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[schrijverr]

What Happens in Hong Kong…

What if the fight in 1x19: Unfinished Business had gone a little differently and Tommy learned about Oliver kidnapping him in Hong Kong?

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: mentions of canonical violence and canonical character death

~~~

Oliver is still off balance about today as he wanders back into the club. Seeing the Count like that, deciding not to kill him, it’s strange. There was a time where he wouldn’t have hesitated to put that arrow in his brain, but today he couldn’t do it.

He wonders how he’s changing. There is so much darkness inside of him that he ripped out and put into this persona, transmitting it from Kapyushon to the Hood. But now that darkness is leaving the Hood and he isn’t sure if it’s leaving him all together, or if Oliver Queen is reabsorbing that darkness.

A movement catches his eyes and he instinctively focuses on it, assessing it as a threat.

It’s Tommy and he immediately feels guilty about putting Tommy in the threat category, even though he knows his brain just works that way. He spots the folder in Tommy’s hand and sees an opportunity to make up, calling out a “Hey,” that stops Tommy in his tracks.

“How are we doing?” Oliver asks. He knows the other man is mad at him, but he doesn’t know how much. The question feels neutral enough to get a gauge on where they stand, before making his next move.

“In the black,” Tommy answers curtly, not meeting his eyes. Still mad then. It’s confirmed when Tommy coolly asks: “Did the Hood get his man?”

“Well,” Oliver lets out a breath, “we won’t have any problems with Vertigo anymore.” He isn’t sure if the question was genuine, but he’d rather not risk it. Plus, maybe showing he did some good will make Tommy less mad.

It doesn’t seem to work. Tommy keeps his back turned to him and is now counting money. If he wants to make it right, he’s going to have to do better than pretending it didn’t happen. It’s difficult for him, but Oliver manages to start: “Look, Tommy, I’m sorry-”

“I’ve caught up the bookkeeping and all my notes on the inventory are in there, along with the list of supplier that we use,” Tommy cuts him off.

An uncomfortable feeling crawls down Oliver’s throat and constricts his chest, but he doesn’t want to read into the situation. Doesn’t want to believe what his brain clicks together. Doesn’t want to assess all possibilities and plan. He doesn’t want to let Tommy go. So, he falls into an easy pattern that has always come to him and plays dumb, saying: “Okay? I don’t see why you’re telling me that.”

Tommy turns around, meeting his gaze with eyes he barely recognizes. He has never seen Tommy upset with him like this.

“This club is important to me,” Tommy tells him, then walks forward accusingly. “But for you it’s just a front. You want me to keep your secret, help you be this thing you’ve become, but you refuse to see me for what I’ve become. I’ve got just a bit more self-respect for that.”

Each and every word hits him in his chest and he watches helplessly as Tommy walks away. His brother in all but blood is leaving his club – their club – with nothing more than an, “I quit,” thrown over his shoulder.

Oliver can’t let that happen.

Tommy is his rock, always has been. Being able to work with him is one of the best thing that has happened to him. Tommy is such a joy, so innocent and untainted by all the darkness Oliver carries inside him. When he’s with him, he can almost forget his own darkness.

There is a truth to Tommy’s words. He doesn’t see Tommy for who he has become, not entirely at least, and that hurts. Because Tommy isn’t the same. He has gotten more mature. Oliver just saw that same happiness and mistook it for immaturity, because his own happiness has been beaten out of him so he could survive and he can’t fathom surviving while being happy, can’t fathom living instead of surviving.

“Wait,” he calls out, before Tommy can open the door, needing him to stay.

A relief washes over him when Tommy pauses, however, he doesn’t turn around, just stills as he waits to see what will come out of Oliver’s mouth next. It’s terrifying, because he has lost the way he would charm himself out of trouble, replaced it with beating the problem until it’s gone. But now he has to talk and hope it’s enough to keep his friend.

“It’s not-” he starts, then realizes that saying it’s not you, but me, probably isn’t the best idea. He bites his lips, then starts again: “When I was on the island, I- I wasn’t alone.”

Tommy makes a confused noise and turns just a bit, throwing a glance Oliver’s way. He knows everyone wants him to open up about what happened there, talk to them. Whether it’s concern or morbid curiosity. Tommy isn’t immune either.

He could talk about Slade, how he turned in a matter of minutes due to drugs in his system. How he’s had friends turn against him. But he doesn’t. It won’t work. Because it’s not Tommy, who is the problem; it’s him.

“There were these group of mercenaries, who were trying to set up a base of operation there. Off the grid,” Oliver twists the truth. He’s sure Amanda Waller won’t like him talking about her involvement there and he doesn’t fancy A.R.G.U.S. showing up on his doorstep any time soon.

“I ran into a special ops, who’d been trying to stop them, but got stranded on the island when his plane was shot down. He helped me survive and get away from these men, but he’d gotten shot. We had targets on our back,” Oliver says, watching as Tommy turns around fully now, listening intently, though with a confused frown on his face.

“There were these herbs in a previous hideout we’d used and we needed them to treat his wound, so I went to get them,” Oliver explains, glad he found a good way to present this, though a little sick for what he was about to admit next.

“When I got there, I found a man. He was tied up, beaten bloody,” Oliver says, swallowing thickly as he remembers him. “He told me he was on a school trip on a fishing boat and it went down, that he washed up here and was found by those mercs, who were about to kill them until they’d been called away for a scuffle. Me and my friend, probably.”

Tommy is now letting go of the handle. Oliver has successfully convinced him to stay and listen, interesting him enough to not want to leave. A part of him wishes he would have failed, so he doesn’t have to actually get to telling this part.

“He begged me to cut him free, terrified those men would come back and finish what they started,” he says, dragging it out, because he doesn’t want to say it, until he has to. He is quiet for a beat, taking a harsh breath, before he rips the band aid off: “I didn’t cut him free. I left him there.”

Oliver looks at the ground, determined not to see Tommy’s expression and glad for that determination when an outraged Tommy exclaims: “What the hell, man! Why not?”

He looks up, his eyes filled with emotions that are warring in his chest as he admits: “Because I didn’t know him, Tommy. I left him there to die, because I couldn’t confirm his story and we couldn’t use a liability.”

Tommy is quiet for a moment, then scoffs: “So what? Am I the liability? Is that what you’re saying?”

He had a whole point with the story, about how he doesn’t know anyone anymore. That he knows they’ve all changed, but he doesn’t know how and he can’t risk it. But having Tommy think that… it’s the worst. Tommy has always been too good. Oliver must rectify it immediately.

“No!” the word comes out quick and harsh, followed by a waterfall of words that had been trapped inside him and now come rushing out: “It’s me. Can’t you see that? For five years, I had to mistrust everyone, try to find their masks, before it got me. Because that guy? He wasn’t a student on a field trip at all. He was one of them. When we got captured, he was there, manning their equipment. It was a trap. I made the right call by leaving someone to die, Tommy.”

His breathing is harsh now and Tommy has recoiled from him when he started talking, his voice getting louder and louder.

When he opens his mouth again, his voice is softer, almost a whisper and coated in shame: “I see that you’ve changed. I see it, Tommy, I do. But a part of my brain can’t help but wonder if it’s a mask, a ruse. When it’s gonna drop and how it’s going to screw me over. Mistrusting everyone comes so much easier to me now.”

He swallows and admits: “It’s not you, it’s everyone. I don’t trust my mom when she says that I’m home, that I’m safe and she loves me. Don’t trust Thea when she hugs me, afraid she’ll have a knife at my back. And that’s on me. Not them.”

He meets Tommy’s eyes, tears in his own, though he valiantly fights them down. He has turned off his emotions for years now, he can manage not crying, no matter how hard it is. Across from him, Tommy looks shocked and a little heartbroken. Oliver wishes he wasn’t used to getting that expression from people, confirming how fucked in the head he is.

“I am so sorry that I thought you dealt those drugs. I know you better than that- I should know you better than that. It’s not a mask with you, it couldn’t have been. Anyone who’d fly across the world to find me, wouldn’t be going behind my back,” Oliver says, needing Tommy to understand.

At first it looks like it’s going to work, like opening up is actually going to help. Which is great, because he’ll keep his friend, but horrible, because then he might have to do it more.

However, then Tommy frowns and suspicious he asks: “How did you know I’d flown across the world to try and find you?”

“Uhm, Laurel mentioned it,” Oliver says, kicking himself for bringing it up.

“No, she couldn’t have. No one knew, except my dad. I didn’t want to give anyone false hope,” Tommy shakes his head. “You couldn’t have known, unless- unless you were there.”

Oliver’s heart stops. He never should have let that slip, how could he have been so stupid. Now, he needs to do damage control as quickly as he can. Tommy can never – never – end up on Amanda’s radar.

“Tommy, look at me, look at me right now,” Oliver snaps, moving towards the other as fast as he can to grab his face to force him to meet his eyes, having to force himself to not care about how Tommy flinches back and struggles. “You cannot tell anyone, and I mean anyone, about Hong Kong.”

“So you were really there?” Tommy asks, his voice distorted by Oliver’s grip, which would have been funnier were it not for the betrayal that’s in there too.

“Promise me you won’t tell,” Oliver insists.

“Did you see me?” Tommy demands, not replying to Oliver.

Oliver lets go of his face to shake his shoulders, repeating: “Promise me you won’t tell.”

“Not until you tell me how you know,” Tommy says angrily.

After quickly running through all his options, Oliver admits: “I was the one that kidnapped you. Now promise me.”

“What the hell, man!”

“Promise me,” Oliver yells.

