman, but rather your intelligence that sometimes put his to shame. He’d shamelessly announced his plan to use you again with the goal of taking matters into your own hands, looping Satoru into the picture until you have him wrapped around your finger again.

It turned out to be easier than expected. Truthfully, you wanted to refuse. It wasn’t because you were worried you’d beat yourself in your own game and fall for Satoru again, but because it felt so uncomfortable to hold him like that, to kiss him like that.

Each second you spent with him just served as a painful reminder of how he’d mindlessly pushed you to the side from a failed plan of ‘protecting’ you.

However, you couldn’t complain nor deny Naoya’s wishes. He wanted to use your abilities to the fullest of its extent and bring out your potential. Besides, you trusted him wholeheartedly that you’d never question his motives, even if it included seducing Satoru with crocodile tears and a faux broken heart to get him to bend and move at your will. After all, your will was also Naoya’s, and that was what made the both of you so dangerous together.

Standing here now in Satoru’s laboraty, sending him phoney desperate glances as you clutched your husband’s hand, the game had just begun.

He was giving you both a tour of what you could use from his laboratory, and Naoya had kept silent the whole time. The whole drug manufacturing was more your expertise than his. He simply observed everything with watchful eyes, his gaze darting between Satoru’s longing ones and yours. It was a play pretend of push and pull, everyone in the room except for Satoru unaware that soon, you’d bare your fangs to rip his neck apart, and then you’d stand aside and let Naoya finish the business.

You would’ve laughed had Naoya not tightened his grip on your hand. Both you and Satoru paused as Naoya desperately shushed you up, his eyes wide and floating from one corner to another.

Suddenly, a loud explosion came out of nowhere. The blast crushed half of the building to bare rubble and concrete and you saw nothing but black, inhaled so much smoke that your lungs quivered. The ringing in your ears didn’t stop as you wobbled to unsteady legs, waving the smoke away and coughing whatever filled your system. Satoru was right beside you, his long limbs quicker than yours before he hauled you up, checking to see if you had injuries but you were too scared, too desolate to care for his worry.

For your husband laid under a pile of rubble, an arm and his head the only parts of his body saved from the explosion.

“Naoya!” You screamed and pushed Gojo away, taking your heels off before darting straight to where he was. Jumping from broken debris to one another, your feet scraped and burned with each contact, the ringing in your ears growing louder along with the pounding of your heartbeat.

“Naoya, baby, no!” you tried to pick up the heavy slab of concrete that had crushed his body, tears blurring your vision until Naoya’s blond hair swiveled with his dark clothes. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t you fucking dare-”

“Gojo,” he choked out blood. You fell to your knees as you cupped his face and grasped his hand all the while, your entire body shaking. His name kept falling from your lips as you asked him to stand up but he pushed your hand away, not sparing you another glance as he glared at the shock still man behind you. “Take her someplace far – somewhere he won’t find the both of you. It’s T-Toji.”

“No, Naoya, please! I’m not leaving without you!” It was too late. Satoru had easily carried you and threw you over his shoulder, running away from the scene because that was what he was best at. You pounded at his back as the smoke enlarged and covered the entirety of the building that had fizzled with chemicals inside, your husband starting to disappear from view. “Satoru, let me go! We can’t just leave him there!”

“Listen to your husband! He knows what he’s doing!”

As the smoke cleared for a split second, your world stilled. Naoya’s face was smothered with dirt and stains, pain evident on his twisted features, and yet – he was smiling. “Go,” he mouthed, hands outstretched far enough for your matching rings to glint under the sparkling lights. “Live.”

You slumped into Satoru’s arms. It was too late.

You couldn’t comprehend the events that happened afterwards. Satoru had pushed you inside his car before taking off to who knows where. All you knew was that you’d left your husband behind, and you stared emptily at the streets that flashed by, unable to feel or understand anything. It wasn’t until Satoru dragged you out by the wrist and a plane whirring before you snapped you back to life, your feet turning heavy as you plant yourself on the ground.

Satoru looked back at you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shook your head, “I’m not leaving him behind, Satoru, he’s all I have. I need to save him – even if it means I die.”

“You’re not going to die,” he starts off slowly. Satoru moves to place his hands down on your shoulders as if to brace you, even going as far as to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you couldn’t really listen, not when the plane hummed to life and remnants of the explosion still clung to your skin.

“Listen, Naoya is a smart man, okay? You know that yourself. He’ll survive, you just need to trust that he’ll make it. Now we have to go before Toji catches up to us and we end up all dying here!” he shook you back to life when your sobs overpowered his speech that fell on deaf ears, and you cried harder, much less like a little girl who quivered in his arms. Satoru sighed, perhaps just as broken from seeing you this way. “He told you to live. Naoya isn’t asking you to die for him, he’s asking you to live and if you don’t get on the plane, we can’t fulfill his wish,” he convinced, but you only bit your lip, still looking back at the car. You could steal it – one punch to his nose and you could easily get away, get back to Naoya, until he said, “You love him right? So respect his wishes.”

You love him. You love Naoya. He would’ve wanted me to live. He asked me to live.

That was the only consolation you could give yourself as you allowed Satoru to take you inside. His right hand man, Geto or something, quietly closed the cabin doors behind you. He was making sure his boss was situated, who in turn was fretting over you. All it took was one last warning glare sent Satoru’s way before he backed off, raising his hands in surrender and falling back to his seat.

Sooner than you’d like, the plane had took off, leaving your heart right behind with each passing second. The higher you flew up in the air, the number you became.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a base in Italy. We should be safe there for a while. Gather resources, plan our next move, contact friends...we’ll be fine,” Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose. It was hard to believe things would be fine when he too seemed restless; whatever happened between him and Toji must’ve really left a scar; not that you cared. You huffed away from Satoru and stared outside the windows instead, your heart dropping the farther Japan was becoming. “Hey. You should get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

“Whatever,” you snapped at him. You couldn’t stand his voice, not even if he’s saved you.

The only thing that mattered now was living up to Naoya’s wish, and as much as you hated it, Satoru was right. You had to hope he would survive.

The chances of him making it out were low, but knowing Naoya, low chances weren’t zero. As long as he had a little bit of something, he would keep pushing. You just had to place your trust in him.

Kissing your dusty ring, you wiped away your tears one last time, eyes shut tight as you chanted over and over, live, live, live for me! Live! Naoya couldn’t give up that easily. You both had a long way to go, still so many places to travel, thousand more enemies to conquer and defeat. He promised you the fun was just beginning and that you’d get your revenge soon, and Naoya never broke his promises. So you had to trust, had no other choice but to believe that soon he’d be right beside you. He may not be able to completely walk anymore, though none of that mattered. You just wanted to be with him again.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until Satoru’s hushed whispers woke you up. Sitting up straight, you saw him scowling to whoever he’s talking to on the phone. He looked grim, long, slender fingers caressing his forehead as he sighed. Whatever he heard, it couldn’t have been good, and curiosity got the best of you before you could help it.

“What is it?” Satoru stilled at the sound of your voice, having not expected you to be awake. He refused to meet your eyes as he shut his phone. It angered you further and you stalked his way, slapping a palm down the table before him. “I said, what is it?”

“It’s Naoya...” he said through clenched teeth, still refusing to look you in the eye. “He didn’t make it.”

notes. team naoya...let’s go...cry 😭 when I said I would write more gojo x reader scenes and that they’re still the pairing, I meant it, I just had to take a dark route anyways DO YOU GUYS UNDERSTAND WHY IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO UPDATE THIS, I DIDN’T WANT TO DO THIS TO NAOYA BAE 😭 but on the bright side, italy arc is gonna be SHEESH

taglist open (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @asshxcm @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo @evesmores @ambiguous-something @lilith412426 @kakashiharusohma @aizawap @yumeneji @dora-the-grownup @jotazinha @themrsgojo @d34r-s4t4n @marai-t @toji-bee @hai-cool @badsadbby @stesphy @peach-buns-unicorns @misslezah @riri-marley @gracefullyfallinglikeanime @iwaplant @mikiminaccch | bolder users cannot be tagged

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dreamologisth2o · 3 years

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Why I Believe Endersmile Is Canon

Because I’m on a bit of an Endersmile binge--

This is all gonna be very messy and just me putting my thoughts together and I’ll probably not be going through the VODs for exact timestamps or anything because that’s exhausting and I applaud the people who do, but here are my thoughts on Endersmile and why I’m 100% convinced it’s canon. They’re besties your honor.

/rp Any names mentioned are referring to their dsmp characters and not the streamers themselves unless specified

First off: The Disc. Dream trusts Ranboo, a lot. He trusts him so much that he literally gave Ranboo one of the two discs he needed to pull off his big plan at the finale. He trusted Ranboo, so much that Ranboo deciding to give the disc back to Tommy or Tubbo wasn’t an option, even though Ranboo was friends with both, which he knew. I don’t know why he gave Ranboo the disc, or how he got the disc from Skeppy in the first place, and I’m sure he did have a hundred and one back up plans for if Ranboo did decide to give Tommy the disc, but asking Ranboo to hold onto the disc in the first place means Dream trusted him to a degree, and that’s big coming from Mr. “Reserved”.

Second: Knowing Dream’s Voice. Ranboo knows/remembers Dream’s voice well enough that he hears it whenever he’s in the panic room, that his subconscious uses Dream’s voice to force Ranboo to confront his fears. For a guy who hasn’t had any one on one time or conversations with Dream in VC on stream, he sure does a really good job imagining his voice. /s

Basically, they must have spoken, a lot. They must have spent time together outside planning for things or exchanging items or whatever. So much time, in fact, that Dream and Ranboo both end up sharing the same ideology of “People not sides” of “One big happy family” of “Being the person that stops conflicts” of “Being on all sides” of “Mediating between those sides” of “Choosing the side they think is right”.

During Ranboo’s prison visit dream/nightmare, the Voice tells Ranboo that the only reason Ranboo hasn’t been hearing it lately, is because he hasn’t been speaking with Dream as often. That Ranboo and Dream had talked with each other nearly everyday. And I’m inclined to believe that because the mere existence of the voice proves he’s heard Dream’s voice a lot, or he has a very good memory of Dream’s voice, which, considering his memory problems probably isn’t the case. This is further supported by how ever since Dream’s been in prison, ever since Ranboo banned himself from the prison, he hasn’t heard even a hint of Dream’s voice, not even as he’s remembering more and more.

Third: The Disc War Finale. During the disc war finale, we have in universe proof and out of character confirmation from both cc!Dream and cc!Ranboo that the characters had been staring at each other during the entire thing. Some friends on a discord server have also pointed out how Ranboo appeared to be avoiding Tommy’s gaze unless Tommy’s distracted. And during the entire thing Ranboo’s the only one not holding out a weapon, instead he’s got a book and quill in his hand. We’ve now also got confirmation that Ranboo was Enderwalking during the Disc War Finale, which makes all the strange behaviors make sense because if they’re friends, if they’re allies, then Ranboo didn’t show up to fight Dream. Then Dream might’ve been trying to convey something to Ranboo, like perhaps trying to keep Ranboo from doing something stupid and revealing their alliance. Especially if he planned on being put in Pandora, he really doesn’t need his friend to try and “save” him and ruin the whole plan.

Fourth: The Voice. I am inclined to believe the things the voice says. Why? Because everything the voice is talking about are all the things Ranboo doesn’t want to confront, doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to remember. The voice isn’t malicious. It’s not even Dream, it’s just using Dream’s voice to make Ranboo listen. And Ranboo knows it’s just himself. (also out of character confirmation from the cc!s that the voice is NOT Dream and never has been, it’s just a manifestation of all the shit Ranboo’s repressed coming up and slapping him in the face) Everything the voice does, all the things it says, is trying to get Ranboo to remember the “bad” things he’s done, to remember that he was on Dream’s side. To force him to face that side of himself that might be capable of doing bad things, if there’s a good enough reason. It exaggerates things, it makes them out to be worse than they actually are, but that’s how it’s able to get Ranboo’s attention, that’s how it’s able to force him to think about those things. Ranboo won’t do anything until he’s forced to face the problem, the Voice is just trying to get Ranboo to do that.

This is why I believe Ranboo DID blow up the community house. Why he’s working with or has worked for Dream in the past. Why he willingly gave Dream his memory book, possibly to create a visible conflict between them and ensure no one would connect them as allies, like what Dream wanted to do with Punz. And also because the other things it’s said, such as Ranboo being given the Cat disc to hold onto, have been proven to be true. Nothing the Voice has said has been confirmed a lie. And many of the things it��s talked about aren’t things we or Ranboo can find the answer to unless he talks to Dream, which is until the dude’s rescued from the prison, isn’t happening. (cc!Dream where’s your Dream lore?!?!?!)

That said, if Ranboo was the one to blow up the community house, then Dream was covering for him during the Disc War Finale. He didn’t have to. He could’ve thrown Ranboo under the bus. But he chose to take on that blame, make himself look even worse in the eyes of everyone gathered there while he was at their mercy, to protect Ranboo from similar persecution. Doesn’t this remind you of anything? And Ranboo’s got a track record of making friends with those who help him.

Fifth: The Visits. Ranboo has visited Dream in prison multiple times. At the very least at least 2 times that we have direct confirmation of, and probably even more. His visits are consistent enough that just a few days after Ranboo bans himself from the prison, Dream notices and starts a strike, tells Sapnap that Ranboo’s stopped visiting, asks him, his best friend who literally threatened to perma-kill him if he were to ever leave his horrible situation, to send a message to Ranboo. (which, I guess Dream still kinda trusts Sapnap despite everything that’s happened, huh?)

Why would Ranboo visit? Unless they’re friends, unless they’re allies? Because even Dream’s so called best friend only ever visited once. Even Bad who Dream claims to have been the nicest only ever visited once. And while Tommy and Quackity visited more than once, their multiple visits have very clear reasons behind them, while Ranboo’s just, don’t.

And consider: How did Ranboo know about the things that were said during the Disc War Finale, word for word, line for line, that he wasn’t present for, unless someone’s told him? Unless he heard about it from Dream himself. Unless that was what they were talking about. Unless that’s part of the reason Ranboo kept visiting Dream.

Sixth: The Lessons. I don’t know about you, but giving life lessons to someone sounds like something you’d do with a friend, and not just a “puppet”. The whole lessons book gives off really mentor mentee vibes, and considering how Ranboo’s following in Dream’s goal of stopping conflict and uniting the server, well. And the lessons aren’t even malicious, or designed to push Ranboo away from others. In fact, many of them, especially the last few ones we see, are designed to protect Ranboo! Unless Ranboo’s safety was a top priority for Dream, there’s not much reason to pass those lessons down. This lines up incredibly well with Dream taking the blame of the community house’s destruction during the Disc War Finale, as well as his protective streak at his own expense when it comes to his allies and the people he cares about. Which means Ranboo is someone he cares about, which means they’re friends! They’re besties your honor!

Seventh: Ranboo’s Vehement Denial. Ranboo is infamous for being an unreliable narrator, for being in incredible denial despite all evidence supporting otherwise. Which means his vehement denial that Dream can be anything but bad is a fairly obvious red flag that that’s not true, and that Ranboo has reason to believe it’s not true, but chooses to actively ignore or forget those reasons and attempts to reinforce the “everything’s Dream’s fault, he can never change and will always be bad” mentality, that sounds like something he stole from Tommy or c!Dream antis, because he doesn’t want to face the fact that he has reasons for believing the opposite. At this point, I am 100% on board with the idea that all these unprompted instances of Dream hate is just a blatant cover up of how that’s not true at all. (Which he touches on, ever so briefly, when he renovates the second stronghold room)

Aaaaand that’s it! For the most part. I could touch on how Enderboo is hoarding all the backbone in this relationship and that the dynamic between Enderboo and Ranboo is closer to that of someone waking up after a sugar high or going for three days straight without sleep than it is two completely separate people or someone who’s literally sleepwalking (and that “Enderboo” is his normal state and “Ranboo” is the sleep deprived not thinking straight state). But this post is already obscenely long and I should end it here.

TL;DR: They’re besties, your honor.

Anyways, if you got this far, thanks for reading!

#my thoughts #my posts #character analysis #endersmile #c!ranboo #long post #dreblr friendly

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saiki-k-innie · 3 years

Note

MAEMAE!

An AU where Todoroki gets hit with a quirk which divides him into two people. The red hair Shoto is the flirty sassy half and the white one is the cold (ukwim) Todoroki (see what I did there? 'Shoto' and 'Todoroki',,,,,,,sorry). You don't know how it happened; you were literally besides him when it happened but ???

So now you gotta deal with it and watch out for the Todoroki's so Endeavor doesn't notice and skins everyone alive.

Ruth ur gonna kill me- IN A GOOD WAY i've just never written Todoroki before and this is going to be a challenge. I'm eager to do it though, I have seen so much fanart where Todoroki has been split into two people--- [also yes i see what you did there-- very clever ;) ] anyway, lets see how this goes!

I’m going to do a full on fic without headcanons because that feels more natural for this request.

Part of a Whole

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Anime: My Hero Academia Character(s): Shoto Todoroki, Eijiro Kirishima, and Katsuki Bakugou Legend (y/n = your name): gender neutral reader, quirk not mentioned, Pro Hero AU Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: none, slight cursing, flirty Todoroki Notes: OUT OF CHARACTER TODOROKI!!! Yeah i’ve never written him before and now writing him split in half? DAMN ITS HARD! I’m wracking my brain trying to remember his mannerisms and behavior, then polarize it.

