#They have been living rent-free in my head for a bit

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 22 - The hero Gala

Summary: The cat is out of the bag - Izuku is in trouble.

Warnings: swear words, mentions of sexual shenanigans, angst - IM SORRY GUYS

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1st Chapter Master List Support the potato

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Izuku’s friends tried their best to change Izuku’s mind about the whole Gala situation but their words fell on deaf ears every time; Izuku was adamant that he has no rights to be there and no one could change his mind, not even you.

There was a weird tension in the air between you two after the trip was over; Izuku went back into his shell right as you opened the door to his apartment and the only time you managed to make him smile was when you sneaked under his covers and cheekily kissed his thighs while giggling to yourself like a child or other cheeky shenanigans. Apparently, Izuku adores moments like that; when he is loved, appreciated, without the need to prove himself worthy. Izuku loves to be loved, especially by you, and even though you never ask for anything back he’s always keen to do the same for you and by the look of it, he enjoys it just as much as he enjoys “receiving”.

“Sweets, love me.” Izuku mutters into your neck on a sunny afternoon, right before the hero Gala. First, you have a slight urge to laugh and remind the greenette that you love him every day but then you realize his whole body is rigid and you stay quiet.

Something is wrong and that something is connected to the hero gala, you are sure of it, but you don’t ask questions; you just let your fingers rake through Izuku’s messy locks, you play with his scalp and the back of his ears, and Izuku closes his eyes and sighs, his breaths long, deep and full of lust.

“You like it when I play with your hair?” You finally ask him, and Izuku blushes like a schoolboy.

“A little bit too much, to be honest.” He giggles. “But it works. I don’t think there is enough blood left in my brain to overthink.” Izuku sheepishly admits.

This conversation makes you think about your first time with Izuku; it has only been a few days since but you feel like you’ve been intimate with him for so much longer; it just feels so right to be together in that way, to show how much you love the other without the need of words. On that first day, you grabbed Izuku’s hair from the back and pulled it, and the sweet sound Izuku had made will forever live in your head rent free. Seeing Izuku vulnerable and worked up is your new favorite thing; mostly, because you know that with you, he can let himself go completely, clear his mind and just be himself. It’s good for you and it’s good for him.

But you also start to get concerned that your random acts of love became a way for him to distract himself from this problem he’s facing right now and you really don’t want this new kind of love to become a bad memory for him.

“Can I be honest with you?” You mumble into his hair, a little bit terrified to continue.

“Sweets, of course.”

“I… I’m scared.” You admit. “I feel like I’ve made a mistake. I’ve been trying to cheer you up and make you happy but I feel like… now, every time you feel anxious you try to… well.. get cheeky with me but I want these moments to be happy, to be about us… I might be selfish, but…”

“Stop.” Izuku jumps into your words, a little bit offended. “I would never use your body for such a thing and if I ever do, I’ll tell you and ask for your permission to do that. You are the love of my life and while yeah, it is a really good way to distract myself from the turmoil in my head, the only thing I think about during our time together is you and you only. Us doing things so frequently since has nothing to do with my anxiety. I just love loving you. I love how there is no one but us in those moments. I love the way you feel, the way you smell, I love to see how much you enjoy my touches. It’s like a drug to me. Please, never say such thing ever again because it breaks my heart.” Izuku finally finishes and you feel terrible now.

“I’m so sorry, Izu, I just…”

“You just don’t understand how much I love you. And I get that. It’s hard to understand that you can mean so much to another person. Even if you are… mentally okay… everyone is a bit judgmental when it comes to their own self.” Izuku smiles and kisses your lips to prove his point even further. “But Sweets, you are everything to me. Even if the world falls apart, even is loose all my memories, I’ll forever come back to you. There is no path in life where I don’t end up right here at the end of the journey. I kiss you because I need you, I love you because I can’t get enough of you. I might be a little bit too clingy thanks to the fact that my brain wants me to believe that me being the way I am now is not the same person you fell in love with but I know it’s all bullshit. I just need a lot of validation right now. And maybe I’m seeking it by being intimate with you. Hm. Maybe you had a point.” Izuku rambles and you can’t help but laugh.

“Those therapy sessions are really good for you. Look at you self-analyzing yourself!”

“I know, right?” Izuku laughs, slowly moving up to tower over you. “So can you do that to my hair again? I’ve been so good today. So so good.” He grins, clearly aware of how cringe his is right now.

“Nope. You ruined it.” You push the man away and run into the kitchen to sit down by the table cluttered with drawing materials. “I need to finish this commission, anyway!”

Izuku stays put for an hour then sneaks under the table while you’re distracted by all the different kind of greens you need to choose from for pro hero Deku’s hair.

“Hey.” Izuku looks up at you from between your legs with a big, hungry grin on his face and… let’s just say he gets what he wants afterwards.

This man will be the death of you.

~•🥦•~

The evening is a blur. You two sit down on the sofa when the time comes; Izu looks restless, stressed, absolutely out of it, he doesn’t cuddle, he doesn’t come close, he just sits by the TV, his right leg bouncing up and down and you are five seconds away from yelling at him; no, not because it’s annoying, but because there is something he’s hiding and you really do not appreciate being left out of something so important and you hate how you are incapable of helping because Izuku does not let you in on this one.

The gala starts and the fellow heroes make their grand entrance; Katsuki and Eijiou look gorgeous in their tailored suits, elegant but deadly, Kyouka is wearing a beautiful frilly dress, all black, and her favorite boots, she reminds you of Avril Lavigne but more extreme. It takes 10 minutes for the interviewer to question the number one hero’s absence; Izuku’s leg stops moving and he stares at his feet, not even looking at the screen. You usually love watching the gala; the beautiful dresses, the smile on the heroes faces but today, you are dreading it; there is a static coming from TV, but maybe it’s coming from Izuku’s uncontrollable quirk, the colors are faded but maybe that’s only in your head, it’s weirdly dark and something is just wrong, so wrong you can’t shake the feeling off.

“What have you done…” you look at your boyfriend, because you can’t do this anymore.

“Sweets…”

“What have you done, Izuku?!” You ask again, frustrated. You can barely finish your sentence before the event officially starts; the 10th hero gets announced, then the list goes up to the top three… you already know something is up when there is only 3 places left but there are four people, the top four still seated in the crowd, or in Izuku’s case, at home. The camera zooms in at Katsuki, who looks angry and disheveled, nothing like he looked like a few minutes ago. Katsuki is clever and he definitely knows how to count. Kirishima has concern etched into his face, already up the podium as a fellow top 10 hero. He probably hates not being there for his partner. There is anger boiling inside you from seeing how this beautiful event was completely ruined for these people.

“Before we move to the top three, I would like to play a video we got from our Number One hero, Deku.” The retired hero who was asked to hold the ceremony announces with an utterly confused face.

… And then you understand what’s going on.