“You just said you kidnapped me! You were not on that island. Why the hell would you not come home? Why would you lie about that? Why would you hide that?”

“Just promise me you won’t tell, it’s important.”

“Why?”

“Because they might come for you,” Oliver explodes.

“Who?” Tommy explodes right back.

“The- the people that got me from the island,” Oliver says, quietly, looking around as if he expects Amanda to appear from the shadows.

“Oliver, tell me what happened,” Tommy asks. He isn’t angry anymore, but confused and obviously hurt, as well as concerned. He’s so Tommy. So like his mother. Oliver has never been good at saying no to Tommy, it’s how they got into so much trouble together.

He sighs, looks around, then drags Tommy down to the basement, making sure to close the door behind him and sweep the room.

“Uhm, you’re- you’re kind of scaring me, dude,” Tommy chuckles nervously.

“Good,” Oliver says, giving him a glare. Before taking a centering breath. He doesn’t want to be mad at Tommy. It’s not his fault.

“The wrong kind of people heard about what happened on the island. We stopped those mercs. Not because it was the right thing to do or some noble reason or whatever. They were a threat to me, so they had to go, and they had a possible way off the island, which was good. We took them down, because of selfish reasons,” Oliver says.

“We? Your friend, the spy dude?” Tommy asks.

“Yes,” Oliver says, seeing no reason in mentioning Shado… or Sara. “He- He didn’t make it. I did.” It still hurts to say that, no matter how many years have passed and how it ended between them. He still misses his friend, despite what he turned into.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“So, uhm, the wrong people heard? What does that mean?” Tommy says, an obvious prompt to get him to talk and get the uncomfortable silence to end. Oliver misses the time their silences were never uncomfortable.

“At first I actually thought they rescued me,” Oliver says bitterly. “But they just needed me to break in somewhere. As a dead man, no one would notice if I didn’t come back. And no one would suspect it was me. Perfect fall guy.”

“That’s seven kinds of fucked up.”

“Tell me about it,” Oliver grins, though it’s more a quirk of his lips these days. “I tried to escape, logged into my email, before I was recaptured.”

“It was really you,” Tommy breathes, still a little disbelieving.

“It was,” Oliver confirms. “A few days later, I find myself on a rooftop with a gun pointed at your head.”

“What?” Tommy chokes.

“They needed me inconspicuous. You can’t be that if there is someone going around town with your picture. They needed you off the board. I didn’t want to shoot you.”

“And you didn’t, because I would have known that.”

Oliver smiles at the reaction, a bit of his guilt alleviated by Tommy’s ability to make a joke about the whole situation. “No, I didn’t,” he agrees. “The kidnapping you was necessary to get you out, because if I didn’t take you off the board, someone else would have. And they wouldn’t have hesitated in pulling that trigger.”

Tommy pales and swallows heavily, retroactively scared for his life, which had been in danger without him even knowing. Oliver wishes he could take that fear, that Tommy would have never known that he had a gun pointed at him, that he tranquilized him and took him to a warehouse where he scared the shit out of him.

“So you saved my life?” Tommy squeaks after a second. And Oliver’s heart lets out a rush of warmth while breaking. Of course Tommy would see that as saving his life, not endangering it.

“I made sure you weren’t killed, sure,” Oliver agrees, because he doesn’t feel like flaying himself open more than he already has. This is why he doesn’t open up to anyone, it just invites questions and feelings.

“Did you do the break in for them?” Tommy asks.

Oliver nods tightly. “Not much else I could do,” he says, trying to forget seeing everyone here, being home, as well as the devastation in Hong Kong. Akio dying, General Shrieve tortured. Both by his hands.

“And what then, this was years ago. Did they keep you captive?” Tommy demands to know, which is valid, since he did say he was on the island for five years when he obviously wasn’t.

The more Tommy knows, the more danger he’s in, he doesn’t need to know about the Bratva and he probably wouldn’t believe the magic bit. Yeah, if he tells him about the magic bit, he’ll probably end up right next to the Count.

So he tells another half truth, pretending to be sincere, because that’s his entire life at this point. At least he doesn’t have to fake the bitterness when he says: “When it was done, they drugged me and dropped me right back on that god forsaken island. Covering up their tracks. I suppose I should be grateful they kept their end of the bargain and didn’t kill me.”

Tommy has wide disbelieving eyes and he staggers to the chair Felicity usually sits in as he processes everything Oliver just told him.

Oliver gives him a minute or so, before he softly says: “You’re free to walk away, Tommy. You’re free to hate me for lying to you about it, or suspecting you for the drugs. I’m fine with that. But, please, promise me you won’t tell anyone I was off that island.”

“You think they’re still watching you?” Tommy hisses, looking around now too, much like Oliver did earlier.

“I don’t think they have someone trailing me, but they likely will show up if rumors about this start going around,” Oliver says honestly. Amanda likes her status quo, she won’t let Oliver risk her operation.

“Fuck, man,” Tommy says, letting out a deep breath. He leans back in the chair and rubs his face, while Oliver studies him nervously.

Tommy hasn’t retracted his quitting, nor has he reacted beyond telling Oliver how fucked it all was, which is nice and strange. Oliver does know what happened to him was kind of fucked up, but fucked up has become his normal that he didn’t even realize until he saw Tommy react to what he told him.

“Are you still going to quit?” Oliver asks after a bit, unable to take the silence that is interspersed with mutterings of that’s so fucked up from his friend.

“I’m still a bit mad at you,” Tommy says and Oliver feels his gut churn, so much for opening up to people. “However,” Tommy goes on, “I would also be a suspicious fuck if that shit happened to me, so when I- when I process all… this, uhm, I’ll- I’ll get back to you.”

“…So I shouldn’t look for your replacement?” Oliver inquires shyly, unable to stop the bit of hope that creeps into his chest.

“Nah, man, this is our club, right?” Tommy smiles. “Just gimme a few days and we’ll be cool.”

“Thank you,” Oliver says and he has never meant two words more.

Tommy is still kind, not hardened by the world the way Oliver is. He still forgives easily, forgets just as quick. It will get him killed some day, but Oliver doesn’t want him to stop. Learning that the world is unforgiving is not fun and he doesn’t want Tommy to have to learn it, doesn’t want him to loose that innocence.

His darkness is forever a part of him, no matter how much he puts it into the Hood, it still haunts his every interaction. Today has shown him that much. However, not everyone is like him and that’s good. That’s the best actually. He hates who he is, he wouldn’t want anyone to be like him.

Oliver vows to keep an eye on Tommy, make sure he’s not being too kind to the world that will never be kind back and will never deserve that kindness. Because Oliver is being given that kindness now, and he cherishes it. He’ll preserve it in Tommy, keep the darkness as far away from him as possible.

At that point, Oliver couldn’t have known how hard that promise would be to keep. How Tommy would hurt due to the sins of his father, much like Oliver does. How Oliver would wish, he hadn’t tried to preserve that kindness, because it’s the lack of kindness that has helped him survive regardless and it’s the excess Tommy has of it, that gets him killed.

But that’s the future. Right now, he’s happy that his friend is still there with him, that he didn’t royally screw up everything he touches. That despite the darkness of the Hood, Oliver Queen still has enough humanity to have people like Tommy in his life.

~~

A/N:

Do I think Oliver – especially season 1 Oliver – would ever open up like this? No. But I like him talking about Lian Yu, so he will here for my entertainment.

[schrijverr]

All of your fics bring me sm joy??? i love sm???? thank you for ur service my manss

Thank you so much, you have no idea how much this made my day, bc I've been in a writer's slump, so it's nice to see that my work is still being enjoyed even if I'm not in a mindset to write right now <3

[schrijverr]

Self-Promote Saturday

Hi, this isn't a thing, but I'm making it one (writers and other artists feel free to join in on Self-Promote Saturday). Today's self-promote is: Flirting at the Mall (22k)

Pre-season 4 steddie is something that can be so personal and I love exploring the early days stobin friendship. Plus, I think Steve should be a confident bisexual. Writing this mall love story was so fun (and I had to throw in some angst at the end with the Russians of course). I also loved putting the kids in and having Dustin react to Eddie, because I'm so sad we didn't see their meeting in the show (and I love Eddie's POV of Steve with the kids, because I am soft)

[schrijverr]

not sure if this is a genuine cry for help, but just in case :D

[schrijverr]

Self-Promote Saturday

Hi, this isn't a thing, but I'm making it one (writers and other artists feel free to join in on Self-Promote Saturday). Today's self-promote is: Family Ends Up In Blood (11.7k)

I'm currently not in my Castlevania era, however, thinking about Trevor and his family makes me literally insane. Like imagining him growing up with all that violence but also a big family that kept each other alive and a percieved status, only for it to be ripped away and the entire community to turn against them??? Like!!! And then, he has to go back there. He has to go to his old home where his whole family died and be okay with that. Not to mention he's with a vampire, who is being kinda rude about it (no offense to Alucard, I get it). Like exploring that is so fascinating to me. So, yeah, love this fic and it's kind of underrated, so do check it out :D (be warned it is very sad and there is lots of deaths)

[schrijverr]

Cookies

You're always so sweet to me

Sugar rushing through my veins

Chocolate chunks choking me up

I might be by myself right now

Period cramps fucking me over

But I have love kneaded into dough

A sweet treat to ease the pain

[schrijverr]

How to Survive Gotham as a Goon

Late one evening, a goon is there to witness his boss – Red Hood – shoot at Robin. Which means he goes through the five stages of grief as he imagines all the ways Batman will skin them, trying to get Red Hood to stop before it’s too late, which only leaves him with more questions.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: references to violence & gun shots