I will also maybe redo Todoroki’s banner because OH MY GOD i hate it so much and its off center im going to cry but i don’t have time to fix it rn

⋆﹥━━━━━━━��━━━━﹤⋆

Endeavor is going to kill me.

You stand speechless. The battle was continuing around you, but it fell on deaf ears. Mouth hanging slightly open, you look at Todoroki. Well, Todorokis now. You blink. Nope, still two of them.

Fuck.

Todoroki had split in two. One sported a full head of fiery red hair and looked like he was ready to take on the world. The other had beautiful white locks hiding downcast eyes. Your gaze lingered on the second Todoroki. He slowly raised his snowy head and his soft grey eyes pierced your skull. The amount of hatred that came from his eyes- you knew it wasn’t because of you, but it was enough to snap you out of your daze.

You whip your head around and check the surroundings. Nobody had noticed, but you couldn’t spot what had caused the split. Your partners look like they have the situation handled relatively well. They rounded up the villains, but of the ones that were caught, you didn’t think any of them did it.

"OI, RED RIOT” you call out to your former classmate, now pro hero. When you have his attention, you continue; “SHOTO AND I NEED TO GO, LIKE RIGHT NOW. I WILL EXPLAIN LATER, CAN YOU HANDLE THIS?”

He smiles and hits his fists together, “Of course, y/n!!!! You did great, go do what you need to do!”

“Don’t think that you will get out of paperwork you extra!!!!!” you hear Dynamight yell over to you.

Shoving the ‘rokis out of sight, you laugh and assure Bakugou that you will be doing your fair share. You take off the top layer of your costume and use it to cover the firey Todoroki’s hair and shoulders.

“We need to get out of here,” you tell the twins quickly, but they were still getting a grip on their new forms.

“Oh, y/n~~ so eager to leave the fight? That’s not very heroic... </3″ the redhead teases while you fix the cloak around his head. He leans closer to you, just centimeters away from your face. “So desperate to be alone with me... I guess I can make an exception...”

You do a double-take. What. The. Hell. Was Todoroki... flirting with you??? You give the garment a rough tug to make sure it was secure and push him away. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s go.” You look past the now-pouting Todoroki over to the silver one. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Brushing off his coldness, you start walking into a nearby alleyway. They both follow you, but the ice king keeps his distance. The other, you couldn’t shake if you tried. Lucky you.

“Y/n~~” the redhead savored your name like honey right off the comb. “You have such a beautiful name, I could get used to saying it more often ;)”

You hear a scoff from behind you. Biting back laughter, you navigate the alleyways and side streets, heading for your nearby apartment. As you walk, you adjust your hero costume and tend to your wounds. The twins were miraculously unscathed.

You feel a pair of silver eyes on you as you struggle to dress your injuries. Without a word, you feel his cold hands on you and you stop in your tracks. He doesn’t look at you once while he’s helping you with the medical supplies he carries in his hero costume. As soon as he’s finished, he started walking away. It reminded you of how he was when you first met him. Smiling, you continued on.

What could have caused this? you think to yourself. You retrace the events of the battle in your head. There were five villains, all very powerful. Kirishima and you were dealing with two of them, but trying to keep the civilians safe at the same time. Todoroki and Bakugou had taken three of them head-on. It was so hectic, that you just had to trust your teammates that they would be okay, you had so much to do. It was when Todoroki had been split from the group that it happened.

“It was a mistake to try to take down the top heroes,” you chided the villain you had subdued. “What a shame, what a shame...” When you had finished tying the villain up, you signaled Red Riot that you had finished up. You were running to help the others since you had taken your opponent down relatively easily when a flash of light caught your eye. You switched directions, remembering that Todoroki was fighting in that area last you checked.

Avoiding the debris that was falling around you thanks to Dynamight, you quickly found the source of the light. There, behind an overturned bus shelter, were the Todorokis. They both looked dazed but were slowly regaining consciousness. You were so taken by the situation that you forgot that you were fighting villains. Your objective immediately turned to helping them instead of the fight around you. All you could think about is what will happen to you if Endeavor finds out.

Looking back, you should have assessed the situation quicker and identified the quirk user before tending to the twins. Todoroki is tough. It will take more than a strange quirk to really hurt him, but you had always been protective of him. Something in the way his eyes gleamed when he used his fire and the tone he would talk in when he was serious. Well, more serious than he was normally. He had always been there for you and you were there for him, whether he wanted you or not.

You deduced that this was the effect of a quirk, and it should wear off soon. You estimated that the longest it could stay like this was a week. It would probably wear off in his sleep, but you were curious to see what it looked like wearing off.

Looking back at the twins, who were now chatting with each other. Well, it was more like the redhead was doing all the talking. He had draped himself over the silver-eyed boy and was talking about a new topic every sentence. The icy boy felt your gaze on him and looked up at you. His expression may have seemed indifferent to anyone looking, but you could read his body language like a book. He was practically screaming at you to get the other off of him. You smile and laugh at the situation. He rolls his eyes and slides his foot forward and sends ice in your direction. You jump out of the way and stick out your tongue playfully. If it wasn’t for your training with him, you would have gotten hit. It was just like old times. That sure was Todoroki, albeit a lot more guarded. and, well, cold.

The other noticed your interaction and perked up. “Hey, y/n, me and myself were talking” he nudges the other, hoping he would recognize his joke, but the pale boy just kept walking. Rolling his teal eyes, he continued, “You can call me Shoto like you usually do when we are alone, but call him Todoroki so you can address us specifically!!!” He runs up to you and gets uncomfortably close and whispers “~~ I’ve always liked how my name sounds coming out of your pretty little mouth.”

You swing your fist at him but he catches your wrist and uses your momentum to pull you closer into a hug. He lifts your chin up and says in a sultry voice, “we can’t have that, can we darling?” he tuts and was about to say something else when Todoroki separated you two and flipped his other self onto the concrete. Shoto surprisingly didn’t fight back but just hopped up onto his feet and continued talking to his twin like nothing happened.

Eventually, you find the back entrance to your apartment building. You remove the firey boy from your arm, blocking out all of his advances as you get closer to the door. He huffs as you punch in the passcode to the door. Todoroki had been over to your apartment a million times, you paired up pretty frequently, not to mention you two were really close. You had been since high school.

You hold the door open for the silvery twin, and as he walks past you could feel the temperature go down, but not from his quirk. This was going to be fun.

And by fun, you meant torturous.

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero imagines #bnha fanfic #bnha fic #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #mha x reader #todoroki #todoroki shoto #shoto todoroki #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x reader #mha todoroki

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maybe-theres-hope · 3 years

Text

Tarlos Fic - Dinner Date

3.2k | T | Warnings: Blood, Injuries (mostly minor) | Contains: Judd/Carlos friendship, Tarlos being perfect, blue Camaro (rip)

Read on AO3

“So, what are your plans for the night?” Nancy asked as they exited the ambulance, their shift nearly over as long as the bell didn’t go off in the next ten minutes.

TK smiled to himself for a moment before he spoke. “Well, Carlos is taking me to Jeffrey’s, so…”

“Holy mother,” Nancy breathed, looking at him with obvious envy. “Do you guys have a ten year anniversary or something coming up? Did he get some kind of commendation at work? Because I know your last one was like a month ago, so.”

“No, no anniversary, that’s in a couple of months. And its three years, Nance.” He chose to ignore her muttering about their mushiness ‘aging me ten years’. “And nothing from work that I know of. Maybe he just loves me?” TK couldn’t stop grinning while they stocked the bus and readied for the handover.

“He loves you crap ton! Their wagyu strip steak is a hundred and twenty-five dollars!” Nancy had her phone out, obviously googling the menu.

“Well at least we’ll save money on wine,” TK said with a chuckle.

“I’ve heard of the place by reputation but like, dude, who ever gets the chance to actually go there?”

“TK it seems,” Tommy cut in. “Why don’t you go on? We got it here and you’re gonna need at least an hour to pick out an outfit.”

“And gel your hair. You and your dad are way more alike than you want to admit,” Nancy added with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. You sure, Cap? I can stay and help?”

“I’m sure, kiddo. Go get dolled up for your man. Eat a few bites for us, yeah?” Tommy yelled at his retreating figure. She and Nancy looked at each other with grins as they caught the little skip in his step.

“So, what do you think the occasion is?”

Tommy looked back at Nancy with a gleam in her eye. “I can wager a guess, but I don’t want to jinx it.” Nancy just gave her a look and went back to restocking.

Around 8 p.m., Owen was sitting in his office toying with his phone in his hand, smiling at his last text exchange.

we’re just leaving the house now, wish me luck!

you’re not gonna need it, kid :)

“Not if I know my son anyway,” Owen said aloud to the empty room. He wondered if it’d happened yet. No incoherent string of emoji’s from TK yet, so he doubted it.

He was shoving the phone back into his pocket with the bell went off.

“Alright guys,” Owen said into the mic from the Captain’s chair. “Dispatch says three vehicles involved, two still on the road and one went over the side into the ravine. Police are on their way but we’ll probably beat ‘em there. Strickland, Marwani, soon as we get there I want you to harness up and get down in that ravine. Judd, you too. You’ll be in command down there and I’ll stay up top with the other two vehicles. Everybody else you’re with me, got it?”

A chorus of “Copy that, Cap,” and suddenly they were on the scene.

“Marjan, Paul, we’re goin’ down!” Judd called to them as the rest of the crew went over to the silver Prius and black Mazda that were crumpled in the middle of the two-lane highway. Judd wasn’t a prayin’ man, but he sent up a little something to the man upstairs that this went their way. It looked bad.

Paul arrived at his side first, strapped into his gear. “Marjan’s grabbing the bag from the truck, she’s coming.”

“Alright. We’ll go down this way,” Judd said, pointing to a safe-ish stretch of hillside. “Can’t see the other car from here but dispatch said bystanders saw it go over. Probably just hidden in the trees.”

“Okay guys, let’s do this!” Marjan called, harnessed and carrying the medical bag and a backboard. “TK’s gonna be sad he missed this. Medical doesn’t get to harness up a lot and I know he loved it. He coulda helped.”

“Nah, he’s got better things tonight. Carlos was takin’ him to Jeffrey’s,” Paul said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Ohh, fancy,” Marjan said with a smile. “What’s the occasion?”

They’d reached the bottom and were starting to look through the brush and low-hanging trees for a vehicle.

“Don’t know,” Paul answered. “But I think Cap’s in on it somehow.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Judd cut in as he whacked a few branches out of his way. “Carlos came by the station a few weeks ago, and they sat up in Cap’s office for an hour before he left grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Paul said with a laugh.

“Hey guys, look!” Marjan called from a few yards to the left. The other two went to her position and saw what she’d found. A track in the underbrush where it had been torn at and flattened. “Think this is the place.”

“Let’s go,” said Judd. They followed the path through the brush for a couple of yards before they caught sight of it: taillights. “Alright, Marjan you go on the passenger side, I got the driver. Paul you see if you can clear some of that brush off the back in case the doors are jammed and we gotta get ‘em out that’a way.”

Visibility was still low despite the lights of the car and their flashlights, but as they approached they saw the car wrapped around the trunk of a tree on the passenger side. “I don’t know if I can get in there, Judd, but I’ll try,” Marjan said as she broke out into a jog.

“Wait!” Paul cried. Judd looked over at him, and he would have said such a thing couldn’t happen to a calm and collected person like Paul, but his face had gone ashen. “That’s Carlos’s car,” he said on a breath.

“What?” In the dark, now that he was really looking, he could see they were coming up on—what used to be—a blue Camaro.

“I’m sure of it. TK bullied him into putting that sticker on the back because he said it was too pristine and it needed personality.” He shone his flashlight at the rear bumper and sure enough, there was a SXSW sticker half ripped off from the path the car had taken to get there.

“Come on,” Judd said, heart rate kicking up.

“Should we call Cap?” Paul asked.

“No, we stay down here and do our jobs, and he stays up there and does his. We’ll get ‘em.” His voice sounded numb even to his own ears, but he was determined.

“They were on their way to dinner,” Paul said lowly.

“Yeah, probably takin’ the backroads to avoid traffic,” Judd said, shaking his head. Fate was hell sometimes.

When they reached the car, Marjan was yelling. “TK! TK can you hear me?” She turned to Judd. “I can’t get in there. The tree trunk is halfway into the car, probably pinning him to the console. He’s unresponsive.” Her face was also pale, but determined.

Judd went to the driver’s side and saw Carlos, head hanging to the side facing the broken window. He tried the door as he called out. “Carlos? Hey Carlos, come on buddy. Can you hear me?” The door wouldn’t budge; Judd figured the car had rolled a couple of times coming down the hill, crumpling it like a tin can. Then he heard a soft groan.

He looked up, and one of Carlos’s eyes was trying to open. The other was swollen shut, where he’d probably hit his head on the steering wheel before the airbag deployed. Half his face had burn marks from it.

“Hey, hey Carlos, look at me, that’s it.” That one eye tracked around before it landed on Judd, drawn to the light of the flashlight on his helmet. “Hey man. We’re gonna get you out okay? Now, can you move your fingers and toes for me?” Judd stuck his head into the window to see down in the floor boards. “Alright, likely no spinal damage. How’s your head?”

“Hurts. Shoulder, too.” His voice was barely audible.

“Okay, it looks like you dislocated it,” Judd said as he prodded his left shoulder. “I don’t see anything broken but we’ll have to get you out to determine that.”

“TK—“ a wheeze, “TK…first. Been out…a while.”

Judd peered over to the passenger side, where TK was shoved almost fully into the center console, head laid back on the headrest and his face covered in blood. Marjan and Paul were still hard at work outside trying to clear a path into the car.

“We can’t get to his side just yet, but we can get you out first and then we’ll be able to pull him out this way, okay? We wanna focus on you right now.”

“Alive.”

“Yeah, you’re alive, Carlos. You’re not gonna leave us yet,” he said as he assessed the door panels where they could cut through with the saws they brought.

“No. TK. Weak, but…alive,” Carlos breathed out, coughing through the end.

“We’ll make sure he’s alive, okay?” Judd said, trying not to lose his professionalism at this whole messed up situation.

“He is.” Judd stopped looking around and looked back at Carlos. The man raised his right hand just as much as he was able, showing where he had two fingers on TK’s radial pulse.

“Good, that’s good Carlos,” Judd assured him. That meant Carlos had had some minutes of consciousness after the accident before they showed up. “Was he talking at all? After you hit the tree?”

“Little. Minutes, maybe.”

“That’s good, that’ll help. Alright Carlos, we’re gonna get this door off so I’m gonna cover you with this while we do okay?” Judd waited for a small nod before he covered Carlos’s face and torso with his own turnout coat.

After an agonizing four minutes, the door popped off in a shower of metal and broken glass. Judd removed the coat and went back in to assess. “Carlos? How you doin’?”

“Tired. But won’t…sleep. Promise. That’s bad.”

“You learn a few things from your Paramedic boyfriend?” Judd said with a watery smile.

“Mmm.”

“Judd, I got the back cleared. Maybe we can get in there to at least check TK’s vitals,” Paul informed them.

“Get on it, I’ma try to get Carlos here out onto this backboard. Marjan, radio for another backboard and have two RA’s ready to go topside!”

“Copy that!” Judd had to admire those two. They never let their professionalism slip too far, though he could see they were worried sick. He could relate. He wouldn’t relax until both of the boys were back up the hill and on the way to the hospital.

From the looks of things, maybe not even then. But he had hope.

“Alright, Carlos, I’m gonna grab your legs and behind your shoulders here and pull you out, okay? It’s gonna hurt like hell, but it’ll be quick.”

“Wait.”

Judd stopped cold.

“Left…pocket. Please.”

“You want me to get at your left pocket?” A nod. “Alright, hang on.”

Judd carefully shifted Carlos’s leg so he could reach into his slacks, which had probably been part of a very nice suit at the beginning of the night. His fingers searched until they hit a small bump, an object no bigger than a baseball, soft velvet over a hard shell. He sucked his lips between his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he pulled it free in his hand.

“Keep it…safe…for me?”

Judd looked down at the little black box for a moment, then clutched it tight in his hand before transferring it one of the innermost pockets of his turnout.

“Of course, man. I will guard this with my life.” He looked up and saw Marjan coming back with another backboard. “Alright, buddy. It’s go time.”

Carlos gave a weak nod and winced when Judd started to pull.

“Welcome back, man. You had us worried there for a bit.”

Carlos opened his good eye to see Judd sitting at his bedside, smiling softly. It took a moment to remember where he was. Hospital. Accident. Tree.

“TK—“

“Is fine. Banged up and will need crutches for a few weeks, not to mention a killer headache with no meds, but he’s fine. All things considered.”

“Where is he?”

“On his way, so you just stay put, okay? You’re pretty banged up, too, ya’know.”

Carlos shifted a bit and winced. His left arm was in a sling, his head bandaged over his left eye, and his right side hurt like hell.

“Broken rib when the tree went into TK’s door, door went into TK, TK went into the console, then the console went into you. He’s got a femoral fracture in his right leg but like I said, all things considered, you’re both pretty well off for how far you fell and probably rolled.”

“Yeah, he said his leg had gone numb but he could still move his toes. He made sense for about five minutes, then started talking all jumbled, then went quiet. I uh…freaked out a bit after that. I thought he had…” Carlos trailed off, looking haunted.

