#Yeah. I know. Looking in retrospective it was a dumb mistake.

[earthykinous]

Back then when I was like 8 or 9 I thought Dot was a male and I realized my mistake... like 4 years after... 💀

[o-solemioo]

Hey there!! I saw your introduction and I was wondering if maybe you could write a angsty miles Morales x reader, preferably gender neutral. Sorry lol that's not much to go on but yeah!!

Thanks, I'm looking forward to seeing your writing (if you choose to write this ask of course)

hello anon,

thank you so much for your ask !! i love these movies (and writing angst), so i'm happy to be able to have an excuse to write for them. this might be a bit short but i hope you enjoy it.

remember, you are loved, ๏siris ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

— how to disappear completely

☾ pairing: 1610!miles morales/gn!reader ☾ summary: "don't you trust me?" "i don't know." or miles telling you he's spiderman didn't go exactly as he planned. ☾ warnings: 2nd person (you), angst, hurt no comfort, very minor homophobia metaphor if you squint, swearing, crying and anxiety attacks, implied sh (nothing graphic), miles being sad :( ☾ w๏rd c๏unt: 439

---

Miles hadn't planned to tell you for a while. If we're being honest, Miles hadn't planned to tell you for a long while.

But he knew he needed to be more careful, and lounging around in his suit was, in fact, a stupid idea. It slipped his mind that you two were supposed to be hanging out today.

You laughed it off when you walked in. "Didn't know you were a cosplayer, Miles," you chuckled. It was only when you saw his terrified face that you knew. And boy, did you know instantly. Even Miles knew he couldn't get out if this one with a quick-witted lie. He just stared at you, waiting for your response.

He knew it wasn't going to be great, but he wasn't expecting what you did.

"Are you fucking kidding me!? This whole time I thought you were busy studying, you were out swinging around? When I thought you were being picked on, you were actually willingly fighting these dumb, comic-book supervillains!?" You ranted, you knew it was hurting him but you were hurt too, he was lying to you for so long, you just didn't know what else to do with yourself.

"I believed you! I was worried about you! ...If you would've told me sooner I would've been fine, but it's been damn near a year, Miles." By the time you finished your rant, Miles was crying, and you were too. He didn't want to say anything, he just wanted to curl up into a little ball and hide.

"I did it to protect you," Miles choked out. "I need you to trust me, don't you trust me?" He looked you in the eye for the first time in about ten minutes.

"...I don't know." With that, you were gone. You just needed to think, to clear your head.

Miles didn't know what to do with himself. As much as you were harsh, you were right. He did lie to you; and a lot, in retrospect. He just wanted to protect you, even if he knew you could protect yourself.

He tried to steady his breathing, but his hearing was starting to become fuzzy. He needed a glass of water, but he felt like he couldn't move. He sat there for a long time, silent, trying to ground himself.

Even when he finally felt somewhat like himself again, he moved around on autopilot. Drink water. Set an alarm. Do something you won't be proud of in the morning. Sleep. And sleep. And sleep.

And when you finally do wake up, look in the mirror and make sure you still want to disappear.

---

very short and i didn't proofread this, i hope it doesn't have too many spelling/grammar mistakes >.<

[phantasmagoric-acquaintance]

who said anything about marriage

[read it here or on ao3]

Barry was nervous.

That was nothing new. Barry was nervous most of the time. But Barry hadn’t been nervous around Lup in decades.

There were so many things that could go wrong. For one, he could lose the ring. For the millionth time in the past half hour, he patted the outside of his jacket pocket. He felt the little box and exhaled quietly.

He could screw up the plan. They’d already made it to the restaurant on time, thank the Gods. But what if they missed the gondola ride? He’d booked the damned thing in advance, and if the rules he’d read online were any indication, the company didn’t give latecomers a whole lot of leeway. He could pop the question on the streets next to the canal, he supposed, but that was unromantic. Plus, he’d pre-paid so much for the ride.

And what if he fell? He’d made himself sick the night before reading articles about mistakes to avoid on a gondola. He knew not to try to stand, but what if he forgot? He could tip the boat and soak them both.

“Um, babe?”

Lup’s voice brought Barry out of his anxious reverie, and he remembered he’d been pouring a glass of wine, which was now very close to overflowing. “Aah!” He hastily righted the bottle, hitting the mouth against the overfilled glass in the process and very nearly knocking it over.

Lup snickered, eyes glinting with amusement. “You are a wreck,” she said as she lifted her own wine glass to her lips. There wasn’t a hint of malice in her voice or in her expression. Barry remembered that he’d probably embarrassed himself in front of her thousands of times, and she still loved him. As the waiter came by to take their orders, Barry felt himself relaxing.

That calm moment was short-lived.

When the waiter turned away from their table, Lup propped her elbows up on the table and rested her chin on her palms. “Hey, Bear?”

“Mm-hm?” Barry vocalized, sipping from his comically full wine glass.

“When are we gonna get married?”

Barry sputtered, spitting a little wine back into his glass and trying not to choke on the rest of it. “Huh?!?” Had she figured out his plan? She was clever, and he wasn’t the best at keeping secrets, but he thought he’d done a good job of keeping it from her. He’d known better, too, than to tell anyone expect Taako. Did she get it out of him?

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, don’t freak out or anything. It’s just, you know, we’ve been together for, like, I don’t know, an entire human lifespan?” She shifted her chin so that it rested only on her left palm and reached for her glass with her free hand. “I mean, we’re pretty much already married. I just thought, I dunno, maybe we should make it official.”

If Barry had been thinking, he might’ve told her “Yes! Gods, yes!” right then and there. He might’ve pulled out the ring and said, “Funny you should ask, I was thinking the same thing!” If he had been thinking, he might have realized that this moment, right here in the restaurant, was the perfect opportunity to do what he’d set out to do this evening.

But Barry wasn’t thinking. Barry was panicking.

“M-marriage? Who said anything about marriage?”

Lup set her left arm back down on the table. “Huh? Nobody said anything about it. Or, I guess I did.” She looked down at her glass and swirled it around a bit. “Geez, Barry, I wouldn’t have brought it up if I knew it’d make you all, like, panicky and sweaty and shit.”

“I-I’m not panicky and sweaty.” He was very obviously both of these things. It was this moment that the waiter came by, awkwardly setting their plates in front of them and hurrying off, sensing that whatever was happening here, it was definitely not something he wanted to be privy to any longer than necessary. “Y-you just caught me off guard, that’s all. Marriage is, you know, a big word.”

“Well, sure.” Lup picked up a fork and began swirling it in her pasta. “But, like, haven’t you thought about it before?” She lifted the fork to her mouth.

“Thought about marrying you?” Barry was drenched in sweat now.

“Mm-hm,” Lup managed through a mouthful of linguini.

“Well, no, I mean, why would I?”

This was absolutely, positively, the wrong thing to say. It might have been the worst possible thing Barry could’ve said, and he’d said it, and he couldn't take it back.

Lup swallowed her food hard and gaped at him. “Fucking excuse me?”

“Uhh…” He took a long sip of his wine.

“What do you mean, ‘Why would I?’?”

The pressure was on now, and Barry tended to falter under pressure. “I just, I mean, marriage is, it’s such a long-term commitment, you know? It, uh, ties you down and stuff.”

Lup’s eyes went even wider. “Barry, what are you trying to say?” she asked softly.

Barry threw his hands up. “Nothing! I- nothing! Just, you’re such a, a free spirit, I, uh, wouldn’t wanna… hold you back?”

She deflated, and he knew he’d dug himself deeper. “Yeah, okay.” She put her elbow back on the table, making a fist with her left hand and resting her cheekbone on her knuckles, and looked down at her plate.

Silence. Barry cut off a bit of his salmon and ate it. “Mmm!” he hummed exaggeratedly. “The salmon is amazing! How’s your food?”

Lup pushed her noodles around on her plate, not looking up. “It’s fine. Fantastic.”

They stayed like that for a while, him slowly eating his food and watching her, her only taking small occasional bites and refusing to look anywhere but her plate.

“Um, are… are you ready for the check?” Barry asked after some time.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Whenever.” Lup stood. “Just, like, excuse me for a minute first.” She walked quickly towards the restroom.

When the door closed behind her, Barry sighed and sunk his face into his hands. He didn’t have the slightest idea how he was going to recover. “Fuck,” he breathed into his hands.

After a minute, Barry heard the sound of footsteps, distinct from the clicking of Lup’s heels, approach the table. “Barold.”

He lifted his head to see Taako, still in his full chef’s uniform, glaring at him, arms crossed. Fuck, he was really in trouble now. “Hi, Taako.” In retrospect, maybe it was a mistake to have this dinner at Lup’s brother’s restaurant. It had seemed like a sweet idea at the time. Taako had only recently gotten comfortable cooking for large crowds again, and he and Lup made efforts to support him when they could.

Taako leveled a glare at Barry. “One of my little birdies has just informed me that she saw my sister run crying into the bathroom. Would you, dear customer, mind telling me why that is?”

Barry exhaled, long and slow. “I beefed it, Taako.”

“You beefed it? What does that mean, exactly?”

“Okay, she brought up marriage out of nowhere and it threw me off and I didn’t want to spoil the proposal and I panicked and maybe I said some things I didn’t mean.”

“Such as…?”

“Such as… ‘I’ve never thought about marrying you,’ and ‘Marriage ties people down’…”

“Oh, good Gods. All because you didn’t wanna spoil some dumb overly romantic surprise?”

Barry flushed. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Taako pinched the bridge of his nose. “Barry, I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but if you know what’s good for you, you’re going to have this fixed by the end of tonight.”

Barry grimaced. “I-I’ll try.”

“You’ve also wasted my food.” Taako nodded at Lup’s mostly-untouched plate and tossed a leather check holder onto the table. “And if I find any fire damage in my bathroom, I’m charging you for that, too.” With that, Taako turned and strode back into the kitchen.

By the time Lup came out of the bathroom, Barry’s credit card had already been returned to him and he was signing the receipt. He looked up at her and tried not to wince when he noticed the mascara tracks marking paths down her cheeks from her puffy eyes. “Ready to go?”

“Mm.” She still wouldn’t look at him. He led her outside, and she leaned against the building, hugging herself and staring into space, eyes unfocused.

Barry stood next to her uneasily. “Uh, I’m going to… call the taxi now?”

“Mm-hm.”

Barry didn’t reach for his phone. Another uncomfortable silence passed.

Then, he sighed. “Okay, I-I didn’t wanna do it like this, but…”

Barry knelt down, pulled the ring box out of his pocket, and flipped it open.

Lup finally turned to face him now, stunned. “Wh-what-?”

He blushed and began rambling. “I had this whole evening planned, and there was supposed to be a gondola ride, that’s where we were supposed to go next, and I was going to ask you there, but then you brought up marriage and I panicked and I put my fucking foot in my mouth. It was so dumb, I’m so sorry I said all that shit, I didn’t mean any of it, I just really wanted it to be a surprise. Gods, I was so fucking dumb, of course I wanna marry you, if you’ll still have m-“

Lup bent down, grabbed Barry’s face, and kissed him hard.

Barry felt all the tension in his body melt away. He shut the ring box and held it securely in one hand. He brought the other up to sweep Lup’s hair behind her ear and held it there, against her cheek.

When Lup pulled away, she rested her forehead against his. “You’re a fucking wreck, baby.”

He chuckled. She was crying again and, Barry realized, so was he. “I know.”

She beamed. “We’ll work on it together, fiancé.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I can’t believe you did all that for a fucking gondola ride, though. I mean, no offense, dear, but I’m kinda glad we didn’t do that.”

He grimaced. “Well, about that, I paid a lot of money for it, and there’s still time…”

Lup pouted. “Do we have to? I’d rather go home.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’ll make it up to you,” she breathed.

Barry smiled. “Yeah, okay. You’ve convinced me.”

“Perfect!” Lup stood up, smirked, and held out her left hand. “Now gimme that rock!”

Taako lifted his phone off the bedside table and squinted at his notifications.

Lulu: Missed Call

Lulu: Voicemail

Remembering the scene at his restaurant the night before, he inhaled sharply and unlocked his phone. There are two ways that situation could’ve played out, he thought. He navigated to his voicemailbox and pressed play on the most recent message.

“Ugh, it’s so annoying how you’re never awake when I have news. I have big fucking news, by the way, so I’m gonna be really pissed at you if you don’t call me back within the next, like, two hours. Okay, later.”

Taako smiled. It was a relief to hear her sound so chipper. It meant this news of hers was definitely good, and it meant that Taako didn’t have to fight Barold. He sat up, rubbed the dust out of his eyes, and called his sister.

[itsclydebitches]

I know it's weird, but I always thought that Ironwood's idea of security was pretty dumb, he pretty much brings hackable soldiers and still keeps them even after the tower incident and doesn't even try to be subtle about it, that easily causes panic.

If he really wanted to be safe, just human soldiers and huntsman would've been enough.

Hell, the main reason Robyn was against him was just Cinder giving him a bad rep, telling her everything would have really helped.

I'm not saying that Ironwood's character was done well, but rwde critics constantly deify him and handwaved his mistakes and said they weren't his mistakes.

Based on my experience, it's not that critics are denying his flaws or mistakes, but rather that they're refusing to think the worst of him in a story that, frankly, doesn't give us all the information we need to make an informed decision about responsibility.

Let's take the examples you've laid out. Yeah, in retrospect having hackable soldiers was a huge mistake and for a 21st century viewer, it's indeed super obvious that technology is a fallible tool. However, RWBY (to my recollection) never imbued Remnant with that same knowledge, nor those same concerns. Atlas is treated like a technological marvel — supposedly the world's only given how often such-and-such invention is Atlas' — and any technology, in turn, is treated as a boon, not something capable of harm. Dust, weapons, mechs, an adorable android girl... all of it is painted in a utopian-ish light and what very few hints we get at potential pitfalls — like the White Fang stealing those mechs and Roman attacking the group with one — are never explored. At no point in Volumes 1-3 is the narrative concerned with the dangers such technology presents, including hacks. The Remnant world reacts like Ironwood's army getting hacked really is a shocking, totally unexpected thing that no one considered as a possibility — except the villains looking to enact that harm. So if this is a world where what's obvious to us has yet to be discovered by these characters, Ironwood isn't any more of a fool than everyone else. No one expected Cinder's hack: not him, not his scientists, not the level-headed Glynda, not Ozpin who tells him to use his soldiers now that they're here... that's why this is a tragedy. And trying to read RWBY through that, "Well, it's obvious to me that this was stupid" ignores what little, cultural world building we've got, as well as some basic facts of the show. It's like fans blaming Ironwood for not changing the codes after Watts went bad. He thought Watts was dead. Everyone did. The viewers are using their omniscient knowledge of the show to judge a character's decisions. How dare Ironwood not magically realize Watts was alive and planning to attack the Kingdom at some point... something we only know about because we get an inside look into Salem's war room by virtue of this being a fictional show.

As for the human soldiers, is that really an easy solution? We as the fans may think it is, but the story doesn't. Ironwood reveals the Paladins specifically as a means of replacing people on the battlefield, so that parents, kids, siblings, and friends aren't out there dying while fighting grimm. Pre-hack, that sounds like a pretty fantastic move. And even post-hack, all the way into Volume 8, we've got Marrow horrified at the fact that kids (or, you know, 19+yos) are fighting in this war. How horrible that the evil army forces real people to fight these monsters. So what's the solution here? Or, within RWBY's world, what's the solution Ironwood should have turned to in order to not be a dumb, ethically dubious soldier? Putting machines on the field opens him up to the enemy taking advantage of that technology. Putting people on the field opens up the possibility that they will die horrific deaths he'll be blamed for. Not putting anyone on the field means that grimm (and Salem's forces) overtake the world and kill everyone anyway. This is no good, easy solution here. Which is the point. Critics aren't saying, "Ironwood is a faultless individual who did everything right." They're saying, "RWBY has introduced problems with no obvious answers, so why would we condemn someone for their understandable ignorance and/or an inability to conjure up that impossibly perfect solution?" If someone is presented with a red block and a blue block and told to pick the purple block, even if I think it's wrong to choose blue ("Red was totally closer!") I'm not going to blame them because that task was rigged from the start. There is no purple block available, red or blue are the only options, and the people going, "Idk why he didn't just merge the blocks together to create purple" are ignoring some fundamental facts about the situation. What is and is not capable of happening, made worse by this being a story where facts can get loose and even contradictory.

Which brings us to Robyn. I don't agree that she was only against Ironwood because of Cinder's speech. Everything we hear is about the state of Mantle and that she's against him because, as a person in a position of power, he's failed to improve their circumstances. The problem with this is that RWBY likewise fails to establish how much of this is actually Ironwood's responsibility, coupled with what little information we get being... ridiculous? Few of our crucial questions are answered and some answers are, quite frankly, absurd. How long has this been going on, because this feels like a systematic problem that extends far before Ironwood's time? How is a single, short term embargo causing this much strife? Why is the focus on Mantle when we see that there are actual slums where all the faunus supposedly live? How much power does Ironwood actually hold when there are (normally) three other people on the council? How in the world do resources to build Amity Tower into a communication device equal, like, the food Mantle people supposedly need? (What do they need?) Why is everyone terrified of the soldiers when they a) are not shown abusing their power in any way and b) are actively keeping people safe from the invading grimm? Are those soldiers people or androids — they never take off their helmets? If helping the people was so important, why didn't Robyn do anything with the resources she stole?

And on and on. It's such a badly constructed situation that the viewer doesn't even know precisely what's happening, let alone where to lay blame. Toss in the ethical complications — is it right to cause some short term damage in an effort to save the world in the future? — and you've got yourself a hot mess. Anti-Ironwood fans are happy to lay everything at his feet, regardless of how much sense it makes, or even whether we have enough information to argue whether it makes sense or not. Critics, in turn, aren't waving away Ironwood's mistakes, but rather acknowledging that figuring out what his mistakes are is... really, really hard. Not just in regards to ethics (things like the trolley problem), but just basic facts as well. "Ironwood is so dumb, why didn't he just plug up the hole in Mantle's wall." Idk. Why didn't any of our 8+ heroes plug up the wall? Why didn't Robyn with her stolen resources? Why didn't any of the scientists that make up Atlas' renown? What little we're given in RWBY doesn't point towards Ironwood as the responsible party — as it should in a show where he's being set up as the next baddie — it just points towards the writers' inability to write a coherent scenario with a clear message about responsibility. I can't blame a character for things when it's so very unclear what's going on.

Which is precisely why Volume 8 went so crazy hard on the "Ironwood is evil" message. What RWBY gave us was not a good portrayal of an evil man, or even a man making decisions he should be unambiguously blamed for, so we wind up with, "And then Ironwood shot the councilman in the head" just to get the "he's evil" message across. That is finally clear. But pre-Volume 8 we're still left with a story that made many in the fandom go, "Wait... but he didn't know that would happen? There's no easy answer here? There's actually a lot of good attached to that 'bad' idea and philosophy courses would spend half a semester on this ethical question alone. Why are we supposed to see him as a bad guy again? He reads like a well-rounded, flawed, but good-hearted guy doing the best he can in a really shitty situation and that's when we understand what the situation is..."

Given that ambiguity, yeah, we can absolutely assume the worst and think Ironwood dumb, callous, capable of anything. For many critics though, ambiguity means not assuming the worst. It means acknowledging that we don't have all the necessary information, or that various contradictions undermine this reading, or that the show did such a bad job with Ironwood in the end that taking his previous (supposed) mistakes at face value feels a little ridiculous. Yeah, Volume 7 had a lot of good in it, but given how badly Volume 8 face-planted, it puts a rather negative light on everything that came before it. "Robyn says that Ironwood has..." well, Robyn is also the woman who goes on to rewrite what happened with Clover, so I'm not sure accepting her interpretation of events is a great way to go. Now apply that kind of thinking to nearly everything because, again, RWBY is so unclear about these crucial plot-points. Prior to the dictator-turn of Volume 8, so much of Ironwood's flaws are things we're told, with the expectation that we're just going to ignore all the ways in which that doesn't make sense, isn't supported, is coming from an unreliable character, is a flaw that exists in the heroes yet is treated entirely differently, etc. After all that, you start getting a bit more discerning about what are Ironwood's "real" mistakes and what is simply a double-standard, or the story failing to actually show us that fault rather than just insisting it's there.

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Prologue

plot: ehehe lemme leave this blank for now as this is only a prologue genre: fluff, crack, slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, angst at some point wc: 2.7k

[a/n]

I am reeling just from finishing this one because Tsukki is my boy (Kuroo ily too i swear)

Who writes 2.7k words of prologue? lol me

I’ll set up the masterlist when I’m done with the 1st Chapter.

Thank you so much @oii-sugasan​ and @haikyuu-is-for-lovers​ for the betaread! :)

Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Chapter 1 || masterlist

You aren’t just annoying. You’re a fucking menace. Every time he goes to the gym, your presence is like a plague. You're just a manager, but sometimes he thinks that you think you’re the assistant coach. There’s nothing he’d love more than to shower you with the nastiest, most off-handed comments, just to shut you up and wipe the cheery grin that taunts him every time he sees you. 

Seriously, you’re all over the place -- you talk to all members of the team as if you’re a player yourself, you nag everyone to take care of themselves outside training like you’re their older sister, you hand out self-gathered information on upcoming matches as soon as matchups are announced, you scamper around the gym tossing balls, assembling the net, doing whatever the hell you can get your hands on, all the while wearing those stupid shorts that distract the majority of the team, especially the new members. 

As his eyes follow you, you suddenly turn around to face him, breaking him from his reverie. Even when you’re halfway across the gymnasium, he can see the sharp playfulness that you always exude whenever you talk to him. 

“Tsukishima!” You wave at him with that disgustingly sweet grin. “If you’re done staring at my sexy back, you can start your blocking drills, okay?!” you shout with a voice loud enough for everyone else in the gym to hear.  Tsukishima feels multiple sets of eyes glance towards his direction and he ‘tsks’ in annoyance under his breath.

He immediately walks away. He refuses to hear more of the unnecessary and untrue prattles directed at him by you.  

He hears footsteps follow him. Judging from its pace and heavy strides, he already knows its Kogane without even looking

“Oi, Tsukki. Do you like our manager?”

He doesn’t understand why Kogane is whispering when you’re half a court away from them. More than that, he doesn’t understand why Kogane assumes he likes you. For one, you were wrong: he wasn’t even staring at you. He was staring randomly at nothing while thinking  about how irritating you are and you just happened to be at his line of sight. 

“I don’t see anything to like about her,” he replies passively. 

“What? Why? She’s super helpful -- and pretty too.” Kogane, just like the rest of the team, believes so. Even Kyoutani is fond of you because of that one time you received his spike on full force. You rolled on your back from the sheer power of it but you were able to receive it perfectly, making the whole team go wild when you did, with him as the only exception as he found it inane. 

“If you think so, go confess or something then.” 

“You know we can’t!” Pink stains begin to surface on his teammate’s cheeks, obviously infatuated with you. Then again, this is not new to him. It was a basic reaction from anyone whose dick is more functional than their brain.  Maybe it’s because you’re the only female so close to everyone else. Honestly, he really doesn’t know. But one thing’s for sure. Kogane has 0 chances with you, and neither does every player of Sendai Frogs. 

He remembers the conceitedness you displayed even in your first year as a manager. You two became part of the team almost at the same time. He was two months in when the former manager introduced you to the team. As she finished introducing you, you whispered to her to add something. It went something like ‘oh, umm. y/n-chan also said that no one from the team can’t date her.’ Even the former manager looked at you weirdly but you were just there beaming as you bowed to everybody. 

They thought it was a joke, but when you became a full-pledged manager in less than six months, you announced it yourself. 

‘I know I’m kind of cute, but I won’t ever consider dating anyone from the team. Okay?’

You announce it with a sickening smile every time there are new members, reminding everyone else that you’re untouchable. 

It’s fucking atrocious, to him at least. Unlike the other players from his team, he’s not shallow enough to fancy you just because you’re not disgusting to look at, or that you did your managerial duties so exceedingly well.

He grits his teeth. He hates it. How can someone so chaotic as you be so effective in managing the team. What grinds him even more is that you go to the same university he does, and even there, your presence stinks. He once had a class with you only to find out that you’re not as dumb as you make yourself out to be. 

It’s infuriating. He can’t wait for the day you mess up -- only then would he finally get the chance to diss you. He’ll turn that shit-eating smile of yours upside down. 

--

Man, nothing boosts your mood better than bugging Tsukishima. When you felt his sinister stare boring at your back earlier, you just couldn’t waste the opportunity to say something about it. He just ignored you, but the scowl on his face was enough response to satisfy you. 

The truth is, you have nothing against Tsukishima. Yeah, he has a sharp tongue and a vile attitude, but hey, he’s a good team player. He doesn’t speak much, but he gets shit done in matches. Despite his foul personality, he’s actually manageable: he listens to you and he rarely shows up late. He’s not particularly motivating to look at, but he still does what’s asked of him. For some reason that you don’t know, he still hasn’t spat out his usual, rancid remarks towards you. You know he’s itching to, and honestly, you’re kind of curious of what he’ll throw your way. 

Still, for the last three years he kept his mouth shut even though he looks at you like you’re the most unpleasant being he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Y/n!”

You jog towards the team coach, Coach Mira. “Yes, Coach?”

“Do you like Tsukishima?” she asks curiously. The question is funny to you but you hold back the laughter and smile instead.

You like Coach Mira a lot. She’s more like an older sister than a coach to you. You’re free to share a few laughs with her, and she values your input to the team. Maybe it’s because you’re both women drowned in a sea of male athletes that you sort of have that innate connection. 

“No, Coach. Why?”

“Cause you pay attention to him the most.”

“I don’t see what’s to like about him,” you veer your gaze towards his direction, watching his scowling face as he walks away, Koganegawa following closely behind him. You can’t hear them, but the sight is already amusing as it is. “I just like putting him in place whenever he’s being extra nasty,” you add. 

“If you say so, y/n. Honestly, I don’t really care if you go out with one of them.” 

You wave your hand back and forth like you’re swatting a fly. “No way, Coach. They’re like little boys I’m taking care of.”

She sweeps her gaze behind you, scanning all the players present in the court. “Can’t say they feel the same way though.” Then she looks at the same person you’re looking at. “Well, maybe except for Tsukishima.”

“That’s why I like messing around with him the most,” you admit with mirth as you watch Tsukishima get away from Kogane.

--

Everyone in the gymnasium is staring as they enter the arena. If there’s one thing opposing teams remember about the Sendai Frogs, it’s their female tandem of a stone-cold coach and a ‘hot,’ bubbly manager who walk side by side in front of the whole team, not the players.

It’s not really an issue for Tsukishima. He doesn’t really care. Shimizu had the same reputation back in high school. But you? You’re not Shimizu. You aren’t even close.

And you, being the chaotic mess that you are, you milked the attention. Whenever someone blatantly gapes at you,  you’d wave at them. You’d even entertain those who openly flirted with you. In retrospect, he should find it despicable. Rather finds it entertaining. So does the rest of the team.

When the Sendai Frogs reach their spot, a guy wearing a Tamaden Elephants jersey approaches you shamelessly. A brave (maybe a little bit foolish) act, considering you’re with the whole team.

“Hi!”

You turn around and greet him just as enthusiastically, maybe even more.

“I just want to say, great game from last season, he says as he scratches the back of his head. 

Liar. 

If the guy really wants to acknowledge the team’s play from last season, he’d approach one of the players. He also wouldn’t have that stupid blush on his awe-struck face. 

“Thank you! Great game indeed,” you return the compliment.

As soon as the guy starts fidgeting, Tsukishima can already guess what comes next: it’s either a date or your number.

“If you don’t mind, can I get your number?”

Tsukishima sneers at how predictable the scene is, and he can’t wait to see what comes next.

You beam at the guy. “Sure! It’s number 1.”

He still smiles even though he’s obviously dumb-founded. “Sorry, what?”

“My number, right? It’s 1. Cause we’re number 1 in the district,” You say with that fake innocence that isn’t really fooling anyone.

“...Uhh.”

“Go Sendai Frogs!” You cheer out of the blue and as if an automated response, the rest of the team, even Tsukishima (though lifelessly), answers.

“Sendai Frogs fight!”

The loud baritone of deep male voices drew the attention of other people in the area, brightening your face up even more as you focus on the guy in front of you again. He looks scandalized by what just happened. 

“How about you? What’s your number?” you ask, pushing the guy to a mental corner as Tsukishima and his team glares at him while waiting for how he’ll answer. An embarrassed blush replaces the previously infatuated one as he realizes that he shouldn’t have made the mistake of hitting on you. 

“I-I’m not really sure,” his voice loses any shred of confidence it once had.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” you feign sympathy. 