~~~~

Joseph does not want to die. He especially does not want to die at the hands of Batman. It might seem unlikely that that will ever happen, even if Joseph is a henchman, however watching his boss whip out a gun to shoot at Robin, he knows it might only be a matter of time.

It’s kind of the unspoken rule of the goon and henchpeople underworld to not hurt the kid in a way that’s permanent. While the big villains don’t keep to that rule, Joseph had hoped that Red Hood, with all his rules surrounding children, would be different.

However, all that hope is snuffed out when the two of them are taking a smoke break and Hood spots the kid on a warehouse across from their own.

Joseph is immediately on guard as he goes to scan around for the Batman, despite knowing it’s quite useless. But Hood stiffens in anger and screams: “You!” as points at Robin.

The giggle Robin lets out is heard easily as it echoes across the yard. It sends shivers down Joseph’s spine. He knows Robin is just a kid, but all goons and henchpeople have learned to fear the sound of that laugh and it isn’t any less intimidating when he can see the kid giving them a jaunty wave.

Hood’s street instincts must be broken, though, because he doesn’t do any of the things you’re supposed to, instead scrambling for his gun. Joseph is so in shock that he doesn’t even stop him when the first few shots ring out.

Across from them, Robin back flips away from where he was just sat, thankfully not getting hit by any of the bullets.

Robin starts to run and Hood follows him with a spray of bullets, yeering loudly: “Yeah, fucker, ya better run! Ya better fuckin’ run! If ya ever pull tha’ shit again, I’m killin’ you. Killin’ you! Ya hear me?”

Joseph gathers his senses and against the better instinct of keeping his boss on his side, jumps Hood, pushing his gun away as he exclaims: “Are you crazy!?” while Robin disappears over the rooftops.

Hood pushes him off and Joseph lets him, though he likely couldn’t have stopped Hood even if he wanted to, the man is built like a brick house. “What’re you onnabout?” Hood frowns, like he truly doesn’t realize who he just shot at.

“You shootin’ at Robin,” Joseph exclaims. “Do you have any idea the kind of carnage ya would’ve brought down on us if ya’d hit ‘im?”

“What?” Hood asks, sounding truly confused and a little taken aback.

“Do you really not know? By your accent I would’ve sworn ya were from ‘round these parts,” Joseph replies, more confused than normal by his enigma of a boss.

“Well, I’ve been outta the loop for a bit,” Hood grouches. “Explain.”

“I mean, most of the big fish don’t keep to it, but it’s common knowledge to not hurt Robin too bad unless ya want the big Bat to rock your shit,” Joseph explains. “I was already in the henchin’ business when the little guy first hit the street. Course we were all wary of ‘im but what ya gonna do? Fight a little kid?”

Hood lets out a bitter snort, commenting: “Yeah, who’d do that.”

Joseph isn’t sure where that comes from and hesitates for a second, then cautiously goes on: “But the kid was good, better than any of us thought. Fuckin’ embarrassing tha’ was. So we started fighin’ back a little, ya know. Actually punching the kid here and there. It was Jimmy who first truly hurt the kid.”

“Wait, Vegetable Jim?” Hood asks.

“Yeah, isn’t a vegetable anymore. Sonnabitch’s damn lucky that Wayne Enterprises offers compensation for those hurt while working, including hench work,” Joseph laughs a little bashful and awkward. “He clipped the kid with a baseball bat, broke his arm. God, I never heard a kid wail like that,” Joseph grimaces at the memory. “What’s worse is that the kid called for his dad. His dad.”

“Wait, tell me more,” Hood asks, sounding gleeful now, which weirds Joseph out a little. “Like was it super pathetic? Did he really just break his arm, nothing more?”

“No, nothin’ more, just the arm,” Joseph answers carefully. “And ya know how kids can get, it was piercin’ and whinin’. Why’d ya wanna know? Poor fella did nothin’ to ya. You’re to young for that.”

“Nah, I know that, just gonna bully the shit outta him when I see him,” Hood grins and now Joseph is fully confused, because from what he’s heard their first baby Robin is now Nightwing in Blüdhaven and they’re not planning to expand that way. However, before he can ask, Hood says: “Sorry, continue.”

“Well, uhm, Batman came immediately. It was carnage, like I said,” Joseph replied. “Jimmy became a vegetable for a year and a half. Bats usually tries to give us injuries that’ll only last a few weeks max, so we all knew we’d fucked up with that.”

Hood is quiet at that and Joseph explains: “Jimmy was the first and one of the worst, but all the goons tha’ ended up in the hospital for longer than three months hurt a Robin. I think the worst might be those tha’ helped, uhm, that villain kill the second Robin. His organization’s still recoverin’ from tha’ one. Think it’s the closest the Bat ever got to killin’ a man.”