“Yeah, and you kept your fingers on his pulse that whole time. What you were able to tell us at the scene helped us treat him. You did good, Carlos.”

“Not good enough to swerve in time,” he said.

“Not your fault. And don’t you dare go thinkin’ it is. I don’t wanna hear it, Carlos,” Judd said in what TK called his Dad Voice. Stern and no room for argument. Carlos just nodded.

“And uh, hey. I been waitin’ to give this back to you.” Judd stood and walked over to the bed, holding out a tiny black box. Carlos took it and cradled it against his chest. “It better be a nice one, cuz I about had a heart attack while I was showerin’ thinkin’ someone was gonna come get my pile a’clothes and take ‘em to the laundry while I was gone.”

“You didn’t open it?”

“Nah, I figure the big reveal? TK deserves that all to himself.”

“Owen’s seen it,” Carlos countered, smirking.

“Uh huh. He approve?”

Carlos laughed. “He whistled and said I spent too much.”

“To impress the Cap it must be a lot,” Judd said with a small whistle of his own.

“Well, what was it Michael Scott said? Three years’ salary?”

Judd’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and Carlos laughed harder before wincing again at his broken rib. “I’m kidding, Judd. But I can tell you, no matter the cost, TK deserves the best and that’s what I hope I got.”

“You gonna make another reservation? Soon as y’all get back into fightin’ shape?”

Carlos looked down at the box again for a moment, contemplating. “I…don’t think so.”

Judd had a confused expression on his face but at that moment, a nurse was wheeling TK into the room, followed by most of the 126. Carlos’s face lit up like starlight at the sight of him.

“Hey, babe,” TK said with a smile. His leg was in a full cast, so the nurse was careful in maneuvering him around to Carlos’s bedside.

“Hey, I feel like you should be the one in bed! Why are you out and about?”

“Because you were still asleep and he’s an absolute menace. We made multiple apologies to the staff on his behalf for the last hour,” Owen said as he walked into the room behind his crew. “He’s a stubborn little shit. Always has been, always will be. You sure you’re up for that?” He asked knowingly. TK was still looking at Carlos, blushing at his dad’s ribbing. Carlos met his eyes and said, “Yes.” He blushed more.

“In fact,” Carlos continued. “I’m ready to get started. I’ve waited too long anyway. I mean, how many times do you and I have to beat death before I get the nerve to do this?” He said, looking into TK’s beautiful eyes which were looking confused.

“What are you talking about, babe?”

“Look, I’m sorry this didn’t go how I planned. And I’m sorry I can’t get down on one knee right now, but. I hope you love me enough not to mind.” He lifted his good arm, his hand holding out the box. “A little help, Judd?”

“It’d be an honor,” the man said before leaning in and opening the box, since Carlos only had one good arm.

At the sight of the contents of the box, TK’s eyes went as big as saucers. Surprise was written clearly over every inch of his features, which were all still beautiful even scarred and stitched up as they were at the moment. God, Carlos loved this man so much.

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, you are the love of my life. I tried so many different scenarios in my head of how this speech would go, before I just said screw it, I’ll speak from the heart. You’re kind, funny, sexy, sweet, and everything in between. You can’t boil water and you absolutely can’t properly separate laundry. I have a dozen pink shirts as proof of that.” At this, the gathered group chuckled and TK went bright red. “Ah, but you also know just how to ease the tension from a long day just by hugging me on the doorstep. And I can always count on you to be there for me when the world gets too much, when what we see out there creeps in too far. And I want you to know, that I want to be that for you too, for the rest of our lives. So, TK. Will you marry me?”

The room was silent, apart from the hum and beeps of the machines. Everyone on the edge of their proverbial seats, but no one having any doubt to the outcome.

“Oh, my God! Of course I’ll marry you! Yes, yes! Yes!” The last was said through TK’s fingers covering his red face, hiding the few tears that had started to fall. He held out his left hand to Carlos, who Judd had kindly helped by removing the ring from its box and handing it back to him. He slid it over TK’s finger, smiling like an idiot the whole time, barely registering the whoops and hollers of the 126 throughout the room.

He only had eyes for TK.

“I love you,” TK breathed through his happy tears.

“I love you too, baby. Always.”

“Oh, my God, dude, were you seriously surprised?” Nancy asked incredulously once the commotion had died down.

“Well…yeah? I didn’t expect this at all,” TK said, looking sheepish.

“TK…my dude…he was taking you to Jeffrey’s! How could you not know?”

Once again, the room erupted in laughter and TK ducked his head again. Carlos reached out and touched his chin, catching his eyes again.

There was nothing but love there.

CLEARLY every Tarlos fic I write has to have a proposal in it *shrug emoji*

Also I wrote this in like an hour after I had a dream so please excuse any typos I didn’t catch!

Please reblog if you liked it! I would really really appreciate it :) Thank you for reading!

#tarlos #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 lone star #brooke writes

54 notes · View notes

kouomi · 3 years

Text

Counting Down To You

Summary: When meeting your soulmate is a matter of life or death, is it possible to beat the clock and find them in time? (F!Reader x Sakusa Kiyoomi)

Warnings: talking about death, some sadness, fluff at end, sad to happy

Word count: 3,010

A/N: sorry for not posting in a while! Pulled this out of my drafts, there might be a lil sequel/separate ending to this later!

Masterlist

Posted: April 27th, 2021, 5:30 PM EST

Everyone had countdowns from the moment they were born. It was a ticking time bomb within every person that would be lethal to not only them, but their soulmate as well when it detonated. The whole system of having a soulmate was a double edged sword; sure, if you managed to escape it you met your soulmate, but the slightest slip up could lead you to a grave.

The timer started when you or your soulmate was made aware of the other, such as hearing their name for the first time or seeing a picture. Everyone’s timer was set at different times, most people having a couple decades while some of the lucky ones have a hundred years, or the unlucky only a few years, months, weeks, or even days. When the timer starts it’s simply your soulmates initial and a date on your wrist, but when it got to the last 7 days, the timer turned into one that looked like a clock, slowly ticking off the seconds until left you had to meet them or die.

The death wasn’t immediate, it was more like a sickness. It wasn’t able to be cured even by meeting your soulmate, for as soon as the timer ran out, so did your chance of survival. Once the last second ran out the timer disappeared and was replaced with your soulmates name as if it would be any help at that point. Three days was all you were given after the timer ran out. Three measly days to say goodbye to everything and everyone you knew.

There were other ways other than seeing someone’s timer to tell if their time was running out. Once it turned from a date to hours the person started to become “sick” their body weaker and more noticeably a cough. It was horrible to watch but an even worse feeling was it happening to you.

When your timer started, you were given exactly a year. It felt like a cruel joke that at the age of fifteen you were only given a year to find your soulmate or die, but the date on your wrist was a constant reminder it was reality. You tried for almost that entire year to find him, to find the one with a matching timer and who matched the initial on your wrist but it was useless. Even if you managed to find them you’d have to kiss them to stop the timer and you couldn’t go around kissing every stranger who’s name happened to start with K. By the last two weeks you’d given up, finally coming to terms with the fact you were going to die and there was nothing you could do about it.

You were in Tokyo for the national volleyball tournament as you were accompanying the team you managed, happy to at least be in a beautiful city for your last few days on earth. A gentle breeze picked up your hair and blew it around your shoulders, a few stray strands waving in front of your face as you stared at the quiet city streets below. It was oddly peaceful, a sense of a calm before the storm blanketing the night and preserving the moment around you.

“Y/n/n?” A familiar voice asks from behind you, “What’re ya doin out here, it’s freezing.”

Turning around you see one of your closest friends, Miya Atsumu walked out on to the balcony where you stood, leaning on the railing. You’d noticed the freezing air nipping at your bare skin but hadn’t paid much mind to it, your mind to focused on other things to care about the cold.

“Waiting.” You answered, returning your gaze to the sky as he walked over to stand next to you.

“Waitin for what?”

You glance at your phone screen, seeing it read 11:59 before moving your arm up so it rested underside up on the metal railing. Just as you did so the date on your wrist disappeared and was replaced with a timer, the seconds slowly ticking away.

“That.” You sigh, taking notice of the way the normally positive atmosphere that followed Atsumu had faded, “167 hours, 59 minutes, and 47 seconds left.”

“Hey, maybe we’ll find them here!” He exclaims, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes crossing his face, “There’s thousands of people!”

“I can’t go around kissing thousands of random people, Tsu.” You chuckle, pushing off of the railing and walking back to the door, “Come on.”

“I have an idea!” The blonde gasps before rushing inside, making you give him a quizzical look as he frantically looks around the room.

“Why are ya yelling at midnight?” An authoritative voice asks, making Atsumu freeze momentarily before he turns around.

“Kita! Yer name starts with K right?”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

“Atsumu, I know what you’re thinking and no.” You say, watching as his shoulders droop.

“Why not?!”

“Kitas timer hasn’t even started yet.”

“It’s worth a shot! He has the right initials, doesn’t he?”

Both you and the captain blink at him before glancing at each other and shaking your heads.

“They’re backwards.” Kita states, Atsumus face falling at the realization, “Hers say S.K. mine are K.S.”

“Thanks anyway Tsu.” You smile, your hand resting on his shoulder as you walk past him and down the hall, “Don’t worry about it. I still have a week to watch you guys win. Good night.”

The two boys watch you leave, a sad feeling encompassing the room as you disappear down the hallway. The silence hangs in the air as if saying it’s own piece to the drastic weight of the situation, the weight pulling down on the two making their shoulders visibly slump as they continue to stare where you once stood.

“Stop looking at ‘er like she’s already dead.” Kita says, making Atsumu jump. “Yer just gonna make ‘er feel worse.”

Almost as soon as you’d slipped through the door of your room you collapsed on to your bed, an empty feeling filling your chest as you pulled your blanket over your head. Sure, you’d come to terms with the fact you were going to die, but it didn’t stop the horrible feeling that weighed down your heart as it set in that this was your last week. In another week you’d probably be in a hospital bed with all of your friends giving you sad pitiful looks as you slowly withered away, left with nothing other than the name of the soulmate you’d failed to meet in time.

Were they panicking as well? Were they doing everything they possibly could to find you so you could both survive? This was the greatest chance you had to find them seeing as you were in the city and at a large event, but what were the chances of them even being there?

Your worries and questions followed you into your sleep, dried tear tracks staining your face as you fought to get any rest.

Even in your dreams you found yourself on the brink of death, a man standing just out of reach. He was so close, you could feel the fabric of his jacket just barely brush past your fingertips. He was so so close, yet so impossibly far, you found the last slivers of hope you held for finding this stranger in time slipping away just as he began to walk out of your view.

3 hours 26 minutes and 17 seconds

They’d lost. You watched with a hallow expression as the boys dressed in orange and the entire stadium cheered for Karasuno and their victory, while your team was almost frozen in time in disbelief at the final score. After what felt like hours you all walked off the court, silence haunting the group as they all sulked.

“I’m sorry Y/n.”

You turn around and see a few of the boys standing in front of you almost at the brink of tears, their sad gazes only getting worse as they fell upon you.

“Ya said that you’d be watching us win until...” Atsumu continues, his hand clenching into a fist as he trails off, “But we lost. Sorry.”

“Stop being so dramatic, Tsu.” You say, making his expression turn to one of surprise as he and his brother look to you, “Just being able to see you guys play like that was good enough. Especially seeing that quick attack. Man, that was cool!”

They both smile slightly and so do you, walking closer and hugging them both with one arm. You close your eyes for a moment and relish in the hug, imprinting the feeling on your mind as one of your favorite. They squeeze you to themselves though you don’t mind, the three of you standing there for what felt like hours. You wished you could stay there for hours, stand in the arms of the people you considered family. You wanted to stay with them, with the whole team and make more memories, to keep living with them. Your heart ached for the wish as you knew it was an impossible request, knowing this most likely would be the last time you could hug them. If only there was more time, just a few more days. But the timer on your wrist continues to tick, the seconds going by and your time running out.

After a while you finally let go and walked out with the others, the air not as heavy as it previously was though the discord in your head running wild.

0 hours 10 minutes and 43 seconds

“Hey Y/n, are you coming?” Aran asks, standing on the first stair of the bus and looking to you.

You look down at your wrist and read the numbers, feeling a pull at your heart.

“I’m gonna take a walk really quick, can you guys wait a few minutes?” You ask.

He nods, hiding his worry for you behind a slight frown before he climbs into the bus, the doors shutting behind him and the engine starting as the bus waits to leave.

You sigh as you turn around and start walking down the sidewalk, a cough racking your sore body as you did so. Everything hurt and your legs resisted every movement, but you refused to spend these few minutes stuck in the bus.

0 hours 2 minutes and 24 seconds

Finally you came across a bench where you collapsed, a grunt leaving your body as you finally relieve your legs of your weight. Your head was thrown back on the back of the bench and you stared up at the cloudless sky, the stars seeming to laugh as they stared at your disheveled state.

“Could you not sit so close?”

You turn your head to the side and see another person on the bench next to you. With a sigh you scoot over, wincing at the burning sensation in your arms as you do so. The stranger hunches over himself and you hear the all too familiar sound of coughing, their fit lasting almost an entire minute before they straighten themselves out again.

“Are you okay?” You ask, turning your gaze away from the sky to look at them.

“Fine.” He mumbles though another cough gives away his lie, “There’s not enough time for me to care.”

You give a light laugh, a cough of your own stopping it short. “Time’s a bitch, huh?”

“Sure.”

0 hours 0 minutes and 53 seconds

“What’s your name?” You ask after a few seconds of silence.

“... Sakusa. Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Your heart seems to stop as you hear this, the world around you suddenly coming to a halt as you blink at him.

“You’re joking right?” You ask in disbelief. Surely this was some kind of messed up prank, it wasn’t possible.

“Why would I be joking?” He responds, “Who’re you?”

“Y/n. Y/l/n.”

You see his eyes widen as he turns to face you, his once defeated appearance gaining new life though the exhaustion is still visible in his droopy shoulders and bags under his eyes. Despite the mask covering half of his face you could tell he was attractive, dark brown eyes that bore into yours slightly obscured by long curls. There were two moles on his forehead that were hardly visible in the low light, his intense expression almost forcing you to look away.

0 hours 0 minutes and 32 seconds

“Are you...” He starts, eyes glancing down for a moment, “Your wrist.”

0 hours 0 minutes and 27 seconds

You read the number in your head as you held out a shaky arm for him to see, a small gasp leaving your lips as he holds out his own for you to see a timer in sync with your own and your initials just below it.

0 hours 0 minutes and 20 seconds

“I’m... we’re not gonna die.” You breathe, your eyes moving up and meeting his again, “I know we just met but I don’t think there’s enough time for us to spare.”

He blinks at you, almost too shocked to respond.

0 hours 0 minutes and 16 seconds

“Can I kiss you?” You ask, anxiously waiting for his response.

0 hours 0 minutes and 13 seconds

Sakusa doesn’t say anything, his other hand unsteadily reaching up to pull his mask off.

0 hours 0 minutes and 8 seconds

Almost in slow motion he leans closer to you, his body almost towering over your own as he rests on one of his hands.

0 hours 0 minutes and 5 seconds

You see your breath in the cold air as you tilt your head up to look at him, fighting back the cough in your lungs as everything around you seems to be slowly clicking into place.

0 hours 0 minutes and 3 seconds

You lean closer to him, his breath dancing on your lips. Just before you meet your body seems to give out beneath you, this small slip up seeming as if it’s been waiting to rip away your last few seconds to save your life.

0 hours 0 minutes and 2 seconds

Sakusas other arm shoots out and hooks under your back, holding you up and closer to himself.

0 hours 0 minutes and 1 second

As soon as you were supported in his grasp you leaned up and pressed your lips against his, your eyes fluttering shut as you put all of your hope and fear into this one moment. The kiss is short but it felt as if something you were missing all your life, your body feeling reenergized and the air escaping your lungs as you pull away.

You blink at each other for a moment before you both look at your wrists, joy filling you both when you see the timer stopped at one second. Below it where there was once only two letters is now each other’s names, the sight making butterflies fly through your stomach.

Realizing his arm was still around you, a light blush dusts your cheeks as you suddenly acknowledge how close you were to each other.

“Y/n?” You hear Atsumu yell from down the street, Sakusas arm pulling away from you as he approaches. “We were lookin all over for you, are ya okay?”

“I’m okay.” You smile, “And you don’t need to find a replacement for me just yet.”

“Huh?” He asks, finally noticing the boy next to you, “Oh hey Sakusa, what’re ya doin- wait.”

“Hi.” He says, cringing as Atsumu seems to explode.

“Y/n, you and Sakusa?!” He exclaims, “I can’t believe this!”

“Why are you yelling so much Tsu?” You ask though give him a smile, “Why were you looking for me?”

“Oh yeah, Coach wants to leave.” Atsumu answers, “And ya were gone a while, we got worried.”

“I’ll be there in a second.” You say, nodding for him to leave. He gives a loud “ohh” when he finally understands what you were implying, giving a thumbs up before jogging back the way he came.

“I should probably head back too.” Sakusa says, standing from the bench and stumbling slightly.

“Sakusa?” You ask, standing as well. He turns around, pulling his mask back over his face and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Kiyoomi.” He says in an almost shy tone.

“Kiyoomi.” You repeat, smiling slightly at his name, “Can I get your number?”

“Y/n yer back!” One of the boys yells as you climbed on to the bus, taking one of the free seats.