“Hey there, my fellow hero partners and everyone in Japan.” Izuku’s voice is firm and confident or at least it sounds like it but you know it’s all a fucking act. “I’m really sorry for not coming to the Gala in person but I have a feeling I would be killed by friends if I do.” He smiles sadly. “First of all, I want to thank everyone for keeping me on the first place for so long. It has been a pleasure and I do feel I worked hard enough to get to that first place but it wouldn’t have been possible without all of you. But…” this is a bad dream. This is not real. This can’t be fucking real. “It’s time for me to give this opportunity to someone else. As you all know, I’ve been out of commission for a while now and it will take a long time for me to heal. Until my body is ready to earn your votes, until I’m able to thank you by saving as many people as I can, I would like to announce my temporary retirement from the hero business.” In the background, Katsuki stands up and is about to leave the event. Kyouka stops him. Katsuki yells but it’s not audible. More heroes come over to tame the beast. Eijirou looks like he’s about to cry, his eyes full of longing as he looks at his partner, his best friend, struggling while he’s standing on the podium. “Once I’m ready, I want to earn your votes with my actions. I want and I will earn my spot back in the future. But for now, I want you guys to move on without me. Thank you for everything. I can’t wait to see the new Number One hero. Kacchan, make me proud.”

Katsuki cries. But not from happiness.

“I don’t want it!” Katsuki yells so loudly it’s audible. “I don’t fucking want it! It’s not mine! It’s not…” the first sob leaves Katsuki’s mouth and that’s the last straw for Eijirou; he jumps off the podium and runs towards Katsuki, completely ruining the gala.

Izuku jumps up from the sofa and leaves without a word, leaving droplets of tears on the floor as he runs by. You have no idea what to do. You want to run after Izuku, you want to run to the gala, to be there for Katsuki, because in the last few weeks, he and Eijirou became family to you. You are also extremely mad and disappointed in your Izuku so you have a selfish thought of letting him stew in his own juice; but you need to be an adult here, you need to think about Izuku’s mental health, about the reason why Izuku is going to therapy in the first place, you need to be the bigger man, put your anger aside and help him get through it.

Yes, the Gala was ruined, but in a fucked up way, Izuku wasn’t wrong; the doctors did say he won’t be able to be back to work for a couple of months and he probably won’t be at his best for the next few months after, so technically speaking, he would have lost his first place by next year anyway. Ripping of the bandaid now instead of watching your rank go further and further down while you are supposed to be stress-free would have done more harm than good.

The problem here is the way Izuku did the deed but at the same time, there is no way Katsuki would have let him do this even if it’s the right thing to do.

On the screen, Katsuki and Eijirou leaves the Gala while the poor spoke-person tries to save the event.

There is no way they are not headed this way. Which means you MUST get Izuku out of his stupor before they arrive. The event was held 1 hour away; that is if they use a taxi. Knowing how angry Katsuki is, he’ll fucking fly through the sky and arrive without Eijirou in less than 20 minutes, leaving the blonde without the only person who can restrain him if he looses his shit.

You could close the back door but Katsuki would break through anyway. They also have a spare key. There is no point.

20 minutes.

“Fuck.” You pull yourself together and run towards Izuku’s secret office entrance; you don’t need to see him going that way to know that’s where he went. Your phone rings in your pocket; there is a message from Izuku’s mom and a missed call from Eijirou; you quickly message his mom back saying you have it under control and it’s all good, then you call the red haired man back who can’t stop rambling for the life of him.

“Dude, I can’t understand what you are saying.” You mumble angrily as you run through the small corridor. “But if this is about Katsuki flying though the city to kick Izuku’s ass, I had a hunch and I’m trying my best to sort him him out so he can at least communicate with him.” You end the call without waiting for a response. You have twenty minutes to get Izuku out of his office, if not, Katsuki will explode the small hidden room and you will all die from smoke inhalation… wait, does he even know about this room? Oh, he does. He doesn’t know how to open it, though. Not like it really matters, he is a clever man so it would take him a few minutes to find out the “code”. He knows Izuku better than he knows the back of his own pretty, smooth hands.

“Go away” Izuku mumbles right as you put the code in and open the door. “I said GO AWAY” Blackwhip surges forward but you are not scared; Izuku would never hurt you.

“PUT THAT THING BACK WHERE IT BELONGS, MIDORIYA IZUKU!” You yell; black whip shakes a bit and retreats. Izuku looks like a deer caught in the headlights, utterly surprised by your stern voice.

“I’m… so… Sorry.” Izuku stares at the floor, embarrassed. He’s still crying. You want to give him a hug but you also want to pummel him to the floor (not in a cheeky way.)

“No, I get it, and I get why you did what you did but we have 15 minutes before Katsuki barges through the back door and I don’t want our love nest to explode so let’s make a plan and let’s wait for that angry Pomeranian outside. If he ruins any of my plants, I’ll kill him myself, though. I worked really hard to make them look this pretty.”

Izuku looks at you like he can’t believe what he’s hearing; there is so much fondness in his eyes, so much love it almost makes you forget that the man is in trouble.

“You are the best girlfriend in the whole wide world, do you know that?”

“Well, you can show me your appreciation later, now let’s get ready for battle.”

Izuku says nothing but smiles; he takes your hand and lets you pull him towards the exit.

“A fated battle between two men, as Ochako would say.” Izuku smiles to himself, eyes still full of tears. You roll your eyes.

“Fated battle between two idiots, I would rather say.”

“Fair point.”

Honestly, at this point, you don’t remember how it feels to have a normal life. You’ve changed so much in the last few months your own parents would probably think you are an alien in their daughter’s body which might sound like a bad thing but it’s quite the opposite; you’ve become stronger, better, kinder but you’ve also learned how to say no, how to stand up for yourself, how to be your own person. You’ll be always grateful for this weird bunch for helping find yourself after being lost for years.

“Explodo-boy is about to land. Take a deep breath, Izu.” You mumble as you see a flaming meteor in the sky coming closer and closer.

“This is how I die.”

This retort earns Izuku a big smack to the back of his fluffy head.

… to be continued!

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Potato ramble:

- Eyyyo, sorry for the angst but it had to happen! I tried to be nice and not actually end the chapter with a really bad cliffhanger so please appreciate me trying. Haha.

- I only have two chapters to write (this is real life time, you guys have a few more chapters! For now, it should end with Chapter 26.) but I think I’m gonna post the ones I have ready, so I can read your feedback and maybe add some extra chapters or put some of your ideas into the existing ones. This means there is going to be a bit of delay again in the future, but hopefully, not months, but a week or two. I don’t really like writing without hearing your thoughts first but I’m also not in the right mind space to keep posting every week so it’s the devil’s cycle really.

I enjoy writing to you but I enjoy writing together with you even more! So feel free to share your thoughts or things you want to read about; this is your last chance to speak up! 💜

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @themultifandomgirl @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave @alyss-eiz @sleepisfortheweakpooh

[theothershin]

What about it - Shark and Timas navigate the world post apocalypse?

[fatedroses]

Two former military elites taking merc jobs perform absolutely hellish battle tactics together.

[heartfulselkie]

Kaleidoscope AU

Kwami Swap Amnesia AU

While Marinette isn't so keen on chasing down Akumas with Alya for the Crimson Blog, there are some perks to the role that make it worthwhile

[doodlejoltik]

grass knot

[~4.5k words, read it here or on Ao3. tagged with Volo and Lance since they appear as prominent characters; Rei-centric]

Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?

Rei, caught in the stirrings of a new arc, tries to rise to its call, but trips over the past at every turn.

A full rewrite of that Mysterious Stones chapter where Volo first shows up, from Rei’s POV, plus a bit more. Written mostly before the Arceus Arc began.