Joseph knows that Hood has some deep seated grudge and hatred for Joker, despite taking his old moniker. So, he isn’t sure how well it will land.

He holds his breath as he watches how his boss will react, hoping he isn’t about to get a bullet in the leg. With Hood you’re less likely to get one in the head, but he’s absolutely not above taking out your femur or kneecap and that also sucks.

However, Hood surprises him. Joseph has always guessed that Hood is younger than he pretends to be, but he now sounds like a lost kid as he asks: “Really?”

“Yeah, boss, the Bat don’t play around when it comes to his Robin,” Joseph answers, suddenly feeling like he’s talking to his own son, instead of his crime lord boss. “New kid’s lucky. I mean, he made Batman nicer, god was he fucked when the second one died. But Stan over at Mr. Freeze’s operation cracked a few of his ribs by accident a coupla weeks after the Bat took ‘im in, I hear he still eatin’ out of a tube now. Bat’s gotten more vicious.”

Hood doesn’t say anything and to avoid feeling awkward Joseph just keeps talking: “Heard through the grapevine tha’ the kid got attacked pretty bad at that fancy Tower they’ve got out there, if the guy who did tha’s capable of thought, it’ll surprise me.”

At that Hood shifts slightly and Joseph is surprised to see a bit of guilt in his stance. It’s not something they see often from their boss. Like everything this smoke break, Joseph has no clue how to react to it.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to, because Hood speaks first. Softly he says: “Guess the kid’s lucky. Just hope the Bat’s nearby when he needs ‘im.”

“Yeah, suppose,” Joseph agrees. “Though he usually is. Never seem ‘im leave the kid alone, especially this one.”

“Good, I’d kill ‘im otherwise,” Hood grunts.

While it fits with Hood’s penchant for protecting kids, Joseph is still thrown off by it, since Hood was shooting at Robin earlier. So he gives him a look, before saying: “I mean, ‘s good tha’ he worries. Kid’s a sprout. Must be older than my boy with the way he talks, but by god is he skinny.” Joseph laughs. “It’s almost funny tha’ I worry for the kid.”

“Nah, worry’s good,” Hood surprisingly assures him. “Wouldn’t be the same if he weren’t jumpin’ ‘round, even if he’s a nuisance.”

“That why ya were shootin’ at ‘im?” Joseph can’t help but ask, even though he knows it’s stupid. It is just- he can’t help it. Not after this strange conversation.

“Kinda,” Hood shrugs. “Little shit needs to learn not to touch my shit. Fucker moved my furniture, I like where my furniture is.”

“He was in your home?” Joseph exclaims, because what the fuck? Why didn’t they hear about it. If the Bats are investigating them close enough to break into their boss’s home, they have a big problem. Very big.

“Yeah, fucked up my alarms too, even though he got a perfectly good key,” Hood mopes and Joseph’s brain screeches to a halt.

Almost as if he’s misheard he asks: “He got a key? Robin got a key? A key to your home?”

“Not voluntarily,” Hood sulks, seemingly not aware of how fucked up that is. “He’s a little stalker. Still. Stole it and copied it.”

“We need to change the locks,” Joseph says, getting up immediately to get going. “Who knows what they’re after. You- you need a protective detail. We need to up security.”

Next to him Hood startles, looking surprised. Then he laughs and waves him away: “Nah, nah, no worries, Joseph. No worries. The Bats ain’t after us.”

“They broke into your home,” Joseph feels the need to point out, because that’s a very important and very worrying detail.

“Just Robin. And just to move my shit and eat my leftovers, which is fuckin’ rude, he has his own chef at home, I have to cook all by myself and it isn’t like he chips in for the groceries,” Hood complains, while Joseph just stares at him, bug eyed.

After a beat, Joseph says: “Uhm, boss, I- uh, I hafta ask. How- how close are ya to the Bats, because that ain’t normal. No- uh no ‘fence.”

“Batman can go suck a dick and Robin needs to go back to school,” Hood scowls. “Kid shouldn’t be out here and I’m not talkin’ to the old man. But he’s a persistent little shit, I haven’t shaken him yet. Doesn’t look like I will.”

That answers absolutely nothing, but does tell Joseph that he doesn’t really want to know, because his brain is putting things together, but not things he wants to think about, because if he thinks about it, he might realize that his boss is a teen and he doesn’t think he can handle the mental weight of knowingly working for a teen.

So, Joseph follows another unspoken rule of the goon and henchpeople underworld and keeps his mouth shut when the boss is spewing nonsense.

He already has a kid to raise, he doesn’t want to think about raising his boss and by the sounds of it, the boss already got people looking after him. Even if they annoy him. Joseph is just going to be grateful about that and ignore the rest.

And pray each Sunday in the Church he doesn’t go to anymore that Hood is gonna keep missing the kid when he shoots. He hasn’t faced that sort of wrath from the Bat yet and he doesn’t plan on ever doing so.

Best to keep his head down and follow all the unspoken rules. Next time he’s smoking alone or with more people than just the boss. He has his blood pressure to think about.

[schrijverr]

Tease

I love the way you tease me

Fingers ghosting over my lips

Mouth pressed to mine

You're holding me close to you

Kisses flow over my cheeks

A playful smile send my way

Then you leave me hanging there

And I have to live with how much

I love the way you tease me

[schrijverr]

Self-Promote Saturday

Hi, this isn't a thing, but I'm making it one (writers and other artists feel free to join in on Self-Promote Saturday). Today's self-promote is: The Fear of God... Or Auntie in this Case (4k)

I love bkdk being childhood friends so much as a trope and seeing how their lives have intertwined over the years, so this was so incredibly fun to write and I still look back on it fondly. Their chaos is the best and making everyone confused is great. Inko and Mitsuki are their aunties, okay, they're family!

[schrijverr]

Seeing regular commenters on your fics is the most wonderful feeling

[schrijverr]

Stiles as a Roommate

Classic outsiders POV of Stiles in college, where his roommate, Mike, and their other friends try to figure out who all these people are that keep calling Stiles.

On AO3.