“Yeah.” The guy looks down. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he adds before retreating defeatedly.

“Bye! Nice to meet you,” you wave cordially. ‘Whoever you are, newbie elephant,’ you say to yourself as you watch the unfamiliar member of the Elephants go back to his team, a team you wiped the floor with last season.

Until now, you don’t understand why people still even bother. You welcomed the flirtations, but never really went out with anybody. You’re not really opposed to getting in a relationship, but like -- Gooood! They’re all so uninteresting. Rejecting them is more fun than the mere prospect of dating them.

You feel a familiar touch on your shoulder. 

“Good job boosting the team morale,” Coach Mari says in a volume that only you can hear as she pats you.

“Thanks, Coach!” You grin at her praise. 

You turn around to check your players and your eyes instantly land on Tsukishima who had just put on his white headphones and began scrolling at his phone. Around him, everyone else has already started stretching. 

You bounce your way to him, knowing that you’d instantly get his attention even without saying anything. But even with you ogling when you stopped in front of him, he still doesn’t budge.

“Tsukishima.”

No response.

‘Heh,’ you snicker internally. He never fails to amuse you when he tries to ignore you. 

“Tsu~ ki~ shi~ ma~” You bob your head sideways, popping at the opposing sides of his phone so he’ll notice you.

You don’t miss the minute twitch of his eyes as he drags his phone closer to him in an attempt to shut you out. 

Tsk tsk. He should know better by now that you're not the type to back away. 

You go beside him instead, tiptoeing so you can see what he’s so busy looking at. As soon as your arms touch his, he puts down his phone and irritatedly removes his headphones. 

He’s shooting daggers at you, making you giddy with excitement as he looks like he’s about to say something you. You hold his gaze with a raised eyebrow and subtle smirk that you couldn’t suppress. Did he get fed up already? Is he finally going to say something?

‘Do it. Do it. Do it,’ you chant in your head. 

He takes in a painful deep breath instead. “What?” The single word contains so much disdain that you want to cackle so bad. 

“Shouldn’t you be stretching?” you query.

“In a bit.”

You leisurely shake your head with disapproval. “I know you’re a lazy ass fucker sometimes,” you begin. “But you always help us win. You’re our meanest, tallest, best blocker.” Your gaze drops down to his ankles and travels up.

“So,” you continue, dropping your voice amusedly, “stretch those gorgeous, God-given, legs you have.” Your eyes linger on his thighs before landing up to his face to smile sweetly at him. “Will you?”

This is one of the moments you’re pretty sure he won’t dare talk back at you. Why? Because you’re one hundred percent right, and he knows that too. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it.

He glares at you for one second and walks towards the rest of the team to join them. 

--

Playing at the professional level, he always considers one match to be a big win already, even if it’s just the first match of the regular rounds. Ever since he became a starter for Sendai Frogs, he was not allowed to slack off even for one rally. He could take the lecture if it’s from Coach, but he couldn’t stomach it if it’s from you. 

Even before the match started, you were already on his grill, pestering him just because he wasn’t warming up yet. He was pissed the whole game and put extra effort than usual to make sure that you won’t have anything to say after. 

“Um, excuse me.” A girl from Red Rabbits blocks him on his way to the restroom. “Tsukishima, right?”

He can tell that she is trying her best to look nonchalant, but the familiar tint on her face is telling.

Tsukishima had never understood girls who approach him for anything remotely romantic. Does he look like he’s interested? It’s not that he’s not open to the idea of dating, but he finds it unpleasant when people go after him because they like how he plays. Worse, for some obtuse reason like him being ‘cute.’

“Yes. Why?”

She smiles at him bashfully with her arms crossed behind her. “I’m also a middle blocker. I was really inspired with how you read block so well. If it’s okay with you, can you teach me how you do it?”

Why would he do that? He’s already a senior college student who’s also a professional athlete. He has no reason to go out of his way to teach someone read blocking. Especially someone who’s already supposed to know it since (as she claims) she’s also a middle blocker. Judging from where they currently are, someone from Division 1 no less. 

“Sorry. I’m really busy,” he says bluntly. 

“Oh, okay. Sorry for bothering you.” She bows then takes off immediately. 

He watches as the girl from Red Rabbits scampers off as quickly as humanly possible. Did she really think he’d agree to it?

He is too occupied to notice the faint sound of footsteps behind him, and only when you speak does he notice your presence.

“Aww, poor girl going out of her way to ask you out.” 

He groans. Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be checking on the team since their match just ended.

You fall into step beside him as he brushes your comment off and continues heading for the rest rooms.

“I didn’t ask her to,” he calmly responds despite your irksome presence. 

“How are you going to get a girlfriend like that?” you ask exaggeratedly as if not getting in a relationship will lead to his ruin.

“I don’t need one.”

You gasp. “Damn, Tsukishima. Men your age are all about raging hormones. Where do you put all that raging testosterone?”

He purses his lips in a corner, his jaw tensing at your remark. Men his age? You talk as if you’re older when you’re in the same year he is.

Also, what the fuck?

Now you’re nagging about his personal life too? You’re already aggravating as the team manager. Now you’re even sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

His blatant irritation must have shown in his face because you suddenly let out a giggle. “My bad, my bad. Don’t look so scary. Geez. Where you get action is none of my business. I just followed you to let you know that we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

You turn around, about to go back but stop before you make the first step. “Oh, and we have a meeting later. I did the stat sheets of the game and gave it to the coach already. Great blocking, Tsukishima!” You pat his shoulder twice with a proud smile, then saunter off back to the arena. 

Damn it. If only you aren’t so good at being a manager, he would actually be able to dislike you to the fullest. Not only that, he wouldn’t feel that silly, tiny contentment he felt upon hearing you.

Chapter 1 || masterlist

Taglist:(those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem​​ @akaashisslave @tsumurai​​  @babythotshq​​ 

[greenhappyseed]

BnHA Chapter 317: Thoughts & comparisons part 2 - THE OLD MAN AND THE KID

As mentioned in Part 1, I'm splitting my thoughts on Chapter 317 into 3 posts: this one about Deku and All Might (part 2), plus separate posts on the hero brain trust and the media (part 1) and the hero killer Stain (part 3).

* * * * * * * * * *

This part of the chapter was an emotional sucker punch and gave me strong "Gift of the Magi" vibes. All Might is trying to protect his boy by following him, and Deku is trying to protect his idol by saying goodbye. Unfortunately, there's no guarantee of safety for anyone right now, so their "gifts" of protection are unusable. All Might isn't safe whether All Might follows Deku or stays behind. Same for Deku -- his loved ones aren't safe whether he accepts their help or not. It's the harsh reality of what AFO does. The real thing that All Might and Deku need to focus on isn't giving each other the "gift" of safety, but on how strong their bond is.

The main stumbling block is that Deku STILL idolizes All Might (as All Might recognized a few chapters ago). As the adult, it was on All Might to speak up, but he didn't because he's scared to disappoint his boy. He already knows the pain of disappointing a fanboy, so this would take it to a whole new level. But if he really wants to keep Izuku in his life, he MUST risk it and tell the kid all the things he wishes someone had told him. As I wrote previously (between Ch 315-16) it's maddening because we know All Might is capable of having this kind of frank talk with Izuku -- he did it all the way back in Ch 2. All Might saw Izuku overworking himself and modified the workout plan to moderate Izuku's extreme behavior, which would have prevented Izuku from reaching his ultimate goal if left unchecked. So yeah, All Might knows better, and knows he can’t stand idly by while his kid makes a massive deadly mistake. When a child doesn’t have the capacity to help themselves and the consequences are serious, an adult HAS to step in and help ASAP. Talk to the kid, talk to the kid’s friends/teachers, talk to professionals. Keep going until your kid gets the help they need, because even if a parent/guardian can’t help directly, it’s their responsibility to find that help for their kid. Haven’t we learned anything from the lost children in the League of Villains?

Meanwhile, Deku doesn't see All Might as a human who loves Izuku Midoriya. I think, in part due to his being bullied and his innate tendency to not take himself into account, he sees All Might's devotion to him as part of a predecessor-successor relationship. Deku will struggle as long as he sees "All Might" as an ideal and not the human in front of him. (Admittedly, I thought the HPSC storyline might go here and disclose All Might’s awareness of some “grey” missions, causing Deku to look at his mentor through a different lens.) But even now, Deku is trying to have an "I AM HERE" moment so All Might is proud of his successor, but fails to realize All Might is ALREADY PROUD (in part because All Might hasn't vocalized it in a way that Deku can truly hear it). The "You don't look back at me anymore..." in context is immediately followed up by this glowing Dadmight moment:

It only becomes a sad moment in retrospect as All Might realizes (1) he didn't really tell Deku explicitly how proud he was often enough; and (2) the full weight of what it means to nurture a child towards independence (and that his boy is just like him, and is heading towards the same fate as him....)

While I definitely think Bakugo will knock some sense into Deku, I still think All Might is the only one that can truly “release” Deku from these burdens, especially the ones related to the “Symbol of Peace” and the Shimura family that are tied directly to All Might. We see this in Deku’s callbacks:

Nana in the vestige world sobbing over her mistake in giving up Kotaro, saying she and Gran Torino were wrong, and testing Deku’s resolve to save Shigaraki. Juxtaposed with Gran Torino saying, "I should have made the kill...sorry...don't be so rigid. Killing can be another way to save someone," and Shigaraki screaming in emotional pain, “I don’t care if you understand. That’s what makes us heroes and villains!” It’s not just AFO — it’s the weight of generations and broken families on Deku’s shoulders. It’s All Might’s failure to save Shigaraki earlier that has become Deku’s problem now.

Post-USJ Deku meeting with All Might, talking about the first time he used OFA without breaking himself, and All Might pressuring Deku to become the Symbol of Peace. Even though All Might no longer feels that way, and SO MUCH has happened since then, he never clearly said so to Deku, and Deku keeps that weight on himself. The past never dies.

Deku is overwhelmed and destined for a poor decision that will hurt someone or himself, which would definitely play into the media's (and AFO's) hands. First, note the flashback inception with Deku recalling the post-USJ All Might meeting, which itself contains a flashback to Thirteen lecturing about how uncontrolled quirks can kill.

Second, the image of the defeated assassin is downright ominous, with the way All Might is shown above Deku's shoulder like a conscience [Edit: see @codenamesazanka's post here for a Spinner parallel!!] and the way the villain is tied up with his head hanging back, mouth open, eyes rolled back…. Deku and All Might are in shadow, and the villain is in the light…. no real attempt to talk to or understand the villain, just what he knows of AFO……SO MUCH POWER in a volatile teenager with too much responsibility and too few physical and emotional reserves. This won't end well.

Ok, time to bring the real Dadmight pain. All Might dives to save Midoriya and falls. The only other time he’s fallen flat on the ground like that is when he dove to save the random lady during the Cider House incident (which we got in the anime last week). In that fight, All Might needed a guardian gremlin to save him from falling debris. Hopefully that means he’ll go to UA and find young Bakugo soon, and he won't do something dumb and sacrificial in the meantime. WHO SAVES THE (EX-) HEROES?

All Might is a genuinely good person with good intentions, and he drove himself into the ground to help others, but he’s NOT a god. He’s not infallible or omniscient. He has tunnel vision from pursing the same mission from age 14 to, uh, 50-something, and is learning how to function as a "normal" adult. He never asked for help before, and in fact, considered it shameful (even in Kamino). He needs to follow the advice he was going to give to Deku, and reach out to others to save his little boy and himself. He’s still very much capable of inspiring others, even if he needs to rest sometimes. And with that, we cut to Stain, an extremist who believes in self-sacrifice and idolizes prime All Might. Cue Part 3...

A few other points:

Nobody in this arc (including Deku) seems to be using All Might as a resource based on his decades of experience with the media OR with AFO, and it really bothers me. Why is All Might excluded from the brain trust? They’re acting like All Might is useless because he’s quirkless and no longer a ranked hero, but he's still got his brain and his memories. Are Endeavor, Hawks, and Mt Lady really going to chat with Edgeshot and sort it all out??? Will Jeanist's fiber puns stop AFO??? Ugh. This is why hero society as we know it needs to be radically reworked; these top heroes are misusing resources and NOT TALKING to people who might actually have useful info. Does a "hero" need to wear a costume or hold a license to use their brain?

Will anyone tell Inko???? I posted before about this chapter's reference to All Might promising her that he’ll keep Deku safe. But she generally only appears after Deku gets a big advancement of some sort, so I don't know if she'll pop up soon...although I feel like she might need to? (E.g., my pet theory is that we only get her note in the hospital after the forest raid because Deku saved Kota but failed to save Bakugo.) Who else has "lifted up" All Might except Izuku, Inko, and Aizawa -- and Aizawa is probably not in a place to do heavy emotional labor right now???

Others have noted the outreached hand parallels (PAIN!) so I won’t belabor that. BUT look at All Might’s hand, how it is first outstretched and then starting to curl as he realizes he can’t reach Deku in time. Also, how small and frail All Might's hand looks as it curls up. He's normally drawn with huge hands (as big as Deku’s head) so to see his hands look equal in size to Deku’s shows Deku’s growth. Also, contrast this set of hands moving apart with how we saw hands moving together at Kamino, where All Might’s fighting inspired fearlessness. Hopefully All Might can “fight” here too, and inspire the next generation to to amazing things.

[caffeinated-cryptid]

you got an ego so big (it'll eat you alive).

roman-centric hurt/comfort (w/ remus, patton and virgil). 

11.7k words | AO3 link | warnings: self-hatred, semi-intentional self-destruction, various injuries, arguing, remus-typical jokes and topics.

“At the best of times, Roman’s job was a tightrope act between maintaining a healthy amount of self-confidence and the ability to adapt and take criticism. Throughout his life he walks this line many times, always with the expectation that if he were to fall one way or the other, no one would be there to catch him.

But sometimes when you’re up miles high, it can become difficult to see the safety net on the ground below you.

(aka an expansion on the premise that a bruised ego causes literal injuries and the issues this could cause when you're an insecure prince with a need to please and the weight of the world on your shoulders).”

------------------

To be overly aware of your own self is often associated with negative traits, such as narcissism, self-consciousness or a sensitivity to mistakes. Although to some with a proclivity towards the spotlight, it can become an inadvertent consequence of over-analyzing yourself in order to achieve those flawless performances. Naturally, gaining any sort of notoriety and attempting to retain that positive image means becoming intimately aware of your faults and staying open to change, taking criticism to heart all the while keeping relatably humble. On the other hand, it may also mean letting that same criticism become your one sole focus, tearing you down instead of becoming a rung in the ladder that's supposed to take you to higher places.

Roman often found that navigating these gray areas was a momentous task. To be proud of his work, but not be too unbearably egotistical to the point that it blinded him. To accept criticism but not allow the pursuit of perfection to destroy him.

His role was truly a balance; a thin tightrope he constantly had to traverse.

And on occasion, he would end up slipping.

------------------

I - bonds that tie us.

Roman first learned of his job as the ego when Thomas was young. With Remus at the helm of most of the subconscious and instinctual stuff as his id, perhaps he should've assumed that he would have a similar mirrored purpose beyond simply confidence, however it hadn't ever really come into play until one afternoon when the two of them were busy playing in The Imagination.

They had just concluded a close duel against each other and were putting their weapons away (cardboard ones, since Feelings didn't want them running around with real weapons once he found out they were using them to fight, and because Fear and Lies often fretted about them doing something stupid and getting hurt). Usually neither of them held the lead for long during their matches since they were so well-matched, but today Remus had won easily, which Roman chalked up to him feeling off ("Yeah right. Don't be such a sore loser." "It's true!"). Either way, Remus would be bragging about the victory until the next time they got the opportunity to duel, and that meant he was already rubbing it in as they prepared to leave.

On their way to the exit, Remus had taken the lead at some point and was throwing out ideas about they should do later when Roman unexpectedly paused and doubled over, clutching his head. Remus didn't notice that he'd stopped until he heard a groan and turned around.

"What's wrong? Didn't hit you too hard, did I?" He asked with a grin as if he assumed that Roman was still playing- perhaps trying to make up an excuse for his terrible loss.

"I- Dunno. My head hurts…" Roman cringed, eyes screwed shut.

Remus' smile faltered when he realized it might not be a joke and he walked back, peeling Romans hands away from his forehead. Underneath was a large red patch of irritated skin which looked set to bruise. His frown deepened because he definitely didn't cause that, nor did he witness any incidents during the day which would be the cause. "How'd that happen?

"Dunno!" He repeated, eyes going blank for a moment while he caught up with what was happening outside. The two of them were usually much too distracted when they were in The Imagination to pay attention to everything that transpired in the real world, especially on weekdays like this when Thomas would be in school and Creativity wasn't exactly needed during most classes. "...Thomas was told off for slacking in front of the entire class and he got some bad grades on his report card… He's feeling embarrassed, I think.

Remus was confused by how this was relevant until he pieced together that the two events were linked to what was happening to his brother. His eyes widened in realization before they settled into determination. "Then I'll fight him until he stops feeling bad."

That startled a laugh out of Roman, until his head started pounding and he cut himself off with a grimace. "...’Can't do that."

He laughed too, in hopes that it would lift Roman's spirits again. "Can too! I'll figure it out, then he'll be too busy worrying about his broken bones to care about what some dumb teacher said. Maybe then he'll get to skip school for a while and do something funner like-"

"Remus." Roman hissed over him, overcome with a sudden dizzy spell. His hand found Remus’ shoulder for purchase, which stopped his twin in his rant.

Remus stared at him in alarm. This seemed serious, and he didn't do too well with handling serious things. "Do... Do you want me to get Feelings? Or Learning? Or Lies?"

"No. None of them. I just wanna go home." He whined, leaning more and more against Remus for support.

' Home' in their case was what they called their shared room. It was where they always returned to at the end of a long day, and no matter what had happened, they could always feel their troubles wash away as they sat in their own little world once more. Roman longed for that feeling, to escape the too-bright sun of The Imagination which now felt like it was blinding him and just lay down for a while.

Remus nodded hesitantly, the plans he had spun of pulling a prank on Fear and Lies forgotten. Normally the two Creativities preferred to find the door of The Imagination manually (they claimed it made the experience more immersive when they were out on an adventure), but instead he reached towards the exit and the world twisted around them, ejecting them out together. They came out the other side back in their room, next to their bunk bed. Instead of climbing up to his bed on the top, Roman just about threw himself onto Remus' sheets. Somehow he managed to ignore the weird smell of the fabric that he always complained about, which spoke greatly about his current well-being.

Remus hovered behind him, unsure of what to do, when Roman let out another pained noise and curled up tighter. "What now?!"

"Thomas...parents.

Since that didn't really explain anything, Remus decided to check up on what was happening outside himself. Thomas' parents had asked to see his report card and they were giving him the 'not mad but disappointed talk', while Thomas was shrunk into himself in shame. Yikes, Learning mustn't be feeling too hot about this either. But right now his focus was on his brother, who the sight of in such a sorry state filled him with rage.

"Now I want to fight them too." Remus muttered darkly. "Take the knife from the kitchen that dad uses to cut up turkeys and make them stop talking forever. Then we won't have to deal with this again and you won't-"

Oh right, Roman was still injured. Focus, Remus. Concern. Right, he was concerned for his brother, who was hurting like he had never seen, even after their fights. What could he do about this? He was always so much better at destroying things than fixing them, so having to deal with a situation like this without any sort of guidance made him nervous.

"You can't hurt them." Roman protested weakly.

"Maybe if I want to enough I could!"

Remus walked around the bunk bed and settled down on the side Roman was facing towards. From this angle he could see new bruises spattered along his brother's arms. In a grotesque way, the different shades came together like a watercolour painting. Except instead of a canvas, they were on a body- Remus shook his head. Focus! He could draw sickly yellow and purple-inspired pictures later, when Roman would be in the mood to be more good-humored about it.

"You shouldn't, then. It's bad."

"...Alright then. What should I do Ro-bro?"

Roman cracked open one eye and looked at him. "Stay? Until Thomas feels better?"

Considering he was just grounded for the weekend, Remus wasn't sure how long it would take for this hit to Thomas' self esteem to blow over, but despite knowing this he nodded anyway.

"Okay."

He laid down next to Roman, not commenting when he hid his face against the covers and started sniffling, or when he eventually fell asleep, curled against his side like how they would sleep when they were newly-split. When Learning knocked in their door to tell them that dinner was ready, he made a weak excuse that they were busy and would eat later.

Without even asking he knew Roman would want this to be kept between them, despite how the others would undoubtedly fuss and nurse him back to health. And perhaps that was the reason why. His brother always wanted to appear infallible to the others and did so replicating the heroes from the stories they read, which often meant refusing to admit when he needed help and trying to do everything himself. If you asked Remus, he was trying way too hard to be like the Creativity that came before them, which was silly because they were different now and as they were, they needed each other.

Remus closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep too. This seemed like a big deal, so Roman's pride would have to pass eventually for him to seek help. Right?

------------------

II - even without dying you're dead to me.

In retrospect, Remus had underestimated Roman’s ability to keep a secret (maybe because he was so quick these days to run over to Feelings, now Morality, whenever Remus did something to upset him. Tattle-tale).

Now that they were older and their roles were more defined, their once shared-room had separated into two to adjust to this change. Even though it had been long enough that he should be used to the feeling of being alone, there were still times where Remus had to try to not let it bother him when he looked up at night, expecting to see the familiar underside of a top bunk and instead only finding the ceiling he had painted an underwater-themed mural on.

On nights like this, far too sentimental to enter a peaceful rest, they would go sleep in each other's rooms, saying nothing as they tried to pretend they were as close as they once were. Remus groaned into his pillow, fighting that annoying urge to seek comfort. He was a teenager now, he didn't want to be so attached at the hip to a side who had started looking at him with disgust and fear instead of the fondness they used to share. Sometimes he couldn't help it though, clinging to the days when everything felt simple and the biggest thing they had to worry about was finding time to create the things they enjoyed. At the very least he was glad that Roman didn't mock him for his occasional bouts of uncharacteristic sentiment; that would solidify for him that there were no remnants of the relationship they once had left.

With that depressing thought, he rolled out of bed. He couldn't sleep tonight so he was going to make that Roman's problem; that always cheered him up. Perhaps if he hadn't made such a disturbed face when Remus had talked about the brazen bull he had made earlier that day, he would feel a bit more sympathy for waking his brother up in the middle of the night. Buuut he didn't and he was feeling petty, so without a second thought he sunk out and into Romans room.

"WAKEY WAKEY~!" Remus clashed two cymbals together like one of those nightmare-inducing wind-up monkeys, only to belatedly realize the bed he was facing was empty.

He blinked, both in confusion and to adjust his eyes to the unexpected light of the room. Both of them may be night owls, but Roman would usually be asleep by 2am at least, and it was way past that hour. Looking around the room, his eyes latched onto the vanity where his brother was sitting, looking incredibly startled from the deafening crash of metal against metal.

"Get out!" He yelled once his shock faded into indignation, glaring at Remus.

Remus didn’t respond, staring at the medical supplies spread across the surface. Roman was in the middle of wrapping a compression bandage around his thigh, which he abandoned as soon as Remus had entered.

"Did you get something stuck in your ear again? I'm not in the mood to deal with you tonight, Remus. Leave ."

"What happened?" He blurted out before he could even think about the question.

"Doesn't matter. In case you've forgotten, the door's right there. Feel free to use it at any point."

Instead of complying (because when had Remus ever done that for anyone? No no, it was always more exciting to do the opposite of what people ask and see what happens), he crossed the room, ignoring how Roman increasingly looked like he wanted to punch him the longer he lingered.

"Bitch, it obviously does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be looking like you got trampled by a cracked-out horse."

"Lovely imagery." Roman gritted out.

"Lovely avoidance." Remus retorted sarcastically. "Aren't you best friends with Morality and Logic now? Why aren't they here sucking your d-"

"If you don't go back to your own room I'll run you through with my sword." Roman warned with an air of finality.

Remus snorted.

It was hard to be intimidated by the same side who had once cried when he had accidentally smashed an imaginary caterpillar cocoon with his morning star. In his defense he had forgotten to make the handle weighted when he first made it, so he was still getting used to the uneven distribution of the weapon...not like that stopped Roman from getting upset with him. Supposedly he had spent the last week trying to raise butterflies and wanted to show them off to Logic after they had learned about chrysalis in class, but Remus found that somewhat laughable considering he could just create a fully-formed butterfly if he wanted to. So he did laugh, calling him dumb for getting upset over nothing, and through tears Roman pushed him to the ground and told him he hated him for the first time. (After that, he may have spent the next week killing any butterflies that crossed his path, but that was neither here nor there. The point of this tangent provided a lá Remus Sander's brain was was that Roman could be a big baby and therefore he couldn't take anything he said too seriously.)

"Sounds like a good time! Save that idea for later though, because if you don't tell me I'll summon them over here to ask them myself."

"Don't. They don't know about this, alright? For once in your life can you just let it go?"

Huh. Remus tilted his head. It had been years since they first found out about the fun little quirk Roman had, and he just...never told? He figured at the very least it would be a good way to milk even more attention from the others; something Creativity had been seeking more often after Fear turned into Anxiety during middle school and gained a much larger role in Thomas' life. "Why?"

Roman huffed in frustration. "They don't need to. I can handle it myself."

"...Wow! Careful not to summon Lies, because you're full of shit and you know it." Remus fired back. He didn't even know why he was getting so mad. Minutes ago he was cursing his brother's guts for how their relationship had soured, and now all of a sudden it was if all of that dislike had faded into the background for something else. Concern? He hadn't felt concern for anything in years. Roman always made it seem like he could take care of himself, so that's what Remus had believed at first too, though perhaps stumbling across this situation was evidence of the opposite. Reasonable self-care didn't exactly look like 'patching yourself up at 4 in the morning'. At least, that sounded like something Lies would say which probably meant it was accurate.

"Ugh- Shut up. I've been doing just fine so far, without you or them, so you can take your fake pity and shove it up your you-know-where."

Remus didn't rise to the opportunity to poke fun at that statement, his mind going blank (and what a strange and unusual feeling that was). The idea that anything could have been hidden from him seemed unthinkable given how they used to tell each other everything. He hadn't even considered that that habit had become one-sided, given how it had never stopped being true for him. "...Roman, what does that mean? Has this been happening a lot?"

"..."

"Why did you never tell me?! This isn't something you can just keep a secret! If you won't say anything I will-

Remus' mouth snapped shut as Roman ejected him from his room. He landed back on his own bed and when he scrambled onto his feet to tried to rise up again, he found that his efforts were blocked. Roman had kicked him out and locked the door behind him. He never did that, no matter how much they fought or annoyed each other. It was the one thing they did that showed they still cared.

Remus trembled with adrenaline and shock. Taking his pillow, he summoned a knife and stabbed it and stabbed it and stabbed it until all of his pent up feelings were gone and there all that was left was the fluff covering his floor.

------------------

III - interlude.

As it turns out, he'd never get the opportunity to tell, because shortly after that, the newly appointed 'dark sides' were pushed away into their own corner of the mindscape after an explosive argument between the sides (during which Remus tried to ignore how closely Roman stood at Morality's side, sword brandished towards him. He didn't want to think his twin had a hand in their separation, even though it made so much sense).

When he argued about going back with Lies, now Deceit after being appointed the new leader of the unwanted and unloved, he was told through clenched teeth and pained eyes that he shouldn't. Not until Thomas was ready for him. For all of them.

------------------

IV - to the death of me, i'm just fulfillin' my destiny.

After that, Roman adjusted, and did so alone. Teenage years came with many challenges, ones he didn’t always escape unscathed. Despite the occasional rejection here, an unfortunate setback there, he felt as if he had grown a thicker skin for the trials they faced. Into adulthood he wore his ego like a suit of armor; Thomas was outgoing and likable, so of course it became easier to brush aside random negative experiences as minor blips, things that didn’t represent their worth.

This was challenged somewhat as he began pursuing creative outlets more seriously. This meant more work for Roman in general (Woo! Suck it Logan), but it also came with more opportunities to feel ashamed of a messed-up performance, embarrassed by a note sung wrong, hurt by an ill-intentioned piece of feedback.

So he tried to compensate at times. Sue him. Between the nights he spent nursing his wounds and wondering how to do better next time, perhaps he deserved to be a little self-congratulatory about the shining achievements he won for them. There was a certain safety in placing himself up on that pedestal, so high above that it felt like nobody could ever reach him; that he was above it all. But the reality was that this pedestal, gold-plated as it may be, was founded on an interior of paper mache, one wrong move from away from collapsing and sending him tumbling back down to earth.

It was a good thing that pretending came naturally to Roman. So natural that the fear of falling sometimes didn’t register with him at all.