(Setting expectations: a lot of this fic is just Rei Thinking About Stuff haha. Love getting into his head! His characterisation is a little bit different/more nuanced compared to the other Rei oneshot I wrote; hopefully you'll still be along for the ride if you've read that one!)

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���Show me thy bond.” It echoes inside Rei’s skull, down to the very bone, the same as in his earliest memories. He nearly buckles under its weight, but it's a welcome feeling.

After so long without direction, this is a relief. Arceus has finally spoken.

The words fit perfectly with the half-remembered fragments Rei had received some weeks ago in the middle of the night. Why hadn't they been intelligible then? What makes now different? The sync stones ultimate are one factor, of course. Maybe Arceus draws power from them, which is strange to say of a deity, but from what he knows of the Plates, it might not be so far-fetched.

Prince Lear disperses the murmuring crowd; so, the audience all heard it too, not just those on the arena floor. Professor Bellis congratulates Bettie. Cynthia, Lance and Steven whisper among themselves. And his mind still whirls with new theories as they gather together.

What does Arceus want? 

‘Seek out all Pokemon’ had meant completing the Pokedex. At least, that’s what he’d assumed. Now, this time, Arceus likely means for them to showcase bonds with their Pokemon, given the context. But what does that actually entail?

Cynthia’s words cut above everyone else's. “Rei. Was that voice…?”

All eyes are on him. He breathes deeply, steeling himself, as the familiar weight of it settles in. Things are moving, now. 

“Yes. I'm certain. That was —”

“Indeed! That was a message from Arceus!”

His words catch in his throat. Off-balance, suddenly, as all his thoughts fall away, replaced by a swooping feeling he can't quite identify —

He whirls around.

Volo is here.

He takes a few steps back, an involuntary half-stumble, before remembering himself. 

Those flashes of movement he's been seeing, the feeling of being watched, a Togepi, unattended: they’re all now terrifyingly validated. He'd half thought them a product of his overactive mind.

“Excuse-moi, pardon me… but who are you?” Professor Bellis ventures. 

“I'm Volo — a humble merchant who loves history and mythology!” With that, he flashes a winning smile. Rei could laugh at the sheer audacity of it all, but his thoughts are still strewn across the dusty ground, scattered, and they slip from his grasp as he tries to gather them up. Whatever sense of gravity he’d felt upon hearing Arceus’ voice has completely lifted.

“But more importantly!” Volo continues. “When the arena shone brightly, I also heard that voice.” He brings his hand up to point at the air with enthusiastic emphasis, a gesture still so terribly familiar. Rei clenches his fists, feeling the nails dig into his skin. Not really out of anger. More as a reminder.

The last time he’d seen Volo had been. Well. Memorable. But that isn’t the image that smiles back at him now, tripping him up. He's in Gingko uniform again, complete with ridiculous oversized backpack, which Rei had thought discarded, up there on the peak. Apparently not. Had Volo returned later, still seething, to collect his things? The concept is strangely hilarious.

“I wonder… these sync stones ultimate… might they be some sort of test from Arceus? If we could show him that ‘bond’ he desires —”

“Sorry, test? Arceus?” Cynthia interrupts with a frown, holding a hand out. “What makes you say that?”

“Why, it's quite simple. Arceus' presence was summoned by these stones, in this exhibition, and he requests us to further show our bond. What else could he desire?” Volo says, gesturing widely. 

Rei finally pulls himself upright — scrapes his thoughts together into something resembling coherence. The initial shock has drained away, settling into a distant sort of apprehension. He watches silently. Volo’s not really saying anything too unreasonable, but where is this leading? 

There’s so much he doesn’t know. What has Volo been doing, all this time? How long has he been on Pasio? What does he hope to gain, approaching them like this?

He’ll let Volo continue, then. It's an opportunity for some of those questions to be answered.

(And it gives Rei time to think of what to say.)

“Well, put that way, that does make sense,” Steven nods along. “Should we organise for more trainers to try the stones, then?” 

“Oui, I would love to gather more data!” Professor Bellis answers. “However, the stones are still quite volatile. There is progress on this, yes, but for now, I would like to limit their use, capisci?” 

At this, Bettie speaks up. “Yeah, it was weird.” She runs a hand through her Pikachu’s fur, the mouse curled up lazily in her arms. Nobody in Hisui was quite that affectionate with their Pokemon. Certainly not Akari, though she'd grown closer with her own Pikachu over time. As for himself, Decidueye had been standoffish, averse to being carried even as a baby Rowlet. Well, actually — as his distracted mind digs deeper into memory, he recalls — there had been Volo and his Togepi. 

He casts that errant thought away, buries it deep once again. Bettie is still speaking.

“And it was like nothing was there, at first, and Pikachu and I had to concentrate really hard. And then — whoosh! Wow! Overwhelming,” she shifts Pikachu’s weight to one arm to gesture with emphasis, “and all at once.”

“And this is when Arceus spoke,” Lance asks. 

Bettie nods, now subdued. “It was a rush! I think you guys could handle it, but I dunno if everyone could.”

“If I may,” and all attention returns to Volo. “It seems the stones can currently be used by trainers with particularly powerful convictions, and bonds with their Pokemon,” he gestures with a smile to Bettie. She blushes. 

At the casual flattery, Rei can't help the small frown that twists onto his face. It seems innocent enough, but compliments and niceties can so easily mask true intent. 

Especially with Volo.

Volo continues. “Perhaps we might solve this by way of a tournament, of sorts. Allowing Arceus to witness our talent and dedication, with the victor bestowed the honour of using the stones! Of course, the winner of such a competition would have the fortitude necessary to handle such power.”

Well, taking that to its logical end… Volo wants to win, and be granted this ‘honour’ he so conveniently proposed. But why go to all this trouble? The stones appear out in the streets quite often — apparently, found even by preschoolers. Volo should have no trouble obtaining them.

Does he know something they don't?

“Bettie here led the first winning PML team, did she not?” At this, the girl in question smiles Mareepishly. “And that is why she was the one to demonstrate the stones, I presume,” Volo inclines his head towards the Champions.

Informed guess, or something more? He thinks back on half-seen, furtive movements, and wonders. 

“That's right,” Steven confirms. “Bettie is a shining example to us: a leader of the next generation. We decided there was no better choice.” 

“So you suggest we hold another tournament,” Lance says thoughtfully. “Well, there is precedent. Prince Lear,” he turns to the Prince, whom Rei had honestly half forgotten was there. “What do you think?”

Before Lear can reply, Volo reinserts himself into the conversation. “It would be a grand tournament, truly fitting of Pasio's reputation. Why, perhaps, the deity Arceus might even be compelled to descend —”

Ah. So that’s what he intends. “Aren't you getting ahead of yourself there?” Rei interrupts. He means to sound stern, but it comes out sounding more incredulous. Not at the idea itself, but at how brazenly it’s admitted.

“Perhaps,” Volo says with a careless shrug. He doesn’t acknowledge Rei any differently than the others, still maintaining their inadvertently shared ruse. “It's only speculation, of course, but it is exciting to think about!”

“Hmph! I believe I was the one being addressed,” Prince Lear declares, arms crossed. His red shades flash dangerously, eyes hidden under their glint. Directed at him, it's almost like the full glare of an Alpha Pokemon.