Ships: Sterek

Warnings: they think Stiles is wrapped up in some bad shit (which valid tbh)

~~~~

Mike’s roommate is profoundly disturbing and highly hilarious to have around. On the first day he comes crashing into the room, tripping over himself like an old school physical comedy, before assuring Mike that he’s fine and it doesn’t even come close to being beaten to a pulp by a grandfather.

It’s quite the introduction and for a while Mike was worries that his roommate is going to suck. Stiles isn’t the typical college student, you see.

He has amassed an entire herb garden in the windowsill, skips out on most parties, keeps a metal baseball bat by his bed and calls home every single day. On top of that, he doesn’t know how to shut up and his rants devolve into the strangest bullshit about the most random topics that make Mike wonder why the hell criminology major had looked into them.

So, Mike thought he is stuck with a weird paranoid kid, who doesn’t know how to have fun. He worries about Stiles getting mad about him getting back in late or judgmental about not studying as much. However, his worries had soon been put to rest.

Because Stiles is fun and Stiles is easy. He can become anyone’s friend in minutes and is up later than healthy most of the time, doing weird bullshit on his laptop that he calls research, though Mike never knows what for.

He might not be a party-goer himself, but he absolutely doesn’t care about what Mike does, just jeering at him to use protection when he goes out and waking him up with a smug smirk and coffee when Mike wants to disappear into his mattress with a hangover, kicking his ass to classes.

Stiles is probably what is keeping him from failing right now and Mike will go to great lengths to keep him as his friend, because, yeah, they’re friends now.

It’s impossible not to befriend Stiles, he grows on you like a very persistent mold.

His friendship with Stiles starts six weeks into rooming together. Classes are in full swing alongside parties and Mike has just started to get worried about his roommate being a stick in the mud, when he comes home at 4:00 AM piss drunk.

Naturally he tries (and fails) to quietly enter the room, trying not the be the dickbag that wakes people up every night to find the lights still on. He blinks a few times at Stiles, who is sitting on his bed with a laptop and smartly says: “Huh.”

“God, you’re so fucking drunk it’s not even funny, dude. I can smell it from here and I don’t even have a freaky nose,” Stiles comments, before he gets up from the bed.

Mike sways slightly in the doorway, mentally trying to decide if he can do a stumble and drop to his bed or if he’ll sleep on the floor when Stiles is suddenly in front of him. He startles and nearly falls over, saved from faceplanting by Stiles, who is usually the one meeting the floor.

“Oh, hey, there, hey, buddy,” Stiles says, righting him. He slips an arm around Mike and masterfully stumble-drags him to the bed, depositing him on it. He points at Mike, who is still reeling from the movement and sternly says: “Don’t move,” as if Mike had any big plans.

Moments later he returns with a glass of water and gets Mike upright, telling him to sip and not allowing him to stop until the glass is empty.

Mike isn’t sure what happens next, but the next morning he wakes up with a groan to find two painkillers, a glass of water and a glass of orange juice on his bedside table along with a note reading: go to your classes! And you’re not a very eloquent drunk

In that moment, it feels like the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him, swiftly forgetting all his parents have done under the pounding headache. He takes his painkillers, drinks his drinks and actually manages to drag himself to his lecture, deciding that Stiles might not be so bad.

When he comes back from his class, Stiles is there, typing away on his laptop again. He greets Mike when he enters and Mike returns it: “Hey, dude. Thanks for the painkillers and stuff.”

“Yeah, man, no problem,” Stiles smiles back. “It’s just instinct at this point, I’ve had to drag worse people off to bed.”

It’s a bit of an odd reply, but something Mike can work with. “You friends with many party-goers?”

A strange look flits over Stiles’ face, but it goes as fast as it comes and Stiles says: “Something like that. I was the one with a car, who wasn’t a prick about it getting dirty on the inside when in crisis. I have passed up on many party experiences except the clean up. All my friends are idiots.”

Mike chuckles at that and plops down on his own bed, as he comments: “Do you have a big friend group back home?” See, he can have conversations, mom.

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles tells him with a grin. “We’re like a family. A very weird family.” A brief pause. “But how about you?”

“Nah,” Mike shrugs. “I’m making up for it now.”

“Yeah, I can see,” Stiles grins. “Alcohol is a poison, my man. Besides, I’m not sure you’re remembering the friends you made.”

The bluntness is something Mike has encountered before and turned him away, but it doesn’t sound mean. He remembers that he is going to try with Stiles, so instead of ending the conversation there, he shrugs: “Probably, but it’s fun while it lasts.”

“Come on, man, that’s not fun,” Stiles says. “I have some friends from introduction. We get fries on Thursdays and study on Sunday. You can come sometime, it’s fun.”

Okay, so the bluntness was genuine concern and Mike honestly could use some actual friends. He likes parties, they’re fun, but the loneliness is starting to get to him. So he replies: “Sure, sounds fun.”

“Hell yeah,” Stiles does a genuine fist pump and Mike snorts. Yeah, alright, maybe Stiles isn’t so bad at all.

“Why were you awake so late anyway?” Mike asks, suddenly remembering that Stiles was just sitting there when he stumbled in.

“Oh, Jackson called me,” Stiles says. “He’s in studying in at Cambridge, because his parents are pretentious fuckers. He needed to check in about… something and I was still awake. I had to look something up, I was just emailing him the details when you came in.”

“All the way in England?” Mike whistles, a bit impressed.

“Tsk, don’t let hear him that. Dick has a big enough ego as it is,” Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I thought you were his friend?” Mike says, a bit confused, because Stiles had literally picked up the phone at 4:00 AM for this guy, couldn’t be that much bad blood, could there?

“Surprisingly enough. He had a restraining order against me in high school for a while,” Stiles informs him casually, before realizing how that sounds and quickly amending: “Obviously, he revoked it, because it was completely unnecessary and a big misunderstanding. We’re cool now, promise.”

And that’s Mike’s cue to drop the conversation, giving Stiles a tight nod, before turning to his own work. He’s giving the other a chance, not inviting crazy. Though he does allow himself to be invited for fries on Thursday with Stiles’ friends.

There is Maya a shy, but enthusiastic biology major; Aalif, a kind but serious looking pre-law student; Nikki, a hilariously insane art major; and Kai a bit of a dorky English major. How Stiles had found this ragtag group Mike doesn’t know

“Mike,” he introduces himself. “I do history. I’m Stiles’ roommate,” before he’s pulled into a discussion about whether or not fries can be classified as a salad. (Potato salad exists, Mike, and it’s a side dish).

It’s honestly a lot more fun than expected and it’s nice to see that Stiles does know how to have fun, he just has fun arguing about nothing with someone studying to argue professionally instead of getting wasted.

While Mike doesn’t think he’ll keep away from parties entirely, he might cut back to make place for this. The genuine connection is way nicer than not remembering who you talked to, or if you even did.

They’re about to start opening the famous is cereal-soup debate when Stiles’ phone starts to ring. He nearly hits his head on the table as he dives to get it out of his bag, calling out a quick: “Sorry, guys, gotta take this real quick.”

But since he is stuck in a booth, all he can do is turn away from them as he greets: “Isaac, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

It’s not the most standard greeting and Mike raises his brow at the others, who all shrug. Apparently this has happened before. Mike watches as Stiles gets a reply, fascinated by how Stiles seems to melt, worries leaving him as he grins fondly, before practically cooing: “You missing me already? I am flattered, pup.”

He grins some more at what Isaac is saying, before raising a brow, voice turning into a tease: “I feel used here. Like a cheap replacement. You knew Scott was going to be busy with Allison, I even warned you. Not my fault no one in this p- family ever listens to me.”

Another reply to which Stiles says: “Yes, you heard correctly, I’m with friends, you can make those at college. I encourage you to try.”

An eyeroll at Isaac’s answer, then a sigh: “Yes, Isaac, having your own friends will get their attention again. But try also for yourself, meeting new people is fun. Maybe you even meet someone you like.”

“Bye, Isaac,” Stiles says pointedly, it sounds faintly like Isaac is protesting his departure, but he hangs up on him.

“Sorry about that, you know how they can get,” Stiles grins, trying to play it off, while Mike tries to ignore how much it sounds like the conversation he had with his mom last week, before deciding to join the others in not commenting.

And after that it their friendship takes off until they’re at the ‘waking him up with a smug smirk and coffee when Mike wants to disappear into his mattress with a hangover, kicking his ass to classes’- stage.