------------------

V - the calamitous corollary of being considered.

Except, it may have been too much to expect nobody to ever realize there was something up with him. The fact that the sides had to work closely together alone meant that the excuse of being busy after every troubling experience could only work for so long.

The first one to find out was Patton, because of course it was. Sometimes Roman felt as if Patton wasn’t given enough credit for his intelligence. Even though he could be a tad slow on the uptake on other things, his ability to detect the slightest change in mood and discern how people were feeling could be uncanny at times. Emotions just happened to be Patton's strong suit, and while that was very much appreciated when it came to sharing excitement or talking through a heated problem, it was not so grand when you were trying to get away with hiding something.

The first time he let something slip was a few days after Thomas had been flat-out rejected when asking someone out on a date. It wasn't that big of a blow, considering they had barely known the guy for more than a month, but Roman had been insistent that they throw caution into the wind and give it a shot, sure that he had been receiving signals that proved that this guy felt a similar interest. Turns out, he didn't, and was very-much straight. At least the rejection had been somewhat carried out gently and he didn't seem too put-off about staying friends afterwards. Nonetheless the wound was still fresh, and Thomas kept internally cringing whenever he thought about it, which didn't help matters. Whatever. Roman dealt with the bruises that arose from the incident and dabbed a little foundation on the ones he couldn't hide with clothing. They'd get over it in a matter of weeks.

It was after the awkward feelings had finally begun to settle when it happened. Roman and Patton had been in the kitchen preparing dinner when Thomas received a message on his phone, and when he went to check it, he face-planted on the couch in mortification.

'Hey man, I just remembered that my cousin is coming to town this weekend. He's gay too so I thought you two could go on a blind date if you're still looking. :) Lmk your thoughts.'

Patton frowned upon sensing the sudden wave of embarrassment, pausing to check what had happened. "Well...That's thoughtful of him!" He chuckled, tone trying and failing to be positive. Roman couldn't share the same sentiment.

"Thoughtless is more like it! He wants to set us up with the first gay person he knows? Who's not even in the city?  Does he think Thomas has no standards at all?! How dare-" Roman's indignant protests cut off as he felt the skin around his collar grow tender and swell slightly. He let out a slight whimper when he pressed his fingers into the bruise to double check its location. Why now and in such a visible place?! He's going to get Thomas to drop that guy if it's the last thing he does-

"Ro! Are you okay?"

Right. Patton was still here. Don't panic.

"Y-yeah! I just remembered an injury I sustained earlier. But not to worry, 'tis but a flesh wound!" He joked.

"A flesh wound?!" Patton cried, reference flying over his head. "Let me see."

Gently, Patton moved his head upwards to get a better look at the bruise. It mustn't look good, because Patton, squeamish as he was, grimaced on sight.

"How on earth did that happen? I don't remember that being there just now."

"Uh." Come on Creative skills, work your magic. "A stray whomping willow in The Imagination? You know how they can be. I suppose it merely took a while to develop, bruises can be funny like that."

Luckily it seemed to work, because Patton sighed. "I thought you got rid of them all after that time one almost threw Logan into a lake. Did Remus make more?"

Heh. Good times. That was a slight lie on his behalf when he had told the others he had gotten rid of the trees; he had kept a few of them around because they were once a gift from Remus to quote 'spice up his boring forests'. Not for any sentimental reasons, of course, but because he thought it was funny and it kept him on his toes. "I guess."

Patton made a small 'tsk' noise, mouth still drawn in a frown but he didn't comment further. "Come on, I'll help you treat that. Does it hurt?"

"Of course not." He smiled. "Do you really think I could be bested by a mere tree?"

"Never! I do wish you were more careful when you go on your little adventures, though. It makes me awfully sad to think about you in 'pine'."

Roman knew it had been a flimsy excuse and even though Patton seemed to accept it, there was a hesitation in his eye which spoke of hidden disbelief. After some first aid and many more tree-related puns later, they went back to cooking, finishing up 30 minutes later. When Logan came down to dinner, immediately questioning the bandages around Roman's neck, he repeated the fake story, distracting him with a request not to go into The Imagination with the whomping willow around and packaging the thinly-veiled jab at the way Logan had once freaked out when he was swung around by the semi-sentient tree as a warning. Logan's concern quickly faded and he shot back a sharp retaliation that Roman didn't care to remember. He just laughed, feeling as light as a kite with the crisis averted.

The next time didn't go over as gracefully.

Thomas had found a different partner eventually, one that wasn't some friend's cousin. They dated for months, and just when he had been thinking about inviting his boyfriend to move in so he could be closer to his workplace, he'd been broken up with. On Valentines Day of all days. There was no better way of putting it; they had planned to go out to dinner, managing to book a table at a fairly classy restaurant, exchanged gifts, and near the end of the night his boyfriend had leaned across the table with a sad smile, thanking him for the evening before admitting he didn't see them working out anymore. He said it quietly, as to not cause a scene among the other diners, but that didn't stop Thomas from immediately bursting into tears. The scene had caused his (now ex) boyfriend to leave early after paying his half of the bill. At least the waitress had taken pity on him and brought over more complimentary bread rolls (which he took because he was not a complete fool, heartbroken as he may be), though even that didn't stop the confusion and embarrassment of it all.

As expected, the whole incident caused nothing but chaos; the right-brain sides were devastated, Anxiety was in a state of panic, and Logic had been metaphorically thrown out the window. As Thomas made his way home, they were at a complete loss for what to do. They had started the day, hoping to take a step forward in their relationship, and ended up with nothing at all. What worse is that they didn't even have a clear idea why (admittedly, that could have been due to, as mentioned before, the inconsolable crying).

It seemed like the most sensible thing to do at the moment was to throw the Valentines gifts away and gorge on the ice-cream that had been sitting in the back of the freezer for who-knows how long while watching a comfort show and trying to forget the whole evening. So that's what they did. As Logan tried to sort through what happened and rationalize what to do next, Patton wallowed in his misery as he dealt with the giant mix of feelings Thomas was going through.

After a few hours working through the brunt of it, enough to where his mind began wandering elsewhere, Patton realized with a start that he hadn't seen Roman since the start of the evening. He must have been so devastated too! Patton recalled how excited he was about the day ahead of them, how he spun fantasies of Thomas' boyfriend accepting the proposal to move in and then the future proposals that could come after that-

Patton mournfully sobbed. He needed to stop thinking about this, or else Thomas could start spiraling again. The best thing to do right now was distract himself, and to do that he should go check on Roman. Perhaps they could talk and have a mutual catharsis over the whole thing. Or better yet, he could put his energy towards someone else and he won't have to fall back into the thoughts that had been clouding his mind ever since they had left that stupid restaurant.

Splashing some water on his face to clear up some of the blotchy-ness, he left his room and crossed the hallway towards Roman's. He couldn't hear any noise coming from inside, so he tentatively knocked. "Kiddo?"

For a few moments there was silence, and Patton almost turned away, assuming that Roman might be blowing off some steam in The Imagination, until a voice cleared inside the room and answered. "Pat? What do you want?"

Patton was taken aback for a second, not expecting such a straight-forward answer. It almost sounded like Roman wasn't upset at all, but Patton sincerely doubted that to be true. His tone was almost too normal, and for anybody else he wouldn't have questioned it, but the lack of dramatics or flowery language was always a clear red flag for the Creative side. "I wanted to check on you since um- You-Know-Who took 'dine and dash' a tad too seriously." He chuckled humorlessly. "...Can I come in?"

There was some shuffling and muffled curses. "Why? I'm fine. Worry about yourself."

"'Why?'" He repeated, eyeing the door warily. "I'm concerned! I haven't seen you in hours and I- I know you must be upset about this too. Can we please talk?"

"I'm not exactly my most princely presentable self right now. Anyway, it's late. Surely this can wait until tomorrow?"

Patton looked down at himself. Instead of his usual garb, he had thrown on some more comfortable clothes hours ago, and they were currently crumpled from laying in bed, sobbing his eyes out. "I'm hardly my best-self either right now, Kiddo-" Before he could go on a spiel about how it was best to not bottle up emotions when they're fresh (and ignoring the hypocrisy of that sentiment), he heard a thump on the other side of the door followed by a quiet hiss of pain. Patton began to panic, and his hand flew to the handle. "I'm coming in!"

Before the other side could even consider protesting, Patton flung the fortunately unlocked door open and stepped into the room, gasping at the sight he was met with. Roman was on the floor, wincing as he clutched his leg. Although he was still dressed in his usual outfit, there were enough injuries on his visible skin that Patton could only wonder how far they went. He covered his mouth and stared in horror as Roman turned to look at him nervously.

"What- How did this happen?!"

Roman licked his dry lips, eyes darting away as he searched for an excuse. "I- The Imagination- This is from earlier-"

"You told me this morning you were going to spend the day helping Thomas write a love letter." Patton said, voice strained with panic and disbelief. "Tell me the truth, please."

Shoot, he had announced his plans earlier that day, hadn't he? He internally cursed his inability to keep his mouth shut, before lowering his head in defeat. "Can you keep a secret, Pat?"

Said side shifted uncomfortably, but his tone was resolute when he nodded. "If it means you'll let me help with whatever this is."

"Okay..." Roman inhaled. "Okay."

And then he explained. Or rather, gave a shortened version of the truth which was less likely to give Patton a complete heart-attack: that bruised egos were something he experienced, but it was never this bad (true) or all that common (also true), and that they weren't something to worry about because he could usually take care of them himself (technically true). By the time he had finished, Patton still looked concerned, but had become less frantic with the information.

"You'll let me help in the future if you need it, right?" He asked, so close to shedding tears that Roman had trouble keeping eye-contact without becoming choked up with guilt.

"If I need it." He agreed.

Finally, Patton smiled, and went to fetch the first-aid kit hastily. As he helped patch him up for the second time that year, the look in Patton's eyes was so pained that Roman vowed to let him see this side of him as little as possible.

For a while, he kept true to this promise to himself, and on the occasions when Patton would drop by to check if everything was alright, if Roman had encountered any bruised egos since, he relished in the relief on his face whenever he would lie and said he hadn't. Distantly he wondered sometimes if this was how heroes were supposed to feel; protecting people by letting them live in blissful ignorance and bearing the burden of the ugly truth alone.

(It was thoughts like that that kept him going.)

------------------

VI - high highs and low lows.

And then came the videos. Youtube had been an excellent ego-boost for Roman. Similar to how life-changing Vine was, the instant gratification of likes and feedback and people liking what they made was enough to send him over the moon, and oftentimes it was able to ward away the downsides that came with it too; the stress of staying relevant, the occasional hate comment, the portion of dislikes that didn't explain what about the video was dislike-worthy-

Overall it seemed like a great idea, especially when the sides became involved. It gave them all the chance to gain their own spotlights, which most of them appreciated. Sometimes this wasn't always so good though. With the videos came more introspection than usual, which meant deeply examining each problem to try to find some kind of moral. And right now, Roman didn't want to do any sort of thinking exercise about how badly he messed up. At this point in their career, a simple audition should have been a cake walk, instead it was an ache walk...Okay, admittedly he wasn't on his best game right now. The point was, he had potentially thrown the whole audition by forgetting something so simple as the lyrics, and now the casting director would definitely only remember Thomas by the way he froze under pressure, which wasn't exactly an appealing trait in somebody looking to go up on stage where the pressure was set to 100.

After everything was said and done, Roman had no choice but to approach Patton for help. In his current state, he was much too dizzy on his feet to even contemplate showing up and trying to play it off cool, which would've been an laughable endeavor anyhow considering how outwardly embarrassed Thomas was. Betrayal from his own-- well. It was a bit too harsh to blame his current predicament on Thomas, after all the fact of the matter was that it was Roman’s fault for not being better prepared.

Anyway, that's how he ended up in his current position, being swaddled in a too-warm bed, injuries patched up and having soup spoon-fed into his mouth. The whole thing felt...strange. Usually during times like this he would be grinning and bearing it, the inner satisfaction he got from fooling everyone with his performance pushing him through the day, but he supposed this was unavoidable. It was better that only one side had to see part of the problem rather than exposing it to everyone, and out of all of them, at least it was Patton. It still didn't sit well that his secret was now out in the open, a throwaway joke to be used before moving along, but hopefully that would play to his favor and they'd view it as his usual dramatics. Not like he preferred to be seen as too incompetent to care for himself, even if it fit with his persona. He supposed it just went without saying that princes are supposed to have someone at their every beck and call, they're supposed to be indulgent and spoiled and ridiculous. But princes were also supposed to be leaders, someone who was caring and brave and ready to face any challenge.

Roman sighed, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He didn't feel very princely at all right now.

“Kiddo, are you doing okay? Does something hurt? Is the soup too hot?” Patton asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern. He was such an open book when it came to the other sides, which meant that Roman knew exactly when he had worried or panicked the fatherly figure. Honestly, it only made him feel worse. Being doted over seemed like a good idea until it meant being the subject of pity and other people’s hurt.

“No no, I’m fine Padre. It’s fine. I was just taking a trip into thought city for a second there.” He cracked a smile, trying to ignore how the bruise at the corner of his mouth pulled at the motion. If only he could think of a more original nickname, perhaps that would be more convincing. He was simply drawing blanks today it seemed. “What do you think the others are up to right now? I’d bet 5 bucks Logan is losing his mind having to deal with Anxiety alone.”

Patton didn’t look entirely convinced, but the sudden change of subject encouraged him to stop any further questioning.

In the end they talked until the others had finished filming. Whatever happened during the discussion must have helped Thomas grow past his feelings, because one-by-one the injuries on Roman's body grew smaller until they had faded entirely. Seeing this, Patton noticeably livened up again, and he cheerily declared that he would take the empty bowl back to the kitchen and check in with the others.

As soon as he was gone, Roman’s face dropped, tired from all the smiling he had been doing, and he slid down further into the sheets. Perhaps he should consider himself fortunate that the others had helped out, but all he could think about was how they now knew about his biggest weakness and how embarrassing that was. Logan and Anxiety were the last two sides he wanted finding out about this, if not for their often-tumultuous relationships, but because they'd never fully understand. Neither of them were as dependent on validation as much as he was. Despite what others thought about them, they would just keep on going, meanwhile Roman couldn't truly thrive without some kind of feedback; he was too shackled to expectations and the need to please for that sort of self-indulgence, it was practically written in his existence. It simply wasn't enough for him to be great, he needed to be great and be appreciated. Without that, he felt as if he would burn out, like a candle who's supply of oxygen had been cut off, leaving only smoke and the charred wick behind as a reminder of the fire that was once there. And sometimes that made him feel pathetic, that so much of his esteem depended on what people thought of him. Other times it just made him envy the others who had no one to please but Thomas himself and what he deemed important.

...He was tired, but he needed to keep going. The least he could do was keep up the image of egotism so that those horrid thoughts of being lesser weren't picked up by the others. If they started thinking of him the way he thought about himself (if they didn't already), he wouldn't know what he'd do. He wouldn't stand to be pitied or mocked or anything that validated what he already knew about himself. He just wouldn't.

Rolling out of bed, he practiced his smile in the mirror, fixed his clothes, and sunk out to make his grand appearance.

He couldn’t let this happen again at all costs.

------------------

VII - an agreeable sort of self-destruction.

More and more often, Roman was glad that he and Remus didn't share a room anymore. From the nights he hunched over scraps of ideas and worked without distraction until the sun was on the horizon, to the days he woke up with tears clinging to his lashes and breath coming out in labored pants, until he realizes the dream about him messing up so badly that he's split apart a second time was merely a cruel trick of his mind.

Currently, there was no greater time to be grateful for their separation than the moment he hastily returned back to safety after Remus' debut to Thomas. If only his brother could see the way he paced back and forth and tugged at his hair, he was sure his other half would merely gloat and poke away at his wounds instead of doing anything to help. Or worse, use it as ammunition in front of the other sides as some sort of proof of his imperfection.

Speaking of, the video was disastrous. He had been out-cold the entire time so he had no idea what was said and had no way of directing the conversation at all, which was possibly the most aggravating part of the whole situation. Beyond that, there was so much that Remus could have told the others without his knowledge. Once upon a time, the two of them were two peas in a pod, and that meant they knew an unnameable amount of secrets about each other. (Like how Remus always used to sleep with this crudely-knitted octopus Roman had made for him when he discovered crochet. Remus claimed to have set fire to it when they were teenagers, but Roman had seen it tucked away on a shelf the last time he had been in his room, before the Great Divide). The room swam a little when Roman thought about it too much. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it wasn't as if he'd done much to earn Remus' loyalty. Why would he take the higher road and keep all of that to himself now, when he had the prime opportunity right in front of him to make himself seem like the better twin?

Hold on... He was thinking about this all wrong. Remus didn't care about good and bad the same way he did. Sure he was adamant that his version of being creative was more interesting, but he never tried to convince any of the other sides that he was inherently better or more worthy of attention than Roman, at least not to the same extent he did. The realization hit Roman like a train on it's way to a damsel tied to railway tracks (for lack of a less Remus-y simile): had he been wrong to push his brother away when he was just trying to help? All this time he had expected nothing but the worst from him, all because he was loud and unapologetic and had gone about his concern in a way that frightened him. Though just because Roman had been scared, surely that didn't warrant the dark sides being pushed aside in such a manner, and clearly the repression wasn't any benefit to Thomas...And was that partially his fault? He had been the one who encouraged Patton to divide the sides up. He had come up with the name for them: light and dark.

When he really thought about it, there wasn't much 'light' about him, not when he had been the source of so many problems.

Making Virgil feel unwelcome and continuing to trample on his boundaries.

His insults toward Logan and attempts to diminish his importance.

Leading Thomas and Patton astray in his pursuits for romance.

Being too quick to side with Janus when he should’ve known that the deceitful side only stood for selfishness and not the fair-played ambition Thomas valued.

And now: his treatment of Remus for most of their lives. Pushing him away, pretending he didn't exist, trying to erase their memories together.

How could he have the gall to claim that he saw Remus as an awful reflection of everything he didn’t want to be, when the whole point of looking into a mirror means facing you and you alone?

Even his metaphors were hypocritical.

It was a shock that nobody saw through that statement or called him out on how he had wronged just about everybody. How truly unfortunate it was that he had been declared the hero when he had done very little to live up to that title. Heroes weren't mean. They didn't make people feel bad about themselves for merely existing. They're supposed to defeat the bad guys, yes, but every time he had thought he was accomplishing that, it turned out that he was always off the mark. At least this time he had it right with Deceit, but still, that didn't erase the history he had with misjudging what was acceptable. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of reflection that must have on Thomas' content. If his creativity, which was supposed to be a force of pure good, had made a countless number of errors, what did that say about the things they were proud of? How many things had they put into the world that were imperfect? That had a misleading message? That was problematic and hurt people?

The realization had his throat tightening in panic. How could he ever have confidence in his work when he had such a flawed system of right and wrong? How-

...Wait.

Roman's spiraling thoughts were fortunately put on pause as he passed by his vanity, being pulled back to reality in an instant and finally noticing the splash of colours that had made themselves welcome on his skin once more. He gaped at his own reflection. It wasn’t as if he was unused to the sight per say, but he hadn’t realized anything had happened today that would affect Thomas’ ego. Remus’ appearance perhaps? He had the feeling that if there was any discussion to be had in light of that it would be on the goodness of his character, which could be a worthy-enough explanation. But if anything wouldn’t that what the large gash on the back of his head (fittingly) represented? So where had the others come from? Unless…

Was it him?  

His own self-criticism had never left a dent on his pride before. Usually his injuries tended to be the result of outside sources; the kind of things that come out of nowhere and hit at you harder than you could ever expect. Did this mean that his own words were on par with Thomas’ harshest critics?

Roman shakily sat down. This... was a good thing, right? Perhaps he was finally gaining some self-awareness. He had been trying to make amends for where he had fallen short in the past, so this could be the sign he was making progress.

Yes. This was good. And if it wasn't, then perhaps this was just apart of his repentance. At this point he was sure everyone would agree.

------------------

VIII - the art of learning to let go.

The thing about tightropes is quite interesting. Like most other skills, it is something that needs to be honed. At first you try on a smaller scale and fall off more times you can count, but it's alright because that's why you practice in a safe environment. And then you progress to something more risky, and this time you have other tools to help keep you steady. Before you know it, you're up doing the actual thing; a rope suspended tens of feet in the air and thousands of eyes watching your every move, each one wondering if you really will make it across, or if they're about to watch a great tragedy take place before them. When you misjudge your own abilities and are thrust upon that rope when you're unprepared, however, all of the practice you gained can feel as if it has slipped away. As soon as you take your first step, the rope wobbles and you know somewhere deep down that your fall will be inevitable. But with so many expectant eyes baring into you, what else are you to do but continue forward? Continue until you're halfway across and your balance is so shaky that all you can do is watch as the rope swings backwards and forwards beneath your feet until you give up on trying to steady yourself entirely and-

Roman let go of the rope he had been clinging onto.

There was no grace in the way that he fell. It wasn't even a matter of choosing a side; ego or change. At first he fell so gradually that he didn't feel it at all, placing all of his thoughts and opinions into a neat little box and shoving them aside. Trying so hard to adapt, trying to be feel comfortable clinging to reasoning that contradicted his role, his meaning, his existence- and before he knew it, he was plummeting towards the ground because even then, that little piece of purpose he was forcing himself to mold his worth around did nothing but feed into the self-righteousness that must've always been there, hiding away under the surface.

Roman could only describe the feeling as air-sickness when he sunk out, his very being thrown into weightless uncertainty. Once he appeared back at his safe place, the place he wanted to be most, he felt his body connect with the ground once more as he collapsed onto the floor, body shaking with sobs and wounds he already knew were appearing.

He had been so stupid. Every step he took was littered with mistakes. Just when he thought he had learned, to try to be more accepting, to know when to give up, to listen to others instead of forging his own path, another thing came along and knocked him back to where he started and he was thrown back into the cycle of trying to atone for his actions. A cycle that never seemed to end.

His arm fractured and started to swell.

For once he thought he finally had it figured out. If he just followed the person who should've known what was best for Thomas, even if it meant going back on his own desires, surely then he would be on the right side for once. But all of a sudden that was wrong and now it was all his fault that so many bad outcomes had come about as a consequence of his lack of assertion. He may not have loaded the gun, but he had pulled the trigger, and that made him more culpable than anyone else.

His nose ached as if hit by an unseen force and began dripping blood.

Even his attempts at keeping his ego in check were all for nothing because the moment he felt threatened he lashed out towards Janus, the side who now all of a sudden deserved a seat at the table because he had gained Patton's favor (nevermind that he had agreed with him first. Oh no, that was just Roman being naive and easy to sway if only you stroke his ego a little. What importance could his opinions possibly have?). But that was the thing, wasn’t it? In the end he just couldn’t win, no matter what he did. When he tried to silence his voice it was too obvious and attention-seeking, and when he chose to project his thoughts it was too loud and abrasive. When he spoke out he was punching down, but when others did the same they were punching up up up. It left him wondering how much more he had to fall before it was no longer deemed okay to kick him while he was down. Was it his fault for choosing to sit atop his golden pedestal, making himself seem forever untouchable and unable to be hurt? And would things be different if he was sensitive like Patton? Complicated like Virgil? Respectable like Logan? Had he been making a mistake all along by pretending to be stronger than he was? But how was he ever supposed to let go of the walls he had built, knowing that the second they crumbled, all the things he had been trying to protect himself from would pass through and destroy everything he had worked so hard for? Maybe it was time to accept that this was all he could be; that there was no way for him to change, no way to soften his edges or stick firm to his beliefs that wouldn’t end with him in a losing position.

His ribs ached, bending unnaturally until he felt a snap in his chest.

Perhaps Janus was right by calling him evil. He had proven it time and time again that he was no good for Thomas. In fact, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that he was worse than Remus. At least he couldn't help the way he was, didn't have control over the problems he caused unlike Roman. He was supposed to be the half with all the bad parts removed. The 2.0 version, new and improved. He had no excuse for being as flawed as he was, not really. All this time spent thinking he was the good twin, and it was nothing more than an act of self-delusion. The grandeur of a side with nothing to show for it beyond his words.

His eyelid puffed up and mottled with colour.

...He was bad. Unneeded. Evil.

The capillaries across his knuckles burst and stained them a violent red.

Everything would be so much better if he just-

"Broman?" Oh shit.

Romans eyes flew open. And he realized belatedly that he wasn't looking at his floor; his floor had intricate Persian rugs and a soft fluffy carpet. This one had various stains and burns and felt scratchy against his fingers.

"What the fuck. Princey? You good?"

1) He wasn't in his room. 2) Wherever he was, Remus and Virgil were here too.

"M-my mistake! I must have accidentally sunk out to the wrong place. If you'll excuse me-" He tried, but his voice was hoarse and clearly not okay. Of all times for his acting skills to have failed him.

"Oh no you don't."

Before he could sink out through the floor, two arms latched under his armpits and hoisted him upright. He choked back a gasp at the sudden movement, senses flashing white as his injuries were jostled. He barely heard the shocked exclamation in front of him before the two voices discussed something hastily and he was deposited onto a soft surface. The ringing in his ears faded, just in time to hear Virgil speak.

"What happened? " He asked, voice layered with anxiety and sounding on the verge of a panic attack. Roman would have tried to reassure him if he didn't feel like his entire body was on fire.

"It just happens sometimes, when Thomas’ ego gets bruised." Remus answered bitterly when it became clear his brother wasn't in a position to explain. He then muttered under his breath: "Though this time is different, huh?"

"What? I thought- I didn’t know it got this bad.” Virgil whispers, horrified.

"Sorry you have to see this, Finding Emo." Roman croaked once he began slowly coming back to his senses. He would regret not being more composed later, but right now he couldn't really bring himself to care about anything. “I’ll be as good as Gucci soon.”

"No. Shut the fuck up, you don't get to say that." Remus said angrily. Why did he sound so mad? Roman tried to crack open his eyes to check, but the world was still spinning too much for him to really recognize what was he was seeing. On top of that it seemed one of his eyes was swollen shut. Joy. That'll make it more difficult to patch himself up later.

"'Told you before, I can handle myself." He finally managed.

"Yeah? Was that you 'handling yourself' when you dropped in and started bleeding all over my floor? Or when you stopped talking to me and kicked us 'dark sides' to the curb because your sense of superiority was more important? Or when you started acting like a royal prick to everyone just so they wouldn't know you spend your nights licking your wounds?"

"Stop." Roman pleaded, shamefully curling into himself as much as his body allowed in its current state. Remus paused in his tirade before continuing, more quietly.

"If you're uncomfortable just from that, you should try watching your brother slowly self-destruct for years and not being able to do anything about it. That's fucking uncomfortable." Roman heard a sniffle, and his body went cold. He hadn't heard Remus get upset since they were kids. Sometimes he forgot that there was more to his brother than his disgusting unpredictable persona, and the thought that he could've been hurting Remus all this time was something that had never even crossed his mind.

"I'm..." Sorry? Was he sorry? Apologizing was practically second nature at this point, but he couldn't even tell if the words would be genuine if he said them. Was he sorry for his actions or for hurting Remus, or was it the fact that he had been caught at all? If he had it his way, none of this would be happening, so perhaps he wasn't as apologetic as he thought. He really was the worst, wasn't he?

Remus seemed to pick up on what he was thinking about saying, because he laughed; not in his usual cartoon-ish way, but resigned and hurt. The sound pulled at Roman's heart. "Save it. Here's what's going to happen you Walmart Prince Eric knockoff. You’re going to accept our help whether you like it or not, and if you try to pull any self-sacrificing BS at any point, I’m going to eat your entire makeup collection.”

“...You wouldn’t. You don’t like the way glitter sticks to your teeth.” Roman argued weakly, just for the sake of being contrary.

“Try me.”

Roman sighed. He really didn’t doubt that Remus would be petty enough to go through with his threats, especially since he knew it how much it would bother Roman to summon a new set. In any case, he wasn’t in a position to do much of anything at the moment, and now that it was too late to pretend like this never happened, he figured he might as well roll with it. Future him could deal with the consequences later.

“Okay.” He said after a moments pause, looking to the Virgil-shaped figure, as much as the crick in his neck would allow. “...Just don’t tell Patton about this. Not yet.”

The figure shuffled, out of what was probably awkwardness after having watching the twins argue. “No worries dude. We’re not exactly on- uh. Y’know what, nevermind, I’ll just go get the medical kit.”

During the moments that Virgil had shuffled off, there was an empty silence. Roman spent it trying to blink his uninjured eye back into focus, until he was finally able to spot Remus standing across from him, an uncharacteristically glum look on his face. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"Don't even joke about that. I don't need more thoughts about-"

"Death? I thought that was pretty par for the course."