Rei’s face flushes with heat to the tips of his ears. Great time he picked to enter the discussion. He quietly ducks his head down; the Prince is in charge, here, after all. He'd rather not test his patience. 

Meanwhile, Volo just smiles, seemingly unfazed. 

There's a part of him that really wants to know how Volo does that. It's just — he's so confident. How can he be so sure that everything will work out in his favour?

“A grand tournament,” Prince Lear ponders, tapping his foot. “And what could be grander than the second Pokemon Masters League?”

“Indeed!” Volo beams. “I'm sure the audience would love to see the clash between a king and a deity, would they not?”

Lear's tapping stills. His guarded stance loosens; he's taken aback. Volo emphasised king, and oh, Lear's official title is Prince. Hm.

There's something more deliberate about it beyond just casual flattery. 

Lear uncrosses his arms and seems at a loss, for a moment, on where to put them before straightening up with his hands on hips. “Is that so?” He laughs. “I like the sound of that!” A pause, unnecessarily dramatic. Nobody breaks the silence, not even Volo. 

The Prince looks around with some satisfaction and continues. “Very well, then. The winning team of the second PML will be granted the honour of using the sync stones ultimate.” He grins, sharply, red shades flashing once again. “Which will include me, of course. Hahahahaha!”

“You have a real gift for making quick decisions!” Volo says cheerfully. The tension breaks. Chuckles arise from the rest of the group, and Rei can only stare in disbelief. That — that has to be mockery, right? But everyone else seems to take it as light teasing, even the quick-tempered Prince himself. 

Against his better judgement, his gaze catches Volo’s. 

He doesn't know what he expects to see: amusement? Satisfaction? Triumph? And there's some of that, but it's a wry, knowing sort of look, like a joke shared only between the two of them. 

Already the others are starting to animatedly discuss between themselves. Bettie makes a teasing comment to Lear, who scoffs. Professor Bellis says something about checking in on the sync stone technology. Cynthia, Lance and Steven form their own little group again, speaking in low tones, and he can't quite follow their discussion. 

It seems like he's the only one who notices Volo quietly slipping away, and he's got half a mind to do the same. 

Would it be incredibly ill-advised to follow him? Probably. But he still has questions. And it’s possible that Volo will let his guard down when they're alone. 

(Even to him, that seems incredibly optimistic. But there’s things between them that he himself would rather only unearth in private. Maybe Volo feels the same way. And even if not, perhaps he'll gloat, or tease playfully, and let on something of use hidden in the thorned barbs.)

It's not like he has much left to contribute here. Tournaments and competitions and organised displays are foreign to him. The Neo Champion Stadium had felt so different from the kind of battles he’s used to… which, in part, could be why he lost. 

He needs to train. If everything rests on the result of this tournament, he has to be ready. 

The group seems to be naturally dispersing, at least — Professor Bellis just excused herself — so he won't be missed. With some quick words, he, too, turns to leave. They can handle this part, and Rei will do his. 

Prince Lear had mentioned a winning team, and Pasio battles are generally three on three, from what he's seen. Who could he ask? There's Akari, of course. And the clan leaders, but it would feel strange to team up with only one and not the other. A little bit too reminiscent of another time. 

His steps carry him nearly to the edge of the arena.

Besides, he's getting ahead of himself. He still has to… well, he should explain everything to them. About Volo.

Even all these months later, it still aches. He had buried it all, hoping to let it rot away, to be free of that thorny mass of contradictory feelings that arose every time he dwelled on it. 

But the longer he waits, the more impossible it seems to explain — to explain not only the events of that fateful day, but also his own, confusing silence on the matter. Though he’s tried to plough the field, turn it all over and start anew, it still lies just beyond the surface, and a single misstep is all it takes to snarl him all over again. Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?

(Akari is unquestionably the one person he's closest to. But there was a time when that singular title wasn't so clear cut.)

There’s a sort of tunnel that leads out of the stadium, a long darkened archway that passes under the audience stands. He's about halfway through when he hears footsteps from behind, swift and purposeful strides. 

His breath catches, for a moment. But Volo left first, and the arena had been flat and wide, with no corners to lurk in. Besides, it's too loud. Clearly telegraphed.

Cynthia, maybe? 

He turns. The face that greets Rei is slightly less familiar. “Lance,” he acknowledges the Champion. 

“Rei,” Lance greets in turn, stopping a few paces away. Arms crossed, silhouetted against the light of the arena and framed by the tunnel’s dark, arching walls, his tall figure is — intimidating. 

He can’t help but wonder whether that's deliberate. 

“You left before I could ask,” Lance says, and there's a pause. “As someone who has prior experience with Arceus, what do you think of all this?”

A fair enough question. But the way it's said… sounds a little too carefully worded. Casual, but purposefully so.

What sort of answer does Lance expect? 

“It sounds reasonable enough,” he decides to say. As much as he hates to lend credence to Volo’s proposal, he can't think of anything better. It somehow seems to suit their needs perfectly, which he's sure is no accident. “Back in Hisui, I was told to seek out all Pokemon, so I helped with the Pokedex. In the same way, I guess this could help fulfil Arceus' new request.”

Lance nods along, but his brows furrow. “You sounded more sceptical, earlier,” he points out. 

Ah. Not really his intent, but… “That was about the more…” he casts about for the right word, “speculative part of it. I don't know if it would really call Arceus down, or anything like that.” Though honestly, he doesn't know that it won't.

“What do you think will happen, then?” Lance asks, with clear curiosity, and, well. He doesn't really have a good answer to that. 

“... I don't know,” he admits. “I never actually completed the Pokedex, so I'm not sure what happens after Arceus’ request is fulfilled.” He had been close, but there had still been so many minor tasks that needed finishing, things to busy himself with, to arrange and get in order before he had to face Giratina again. 

He hadn't been ready, yet. Maybe Arceus had grown impatient, and brought him here to confront his problems directly. Maybe it cared. Maybe it didn't. 

(Seeing Giratina with Cynthia had felt a little like he was the punchline of some divine comedy.)

Lance purses his lips and looks off into the distance, out of the stadium, past Rei. He wishes he could read the man’s expressions better; as it is, the set of his brows calls to mind Kamado, and everything else tangled up with it. 

Finally, Lance’s gaze turns directly to Rei once again, and he speaks. “That Volo… you two know each other.” 

It’s not a question, but even then, the expression of unguarded surprise he can’t hold back might be answer enough.

Lance has one hand on his hip, the other, at rest, is framed by the drape of his cape. He looks down at Rei as he states plainly, “His clothes aren’t of modern make, so the logical assumption would be that he’s from Hisui. Cynthia confirmed my suspicion. And, historically, Hisuian communities were few and quite tightly knit. It’s more likely than not.” 

He tries to keep his expression carefully neutral, as logic digs deeper, dangerously close to things unexplainable. And the earth is already recently disturbed, soft, friable. He can’t offer much resistance. “I've seen him around,” he concedes.

“But why did neither of you acknowledge the other?” Lance looks confused; frustrated, even. “Even a passing acquaintance would be notable, with both of you being here in the future.”

And here — this is familiar. The accusations. The questions he can’t answer. But it’s different; it’s not that he doesn’t know the answers. He just can’t seem to put them in an order that would make sense, to anyone else.

(Does he really understand, himself?)