Turns out that if you’re closer to Stiles, he’s even weirder. He goes home pretty often, now that he has settled in alright, nearly every other weekend, at least once a month, though he complains about his dad forcing him to stay at college to get the full experience, air quotes obvious in his voice.

Mike doesn’t say anything, since he kind of agrees with Stiles’ dad. It’s a bit unhealthy how much Stiles’ calls home. Or at least, Mike thinks he does, though it always sounds like it’s someone else on the phone, because Stiles will tell the same story a bunch of times or tell the person that another person told him to tell them etc, like they couldn't call themselves.

The conversations are also just weird. Stiles cuts himself off sometimes, sending Mike looks, or he’ll fuss over whoever is on the other side of the line like he’s their therapist, or their fucking mother. Not to mention the fact that he always – always – picks up.

Mike has tried to call Stiles a few times, a lot of the time his roommate won’t pick up, or call back apologetically, yet he’ll leave a lecture if someone from home calls.

It’s just odd.

So, brave soldier as he is (as well as the head investigator of their little friend group, who are all more curious about Stiles than Mike expected when he first met them), he asks: “Hey, man, who are you always calling?”

Stiles look up from where has just hung up with a: “You be careful okay? I love you,” looking a bit confused, before smiling and shrugging: “That depends, honestly. It’s a bit much.”

That sounds like a deflection, but Mike is curious and got better at talking to people and standing up for himself. So, he goes: “I have time. I’m smart. I think I can take it.”

“Alright,” Stiles shoots him another uncertain look, before starting, “Well, my dad and Derek are holding down the fort, so I call them just to see how life is going. Boyd and Erica are there too, so I call them too, but Boyd doesn’t talk much, so I mostly call with Erica. She is my Catwoman, you know, we chat, she spills about Boyd. He has his own carpentry shop, it’s been going well. I’m glad for him, you know. And Erica is taking a gap year, but to be honest, I think she likes being a park ranger too much to ever go back to school.”

Mike nods along to Stiles’ rambles. His dad is explainable and the fact that he added Derek in there must mean they’re a unit in his mind, maybe a brother? Or even his father’s boyfriend. Erica is someone he’s close with and knows well, called her his Catwoman, so maybe girlfriend? But he connected her to Boyd, who sounds like a far friend of sorts, so maybe not.

“Of course there is Jackson in England,” Stiles continues on happily. “I told you about him. He is a bit of a dick, but we’ve forgiven him. Well, Lydia did and we all trusted her and it worked out okay.”

And yeah, Mike remembers Jackson with the apparent restraining order and wonders who Lydia is. Luckily he doesn’t have to wait long.

“Lydia,” Stiles sighs, making Mike think he loves her, which he naturally immediately disproves by going, “I used to be in love with her, but turns out, no. She’s being an absolute genius doing mathematics at CalTech. She terrifies me in the best ways.”

That’s not concerning at all.

“And then you have Scott, my best friend,” Stiles rambles on and Mike knows that the other probably won’t even notice if he leaves. He gets like that. “Now my man Scott is at Colorado State

to become a vet alongside Allison and Isaac.”

Those two names are also familiar and Mike feels awkward staying silent, so he says: “They’re all become vets?”

“No, just Scott, but they’re all at Colorado State, because Scott will probably perish without Allison and Isaac hates being lonely and didn’t get into Stanford with me,” Stiles says, like that’s the most obvious reason to pick a school.

Mike is distracted by Stiles hitting his arm enthusiastically: “Allison is also doing history, man, I hadn’t even thought of that! I don’t know how it would be relevant either, but you know, fun fact! I love fun facts, like did you know that human teeth are the only part of the body that can’t heal themselves, because enamel is dead tissue. That was fun to find out.”

He senses that there is a story there, but Stiles is already moving on: “And Isaac, my beautiful boy, is doing social studies, which I think will really help him. He’s come so far and he’s really happy with his courses.”

Isaac was the one that called during that first Thursday fries run Mike was a part of. He recalls the nicknames and the fact that Isaac was missing Stiles, not to mention how fond Stiles sounded and the fact that Isaac wanted to go to college with him. Maybe Isaac was the boyfriend?

“Anyways,” Stiles ends his rant. “I told you it’s a bit much, but I like knowing they’re okay and getting by and if I only call one, the others will get jealous. There’s only so much Stiles to go around and everyone wants a piece,” he grins.

Mike thinks Stiles has a weird relationship with his friends from back home, but also that he doesn’t want to create any friction with his roommate and best friend on campus, so he just nods and smiles a bit.

“But how about you?” Stiles returns the question. “You never call home, at least, not that I’ve witnessed.”

Since Stiles decided to share, something he rarely does, Mike knows he should return the favor, so he shrugs. “Not really much to call.”

“Is no one there?” Stiles asks, all concern.

“My mom and dad are, but you know,” Mike shrugs. “Dad just cares about my grades and mom is always prying, like she thinks I can’t manage by myself or something. It’s fucking annoying. I’m an adult now, she doesn’t need to hover.”

Stiles frowns at his reply, then bites his lip as if he isn’t sure he should say something, before he breaks and blurts: “But isn’t that nice? To have someone who worries?”

“What?” Mike hadn’t thought Stiles would pick his mom’s side, though maybe he should have seen it coming.

“I mean, I don’t know your situation of course, but I get it,” Stiles shrugs, backing off a bit. “You’ve always been her baby, who she saw every single day and knew when you had a bad day, when you got a good grade, etc, now she has nothing and you don’t tell her, so her mind makes up all the horrible things that could have happened to you between calls, resulting in what is practically an interrogation until she is satisfied that you’re truly as okay as you claim you are… Wow, that was one hell of s sentence,” Stiles ends his keen observation with a joke to lighten it up a bit, since he got way too into that.

Mike attempts to wade through the sea of words just slung to his head, before he realizes Stiles kind of has a point. He breathes: “How do you even know that?”

Stiles scratches his nose and shrugs: “I might be a bit of the mom-friend.” And Mike is reminded of the fact that Stiles is really weird with his friends and that he probably knows that because he does the exact same thing his mother does.

Next Sunday, he reports all this to the study group, which Stiles has had to skip out on, because someone called at midnight, which obviously meant Stiles immediately packed is bags and left, something that is more common than Mike would like.

“That’s a lot of friends,” Maya comments once he is done. “But it’s sweet he cares so much about them.”

“He cares mom-levels about them,” Mike points out. “I’m telling you, he got so intense while defending my mom, like it was personal.”

“So, he’s a bit intense about is friends,” Nikki shrugs. “One girl in my class is making a shrine to her boyfriend as a final project. We’re not at that level yet, so I think we’re good.”

“He took off in the middle of the night on a three hour drive, because someone called,” Mike replies.

“I don’t think it’s really any of our concern,” Aalif interrupts, before it can get out of hand.

“But what if they’re like a creepy cult or something?” Nikki asks.

Aalif levels her a look as he says: “I don’t think Stiles would get drawn into a cult.”

“You don’t know that,” she raises a brow. “It happens, even to smart people like Stiles.”

“He has a metal baseball bat by his bed,” Mike offers, not sure why he is backing Nikki in this debate.

“He does?” Maya asks, a bit concerned.

They all now look at Mike and he suddenly realizes that they’ve never been into their room, which is why he has become Stiles source number 1. He shrugs: “Yeah, he took it with him when he left for home tonight. It’s all damaged and shit, though I think some carvings are intentional. They look a bit like runes.”

Nikki raises a brow as she looks at Aalif and says: “But you don’t think Stiles could have joined a cult.”

“I don’t think a cult would have allowed him to leave for college, not to mention do criminology,” Maya offers. “I think he’s following a seminar about cults right now actually.”

“Okay, but even without a cult, still suspicious and weird,” Nikki huffs. “And it’s still a possibility, right, Mike?”

Mike startles a bit unsure how he got on the pro-cult side and not sure he isn’t agreeing. “I mean, he does have all these herbs and some weird books, but those could be from the library.”

And now they’re giving him more looks. Great. He puts his hands up defensively: “It’s not like I know, alright. Stiles never exactly cooks, maybe he just likes the smell of the herbs. And the books could be an aesthetic thing, though he keeps him under his bed in a box if they’re his.”

“What sort of books?” Kai asks after a beat.

“They’re leather bound. Old,” Mike shrugs. “I haven’t seen him with them much. He shoves them out of sight when I get in and the only times he hasn’t was when he thought I was asleep or very drunk.”

“Creepy,” Maya shivers.

“Come on, this is Stiles,” Aalif says. “He is not in some creepy cult. Do you all even hear yourselves? Seriously. Now, the midterms are coming up and I would like to get some passing grades.”

That gets a few boos and boring’s thrown at him, but Aalif doesn’t falter and they do all giggle a bit at the ridiculousness of Stiles in a cult. Before they can truly get anything done, Nikke snorts: “Maybe he tripped into it,” sending them all into giggles again.