Remus smiled wryly at him, sarcastic and mocking. "You dying, dummy. D'you think I never imagined it? Something happening and you disappearing because you never let anyone help you- and me not even knowing it happened? Finding out much too late? Being alone?"

Roman didn't know what to say to that. "Sorry." He blurted out, and this time he felt like he meant it. "If it means anything in retrospect, I wouldn't have ever let it go that far. I think."

"'You think.'" Remus repeated. "God, you need some self-care. It's a shame you and Jan-jan weren't friends before. It's supposed to be his job to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen, you know."

Roman felt himself flinch at the mention of Janus' name before he could control it. If Remus noticed, he didn't get the chance to comment on it, because at that moment Virgil came bustling back with a first aid kit.

"I didn't know what else you needed, so I got some water, balms, bandages, frozen peas, and creams. Just in case." He spoke, noticeably out of breath.

"Water?" Roman asked as a glass was held towards him. He pushed himself upright with some effort and accepted it.

"For painkillers." Virgil replied, handing him some pills once he had set the other items down. "Also your throat sounded kinda rough, and when you cry a lot you can get dehydrated, so..."

Surreptitiously, Roman wiped at his face and tried to not feel too embarrassed that the two of them had heard him wail like a toddler who'd had their favourite toy taken away. Before he knew it, he had taken the pills and downed half of the glass while the other two sides unpacked the medical supplies. Virgil really had thought of everything he might have needed.

Roman blinked as he watched them, stunned that he would go to so much effort. "This is very thoughtful of you, Medic Parade."

Virgil paused as he pieced together the nickname, and then scowled. "Mayday doesn't even sound anything like medic- and it's not. I just didn't want to- y'know- get the wrong things and make it worse."

Remus elbowed Virgil in the side, perhaps in an attempt to cheer him up. "Hey, you can't do any worse than what we did the first time Ro got a booboo."

"...And what was that?" Virgil's hesitant tone indicated he wasn't sure if he want to know.

"Nothing!" Remus grinned.

"I'm pretty sure that was just a concussion." Roman stated before Virgil got the wrong idea and thought they were totally stupid, looking upward as he tried to recall the incident Remus was talking about. It felt like forever ago now. "Not like anything could be done, to be fair."

"'Just'-" Virgil made a strange choked sound. "Is this what my life's gonna be now? Having a worry-induced heart attack every 5 minutes?"

"Welcome to the club!" Remus cheered, offering a fist bump which Virgil ignored in favour of burying his head in his hands.

"Goddammit. Alright- let's get this show on the road I guess. Roman, take your shirt off." When Remus' eyebrows started waggling, clearly about to make an inappropriate comment, Virgil waved his hands wildly to stop him. "So we can look at the damage! Shut your mouth Remus!"

"I didn't say anything." He intoned, looking overly smug before turning to Roman expectantly.

Said man frowned, placing the glass of water on the bedside table next to him. Before he made any move, he glanced at Virgil who was looking red either out of Remus-induced embarrassment or frustration. Mood. "You don't have to stick around for this part if you don't want to. It can be a bit much, so I wouldn't blame you."

"I'm not a baby, Roman." Virgil retorted, crossing his arms. "Making sure you don't die or something is way more important than my comfort. I can't promise you'll be safe from me calling you an idiot until you're better, though."

Roman looked away again. Was that condescending of him to ask? He opened his mouth to apologize, before closing it in resignation. No need to make this into an issue; he'll ask Virgil whether he felt belittled later. "...Okay. That's fair."

Instead of going through the pain of trying to remove a shirt with a possibly broken rib, he snapped and it disappeared. He heard a sharp inhale, but in response to what, he didn't know. Roman looked downwards to check. Among the remnants of previous attempts at self-healing (some messier than others), the area around his right rib was inflamed and a large portion of his stomach was splotched with purple. Noticeably, his left arm was also burning red, but luckily it seemed like the fracture there was non-displaced, which hopefully meant it would heal quicker. Other than that, there weren't any major injuries besides his black eye and bloody nose that needed attention. Could be worse, considering how god-awful he felt! 

Remus whistled. "You look like someone took a dalmatian and made it the colours of the bi-flag."

"Yeah. That's- weirdly accurate." Virgil winced. "What hurts most?"

"Uh- My arm and my ribs I suppose. They're a little... on the broken side."

"That's what I thought." Virgil muttered under his breath, grabbing the items to make a split. "I'll deal with those first, Remus you help with his nose and the bruising. And if you want to make yourself useful, hold these peas to your eye, dumbass."

"Your bedside manners are impeccable." Roman said sarcastically, taking the bag of peas and exhaling as he adjusted to the cold feeling pressed against his face. "...Here I thought there would be a grace period before you started calling me names."

"Just calling it like I see it." Virgil hummed. With deft fingers, he held the splint under Roman's forearm and began winding the bandages around it. "You should probably make an actual brace later when you're up to it, but hopefully this should keep it in place and remind you to not use it for now."

"But that sides my dominant arm-" Roman whined, about to complain about how he was supposed to get work done until Remus pinched the bridge of his nose none too gently, and he yelped. "Ow! Remus."

"Think of that as payback for the last 15 years." Remus replied lightly. "Tilt your head back."

Begrudgingly, Roman complied, resting his head against the headboard.  He stared at the ceiling as his brother and best friend silently worked their way around his injuries, applying topical ointment to his bruises and applying band-aids to small cuts. He didn't even realize they had finished until Remus bonked him on the head.

"All done! Shame it's not Halloween. You could go as a mummy again."

"Ha ha. What a comedian you are." Roman replied in a deadpan, but fought to keep a smile away anyway. The irony of how much he resembled that costume right now definitely wasn't lost on him.

"...I'm sorry for ruining that, by the way." Virgil spoke up suddenly from where he had been packing everything away, breaking the thoughtful silence he'd been in for the past few minutes. "Your costume during the Christmas video, I mean. And saying all of that harsh stuff to make a point."

Roman only stared, taken aback. "All of that happened half a year ago. I'm not upset about that."

"I know, I know. It's just... I've been thinking about it recently, all the times I haven't acted very...good." He bit his lip, averting his eyes. "Especially now, knowing that kind of thing literally hurts you."

"Virgil." Roman sighed softly, taking his hand. Virgil startled but didn't pull away. "You don't need to be 'good' all the time. Wasn't that the point you were trying to get across back then? All of us have made mistakes in our pasts, some more than others, but if you can forgive us for that, then you deserve the same acceptance for your less-than-stellar moments."

"Oh." He said, eyes glassy. His hand tightened around Roman's. "I'm still sorry, if I've ever made things worse for you or if I haven't been supportive enough."

"I- You have-"  Roman spluttered worriedly, sitting up.

"It's alright, I already know that we kinda work against each other at times. Part of the job." Roman's mouth closed with a grimace. "Still, it's unfair on you. You shouldn't be expected to perfect, especially not with an asshole like me there to tear into your work. So just...know that it's okay to tell us when you're struggling, okay?"

"Right..." Roman bit his cheek. Virgil seemed well-meaning, but showing that sort of weakness was a concept he still found difficult to accept, even if he had given in this time and allowed himself to be completely seen. Virgil noticed his lackluster agreement and patted him with his free hand.

"Hey. In almost any case we'd embrace you."

"...No one hates you."  Roman finished a beat later with a small smile. Virgil's face lit up and moved closer to his side. Upon seeing this, Remus unceremoniously squished himself between the two of them, careful not to bump against Roman too much (although Virgil definitely got the brunt of Remus crawling over him, to his dismay).

"Look at you two, my favourite dorks, bonding over feeling insecure!" He declared, throwing an arm around both of them. "Couldn't be me, but I still love you."

Roman poked Remus' side. "So that wasn't you admitting to being worried earlier?"

"Nope! New phone who dis?"

"You're insufferable." Virgil rolled his eyes fondly. "...I love you guys."

And Roman sighed contently, feeling safe and cared for. Things weren't perfect right now; he still needed time to heal and Remus and Virgil would undoubtedly want him to open up about what happened sooner or later, but for now he was was able to hear that he was loved and believe it to be true, and that was enough.

"I love you both too. Thank you."

[pawprintsmoon]

You and me, Part II

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30337365/chapters/74835990

Shit shit shit! Alex couldn’t find it anywhere. He had made sure that he put the box in the pocket of his special Gucci jacket, but now it wasn’t there. 

Alex had bought the ring about a month ago, days after their cancelled proposal plan at La Mar. Last week, he’d been concerned that the plain black box the ring came in was too boring. So naturally, he bought two new ring boxes, impulsively browsing etsy at 3am. 

First, he ordered a neon box covered in rhinestones that spelled out the word ‘love.’ It had seemed funny when he pressed ‘place your order,’ but not so much in retrospect. After another half hour of etsy-scrolling, he picked out a carved wooden box that he’d personalized with their initials engraved along with the word ‘forever.’ Kind of cheesy, but Alex was down with that.

When he searched in his half packed suitcase, he found the engraved wooden box tucked between his socks. It was empty. 

Perhaps in his struggle with indecision he had accidentally left the ring in its original black box? That must be it. However, that was a disastrous conclusion, because he had thrown the plain box away, along with the rhinestone one. Shit shit shit. He had to find it before their flight to London in the morning. Had they taken out the trash already?

That’s how Henry caught him: digging through the garbage on their kitchen floor, hair a mess, and face flushed red. 

“Er, am I living with the grouch?” Henry asked. Alex spared half a thought to be surprised that Henry watched Sesame Street as a kid.

“No!” Alex groaned. “Henry, just don’t ask me what I’m doing.”

“But you’ve got old coffee grounds on your pants and there’s dirty paper towels on the floor.”

“Stop, I can’t explain.”

“This is rather unhygienic, don’t you think?” Henry’s nose scrunched up, undoubtedly due to the old cheese wrappers and broccoli stems. “What are you looking for anyways?”

“Don’t ask.”

“This is unusual behavior, even for you,” Henry said. “ I’m concerned.”

There was no way in hell Henry would leave him in such a state. Besides, he was getting to the bottom of the trash can, no black box in sight. He needed help. It was quite the predicament, but the honest truth was that Alex was very challenged at finding things. When he was stressed like this, he could look right at something and not see it. Nora told him once that there was a 76% likelihood that he had undiagnosed ADHD. 

“Fine,” he said, after deliberating. “Did you take out the trash between today and yesterday?”

“Does it look like I took out the trash?’ Henry gestured to the nearly full trash can that Alex was refilling. “Dear lord. Fine, don’t tell me. But did you look in the trash and recycling in the office?”

“Oh my god, Henry,” Alex said, bouncing up and pecking Henry on the cheek. “You’re a genius!”

“Hardly.” Henry rolled his eyes and directed Alex to the sink to wash his hands. “But come on, I’ll help you because you are absolutely tragic. Bagsy the recycling.”

Unsure if this was a grave mistake, he followed Henry into their office. 

“You know you’ll have to tell me what we’re looking for,” said Henry as he pulled out the recycling and sat down. Alex followed suit, pulling out the trash can.

He thought fast and decided that a white lie was warranted. He certainly didn’t want to ask Henry to marry him while they were digging through garbage. “Okay, you can keep a secret, right? I got June some earrings for her birthday, and I think I accidentally threw them out.”

“June’s birthday isn’t for two months.”

“Well Henry,” Alex sassed, “some of us take good care of our big sisters.”

Henry responded with an eye roll. “Did you piss her off?”

“Sure, yeah, that!” Alex hastened to confirm. “Now get busy sweetcheeks, that recycling bin isn’t going to search itself. Little black jewelry box, and don’t you dare open it if you find it. Because, um, it’s a surprise and I’d hate to make you keep a secret.”

Henry grumbled but began to dig through dense flaps of cardboard and paper, destined to get a papercut. Alex was relieved to see that the office trash held less misplaced compost than the kitchen’s. Alex had no idea how long it took, but eventually Henry pulled out a small box, covered in rhinestones. 

“Ugh, no that’s not it,” said Alex. “Keep looking.”

“My god, Alex, she’d think this box is hilarious. You should use it.”

“You think it’s funny?” Alex asked. “I thought maybe it was kinda dumb.”

“Totally, it’s perfect.” Henry tossed him the bedazzled box. “So, what did you do to piss off June so bad?”

“Ha!” His mind raced. “What didn’t I do?”

“Well, yes, I suppose you can be a bit of a menace sometimes.”

“Exactly.”

If Henry looked suspicious, Alex pretended not to notice. In contrast, he sincerely didn’t notice the jewelry box lying in a pile of candy wrappers in front of him. Henry had apparently been checking Alex’s pile from across the room, because he leaned over and picked it up, showing Alex.

“It was literally right in front of you.”

“I was distracted!” 

“Of course you were.” Their fingers brushed as Henry handed him the box, and the chemistry was as powerful as it had been two years ago. They couldn’t help but kiss, briefly over the pile of old papers. 

“By the way,” Henry said, looking Alex in the eyes, “whatever those earrings look like, I’m sure she’ll love them.”

[pridewhatpride]

"rival"

There you are. You. Asking for a GX Rivalshipping drabble with 'Rival' as a keyword. Here you go. I hope you're happy ;; The length is around 2k words.

Special thanks to @deadkura for proofreading, but I note that any and all mistakes are on me. They were just... my poor lab rat. Apologies, my friend.

That aside, there are no warnings that need to be given, this is light-hearted in tone. Nobody dies and nobody gets hurt, aside from Shou who happens to be there at some point and just succumbs to the need to get on with some semblance of a plot.

... It's on Ao3 because why not. Here.

The story is below the cut! Enjoy (or don't)!

____ ____ ____

Manjoume could vaguely remember the first time he’d watched the Battle City recordings. He couldn’t remember when it had been exactly, but he did know he’d been at a classmate’s house with a bunch of other kids. He had a faint memory of being pressed up against other children, all of them shouting and cheering along as the duel between Seto Kaiba and Yugi Mutou came to a roaring end.

… It had been noisy. And he’d found himself mildly annoyed. Not that the duel didn’t have him on the edge of his seat- quite the opposite. He was completely mesmerised by the unforgiving tornado of grace that was Seto Kaiba, most of all. Perhaps that was why he’d found the others to be so bothersome in that specific instance. It seemed very rude to him that they would take him out of the experience with their screams. Was that fun? Was it supposed to be fun? Was he simply out of the loop? Should he have been screaming, too?

The thing he could recollect with a surprising amount of clarity was some kid who’d grabbed his arm to get him off the couch. To this day, he still had no clue what his name was.

“Jun! Come on, I want to play Yugi! You can be Kaiba!”

He remembered muttering something about the suggestion being extremely stupid. The kid wasn’t Yugi Mutou and neither of them possessed any Duel Monsters cards. What was the point of just replicating what they had just watched on screen? They could just… rewatch the scene. But the kid had seemed to be very set on the idea and when Manjoume looked around to see expectant looks on the others’ faces, he ended up giving in. He remembered thinking something along the lines of: ‘Why me?’ And even in retrospect, it made very little sense. He’d never played with this specific kid before. He was a friend of a friend- or a friend of someone he thought was a friend at the time.

“Why do I have to do this?” He had ended up asking, not hiding any sign of his annoyance. “Because you’re like Kaiba!” “I am?” “Yeah! You always say mean things like him! And Taro says you’re like… super rich.”

The rest was a bit of a blur, but he remembered being the ‘Kaiba’ of the group, for as long as it lasted. Which wasn’t a very long time, admittedly. But it had been the one and only ‘friend group’ he’d found himself being a part of, up until he’d entered the dueling circuits, when people started sucking up to him either because of his early successes or just to see what could be squeezed out of the youngest of the Manjoume brothers.

Reminiscing about things like that was… weird, to say the least. He wondered why he’d been that stuck up, even as a kid. He just couldn’t figure out what exactly had made him believe that acting like he was above everyone else could get him anywhere at all. Of course he was aware of the futility of the act, now that he’d grown up and a few years had passed, but it turned out that knowing something on a rational level does not, in fact, equal being able to put it into practise.

… He knew why he was doing what he was doing, anyways. It had stopped being meanness for the sake of being mean when he knew he could get away with it and had stepped into habit territory. And he hadn’t been allowed to go to Duel Academy so that he could make friends who shared the same hobby. He had imagined that 3 years could go by in the blink of an eye if he got involved as little as possible. All that mattered was winning duels, right? And the last thing he needed in order to do that was to start caring about his opponent’s feelings, really.

The thing he hadn’t really considered was that, maybe, his winning streak wouldn’t last forever. He should have known that the outcome of a duel did not depend entirely on how driven one was. It was still fucking annoying to have to see everyone’s surprised- no, incredulous faces upon seeing him finally defeated. Finally, yes. Clearly people had been waiting for nothing more than to see him brought to his knees. It turned out they had firmly believed he had no actual merits outside of his family connections. They had their long-awaited confirmation. He’d lost a single fucking duel. Obviously he was nothing but a blowhard.

Well, good. Whatever. He couldn’t have cared less.

What did infuriate him, however, were the words that the idiot who’d defeated him had exclaimed, entirely unaware of the fact that he’d just completely crushed everything Manjoume had tried to build for himself.

“That was a fun duel! We have to do this again some time!”

He hadn’t cared to stay behind to listen to anything else the other had to say. The guy clearly hardly had a clue where he was or what he was studying to become. Who had allowed that moron to smile like that while trampling his pride? How the fuck had Manjoume let himself be defeated by someone like that?

May the fucker go to hell. Him and his dumb red uniform. Everyone in the Academy. They could fucking die for all he cared. And Manjoume would have probably laughed at the sight.

He really thought he would have. And yet.

As he was going over his deck, sitting with his back against a tree, doing his best to avoid anyone and everyone, he heard footsteps approaching, accompanied by two voices he felt he knew.

“Aniki, I still can’t believe you beat that guy- he’s an Obelisk Blue- and the top ranking first year at that!” … Is this- “He is? Well, that checks out, he was pretty tough.” That’s- Yuki Judai. No doubt about it. “But you beat him.” … Because that needed to be pointed out, how insightful. “Doesn’t everyone lose at least once?” No. “Not against Osiris Red students!” Exactly. “… Why does that even matter in the first place?” It just fucking does, asshole. “Because! A top student isn’t supposed to lose against just anyone, Aniki! I don’t think he took that well.” … Who the fuck would. “Why, though. He didn’t duel poorly or anything. We were pretty evenly matched, there shouldn’t be shame in that.” “Doesn’t that just make it worse?” “… Does it?”

He’d known they were about to pass him, but didn’t bother getting up or making it look like he hadn’t heard anything. He’d clearly been right about this Yuki guy. A complete idiot who clearly understood nothing of what it meant to be a duelist. He glared at the two as they walked by.

… Ah, so the other was Marufuji. A failure younger brother, much like him. How ironic. The boy looked absolutely devastated to see him, too. What, wasn’t expecting the woods to have ears, eyes and a blue uniform?

He furrowed his eyebrows as Yuki abandoned his carefree walking posture, disentangling his fingers from behind his nape and letting his arms drop to his sides. And then proceeded to point straight at him, as if he’d just seen a mythological creature prancing about. Tch.

“It’s Manju!”

… Was that supposed to be a joke? Why was his first thought that that would make for an awful pet name?

After a second of silence, he decided there would be no harm in responding as he usually would to his name being tossed around improperly. “It’s Man-jou-me,” he corrected, making it a point to hold a hand up to count the three syllables as he spelled them out. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not actually food.”

Marufuji’s hands shot up to cover his face, at least he had the decency to be embarrassed for his friend. … But Yuki just laughed. “What! My name isn’t so forgettable that you’d just mistake it for dessert, asshole!” And laughed harder. “I-“ he paused to catch his breath. Manjoume looked on, entirely unimpressed. Hopefully. “Look- look, I’m not the best with names, I didn’t-“ a loud exhale. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you, I swear.” “… Sure you didn’t.” He tried to keep his voice as hostile as he could. But he… couldn’t fully bring himself to shut the guy down. He supposed his laughter was just contagious.

“Glad that’s settled!” He turned around to face a barely still present Marufuji. “See, Shou? The guy isn’t so bad!” Ah. Right. It had almost slipped his mind. “Aniki- please, I get it, there is no need-!”

“I’ll be winning the next one, anyways,” he said as he got up. And that, apparently, was enough to get both boys to gape uselessly. For half a second. Because before anything else could be said, Yuki shot him a thumbs up and a wide smile. “I’m counting on it, Manjoume!” He couldn’t stop himself from smirking back.

It didn’t take long for rumours to spread about a supposed rivalry between himself and Yuki Judai. It turned out that most off the students of the Academy had very little to do aside from gossiping about such things, which was honestly just a disappointment. Perhaps that was why Judai ended up growing on him, despite everything. While he wasn’t necessarily serious or studious by any means, he was… passionate. He meant it when he said that he was looking to have fun and, to an extent, it was admirable. Enjoy the game no matter the outcome. Easier said than done. But in a sense it was… pleasant to get along with and play against someone who was so different from him.

On one specific evening, they had ended up staying out, discussing strategies and dispensing sarcastic advice- or at least that was what Manjoume was doing. Judai actually seemed quite intent on asking how he’d built his deck and why he’d chosen certain card combos rather than others. They had had a match a few hours prior and Manjoume had surprised him with some new faces. Manjoume Jun was a lot of things and predictable wasn’t one of them. And if the way Judai’s face lit up whenever he pulled a surprise play was anything to go by… it was clearly a trait he appreciated immensely, which it was something that made him swell up with pride. To the point where, when switching out cards, he would often find himself thinking about what Judai’s reaction would look like upon the big reveal of his new strategy.

“It’s always my pleasure to be your lab rat, Manjoume.” The response came in the form of a light shove. “Oh shut up, I like testing out things and, clearly, so do you.” Judai’s laugh rang out, light and unintrusive. “You’re right about that, at least.”

They spent some minutes silently studying eachother’s decks. Manjoume had been about to comment on the card ratio, before Judai blurted out something that made him forget all about it. “We’re kind of like Yugi and Kaiba.” And then a necessary addition, judging by the urgency in his voice. “If they had been actual friends, that is.” … Huh. One of his eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me it’s because you win most of the times and I’m a stuck up asshole who also happens to be rich.” Judai laughed, as he always did. And it was only fair that after being shoved earlier he’d playfully punch Manjoume’s shoulder. “That could be one way to look at it, I guess.”

A small pause followed. And the increase in intensity of the sound of shuffling cards suggested that Judai was… nervous. “What I meant to say is that we’re rivals. Like them.” Majoume scoffed, without any actual bite, his eyes set on a Polymerisation copy. “That isn’t specific to them. Isn’t it just… normal? To have someone you want to defeat, I mean?” “Hah, so you admit I’m the role model you’re striving to overcome!” “I didn’t say anything of the sort, dumbass.” “… Well, for me… playing with you keeps the game fun.”

Manjoume actually looked away from the Elemental Heroes he’s been adamantly staring at. He turned to face Judai, who seemed to have been looking his way for some time.

He would do that a lot. Make a joke, get a snarky reply and immediately say something serious afterwards. What an idiot.

Fun he said, huh? “Not that it isn’t fun in and of itself, but it’s different, I guess. I find that I actually do want to win, when I’m up against you.” Judai’s hand moved to play with his bangs. “I didn’t think I’d ever think twice about a lost duel, but I… kind of do, now.”

“Oh yeah, sorry- Welcome to the magical world of normal people who don’t necessarily win every single time.” “You speak like I’m not the only one who’s beaten you.” “So do you, asshat.” Judai’s expression morphed back into a smile. “It’s refreshing to have a genuine challenge. If you were to quit I would probably lose my interest in playing, too.”

Ah. That part of the Yugi-Kaiba rivalry. He felt like he started to understand.

“Keep dreaming, Judai. I’m not quitting anytime soon. I vowed to never let you off the hook.”

He thought of what he could or should say next. A part of him suggested: ‘You make it fun for me, too.’ That wasn’t in his style, however.

“But I have to agree. I’d get really bored if winning were to become too easy. You’ll die before I allow you to quit, Judai.”

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

Check Ignition: Part VII

That Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts AU that one person asked for and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

Requests/asks are open. Give me your opinions, your ideas for this fic, your additional fic ideas. I love hearing from you all!

Robbe didn’t want to get out of bed on Sunday. This week marked the last before exams set in, then everyone would leave for winter holidays. Jens and Aaron lived within a ten-kilometer radius of Robbe’s apartment, but the distance might as well be five hundred with how often they saw each other. Jens called this week in the term “Live It Up Week.” It was their final chance to have some big fun before two weeks’ isolation at home.

No one else knew what Robbe heard last night. He didn’t know what he would tell them. When Jens tried to pull the curtains open to get a jump on a day of mischief, Robbe bound them shut with a simple spell.

“You’re not that tired,” Jens taunted. “C’mon, my sweet Robbe, the world is wide and open for our consumption!”

Aaron joined in. “We have so much to do!”

“Sander can come along, if you want.”

“Oh, no, he met someone else. Sander’s not—”

“The someone is Sander…”

Their voices softened into harsh whispers outside. Robbe clamped his pillow over his head and prayed they’d go away. He didn’t think he could handle anything else today.

It was never anything, what he had with Sander. Nothing that would last. Robbe found it funny, in a kind of morbid way—he wasn’t really upset. Did he want to leave the cocoon of his blankets? No. Was he happy with how anything turned out? Also no. But he wasn’t going to cry over it.

He remembered when Jens and Jana broke up. Jens was in pieces for weeks afterward, although he tried to hide it. Robbe didn’t feel that caliber of heartbreak. If anything, it felt like his speculations were proven true.

He wasn’t happy, he was right. Those emotions were close enough. A comfortable numbness.

Damn, what was he going to tell Aaron and Moyo about his someone else?

The boys rustled about the room, throwing clothes and dropping their belongings. A door opened and shut, and Jens put his mouth right against the seam in the bedcurtains to talk to Robbe.

“Aaron’s gone,” he said. “What happened?”

Robbe didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

“Did you end things with him?”

They were never a thing. What was there to end? If Sander was back with Britt, their relationship returned to what it was before the fake-dating started. Stolen glances across a table. If he wasn’t, well, Robbe would let himself be dragged along for the rest of the term. It was only meant to last a month. He could handle another month.

Robbe kind of wanted to pick Jens’ mind on the subject: what did Sander’s statement mean? Was it an echo of the joke they had on their first date, but serious this time? I could never fall in love with Robbe. Was it an assurance to Britt that Robbe wouldn’t get in the way of their rekindled relationship? Was it something simpler than that, no more than an acknowledgement that things were moving too fast between them?

He didn’t know how to unload all of that on Jens in a decent amount of time, and even if he did, it probably wouldn’t make much sense. Robbe was a shit storyteller.

“You know you can tell me things, right?” said Jens. “Anything. About anything. About… other people.”

“I know,” said Robbe, because he didn’t want Jens to be worried. “It’s exams. I’m stressed out.”

He could hear Jens exhale and relax on the other side of the curtains. “Ah, right. You have to be the smartest out of us. Yasmina got you in a study group?”

“Yeah, I spent the night in the library.” Why not say something like that? It was better than what he’d actually been doing, which was getting his heart broken in a hallway by an overheard conversation.

“Cool. I’ll let you sleep, then.” Jens left the dormitory.

Now that he was alone, Robbe opened his bed to the scene outside. Light streamed in from their window. He knew he’d have to get up if he wanted to have even the slightest chance of appearing casual about this whole thing. Sander didn’t know he overheard.

Robbe wasn’t that unhappy, either, and that should be a sign that things never would have worked.

Yeah. He was fine. It was one night of making out for real.

He dragged his feet out of the blankets and to the floor. It would have been cold, were it not for Aaron’s stray clothing covering most of the wooden planks. Fuck this. Fuck everything. Robbe kicked aside his Potions textbook and watched it slide into the no-man’s-land under his bed. Fuck Potions. He didn’t need them.

He got it back out.

His trunk was a mess of overflowing shirts and trousers. He dug a Hufflepuff sweater from the mix. When he arrived back at the dormitory last night, he hadn’t the resolve to peel off the Quidditch uniform and hang it somewhere to dry. As such, it smelled like wet dog and clung to his skin in all the wrong places. Dumb fucking rain. Robbe stripped down and changed as fast as he could. He left the soggy uniform dangling from one of his bed’s pillars, then removed the dampened sheets from his mattress and tossed them to the ground with Aaron’s shit.

See, functioning like a normal human being. Nothing had changed from yesterday into today.

New plan, since clearly he was an idiot, and no plans he made worked. He would go downstairs for breakfast, spend time with Jens and Aaron, and patrol tonight with Jana as he had neglected to do for much of this week. He could study for his exams in the library, and maybe, if there was time, get in some pleasure reading.

He thought about Sander’s hands stroking his hair. Not the library, then.