But eyes are on him, and he needs to explain, in whatever unsatisfactory way he can. “Volo and I… it's complicated,” he laughs weakly, tugging at his scarf. “He genuinely does love history and mythology, you know. I guess I wouldn't be that surprised if he was right about Arceus.” All those times they’d pored over ruins together, Volo excitedly babbling on about whatever legend this one related to — there had to have been the seed of something real, something genuine, in that. 

It’s not really an answer. Lance can obviously tell, because he crosses his arms. 

“Is he bad news?” he asks bluntly. 

There’s no twisting his way out of this one.

Some of the panic he’s feeling must bubble up onto his face, because Lance’s expression softens, just a bit. The man sighs. “Look, Rei, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but us Champions need to have all the relevant information. This tournament, the stones,” he gestures around them, “affect everyone here on Pasio. So I’m sorry about involving myself in your business, but it's necessary. Should we be keeping an eye on Volo?” 

It’s obvious what the correct answer is. And every second he delays responding makes him seem all the more untrustworthy. He questions, a little hysterically, why this of all things is what he stubbornly roots himself for, risking this place he’s made for himself in another unfamiliar land. 

But his jaw works, and all that slips out of his throat, past the thorny tangle, is a “Maybe.” The most ground he can concede. “Volo’s… passionate about Arceus.” Which is perhaps the biggest understatement of both this century and the last. 

There's an expectant pause. He almost leaves it at that, but it seems it's too unfinished a sentiment for Lance. “He wants to be seen by it.”

“The same way you are?” Lance says sharply. Arceus, he picked up on that fast. Rei hopes he leaves it at that. A rivalry fallen apart, twisted into bitterness and jealousy, nothing more.

Nothing world-ending. 

It’s not like he doesn’t trust Cynthia, and by extension the other Champions. It’s just… he can deal with it himself. It’s what he was probably brought here to do, anyway. The thought of someone else turning him over, and finding him lacking — fighting his battles for him — makes him uneasy. 

“Yeah, something like that,” he answers, with a painful swallow. 

Besides, he hopes he can resolve this peacefully. He’d beaten Volo before, even after he’d flipped the rules of battle on their head. And this time Volo can’t upend the script; one good thing about tournaments, he supposes, is that the rules are rigorously upheld. A different sort of battleground.

He wants to laugh at that. Suppositions and wildly optimistic thoughts are his only foundation, and yet it’s enough for him to reject all possibility of outside help.

Then again, if he can’t even bring himself to tell Akari, what chance does he have of breaking that self-imposed silence, here, on less familiar ground?

Lance hums, assessing this. He uncrosses his arms. “If that friend of yours does anything drastic, tell us, alright?” he says. It’s said warmly, but there's something serious to it. An undertone. “Our job is to help out wherever we can, so don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Rei tries for a smile. “Understood.”  

Lance nods, and looks Rei up and down, though it's only a subtle flicker of his eyes. His gaze lingers on the scarf at Rei’s neck, which Rei realises he’s been fidgeting with unconsciously. He lets go with faint embarrassment, feeling caught out. 

The other man sighs. “You can go, you know?” There’s resignation in his voice. Maybe even something apologetic. In that moment, he seems more like Kamado than ever.

Rei doesn’t want to turn his back to him, but he wants to be here even less. So he nods, stiffly, and turns himself around, continuing the dark walk through the tunnel and out the stadium at a steady pace.

He doesn’t run.  

(But his hand hovers by his satchel, where Decidueye's Pokeball rests.)

It’s only when he’s walked for a good while, out into the harsh sunlight, through the town outskirts and to a more forested spot, that the tension drains from him. He sits at the base of a large tree, feeling a little lightheaded.

That was… an interrogation, to put it bluntly. And he can’t really fault Lance for it. To anyone, he's sure, his actions are confusing at best.

Unfortunately, he’s found that he’s less than clear headed when it comes to Volo. He turns over Lance’s final words. That friend of yours. It’s not surprising Lance phrased it that way; everything Rei had said had been carefully woven to lead him to that conclusion.

Except it hadn’t been misdirection, not fully. He does still think of Volo as his friend, despite everything.

He slumps backwards, against the trunk of the tree, feeling the rough bark dig against the base of his skull. 

What is he supposed to do with that?

Apparently, one of the worst days of his life isn’t enough to uproot over a year of growing camaraderie and budding friendship. Too many memories knot together, a stubborn tangle impossible to pick apart. He’s tried not to think about them too hard, but they tighten their hold once again, from where they lay dormant and buried.

Many of them have been forcibly recontextualised. He’s second guessed every helpful gift, every directly admiring word, every coincidental and fortunate appearance, as something deliberate and cultivated. But some of it, it seems, doesn't fit so neatly with that singular goal.

One day, they’d watched Togepi use Metronome for an hour, ostensibly for Rei’s surveying purposes. Important documentation of a seemingly random phenomenon, and all that. In actuality, they laughed the entire time, with no useful or coherent records to speak of, as the results became all the more improbable. 

They’d camped together, those last months, as the search for the Plates got wilder and more exciting. He knows Volo’s favoured way to build a camp-fire, and how he wakes up unreasonably early in the morning, and that he prefers sweet foods over savoury, unlike Rei himself. A hundred mundane familiarities shared, taking root in fallow ground.

Once, Volo had been his only friend in the entire world.

Is it surprising, then, that he can’t lay this friendship to rest so easily?

He wonders what it means, that the hand offered to him at his lowest point was the same one that always meant to drag him back down. And what it means that he still wants to reach for it.

Had any real feelings been sowed there, on Volo’s part? Or was the entire thing a carefully constructed weaving, an intricate field of grass knots laid around Rei, ready to catch him in their snare? 

He can’t quite strangle the hope that something of their friendship still exists, even if neglected and overgrown. And that’s the part that scares him.

He has Akari, and Adaman, and Irida. He has Professor Laventon and the Captain, though they’re far away. Then there’s the Wardens, more friendly faces: Mai, Sabi, Ingo, and all the others; there's Zisu and Pesselle and Beauregard and everyone else in Jubilife. New friends here on Pasio, too. 

He pulls out Decidueye’s Pokeball from his satchel, and rolls it around in his right hand. He has his beloved Starter.

He has friends. He has bonds.

Why can’t that be enough?

The Pokeball he’s holding isn't the original. He'd had to break that well-loved possession in two, and recapture Decidueye in this modern device. It's a distant echo of its predecessor, wooden grooves and clunky iron replaced by smooth metal and near imperceptible seams. The weight of it is all wrong. 

But despite that, it's still his partner, and that's what matters.

(The two broken halves sit in his satchel, too, carried on his person at all times. It's yet another thing he can't bring himself to let go of.)

He sighs, tracing formless shapes in the dirt. His hand finds one of the sparse clumps of grass that grow here, directly under this wide and mighty tree. Deprived of proper sun, it’s a miracle that there’s any at all. 

It seems more and more likely that he’ll end up looking for Volo on his own. To get answers: not only about the stones, and the tournament, and Volo’s intentions with Arceus, but also for his own ends. 

Maybe there’s still something there. A single glimpse of life in this scorched earth between them.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do then.