It isn’t a joke anymore when Stiles reappears again on their Thursday fry run his face more bruise than skin and his hands both wrapped in bandages.

“Stiles!” Kai exclaims, already out of his seat. “What happened to you?”

“Hey there, guys,” Stiles attempts a grin, wincing at the action. “I’m good, I’m good.” He eases himself into their booth, wrapped fingers taking some fries and popping them into his mouth as the rest watches him with careful eyes. Of course he notices as he chews slowly, whispering to himself: “Knew Derek was right about the liquid diet. Fucker.”

“What happened?” Aalif asks when Stiles seems like he is going to ignore the whole situation that is his face and hands. “Stiles, if someone did this to do, you have to go to the police, file a report. You can sue.”

“Of course you’d say that, lawyer-man,” Stiles grins again, falling flat once more when his already split lip, re-splits and starts to bleed. “Ah, fuck,” he hisses, grabbing a napkin to press against it as he makes a disgruntled face.

“Stiles,” Nikki snaps.

“What?” he replies as if it’s not incredibly obvious.

Mike surprises himself by jumping in: “What the hell happened to you, man?”

It dawns on Stiles that they’re not letting it go and he sags a bit in his seat. Then says: “Nothing, I promise. It was just an accident, really.”

That’s just a thousand red flags there and Maya takes the lead for them, putting a hand on Stiles shoulder and saying in a soft voice: “We’re not going to judge you, promise. But right now, not knowing is so much worse.”

“Derek told me not to come,” Stiles sighs after a moment. “I knew it was stupid, but I wanted to come. I mean, he only had Boyd and Erica with him, because all the others were too far away. That wasn’t enough.”

“What were they doing?” Nikki asks, unable to keep her mouth shut and be patient.

Luckily, Stiles isn’t silenced by it. “Derek lives on the preserve, it’s in the middle of the forest and something was killing the animals. It was a mountain lion, we have a lot of animal attacks. They wanted to take it out before it moved into the town.”

Mike remembers Stiles telling him Erica was a park ranger, but Boyd was a carpenter and he knew nothing about Derek, which is weird on its own. Stiles loved bragging about his friends, or would casually comment about them or pick up the phone with their name on his lips, but Mike had before now heard the name Derek only once.

“Of course I tripped over a few branches in the dark,” Stiles laughs self-deprecatingly. “I should have known better. I’m a klutz, you know. Though I did get a hit in, before I went down in a not so glorious blaze of branches and a curse.”

“You hit a mountain lion?” Kai whisper yells.

“Yeah, with my bat,” Stiles shrugs, like it’s a normal thing.

“Dude, are you insane?” Mike asks.

“Oh, okay, I see what’s happening here,” Stiles backs up, like they didn’t make sense before now. “I didn’t want to admit I fell, because it’s embarrassing as fuck. And like, I know I’m clumsy, but after all the running away from shit trying to kill me, one would think I’d have gotten better at it, but noooo. I am surrounded by people who can do crazy shit, while I hit my head on a fucking branch, because why not.”

“Stiles!” Nikke cuts him off. “Running away from things trying to kill you? What the hell.”

“I was getting there,” Stiles says, though it’s obvious to all of them that he was getting further and further away from the point. “When I was in high school there were all these murders in town. My friend was targeted at one point, I got caught up in it. Nothing makes a friendship like getting locked into a school and running from a crazed murderer or holding someone up in a pool for two hours. It was a whole thing. Plus my father is the sheriff.”

“What the fuck,” Nikki voices the shared sentiment after a moment to process.

“Wait, here I have proof,” Stiles taps away on his phone, before showing a news article with the tagline reading: Five teens trapped in high school with murderer still on the loose

After letting them read it, he puts his phone in his pocket and proudly says: “We’re having a project about crimes in our hometown right now and I have an advantage over the rest.”

“That’s- That’s not-” Maya stutters. “…Stiles…”

“What?” he says confused, as if what he just bragged about isn’t heartbreaking. God, no wonder he’s a bit fucked from it all. Mike would want to know if all his friends are okay if he nearly saw them all killed alongside him.

“Are you, like, okay?” Mike asks.

“Probably not, like in general,” Stiles tells him honestly, “but I am really fine. As fine as I get anyway. Derek says I have to work on that, but he’s not the boss of me and I actually am doing better. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Maya smiles kindly. “We just want to know you’re okay. Thanks for trusting us with that. Did you get those wounds checked out?”

“I did,” he returns her smile. “Got a clean bill of health and everything. Dad wouldn’t let me drive back before that.”

“Good,” Aalif says.

They’re all quiet for a moment, before the thing that has been niggling on his mind comes out. He asks: “Who is this Derek person anyway?”

Stiles regards them all for a moment, before saying: “I don’t think we reached that level of friendship yet. Sorry. Like, you’re all my friends and stuff and I like bragging about my other friends to you, but I don’t know.”

“What?” Mike exclaims as Nikki points out: “You just told us you nearly got murdered, but telling us about a friend is a step too far?”

“You know, that is actually a good point,” Stiles says. “I must still be a bit lightheaded from everything, I normally don’t tell people that.”

“Should we take you to a hospital? Kai asks worriedly.

“No, no, I’m kidding, I think,” Stiles jokes, before quickly adding, “I am truly kidding, please don’t take me to a hospital. God, no one appreciates my humor.”

“Stiles,” Aalif sighs tiredly when Stiles deftly gets them on a different topic than Derek.

“Derek is my husband,” Stiles finally tells them, shutting them all up as they stare at them with their jaws on the floor. That explains Stiles trips home and lack of partying or otherwise getting laid, he had a whole fucking husband waiting for him at home.

None of them could know that Stiles’ reluctance to talk about Derek and his relation is that as a prominent alpha, broadcasting that they were ‘mated’ (and yes, Derek, that term is still weird to a human) isn’t really smart. Especially after everything that had already come to Beacon Hills.

“Y- Your husband?!?” Kai squeaks.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you all,” Stiles groans. “You can’t imagine the rumor mill at home when it happened, like seriously, people were acting like I was signing my life away to the devil or something.”

“Why?” Maya asks and Mike has to agree. Marriage so early isn’t exactly uncommon, it just took them by surprise this time. What would make this different.

“I-” Stiles looks genuinely sheepish, “I might have gotten him arrested for a murder he didn’t commit and stuff. But that was like, what? Two, three years ago.”

Immediately their table exploded, voices overlapping, because – again – what the fuck.

“He didn’t do it!” Stiles exclaims, shutting them all up. “He was framed. Set up. Look, I know he wasn’t the killer. Derek saved my life, like a bazillion times at this point. I love him.”

Despite the bruises, the look on his face is quite clear with love oozing off of it. Like full on, ‘Disney princess, soulmate, found the one’-love. It’s a bit disgusting in Mike’s terribly single opinion.

“Well, then I want to see him,” Nikki demands. “You can’t tell us you got swept off your feet by a mysterious would be murderer and not expect us to want to see him.”

Stiles shoots them all a suspicious look, which is pretty rude all things considering, but Mike lets it slide in favor of satiating his curiosity. Then Stiles pulls out his phone, showing them a sequence of pictures that said more than words could.

It’s obviously their wedding day. They’re both in full suits, standing in a forest with the sunset hitting them, putting them in a glow of light. Derek is apparently a handsome, muscled man, who screams not bad boy as much as serial killer.

The first picture is pretty standard. They’re looking at each other, Derek’s bad boy vibe killed by the fact that he is smiling softly at Stiles, who is smiling back. Derek’s smile is toothachingly fond in a way that Mike feels in his chest.

In the second picture, the murder vibes are back in full force, with Derek glaring at Stiles, who looks like he’s saying something, his face smug like it’s an inside joke, his hands up to gesture like he always does.

Then, in the last picture, Stiles has Derek’s cheeks between his hand, face contorted in something Mike would call a coo, if Derek didn’t look like the kind of guy who would allow anything resembling a coo being directed at him. Though, Mike might have to rethink that assumption, because while Derek is raising one murderous eyebrow, the smile has returned again.

“I am his favourite annoyance,” Stiles announces proudly. “It’s wonderful how much bugging someone can do.”

And all of them would have guessed Derek was the one, who had pursued Stiles, but here Stiles is, telling them all about how he is a master at befriending people and Derek honestly needed someone to tell him how horrible he was at decorating or socializing, before fixing it for him.

Beside him, Nikki mutters: “Dear god, he has an ‘I can fix him’-mentality. We’re doomed.”

“I heard that!” Stiles exclaims indignantly, though he doesn’t deny it per se. But when Nikki’s soda arrives, it explodes in her face and Mike would almost suspect Stiles had something to do with it if he had to go off the smug look.