After that, Zoë and Yasmina might help him with whatever else needed doing. Zoë knew his relationship with Sander wasn’t going anywhere, so she wouldn’t take much effort to be around. Yasmina had no clue. He didn’t want to have to tell her about it.

Fuck this. Fuck everything.

Robbe surveyed the room one last time, trying to muster the will to head for the Great Hall. This was his last week to be free before the end of term, before he entered the second half of sixth year and had to start thinking about his future. He should go have fun with everyone else.

He flopped back on his sheetless bed and shut the curtains.

***

Weekdays did not bring relief. Sander and Robbe shared no classes, but Robbe didn’t even see Sander in the corridors during transition periods. He almost made himself attend Potions on Monday. No dice. Britt sat in the front of the classroom, and he didn’t want to see her stupid smug expression. She knew about him, he thought, even if the fake-dating arrangement wasn’t technically over.

What would he do if he saw Sander? Would they kiss again? Would it be the normal fake relationship activities, except unburdened by Robbe’s belief it could be more? He would put up with it, of course, for a little while, until the opportunity to end it presented itself.

On Sunday night, Robbe was still haunted by Friday night’s kisses and caresses. Dreaming about them. Craving them. Missing them. On Tuesday morning, he just wanted to see Sander again. A glimpse through the railing of a changing staircase. A flicker of movement across the Great Hall. Anything.

Fate had other plans on Tuesday night. Robbe carried his textbooks to the farthest section of the library, the section that would block his view of where he and Sander sat a week ago. One fucking week. How could he have expected Sander to feel anything for him after a week or two? He whipped around the corner a little too fast and ran right into someone else, also carrying a stack of books. They collided, and their materials fell to the floor. Robbe was too caught up in his own thoughts to offer a simple apology. One fucking week.

“Ow!” the girl exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

“Happens to the best of us,” said Robbe. He brushed off his trousers and began to gather his things again.

“I wasn’t watching where I was going, it’s totally my mistake.”

“Now you know better for next time.” Robbe wasn’t sure why he was being so cruel. He wasn’t even that upset about Sander, not enough to channel it onto other people.

“You’re Robbe, aren’t you?”

He looked up. The girl had brown hair and a Hufflepuff tie. He didn’t recognize her, per se, but she did give off an air of familiarity. “Yes, why?”

The girl smiled and extended her hand to help him up. There was a gap between her two front teeth. “I met your boyfriend the other day. At the Quidditch match. The nosebleed section, y’know?”

Robbe remembered now. This was the girl that Sander was talking to instead of paying attention to the action unfolding in front of him. In retrospect, it was so obvious Sander was never as all-in as Robbe was. Go figure. Robbe probably looked like an idiot, what with his stupid fall-from-the-air-and-kiss-Sander plan.

“Right. You seemed to get along well,” said Robbe. There was venom there. He knew she could hear it as she pulled him to his feet. He did his best to soften the blow—it wasn’t her fault that he wasn’t good enough. “Did you enjoy the match?”

“I didn’t really get to,” she laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“I asked your boyfriend to explain things to me. Mistake, huh?”

That was unexpected. Robbe felt a surge of protectiveness for Sander. Sander was never boring, never once, not in all the time that Robbe knew him. Robbe would have killed to be there in the stands instead of this girl, talking to Sander, lavishing in his attention.

“How?” he asked.

“What?”

“Why was it a mistake?”

“Oh.” The girl blushed. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe. “He didn’t talk a lot about it, if you know what I mean.” Outside in the corridor, the clock began to chime dinner. Robbe could never go to a Great Hall dinner again, not without Noor staring him down, not without Britt’s air of superiority hovering over him.

He did not know what this girl meant. He hugged his textbooks tight against his chest.

“He kind of focused on one player.”

What player? Sander was bisexual, or pansexual—he said as much to Milan on that one date. It could be anyone on Robbe’s team. It could be Jens, Aaron, heaven forbid Yasmina— and it didn’t matter. Robbe already knew.

“You,” the girl said, almost exasperated. “He wouldn’t shut up about you. Merlin’s beard, I don’t know what it is with you boys. You never understand anything.”

“Everyone under the age of twenty is a certified idiot,” Robbe recited. It was the first thing to come to mind.

“The whole game, it was all, Him there? That’s my boyfriend. That’s Robbe. Look at Robbe. Last time I try to flirt at a Quidditch game.” She reached out and gave Robbe an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Sorry to bombard you. I should get back to studying…”

“Nice to meet you,” said Robbe. She was already leaving the library by the time he realized he hadn’t gotten her name.

He passed the remainder of the evening hiding with his books in various degrees of focus. Jens stopped in at one point to bring Robbe a slab of turkey that he stole from the dinner table, and sat down for a while to chat. Jens was not in Potions. Robbe was the only bitch in their friend group who could handle Potions.

The information buzzed inside Robbe’s head. All he had to do was open his mouth, and he could get everything off his chest at once. This was so stupid. This was his whole life.

What he knew (because making a list always helped):

1. Sander was not in love with him.

2. He was in love with Sander.

3. Sander talked about him to other people.

4. He didn’t much talk to others about Sander.

5. He’d meant to taunt the boys with relationship information, and ended up lying instead.

6. Britt and Sander were probably back together.

There wasn’t any way to cover that much in the amount of time they had. Robbe let Jens quiz him on magical history. They were on the last chapters right now, the ones that covered the most recent wars.

“What was Lord Voldemort’s real name?”

Robbe blanched. “Is that a real question?”

“That’s what it says.”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

“Good. What caused his death the first time?”

“True love or something. I don’t know.”

Jens made a face. “Mm, close. It was actually sacrificial love.” He looked up from the textbook and right at Robbe. “Speaking of love—”

“Don’t say it.”

“I was just wondering,” said Jens, treading carefully, “about how you two left it.”

It wasn’t the time. Robbe hadn’t even had his sexuality crisis yet—still postponing. Let him have that, and they could talk. He couldn’t bear to hear more about Sander today. He wasn’t that upset about it, though. He wasn’t. There was a large, large difference between being upset about it and just not wanting to dish the story onto other people.

“Because I talked to Jana,” Jens continued, “and she said—well, it’s actually kind of weird because she said—she said that Britt’s…” He trailed off.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

“Whatever.” Robbe kept his composure. “I remember now. Lord Voldemort was maimed by Harry Potter’s mother’s sacrifice. She put herself between them and the curse rebounded. That right?” He raised his voice a little too much for the library standards; a few other studying students shot him dirty looks. They could suck it.

Jens put the book back on the table. “If I were you, I’d want to know, so…”

Absolutely not. Britt and Sander were not back together. Absolutely not. Robbe knew it before, but fuck, hearing it basically confirmed made him want to throw up. He felt his eyes watering—some fluke, considering this was always going to happen and he wasn’t that upset. The word “upset” lost all meaning as he repeated it in his head.

“That makes Harry Potter the first and only person to survive a killing curse,” he said. “His parents were James and Lily—”

“He told you, right?”

“Nothing to tell,” said Robbe tightly. “Keep quizzing. I’m going to fail my exams.”

Jens shook his head. “Something happened on Sunday.”

“The Potters were given up by their close friend, Peter Pettigrew. People thought it was Sirius Black.”

“Robbe, you can talk to me.”

“We’re talking right now.”

Jens grabbed Robbe by the arm. It wasn’t that they never touched each other, because they did, but the intensity in a gesture like this took Robbe a little bit by surprise. He shook his friend off. Jens held fast. He seemed to consider a thousand different comforting phrases in a moment. Finally, he settled on, “I want you to be happy.”

The slab of turkey was going cold in its napkin. Robbe would get in trouble if the librarian happened by his table and saw it there. He picked at it with his hands, because what was the use in manners? The student closest to their table grimaced as she watched.

The clock chimed nine; the library had extended hours during the week before exams. It was time for Jens to leave and hang with Moyo and Aaron, who planned to prank the Gryffindors by moving everything in their common room two inches to the left. Jens made no effort to leave his chair. He opened the book to the bookmarked page. “Fine. Okay.” The stars glittered through the library windows. It was a wonderful night for the astronomy tower. Robbe didn’t want to go anywhere with Jana if she knew about Britt and Sander. “What role did Sirius Black play in the defeat of Lord Voldemort?”

And so the evening went. Stupid fucking weekdays.

***

It was Thursday before Robbe saw Sander again. He wished he hadn’t. For the first time, Sander had his hair styled in such a way that the deep brown roots were just as visible as his bleach blond. His robes were clean. Buttoned correctly. See, here was a person who wasn’t upset in the slightest. Like Robbe. Robbe was already over it.

He froze anyway.

Here was the moment of truth: if the arrangement were still in effect, Sander would run over and kiss him. Robbe waited for it to happen. Sander did not spare him so much as a glance.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t earth-shattering. Robbe did not go to Potions.

***

Friday night was a whirlwind of Quidditch practice and exam preparation. Moyo and Aaron put their moving spell to work again in the Hufflepuff common room, doing their best to scoot everything simultaneously. It gave them away on Tuesday when things moved at separate times.

“McGonagall’s gonna make us turn cockroaches into shot glasses or something,” Moyo lamented. The couch slid a whole foot to the left, taking Jens and Robbe with it. A good five seconds later, Zoë’s chair by the table slid, too. “We can’t turn shit into shit.”

“I can turn your girl into mine,” said Aaron. Moyo smacked him in the back of the head.

Robbe ignored them to the best of his ability. There was so much he didn’t know, and only a few short days left to cram it into his head. He wasn’t sure there was space to fit it in beside Sander.

He wasn’t worried about Transfiguration—the real assignment was turning a bug of choice into an article of clothing. Moyo would be fine. They always were. History of Magic would prove slightly more difficult, if the questions were as hard as the professor bragged they would be. Charms was a breeze if he focused on it, and Herbology was easy enough that he hardly thought about it. There was only one class left to bite him in the ass.

Senne descended the stairs. “Prefect stuff, going out,” he declared. “Robbe, coming with?”

Going with Senne would mean seeing Britt. No thank you. Robbe didn’t answer. He could take Jana later, if it came down to it, but his nightly plans involved sleeping for the rest of forever. Or going to astronomy tower.

It was ages since his last trip. Surely the memory of Sander couldn’t taint the stars over still waters.

“Cool, so I’ll see you guys later, then.” Senne kissed Zoë on the forehead as he walked by. “Stick around if you want to. I won’t be long.”

The door closed behind him, and instantly, Zoë whirled to Robbe. “Isn’t that your job?”

“No,” said Robbe. He read about a Wolfsbane potion for the forty-millionth time and remembered none of it. All his other textbooks darted across his lap and off the couch, coming to rest underneath Zoë’s feet. Moyo and Aaron high-fived. Five books at once was a pretty okay feat.

“Got plans tonight, huh?” Moyo said.

Jens perked up. “Plans? Fun plans?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. With his someone else.”

This got Zoë’s attention. She glanced at Robbe, incredulous.

“I can’t believe you’d dump Sander,” said Aaron, not really to Robbe. “He’s hot.”

“He’s a bleach-blond,” Moyo pointed out.

“That’s what I said.”

“Boys,” interjected Jens. “You’re not being subtle. Shut up.”

They returned to their studying. The common room during exam season was a new locale: several people sobbed right out in the open as they paged through books. Students sat on rugs and in the large windowsill. A group even claimed the stairs to the girls’ dormitory as their space, and cast levitating spells on a handful of marbles they’d thrown out into the air.

Robbe read the page on the Wolfsbane potion yet again and thought of Sander. All he did was think about Sander. It shouldn’t mean this much to him—he wasn’t going to cry over it. Jens’ leg pressed up against his own on the couch. Not a year ago, they were sitting on this same couch as Jens fell to pieces over Jana.

He should tell them. They had that poster board upstairs, an honest-to-God muggle poster board, with that dumb stupid plan on how to get Robbe and Sander together. Operation Sobbe. Obviously it was that. They would be okay with anything he told them, and maybe they could help him through—

There wasn’t anything to get through. Wolfsbane potions are extremely difficult to make on account of their poisonous ingredients and the expenses involved.

“I don’t think it’s fair,” Moyo said, out of the blue.

Jens didn’t look up from his book, Hogwarts: a History. “Do enlighten us.”

“Robbe. It’s really not fair.”

Robbe should tell them he should tell them he should tell them—

“Sander’s head-over-heels for him, beautiful specimen of a human being, and he gets someone else on the side.” Moyo cleared his throat to continue. “Noor wanted him, Sander wanted him, hell, half the school probably wants him. He’s flicking them off like flies.”

Now’s the moment, Robbe thought. Tell them.

Moyo’s brow furrowed. He faced Robbe, just as Robbe’s quill lept from his hand and shot three feet to the left. “Kind of weird you didn’t tell Sander. I liked him. I mention it in the hallway, and—”

“You talked to Sander?” Jens asked.

“I want to do some homework,” said Zoë. No one listened.

“No, I mean, everyone overhears things.” Moyo waved his hand in the air to clear that topic away. “I don’t think it’s fair that you get all the action and the rest of us study for our exams.” He laughed like it was funny, and, unsurprisingly, Aaron laughed too.

Say something and fucking tell them, Robbe screamed at himself. The Wolfsbane potion was invented by Mr. Belby and tastes awful.

“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” said Robbe.

“Clearly.”

“I think I hear someone at the door,” Jens said. He jumped up from the couch to answer it. Robbe felt the air get heavier between himself and Moyo, in a way he didn’t much like. The acid from the Quidditch match, from watching Britt and Sander, from Sunday morning came flooding back into his system.

Lighthearted conversation. Steer it back into lighthearted conversation.

“So—” Robbe began.

Moyo cut him off. “You had it really good.”

“Can someone help me with this Charm?” Zoë attempted. The snowball was already rolling.

“We were rooting for you,” said Moyo. “You were good together. And he clearly adores you.”

Even Aaron was uncomfortable by the shift in tone. “Moyo—”

“Hang on, hang on. The way you kissed each other, I mean, obviously.”

“We’re good at fake dating,” said Robbe, aware it sounded dumb.

“Usually when people fake-date, they don’t use tongue. You’ve been dating him. This whole time. It’s cool, it’s fine. He knew what you thought about it, and whatever. But you really believed that whole Britt excuse?” Moyo took Robbe’s silence as an answer. “Zoë says he gave this whole fucking monologue when she asked, and when he was drunk—”

“Are you slut-shaming me?”

“No, if anyone here’s a slut, that’s my title.”

“Then what are you getting at?” Robbe was three seconds away from his boiling point.

“We’re your friends, and we’ll support you no matter what. I’m trying to. I’m trying.” Moyo sighed. “That’s just… well, it’s shitty. And as a friend, it’s my job to call you out. Illuminate us, please.”

Robbe couldn’t do it. He had a whole list in his head of things to say—things he needed to say. He spent no more than two weeks kissing Sander, only one day of it real, and he missed it like a hole torn in the center of his chest. He wasn’t going to cry over it, no. He wasn’t going to be Jens right now. But fucking hell, Sander must be somewhere making out with Britt at this very moment, and all Robbe could think about was whether Sander drank coffee in the morning, the number of creams and sugars he used. Robbe was so goddamn upset that it was killing him from the inside out.

Hear that, universe? He was upset. You win.

He said the next closest thing. “You think it was my choice?”

The common room went silent. The levitating marbles clattered to the floor. Zoë and Aaron became interested in an illustration of Gillyweed in Zoë’s book.

A painting on the wall released itself from its hanging and moved one inch to the left.

“Uh, door for you,” Jens said. He reappeared, pointed back at the entrance. “You might want to… um. Yeah.” He rushed past Robbe and ushered the boys upstairs. Moyo held Robbe’s glare for a second longer. Aaron took his time, loitering at the base of the stairwell, still trying to puzzle through the conversation he witnessed. Zoë looked briefly between Jens and Robbe, concerned, and followed them out. She brought with her six or so first-years who were using the carpet to spread out all their notes. It was going to be a party in the boys’ dorm tonight.

Robbe didn’t budge from the couch. He didn’t want to see who it was. Probably Britt. Or Noor. One of them.

“Uh, Robbe?”

That wasn’t Britt’s voice. Shit. Robbe pretended not to hear. With luck, Jens hadn’t left the door open, and Sander would be stuck outside the common room for a little while. Robbe needed time to gather his thoughts after everything Moyo said. The remaining students scurried away like mice. Robbe scanned down a page of his History of Magic textbook without reading any of the words.

“Robbe, I—we should talk.” It didn’t sound any closer. Sander must be staying near the doorway. Stupid, respectful Sander.

“Busy!” he yelled back.

“It’s important.”

“So are exams.”

“Robbe, please.” This was more nervous than Robbe had ever heard Sander speak.

“Come in, then,” he invited.

“Um, I think you should come here. If that’s okay.”

It blossomed in Robbe’s chest, for a moment: the oddest sensation of irrational hope. Sander was here to admit his feelings for him. They’d go back to the workshop and kiss ‘til their fingertips burned with magic. The fake-dating thing never officially ended, Robbe thought. Therefore, everything he’d felt over the past week could just be his own taste for dramaticism. Sander didn’t want things to move to fast. It wasn’t a guarantee that he never would love Robbe—

Overthinking. Stop overthinking. “Yeah, okay, one second.”

He rose from the couch, threw open the door, and there was Sander. Eyes trained on the floor.

Fuck.

Sander was a cutout from those Hogsmede dates. He was there, but not really. Cold. He picked at something dried on the hem of his sleeve. Robbe felt himself sitting down across the Three Broomsticks table, wanting without realizing, losing without ever having in the first place. Unattainable. That always was the most important part.

No one ever looked like this when they came with good news.

Sander launched into a pre-prepared speech as soon as Robbe was in front of him. “I imagine you’ve heard by now.”

“I’m doing well, how are you?” said Robbe.

“Sometimes I make impulsive decisions, and they hurt people.” Sander sounded like he came straight from a script. Robbe wanted to pitch himself from the top of the astronomy tower. “I really don’t mean to. You didn’t deserve it. But you have to understand, I don’t—you don’t like me.”

“Are we gonna have this talk here?” said Robbe. Hearing the words from Sander’s mouth only cemented a different truth in his head. He loved Sander with everything he had.

“I mean, we could be friends, or…”

Robbe jumped in when it became clear there was no more to that sentence. “I’d rather it be over, if you don’t mind.”

“Right, over.”

They both stared at their shoes.

“I’ll go,” said Sander. And he went. No more than that. It wasn’t going to be dramatic. It was over.

Just like that.

[dallanebbia]

selcouth

fandom: bnha pairing: kacchako; bakugou katsuki x uraraka ochako word count: 6.6k warnings: minor descriptions of injuries synopsis: five times uraraka held bakugou’s hand – and the one time he held hers. pre-relationship, second year, future fic notes: written for day 5 of kacchako week 2020, with the prompt ‘hand holding.’ fun fact, this was the very last prompt i wrote for this event! i went back and forth with a ton of different plots,  but i ended up with a good ol’ 5+1 fic, ft. lots of fluff and an emotionally dumb, oblivious bakugou. when i started writing this ship, it was hard for me to get into bakugou’s head to write from his pov, but i think i’m getting a little better at it :) ao3: [link]

selcouth (n.) – Old English, something unfamiliar, unusual or wondrous

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

The first time Uraraka held his hand was literally only because he had no other choice.

“Jeez, Bakugou… do you always hafta be so intense about things?”

Uraraka winced at the grotesque sight of Bakugou’s knee, swelling into an angry purple color between the shredded remains of his hero costume pants. 

“Tch, like I was gonna let someone else beat me to the action,” he scowled, leaning against an electrical pole for support.

In retrospect, launching himself headfirst into an ongoing robbery wasn’t the smartest idea – especially when he was only supposed to be an intern. He’d kicked ass of course – those shitty villains had nothing on him – but the busted kneecap and fractured foot he got in exchange weren’t really doing him any favors. 

Kamui Woods had taken one look at him, sighed heavily, and radioed Uraraka to escort Bakugou back to the agency for healing while he dealt with the police.

Bakugou had protested, saying that he didn’t need help – but it was quickly becoming clear that he wasn’t going anywhere. The pain in his legs was excruciating, throbbing in time to his heartbeat, and it took every ounce of his remaining energy to keep himself from collapsing in the middle of the street. 

“Bakugou –” Uraraka bit her lip, watching in worry as he tried to push himself upright, flinching violently. On instinct, she stepped forward, immediately coming up to try and steady him. “Let me –”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ help, Round Face,” he barked, jerking himself away from her outstretched hands. It was a mistake, though – he grimaced, his face crumpling in pain, and he missed the way Uraraka’s eyes narrowed in determination. 

“There’s no way you’re gettin’ back to the agency like that, Bakugou,” she said sternly. “Quit bein’ such a damn edgelord and let me help you!”

“Fuck off,” Bakugou snarled. “I don’t need some pink-cheeked – you bitch, don’t you fucking dare.”

“You really wanna be carried outta here on a stretcher?” He felt anger boiling in his blood just thinking about it. “That’s what I thought.” The set of Uraraka’s mouth just tilted down stubbornly, and before he could keep protesting, she slapped a hand over his bicep.

“I’ll murder you.” His eyes glared daggers into the side of her head, but the pain in his expression eased as he rose into the air.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Uraraka rolled her eyes, grabbing a fistful of his pants and tugging him along as she started down the street. There were already emergency responders helping to clean the crime scene, the police herding the robbers into cars, and all that was left was for them to check into medical and write up their reports. “Lord Explosion Murder, we get it already.”

“That’s King to you, Round Face,” he spat out, making a face as his body started to turn awkwardly in the air. “Oi, quit movin’ me around so much, I’m gonna flip over!”

Uraraka threw him an annoyed look, and adjusted her grip so that she was holding a bigger handful of fabric. “Well, it’s this or your foot, and I don’t wanna risk makin’ your injuries worse than they already are.”

“You’ll make them worse if you keep making me bump into random shit,” he sputtered furiously. He tried batting himself out of the way of a traffic sign, only to be jerked out of the way at the last second like a balloon. “Fuck – I said quit that!”

“If I knew you were gonna be such a pain about this…” Uraraka huffed and came to a stop in the middle of the goddamn sidewalk, ignoring all the attention they were drawing. “Fine, lemme just – “

Bakugou faltered as she yanked him down closer to her, grabbing his gloved hand in hers.

“O-oi, what are you – ?” He scrabbled at his arm, trying to shove her away, but his bulky gauntlets made it virtually impossible.

“S’just my hand, Bakugou,” Uraraka sighed, and tossed him a frown when he kept trying to pull himself out of her grip. “Stop bein’ so weird about it!”

“I’m not being weird,” he snapped, biting the inside of his cheek to hide his discomfort. Had her grip always been so strong? “I could blow your fucking arm off!”  

That earned him a scoff. “You’ve got the most control over your quirk outta anyone from our class, Bakugou. There’s no way you’re gonna blow my arm off,” she said exasperatedly, and he blinked a little at the way she said it, as if it were obvious. “Look, if it’s such a big deal, I’ll princess carry you back instead.”

“Try that and I’m actually gonna kill you,” he growled darkly. Shitty Hair was supposed to swing by the agency so they could grab dinner, and there was no fucking way Bakugou was letting his dumbfuck best friend see him carried in like a damsel in distress.  

Uraraka grinned to herself in victory. “You already said that.”

“Well, I mean it!” he grumbled, and slowly resigned himself to being dragged along like a balloon. At least he was floating right-side up now – and facing the right direction this time.

“… Wait. Did you call me a fuckin’ edgelord?”

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

The second time Uraraka held his hand was an accident.

“Oh sweet Jesus.”

Bakugou exhaled slowly, trying to quell the frustration bubbling in his stomach, and shot a dirty look to the side.

“Oi,” he snapped, glaring at the petite brunette sitting next to him. “Zip it, Round Face.” Uraraka had been squealing and muttering under her breath since the damn movie started, and he was over it.

“Eeek – sorry!” Uraraka whispered, flashing him a wavering, apologetic smile before an upswell in the creepy background music made her features contort in a wince.

Bakugou just grunted, turning his eyes back to the laptop screen. He didn’t know how Pinky got Uraraka to join their weekly movie night ritual, but he had ended up next to her on Shitty Hair’s bed, the two of them squished her up against the wall. Pikachu and Tape Face were sprawled out on the rest of the bed, slowly dozing off, but Shitty Hair and Pinky, who had commandeered the floor space, had left the room ten minutes ago for snacks, and they hadn’t come back yet.

He hoped to hell that they weren’t making out in the hallway again.

“Oh god,” he heard Uraraka squeak quietly, as on the screen, a flash of lightning showed the silhouette of a man in the dark house, while the female protagonist was sleeping, completely unaware. “Oh god, oh fuck no – “

His eyes cut over to the side, eyeing Uraraka in surprise. “The hell?” he muttered, and brown eyes darted in his direction. “Since when do you curse?”

Uraraka frowned at him, but flinched as the woman on screen jolted awake. “M’allowed to curse, Bakugou, I’m not a kid,” she whispered back fiercely, but flinched as another flash of lightning showed the dark figure standing by the woman’s bed. “Ohmygod, ohmygod –“

He scoffed. “It ain’t even that scary, Cheeks,” he murmured with an eyeroll. “This is pussy shit.”

“Maybe for you!” she hissed, and let out a whimper as the music faded, leaving only the sound of the woman’s heavy breathing filtering through the speakers. “Oh my god, no no no – ”

At this point, Bakugou just tilted his head to sneer at her. “Seriously? You could literally fuck that guy up in a second.”

Uraraka made a face. “Just ‘cause I could, doesn’t mean it’s any less creepy! Nobody wants to wake up and find some serial killer in their house!” she protested, a little too loudly, and they both froze as Pikachu groaned a little, shifting so he was sprawled over Tape Face a bit more, before falling limp again.

For a few blissful minutes, she kept quiet while the movie played – but when the main character let out a dramatic gasp, she jumped again, hands flying to her face. She curled herself into a ball, peeking through the fingers covering her eyes, and Bakugou couldn’t help but mutter, “Tch, you’re such a wimp.”

Uraraka’s head whipped up, eyes narrowed. “I am not a wimp!” she whispered hotly.

A blonde eyebrow rose doubtfully. “Are too.”

“Are not!”

“Are too.”

“Are not!”

“Yes, you are,” he emphasized lowly, nodding at the laptop screen. He recognized the scene playing on the screen, and he had to bite back his smirk as he goaded, “You’re not even watching the damn movie.”

“Fine, I’ll prove it!” With a huff, Uraraka sat up, leaning forward and staring at the laptop with knitted brows. Bakugou let himself grin a little – baiting her was fun, but he kept his eyes on her as the main character crept down the dark hallway. He’d seen the movie once a while back, but he remembered that there was a jump scare, just after –   

“Holyfuckingshit!” The shrill, tinny scream from the movie almost covered Uraraka’s strangled squeal of fright, but Bakugou sure as hell didn’t miss the way the brunette leapt clean into the air, diving into Shitty Hair’s comforter like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Bakugou couldn’t quite hide his snickering, his body shaking as he cackled quietly, but when he tried to bring his hand up to wipe at his eyes, something was preventing him from moving.

“The fuck?” he uttered, staring down in bewilderment. At some point, Uraraka had grabbed his hand during her freak out, clenching it tight against her forehead, as if trying to hide her entire body behind the width of his hand. She looked utterly ridiculous, but some part of him couldn’t help but notice how fucking tiny her hands were.

Then, he realized that he was starting to float off the bed.

“Oi, let me go!” he hissed, shaking his hand to try and get her attention.

“H-huh?” Uraraka sat up, a little wild-eyed, and Bakugou leaned over to poke her in the middle of her forehead, hard.

“Your quirk, you idiot!”

Her mouth dropped open in mortification as she realized she had commandeered his hand, pushing it away from her abruptly as she quickly pressed her fingers together. “Sorry, sorry!” she squeaked, and Bakugou dropped back onto the mattress with a thump. “Oh god, I didn’t mean to – ”

“Will you chill the fuck out already?” he grumbled, repositioning himself on the mattress and kicking Pikachu’s fat ass over to give him some more room. He didn’t want her to use him as a teddy bear again, so he grabbed a pillow and shoved it at her. “Here, if you really need to hide behind something...”

He let his voice trail off as Uraraka took the pillow, still flushed in embarrassment. “… sorry,” she offered again, a little timidly, and Bakugou sighed.

“…Whatever, it’s fine,” he muttered, balling the hand she had held in a fist. It felt weird for some reason – why did his palm feel so prickly all of a sudden? “Just shut up already, will you?”

Uraraka just mimed zipping her lips together, nodding furiously, and he rolled his eyes as he turned back to the screen, a good half-meter between them.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

The third time Uraraka held his hand was just… weird.

“Shit.”