Where he sits, what little grass there is has grown long and ragged, as their leaves stretch and reach for the sun. He sets Decidueye’s ball down and plucks two long blades. With a few simple loops and twists, they’re deftly woven together into a knot. He considers it, looping it around his fingers; tightens it, pulling on both ends, until he can feel the entire construct threaten to snap from the force. He stops. 

The thing is, no matter if it was never meant to be real, deliberately sowed, intended ultimately for harvest — it’s all the same, to Rei. He wants to keep it alive. He’s hopeful. Naive. Selfish.

For a single, impossible moment, he wonders whether this is what Arceus meant by bonds all along. 

The knot goes in his satchel, where it will turn dry and brittle with time. But kept safe, unbroken, regardless. Maybe his future self will laugh at his sentimentality. Maybe, he won't remember why it’s there. 

Wouldn't that be for the best?

He tucks Decidueye’s ball away, with care, then hauls himself up, both hands braced against the dusty ground. There’s dirt under his fingernails. From under the tree’s darkened canopy, he squints into the afternoon sunlight.

There’s a lot that needs to be done. He needs to train for this tournament, for one. Learn more about modern battling. Pull together a team. With that, ask Akari, and perhaps Adaman or Irida. Confront Volo, somewhere in all of this. 

After that? Only Arceus knows.

One step at a time. 

He finds his footing, around gnarled roots. The grass crunches underfoot. And he steps into the light.

(So maybe I was just snared by the grass knots you laid in my path. But if I wove my own, would you fall for it too?)

[bleue-flora]

What would it be like in the finale if c!sap or c!quackity confronted c!dream instead of c!tommy. Do you think we would have seen that “you just want friends” moment. I feel like c!sapnap possibly would understand reach that moment with c!Dream maybe better than c!tommy did but as for c!quackity I see no chance of that happening

The quick answer is no. I talked about it I think somewhere before, but it had to be Tommy. Tommy was the only one who could have brought that vulnerability out of Dream. And Tommy had to die and experience limbo from Dream’s pov for that all to happen. In other words, it was the ideal situation.

But let’s say it was Sapnap or Quackity. Let’s say they sent Q to stall Dream and let’s say Dream and Punz didn’t just kill him off the bat, but they allowed him to talk and then killed him and brought him back. What would have been Quackity’s reaction to Dream’s pov limbo?… honestly, I’m not entirely sure. I wouldn’t say I’m an expert on Quackity but here are my thoughts…

Well I don’t think he would be the selfless character to put himself in that situation in the first place, and Tommy also had an upper hand in the fact that his method of stalling was asking Dream why and for his pov. I imagine Quackity wouldn’t ask that though so wouldn’t experience the same limbo. So I imagine, Quackity’s likely method of stalling would be to accuse Dream and justify his own actions, maybe under the guise for Dream’s forgiveness, knowing that if he pissed off Dream then he’d just died and it wouldn’t really be a very good stalling tactic, would it? In other words, it likely wouldn’t be far off from his encounter in the Las Nevadas Finale or perhaps it would be similar to how he interacts with Wilbur.

Now let’s say regardless, Quackity experienced Dream’s pov limbo, then I don’t know, he’d probably use it in his manipulation and stalling tactics, maybe use it to mock Dream or turn Punz against Dream. Perhaps he uses the “you just want friends” to make fun of him - *read in condescending voice* “you say you want all this power and knowledge but really poor little Dream, just want friends” *theatric pout* … Whatever his reaction is it wouldn’t be to reach the understanding Dream and Tommy did, not just because Quackity is well… Quackity, but also because only Tommy could fix what he broke. Only Tommy had the power to change Dream, because it was him that ruined him in the first place, Q and Sam only got the leftovers of what Tommy had down by turning everyone against Dream, triggering that fundemental fear of being alone. It was Tommy and Wilbur that made Dream wonder how the freak did they show up and ruin everything, spurring his yearn for answers. Sapnap and Awesamdude were already in the server and Quackity is just the later infection taking over the wound Tommy left behind…

Having said that, it would have been interesting to see what Sapnap’s reaction would have been. I think like Quackity he wouldn’t be asking the questions of why like Tommy was to stall, because part of his problem is his assumption that he knows. His tactic probably would have been pulling Dream into a long fight and perhaps playing at Dream’s ego. Accusation and nostialga used as weapons - “remember me and you and George built the community house, and then you blew it up, Dream!”- If Sapnap experienced the same limbo, I wonder if it would have done anything more than remind Sapnap what he lost. Unlike Tommy, Sapnap did see Dream as good in the beginning so seeing his perspective at the beginning would not shatter any huge misconception for him. It probably would have just left him feeling angry. making the situation actually worse.

In other words, in order for Sapnap and Dream to reach a similar point as discduo, Sapnap needed a pov of more recent Dream to highlight his poor misconceptions, whether that’s of seeing Punz and Dream setting up the staged vault room, Dream learning about how everyone is trying to kill him, Dream being tortured in prison, or something especially something that highlighted an emotional part of Dream. But as for Q, though an argument could be made against it, I don’t think he wanted to make amends with Dream and unlike Sapnap and Tommy, I don’t think he was as oblivious to his actions of how they hurt people. I feel like he already saw Dream as a person and didn’t give a damn anyways. He did what he had to do, but he isn’t naive to how Dream feels. So there was no limbo that could change that. Perhaps more circumstances and character’s involvement could do something to change Q, but not just between him and Dream. (I think the situation with Purpled and Q would have been more the opportunity to reach that understanding like that of disc duo, but we already know how that turned out.)

So to summarize - Sapnap already knew Dream’s pov in the beginning so seeing it would not have radically changed anything. What he would need is an experience of something more recent Dream that shows Dream has emotions (maybe even specifically feelings for missing Sapnap) and isn’t some just crazy control freak. Then it would more so be feasible for a similar unfolding as Dream and Tommy had to happen. Quackity on the other hand, I don’t get the feeling had a misconception about Dream that needed to be changed so there was no Limbo that would matter. Maybe that’s wrong of me to say and judge Quackity so harshly, but I honestly don’t get the impression he sees Dream as less than human in a way that resulted in what we got in the disc duo finale…

Hopefully that answers your question or at least lays out my 2 cents. I think @elmhat has also talked similarly about alternative finale options so I recommend looking at what they had to say if you haven’t already.

[averlym]

miscellany (again),, tags in the last image by @pyrotechnicarus

[kuuttituutti]

Maybe "And then We danced" is the better homoerotic sports movie in my opinion, because there is actual gay sex to break the teeth grinding tension between the male leads.

Challengers however leaves you wanting to go outside and run until your lungs burn. Which, now that I think about it, is also very good.

Actually I think you should watch both.

Be wary of ATWD's sudden catboy graffiti jumpscare tho

[batsplat]

do you watch current moto2 and moto3? and what riders are you keeping your eye on if so?