“Yep.” You grin, all of them giving you a strange look before you hold up your wrist, the once gloomy atmosphere turning joyful as you’re practically tackled out of your seat and into a giant mess of a group hug.

“Yer not gonna die?” Osamu asks in a whisper, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“No, I’m not.” You respond, your arms wrapping around all of them and squeezing. “Now can you all stop crying? You’re gonna make me cry.”

There’s a small series of laughs as you’re somehow held tighter, the tension the last thing on your mind as you close your eyes. What had once felt bittersweet now brought joy to you as you relished in the feeling of being with the people you considered family. Finally, after a year of living your life as if it was your last moments, you were able to stop; to take a moment to breathe. That one kiss had freed you of the chains of a ticking clock and given you the thing you’d only ever dreamed of: more time.

As you all were forced to pull away by your coaches telling you to get in your seats your mind wandered to the boy who’d made this possible. Sakusa Kiyoomi, though he was still a stranger to you, had made a spot for himself in your thoughts as well as bringing butterflies through your stomach. Maybe with the extra time he’d given you, you could spend it with him.

Kiyoomi. You thought, thanks for being my soulmate.

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a-froger-epic · 3 years

Text

Interview with a Queen “groupie”

Cross-posted to AO3. I encourage you to leave any comments you have there.

---

I compiled this interview following a long email exchange with J, a very sweet lady who went to Ealing Art School between 1972 and 1974. She knew all four members of Queen personally and was part of their larger circle of friends.

First off, you may find this hard to believe. I don’t blame you. But I assure you I’m not pulling your leg. As well as the pictures I share in this post, I have seen current pictures of J (which I will not share to protect her privacy). There is no indication as far as I am aware that she isn’t who she says she is.

Nastally, hold up. How exactly did you find this lady?

She found me. It turns out that she has been following my story Dawn of Aquarius for quite some time. The story is set in 1969. A lot of research about the era went into it, because I wanted to portray that time period - and Freddie’s and Roger’s surroundings - as accurately and realistically as I possibly could. That was what drew J in. She tells me it brought back a lot of memories for her. One of the reasons I love DoA so much is the nostalgia, she says, which genuinely means the world to me. Eventually, she talked to me in the comment section. Of course, I freaked out!

And then, I asked her for an interview, to which she replied: I will give it a go, but you must remember that I am 65 and there were great drugs in the 70s, and at 16, away from home, I had a lot!

And so...

Here’s what is IMPORTANT TO KEEP IN MIND when you read this interview.

These are one woman’s 50-year-old memories and subjective impressions. J has been incredibly kind to let me pick her brain, trying to recall everything as best as she can. In her own words:

Just remember that when I answer the questions, it is from a 16-year-old who is 9 years younger than Freddie and a little girl with no family and friends in a strange country trying to fit in. The only reason I was there, was because some hippie thought I had a unique art style.

---

J as a teenager.

[I have edited the interview together from our long, and somewhat messy at times, email exchange. Typos have been fixed and some punctuation added for clarity, but I have not changed anything J has written to me. Again, bear in mind these are personal opinions and impressions.]

So, J, how did you end up at Ealing Art School in 1972 and what was it like?

This was the painting done for the Australian school-leaving certificate.

It placed first and gave me a scholarship. I could pick France, the USA or England. As a dual citizen of the UK, the choice was easy. The scholarship paid for board and fees, so had to be and sell whatever for spending money.

This picture is from the dorm. We all had a 10pm curfew and a very thick rule book that, I am proud to say, I broke every one of them, one by one. The rooms were on the 1st and 2nd floor. We were on the first floor, rooms one side and admin staff the other end. We had two bathrooms for 18 girls. One of them had two baths. The walls were your standard half wall, so it was a given that if you had a bath you run the risk of having a bucket of cold water dropped on you. Downstairs was the kitchen and lounge room.

I want to ask you a few things about life in London in the early 70s, to get a picture of what it was really like. For example, was there alcohol at the music gigs you went to?

If it was a school, church or community hall, no. If it was a pub, yes.

Did you and your friends drink as much then as young people tend to drink now when you all went out?

No, we didn't. I think it had a lot to do with money. We didn't have the disposable income, and it was unheard of to still be living at home with the parents after the age of 20.

Was weed and LSD as big and easily accessible as depictions of the 60s and 70s would have us believe?

The drugs! Got to have drugs. Pot (weed) was easy to grow, very cheap. Used to smoke it in bongs rather than joints, more bang for your buck. Trips [LSD] were cheap, I think. About 2 pounds and you were on the high for over 24 hours with no sleep. My drug of choice was hash. Either the oil or the block. It was a nice high, but you could not function well. But if you listen to the music of the time it really does reflect what it was like, to have a group of friends over for a session. Having said all that the most outlandish and shocking drug I ever saw anyone use was the birth control pill. Didn't you have to hide that stuff away?!

Can you tell us some 70s slang that isn’t really in use anymore? What in the world does “ultra-blagging” mean? (As written in a letter penned by Freddie to his friend Celine in 1969.)

Abso-bloody-lootely!

Man, I thought I was the bees knees to be on a scholarship in London. But that didn't stop me from jigging or having a skive day. They were the days that I blagged my way into a pub, had too many lagers and ended up chundering in the gutter. That was how you knew your night was ace. I would get a right bollocking if anyone found out. It would be a bugger when all that you could find at a car boot sale was chavtastic, but sometimes you could be Jammy Dodger and tickety-boo you find something brilliant. Bob's your uncle. Anyways, I need to see a man about a dog.

[It seems to me that J uses a bit of Australian slang here, like chundering, which makes sense because she is, after all, Australian. She also provided the translation:]

Cheers

It would be my honour.

I felt very privileged to be given a scholarship that let me study in England. But being so young and having no family to guide me, it was often tempting to not turn up or give a false excuse for being sick. (I had a lot of food poisoning). These would often happen if the night before I had been drinking beer and ended up vomiting outside the pub. But in my young mind that was a good night. If any of the teachers found me drinking I would be in a lot of trouble. Often I would have to say I was holding it for someone else. Not having much clothes with me, I would buy them second hand from church jumble sales or other students and, yes, Kensington market (the market). Some of the stuff would not be very tasteful or in good condition. But sometimes you would find something that was cheap and in good condition. I will stop this text now as I must go to the toilet.

PS: Ultrablagging sounds very Freddie. Blagging was used, but not ultra, meaning to persuade someone to do something or act better than you are. They were always rock stars.

Sincerely

[It was at this point that I realised I was talking to an absolute legend. She also told me then that the majority of her old photographs had sadly been lost when her house was flooded in 1988, including most of the photographs from her stay in London. Noooo! :(]

When you went out to dance, did you have only live music? Were there DJs yet?

You know, that is hard. We did not have a DJ. Sometimes there would be a band. Often we looked for places with a band or the jukebox. I think pubs closed at 10pm and some stayed open to 12 or 1, but public transport stopped at 9. So if you had not arranged a lift then you had to make the last bus. Most of the time we would be heading back to someone's place to get stoned and then crash there. In the morning you would have to work out where you were. When I got back to Australia, the discos were all the rage. They could have been in London too but it was not cool to like disco.

How many people would show up to Queen’s gigs when they played in pubs or at, for example, the Imperial College?

Depending on the location and the night: 10 to 1000!

So how did you first meet the Queen boys?

I was at the pub talking about a band we saw last week when Brian stuck his head into our booth telling us he knew a better one. Thinking about seeing them at the stall... Roger not often, Freddie quite a lot. Often on different stalls, I think that is why I can't remember the name. [The name of the stall. Other sources confirm that Freddie also worked at Alan Muir’s stall, for example, selling shoes.]

How well did you know them?

Just looking at your tumblr account. [she has had a look at my blog, where somebody asked if ‘groupie’ meant she had slept with the band] No, I never slept with the boys. I would not say I was a close friend, but I started at Ealing Art College in ‘72 and moved in the same circles. I loved the music and could be called one of the first groupies. I had to sneak into the pubs because I was 16. Roger always teased me for being so young. They all did seem to be one very large family, not just the band. It was a group of about twenty regulars, both male and female. Everyone knew that Fred was too gay to function. We were all at the gay rights march in London in 1972, had to run after the march. Lots of sharpies [Australian slang: youth gang, thugs] wanting to bash us. Back then I was in every protest that was going, student union rights, even the secretary protest. Just part of the times, stick it to Man or Woman. I left London in ‘74 for Australia, been here ever since and lost track of the boys but have never stopped being a fan.

What do you remember about them? How would you describe their personalities?

Don’t let the trolls hate me, but I did not like Brian. I found him to be rather full of himself. Space was a subject you never brought up around Brian or you would die of old age before he stopped talking. He was always the first to speak and start a conversation and then quickly passed you off to John, who was always tired and shy. Roger was also quite shy at times. He was very self-conscious of his looks, as he felt being pretty, nobody would take him seriously. Fred, well, he was not yet the big star, so I think he was working on his stage persona. When talking to groups at parties, he had the best stories of things that had happened to him or close friends. They were very funny and very descriptive. He was the life of the party. When he had a few to drink or was the centre of attention, he would take a cigarette out of the closest person’s hand and start smoking. Now remember this is the point of view of a 16-year-old girl that was a fish out of water, trying to fit in and not having much worldly experience.

It is said that Freddie and Roger were very stylish. How did they dress in everyday life?

Fred would do his hair and makeup to check the mail. Yes, he was always turned out, but so were a lot of people. Freddie did go over the top with hats, scarfs and jewellery. With Roger, it is a surprise he was able to have kids his jeans were that tight. And his shirts were always open unless he was in a jumper. I think it could have been so that you knew he was male, as it was the start of the unisex clothing. When I travelled out of London I realised it was a London thing. When I got back to Australia everyone thought I was a show-off.

There are some disagreements about how tall especially Freddie was. I know this is a difficult thing to try and remember accurately. But do you remember?

Freddie was taller than me but everyone was. Roger was shorter than Fred, but I never saw Roger in platform shoes. I did meet up with the band by chance at Sydney airport in 1984, said ‘hello’ but they did not remember me, or if they did then they did not say anything and I did not want to be a dork. At that time Fred was the same height as me (5ft 8in/1.72m), Roger was taller than me. It made me think at the time that he had a growth spurt! John was shorter than me and Brian has always been tall. [I have a feeling the platform shoes - or lack thereof - played a vital role here! Although 172cm for Freddie seems likely.]

You said everyone knew Freddie was “too gay to function”. Attitudes towards homosexuality have changed so much that it can be hard for us, now, to fathom what exactly people must have thought of him. Was it more of a joke that he was so camp? Was it something he would have been teased for? Also, he had a girlfriend. Did you ever meet Mary or the other girlfriends?

In 1972 a whole group of us - and I am pretty sure that Fred, Roger, Brian and Tim were there - were in a gay pride march. [Since then, J has found and showed me a picture of a boy she thought was Tim Staffel, and it wasn't, so Tim was most definitely not there. Whether Freddie, Roger and Brian really were there or if J is misremembering, who knows?] Us youth believed you could not choose who you fell in love with and if it was same sex, so what? However, if it was two girls then it was every guy’s duty to change her!

It was also a time that the gayer the guy was, the more the girls were interested. Also, if a guy was gay then you did not have to worry about him and he was a good person to take with you if you were going out drinking. However, the police, parents, teachers and anyone of authority were horrified and treated them badly. I did meet Mary a couple of times at pubs and once after a gig. This is just my opinion, but I found her a bitch. It could be that I was so young. It could be that I was very Australian. It could be that she felt threatened as my accent was a magnet to people around. And the boys (Queen) were no exception. Brian had a cousin in OZ and was always asking questions. I remember that my close group of friends thought that Mary made the perfect girlfriend for Fred as they were as fake as each other. Having said that about them, I often wonder if I would think the same now and if my perceptions were just because she would not give me the time of Day. Chrissy and Jo were a lot of fun.

This was before your time, but I read that Freddie's nickname at Ealing Art School was ‘Freddie Baby’. Any ideas how this came about? His showmanship or maybe personality traits?

I don't think so. There were an older crowd that would talk like that. I think the slang ‘baby’ was a 60’s thing, like groovy baby.

How long, roughly, did Roger and Freddie have their stall? I can't find anywhere when it closed down. What did it actually look like? Was it a sort of wooden stall type of thing? Or an actual room? What were some of the other things people sold at Kensington Market? Mostly clothes or all sorts?

The markets were little divided shops. The back was brick and the walls wood. I have been trying all day to remember the name. [Of the stall.] I think it was something hard to say. More often than not it would be Freddie's dad in the store. It was still open when I left. Roger and Freddie were both in the store on Saturdays and some Sundays. There was a girl, I think Jill, who was in the store more. And during the week it could be anyone. You name it and you could get it at the markets. Second hand or designer clothes, shoes, jewellery, pot and assortments. Hair cuts, food, bric-a-brac.

Wait, wait. What? Freddie’s dad? Really now?

Yeah, it was an older Indian man. so we just assumed it was his father. It was my understanding that he started the stall then the boys would work it as the whole markets were set up for younger people, but if needed he would work there. I don't think the boys would be able to pay the rent on their own. [I have since found out that the stall closed in late 1971, and Freddie continued to work at the Market until '74, for Alan Mair and possibly others. So the stall J witnessed wasn't their original stall - explaining all the different people she saw there - but she had no way of knowing that it wasn't.] They always had incense burning that was very big in the 70s. I still occasionally bring out the sticks, but it does not last like the candles and diffusers of today. If you could get in touch with Robert Daniels, he ran ChaChaDumDum it was the stall across from Freddie. He would know the dates.

[J says it’s this look, in a picture she happened across while looking at my tumblr] Yep, that is the one. It usually means that he does not believe or agree with something that was said and is working out how to respond, or he has lost the plot.

You mentioned Roger seemed shy to you at times. Was he also quite charming? We read a lot about what a chick magnet he was. Was this the impression you had?

My favorite subject! I had a thing for Roger. Everyone has a type and mine is the blue-eyed blond. Now, before you ask, was he brunet? No, he was a mouse/dirty blond. If it was summer he would have blond streaks mostly at the ends. He knew he was pretty and was always dressed in the latest fashion and had the current hairstyle. So, being my type I was constantly watching him. Everyone slept around during that time. I did not notice Roger doing it more or less. 80% of the time he was with Jo. Yes, he was a chick magnet, but he did not do the chasing. He was always very polite to everyone. If it ever looked like there would be any conflict he would be the first to leave it. It was not that he was a coward, just not into conflict. If he saw anyone that needed help he was right there, and often had to have Freddie's back. I never saw him in a fight. He could always talk his way out of things. He was also very patient and would listen for hours to other people talk. However, he would get this vacant look in his eyes at times.

And Freddie would either click his fingers, change the subject or just give up. I don’t think that Brian noticed, and it would be fair game for John, he would see how far he could push it. Roger liked to drink a fair bit and when drunk he would be hanging all over Jo. If she was not there then he missed Jo. If, however, he thought that he or his friends were not being respected, then look out! It was a verbal volcano heading your way. That is what happened to me one time. I was trying to talk with my friends close to where a drunken Roger was and I yelled at him to shut the hell up, you wannabe blond. We/I coped a mouthful back, all in the same sentence, that finished with: Sorry, I didn't realise you were on your rags (period)! I have to have the last word, so I told him the truth: I don’t get them yet! (I was a late starter.) He went so red in the face and called me JB [jail bait] from then.

You also mentioned Roger’s cat Ziggy having kittens. I read about this but never when exactly it was. Do you remember?

I think it was winter ‘73. I remember being cold when he was asking around the pub. [To find homes for the kittens, I gather.]

Is it quite strange reading fictional interpretations of real people you knew? When did you first find out there was Queen fanfic?

No, we used to make up stories about people all the time, a verbal fanfic. Was looking up Adam Lambert and came across the fanfics. Some had me in stitches! Others, like DoA, had me hooked.

Please, allow me to be a little self-indulgent at the end. What's one thing I got totally RIGHT in DoA?

All the Ibex stuff.

What's one thing I got totally WRONG in DoA?

Roger did not have a temper, and I don’t know what the go with his father was, but he would talk about him quite a bit and was always visiting his mum. [Absolutely fair, not only did I change the timeline of Roger’s parents divorce in DoA - for lack of information at the time - but also created a completely fictional narrative around it for the sake of storytelling.]

J, thank you so much for all this, sincerely. Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Are you still an artist?

I don't paint or draw any more. At the age of a 50 the doctors operated on an aneurysm or three, and now my eyesight is very bad, I have no fine motor skills and a tremor. I was married in January 1984 and have just celebrated our 37 year anniversary. I have one daughter who is 30 and two great, although tiring grandkids. A girl, 11, and one boy, 5. I have lived my life as the average middle class Australian with great memories. Talking with you has helped me a lot to remember a time when the world was mine for the taking. When I returned to OZ I started nursing, met my best friend, and we planned that once we graduated we would go back to London to study midwifery. But I fell in love instead.

J's wedding in 1984. As you can see, she found her own blue-eyed blond.

---

Upon request, J has shared some of her past and present artwork with me.

These are from her time at Ealing Art School:

These were done later, back in Australia:

J: Did this just before Christmas as you had inspired me. It did not require fine motor skills!