Bakugou glared down at the sloppy tangle of gauze wrapped loosely around his hands. With a grimace, he yanked the bandages away, gritting his teeth against the pain that shot through his body, the echoing ache digging down deep into his bones.

He wanted to call Shitty Hair for help, but the redhead was out for the weekend, visiting his family. There was no way he was going to cave and ask anyone else for help, so Bakugou had sucked it up and tried taking care of it himself.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t going so well.

“Eh? Is that you, Bakugou?” His head snapped up at the sound of a familiar voice, and a glance over his shoulder revealed Uraraka, standing in the entrance of the common room in her pajamas. Her hair was a mess and she was rubbing at her face sleepily, but none of that explained what she was doing up at three in the fucking morning.

“What the hell are you doing?” he scowled, turning his back to her.

“I got thirsty,” she yawned. “Why are you up so late? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“What are you, my fuckin’ mother?” he snapped. “Fuck off.”

“Right…” Uraraka pursed her lips, padding to the kitchen. “I was just askin’, sheesh…”

Even though his body was hidden by the couch, and there was no way for her to see anything other than his head as she crossed the room, Bakugou still buried his hands into the front pockets of his hoodie. He was in pain and frustrated and exhausted, and he felt like a spring wound too tight. Uraraka’s sudden appearance had caught him off guard, and he felt oddly exposed for some reason.

She disappeared into the kitchen, and Bakugou exhaled slowly. He slowly pulled his hands back out, grabbing the bundle of gauze with a wince and settling down to untangle the mess for the hundredth time. He could feel his hands protesting, the stitches crawling up his palms already starting to bleed through antibacterial gel he’d lathered on earlier, and he slumped even further into the couch as frustration burned at the backs of his eyes.

“Um… Bakugou?”

He froze, eyes sliding to the side to see Uraraka. She was standing at the other end of the couch, a glass of water in hand, and looked both hesitant and determined all at once.

“Mind your own fuckin’ business, Round Face.” He ducked his head, swallowing as he took a steadying breath.

He picked at the tangled bandages, but the couch dipped suddenly under him. He felt Uraraka scoot close until she was sitting at his side, body turned to face him as she said softly, “If you want, I can…?”

She held her hand out, waiting for him to give her the gauze.

His first instinct was to say no. It was bad enough that he had to ask Shitty Hair for help, but he didn’t want anyone else seeing what a weak little shit he was. He had to learn how to do it himself at some point too – there wasn’t a point in relying on someone when he could do it alone, just as well or even better.

Still… his gaze fell to her outstretched hand, and he noticed the faint scars covering the skin of her palm and fingers. The pale marks were obviously not new, not years old either – but they were well healed, without any excess scar tissue. He didn’t know how he never noticed them before.

Huh. He flicked his gaze up to her face, where she watched him with patient eyes, gnawing at her lip nervously. Well, not like she can make it worse.

“… whatever.” He slapped the bandages into her waiting palm, and cursed himself for being a dumbass as pain and black dots exploded across his vision. “Do what you want,” he muttered with a grimace. He turned his head away, jaw set stubbornly, but slowly, he let his gaze slide to the side, watching her from the corner of his eye.

To his disgruntlement, Uraraka combed through the mess easily, fingers plucking until the length of gauze was coiled loosely in her lap. She reached towards him, and Bakugou had to bite back the instinct to recoil from her touch as she tugged his hand over, cupping it as she started to wrap his palm.

Her hands were cool against his skin, her touch firm yet gentle. She moved quickly and confidently, as if she’d done this exact same thing a hundred times before, and he didn’t notice his head turning to watch her work until she glanced up at him. She met his gaze with a startled “eep!,” and then immediately directed them back down with an embarrassed flush.

He felt his cheeks turn hot, and a weird buzzing sensation settled below his skin, one that got really loud every time Uraraka’s fingers brushed over his. It wasn’t a bad thing per se, but it felt disconcerting – and after she finished tying off the ends of the bandages, he immediately pulled his hands back.

He examined them, begrudgingly impressed. The wraps looked as good as when Recovery Girl had done them, possibly better – but he figured the pain was the reason he was thinking so weirdly, so he pushed the thought out of his head.

“How do they feel?” Uraraka asked. “Not too tight?”

“S’alright,” he mumbled. “Better than how Shitty Hair does it.”

For some reason, she laughed. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He was really touched that you asked him for help, y’know?”

“He’s fucking dead,” Bakugou growled, because of course Shitty Hair went and blabbed. He leaned back against the cushions with a sigh – the stabbing ache was still there, but it was slowly dulling. Without the stress of trying to wrap his injuries by himself, he felt ten times lighter.

He glanced over to Uraraka, who was staring off into nothing, toying with her half-filled water glass absently. His gaze dropped to her hands again, curiosity niggling at the edge of his brain, and he asked brusquely, “How the hell do you know how to do shit like this anyways?”

She jumped a little, blinking in surprise, but when he didn’t say anything, just waiting for an answer, she giggled nervously. “Oh, well… durin’ my internship with Gunhead, he taught me how to throw knives!”

He jerked upright at that, his eyes bugging out, because what the fuck?

“And I was pretty bad at it at first,” Uraraka continued, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly. “I kept cuttin’ my hands up… so I got a lot of practice with takin’ care of stuff like that!”

“Knives?” he repeated incredulously. “You can throw fuckin’ knives?”

“Yeah?” She shrugged, as if she wasn’t aware of how fucking badass she sounded. “I mean, you never know when you’ll need one – that’s what Gunhead always said. I asked the Support Department to add a bunch to my hero costume, but I hafta pass some sort of test before I’m cleared to carry them…”

Bakugou huffed, clicking his tongue. “Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered, shaking his head. He knew that she was strong, but he could feel his respect for her leaping up a few notches.

Knives. Who would’ve thought?

Unfortunately, Uraraka somehow interpreted his words as disbelief, and her eyes narrowed into a glare.

“Hey, I’m serious!” she scowled, scooting closer so she could shove her hand into his face. “See – this one’s from where I dropped one and tried catchin’ it, but I didn’t get all my fingers on the handle… and this one is because I was testin’ out different weights, and there was this one that was super heavy and slipped and cut my palm. And this one –”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but continued to listen as she chattered away. His gaze settled on one scar that curved from the middle of her left palm across the meat below her thumb, grazing the back of her wrist like a half-drawn contour line. The mark shined a little, catching the light as her arms moved, and he found himself oddly mesmerized by it.

Absently, he wondered what it would feel like, pressed up against the skin of his palm.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

The fourth time Uraraka held his hand didn’t really count – not until he apologized.

“Yield?”

Bakugou scowled, hands scrabbling against the muscled thighs squeezing his neck. “Hell… no…” he croaked through gritted teeth.

 “Ah-ah-ah,” Uraraka chided, her voice already lilting gleefully. The legs around his throat tightened just a little more. “You ain’t gettin’ out this time, Bakugou – yield already!”

He struggled against her for a few more seconds, trying to squirm his way out of the chokehold, but after another warning squeeze, he sighed, falling limp with a groan. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, “I yield, now let me go!”

He gasped as Uraraka released him, gulping down air as he tried to catch his breath. At his side, Uraraka rolled onto her knees, grinning in victory.

“Heh, that’s one more for me!” she cheered, pumping the air with her fist, and she gave him a cheeky grin. “Better watch out Bakugou, soon you’re gonna be eatin’ my dust!”

“Tch, don’t get all cocky just yet,” he barked, pushing himself up off the floor. He used the bottom of his tank top to wipe at his face, wincing at the sting of sweat dripping into his eyes. “I’ve still got fifty wins to your forty-eight!”

“Yeah, but I’m catchin’ up!” she shot back, waving her hand dismissively. “You used to have like, ten wins on me at one point – just a few more spars and we’ll be tied!”

He scowled, but only because she wasn’t wrong – when they’d first agreed to start sparring together, a little while after his hands had finally healed up properly, he’d been pinning her to the ground consistently. Then, she started going to those supplemental martial arts classes, and he started getting his ass kicked more and more.

For some reason though, he didn’t mind the idea of losing if it meant he was losing to Uraraka.

Still, he had a reputation to uphold, so he rolled his eyes and spat out, “Pft, in your fuckin’ dreams, Cheeks.”

Uraraka paused, head tilting in confusion. “Cheeks?” she asked, brow raised. “What happened to Round Face?”

“I mean…” Bakugou cursed internally – he hadn’t meant to let the nickname slip out, but since it was already out there… he leaned forward and poked her, right below the pink blush staining her cheekbone. “If the shoe fits, and all that shit.”

It was also meant to refer to her ass, but he figured that she didn’t have to know that.

Uraraka’s expression darkened as he kept poking at her cheek, jerking her face away. “Stop that,” she snapped, and Bakugou just smirked.

“Or what?” he said teasingly. He didn’t quite know how it happened, but trolling Uraraka had become his favorite pastimes – she was just too easy to rile up. He just reached forward and poked her again, ignoring the glare she was giving him. “Whatcha gonna do, Cheeks?”

“If you poke me one more time, I swear – ”

He just snorted, going in to squish her cheek again, but Uraraka’s arm whipped up and caught his hand in a claw-like grip, her thumb digging into a pressure point that sent a stabbing pain shooting through him. “Ow, ow – fuck, what the hell – ?!”

She shoved him away as he crumpled under the force of her grip, and her voice was loud and angry as she yelled, “I said stop, Bakugou!”

He fell back, brows knitted in confusion as Uraraka stood up abruptly, stalking over to where they’d placed their things earlier. She pulled on her jacket roughly, grabbing her water bottle, and Bakugou scrambled to his feet as he realized that she was actually upset.

He caught her right before she made it to the locker room, grabbing her shoulder. “Oi, what was that for?”

“Let me go!”

“Not until you explain,” he growled, and yanked her back so she was facing him. “You’re being all moody now, what gives?”

“You were bein’ a jerk,” she snapped, mouth downturned as she stared at him defiantly. “I don’t appreciate bein’ made fun of.”

What? He frowned. “When the hell did I make fun of you?”

“You called me Cheeks!” she exclaimed furiously. “And you kept pokin’ at ‘em, lookin’ all smug!”

She said it so pointedly, as if that had proved her point, but Bakugou just felt even more confused. Were all girls so fuckin’ weird?

“You’ve got chubby cheeks, so I called you Cheeks.” He didn’t know what was happening – he thought the name fit pretty well, but clearly she didn’t agree. “How the fuck is that making fun of you?”

Uraraka’s jaw clenched. “You literally just called them chubby,” she said, her voice tight as she looked away.

“Cause they are, dumbass.” He paused then, studying her, and as she curled an arm over her stomach, he finally realized what she was going on about.

Bakugou frowned. He knew girls were all sensitive about their bodies and stuff, but he’d thought that Uraraka wasn’t the type to worry about that stuff. She was always stuffing her face when there was free food around, and her costume was basically skin-tight; he figured that she had to have some measure of confidence to pull that kind of shit off, but maybe he was wrong.

“M’not saying that you’re fat,” he said slowly, trying to come up with the right words to explain himself. He knew he could come off as an asshole, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who said shit like that. “You’re not, alright?”

“Whatever, Bakugou.” She didn’t seem convinced, rolling her eyes as she tried shrugging his hand away.

“Oi, I mean it.” He tugged on her shoulder insistently until she met his gaze. “Nobody gives a fuck about what you look like, Uraraka. You’re strong, and that’s all that matters. So fuckin’ what if you’ve got chipmunk cheeks – they’re c-cute, so fuck whoever gives you crap about ‘em!”

He stuttered over the word, his face flushing a little, and he had to avert his eyes when she blinked up at him in surprise. It felt awkward as hell, saying something like that out loud, but he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about him.

He didn’t want her thinking that way about herself.

“Oh.” He heard Uraraka exhale slowly, as if trying to gather her thoughts. Then, she laughed a little and said, “Who are you and what have you done to Bakugou?”

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?” His head whipped up, a glare ready, but it faltered as he saw the smile on Uraraka’s face as she stared at him. It was small and soft, and there was something he couldn’t quite name lingering in her expression. He felt his tongue go heavy all of a sudden, and all he could do was swallow thickly as a swooping sensation erupted in his stomach.

She shrugged. “You bein’ nice is just… strange, I guess.”

That made him scowl. “I’m always fucking nice, what the hell?”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, Bakugou,” she said dryly, and then shook her head, huffing a little. “Well, I guess Cheeks is better than Round Face, in any case…”

Her voice trailed off, and the silence that fell between them felt heavy and oppressive as Bakugou shifted on the balls of his feet. There was something weird about the way Uraraka was peering up at him, almost expectantly, but he didn’t know what she was waiting for.

Eventually, he settled on just repeating himself – he figured it wouldn’t hurt to hammer his point in, just one more time. “I mean it, y’know,” he grumbled. “You’re fine the way you are.”

“… Thanks.” For some reason, that made Uraraka’s shoulders slump a little, but before he could read into it, she offered him that weird little smile again. “That means a lot, comin’ from you.”

“Hah?” He blinked. “Why?”

“You’re always upfront and blunt ‘bout what you’re thinkin’,” she explained, and reached up to lay her hand over his, still resting on the curve of her shoulder. She squeezed gently, before dragging it off of her. “I know you really mean it – you aren’t sayin’ stuff just to make me feel better.”

Their hands hung between them, Uraraka still holding his, and goosebumps trailed up his arm as he felt his skin tingle under her touch. Even as she let go, the feeling lingered, and he couldn’t help but flex his hand, trying to work the strange sensation away.

“I don’t do that kind of fake shit,” he said, clearing his throat a little, and tried to hide his discomfort by shoving his hands in his pockets. “But… if you really don’t want me to call you that, I’ll stop.”

Uraraka shook her head. “No, I… I don’t mind it,” she said shyly, twisting her fingers together, and he offered her a nod, mouth quirking upwards as he resisted the odd urge to let himself grin wildly.

“Cheeks it is, then.”

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

The fifth time Uraraka held his hand was only for half-priced ramen.

“Oh my god.” The brunette stopped dead in her tracks, eyes going wide in awe. “Bakugou, look!!”

He paused, confused, and followed her outstretched arm to the storefront of a local ramen shop. They’d gotten permission to leave campus to grab something for dinner after their sparring session, but they’d agreed on going to the supermarket for food.

Bakugou took a second to examine the restaurant façade, head cocked in confusion. There was nothing out of the ordinary – it seemed like the shop probably had decent ramen, but he could make his own just as easily.

“What the hell am I supposed to be seeing?”

“It’s right there! Look!!” Uraraka made an impatient noise, pointing at the shop again in excitement. “They have a 2-for-1 special on their ramen! It’s half the usual price!!”

Ah. Sure enough, there was a sign propped out in the middle of the sidewalk, advertising the very offer Uraraka mentioned. “Yeah? So?”

“So,” she said, dragging out the word expectantly, “Let’s go!”  

It was his turn to stop, this time turning to her incredulously. “… Hah?”

“Let’s go eat there!” she exclaimed, all starry-eyed. “We came out here to grab dinner, right? I bet they have spicy ramen too…”

“Cheeks…” he said warningly, rolling his eyes at her wheedling tone. “We’re supposed to be getting groceries.”

“Aw, c’mon, Bakugou!” she pouted. “We can get groceries after; this is a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

“Pretty sure that’s supposed to apply to things like winning the lottery, not some deal at a restaurant,” he said dryly. Still, he took a closer look, his brows rising as he read the tiny characters lining the bottom of the sign. “Besides, it’s only for couples. Unless you’ve got a secret boyfriend, I think you’re shit outta luck, Cheeks.”

Without missing a single beat, Uraraka said, “Well, I have you, don’t I?”

Bakugou sputtered, his heart stuttering. “What?”

Uraraka just blinked up at him even more eagerly, a determined smile growing on her face. “My auntie and her best friend used t’pretend to be a couple to get the paired ticket discounts at amusement parks,” she explained casually, and Bakugou could almost begrudgingly admire that – those places were expensive as shit. “This is the same thing!”

“Uh huh,” he said doubtfully. “And how the hell are we supposed to convince people we’re a couple?”

“All we gotta do is hold hands and be happy together,” she said cheerfully. “They’ll totally buy it!”

Hold hands. Bakugou swallowed a little, something turning uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach as he recalled the last few times she had held his hand. The weird feeling in his hand had eventually gone away, but when he’d gone online for more information, the only rational explanation he found was that his skin was reacting badly to her soap or something.

He scowled – he wasn’t going to risk a full-blown allergic reaction just so Uraraka could get a cheap deal on ramen. “Yeah, not happening.”

“C’mon, Bakugou – please?” He faltered a little as she stared up at him with wide, brown eyes. That weird, warm itch started to spread again, his palms going a little sweaty for some reason – what kind of weird-ass soap did she use? “I can’t eat out all that often… and we did come out to grab food, right?”

He clenched his jaw, folding his arms across his chest stubbornly. “No.”

“Please?” she pleaded, shaking his arm. “C’mon, just this once!”

He studied her with narrowed eyes, chin jutting out as he glowered down at her, but she just kept staring back at him, unblinkingly. As they stood there in stubborn silence, he felt that uncomfortable feeling surge to life, crawling up his spine, but he refused to look away even as he felt heat blooming across the back of his neck.

“Cheeks…” he growled warningly. His throat felt a little thick, a weird tightness spreading through his chest, but somehow, he found his resolve wavering a little. Clearly, whatever he was reacting to had already got to him – he might as well just take advantage of it. And it had been a while since he’d eaten ramen…

“Please?” she asked again, and he held her gaze for a few seconds longer before exhaling heavily.

“Ugh… fine,” he growled, scowling at the way Uraraka’s expression switched from puppy dog eyes to satisfied smugness in the blink of an eye. “But if you tell anyone this happened, you’re dead. Got it?”

“My lips are sealed!” she said cheerily, punching the air in enthusiasm as she beamed. “Ahh, this is gonna be great!”

She didn’t even hesitate as she pulled his arms loose, wrapping a hand in one of his. As their palms slid together, something in his gut did a little flip. Somehow, her hand snugly in his, clasped together as she started to tug him forward, and he could feel the ball of his hand rub against that scar he had noticed, back when she’d helped him wrap his hands that one night.

If she ever decided to switch soap brands, he decided that he wouldn’t mind her holding his hand again.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

The one and only time Bakugou held her hand was because she was a forgetful idiot.

He looked over at Uraraka again, watching the way she rubbed her hands together, breathing on them as she shivered. He cast a glare over at her shitty friends, who were standing around like oblivious idiots – couldn’t they see she was freezing?

Ending up at the open-air mall with the rest of his classmates had been the very last thing he’d wanted to do today, but Shitty Hair had gotten Tape Face and Pikachu to help drag him out of the dorms, ignoring his hollering as they literally wrapped him up in tape and carried his squirming body onto the train station. He’d given in at that point – especially when he saw the way Uraraka’s face brighten a little as she saw him enter the train car. She had offered him a wave and a smile, but had otherwise stayed with the rest of her stupid friends, even after arriving at the mall.

He kicked at the ground, slouching as he shoved his hands further into his pockets. Peeking at where Uraraka was sitting again, his eyes narrowed as he saw Deku and Frogface and Four-eyes wandering off, Ponytail and Icy-Hot heading in a different direction, until Uraraka was left alone on the bench, surrounded by a bunch of shopping bags that were too expensive to belong to her.

He chewed on his lip, staring as she rubbed her hands together again, and finally made up his mind.

A glimpse over his shoulder showed the other four idiots he called friends running around the shoe store, surrounded by piles of boxes, and he quickly spun on his heel and stalked over to where Uraraka was sitting, humming some song with her eyes closed. When she didn’t react to his presence, he nudged her leg with his knee.

“Oi. Cheeks.”

“H-huh?” Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on him, and he shifted a little as those big brown eyes made his knees feel oddly weak. “Oh hey, Bakugou, what’s up?”

He thrust his hand out with a sigh. “Gimme your hands.”

“Uh… what?” Uraraka watched him in confusion. “Why – ?”

He huffed, wiggling his fingers. “Just give ‘em to me, Cheeks.”

“O… kay?” The wary glance she gave him almost made him want to roll his eyes, but she still reached forward. She placed her hands on his open palm, almost tentatively, but Bakugou quickly grabbed them, engulfing her tiny ones in his as he squatted down to breathe hot air over her bare fingers.

“What kind of dumbass doesn’t bring gloves with them?” he muttered, brows scrunching in concentration. Uraraka squeaked in surprise, but she let out a sigh of relief as he activated his quirk just enough to let heat radiate out from his glove-covered palms. “It’s the middle of the winter, you idiot.”

Uraraka’s face went a deep pink, most likely from the cold air. “I was runnin’ late!” she said bashfully. “By the time I remembered them, we were already on the train…”

“Stupid.” He wanted to make a comment about how shitty her friends were for not helping her, but he bit it back in favor of bringing his hands to his mouth, pulling the gloves off with his teeth. “Here, put these on.”

“E-eh?!” Uraraka waved her arms, flustered, as he shoved them towards her, shaking her head. “Bakugou, what… won’t you be – ”

“I have my quirk, Cheeks.” He gave her a flat stare, holding up a sparking hand. “Take ‘em, it looks like your fingers are gonna fall off.”

“Ah, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to – ”

“Fuck, do I have to do everything myself?” he grumbled, and her mouth fell open a little as he took her hand – and he was right, even with how he’d warmed her hands up, they were still practically icicles – and shoved it into one glove, before doing the same to the other side. Uraraka was still staring at him in bewilderment, so Bakugou tucked in her sleeves before tightening the toggles around her wrists to keep her body heat from escaping.

He checked one last time to make sure all her fingers were in the right places, before letting out a satisfied huff. “There. Now you won’t get fuckin’ frostbite,” he said firmly, and smirked a little – there was no way Uraraka could say he wasn’t nice after this.

Except… when he looked up, she was staring at him with a strangely soft expression that made his lungs go tight. It made him feel all hot and weird all of a sudden – the stupid allergies were coming back, dammit – and he stood up quickly, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

“Give ‘em back later,” he said, suddenly feeling nervous for some reason. He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding at her as he tried to act cool, and turned around to head back to the shoe store.

He only took a few steps before the sound of Uraraka’s voice called out to him. “W-wait! Bakugou!”

He turned quickly, seeing her standing behind him, his gloves looking comically large hanging off the ends of her arms. “Hah?”

“U-uh, just…” She fidgeted, shifting her weight between her feet, but then her lips stretched into a huge, beaming smile, her eyes crinkling. His heart started to race in his chest under the force of Uraraka’s grin. “Thank you! For…”

“Y-yeah, yeah,” he stuttered, feeling his cheeks burn. “Whatever.” Her smile somehow got a little wider, and he quickly spun around, nearly sprinting away.

Bakugou didn’t look back at her, despite how much he wanted to – but if he had, he would’ve seen the way Uraraka brought his gloves to her nose, inhaling the lingering smoky-sweet smell as she hid a goofy grin behind her hands. 

[burberryharold]

Alone Together

Part One 

Hello, guys! I’ve finally come around to writing my first fanfic on Tumblr and to say that I’m excited would be an understatement. I’ve had this idea for a while now and I’m hoping you guys like it; Alone Together follows the journey of Ellie and Harry through this rough period of quarantine. It’s just a little something I thought of and decided to have fun with it and make the best out of the current situation, so I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think! This is gonna be a series but I haven’t settled on how long it’s gonna be yet, but for now here’s Part One of Alone Together.

February 25th, Tuesday

Ellie huffed and wiped her forehead, taking notice of the dark strands of hair clinging onto her face from the sweat. She deeply regretted sending off the moving people, insisting that she can handle the rest of the boxes herself. Big mistake. She was by no means weak or incapable of lifting heavy items, but after a long day of moving back and forth from her old flat to her new one, Ellie was absolutely exhausted. In retrospect, she realised that she should not have moved all of her things in one day, but it’s too late, she has to face the consequences of her decision. Damn me for thinking that this was a good idea, Ellie thought to herself.

Staring at the boxes in the hallway in hopes that they would magically move themselves, Ellie failed to notice that someone walked out of the elevator and was heading in her direction.

“Ellie? Ellie Heart? Is that you?” a deep yet familiar voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

Ellie’s hand flew to her chest as she gasped at the sudden voice, “Bloody hell, you scared the shit out of me!”

She finally opened her eyes to look at the person as he chuckled; her jaw dropped at the familiar sights of chocolate curls and green eyes. “Harry? What? What are you doing here?” she questioned with wide eyes. 

Her heart fluttered at the sight of him; she had not seen Harry in quite a while and was shocked to see him standing outside of her new flat. “Are you stalking me, Styles? Is that what this is?” she jokingly narrowed her eyes at him, resting her hands on her hips.

Harry ‘s bright eyes twinkled in amusement.

“Oh yes, Heart, that’s exactly what I’m doing, you caught me.” He raised his hands in surrender.

Ellie's smile widened at his words and she started taking in his attire. He was sporting a pair of grey sweatpants and a black hoodie with “Treat People With Kindness” printed on it, despite it being an abnormally warm afternoon. She smiled at his choice of outfit and decided to tease him for it, “Nice hoodie you got there, Harry, I see you’re still your usual narcissistic self.”

Harry threw his head back in laughter at her words, “Good to see that you’re still as funny as I remember you, Ellie, it’s been a while.” He flashed her another bright smile and gestured to the boxed discarded along the hallway, “I take it that you’re just moving in?”

Ellie nodded, suddenly remembering that she’s standing in front of him drenched in sweat and looking disheveled, while he managed to look like he just stepped out of a runway, despite his casual outfit. “Just moved literally all of my things here today, which was a huge mistake if I’m being honest, but yeah.” She paused after taking notice of the grocery bags resting beside his feet, “Wait, do you live here as well?”

There were only three flats on this floor, hers, the one right across from her, and another just at the end of the hallway. “This is me, just moved in here recently actually,” Harry pointed at the door beside him, “My house is being fumigated because of bloody termites and I’ve been meaning to do some renovations, so this seemed like an appropriate time. Can’t go back home for a few weeks so.”

A shy smile made its way onto Ellie’s lips, “Guess we’ll be neighbours for the meantime then, huh?”

She marveled at the sight of his dimples, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Ellie tried to ignore the way her heart started pounding faster at the prospect of having Harry so close to her for a few weeks. It’s just a little crush, El, let it go.

Ellie being a huge fan of Harry is no secret to anyone that knows her, not even to Harry himself she fears. Even as a One Direction-obsessed teenager, she’s always paid Harry a little extra attention. When his debut album came out, Ellie was beyond ecstatic. She had known that Harry was a fan of artists like the Rolling Stones and Fleetwood Mac, and she definitely felt their influences on him in music, both in his solo career and in One Direction. So, despite being absolutely devastated that the band is on a hiatus, Ellie can’t deny that she is enjoying their solo careers.

They had originally met back in 2014 when Julian Bunnetta first introduced them to each other. She’d known Julian for about a year, having worked on a number of songs with him. She was no stranger to his close relationship to the band, but she had never expected to ever meet any of the members. Needless to say, Ellie was floored when she saw Julian approaching her, at the party he dragged her to, with the tall, handsome boy beside him.

Julian smirked at her wide eyes, “El, this is Harry, but you already knew that,” he sent her a wink. “H, this is Ellie, the songwriter I’ve been telling you about.”

Had she heard him correctly? Did he just say that he has talked about her to Harry Styles?

Ellie had to pull herself together as the boy smiled in recognition, “Hello, Ellie, it’s good to finally meet you! Been hearing a lot of things about you, this guy won’t stop talking about how insanely talented you are.”

Ellie thinks she’s about to faint.

She’s met a couple of celebrities from working alongside Julian, but she has never been this starstruck before. And the fact that Julian has been praising her songwriting talent in front of Harry does not help ease her erratic heartbeat.

“I- uh- thanks?” She wanted to facepalm. “You too- I mean, um, thank you, I’m such a huge fan of you guys.”

Harry chuckled at her response, “Thank you, Julian may or may not have mentioned that before.”

She narrowed her eyes at Julian, who had an amused expression on his face. “Oh yeah, told him all about your crazy obsession with him.”

“Julian!” Ellie groaned and covered her face with her hands, feeling the warmth rushing to her cheeks, “You bloody knobhead, I hate you.”

“Don’t worry, love” Harry laughed, “he only had good things to say about you, and if anything, I’m flattered.”

Ever since that night, they’ve only ran into each other two other times, which Ellie was disappointed about. Once when she had worked with the band on What A Feeling, and another back in January 2019. Ellie was surprised when her friend Tom Hull called her one night and invited her to the studio, saying that he and a friend of his were struggling with a song and he wanted her help. She hadn’t hesitated and went to meet him the following day at a studio in Malibu. What Tom had failed to mention was that his friend was Harry Styles, who was working on his second album.