I sure do! not to be too rude to the premier class, but I kinda have to if I'm interested in seeing some actual 'racing' now and again these days. don't always watch them live, especially now that we've gotten to the flyaways, but I do at least try not to get spoilers before I actually watch them (not always successfully)

in moto3, I've grown fond of veijer - seems like a smart kid, comes across as quite a cerebral rider... had a tricky run of form of late but really I'm just interested to see what happens when he moves to bikes that should (hopefully) suit his frame better. obviously he'll be moving up next year, so we'll see how he gets on... I did really enjoy the piqueras performance from a while back, incredible mix of boneheaded and brilliant from a rider who just refused to lose on the day, very compelling to watch. as a rule ofc it's worth not to get too invested in the prospects of moto3 hopefuls, given that the switch to moto2 can be the killer... I mean, in terms of who I'm keeping an eye on, obviously alonso is the one to pay attention to. he's been a bit too good and too nice this year to be particularly interesting, so I can't say I'm all that invested as yet. missing in the sturm and drang department, seems like quite a happy-go-lucky kid... but the racing is fun to watch, the race craft is ridiculously good and hopefully he's a little less boring when he gets pushed more. has made the moto3 title fight pretty meh this year it has to be said

in moto2, I have a long standing fondness for alonso lopez, who kinda sucks but in an endearing way. still can't really preserve his tyres, is relentlessly aggressive, massively frustrating... but what's the point in rooting for someone who doesn't frequently frustrate you! idk if he'll ever hit good enough form at the right time to make the move up to motogp, his chances aren't great given his nationality but ah well. I'm not a massive ogura fan but I still have some residual fondness for that title fight nobody wanted to win in 2022, can't ever not root for a bottler. plus his refusal to ride for honda in motogp has been really funny, definitely enjoyed how he's managed to get himself a non-honda seat on the grid. also have to say, sergio garcia's really grown on me this year, first because of how good a job he was doing and now just feeling desperately sorry for how wrong things have gone for him. really hope he can regroup and fight for the title next year, get the chance of a seat in the premier class... might have been a sliding doors moment though, timing just a little off - it's brutal. oh and well, we'll have to see how the aldeguer situation turns out, unsurprisingly I'm now way more invested in him after he's flopped for most of the season lol. probably not quite got that acosta juice to him, but I do still reckon he'll turn out to be a fair bit better than this current moto2 season is making him look

but yeah, in general, I do really enjoy watching the races! mostly as a neutral, though it's fun to watch if you've chosen one or two guys to back in each class so that when they crash you can mute the feed in a fit of pique for a minute and mutter under your breath about how they've been robbed... you know, as you do

[transtrucy]

red tape and the pieces of youth

chapter four: pinned under the weight

Phoenix doesn’t know how he has so much stuff. Or how it’s so disorganized. He thought he got rid of most of his unnecessary things when he moved out after college, but it quickly became apparent that he both didn’t clean out as much as he thought and that he accumulated much more than he thought. He didn’t think it would take even a day to pack. Miles hasn’t said it aloud yet, but Phoenix knows that he’s thinking ‘I told you so.’ It’s in the pointed looks he gets when asking Miles to put together another box. Miles has been relegated to folding boxes and researching adoption while the others pack. There’s no point in arguing that the others are allowed to help while he isn’t—Maya and Pearl have both half-lived here for years, and there’s something about Trucy’s packing skills that is both magical and slightly scary (and slightly sad).

[continue reading on ao3]

[impossible-rat-babies]

miriam lavellan the woman that u are

[familyofpaladins]

You've heard of [person/character/show/story/media/art] living rent free in your head right?

Now get ready for: that, but each is a little bird in the nest of you mind, some birds are there for a long time and some just a little while, as they come and go and theres some you feed more than others And it's not until you realize that suddenly "theres less birds here" "where'd the other babies go?" That the bird you started to feed a couple days ago is Cuckoo bird

[egginfroggin]

So like I know that きみでないのなら has romantic undertones due to the context and who it's being sung by in Itoki Hana's story (Phantom Aria), but like. I keep associating it with like. tragic siblings (especially twins separated through time/space, hm, gee, wonder why, hmmmmmmmmmmmm)

[fishermcn]

tinker + shinguards. -- rotten-pest (Cotesia asks, bearing a cheery little smile for all the menace she portrays otherwise)

@rotten-pest // no gold or silver will suffice for this gift; only the deaths you deliver cruel and swift // accepting.

When you dedicate yourself to being a "depraved" perfumer, you acknowledge that the pursuit of alchemical secrets and unnatural boons will cost you dearly. Whether that price is something as heartfelt as losing all you once held close to chest in the pursuit of power or simply a weight upon your soul tallied with the bodies you're forced to pile onto the pyre one after the other, there is always something to be taken for all that can be gained. A scale rebalanced, a pushing back of the world in due reply to you throwing your weight around.

Thankfully in Soot's case, the only toll exacted upon him has been the general sanity of his clientele, and compared to the previous round of customers Corellia (Contessa, Cotellie, somethin' like that--) here seemed to have her wits about her. Barring her taste in color arrangement that is, considering the horrible menagerie of colors sprouting from her breastplate. Radagon's balls, but blinking didn't do him a damn bit of good neither. Reminds him a bit of old Jerren, honestly...

Right, priorities. Focus. Tearing his gaze away from her breastplate and the hideous gambeson beneath it, Soot blinks and glances between the offering of her (admittedly worn, godsdamn--) shin guards and the smile lightening her claw-kissed face. Mhm, damn pests had gotten a nasty swing in by the look of her. Maybe she'd be interested in a new helmet too? "Ain't an armorer by trade, but..." He takes them in soot-stained hands with a care that belies his uncharitable thoughts, a thumb smoothing over the pitted steel whilst cradled in his spindly arms. It isn't hard to tell that these are older than she's had them for how worn-in they are, nor that they've faced the worst the road has to offer long before they were even in decent shape. "Got some dents here," and a dirty nail taps at a particularly deep one with a soft ting-ting. "Cloth's threadbare, coulda been secured too loosely...?"

On the very tip of his tongue, Soot nearly offers her a pair he's had tucked away for some time now. Pair of Redmane issue steel plate, tightly forged and never worn, polished to a sheen... yet it stays locked tight behind his crooked teeth. Another glance spared Cornelia's way, another once over of her from grinning face to garish maille to well-traveled boots, and something in his gut tightens at the thought of just attempting to talk her into tossing out these things.

"Gimme a day, two at most." Setting the guards onto a table already crowded with bits and baubles of an origin unknown and unrecalled, Soot pauses and pats himself down before retrieving an aromatic bottle. He tosses it to Coryn without so much as a "look alive" and gestures towards the ramshackle shack's door, already turning over the leggings between his hands. "Try that. Bloodboil with somethin' extra. Make ya hit like a batterin' ram, it should."

What's a day in the Weeping Peninsula come out to, when the sun never shows its face for all the bloody storm clouds? If Soot keeps track of anything it's how often Cordellia comes and goes, comes and goes, maybe not unwisely checking in on his progress and seeing for herself that he isn't in the business of filching banged up armor. As such she sees the restoration more closely than many of his other clients. Cloth is unceremoniously shorn from inside each legging only to be carefully, painstakingly refitted with a squinted eye and shockingly steady threading needle. Dents left from deflected blows are knocked back into proper shape with precise strikes of the hammer. Dirt accumulated from gods knew how many years of marching across the Lands Between is washed and scraped away with only a few mumbled oaths here and there for the elbow grease and effort put towards it.

It's the tail end of that second day when Soot finally presents the guards back to... fuck, what was it again? Corvina? Close enough. Witness though she'd been to most of the refurbishment, Soot figures he's at least managed to slip a few things past her attention. Where once the steel had reflected their time on the endless journey, now they gleamed with the attention a paid man with scrounged up polish can afford. Those pitted places across their now pristine surface have been properly straightened out, seamless and proven so by the level finger that traces down the surface of both leggings. Perhaps most notably though is the fabric used to soften their interior, replaced from that tattered and ruined material of before with a deep crimson cloth and tight stitching.