So there you have it! I hope you found this little glimpse through a 16-year-old girl’s eyes as much of a fascinating read as I did. I urge everybody one more time to remember that J did not have to share any of this, and I think we all owe her a big thank you for delving into her memories. She is likely to see the responses on AO3, so I have comment moderation enabled there as I will not let anybody harass this lovely lady. The tumblr she created is @since72, but she isn’t really an active user and also very new to it all. Again, I can only urge everybody to be respectful.

If you have other burning question for J, feel free to leave them in the comments on AO3. I will either pass them on, or she may want to reply to them herself directly.

#Queen band #Freddie Mercury #Roger Taylor #John Deacon #Brian May #interview #i am so excited about this #so much into #information #JB

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phykios · 3 years

Text

Ain’t No Sunshine, modern royalty, 1970s au [read on ao3] thank you as always to my darling @darkmagyk for taking a true story off the rails

May 3rd, 1979. The date seemed to jump off the page, the loud, bold text almost mocking her.

Not that she was keeping track, but it was just about four years to the day.

She’d woken up this morning, feeling kind of off, wandering around her apartment in a daze as she hustled her children out the door for daycare, losing time on her bus commute to work. It wasn’t until lunch, as she took the time to go through her day planner, that she realized: four years ago was when she had last seen Percy Jackson.

Though why Annabeth was thinking about him right this second was anyone’s guess.

Oh, sure, she’d thought about him a lot all throughout her pregnancy--thought about him, cursed his name, dreamed of strangling him for leaving her alone with these two absolute terrors--but as the years had gone by, and she had lost all hope of ever making contact with him again, he’d sort of fallen by the wayside of her thoughts. Something must have been going on with the navy mail system, because absolutely none of the letters or postcards she’d sent had ever been received, and she couldn’t reach out to Sally, since Annabeth had lost her address as well.

There was always the possibility that he… well, that he wasn’t around to receive letters anymore. But she tried not to think about it.

She tried her best not to think about him at all, these days.

Today, however, her childhood best friend turned US navy midshipman had popped up on her internal radar, and had just decided to take up residence in her brain. Her normally mind-numbing job couldn’t even properly distract her, and she spent all afternoon daydreaming about his messy, perpetually windswept hair, and his toothy, contagious smile, and his gorgeous green eyes like she was some kind of pathetic, lovestruck teenager, obsessing over her rockstar crush. Taking calls, scheduling appointments, and dodging the creepy advances of the assistant CFO were slightly more palatable if she had something pleasant to think about.

Old-fashioned romance was for suckers, anyway. Who needed it?

At least it was Friday. Fridays were KFC days, and she really did not need to accidentally burn dinner today. Again.

She hated it, but her kids loved it. God knows they could barely stomach whatever she usually attempted.

She sent them to bed early-ish, and settled down in front of the TV with a glass of wine. She didn’t usually indulge, but she had had such a weird day, she felt she deserved it.

Taking a long, long sip, she could no longer deny it: she really fucking missed Percy.

She missed him like she’d miss a missing limb, and it was all the more cruel because she’d lost him once, and miraculously found him again, on that fateful trip home from Athens. A military brat stuck at the American naval base in Spain to save money, waiting for a spare seat to open up on a plane so she could go home, by the sheer force of luck, she’d practically tripped and fallen into the lap of her childhood best friend.

And then she did trip into his lap. And then into his bed. And stupid, stupid, Annabeth, she’d always been so bad with her birth control.

Her little boy, he had blond hair, but sometimes he would look at her, or laugh at something, or drool in his sleep just like his daddy, and Annabeth thought she might just fucking die from it.

She loved her children, of course, how could she not? But she wasn’t about to deny it--sometimes, alone in parenthood, juggling dishes and laundry and schoolwork and life, she felt like she was drowning.

Sharp, piercing, the doorbell rang, knocking her out of her reverie. A little tipsy, still in her rumpled work clothes, she set the glass aside, and made her way to the door. “Mr. D,” she said, opening it, prepared speech all ready to go, “I told you, I’d have the rent for you by--”

She stopped, blinking, speechless. It was not Mr. D.

“Hey,” said the man outside her door. The ghost from another world that she had, apparently, conjured with her thoughts.

“...Hey.”

He smiled, a little strained, the light of the streetlamps casting harsh shadows on his face. “It’s good to see you.”

“How did you know where I lived?” It was, perhaps, not the most elegant thing to say, but she hadn’t exactly planned for what would happen when Percy Jackson, love of her life, father of her children, long-lost best friend wandered back into her life.

“Can I come in? Maybe for a Coke or something?” he asked, not answering her question.

She almost wanted to say no. For every letter never returned, for every month gone by without a word, for every day spent raising their children without him, not knowing if he was alive or dead--she almost said no.

But this was Percy. She could spare him a Coca Cola at least. “Sure,” she said, leaning away, “come on.”

“Great,” he said, and this time, his smile was all real.

So focused had she been on him, she hadn’t even clocked the older man who stood behind him. “Sir,” said the other man, with the air of a beleaguered secretary--and Annabeth would know, “I really must advise--”

“I’ll just be a minute,” said Percy, not even bothering to look back at him, pushing past Annabeth’s half-extended arm.

“But, sir, your father--”

Percy let the door shut in his face.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Harsh.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well… I’ll make it up to him later.”

“Who is he?”

But Percy didn’t answer. “Nice place you got here.”

He was being nice, of course. It was a craphole apartment in a craphole side of town--but the rent was cheap and the bus was convenient, and she only felt the slightest bit of shame as she led him to the craphole couch, handing him a coke from her craphole fridge. Christ, his suit looked like it cost more than her TV.

“Is your… husband home?” he asked, delicate.

“My what?”

“Your husband. I saw, um…” Embarrassed, he flicked his eyes to the ring on her left hand.

“Oh, this? It’s--it’s not--” Hastily, clumsily, she fumbles it off, pulling around the knuckle. “I’m not--I’m not.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I just--it’s to ward off creepy guys, right? Like, they won’t take no for an answer unless they think they’ll have to deal with an angry husband, so I just…”

In her more pathetic moments, she pretended that it had been given to her by the man before her. She had picked something small and simple, something that she thought he might have gone with, and pretended he had slipped it into her pocket the day she left the naval base.

“That’s--cool. That’s great, I mean. I mean, that’s--”

“What do you want, Percy?”

Not at all bothered by the shortness of her tone, he sighed, closing his eyes. “I have a… personal question I need to ask you. And I’m sorry to bother you with this, I just--I have to ask.”

Ominous. “Okay?”

“Did we…” He sighed again, mouth twisting. “Did you, as a result of our repeated sexual encounters four years ago, happen to have any children by me?”

He just rattled it off, as if it was something he’d said over and over and over again, tired of receiving the same answer, but never expecting anything different.

“Excuse me?”

“I know, I know, it’s an extremely rude question, and I know I have no right to ask you, especially since it’s been so long, but I swear, there’s a reason I--”

“Did you never get any of the letters I sent you?”

At that, his head shot up. The look in his eyes could only be described as ‘terror.’ “What?”

“I must have sent you half a dozen,” she said, crossing to the kitchen, the wine making her a little bit short. She had, in fact, sent him eight letters, with pictures, and never received a single response, but since he seemed genuinely lost, she decided not to tell him. Plucking the most recent photo down from the fridge, she returned to the man in her living room, his knuckles white around the can.

Standing before him, she handed him the photograph. He took it, fingers shaking. “We… you…”

“Percy Jackson,” she said, like she was introducing him to someone at a party, “meet your children.”

Even after they had just been born, Annabeth had seen how obviously they were his. Only their daughter had the same messy black hair, both both had the same long, straight nose, the same intense, brooding brow as their father--and when her son smiled, or her daughter laughed, it was hard not to see the shades of Percy so strongly in them. It was hard to see them, too.

Percy’s mouth was trembling. His eyes were wide, glassy, fixed on the photo. “My--” he swallowed. “What--what are their names?”

“Alexander,” she said, softly, “and Anne--”

“Annemarie,” he breathed. “Alexander and Annemarie.” He looked up at her, his eyes shining. “You remembered?”

Of course she remembered. Two lonely kids, she and Percy had spent so much of their childhood together, playing house, building their perfect family, even if only in their imagination. Alexander for his mother’s cousin, and Annemarie because he had wanted to name their daughter Annabeth, and she wouldn’t let him. Twenty years later, alone and in pain, holding her newborn children and alternately cursing the man who made them and desperately wishing he were with her, Annabeth had known that they could only have one set of names, even if their father might never meet them.

His face crumpled. He dropped his head into his hand, and groaned, like someone had pressed on an open wound.

“Percy!” Annabeth sat down next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his leg. Four years later and it still felt so natural to touch him like this. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, he grunted. “Yeah,” he croaked, voice hoarse, “I’m okay. I’m fine. I just--” And then he shuddered, a hand coming up to scrub at his eyes.

He was crying, she realized suddenly. Annabeth used to be the one that cried. She could count on one hand how many times she’d seen him cry. He hadn’t even cried when she had finally left the naval base.

Taking a shaking breath, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his expensive suit. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, shattered. “I didn’t--I never--if I had known, I swear, I would have left the navy. I would have come home.”

The silent, unspoken “to you” echoed in the dead air of her apartment. “Why didn’t you?” she asked, quietly.

They held each other’s eyes, an eternity passing in a heartbeat. Neither wanted to break the sacred silence, to bring words into the crystalline moment that hung in the balance between them.

“I never got your letters,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I… after you--left, I…” he sighed, aching. “I… got hurt. Bad.”

Annabeth couldn’t breathe.

“And,” he huffed a laugh, wet and messy, “and then I met my father. Can you believe it?”

Her eyes bugged out of her head. “You what?”

He nodded.

“He’s alive?”

Sally rarely spoke of him, and Percy had always refused to. Annabeth had just assumed he had died, years and years and years ago.

Percy laughed again, humorless. “He’s the king of Thera.”

Her jaw dropped. “He…”

“Yeah.”

“Are you shitting me?”

Shaking his head, he smiled, rueful. “I wish.”

Words from a half-remembered newscast floated through her mind. Alexander and Annemarie had been right terrors that night, and she had only been half-listening as the reporter informed the world that Triton, hereditary prince of Thera, had died, killed in military action. “He… found you?”

Percy nodded, miserable. “He told me--asked--told me to--to find anyone I might have…” And then he swallowed, tears in his eyes again, real, glistening tears. “And I am so, so sorry, I know--I know your job is here, and your whole life, and the children, but I--”

She took his hand in hers, squeezing gently so he didn’t fly away. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just say it.”

“I’m supposed to--I’m supposed to… if you would… come with me,” he trailed off, suddenly shy.

For the second time tonight, she felt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. “...What?”

“He… my father… the king wants--needs heirs. He… he asked for a list of women, and I… gave him your name.” Stomach hot, Annabeth wished she had the courage to know about the other women on that list. Or to ask why Percy, young and handsome as he’d been at both twelve and twenty, wasn’t out there making some new ones himself. Why was he chasing down old leads? Why was he chasing down Chase bastards? “You’d--you’d live in the castle,” he said, like he was trying to sell her on it, though she could tell his heart wasn’t really in it, “and we, well, we’d technically have to get married, but that doesn’t need to be a big deal. You’d get your own rooms. You can set them up however you want. And you’d have a personal staff, a stipend, and the kids would get private teachers, and--”

“Staff?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Yes?”

Staff. Someone to do the laundry and clean the dishes. Someone to cook dinner and look after the house. Someone to help. Someone to do all the parental things that she just could not do, not by herself. Not without him.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you,” he said, squeezing her hand. His hand was just as big as she remembered, and just as warm. “And I would never, ever force you to do anything that you wouldn’t want to--”

“Yes,” she said, interrupting him.

He blinked, dumbly. “What?”

“Yes. I’ll come with you. We all will.”

“...Oh. Uh, great. That’s--that’s good. Are you sure?” He looked like a lost little dolphin, eyes huge and uncertain, and then, Annabeth did the one thing that she’d been desperately wanting to do for the last four years.

She pulled his face to hers, and she kissed him. Shocked, he stiffened, almost pulling away--before relaxing into her, cupping her face in his big, warm hand. Eyes closed, they leaned their heads against each other, sharing air once more for the first time in years. She had lost him twice already: once as a child, when her father had decided to move her across the country, and once as a lovestruck college girl, when she had to leave the naval base, four years ago. She wasn’t about to lose him for a third time.

And for the first time in forever, she no longer felt like she was drowning.

#my fic #pjo fic #pjo #percabeth #percabeth fic #au #the rivalry ends here #the au which we have affectionately named 'chop chop'#for... reasons...#darkmagyk #perseannabeth

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

Prologue (CHAN) - |Breathe, and Live|

And so we begin the fluff :) Enjoy single dad chan!

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, slice of life, single parent!au

Triggers: allusions to sex

Word Count: 1.7k

Chan is lost, so lost, and sometimes it feels like the walls are caving in. But he’ll make it, he knows. He has to, for the two little boys cradled in his arms who he loves more than anything he has in the world.

SKZ Masterlist | Breathe, and Live | Touching Stars (TBZ teacher!au)

She tells him at precisely five fourteen in the afternoon, voice dead but panicked, on a crowded bus full of people, words crackling over the phone.

“Chan, I’m pregnant.”

The walls are silent. His laptop, too, since he paused the track to pick up the call. He can’t speak, can’t breathe. It deafens him. It squeezes at his head, pounds against his temples, fills his ears with static buzzing.

His vision blurs. Something rises in his throat.

Chan thinks he might throw up.

How? his mind screams. He’s always been careful, always used a condom. She takes birth control, takes the pill every morning after. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fucking make sense.

But you can never be sure, the rational part of his brain unhelpfully supplies.

The droning voice of his old sex-ed teacher back in Australia fills his mind. “The only way to be sure is to practice abstinence.”

Back then, he’d snorted quietly in the back with his friends, elbowed them and smirked and didn’t bother paying attention to the rest of the lecture. What was the point, anyway? Chan may not be as cautious as his parents – the impulse decision to stay in Korea for university, even after his family moved back, is proof of that – but he’s tried to be careful with this. Cautious, respectful, caring.

That kind of thing would never happen to him.

Somewhere, somehow, he hears her saying his name. Between the noise in the background and the ringing in his ears, it’s muffled. Disjointed.

“Okay,” he manages to choke out. “Okay.”

What else can he say?

Her voice sounds hoarse now, even over the tinny phone speakers. She’s crying, or on the verge of it – Chan’s known her long enough recognize the catch in her words that signals the lump in her throat. “I – Chan, I don’t –” She gasps. “I don’t think I want to keep it.”

It takes a moment to understand. But the minute he does, there’s only horror. Sharp, clear, precise. It pierces his chest, breaking through the foggy cloud of his brain.

He wants to scream, yell at her, how could she think of that? How could she not want to keep the child that’s depending on her?

But his sister’s voice cuts through his swirling thoughts. “No uterus, no opinion.” Hannah’s dark eyes, quiet but challenging, flash across the restaurant table, voice cutting through the debate going on across from her. “You don’t own anyone’s body but your own.”

He’d agreed then. He still agrees now.

So he takes a deep breath and tries to understand. They’re young. Stupid. He’s in his last year of university, she’s on a gap year. They’re barely old enough to function in society on their own. It’s understandable. And more importantly, it’s her body. Her choice.

Another deep breath, a bit shakier this time. He settles his mind. “Come home first,” he says quietly, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “Come home first. We’ll talk about it then, okay?”

There’s a sniff on the other end. “Okay,” she breathes. “Okay.”

The call ends. Chan sits still for a moment, staring at some random section of the wall, thinking but not really seeing. The paint is peeling. The lights are glaring. The university studio, the place he thinks of essentially as a second home, suddenly feels cloistering. Unwelcoming. It feels like some disgusting, warped metaphor for his life.

He buries his head in his hands and tries to breathe.

. . .

Chan can barely face her parents. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He really wants to tell things upfront, give them his apologies and promise that he’ll do anything to help them out, but they just look at him with smoldering, narrowed eyes. There’s no endearment in her mother’s expression anymore, no quiet pride in her father’s, as though he was another son. There’s only hatred. Disgust. Disappointment.

With a thick tongue and embarrassment coloring his face, he swears up and down that they used protection. She doesn’t say anything, just looks down with a sort of hopeless expression on her face and occasionally nods or shakes her head in accordance with what he’s saying.

They blame him. That much is certain. Privately, Chan thinks that’s a little unfair, but given that the woman bears the brunt of the pregnancy much more than the man, he lets it go. It’s understandable. After all, he blames himself a lot, too.

His parents act a little better. They’ve known him for all twenty-one years of his life, known how he always tries to treat people with respect, with care. Chan can still hear the disappointment and worry in their hushed voices over the phone, but it’s okay. It’s better than hatred.

She doesn’t want the child, she makes that clear. Her parents don’t want it either. They want to adopt it out.

On the other hand, Chan, well… it’s fucking hard. He’s barely finished with university, barely gotten started with his life. And he’s in the damn music industry. Unless he makes it big, there won’t be a lot of opportunities to sort out his life.

But he wants the child. Even though it’s going to be difficult taking care of her through the pregnancy, then making a path with the baby in tow, he wants it. He doesn’t want to give this up.

So they settle. She’ll have the baby. Once it’s born, she’ll take care of some of the bills if she can. Otherwise, Chan is the guardian.

It isn’t so bad, not at first. There’s the morning sickness to contend with, but they live together. It isn’t too hard for Chan to take some time to take care of her. They make the doctor’s trips together, and seven weeks into the pregnancy, they find out they’re having twins.