Her eyes had noticeably widened when they fell upon the tall figure standing in the corner, talking to someone on the phone. She immediately darted towards her friend and pinched his arm, “You didn’t think to tell me that Harry was here?” she whispered-exclaimed. A wide grin painted Tom’s lips, “Thought I’d surprise you.”

Since then, after spending a whole day helping them with the verse and the bridge on a song called Canyon Moon, Ellie hasn’t seen the rockstar. Until now.

She didn’t even think it was possible for him to look any more beautiful than he already is, but he’s managed to prove her wrong. The light stubble and mustache that graced his face made him look more mature; she remembered how he had once complained about not being able to grow any facial hair, but it seems like that has changed.

Looking that good should be a crime, she thought to herself.

Harry cleared his throat, pulling her out of her thoughts yet again, “D’you need any help with that?”

Ellie was about to shake her head and refuse, but then she bit her lip and paused. She doesn’t know if it’s because she’s exhausted, or if she just misses his presence and wants him around her for a little bit longer. She figured it was a combination of both, and that’s why she found herself saying “Actually, yeah, I’d really appreciate that.”

“Hold on a minute,” he pointed to the bags in his hands and gestured to his flat, “gotta put those inside first.”

Ellie was busy hauling a box that held her cutlery and plates into her kitchen when she heard Harry calling out for her. “Love? Where do you want me to put this?”

She tried not to think of the pet name, assuring herself that that’s just who Harry is; he’s always friendly and charming, calling people around him “love” or “sweetheart”, but it makes her heart skip a beat nevertheless.

The box had “Bedroom” messily written on it and so she pointed towards the hallway on her left, “Just down the hallway, first room on the right, please.”

His short curls bounced as he nodded his head and carried the box to her room with ease. She couldn’t help but stare at the way his arms flexed holding the box; he’d changed from his sweatshirt into a fitted black t-shirt, emphasising his muscles.

Ellie silently scolded herself for staring and went back out to the hallway, carrying yet another box. This one, however, was much heavier than the rest. She had packed all of her vases together and now sees how it was a bad idea. God, Ellie, you’re just making dumb decisions left and right, she thought silently.

She groaned as the box weighed her down and struggled to not drop it. “Hey, hey, let me.”

Harry suddenly appeared in front of her, reaching his hands out to take the box. In the process, his hands brushed hers and it took everything in Ellie to not drop the box. She felt like a silly kid, freaking out over touching a boy’s hand, but this was Harry. The same Harry who she admired and has had a crush on for as long as she can remember; she can’t just ignore the feeling of his soft hands against hers.

Get it together, Ellie.

“Thank you,” she flashed him a guilty smile, “careful, that one’s heavy.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing,” Harry smirked and held the box as if it was as light as a feather, flexing his arms in the process, “see these guns over here? They can handle anything.”

She stopped herself from staring at his arms yet again and instead rolled her eyes, “Okay then, Superman, go put that in the living room, please.”

Harry let out a laugh and made his way towards her living room, making a show of flexing his arms and looking at her over his shoulders.

Ellie really missed him.

Once Harry and Ellie had finished moving everything into her flat, she invited him to have a drink and a little chat, to which he delightfully agreed.

After settling comfortably into the couch, with a bottle of beer in his hand, Harry turned his body towards Ellie’s and smiled, “How have you been then? Haven’t seen each other in a long time now, haven’t we?”

Ellie relaxed into her couch and nodded, “Yeah, a little over a year since I last saw you and Tommy at the studio.”

“I’ve worked on a few projects since then,” she took a sip of her drink then shook her head, “no, actually, I have worked on a lot of projects and I’ve decided to just take a break from it all.”

“A break? How come?” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, “I remember you saying you loved writing all the time, in fact, think you said that you couldn’t go on a day without writing at least a few lines.”

Ellie’s insides almost melted at his soft, slow voice; she’s always loved the way Harry spoke. 

“I did yeah, but everyone needs a little break sometimes,” the corners of her lips turned a little upwards, surprised that he remembered. “I didn’t feel as inspired as I used to be, felt like I was just a machine producing lyrics, so I figured now is a good time to take a break and be free of any pressures.”

Harry held her gaze for a second before nodding his head. “Yeah, I get that,” he said with a soft tone, “sometimes even the thing you love doing the most can get exhausting.”

Ellie breathed out a soft sigh, knowing the meaning behind his words.

“Well, look at you now, you’re the one in complete control, aren’t ya?” she nudged his thigh with her foot that was resting on the couch. He smiled at her words.

“Loved the new album, by the way,” she sat upright, as if she suddenly remembered that he released his second album not too long ago. “Never got to congratulate you on that.”

A bright smile graced Harry’s face. “Really? You did?”

She hummed in affirmation, “How could I not? It’s so fucking good. The lyrics, the melodies, everything. You were amazing, H.”

Ellie didn’t realise what she called him until the words were out of her mouth, but Harry didn’t seem to mind. She was well aware that they were not exactly friends, having met only a few times, and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Harry avoided her gaze and bashfully stared at his lap, “Thank you, means a lot coming from you.”

A blush burned its way to Ellie’s cheeks, wondering what he meant exactly by that, but she didn’t question it.

“Uh,” Harry cleared his throat before continuing, “what’s your favourite song then?” He asked, looking up at her through his dark lashes.

“Oh that is a tough question,” Ellie set her drink down on the coffee table and turned to him, a serious expression etched on her face. “This is gonna take a while.”

After an intense and thorough explanation of why she can’t simply choose one favourite song off of Fine Line— because, Harry, I love every song too fucking much— Ellie noticed that she’s kept Harry busy for the last two hours.

Ellie started panicking. I wasted so much of his time! What if he didn’t even want to hang out with me?

“Oh God, Harry, I’m so sorry,” she started apologising, feeling her hands getting clammy, “I’ve wasted two hours of your time and you probably had things to do-”

Frowning at her words, Harry abruptly sat up from his previous laid back position on the couch. “’course you didn’t waste my time, love, don’t say that,”

“I didn’t have anything else to do today. Went out to do a shop and I planned to stay in and watch movies, so I’m glad I ran into you.”

Ellie’s shoulders visibly relaxed and a smile made its way onto her lips, “I’m glad I ran into you too, it was nice catching up.”

She had definitely missed the curly-haired boy; she was still having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that he’s sitting right here on her couch, but she knew he had to go soon.

“It was, and I really hope we don’t spend another year without seeing each other again.”

Warmth coursed through her body. Me too.

Harry‘s mouth opened and closed, seeming as if he had something to say then decided against it. She noticed he was playing around with the rings on his fingers, twisting them around.

“Tell you what,” Harry started, turning his focus towards her again, “how about I give you my number? You know, in case of emergency or anything since we’re neighbours now.”

Ellie mentally cursed her genes as she could feel herself blushing again, for absolutely no reason. She’s always been the type of person to get flustered and blush at everything, just like her father. Be cool, Ellie, or he’s gonna think you’re weird.

She merely nodded her head in response and mechanically handed him her phone. Harry chuckled at her and grabbed the small device. He put in his number and gave her the device back, having put his contact name as “H. Styles”

“Just text me so I know it’s you, yeah?” he rose from the couch, stretching his muscles from sitting for too long. Ellie stood up too and walked him to the door, watching as he made his way into his own flat across the hall.

After unlocking his door, Harry turned back to face her. “Have a good night, yeah? Don’t hesitate to call or text me if you need any help, okay?”

Ellie wanted to take a picture of him right then and there. The dim lights in the hallway cast a soft glow on his face, making his features look even more ethereal and soft.

“You too,” She pulled a few strands of her hair behind her ear and leaned her body against her door frame. “And thank you, that’s very sweet of you.”

He flashed her another smile and put up his hand in a small wave, the both of them backing up into their own flats and ready to close the door.

Ellie wasn’t sure if it was just the lighting or if Harry was really blushing, but she likes to think that it was the latter.

Once she made it back into her living room, she picked up her phone and typed in a new message.

“Hey, it’s me, your weird neighbour across the hall :)”

And that’s all for part one guys! What do you think about it? This part is short because I’m just introducing the story and our main character Miss Ellie Heart, but the next ones are gonna be longer so brace yourselves.  I’m so glad to finally get back to writing! Everyone is quarantined at home because of COVID-19 and I have more time on my hands now to write. Let me know what you think about this and if you’d like to read the next part, I’d really love to know what you guys think!

Remember, stay home and stay safe xx

[temporoom]

As promised : the angry post about TPN’s last chapter. Read at your caution under the cut. (I really don't want to bother the people who enjoy the manga or enjoyed this chapter). I want to also mention that I tried to avoid spoilers as much as possible before reading this chapter (and never looked at raws). So no bias.

I can summarize that chapter in one word : pointless.

Now, most of you thought : “It is an emotional chapter that made me cry and I love it a lot, why do you think it was pointless?” You fool. A story doesn’t need to make you feel strong emotions to be good, a good story keeps you engaged in it, not obviously makes you cry over it. And to be honest, the chapter made me teared up a bit, it doesn’t change the fact that I was angry.

Now, to explain why this whole scene was poor scenaristic choice I need to go back to the beginning of the manga (and I don't want anyone telling me : yeah you are angry because you wrote that fanfic about Isabella trying to be a mother to Ray post-story. No, it’s not that.).

In the first chapter, we learn a few things about how far the story can go:

First of all, TPN doesn’t shy away from killing innocents, and especially children. This is an important point.

Second of all, TPN wants to subvert your expecations as many times as needed in order for you to stay engaged and to be unable to predict the rest of the plot.

This first chapter set a basis for the rest of the story. And overall, at least in the first arc, it was well-respected. Characters die very suddenly, but logically. And in the end, the remaining children still survive. We can all agree that the first arc was perfect. 

Then we get to the Forest arc and Goldy Pond arc. The Forest Arc was a transition so I won’t talk about it much since its main point is to give you new basis for this new adventure. But the Goldy Pond arc is very interesting because it’s the reflection of what the GF children could’ve become.

As for deaths, unlike many people, I think it would’ve been rather unproductive to have killed any of the main Goldy Pond cast in the sense that we never had any development for them and it wouldn’t follow Yuugo’s and Lucas’ arc. Yuugo and Lucas lost all their companions during their first attack of Goldy Pond, the goal of this arc is to show them tthat they are allowed to live and go on despite their deaths. Them failing by letting one of the children die would be pointlessly dramatic. 

Then Yuugo and Lucas die. Again, it follows a certain logic, but this logic has a terrible risk that the author seemed to have failed to notice. I’ll explain later. In any case, their deaths were, despite their arc, well executed. They stay together until the end instead of being separated, and do everything possible to protect their new family. Even the fact that Andrew actually didn’t die is also incredible because it feels to children as if it was pointless while it’s not.

When Yuugo and Lucas are stucked in the bunker, the group is divided, ultimately leading to the few children going out and being caught by Andrew. In the end, this scene shows that the group still needs to be cohesive to survive, as everyone’s been affected by the events of this. (The Goldy Pond part lost their father figure and multiple comrades, whil the GF part also lost a father figure and have one of their youngest child in a coma)

Then we go to the Paradise Hideout Arc. If you know my posts well, you know it’s my favorite arc, so I don't have much to say about it. Even when looking at it in retrospective I think it was overall very good. And to anyone thinking Norman’s end of the arc was rushed (the whole part where he ends up listening to Emma), do I have to remind you that Ray’s development arc was also rushed? Yeah. Anyway, no important deaths this time except demons we alreday know were assholes… The only thing it would’ve benefited from was just spending more time with those demons and on how far Geelan lost it.

Then we get to what I call the “Last Queen’s fight” Arc or, with more affection: “The Useless” Arc. THIS WHOLE FIGHT IS STUPID. I don't mind the queen actually being like… an unkillable bitch with two cores (also those gore-horror thing were creepy as hell so good job on that). What I mind is the placement of the flash-back indicating her motivations. At that point in the story, we already knew that she was a bitch… We really don't need another flash-back to just show us how much of a bitch she was. The flash-back could’ve stay, but it just needed to be placed before Norman’s attack on the capital. That way, we would’ve ultimately root for Geelan after knowing the truth, but be even more desesperate when seeing that he did not succeed instead of feeling like we just stumbled on two lynx shouting at each other. Also being given more details about the Royal Family could’ve help for the rest of the story and explain better what happened after Legravalima’s coup d’état.

Anyway, she dies. As expected.

Then everyone goes back to GF because the children have been kidnapped… I have a question tho… WHERE IN HELL IS CHRIS. That kid was in a coma for Demon God’s sake ! (spoiler: we still don't know where in hell they put him). This is the first mistake… Of the numerous mistakes of this last arc.

Peter appears as a dangerous threat with Isabella. We expect that she will betray him because she had her character development. Vincent presumably die until we reveal he is not. I don't mind that one because seeing the fandom panic because they made so many posts about his death was hilarious. And also because I felt nothing when he died so I was revealed to actually see that he survived. Then Peter is revealed to not actually be that much of a threat. Unlike many, I didn’t had the Peter hype, so I don't mind. I had always seen him as a rat and a mob (definitely not the final boss). But the bitch then had the nerves to die!

I know that Lewis was revealed to have survived (and even with the hints I still think it was a dumb as hell idea too), but they didn’t had to kill off Peter. The story would’ve benefited more of him surviving and finally acknowledging his responsability towards the children rather than fleeing his desitiny by killing himself. Especially with what is about to come. (we are not talking about the demons choosing Mujika as a queen, because that whole chapter was a rushed mess)

AND THEN ISABELLA DIES. No. I really don't want any “But it was sad!” because no. Just no. It’s not that she is one of my fav character… It’s just perfectly and ultimately pointless.

As I explained earlier, all deaths had a certain logic.

Conny was to show the overall theme of the story.

Krone and Norman were logical actions taken by the villain and a way to motivate the characters to go forward despite the adversity.

The kids at Goldy Pond was again made to set the tone.

The demons there because it’s the plot duh.

Yuugo And Lucas were to get rid of any parental figure capable of giving advices to the children.

Geelan to show that he came to a point closer to madness than reason. As well as showing how powerful is the Queen.

The Queen as she is the main antagonist of Norman’s arc.

But then...

Peter because he doesn’t want to accept his responsabilitie.

Isabella because… Because…? BECAUSE...????

To get rid of an adult figure that could give children advices? It’s the end of the story. To complete her redemption arc? This is a middle finger to all of us. To show that we can leave things to the newer generation?! THAT IS ONE OF THE WORST MESSAGES TO ANY STRUGGLING ADULTS OUT THERE.

Do you understand? Isabella died because they wanted an emotional moment. That’s it. There were no points in it except tears. It was an incredible and well-done emotional moment… But it was pointless.

Without forgetting this replica :

And I love Emma: BUT NO ONE THINKS OR SAYS THAT IN REAL LIFE. 

Re-reading this chapter helps me appreciate it more, and I look forward to how the rest of the manga will go because despite everything, I love it.

I love this manga so much.

But let me tell you this: deaths aren’t supposed to be here for emotional matters, they are here for a purpose, or to show a reality of life. Not just to cry over them, no matter how emotional they can be, they must serve a purpose.

Isabella was just a robbed opportunity. 

[vikingpoteto]

we don’t have to dance (to the beat of their songs)

Chapter 4 on AO3

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Relationships:  (Gen) Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Tags: Battle for the Cowl, Alternate Canon, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Neglect, Domestic Fluff, Canon is not valid I am, and I want them to be friends goddamnit

Summary: In the middle of their battle, Jason asks Tim to leave the nest and be his Robin. Tim decides it's not a bad idea, after all. 

________________________

 When Tim walks out of the crappy motel room, the sun is already up. He curses inwardly, guessing it must be past eight in the morning at least. He hadn’t meant to stay up all night, but that’s what happens more often than not. He remembers reading somewhere online that ADHD people have a different sleeping cycle, something about working better when sleeping from 2am to 10am or something. He didn’t read the full article because it didn’t seem that relevant at the time. 

Alas. Since he’s up, he might as well get himself some breakfast. He walks to the vending machine he was planning on visiting anyway. He blinks his blurry eyes trying to see the options in front of him. He considers buying just an energy drink and calling it a day, but he doesn’t think his empty stomach will appreciate that course of action.

“The fuck? You’re still here?”

Tim turns around. Jason is in front of his own room, only half wearing his leather jacket.

“I’m a paying customer?” Tim says. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a question. God, he’s sleepy. 

“I thought you’d be back in Gotham by now,” Jason says.

Tim frowns at him. “Where would I go?”

Jason considers that for a while. Usually, Tim would be bothered by being scanned like that, but he can’t find in himself to care or to try and figure what Jason might be thinking right now. Finally, the older boy sighs.

“You got breakfast yet?”

Tim gestures vaguely at the vending machine full of snacks. 

Jason stares, his expression empty. Then he rolls his eyes, grabs Tim by the collar and starts dragging him as though he’s a sack of potatoes. It’s a testament to how tired Tim really is that he stumbles and barely manages a noise of protest.

“Jason,” he whines, the tone in his voice catching even himself by surprise. 

A couple gives them a judgemental glance as they cross the street. Tim wonders what they look like to strangers. Tim’s clothes, while a lot more expensive than Jason’s, are battered and faded from his misadventures. His painfully pale skin doesn’t match Jason’s dark tan at all, even with all the freckles he got from having fun with assassins in the desert. Still, to a passerby, Tim’s juvenile tone and pathetic attempts to slap Jason’s hand away should make them look like bickering friends. In spite of Jason’s size, his young face still betrays his real age. They could pass as…

Tim straightens himself in a swift movement. Whether he’s finally successful in his attempt to free himself or Jason notices his tension and lets him go, is up for debate. He shakes his head and pretends that no stupid thought almost crossed his mind.

“What are you doing?” Tim complains.

Jason points at the building in front of them — an old diner — and walks in, expecting Tim to follow. He does. 

A tired looking waitress squints at them as though she’s expecting trouble for whatever reason. Tim doesn’t know why, he’s sure they look perfectly innocent as they find themselves a place to sit. They make a beeline towards a table in a discreet corner, partially hidden behind a nook of the wall. The spot allows them to see almost all the other patrons without being too visible. Tim notes, but doesn’t comment on the fact that both of them chose that spot seemingly at the same time.

When they sit across one another, however, Tim has a weird feeling in his gut. Maybe it’s the sleepless night, but he has a hard time not thinking about the last time he sat across Jason like this: the older boy had been in jail and Tim’s stupid plan to get him out resulted in… well.

Babs used to say Tim talked a lot or didn’t talk at all, and she had been the first person to realize that the former meant Tim wasn’t thinking and the latter meant he was thinking too much. Tim does what he does best when he’s nervous or uncomfortable: he starts talking. A terrible mistake in retrospect, really. 

“Are you buying me breakfast?” he asks.

Jason glares at him. “You’re richer than I am. Buy your own food.”

“Not really. Plus you dragged me here.”

“You said you were a paying customer.”

“Yeah, at the hotel. Credit cards are hackable and Babs taught me a thing or two in case I ever found myself in a tight spot, which I definitely am right now.” Tim points at the ‘cash only’ sign behind the counter. “The pocket change I have is cool for a vending machine, but a diner is fancier than what I’m ready for.”

Jason groans and rolls his eyes. Tim thinks that the closest thing he’ll get from a yes, so he takes it. 

Without talking about it and even though they’re not talking about anything too secretive, they go silent when the waitress walks towards their table. Rather than greeting them, she shows her little notepad and arches an eyebrow at them. Tim is loving the service already, it’s doing great things to his nerves.

“Coffee. Black,” he says. 

She turns to Jason, but he’s still looking at Tim as though waiting for him to say something else. When Tim simply gives him a quizzical look, Jason appears annoyed.

“What do you mean black coffee?” Jason says. “You’re making me pay for your food and you’re not even ordering actual food?”

“Uh… I’m fine? I don’t eat much this early, it makes me nauseous.”

“Jesus Christ, kid. We gonna have your largest order of pancakes for this stupid child.”

Tim kicks him under the table.

“Little shit,” Jason hisses.

And Tim almost falls over when he pushes his chair to avoid being kicked back.

“Cut it out, Jason!”

While their feet battle under the table, the waitress rolls her eyes and walks away. Tim really wishes he could give this place a five star review.

When Jason’s sole finally connects to Tim’s chair and he has to hold onto the table to avoid toppling over, he groans:

“Truce.”

“Nah. You lost.”

Tim stares.

“Admit you lost and I stop.”

“Fine, you oversized baby, I lost!”

Jason smiles. It’s stupid to get so worked up at such a small thing, not to mention how extremely out of place it feels after his little vacation with the League. Still, Tim can’t help but think this is the first time he’s seen Jason look so satisfied. Annoyingly smug, sure, but satisfied.

Silence stretches. Jason grabs a napkin from the table and starts methodically tearing it apart for no apparent reason. Tim wishes he thought of doing something like that, because his hands are itching to do something. It’d look dumb if he started doing the same thing as Jason, wouldn’t it?

“I thought you were rich,” Jason says, startling Tim. 

He shakes his head, reprimanding himself for spacing out. “What?”

“I get not using your own credit card so you can’t be tracked,” Jason says, “but you’re so obsessed with planning everything. I kinda expected you to have a secret stash of money somewhere.”

Tim frowns. “What, you think I just stole Bruce’s money before leaving?”

Now that Jason mentions it, that would’ve been smarter. It’s not like Dick would miss it, and money would’ve left less of a trail than the fake credit cards he’d been using. Maybe Ra’s wouldn’t have found him if… He’s spacing out again. Jason is speaking. Crap.

“... your other father?” 

He needs a few blinks to realize what Jason means. “My dad lost everything before he died. You didn’t know?” 

“Wait, so what are you going to do when you go back to Gotham? Go back to the manor?”

Tim frowns. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“He’d take you back.”

At that, Tim gives him a pointed look. Jason realizes his misstep.

“Don’t,” he grits out. “Don’t you dare say it. We’re not the same by any means.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Tim says simply.

He never does. Ever since he reached that weird truce with Jason, Tim only said it once. He said that Jason should go back; Jason told him to fuck off. Tim said that Bruce wanted him back and Dick missed him; Jason told him to be quiet. Tim told him that Alfred wanted to see him; Jason stormed off. 

Since then, in the very few times they’ve met and talked like semi-civilized people, Tim never brought up Jason going home again. Jason seems to firmly believe that he’ll never be forgiven. Tim knows that he’s the last person Jason wants to talk about family, and it’s not like he has any arguments that could change his mind, so Tim keeps quiet. It works, unless one of them (usually Jason) is trying to kill the other (Tim). Even now, after the whole clusterfucker before Tim’s trip - had it really happened a few weeks ago? - there is no doubt in his mind that Dick and Alfred would take Jason back with open arms, more than willing to work on their issues. Perhaps Dick would still be a bit upset about Jason shooting Damian, but hey, the kid barely stayed down for a day.

As it is now, neither of them are planning to go back. Once more, the question looms over them. Why would Tim make the same mistake again? What was that fancy quote about insanity? Something about doing the same thing and expecting a miracle or whatever. Tim hopes Jason won’t ask.

But then again, if Jason asks Tim why he wants to stay, he’ll have to explain why he’s accepting it, and Tim doesn’t think he’s too keen on that.

The waitress comes back with their food. Tim twists his nose at the pile of pancakes in front of him. Jason threateningly points a fork at him until he sighs and starts eating. 

“We’re taking off after I’m done eating, so get to chewing, Replacement.”

Tim feels a smile stretching his lips. “We?”

“Don’t be a smartass. If I regret this, I’ll dump your ass in the middle of the road.”

“Can’t do, boss. It’s part of Robin’s job to call you out on your shit.”

“But you’re not Robin anymore, are you?”

That wipes Tim’s smile off pretty fast. He has to keep reminding himself that Jason can be as much of an asshole as Tim can, if not worse. He resumes eating in silence, pretending he’s too mature to be bothered by Jason’s stupid smug face. 

Never mind that he has to grit his teeth to hold back at least three different smart retorts. He doesn’t want to risk Jason giving up on him out of spite and the son of a bitch knows it. 

Tim takes his sweet time poking at his pancakes and sipping his coffee, hoping that Jason will be done first and they’ll leave. When Jason realizes what he’s doing, he starts barking out threats and insults until Tim is kicking him again. 

They don’t stop fighting until Tim’s plate is empty and his stomach is filled to the brim. 

The waitress looks unreasonably relieved when Jason throws a couple of crumpled bills at the counter and they turn to leave. Tim didn’t think they made a fuss big enough to warrant that reaction. But, then again, maybe they just look like trouble makers. 

“We’re going back to Gotham?” Tim asks.

“What do you think, genius?” Jason rolls his eyes. “God, my territory must be a mess by now.”

“No one told you to fall from that height, dude, I’m surprised you’re not out of commission for longer,” Tim says.

“Replacement, I swear to God…”

“Just sayin’,” and his mocking smile is back. “We’re going to one of your infamous safehouses?”

“Hm.”

“The one in Burnley? Or the one behind Crime Alley? Or…”

Jason stops walking. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “No one likes a smartass, Tim.”

“Jokes on you, no one likes me anyway.” Tim grins. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure Dick doesn’t know about the Burnley one.”

“Guess that’s where we’re going then,” Jason huffs. “Can’t have them breathin’ on my neck while I get my stuff together. Can’t believe I have a fucking kid now.”

“You’re only two years older than me, Jason. Less, if we consider you were dead for a couple months.”

Jason ignores that. “You better not go running to them, Replacement. You’re on your trial run. You fuck this up, you not gonna like the consequences.” 

Tim rolls his eyes, but says nothing. Jason will find out soon enough how good he is at keeping secrets.

They grab their things at the hotel, not that Tim has a lot of luggage. Jason grabs a motorcycle that definitely isn’t his. Tim doesn’t comment on it, because the one he’s currently riding was paid with money that wasn’t his either. 

They hit the road, and the sleepless night and the breakfast still threatening to come back don’t bother Tim as much, because he feels like he’s finally moving again. Finally has a sense of purpose again. 

 Tim didn’t expect to live with Jason. He thought he’d look around his place, help him set up a functional computer system - how Jason survived alone for so long with the tech he had was beyond Tim - and then he’d leave to figure out what to do. His credit card fraud system wouldn’t work as well in Gotham, at least not if Barbara was in town, but he was willing to figure it out. 

The fact that he came this far without a plan told him that his month with the assassins had thrown him off his game. He’d grown used to winging it because the last weeks had been so unfairly unpredictable, but he has to go back to his old modus operandi as soon as possible.

Or at least that’s what he thought, until he emerged from the secret Red Hood bunker downstairs and Jason casually told him to take the vacant room upstairs.

That solved a lot of logistic issues, so Tim forces his mouth shut and heads upstairs. 

If you forget about the heavy arsenal in the secret basement (a secret that Tim will spend the whole weekend tinkering because holy shit, his childhood bedroom was more secure)  the house is almost… normal. Like an abandoned  middle class house. There are boards on the windows and signs that it should’ve been demolished at some point. Other than that, Jason had made the place a functional home. It’s a bit sparse in the furniture department and not unlike the hotel room Tim found Jason in: mismatched pieces, old wood and dust everywhere. There are marks on the wallpaper where pictures had presumably hung once, but that was probably before Jason took over the place. 

It occurs to Tim that he’s probably going to be on cleaning duty, which is a bit worrisome. As much as he’s okay with less than hospitable places, he’s never had to clean. Ever. He hopes there’s a YouTube tutorial on it. 

His new room clearly belonged to a very feminine person at some point, and all they left behind was an old bed with no sheets, a beaten dresser and marks on the pink walls where posters had probably been. Tears in the wallpaper hint they were carelessly ripped off. Tim carefully removes the mirror from the dresser and puts it out of sight before dumping his duffel bag near the bed. Home, sweet home.

Someone clears his throat by the door. 

Leaning against the frame as though he doesn’t know what to do with himself, Jason crosses and uncrosses his arms.

“I’m going on patrol in a bit. Gotta assess the situation.”

Tim nods and waits. This would usually be the time Bruce gave them instructions for  the night. Jason shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Whether he’s deliberately trying to be less like Bruce - which is futile, since Bruce is the only reference he has - or he simply doesn’t know how to handle a sidekick… Tim takes pity on him and says:

“I’ll be ready to join you in five.”

Jason aqcuiesces stiffly. Then heads down the hallway. Tim swears he hears Jason mumbling to himself as he leaves, which would be amusing if he wasn’t feeling just as awkward. 

He grabs the light chainmail armor from his bag and puts it on. The black, sleek outfit that follows still feels uncomfortable and foreign, but Tim supposes it will have to do. He hesitates before pulling on the black hood and even more before reaching for the Spoiler-like mask that will only cover the lower half of his face. Finally, he discards the piece of fabric to a corner. Associating the thing with Steph does the opposite of making him feel better about it. He’ll have to ask Jason if he has a spare domino mask he can borrow. 