"Came out all right, it did. Been a bit since m'last stitches." Soot pauses, gnawing his bottom lips, before seeming to recall something. "Mhm, by the by, added somethin'." Nonchalantly, he plucks free a short but sharp blade from a small divot within the cloth of the shin guard. It's handle is wrapped in the very green binding that had once held together her left legging, it too now clean from the dust of the road. "Gotta sheath in both guards. Can't feel'm when ya walk. Nice in a pinch." With a wheeze, Soot tucks the dirk away and smothers the rest of his coughs into a raggedy sleeve. "Remember me when they do ya a good turn."

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

say what you like about having your vocabulary ruined by bertie wooster but at least whenever I'm indecisive from now on I'll always be able to say that I'm letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would' and make everyone think I'm cultured

[paintednote7]

Can't Sleep

TW: mentions of death and suicide.

If you are sensitive to those topics please don't interact for your own well being. take care of yourselves. continue under cut.

Plz give feedback on what I can improve on.

Word count: 1258

Kalim can't sleep. He's been tossing and turning all night but no matter how comfortable he gets he just can't sleep. Now in hindsight he really should be sleeping right now as he needs all the energy that he can get for VDC practice tomorrow, but sleep just eludes him.

But he knows why he can't sleep. In Fact it's been a problem ever since Jamil’s overblot. With learning about how Jamil truly felt, learning that the one person he trusted for years and thought that they were friends, all came crashing down in one night. Then after everything they just ignore it and go back to normal. Well at least that's what it looks like.

Kalim has been trying to take steps to make things easier for Jamil. Like setting up alarms to get up early to get ready, or like when he tried cooking for himself, which ended with him being banned from the kitchen. But hey at least he tried, who knew making makhlama was so hard. 

But the main problem is that neither Kalim or Jamil have talked about that night at all. Even if they were to talk, what would they say? It's not like they can just magically make things better. Kalim can't just go ask his father to release Jamil of his duties. If he did his father would assume that Jamil wasn't doing his job and could possibly kill him. Kalim can't bear to have that happen. He cares about Jamil so much he can't just throw him to the wolves like that. These aren't the reasons that he can't sleep though. 

The reason he can't sleep is because of the nightmares he's been having almost every night since then. Some of them are just a repeat of that night but others…the others are worse in his opinion. They can range from Jamil simply completely losing himself to overblot, to Jamil just dying in horrible ways. So every night when Kalim goes to bed now he is terrified of what he'll end up seeing. 

Kalim turns to look at the other side of the room he and Jamil are sharing for their time here in Ramshackle, to see Jamil asleep completely oblivious to everything that's going on in Kalim’s mind. Kalim takes a deep breath and tries to relax and remember that ‘Jamil is right there. He's asleep. He's just fine. You're fine. You're both safe and nothing is going to happen.’

But that doesn't stop the onslaught of intrusive thoughts swarming his mind saying things like. ‘what if he's actually dead right now and we're just imagining he's alive’ 

‘He could die tomorrow during an accident or possibly poison that was really meant for you.’ 

‘or maybe he'll overblot again and-’

“Kalim?”

Kalim snaps his head in the direction of the voice to see a groggy Jamil sitting up rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Why aren't you asleep? We need our rest or else we'll be dead on our feet during practice.” Kalim winces when at those last few words and tries to formulate an excuse.

Jamil pauses and tilts his head, his loose hair falling from his shoulder down to his back. Kalim always liked Jamil's hair. He always wanted to braid it but never asked, seeing it as rude. “Are you crying?” Kalim’s brain stops dead in its tracks ‘he’s crying?’. He brings his hand to his face to find that yes he is crying. He whips at the tears and simply tries to shrug it off. “Oh it's nothing, just some dust you know?”

Jamil gives him his ‘nice try look’. He flicks on the lamp on the nightstand and crosses his arms. “Really because judging from how puffy your face is it seems like you've been crying for a while. What? You miss your bed that much?”

Kalim shakes his head “no no not at all this is just fine I'm just having trouble sleeping is all.” Jamil chuckles “you're having that much trouble sleeping it made you cry? What could possibly be the issue to make it so hard?”

Kalim brings his knees to his chest, hiding his face within. “Nightmares…” Jamil raises a brow leaning forward a smidge. “What? Say that again please you know I can't understand when you mumble.” Kalim, tired and slightly frustrated, lifted his head. “I'm having nightmares about you ok?! Is that what you want to hear?!” 

Jamil flinches in shock not expecting the white haired boy to respond like that. Kalim realizing what he did brings his knees closer and lowers his head “I'm sorry I shouldn't have raised my voice. I'm just so tired and that's no excuse to take that out on you.” Jamil is slightly shocked by the apology but quickly recovers and instead focuses on what Kalim said. “Nightmares about me?” 

Kalim nods and lowers his head back into his knees. He hears shuffling and feels the bed dip down beside him. Jamil's voice comes out surprisingly soft. “Are they about my overblot?”. Kalim nods “and then some.” Jamil hums and turns away slightly “like what exactly?”

Kalim curls up tighter as if he could some more. “Like one time you died of poison meant for me, there was one where an assassin stabbed you. A-and the one w-where I found you with your neck snapped f-from a suicide a-attempt.” Kalim's voice grew Shaky as tears started pouring out his eyes. Jamil watches on as Kalim, sweet and innocent Kalim proceeds to explain some pretty graphic scenarios that he has been dealing with for a while now. All because of him. 

Jamil sighs and brings Kalim into a half hug. “Hey. I'm right here and I'm not planning on going anywhere just yet. I'm not going to die. Everything is going to be alright.” Kalim untangles himself and hugs Jamil fully while trying not to get tears all over him. Jamil hesitates but returns Kalim's hug.

After a few minutes of crying Kalim pulls away and wipes his tears away. “Sorry about that, I've just been stressed and it all came crashing down.” Jamil places his hand on Kalim's shoulder. “No, I get it. If I had those kinds of nightmares I think I would be a wreck too.” 

Kalim giggles at that and gives him a small smile. “And if you did, you could always come to me. That is! If you want to of course I'm not forcing you to come to me at all in fact you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to-” Jamil puts his other hand over Kalim’s mouth. “Ok! That's enough! I get it, Kalim! Jeez now that you're done do you think you can go to bed now it's almost 3 am.” Kalim looks down, obviously nervous to try and sleep again. Jamil sighs and pushes Kalim down. “Jamil what are you-?” Jamil pulls the covers up and lays down on the other side. “Stay on your side. Now go to sleep.” 

Kalim smiles and snuggles into his pillow “ok Jamil. We're going to talk about this eventually right?” 

“Eventually just not now. Now please for the love of the seven! Go. To. Bed!”

“Ok ok I'm sleeping!” Kalim turns onto his side away from Jamil. He yawns exhausted from crying and pouring out his troubles onto Jamil. His eyes grow heavy and close but just before he falls asleep he mutters. “ Thank you Jamil. Good night.” He's out before he could hear Jamil's tired response. “Yeah whatever. Your welcome….. Good night.”