(Well, Chan is having twins. Her face screws up just the slightest amount, not in disgust but not in something nice either. Chan elects to ignore it and focuses on his own happiness.)

He works like a madman, sending off tracks to companies, submitting others for homework. He performs when he can, picking up any possible extra paychecks. She works, too, so money isn’t an issue yet. Chan also thanks all the higher beings above that she’s on a gap year, so he’s the only one adding homework to the equation.

The storm starts brewing in the fifth or sixth month, maybe. They’re having two boys, and they like to remind her that they’re there. She doesn’t feel well a lot of the time and has the crankiness to prove it. Still, she helps when she doesn’t have cramps, though she does complain about the weight gain.

But the number of nights where they’re up at odd hours only increases. The boys like to kick. Their mother wants to scream. Chan doesn’t even think he has a brain at this point – any cells up in his head have just been pounded to mush.

On one bad night, when she’s almost crying of exhaustion and the babies won’t stop fucking moving, Chan brings out his laptop. His fingers fly over the keyboard, tweaking soft beats, changing notes, composing a short little melody.

It’s rough, nothing substantial, something completely opposite from the polished tracks he makes for class. No lyrics. There’s just a simple piano melody backed by some guitar chords and it’s probably not going to do anything to help but Chan’s this close to just ripping out his hair and screaming for the entire city of Seoul to hear. He has to try something.

He almost deletes the track by mistake and has a mini heart attack, but he saves it with shaking fingers and brings the laptop over to the bed. She’s lying there, hair a mess, eyes red, but there’s some relief in her gaze as he puts the device on the sheets next to her and hits play.

It works. It fucking works. The babies slowly stop kicking, and she eventually falls asleep.

For just a moment, Chan sits on the edge of the bed and takes in the calm, soaks in the silence broken only by the track playing softly in the background. He rubs his eyes once, twice, clears the fog that obscured his vision.

Maybe he can do this. Maybe he can raise these two kids, even if he’s the only parent they have. Maybe there’s the tiniest fucking chance in the world that he can really be a good father, someone for his children to look up to and love. Maybe there’s a chance that he can really have this family.

Four months later, she gives birth to two healthy baby boys. Jisung is born first at 11:58 p.m. on September 14, while Yongbok comes next at 12:11 a.m. on September 15.

Chan holds them close as soon as he’s able, in awe of their tiny faces, their tiny limbs and tiny eyes.

How did he manage to create such life?

“Give them English names,” she says tiredly, her voice barely a whisper. She looks at them too, a bit sadly, with some care, but distantly. “They’re yours.”

A tinge of bitterness spikes in his chest, but it dissolves as he looks back into the faces of his two boys. She’s right. They are his. So he decides on Peter for the baby beginning to wake on his left arm, and Felix for the boy still sleeping soundly on his right.

She’s up and out of the hospital in a matter of days. A week later, she moves back into her parents’ home, leaving Chan standing in the doorway of their apartment, two babies in his arms.

“We’ll make it together,” he whispers, watching her car disappear down the street. “Together.”

Jisung makes a little gurgling sound. Felix scrunches his nose.

The tiniest of smiles slides across Chan’s face. Yes. They’ll make it together.

He takes a breath, then heads back inside.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for Chan, he’s going to need it :/)

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allthebooksandcrannies · 3 years

Text

Life With You Makes Perfect Sense (You're My Best Friend)

TimKon Fanfic

Read on AO3 or Read my other works here

For context: this takes place during the time when Stephanie Brown was Robin after Tim's dad figured out his identity and made him retire. In the comics, Conner finds this out by coming to Gotham to look for Tim when he fails to show up at Titan's Tower and bumping into Robin Steph. Batman refuses to give Conner Tim's address but tells him that he has all the same skills Superman has to find him himself. Conner tracks down Tim's voice and confronts him in his bedroom. In the comics, he ends up leaving and doesn't appear to hear from Tim again until he comes back to the Robin role. This fic takes place as a sort of "what-if" to fill in that missing time.

I took the dialogue in italics from the first and last scenes directly from my copy of the TPB Teen Titans: Beast Boys & Girls (2005), though the body language that goes with the dialogue and everything else in the fic is mine.

Title comes from Tim McGraw's "My Best Friend"

Tim woke up clinging to the whisps of a dream that fled from the screeching of his alarm. As he blinked himself back to consciousness, he grasped vainly for the subject of the dream and was left feeling inexplicably wistful.

His fumbling fingers managed to silence the alarm, but there was still the unfortunate matter of having to heave himself out of bed, his limbs feeling heavier and more uncooperative than they had in weeks. Apparently, all the extra sleep he’d been getting since he retired still wasn’t enough to make Monday mornings suck any less.

He pushed away the traitorous voice in the back of his head that suggested that maybe his exhaustion had something to do with his conversation with Conner the other night.

Conner had shown up unannounced and asking questions Tim hadn’t expected to have to answer again. “Why didn’t you show at the tower yesterday? And what’s with this new Robin? The girl?”

“Last week…” Tim paused, trying to decide how best to make Conner understand. “My dad found my costume. He found out I was Robin, and he went a little—” Tim paused, unsure, “—overboard. I’ve been wanting to tell him for months anyway.”

Conner turned his head towards where he could hear Jack moving around, easily locking onto his vitals. “He seems totally relaxed now. His heart rate is normal and—”

Tim glanced back at Conner nervously, but still refused to look at him head on. “I quit.”

“You what?” Conner exclaimed.

“I’m not Robin anymore. I gave it up.”

“Why?” Conner couldn’t wrap his mind around what he was hearing.

Tim tried to explain, needing Conner to understand. His approval felt vital in that moment. “I never liked living two lives. I never planned on doing it for this long. And I never wanted to lie to my dad. Now I don’t have to anymore.”

Conner shook his head in denial. “Come on. You can’t do this to the Titans. That girl isn’t… She’s not Robin.”

Tim wanted to stop thinking about that night, but no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t. The look on Conner’s face when Tim told him he wasn’t coming back to the Titans, how Conner refused to meet Tim’s eyes when he talked about how much he and the other Titans needed Tim, not just Robin. All of it. After all, what right did Conner have to come in and tell Tim how to live his life? Conner was born into this, he didn’t have a Before to compare the hero life to. He didn’t understand what it was like to be torn between two halves of himself.

At that thought, Tim paused about halfway through pulling on a shirt, and immediately felt guilty for even thinking it. Conner had just found out he was half Lex Luthor after all. He was probably the only person Tim knew who would understand exactly how Tim felt being stuck between his Dad and Bruce since the truth came out.

Tim pulled the shirt on the rest of the way with a mental sigh. He wasn’t really mad at Conner. Things had changed really quickly, and the other boy had made a lot of good points. As he ran through the rest of his morning routine, Tim’s mind continued its highlight reel.

“Let it go.”

“You’re my best friend, Tim. How can I? The Titans aren��t the Titans without Robin. They just aren’t.”

“Just because I’m not wearing a cape doesn’t mean we can’t hang.”

For the first time since Tim had explained his motivation, Conner finally met his eyes again. The resignation there made Tim’s throat tighten. “It won’t be the same. I’ve heard that from too many friends. Friends I never talk to anymore.”

And Conner wasn’t wrong. When was the last time he had talked to Cissie? Sure, he still got the occasional update on what she was up to from Cassie on Titans weekends, but that wasn’t the same. It was so easy to lose touch with people who left the hero game. Hell, he hadn’t even spoken to Dick since he quit, and they had supposedly been brothers.

Conner had every right to be worried. But what else was he supposed to do? There was nothing else he could have done to protect everyone’s identities, and it wasn’t like his Dad was about to let him go to group hangouts with a bunch of superteens.

Tim mulled it over as he mechanically choked down a bowl of cereal. His dad had been pretty adamant about the no contact thing, and Tim was trying to be the respectful son his dad deserved. But Conner wasn’t something Tim was willing to sacrifice for his new mission. Besides, what was the harm in just staying touch, it’s not like he was putting himself in danger.

Still, it was probably better safe than sorry. If he got his hands on a computer at school, it wouldn’t be hard to track down the Kents’ phone number. Then it was just a matter of waiting for Dad and Dana to be out long enough for him to have sole access to the landline.

Yeah, Tim thought as he threw his bowl and the sink and headed out to catch his bus, that would work. It would be enough. It had to. Tim just wished he didn’t feel like he was betraying his dad all over again.

-0-

If anyone could read his mind right now, they would be impressed by the amount of self-restraint Conner was exercising to control his strength as well as he was despite how frustrated he was. Unfortunately, poor Lottie the Cow could not read his mind, and, unlike Krypto, she wasn’t hiding any secret Kryptonian powers of her own.

After the third time he used just a tad too much pressure in his attempts to milk her and she shied away from him yet again, he had to concede defeat. As he swapped out with Pa (who was all too willing to pass off the stall mucking), Conner let himself feel the indignation he hadn’t been able to get out of his head since he spoke to Tim.

It just wasn’t right! Anyone with eyes could see how much Tim loved being Robin. Conner knew how much pride he took in being able to hold his own against some of the most powerful people on the planet. How Tim’s heartrate still sped up with excitement every time he swung off a building or when he flew with Conner.

His dad wanted him to be normal so bad? What was more normal than a teen managing to sneak out without their guardian knowing or taking their dad’s car out for a joyride with their friends. So what if the car was a Batmobile or if the adult he was sneaking past was a Tamaranean princess?

And the worst part was that he wasn’t even mad at Tim, not really. Sure, he had been pissed in the moment, but mostly he was just hurt. They had all finally gotten back to normal, and now Tim was leavingagain. It just wasn’t fair. Conner just wanted his best friend back, but every time they got over one hurdle another one showed up. And this was something Conner couldn’t punch.

“If you shovel any harder, you’re going to snap the end off again.”

Conner whirled around, barely managing not to break the poor tool in his surprise. Martha just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, a full basket of chicken eggs resting on her hip. “You want to tell me what’s eating you?”

Conner didn’t meet her eyes, just grabbed the now full bucket of manure to take it to the compost. “It’s nothing, Aunt Martha.”

Her brow wrinkled in concern, which was not what Conner had wanted at all. She took another moment, clearly choosing her words carefully. “Well… I know you don’t owe me your thoughts son, and I don’t pretend to know what it’s like to do what you and Clark do.” She started walking alongside Conner before continuing. “But I have raised one Kryptonian and I can listen with the best of them. So, if you need to get something off your chest…”

Dumping the bucket into the compost, Conner almost refused out of habit. Instead, he hesitated, casting his eyes to the side as he grasped for an answer. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. “It’s kinda a long story…” the note of disappointment in his voice seemed to surprise both of them. Martha didn’t miss a step as she steered them back towards the house. She too glanced at the rising sun and then sent Conner an appraising look. “hmmm… School is important. It would be a shame if you had woken up ill this morning and couldn’t attend.”

Conner felt himself gaping like a fish as he followed her inside.

-0-

Tim was pretending not to notice Dana hovering when the doorbell rang.

And wasn’t that a fun situation. Tim wasn’t quite sure how much Dana knew. He knew his dad hadn’t told her about Robin, as per the arrangement. But he wasn’t sure what story she’d been given instead, or, more likely, if she’d just been left to draw her own conclusions.

Regardless, she clearly knew Tim had been hiding something because she had been acting strangely ever since. Making excuses to keep him in view, asking much more probing questions about his day and who he was spending it with, checking out parenting books on “troubled teens.”

She hadn’t said anything to Tim about whatever it was she thought was going on, but she had always been over-protective of Tim. Sure it could occasionally cross over into infantilizing, but, after a lifetime of people only worrying about Tim’s wellbeing when it affected them, it was kinda nice to have a parent care so openly.

Still, this was starting to get ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was running a drug empire from the kitchen table, and writing an English essay while someone keeps sneaking glances at you while cleaning the stovetop wasn’t exactly easy.

So, the doorbell was a welcome distraction.

While Dana rose to answer the door, Tim tried to focus back on his paper, as if he could make it write itself with the force of his glare. However, there was no amount of effort that would ever keep him from recognizing that voice.

He was at the door before he even realized he’d made the decision.

“—don’t know why he didn’t mention it, ma’am, we made these plans last week.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m really comfortable with letting you boys go without clearing it with Jack fir—"

Tim peeked around Dana’s shoulder to see Conner Kent, glasses and all, staring up at his stepmom with an almost comically earnest expression. “Dana?”

She glanced back at Tim, not letting go of the half-open door. “Your friend—”

“Conner,” the boy in question supplied helpfully.

“Right,” she said with a forced smile, “Your friend, Conner, was just telling me that you two made plans to get together to study tonight? Tim, honey, you know your Dad wants you to let him know before you make plans to go out with people we don’t know.”

Tim did know. It was one of many new rules that his dad had decided to implement after he found his Robin gear. The restrictions chafed, but, as his dad pointed out, he definitely deserved the lack of trust at this point.

But when he caught the cocky “play along” grin over Dana’s shoulder, Tim stomach filled with warmth at the familiarity. He quickly schooled his expression into an appropriately sheepish smile. “Sorry Dana, I guess it just slipped my mind.”

Dana softened, her grip on the door slackening just a tad.

“If it helps, Mrs. Drake,” Conner broke in, “we can just study here.”

Tim wondered if Conner had learned the earnest and polite young man routine from watching Clark or if it was just natural talent. Either way it was enough for Dana, leading her to relax and open the door completely.

“Oh, that would be perfect! Tim, honey, why don’t you get you and your friend set up at the table? Will you be staying for dinner, Conner? We’re having Chinese tonight, and it’d be no problem to order an extra serving.”

“That would be great, Mrs. Drake!”

Dana headed back towards the kitchen, presumably looking for the takeout menus, leaving Tim and Conner in awkward silence. Tim decided to break the tension first.

“I’m sorry, Conner, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I know you were just trying to help.”

“Wait, that’s supposed to be my line! I’m sorry, Tim. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I didn’t think you could make your own decisions.”

“So, still friends?”

“Please! You didn’t think I’d come all the way to Gotham to ditch you now, did you?”

“Why did you come? If that was it, why not just come in the window?”

Conner shifted his weight, hand tightening minutely around the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Well, I was talking to Ma earlier, and she helped me realize that even if Robin can’t hang out with Superboy, that doesn’t mean Conner Kent can’t spend time with Tim Drake.” He looked up from his shoes, his blue eyes putting the Gotham sky to shame. “That is… if it’s okay with you?”

If you had asked Conner, Tim’s answering grin could have lit up even the darkest Gotham alley.

-0-

Fifteen minutes later found Tim and Conner side by side at the kitchen table, various homework from various subjects strewn out about. Leaning over under the guise of checking Conner’s math, Tim murmured under his breath for only Conner to hear: “So Conner Kent wears flannel now?”

Conner snorted. “I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing they sell in Smallville,” he whispered back. “Why? You a fan?”

“To be honest… I miss the leather,” he replied thoughtlessly.

“Is that so?” Tim realized what he’d said out loud a moment too late. “I guess I’ll have to keep that in mind,” he smirked.

“Oh, shut up,” Tim replied with a little shove that did absolutely nothing but prompt Conner to break out into full body laughter so loud it drew Dana in from the living room to see what was going on.

When she found a blushing Tim whispering back furiously and sending her embarrassed looks, she let out a chuckle of her own before leaving them to it. She had a good feeling about this kid.

-0

It quickly became routine for Conner to come by after school to do homework a few days a week. Tim had worried that it might have been getting Conner in trouble, but Conner had assured him that he had worked things out with ‘Ma so that he still got all his chores done in spite of the extra hours he was putting in Gotham. And as for Batman, well, if he didn’t want him coming to Gotham to see Tim, he shouldn’t have told him how to find him.

And at least he wasn’t dangling the latest Robin in mid-air anymore.

Whether by fate or weird coincidence, however, he still hadn’t managed to run into Jack Drake while he was monopolizing his son’s time yet. The first night Conner stayed for dinner had ended with them all waiting for half an hour after the food arrived before Jack remembered to call and let Dana know he would be working late. It wasn’t the last time either. And the nights he did come home for dinner were the nights where Conner had already planned to head home early to have dinner with his own family.

Not to say Conner minded. He had some thoughtsabout Jack Drake and the way he treated his son. It was probably better for everyone that Conner spent as little time with the man as possible.

But there was only so long that could last, especially since Tim was practically dying to get out of the house for more than just school or Jack’s father-son excursions.

Unfortunately, as time went on Jack had only gotten more paranoid about where Tim was going and what he was doing, not less. Lately, Tim was practically on lockdown since it was such a pain to get permission to go anywhere without his dad or Dana. The last time he had gone out to the diner with Bernard and Darla his Dad had “just happened” to stop by for a to-go coffee. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he had been making sure Tim really was where he said he was.

His only saving grace was Dana. While she still enforced his dad’s rules (apparently not wanting to undermine his parenting), Tim had overheard her arguing on his behalf with his dad on multiple occasions, insisting that Tim was a good kid who had earned a little bit of freedom. Granted, these conversations rarely accomplished much besides getting Jack to dismiss her concerns as a lack of understanding due to not having children of her own. Still, Tim appreciated the support. Particularly since Dana had clearly decided that she liked Conner and essentially left them to their own devices while they were “studying.”

Now in addition to actually doing their homework, they were able to spend time talking about the rest of their lives, especially the normal civilian stuff they never seemed to have time for during Titans weekends. Everything from friendships, to TV shows, to their relationships with their parents was fair game. Tim had felt like he knew Conner before, but this was a whole new level. And the more he learned, the more he wanted to know.