They drop the topic of Stiles injuries and apparent husband, for the evening, which Stiles seems grateful for at least, before catching him up on campus gossip. Still, they keep their eye on him and it’s hard to forget with his face all fucked up.

When they leave, Maya leans in and whispers to Mike: “Keep an eye on him for us, okay?”

He nods quickly, before hurrying after Stiles, who is yelling at him to hurry or he’ll drive back without him.

Mike also keeps his word, so when Stiles’ phone starts to ring, he pretends to be engrossed in his book, while secretly keeping an ear on Stiles’ conversation. He usually doesn’t listen in, unless something is so weird it breaks through his mental barriers, but he feels like this can be an exception.

“Hey there, big guy,” Stiles greets, voice much gentler than Mike ever remembered it being.

“Yeah, worrywolf, I’m fine,” Stiles tells whoever is on the other side. “Dad wouldn’t have let me drive otherwise and neither would you for that matter. You checked me yourself before letting me go, quite thoroughly I might add.”

And that last part is definitely an innuendo, dear god, Mike did not want to know that. However, it is confirmation that it’s Derek on the line, so he listens even harder.

“I know I overdid it, but no one got hurt except a few bruises on me,” Stiles argues. “And I get hurt even when I’m not in danger, you know how doors and the air are my biggest enemies. Come on, Derek. If it was bad, I would have told you. We promised remember? You made it part of our vows, because you are a complete softie.”

Okay, Mike isn’t going to lie, that’s actually pretty cute and he slightly hates that he’s becoming team Derek when all he knows is that he was (falsely) arrested for murder and married to Stiles, who comes running home when called on.

“I promise not to run into danger again,” Stiles tells Derek. “Well, I promise not to run needlessly into danger again and honestly one could argue that this time wasn’t needlessly, because you are my damsel in distress as much as you want to cast me in that roll.” A beat. “Yes, I will never let you forget the pool, we discussed this.”

“Yes, Derek, I always take care of my wounds,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’ll even send you picture updates and call you every day. How does that sound?”

Oh god, Derek is actually a concerned boyfriend – excuse me, husband – who needs updates and called the day Stiles left because he was worried. Mike is never going to be able to tell the others that without it turning into a riot.

“Great, because I am going to bed,” Stiles says. “Midterms are coming up and while spending time with you is a hundred times better, I actually need to pass these if I ever want to get a degree. So, goodbye, I love you.”

A bit of silence, then a very love-filled chuckle: “Of course I’m going to think of you. I always sleep better with you, you know that. Now bye. Love you, again and always.”

Fucking hell, Mike is going to die of a toothache, caused by his happily married roommate, which is honestly where his life is at right now.

Though, Mike can honestly live with a weird roommate. It’s a source of entertainment and he now can rest knowing Stiles has someone watching out for him, preventing him from going off the deep end, which was an honest concern.

Stiles is weird, but with what Mike knows, he’s allowed to be a bit strange and he honestly doesn’t want to know more than he does.

~~

A/N:

Disclaimer: I am not shitting on parties, if you like them, go nuts. I just don’t drink and hate social interaction, so I wouldn't know how to write a good party scene even if I wanted to, lmao.

Idk how well it came through, but Stiles is magic and burned his hands while overdoing it in the fight he got injured in. He also totally exploded Nikki’s drink as petty revenge, his herbs are also related to magic.

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Self-Promote Saturday

Hi, this isn't a thing, but I'm making it one (writers and other artists feel free to join in on Self-Promote Saturday). Today's self-promote is: Take the New Texas out of a boy (10k words)

This fic is about Jonny being gnc and gay and growing up on a conservative New Texas and then outgrowing all the shit he internalized. This fic has a special place (and not because I singlehandedly made Soft Jonny D'Ville a tag), but because it was the first fic I posted where I explored my own feelings around gender, still a bit in my egg phase. It's so fun to look back at that and I love how tender it is. It's really at this point that I start really writing about Queer Themes and I still do today. (The only thing is the few lines of Doc slander, I was in a fanon bubble)

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Oops i also missed the ask post!

Gonna ask 36 cuz i need advice for myself lol

And 2, 31, 32 cuz im curious about your anwsers

That's okay, super funky that you send one, always welcome :D, thank uu! <3

36. How do you come up with fic titles? What's the one you're most proud of?

Oeh, I one made a helpful guide about titling fics, because I used to give more writing advice. I think the most important thing is knowing what your main thing is in the fic, like is it about a certain thing happening or an interaction between two or more characters, and then making it a little more abstract, so narrowing it down to like a few words, before getting more poetic with it. A pyramid approach so to speak xp

As for which one I'm the most proud of? Oef, I don't know, I think Stitching Up a Mask, but that could be recency bias. I also love Home of the sky take me to the home of my youth.

2. Anything that you'd like to write but feel like you're unable to?

That's a though one, I mean, I guess more darker fics. I love angst, but I'm not good at keeping it angst, so it turns out a little more h/c whenever I try. Plus, certain topics are just outside of my experience and I'll feel weird about writing those. But overall, I usually give whatever I want a try, the only thing stopping me is hours in the day lmao

31. What was the most difficult fic for you to write (but in the end you made it)?

Definitely I Found Myself a Cheerleader, because I kind of fell out of the fandom for a bit, I really only had two more chapters to write, but I just stopped feeling it. I'm the kinda person who won't post until it is finished, so I had poured all that work in only for it to never see the light of day, so that really sucked. The only thing that got me through that one was rereading comments on my other Stranger Things fics, so much appreciated to everyone in my comments <3

32. Do you have a word/expression that you always use in your writing?

Gosh, probably. Not deliberately, but certain things just come back over and over, because the themes fit or I like them. When you start looking my crying descriptions probably all look very similar haha

(if anyone noticed anything, do tell, I am curious)

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I'm entering a finals period and I'm incredibly busy, I might dig around to find some lost finished works I have floating around on my computer, but I will be a little less active in the coming weeks, after that, I'll be back :D

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Self-Promote Saturday

Hi, this isn't a thing, but I'm making it one (writers and other artists feel free to join in on Self-Promote Saturday). Today's self-promote is: Familiar Faces (9k words)

It is my only Narnia fic, but I have such a soft spot for it. The premise is basically that Narnia doesn't know homophobia and Peter is gay and had a husband before they got yeeted out. It focusses mostly on the second movie with Peter dealing with the grief over loosing his husband and being forced into this world again, only to come back and still not have his husband again, and on top of that having to deal with this prince he doesn't like (Caspian), who has his husband's face. It is a Caspian/Peter shipfic, but it takes a bit (we love an enemies to lovers). I love exploring the implications of Narnia and the siblings leaving and coming back, so it was a lot of fun (also I had to make it gay, because it takes place in a closet dammit xp).

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Temporary Exhibition: Everyday Battlefields by Will Byers

[In the painting is a young Will, hunched over on the ground, while sitting in a field that is reminiscent of the ones outside of Hawkins on a summer day. However, there is a darkness hanging over Will and the black tendrils of the Mind Flayer are bursting out of his back, seemingly escaping from the confines of his body.]

Will Byers (1971-)

Self Portrait of Will Byers in 1985, 2017

Oil paint on canvas

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On AO3.

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Temporary Exhibition: Everyday Battlefields by Will Byers

[The painting is vertical and has a classical column going up in the center. On top of it is Erica with the sun behind her, haloing her with light. She is dressed like her character Lady Applejack, she has a dark purple cape around her shoulders, the hood down and resting on her shoulders.

She is sitting on one knee, yet due to being on the column she is looking down on the audience as she smiles. Though despite the gentle smile, there is something mischievous about her, a small quirk of her brow that seems to ask the viewer is they’re going to take the hand she’s holding out, so she can pull them up onto the column with her.]

Will Byers (1971-)

Representative of the People, 2006

Oil paint on canvas

This painting has been loaned out by Senator Erica Sinclair for whom it had been originally painted. It will return to the Indiana Community Art Gallery after this exhibition.

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On AO3.