And that’s why he had recruited Dana.

It hadn’t been hard. For once in his life, being completely honest with an authority figure about what he wanted was enough. It probably shouldn’t have felt as weird as it did.

Dana had given him a strange look when he mentioned he wanted to hang out with Conner outside of studying, but she had agreed that she didn’t see a problem with it. After all, if his father was alright with him spending time with Bernard (who Dana knew firsthand was not exactly the best of influences) then surely he would be okay with Tim spending more time with “a nice young man” like Conner. He just needed to meet him first.

It would be fine. Probably.

And that was how the two of them had ended up setting the dining table while Dana put the finishing touches on what she assured Tim was Jack’s favorite meal.

“Dude, you’ve got to take a breath,” Conner whispered as he reached around Tim. “I’ve heard your heart beat slower going up against literal mercenaries.”

Tim snorted. “I’ll take Deathstroke over this any day.”

“Hey now,” he shot back with a scandalized hand to his chest, “I’ll have you know I am delightful company!”

Tim’s futile attempts at a mock glare were interrupted when he could no longer hold back the urge to giggle at the absurdity of the situation. He could go up against the worst the world had to offer without thinking twice, but the idea of his dad and his best friend in the same room had him on the verge of a panic attack.

He shot Conner a grateful smile. “I just really need this to go well.”

Conner slung a careless arm around Tim’s shoulder but spoke with a level of seriousness he rarely let people see. “And it will, I promise. We make a good team, remember? We can handle this.”

Tim nodded and drew in some deep breaths to calm his racing pulse. Conner didn’t say anything else, just let him take the minute he needed. Just as Tim had gotten a hold of himself and was about to gently shrug off Conner’s arm, Conner pulled away of his own accord with a parting squeeze of Tim’s shoulder.

“He’s here,” he explained, gesturing to the front door with his chin as he finished off the last place setting.

Sure enough, a moment later Tim heard the telltale click of a key in a lock. There was a very slight possibility that his breathing may have quickened again just a bit if the bemused look Conner sent him was any indication.

Tim most definitely did not stick his tongue out at his friend before heading to the entryway to take his dad’s coat.

Conner and his snicker followed a beat behind Tim. When Jack’s gaze finally landed on Conner, Conner felt his spine straighten involuntarily. Jack didn’t say anything at first, and in the stretching silence Conner felt himself trying to channel every bit of the big blue boy scout he had in him.

Jack’s eyes cast over every bit of Conner’s appearance, from his glasses to his button up to his clean but scuffed sneakers. Conner was uncomfortably reminded of being a literal lab specimen under observation.

Suddenly, Jack’s expression morphed into a charming smile Conner didn’t trust for an instant. He stuck out a hand, and Conner was so caught off guard by the sudden transition that he almost forgot to shake it.

“You must be Tim’s friend. Carter, right?”

“Er—”

“It’s Conner, Dad.”

Jack waved Tim’s correction away. “Right, right, Conner then.” He started walking off to the living room, clearly expecting them to follow. “Dana tells me that you’ve been coming over to study quite a bit lately. I hope your grades have seen a better uptick than Tim’s have.”

Conner sent a questioning glance Tim’s way but didn’t get a response other than the visible tension in the other boy’s jaw.

“Not really sure what the point of a study group is if it doesn’t actually raise your grades any,” Jack continued.

Assuming that the biting comment was rhetorical and feeling supremely awkward, Conner didn’t respond right away. But as the three of them each pulled up a chair, Jack’s impatient expression clued Conner in on the fact that he was actually supposed to answer.

“Er…yes sir. I’ve been really lucky to have Tim’s help getting caught up.”

Jack was saved from responding beyond a noncommittal hmm by Dana’s arrival with the food. As she placed the casserole dish of what looked like enchiladas on the table, Dana gave them all a forced smile.

“And it’s been so nice getting to know one of Tim’s friends, Conner.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Drake.”

“So how did you and Tim start hanging out?” Jack questioned absently.

They had prepped for this question. Conner used the opportunity to launch into an overdramatic retelling of a group project they had worked on together and how they realized that they worked well together. Like all the best lies, it included just enough details not to be suspicious while still having a kernel of truth.

His story succeeded in breaking the ice enough to get conversation started, and Conner felt himself relaxing. He had meant what he said to Tim earlier, but he didn’t exactly meet that many new civilians. But Tim had prepared him well, and this wasn’t his first undercover op. He skillfully navigated around dangerous truths and gave the performance of his life as the perfect All-American teen.

Maybe he should have felt guilty about lying to these people who had opened their home to him. Clark probably would have had something to say about it. After all, on paper Jack had every right to be upset. His son had literally been throwing himself in front of bullets for strangers for years behind his back. Not only that, but he’d been doing it alongside another adult he had trusted to have his son’s best interests at heart. Surely any good parent would have been just as upset, right?

But Conner was very aware that Jack Drake was not the parent he believed himself to be.

Good parents didn’t ship their kid off to boarding schools from the minute he was old enough to attend, and then never show up for the few weeks their kid is home.

Good parents don’t look at everything that makes you you and try to sand it away so that you’ll fit some perfect ideal they have in their head of what you should be.

Good parents don’t look at the emotional scars and bruises they’ve given to their child and tell them that its their own fault for making them do this, for not being enough or for being too much.

Jack Drake may not have laid a hand on his son, but he’d still done plenty of damage, and Conner was forced to watch Tim thank him for it.

So, no. Conner didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for lying to the man who constantly left his favorite person more confused and conflicted than any mystery Batman had ever handed to him.

Tim may not realize that he deserved better yet, but that was alright. Conner would flatter and charm and play meek and responsible without feeling a single thing if it made Tim’s life easier.

As the conversation shifted to what was new with Dana’s sister and her kids, Conner met Tim’s eyes again. Tim subtly tipped his glass approvingly toward Conner, and Conner sent back an answering wink.

Well, he corrected internally, maybe he’d feel one thing after all.

-0

Gotham wasn’t exactly known for its tourist attractions. It was kind of a risky financial decision to try to open anything that encouraged a lot of people to congregate in a city where crowds drew Rogues like killer moths to a flamethrower. And that went double for anything that could be construed as children’s entertainment.

Luckily, Gothamites were both stubborn and spiteful, so there were a few places, like the traveling carnival currently set up near the harbor, that popped up every now and then with that brilliant fuck you energy that so clearly defined the city.

After last week’s dinner got off to its admittedly awkward start, Conner had hit his stride. Seamlessly switching between the perfect “aw shucks, me?” smile when asked a question about himself and then an earnest “tell me more about…” to turn the conversation back to Jack’s interests, Conner would have earned even the Batman’s reluctant approval.

By the end of the night, Jack was riding the high of getting to speak about himself to a willing audience for so long. It was all too easy to get Jack’s permission for Tim to hang out with Conner outside the house… as long as he still made sure to call and check in on the hour, of course.

Tim hadn’t hesitated to get them tickets for the second night the carnival was in town (not wanting to tempt a Rogue’s attack on the first), and the night had finally arrived.

Now, sharing a seat on the ferris wheel with the other teen, Tim couldn’t understand why he’d been so worried. He’d always been the first to insist that there was so much more to Conner than people gave him credit for.

Tim found himself glancing at Conner out of the corner of his eye. Luckily, the other boy was too busy leaning over the railing to watch the sun set behind the city skyline.

Most people looked at Superboy and saw a brash, arrogant, and (if he was lucky) comical teenager. They dismissed him as the brawn to other Titans’ brains. They couldn’t understand how he could be so different from Superman.

Tim knew better than that. Sure, he could be all those things, but what teenager wasn’t? Especially considering all the shit the authority figures in his life had put him through. And yeah, he was funny too.

But Conner was also a damn good friend. He was loyal and brave and empathetic and fiercely protective of the people who had earned his respect. He paid attention to people, and he cared so deeply, even though he tried to cover it up with nonchalance and a confident façade. He might be bulletproof, but Tim would protect that vulnerability he saw until the day he died.

“Alright. Where’d you go?”

Pulled back into the moment rather suddenly, Tim was startled, but he didn’t have to worry about coming up with a suitably mysterious response here. “What?”

Conner snorted and raised one hand to slide his sunglasses just far enough down the bridge of his nose that he could meet Tim’s eyes.

“You’re looking at me weird. What’s up?”

As Tim tried to decide how to answer in a way that wasn’t completely cheesy, the ferris wheel paused again, this time with the two of them at the very top.

“I just—I’m just really glad you’re here. Thanks for coming to Gotham.” He didn’t just mean today either. He meant all of it. The first time he came to find out why Robin wasn’t at the tower, the time he showed up at Tim’s door even what would have chased anyone else away, and every other time they had hung out since.

He didn’t have to specify that though. The blinding smile that broke out over Conner’s face made it clear the message was received.

Conner took a moment, trying to school his expression into something a little smoother, but it was a lost cause. Eventually he just settled for clearing his throat. “You don’t have to thank me, Tim. There’s no place I’d rather be. Besides,” he continued as he casually threw an arm across the back of Tim’s seat, “everyone knows Gotham has the best sunsets.”

His heart pounding, Tim took a deep breath and let himself sink into Conner’s side. For a second, Conner stiffened and Tim worried that he’d made a horrible mistake, that he’d ruined everything.

It was only when he felt the comforting weight of Conner’s arm move from the seat to wrap around Tim’s shoulders, pulling him closer, that Tim let himself believe that this could be okay. They could have this.

The leather of Conner’s jacket was cool against the side of Tim’s face. The sky was a brilliant mess of golds and reds and purples. And Tim was with the person who made him feel safer and more himself than anyone else on the planet.

“Yeah, I suppose we do, don’t we?”

-0

That evening, Tim sat down on his bed, pulling his camera out of his bag. He was looking forward to developing them. Maybe he’d give Conner a few of the shots if they were any good.

knock knock

Tim looked up to see Dana leaning up against the doorframe she had knocked on.

“Hey, Honey. Did y’all have a good time?”

Tim couldn’t have held back the smile if he’d tried. “Oh yeah, it was awesome!”

Dana smiled back just as warmly. “Oh, I’m so glad!” Tim believed her. That was the best thing about Dana, she was one of the most genuine people he knew, and for some reason Tim couldn’t fathom, she had always seemed to care so much about Tim.

“Do you mind if I come in, sweetheart? There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about…”

-0

“I swear to god I used to be good at keeping secrets,” Tim groaned as he allowed his head to thunk dramatically against the diner table.

Conner didn’t look up from his menu, but he did use his TTK to save their waters from tipping over. “Sure you were,” he deadpanned.

“I was literally trained in deception and resistance to interrogation by one of the best detectives in the world.”

“Yup.”

“She still doesn’t know I was Robin. Neither of them have made the very obvious connections between you and a certain Boy of Steel for some reason.

“It’s the glasses.”

“It is not the glasses.”

“It is,” he said. “Conner Kent wears glasses, and Superboy doesn’t. Therefore, obviously different people.” His forehead crinkled. “Do you think a sweet potato milkshake would be any good?”

“It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve ever eaten.” Tim squinted back up suspiciously from where he was still sprawled on the table. “Also, I feel like you are not being nearly sympathetic enough to my plight.”

Conner finally gave up the pretense of looking at the menu and dropped his chin to rest on his hands on the tabletop, so his face was only a few inches from Tim’s long-suffering expression.

Unfortunately for Tim’s dignity, Conner’s crooked grin was infectious. “How long did it take her to figure it out?”

“Ugh, she apparently she knew the minute she saw me, but at least she promised not to tell Dad.”

Conner snickered.

“Don’t laugh! She tried to give me the talk, Conner!”

That just sent Conner into full-body cackles. Tim watched him throw his head back and couldn’t help but feel proud. He did that. But he wasn’t done pouting yet either. It was the principle of the thing, after all.

“Sorry—” Conner gasped, “Sorry babe!” He leaned forward to place a kiss to Tim’s forehead, reveling in the way his boyfriend blushed so immediately. “You can hide just about anything else, sure, but you’ve got absolutely no poker face when you’re happy.”

Tim grumbled good naturedly like the absolute gremlin he was before finally deciding to sit up when a rather unimpressed waitress stopped by to take their order.

When she walked off, Conner turned back to Tim, casually taking one of Tim’s hands in his as though they weren’t both still completely in awe of this new development.

“So…” Conner started. “You were supposed to get together with your Wizards & Warlocks friends over the weekend, right? How’d that go?”

Tim’s eyes lit up as he started telling Conner about the most recent developments to their current campaign. Conner did his best to make sense of all of the characters and jargon he had no reference for, since it clearly meant a lot to Tim. Though that was made a little trickier by how much fun he was having just watching Tim.

He rarely got to see him so animated, due to the expectations constantly heaped on Robin and Tim Drake alike. When talking about something he enjoyed, however, Tim came alive. So, Conner listened, asking real questions that sparked off another tangent every time he started running out of steam.

Conner wondered if Tim’s eyes had always sparkled that much when they were hidden behind a mask. He didn’t think so, but either way he was just grateful Tim trusted him enough to let him see.

-0

“So then Ives—oh, Dana, can you pass the bread? thanks—Ives ended up rolling a Nat 20 on persuasion, which completely messed with my pla—”

“Alright, alright, I’m about tapped out on Witches & Wizards—” Jack interrupted, his hands raised in a timeout gesture.

“Jack!” Dana admonished.

“It’s actually Wizards & Warlocks, Dad.”

“Whatever it’s called! There’s only so much of this I can hear before my brain rots.”

Tim forced an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Dad.”

Jack waved away the apology with his buttered roll. “Forget about it. Hey, how’s your school’s basketball team this year? I was thinking we would go to the game this Friday, just the two of us.”

“Oh,” Tim said, “I don’t really know. Umm… what time is the game? Because I already made plans to go see a movie with Conner on Friday before he has to go away for the weekend for some family stuff.”

Jack frowned and Tim found himself straightening up involuntarily. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with that Conner kid. What’s up with that?” he asked accusatorily.

Wary of stumbling into a trap he couldn’t see, Tim tried to feign a casualness he didn’t feel. “I don’t know, I guess I just realized we have a lot in common, but I hang out with a lot of people. Why do you ask?”

This apparently wasn’t enough for Jack because he didn’t let it go, even putting his fork down so he could make sure his full attention was on Tim. “You don’t though! You almost never talk about Bernard anymore, or that Darla girl! The wizards thing was weird enough, but now if it’s not that then it’s Conner this or Conner that! If you’re not careful, you’re gonna give people the wrong idea about the two of you.”

The tightening in Tim’s throat would have been painful if it weren’t for the numbness he felt sinking into his bones.

“And now you’re suddenly too good to hang out with your dad anymore? I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I’m concerned about the person you’re becoming lately.”

“No! No, Dad it’s not like that—”

Tim looked at a wide-eyed Dana desperately for help. Ever ready to defend Tim when he needed, Dana didn’t disappoint.

“Oh, Jack, honey,” she laughed a little too loudly, “leave the poor boy be. He’s a good kid, and it’s healthy for a teenage boy to want to spend more time with his friends! I don’t see the harm in it. Honestly, shouldn’t we be proud of him for honoring his commitments?”

Jack’s glare was as hard as steel and just as cold. “Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t be proud of. I think I know how to parent my son.”

Dana broke eye-contact first, and Jack seemed to be the only one immune to the rising tension. Eventually he paused his meal consideringly. “Though I suppose you do have a point, Dana. Tim and I will just have to go to the next game, hmm?”

Grateful for the out, Tim nodded quickly. “Sounds great, Dad.”

-0

Tim had been looking forward to seeing this movie since he’d seen the first preview, but he hadn’t been paying attention at all for the last ten minutes. Oh well, he could come back and watch it again later, maybe with the guys in his W&W group.

In the meantime, it was definitely worth the sacrifice. Kissing Conner in the back row of the theatre, Tim had never felt more like a normal teenager in his life. This might be just as fun as running over rooftops.

-0

Conner swung Tim’s hand back and forth between them as they walked, feeling a bit like a little kid. Most people probably would have been on edge walking through the streets of Gotham right after sunset, but most people weren’t literally bulletproof.

As it was, Conner would have been content to stay out there all night if it meant he got to keep holding Tim’s hand while he chattered about the photos he had taken on their last outing to the botanical gardens and how they had turned out. Conner had learned more about camera lenses in the last ten minutes than he had in his life, and he was loving it.

Unfortunately, the Titans would be expecting him in an hour or so, and Tim’s dad would probably take exception to his son being out all night under mysterious circumstances. So, it was with a heavy sigh that Conner finally arrived at the Drake’s brownstone.

The boys came to a stop before reaching the front steps, neither ready for the night to end. Conner leaned forward to press his forehead to rest against Tim’s.

“You know,” he whispered, “I know I said I wanted Robin to come back to the Titans —and don’t get me wrong, I would still love that— but I’m also kinda loving having you all to myself.”

Tim chuckled and when that laugh turned into a crooked grin that made Conner’s stomach flutter, he couldn’t resist kissing it back off.

WHAM

Tim and Conner jumped apart as the door to the brownstone slammed open. Jack glared down at them.

“Tim. Get in this house, right now.” When Tim hesitated to move, Jack’s tone only grew even more demanding. “I said get in this house Timothy Jackson Drake.”

The sound of his full name seemed to spark Tim back to life, as he scrambled back towards the house. Conner gently caught one of Tim’s hands just before he was out of reach, and the other boy looked at him like a started deer.

“Do you want me to…” Conner trailed off with a meaningful hand wave at the side of his head. Do you want me to listen in, he was asking.

Tim thought about it for a second before shaking his head. “But maybe don’t go far?”

Conner nodded decisively before meeting Jack’s hateful gaze defiantly for just a moment. He shoved his fists into his jacket pockets before storming off to the corner. As soon as he was out of view, however, he took advantage of Gotham’s perpetual lighting problem to fly up to the roof of the house next to Tim’s, ready to be there the minute Tim needed him.

He settled in to wait, trying to focus on anything but the shouting coming from the Drake residence.

It was probably took longer than it should have for Conner to realize he wasn’t alone, but, hey, he was distracted. Sue him.

“You can come out. I can hear your heartbeat.”

Black Bat unfurled from where she had blended perfectly into the shadows cast by the air-conditioning unit.

“What are you doing here?” Conner asked.

Cass joined him in sitting on the edge of the roof to watch the brownstone. “A while ago…there was a killer…hunting the last robin. I still check in.”

“Every night?”

“No…but most nights.”

Conner considered that for a moment. “So, I’m guessing you saw…?”

“Yes.” Conner thought he could detect a playful edge to her voice. “You are not very subtle.” Okay, no, he was definitely being teased.

trying to play along, he bumped her shoulder with his own. “Well, we can’t all be bat-level sneaky. The universe couldn’t take it. Some of us have to be showy enough to balance the rest of you out.”

Cass hummed consideringly. “That’s fine. Batman will… train it out of you.”

Conner let himself fall back dramatically in mock horror, and Cass giggled. The sound did not match the mask at all, but somehow the juxtaposition seemed fitting for a member of the bat family.

“It’s how he shows his love, promise.”

Conner smiled, the tension of the moment briefly eclipsed by the mental image of the Batman trying to mother-hen a super. Clark would never let him live it down.

Suddenly, movement drew his eye, and Conner saw Tim. Ready to hear the verdict, Conner rose to fly back down.

“Thanks,” he turned to say, only to find himself met with an empty roof.

Bats, man.

-0

Tim followed Jack into the house, his heart pounding so hard Clark could probably hear it in Metropolis. His lips and fingers felt weirdly tingly before going slightly numb. His brain was going a million miles an hour but his body just felt slightly distant.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He wasn’t ready for this, it was supposed to be on his terms. But it was happening and it was happening now.

Jack stormed into the living room where Dana was half-risen in concern. She froze at the thunderous expression on his face as Jack being to pace the room like a caged lion. Meanwhile, Tim was a stone statue standing just in the room’s entrance. He felt a little bit like one of the artifacts his parents had brought back as souvenirs from their travels, just another relic meant to show off to friends that just ended up cluttering an empty house. And were Tim’s ears ringing?

“What the fuck did I just see, Tim?!” Jack burst out.

“Dad, I—”

“Don’t you fucking dare try to talk yourself out of this. Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?!”

“No! Of cour—”

“Jack, honey, whatever this is about, maybe we—”

Dana’s attempts to calm Jack only seemed to enrage him more, and she was cut off by the CRASH that came from Jack pitching one of her vases across the room. She froze, her eyes darting between Tim and Jack.

“Do you want to tell her what you’ve been doing behind our backs, Tim, or should I?”

“I—Conner and I--We” Tim sputtered unintelligibly, but Dana got the gist. She closed her eyes for a moment too long in sympathy, and Jack’s fury turned on her in an instant.

“You knew? You knew what was happening, and you didn’t put a stop to it?”

“Jack! There’s nothing wro…”

Her voice trailed off as Jack stalked closer and closer to her chair until he towered over her. She shrunk down. Jack leaned down over her and braced himself on the arms of the chair, effectively trapping his wife.

“Do you even care about what this could do to us?” His voice had gone low and picked up a dangerous quality that reminded Tim of the way Batman spoke to criminals he interrogated. But Tim had never been afraid of Batman.

He went on, his head tilted mockingly. “Or, are you just too stupid and selfish to realize how this reflects back on me?”

And, as he watched Dana start to shake, something in Tim snapped.

He was across the room in an instant, wrenching Jack’s arm behind his back so that he was forced to step back and turn around to keep it from breaking. The second Jack let go of Dana’s chair, Tim shoved him stumbling in the opposite direction.

“Leave her alone.”

Jack spun back around. “Did you just shove me?” he asked in pure outrage.

Tim’s chin raised defiantly. “I told you I could, didn’t I?”

At the reminder of the night Jack found out about Robin, Jack’s face twisted back into something ugly.

“So what?! I risk my life to save you from those freaks the first time, and this is the thanks I get? How the hell is anyone supposed to take me seriously when my son is—”

“I didn’t ASK you to save me, Dad!” Tim shouted. Years and years of bottling his resentment and frustration had led to an inevitable explosion, and Tim didn’t care who got burned. “I loved being Robin, I loved getting to help people, and getting to show what I can do. I worked so hard to earn Robin, and I gave it up to make you happy and I still can’t do anything right for you. I am so sick of pretending to be someone I’m not in the hopes that maybe someday it’ll finally be enough for you.”

“Tim—”

“No! It’s my turn now!” Tim’s words were acid. If he didn’t get them out now, they would burn him from the inside out. “I will never be the perfect kid you and Mom thought you deserved. I get that now. But I am enough. Bruce thinks so. Dick thinks so. And Conner thinks so too. I am more me with him than I am with anyone else. You already took Robin from me. I won’t let you take this from me too.”

Jack puffed up in rage. Seemingly having forgotten his lesson, he stormed into Tim’s space. Tim took a few steps back on instinct before he came back to himself and planted his feet, forcing Jack to stop to avoid a collision. Their faces were only a few inches apart as they glared at each other.

Tim realized he was almost as tall as his father.

Stubbornly trying to regain the control he could feel slipping through his fingers like water, Jack summoned every bit of authority he had in his body into his tone. “You aren’t seeing him again. This never happens again. Do I make myself clear?”

It was a good effort, but Tim had fought the Justice League. He regularly stared down the worst Gotham had to offer and said not here, not today. There was a lot he was willing to do to keep the peace. But Tim was fed up, and this was one thing he refusedto compromise on.

“No.”

There was nothing as immovable as a Bat who had made up their mind.

Maybe Jack finally recognized that because, for just a moment, Tim thought he saw something like sadness in his father’s eyes before they hardened like steel.

“Then get out.”

Tim blinked, his confusion enough to break through the bubble of anger that had been clouding out all else. “What?”

“I said get out of my house. And don’t come back.”

“Dad—”

“I don’t know who you are anymore. But you aren’t my son. I guess Batman ended up killing him after all.”

Tim’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure whether it was the grief or betrayal that cut worse, but he kinda wished the numbness would come back. He drew in a deep breath, pulling what was left of his anger around him like a shield. Or maybe a cloak.

He spun around on his heel and marched back toward the front door.

The movement seemed to break the trance of confused horror that had held Dana like a vice as she watched the argument unfold like a demented tennis match.

“Tim!” she called after him. She reached out vainly as if that would be enough to close the distance that had opened up between them like a chasm. “Tim, sweetheart!”

Tim couldn’t turn around, but that didn’t make Dana’s heartbroken tone any less painful to hear.

He didn’t stop once he was out of the door until he was halfway down the street. And then, it was only because Conner landed right in front of him.

“Hey, what happened?”

Tim couldn’t answer. He couldn’t make eye contact right now either. But Conner didn’t press him.

“Okay,” he reassured, “that’s okay.” He raised one hand for Tim to take if he wanted. “Can I give you a lift then?”

Tim took the hand.

-0

Tim directed Conner to touch down at the Manor’s front door, not wanting to risk the possibility of Bruce having changed the security codes by now. Even still, he was certain they had tripped some sort of alarm when they flew over the property.

He was proven correct when Alfred pulled open the door before he’d had the chance to knock. If he noticed that Tim still hadn’t let go of Conner’s hand, the butler didn’t say anything.

“Master Timothy! What an excellent surprise!”

Despite everything, Tim found his mouth pulling into a fond smile at the old man. “Hi Alfred. Is Bruce home? I need to talk to him.”

“Right this way, sir!” Alfred said, already pulling the door open, and Conner allowed himself to be pulled along with nothing but a supportive hand squeeze.

Tim felt his heart pounding as he followed Alfred towards what he quickly realized was Bruce’s study. Suddenly unable to bear the silence anymore, Tim burst out: “Alfred, have you met Conner?”

Alfred’s face twitched into what only the bats would recognize as the butler suppressing a fond smile of his own. “I have not, sir. Though I must admit I had guessed.” Addressing Conner directly this time, Alfred continued, “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kent.”

“Oh, uh…” Conner stammered before Martha Kent’s training kicked in. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Pennyworth.”

Alfred hmmd approvingly but left it there. Luckily, Tim was saved from further attempts at small talk by their arrival at the study doors. Alfred bid them goodbye before slipping away with a subtlety Conner had only thought attainable by bats.

Tim drew in a deep breath before knocking hesitatingly on the ornate doors. The “come in!’ came barely a moment later, and Tim pushed them open with the resignation of a convict approaching the gallows.

On any other day, Conner would have been looking around at anything and everything in the office appreciatively. But today he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Tim who had gone ramrod straight, his own gaze locked onto the man standing up from his desk at the other end of the room.

Bruce Wayne rose from his desk, in that moment somehow managing to look twice as intimidating in a tailored suit as he ever did as Batman. His eyes roved over both boys, taking in everything from their still intertwined hands to Conner’s civilian garb to the way Tim looked like he might be on the verge of passing out. His face was inscrutable the whole time.

Eventually, Bruce’s gaze met Conner’s own defiant glare. “So…” he drawled in perfect deadpan, “are the glasses genetic, or is the entire caped community conspiring to drive me prematurely gray.”

Tim let out a sudden laugh so strangled Conner was mildly concerned he was choking. Conner could empathize.

Apparently amused by their reaction, the Batman smirked,and Conner’s soul left his body for a moment.

When it became clear that they weren’t going to say anything on their own, Bruce continued. “Well, Conner, something tells me that Tim and I need to have a conversation. Will you be joining us, or do you have somewhere to be,” he asked mildly.

Conner gave Tim a sideways glance, under no delusions about who’s comfort Bruce was really concerned with here. Tim squeezed Conner’s hand one more time before finally letting go, and Conner took that as the dismissal it was.

“Actually, sir, I think better head to San Francisco before Victor starts to wonder where I am.”

Bruce nodded turned his attention to Tim. Conner made sure to supportively squeeze Tim’s shoulder back on his way out. He tried to ignore the part of himself that made him feel like he was abandoning Tim to the lions.

-0

Once Conner had pulled the door shut behind him, Bruce let go of the bit of Batman that had made its appearance the minute the proximity alarms had let him know that someone had flown over the property boundaries.

“Tim.”

Tim still wasn’t making eye contact, his gaze getting no closer than Bruce’s mouth. Bruce resisted the instinct to drop into the Batman voice. While it would be a sure-fire way to get Tim to look at him, it also would do nothing to actually make the kid more comfortable. Tim would assume that it meant he’d done something wrong, and that would just make everything ten times worse.

Instead, Bruce fought to keep his tone as even and gentle as possible. “How about we sit down,” he asked with a gesture toward the twin armchairs by the fire.

Tim nodded stiffly but still wouldn’t speak. Bruce held in his sigh. Just as he reached his own chair, there was another knock on the door, and Alfred pushed his way in without waiting for a response.

“Forgive me for interrupting, Master Bruce, but I thought some soothing tea might be helpful.”

Bruce smiled at the older man. “Thank you, Alfred. That would be great.”

Alfred nodded and brought his tray over to the side table before pouring each of them a cup. As he turned to leave, Tim’s quiet “thanks” was almost inaudible, but Alfred caught it anyway.

“You are most welcome, young man” he replied, making sure to send Bruce a pointed don’t screw this up glance on his way out.

Bruce settled down into the chair next to Tim, their knees almost close enough to touch. Tim’s hands were wrapped so tightly around his teacup that Bruce worried he might shatter it, but he didn’t take so much as a sip.

“Tim. Can you tell me what’s going on, son?”

Tim finally looked up from his cup again, his gaze settling on Bruce’s mouth again.

“I’m not really sure where to start.”

Okay, Bruce could work with that. “Does your Dad know where you are right now?”

Tim snorted humorlessly. “I really don’t think he gives a shit where I am or what I do at this point. He—” Tim broke off to clear his throat before trying again. “He kicked me out.”

There was pure defeat in Tim’s voice, as if he’d always known it was a matter of time, but he still managed to be disappointed anyway. That more than anything filled Bruce with a level of rage rare even for him while simultaneously breaking his heart.

Not trusting himself to speak at first, Bruce instead gently pulled the poor teacup out of Tim’s grasp and took his hands in his own. Tim’s fingers were trembling.

“Because he found out about you and Conner?” he clarified softly, not wanting to risk a faulty assumption when everything was so fragile.

Tim nodded again anyway. “We fought about some other stuff too, but… yeah, it was mostly about that. He saw us together, and—”

Again, Bruce really wanted to shake Jack Drake senseless. It was bad enough he always seemed to take this wonderful kid for granted, but to see a father intentionally hurt his child over something so inconsequential? It was unforgiveable.

“I’m so sorry, Tim. I know how much you wanted this to work out.”

Tim’s eyes filled with tears, and Bruce was pulling him against his chest even before he consciously recognized what he was seeing. As his son fell apart in his arms, Bruce found tears coming to his own eyes as well.

It had always been obvious how desperate Tim was for his father’s affection and approval after being starved for it for so many years. This was the final deathblow to the hope that one day it would be enough.

So, Bruce held his son, running his fingers through his hair. Eventually, Tim had cried himself out and pulled away, his embarrassment clear on his face. Bruce pulled a clean handkerchief (courtesy of Alfred, of course) from his pocket and handed it to a grateful Tim. Once he had pulled himself together, Tim looked back at Bruce, finally meeting his eyes.

“Does this…Does this mean I can come back to the Manor?”

“Oh, chum…” Bruce reached out to cradle one side of Tim’s face in his hand, his thumb reaching out to brush away another rogue tear. “I promise, you will always have a place in my home. Got it?”

“But what about Stephanie? You already have a Robin…”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Well, first of all, your place in this family is not contingent on whether you’re wearing a mask or not. And I’m so sorry if I’ve made you think otherwise. You are just as welcome here if you never put a mask on again as you would be if you went out tomorrow.

And secondly,” here he grimaced, “I may or may not have fired her for putting herself in danger after I told her to stay put. So… Robin’s yours if you still want it.”

“And you’re really okay with me dating a guy?”

Bruce chuckled. “Tim, I’ve taken in three boys by now. You think I never considered the possibility that at least one of you might bring home a boy someday? Granted, I would have put money on Dick being the first, but the point still stands. It makes absolutely no difference to me if you’re gay, buddy.”

“Umm… I think I’m bi actually.”

“Alright then, but my point still stands. I trust your judgment, and I don’t care who you date, as long as they make you happy.”

Tim gave a watery smile. “Thanks, Bruce.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” Then fully out of emotion points, Bruce cleared his suddenly tight throat. “Now, mind coming with me to the cave?”

Confused, Tim cocked his head, but rose accommodatingly. “Sure, what do you need?”

Bruce shook his head as he spun the clock hands and opened the secret passage. “It’s not what I need, but what you need.” He beckoned Tim to follow him down the steps, which he did obligingly. “I need to grab some more Kryptonite.”

“Bruce!” Tim squawked in shock and indignation. His brain immediately went into panic mode, thinking about all the ways Bruce trying to shovel-talk Conner might go horribly wrong, or at least be horribly embarrassing.

Bruce turned back, completely baffled by how adamant and unexpected the refusal was. “Tim,” he started. And oh no, that was his I don’t know why you’re arguing with this perfectly reasonable request voice that always managed to piss Dick off.

“If the two of you are going to be spending time together in Gotham as civilians, you need to be prepared in case the two of you get caught up in one a Rogue attack.” He turned back around and continued on over to the vault where he kept the Kryptonite. “Oh, and don’t let me forget to give him one of these new rebreathers I’ve been working on next time he comes over. The last thing Gotham needs is a Kryptonian getting dosed with Fear Toxin or Joker Gas.”

Kryptonite in hand, Bruce spun and nearly walked into a frozen Tim who was looking at him with a dumbfounded expression. “What?” he asked, the smallest bit of defensiveness bleeding into his voice.

Tim’s voice turned slightly skeptical. “And that’s the only thing you want the Kryptonite for?”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to be confused. “Yes???” he asked, mind whirling to figure out what he was missing.

Tim realized he had definitely misread where this was going and felt torn between laughing at Bruce’s complete confusion and the urge to hug him.

He decided to go with the second one, and if Bruce still had no idea what was going on when he hugged Tim back, well, that just made it better.

-0

Conner was happy enough to take the call that saved him from having to help seed the backfield. He was twice as happy to hear it was from Tim, who he hadn’t heard from since Conner left him at Wayne Manor three days ago.

“Tim?”

“Conner…”

“Tim, is that…you?”

“It’s me.”

“What’s up? What’s going on? I hear gunshots.”

“Tell the Titans not to give up my room. Tell them I’m back.”

Conner grinned. “I knew it.”

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