He heads downstairs just as Jason is emerging from the kitchen in almost full Red Hood gear, his helmet under his arm. He tries to ignore the tug at his stomach when he sees it. Judging by Jason’s expression, he was thinking something similar.

“What the fuck are you wearing, Replacement?”

“Discreet clothes for an undercover mission. What are you wearing?” Tim tries to play it off as nothing, but, judging by Jason’s expression, he’s failing. “Look, I didn’t have Robin anymore, okay? I had to wear something and this is what Ra’s gave me.”

“Yeah, I’m not going out with a mini-League of Assassins recrutee.”

Tim wishes he had a logical argument against that. He thinks there is one, but the sleepless night is finally getting to him and he can’t think straight. “Well, damn, Jason, what do you expect me to do? Go out in civies? Not all of us can pull off the leather jacket.”

The older boy considers him for a moment, and an irrational part of Tim’s brain keeps him frozen on the spot. This is it. This is when he realizes this has been a mistake, and me thinking he’s like me was a gross miscalculation. He’s going to send me away. He’s going to tell me to go away.

“Stay here,” Jason says. “Now that I think about it, if I go alone there’s less of a chance of them finding out I’m back.”

Tim is panicking, but not hard enough that he misses the opportunity to quip: “I’m not the one with a bright red helmet.”

“Shut it. Do digital detective work while I’m gone. Can you find out what happened in my territory for the past month without bringing Oracle down my ass?”

“Of course I can. What do you think I am?”

“Inferior to Barbara.”

“Bitch…!” Tim pauses. Takes a deep breath. “Okay, fair, I am. But she isn’t actively looking for me and I know her M.O.”

Jason nods. “Then do your thing. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Tim watches him head to the door. So he isn’t fired again, which is good.

“Jason?” He calls, because apparently he can’t take a win and keep his damn mouth shut. “I’m not going to stay indoors. I’m not the computer guy. I’m in this to fight crime and I didn’t look for you to stay back because you don’t like my fashion choices.”

Jason looks absolutely disgusted  at that. “The problem with smart people like you is that you keep thinking everyone else is a fucking idiot. I’m not. And you know that, since you chose to come after me.”

Tim could tell him Jason offered first. That would lead to a childish back-and-forth until accusing the other of starting wouldn’t be enough and they would have a fist fight on top of the ratty couch. Considering the thing looks like it’s about to collapse under the mildest gust of wind, Tim wisely stays quiet for once in his life. 

He turns around and heads to the kitchen, to the secret entrance that leads to the secret basement. He hears when Jason leaves. He’s still pouting when he boots the stupid computer in serious need of an update.

He’s going to hate this. 

 Tim hates that he enjoys himself. 

It’s been quite a long time since he worked in such a simple case. He’d forgotten how enjoyable it is to work on a puzzle and watch the pieces fall together with ease. Like skating for fun after spending months practicing complicated maneuvers. He doesn’t see time going by as he takes notes and prints info, compiling a thorough report on everything Jason missed, up to some cold trails from when he was in Blackgate.  

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. 

At least not until he wakes up and immediately lets out an unholy screech because his bed vanishes under him. Except he isn’t on his bed, he’s spinning around on the computer chair and he scrambles to stay on the seat before the chair finally hits the wall and stops.

After the shock is gone, he looks up and finds a rather smug Red Hood smirking at him from across the room.

“What the… Did you seriously kick my chair?” Tim gasps.

“My chair,” Jason corrects. “That I let you borrow in exchange for work. Slacking on the service on the first day?”

Tim shoots up. “I was not! Fuck you!”

Jason blinks, his eyes widening. “Easy there. And I’m the one with anger issues.”

“I gathered everything that there is to find from the past month,” he protests, frantic and irritated all at the same time. “Sure, I didn’t finish the time you were locked up, but that’s because your internet is fucking slow. Give me until morning and I-”

Strong hands grab his wrists and Tim looks up. Jason’s expression is so oddly telling that Tim thinks he’s trying to manipulate him somehow. His brows are knitted together and his warm brown eyes are still mildly wide. Enough that Tim can see the specks of green in the dark iris, a reminder of Jason’s dip in the Lazarus Pit. He tries to come up with an explanation, because Jason has no reason to make Tim think he’s worried about him.

“The fuck is wrong with you? I didn’t expect you to be done before I got home. And I didn’t expect you to get info about the time I was in jail either.”

Tim is confused. He misinterpreted his mess up? “You didn’t want me to know what was going on before? That’s counterproductive. Plus a lot of this isn’t new information, I was monitoring…”

“Tim,” Jason cuts him off again. 

It’s weird that he says Tim and not Robin. It’s correct, because Tim isn’t Robin anymore, but this is Robin time regardless. Tim feels as though he’s back at the cave and he’s 13 years old. This time he doesn’t have Dick’s hesitant encouragement or Alfred’s worried glances, but it feels too similar to being around a grief-stricken man, broken almost beyond repair. That man is his boss and, in order to earn his stay, Tim has to succeed.

Except next time Jason speaks, he doesn’t sound like Bruce. Not like Bruce after he started healing. Definitely not like Bruce sounded when he first met Tim. He sounds - and that’s extremely weird - like Cassie when she found Tim pulling an all-nighter reviewing the case files. It was right after they got their team approved and could take over Titans Tower. Tim had to make sure everything was running smoothly, but Cassie thought not sleeping after sparring all-day was a bad call. She had been absolutely bewildered by the concept, for some reason.

It’s ridiculous that Red Hood reminds him of Wonder Girl.

“I don’t fucking care that you checked old news,” Jason says. “I’m just surprised you’re done already.” 

Tim’s brow furrows and he reviews the night, again trying to assess his mistake. “You said I was supposed to do digital work while you were on patrol,” he repeats slowly, almost to himself. 

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, letting go of his wrists. “I thought you were gonna collect some info and go to bed. Continue tomorrow.”

Tim gives in and straight up asks: “And you’re angry because…?”

“I’m not?” Jason is the one looking confused now. “You think me kicking your chair was me being angry? I was just being a jerk. I didn’t think you were that sensitive.”

Oh. Tim feels his cheeks warming. “I-I’m not! That is, I don’t care that you kicked the chair and sent me careening across the room while I was asleep.” There’s a beat. “Wait, no, I do care about that, what the hell, Jason?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Come on, I’m gonna make it up to you. Don’t get used to it, though. Just come here and take a look.” 

Tim notices a bundle of what looks like fabric on the computer desk. It definitely wasn’t there before he dozed off. His confusion peaks when he notices it isn’t simply fabric… it’s leather and kevlar and a freaking cowl connected to a cape and…

“You stole Dr. Mid-Nite’s suit?” Tim asks.

“Wha- No, dumbass! It’s my suit! My old suit, anyway.”

Tim takes it and holds it in front of him. It’s a bit heavier than his old Robin suit, but it looks more resistant, if not as much malleable. 

“From the time you went to a different dimension,” Tim gasps.

“How the fuck do you know that?” Jason asks, bewildered again. 

Tim turns to him. “Why do you have this?”

Jason shrugs. “I grew out of it. Figured you could have it. You’re a bit taller than I was then, and skinnier too, but nothing you can’t work around. Beats making a whole new suit from scratch.”

Words fail him and he simply stares at the suit, unresponsive. 

“If you don’t like it, deal with it,” Jason says, suddenly less blase. It’s almost as though he’s nervous. “Or make a new suit, I don’t care. Just don’t go out in that stupid ninja suit.”

“R.R.” Tim mutters, his voice hollow. “What does R.R. stands for?”

It’s Jason’s turn to hesitate. Silent stretches for a little before he blurts: “Red Robin.”

“Huh.” Tim says, eloquent as ever. “What’s with all the red? I thought your favorite color was green.”

“How do you-” Jason sighs. “Whatever. Grab your shit and get the hell out of here.”

Tim whips around, alarmed again. “Why?”

“Because I wanna fucking change,” he gestures at his clothes, “and it’s weird to do it with your scrawny ass down here. This ain’t the Batcave, I only got one room.”

Oh. That sort of “leaving”. That makes more sense. “Right. I’m gonna go… uh... “ Where, again?

“To bed,” Jason snaps. “You’re gonna sleep on an actual bed instead of drooling all over my keyboard. Scram.”

Nodding jerkily, Tim obeys. The suit he holds tightly against his chest feels heavy and not because of all the body armor hidden within layers of leather.

[myaekingheart]

115. Exalting the Comrade in Arms

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next > 

               Rei sat at the kitchen table staring off into the distance, coming to terms with this new, sharp turn her life had taken. Kakashi glanced at her over his shoulder as he cleaned up dinner, throwing whatever leftovers they had in the fridge and wiping down the mess. Toshio followed dutifully behind, desperate for scraps. No longer able to deny him, Kakashi tossed the dog a stray noodle before securing the lid on the container and closing the fridge. When he looked back once more, Rei remained pensive. “Are you okay?” he finally asked. He knew she likely wasn’t, but at least she had stopped crying.  

               Nodding slowly, Rei murmured “Yeah…yeah, I’m alright.” Her mind focused less on her menstruation—it was over, there was nothing else to be done—and more now on what was to come the next morning. How could she possibly face Lady Tsunade after all of this? Did she even still want this? But she had already accepted the promotion—in a daze, yes, but accepted nonetheless. There was no way she could back out now. Besides, this was what the universe clearly wanted. If it hadn’t been, she never would’ve gotten her period. Fate made the decision for her, whether she liked it or not. Now all that was left to do was face this strange, new future. “Hey, Kakashi…?” she whispered after a long stretch of silence. Kakashi raised a brow, sitting beside her, giving her his undivided attention. “Can you…I mean, you’re more experienced with this than I am so, um…do you think you could give me some…advice?”

               “Advice?” he repeated. Rei gave him an affirmative, pleading look. “What kind of advice?”

               “I don’t know” Rei replied, “Just…tell me what it was like for you. Being captain, I mean. Were you scared? Did you ever feel like maybe they had made a mistake? How did you cope with the pressure?”

               Kakashi sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t really want to think about the darkness that encumbered him back then, the emotionlessness of it all. He was so cold and unyielding. Truthfully, he never coped at all. He merely buried everything deep inside of himself, taking on the brunt of the responsibility with seemingly no issue only to take out his frustrations on others. He thought of the many he had killed, the corpses that littered the ground after each mission. Back then, he would not hesitate to kill anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. In retrospect, he couldn’t fathom how he could have ever been so cruel. His love for Rei had made him rather soft, he supposed. The thought of love, however, dug up nasty feelings about the way he handled himself back then. Nauseating memories of Konoha’s red-light district, of a woman in a satin negligee who he used and abused once a week. Things he never had the guts to admit to Rei. This woman had meant nothing to him, after all. She was only a vessel, an empty space, an object. And when he was finished and they’d lie together until her next client came in, all he could think about was Rei. That was his coping mechanism: taking his frustrations out on an innocent bystander and all the while imagining someone else. There was no way he could ever tell Rei of his transgressions. He was young and dumb and overflowing with unbridled angst. He would have to find a way around the truth to answer her question. He would, unfortunately, have to lie.

               “Being a captain…” Kakashi started, “was a lot of responsibility. While I may have been skilled enough for the job, I don’t think I was emotionally prepared for it so I don’t think I coped as well as you will.” Okay, so perhaps it wasn’t a total lie. He did have faith in her ability to not only do this job but to do this job well. She had proven herself, hadn’t she? If Tsunade thought she was prepared, then who were they to question her judgment?

               “I feel so pathetic for being scared” Rei replied.

               “Well, this is a big step in your career” Kakashi assured her, resting a hand on her forearm. “You have every right to be nervous. If it means anything to you, though, I think you’re going to do just fine.”

               Rei eyed him curiously, wanting to believe him, but it was so hard to take the compliment. “Do you really mean that, or are you only telling me that because you feel obligated to as my fiancé?” she then asked.

               Kakashi leaned back, almost offended, and shook his head. “If I didn’t think you were cut out for this, I would tell you” he replied. “You know I would never let you step foot into something you were unprepared for, especially something that comes with so much danger.”

               It was that word, danger, that stuck out to her the most. This was dangerous. A dangerous job and a dangerous new set of responsibilities. Every time she was put in charge of something, it seemed as if Rei attracted nothing but danger. Nothing but death and disaster. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath as the image of Naru’s dead body flickered in the back of her mind. “I just need to know that I won’t be leading people to their deaths” she whispered. “I just…I can’t go through that again. I can’t have that on my conscience.”

               “Rei…” Kakashi murmured. He shifted his hand to her back, rubbing gently. His heart broke for her. He knew all too well the specific brand of pain she was facing, the way that here, even four years later, she was still utterly and completely traumatized. “I know it’s scary, but that was just one mission out of how many in the past eight years?” he started. Rei hated to admit that he had a point. “Maybe you weren’t prepared for a leadership position back then, but things are different now. You’ve grown so much and worked so hard. And besides, if it makes you feel any better, you’ll have a lieutenant working by your side, too.”

               On one hand, the promise of a lieutenant brought with it a sense of relief. The power would not rest solely on her shoulders. She would have someone to conspire with on battle tactics, someone to fight alongside her and share the brunt of the responsibility. On the other hand, however, this further brought up yet another point of contention: who, exactly, her lieutenant would be.

               There were really only three options: Yugao, Mikazuki, or Tenzo. Rei tossed and turned all night weighing the pros and cons of each. The whole of her morning commute was spent further dissecting their merit.

               Yugao was strong and capable and had worked under Kakashi on Team Ro so Rei believed deep down that she was trustworthy enough for the position. Her and Yugao had worked together plenty of times, but Rei had yet to see her in any real position of power. Would she even be up to the task? Could she handle the pressure? She had been so stoic since Hayate’s death, almost even resolving to simply riding the wave of someone else’s leadership rather than taking the reins on her own. Rei wasn’t even sure how much passion she still felt for her career after losing her love. She would never be able to live with herself if she had forced Yugao into a serious commitment like this without her utmost dedication and approval.

               Mikazuki was a formidable opponent, highly intelligent and possessing a powerful dojutsu. Out of everyone in the ANBU, Mikazuki was the one that Rei probably considered herself the closest with which meant that their chemistry would likely benefit their leadership capabilities. As incredible as the shinkantazagan’s power is, however, it’s also rare and valuable. Mikazuki’s innate abilities not only made her easily identifiable but could also turn her into a target for the enemy. She had already been captured once before. Rei wasn’t sure she had the strength to risk losing yet another dear friend on the battlefield.

               And then there was Tenzo, a former member of the Foundation who had been a part of the ANBU for heaven only knew how long. Rei knew very little about his past but it seemed as if he ate, slept, and breathed the black ops. As if he knew nothing else, had never lived any other way. Another former member of Team Ro, Rei knew without a shadow of a doubt that she could trust Tenzo in a position of power alongside her. The only issue was that, interpersonally, she did not know him well enough. She had never bothered to spend enough time with him to become well-acquainted with who he was and even how he worked. Was his merit worth jeopardizing their leadership abilities due to faulty compatibility? Rei wasn’t sure.

               Tsunade tented her fingers and smiled softly as Rei stepped foot into the hokage’s office that morning. “I hope you’re still up for that promotion” Tsunade replied. “We need ANBU captains now more than ever, and I can’t think of anyone else more fitting for the role than you.”

               “That’s a pretty hefty compliment” Rei murmured, rubbing the back of her neck anxiously. “But I appreciate your faith in me” she quickly added so as not to sound ungrateful.

               Tsunade picked up on Rei’s uncertainty, cocking a brow in suspicion. “You’re not getting cold feet now, are you?” she asked. Yesterday, Rei had seemed so bright and optimistic. It was that attitude that further confirmed Tsunade’s comfort in promoting her. Now, however, she wasn’t so sure. If Rei wasn’t confident in her abilities, then Tsunade couldn’t be confident in this promotion.

               Rei’s eyes widened, holding her hands up in surrender. “No, no, no! Absolutely not!” she stammered. It wasn’t a complete lie, at least. No matter what, she could not reveal to Tsunade her overwhelming anxiety about this. She would just have to bury it deep down, put on a brave face, pretend like this was exactly what she had been longing for. She felt her stomach clench as if in response to her lie. Straightening her back, she composed herself with a serious expression and asked, “What are the next steps that need to be taken for this?”

               Shuffling through some paperwork, Tsunade explained, “I’ll assign you a team of new recruits fresh out of Ishoku next week.” Ishoku. Rei had nearly forgotten about the training subdivision. She wondered who was training her new team now. It made sense for Kakashi to train her when she was inducted—he had already been captain for years. None of this was necessarily new to him. But Rei was fresh meat, inexperienced. Teaching was not her priority—leading was. She wasn’t quite sure which she may have preferred. “In the meantime” Tsunade continued, “it would be worth your while to brush up on your own training and find someone to act as your lieutenant.”

               “Right, of course” Rei nodded. “Kakashi brought that up last night, actually.”

               A small smile tugged at the corner of Tsunade’s mouth. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest at the mention of Kakashi’s involvement. In fact, she had fully expected him to guide and assist her as she navigated this new role. That was part of the reason she felt so comfortable with promoting Rei in the first place. Kakashi was a legendary shinobi and his time as captain served as a model for the rest of the ANBU. With him as her mentor, Tsunade knew that Rei was in good hands.

               “Now, picking a lieutenant isn’t a requirement” Tsunade explained. “Kakashi certainly didn’t have one when he was a captain. With that said, for someone new to this position of power such as yourself, I find it helps to balance out the responsibility a bit. Lieutenants can help alleviate some anxiety and provide support for when you’re first starting out.”

               Rei nodded. God, did she understand the importance of that. “If it’ll help me make the best possible decisions” she started, “then by all means, a lieutenant would be best.” Especially if they keep me from leading innocent people to their deaths, she thought to herself. The thought of having someone there to stop her if she was about to make a leadership mistake was truly comforting.

               “Consider your options carefully” Tsunade warned. “And try to have an answer for me by Friday morning.”

               Rei gave a single, affirmative nod before departing for headquarters. Friday morning. That gave her three full days, counting the present, to make her decision. As she descended the stairs an stepped out into the light, she felt her throat tighten. The pressure was overwhelming. If only someone could make the decision for her, if Tsunade could just assign someone to work alongside her, but Rei knew that that wasn’t right. If she was to be in charge, she needed to start making smart and clear-cut decisions. This was her first test of strength.

               The minute she stepped into the ANBU headquarters, she caught sight of Tenzo walking down the hall with a few other men that Rei did not recognize. Sucking in a deep breath, she reached out and called his name.

               “Rei?” he asked, almost as if he was confused to see her there. There was a look of such deep focus on her face, a strong sense of purpose. “Is everything alright?” They never talked outside of missions, so her flagging him down certainly struck him as odd. The confusion on his face was, perhaps, meant to be a warning sign that this was a bad idea.

               “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine” Rei reassured. “I was just wondering, uh, do you have a minute? I wanted to talk with you about something, if that’s alright.”

               Tenzo glanced to his comrades, who made faces at each other as if he was not actually in a relationship. He considered his options a moment before urging them to go on without him. He seemed, however, mildly disappointed he could not continue on with them and Rei began to reconsider her plan but it was too late. Once they were alone, Tenzo turned his attention back to Rei. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked.

               In this newfound privacy, Rei felt a jolt of ice slither down her spine. How was she even supposed to start this? We don’t really know each other that well but hey, want to be my lieutenant? Ridiculous. She stood there opening and closing her mouth for a moment, trying to find the right words, but none of the options seemed to fit right in her mouth. They all sounded so abrupt and strange, so inappropriate. Finally, after she was certain Tenzo was about to combust with concern, she croaked, “H-how long have you been in the ANBU?”

               “Uh, as long as I can remember” Tenzo chuckled nervously. “Why do you ask? Are you writing some sort of tell-all for the black ops newsletter?”

               “Oh, no, I just—” Rei started, but her mind quickly snagged on something else. “Wait a sec, there’s a black ops newsletter? Since when?” Tenzo blinked despondently, realizing the joke clearly went over her head. Rei considered the idea for a moment, almost offended that no one had brought this up to her before, but quickly dismissed the thought. She shook her head, swatted at the air, tried to refocus. “Whatever, it’s not important” she muttered. “What is important, however, is that—”

               Before she could finish her sentence, she felt a strong gaze boring holes into her back. Turning slowly, she caught none other than Mikazuki approaching. “Hello, Tenzo” she said, eyes downcast. She quickly leaned up to place a shy little peck on his cheek, then nodded towards Rei’s direction. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. What, um…what were you both talking about?”

               It suddenly became horrifically clear to Rei that perhaps Mikazuki had misinterpreted the situation. The laughter, the awkward joking, it was all too suspicious. Rei in no way wanted to appear as if she was trying to steal another woman’s man and getting on Mikazuki’s bad side was a recipe for disaster. The weight of that little list in the back of Rei’s mind grew heavier.

               “Rei was just asking me about my experience in the ANBU” Tenzo replied. Immediately after he said this, though, he began to second-guess himself. Rei’s intentions were ambiguous at best and suspicious at worst. What was her angle? What was she really after? He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know. Clearing his throat anxiously, he added in a mutter, “Or something like that.”

               Mikazuki pursed her lips as she gave a minute nod. “That’s nice…” she murmured.

               “Yeah, I’m just, uh…” Rei started, awkwardly. She searched the air for the proper excuse, the best way to get out of this. Tenzo was a bust and if she was to have any chance of salvaging Mikazuki’s potential, she needed to save face. “Just writing an editorial for the black ops newsletter” Rei jested, forcing a friendly smile.

               Tenzo stifled a chuckle as Mikazuki looked to the two of them, completely lost. “Th-there’s a black ops newsletter?”

               “Hmm? Oh, no! No, it’s just, uh…just a joke” Tenzo replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Mikazuki clearly remained skeptical and suspicious.

               “So, uh, I better get going” Rei started, shoving her hands in her pockets. She slowly backed away as she spoke, trying to appear as charismatic and unaffected as humanly possible. “Oh, hey, here’s an idea! Why don’t you guys join Kakashi and I for dinner one of these nights? Does barbecue sound good? I’m sure Kakashi would love to see you both. It’s been a minute, right? Just let me know when is good for you guys and we can all sync our schedules! I’m thinking Friday nights, but whatever works for you, you know? But whatever, we’ll iron out the details later!” As she departed, her back slammed into the door to the women’s locker room. The doorknob hit her right in the spine with a sharp, shooting pain. She groaned through her smile, presenting a tense thumbs-up, before turning into the solace of the locker room. Once alone, she sunk down onto one of the rickety wooden benches and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Motherfucker” she groaned.

               “Rough morning already?” a voice asked from overhead.

               Rei squinted past the glare of the ceiling light to find Yugao looming over her. A sly grin touched her lips, hands planted firmly on her hips. “You have no idea” Rei complained.

               Skirting around the bench, Yugao took a seat beside Rei and asked, “Do you want to talk about it? Or is it the kind of stuff you don’t really want to bother other people with?”

               “No, no, it’s fine” Rei sighed. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her sore back, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her knees. “I’m just…in a weird place right now. Forced to answer questions that I don’t know the answer to. It’s like…it’s like that feeling when you stay up all night studying for a classic lit test only for the teacher to hand out a biology test instead. You feel totally blindsided and unprepared.”

               Yugao laughed softly and shook her head. “I trust you with the classic lit” she commented. “But biology? Not so much.”

               A bittersweet laugh broke past Rei’s somber, stressed exterior as she raked her fingers through her bangs. “I’ve got a big decision to make and not a lot of time to make it” she sighed. “I don’t feel like I’m cut out for this sort of thing, and it scares me. Like whatever I decide is going to have a profound effect on the way I handle things moving forward, and my reputation as a shinobi. Peoples lives could be at stake and I just…don’t know if I’m ready for this. It just all feels so heavy.”

               A fizzle of something profound surged between them in that moment, a shared understanding about loss and grief. Yugao sucked in a sharp breath. “I know what you mean” she sighed. “You tell yourself not to think about everything that could go wrong, but in the back of your mind it’s always there nagging at you. That squeaky little voice asking ‘what if you fuck up? What if someone else dies?’”

               “Exactly” Rei nodded. “I just hate feeling so unsure of myself. I don’t want to make a mistake, but I feel like I already have by getting all mixed up in this.”

               “What exactly are you mixed up in?” Yugao finally asked.

               As much as Rei had wanted to keep her mouth shut, she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer. The secret was stewing deep within her chest, raring to eat her alive. Sitting here with Yugao like this made her feel trusting anyway. Whether or not she should embrace that trust, however, she did not know but much like a surge of vomit, she couldn’t stop it from coming now. Rei toyed with the bandage at her thigh as she explained, “Lady Tsunade has promoted me to captain.”

               “She did?” Yugao replied. There was a sense of disbelief in her voice, but pleasantly so. “That’s so great, I’m so happy for you. But also, god, that’s such a huge responsibility. No wonder you’re anxious.”

               Rei had never expected the strength of relief she felt in finally admitting the news. Sure, Kakashi knew but he knew everything. She was not afraid to be open with him. She knew he would never judge her and besides, he was not within this circle any longer anyway. His knowing was inconsequential. A bittersweet laugh broke past Rei’s lips. “I still don’t even know if I’m ready for this” she admitted. “But at least the leadership won’t be entirely on my shoulders. I’ll have a lieutenant.”

               “Of course” Yugao nodded.

               “Lady Tsunade is giving me until Friday morning to take my pick” Rei replied.

               “Do you know who you’re going to pick?” Yugoa asked. There was never a hint of insinuation in her tone, never a lurking persuasiveness begging for Rei to pick her and in tht, it seemed Rei’s growing suspicions had thus been solidified.

               “You know…” she started, toeing the groutlines in the floor. “When I woke up this morning, my answer would’ve been a solid no. I had ideas but no real plan. But now…now I think I know exactly who I’d pick.” A surge of anxiety coursed through Rei’s veins—she never expected to be so nervous about the proposal. She wondered if this was how Kakashi felt he when he asked her to marry him, even if this wasn’t quite the same. Rei could feel Yugao’s expectant gaze awaiting her answer. She couldn’t afford to screw this up. She couln’t afford to waste anymore time. Looking Yugao in the eyes, Rei replied, “I was thinking it should be you.”

               Yugao leaned back a moment, considering the offer. This was truly a monumental request and she was honored that Rei would even consider her as an option. They were not the closest of all the girls in the ANBU, but they worked well together. They had a chemistry that was highly important in positions such as this. After a few moments of deliberation, Yugao gave a single nod. “Alright” she said. She tried to remain dignified and composed—after all, she was now face to face with her superior—but she could not fight the pleased smile threatening her lips. “I humbly accept.”

               An incredulous laugh bubbled up from deep within Rei’s chest, the relief washing over her like a wave at high tide. She, too, remained composed, however. She extended a hand for a firm handshake, which Yugao dutifully reciprocated. “I look forward to working with you, Ms. Uzuki” she smiled.

               “And I to you, Ms. Natsuki” Yugao replied. “Or would it be Mrs. Hatake?”

               “Well, I’m not married yet” Rei laughed.

               Yugao swatted at the air and shook her head. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter” she replied. Her laughter toned down then as she looked Rei in the eyes, and in her gaze was a certain sincerity, deep and moving. “Thank you, Rei, for this opportunity. I can’t think of anyone better to work alongside.”

               “I can’t think of anyone better to be my lieutenant” Rei replied. The sirens blared down the hallway, a sign that their time was up. Sentimental exchanges would have to wait. They had work to do.

               Rei strapped her gauntlets to her forearms and secured her boots to her feet as Yugao made her way toward the exit. With a hand resting on the doorknob, however, she hesitated before looking back over her shoulder. “Hey, Rei” she called. Rei looked up expectantly. A tender smile touched Yugao’s face. “I think you’re going to make a really great captain. Honestly.”

[bitchsexuality]

i need to scream into the void for a bit so vent post under the cut

my mom is obsessed with me getting a job which like. i DO understand why and i AM trying to find something long-term that i can handle without having Psychotic Breakdown #234928

well. ok i mean technically she’s obsessed with me studying, not just getting any random job, because... honestly as much as i love her i know that she’s trying to live through me in a way and she has lots of frustrated dreams. and i guess she kind of wants to make sure that doesn’t happen to me too but mostly she just wants to see me as an investment that paid off so that her mistakes don’t seem as bad to her in retrospect

i’m not projecting or assuming there, that is 100% what is happening. and it’s been happening for a long LONG time. like when i graduated high school after dropping out because of Psychotic Breakdown #5 (The Big One!) she said that it was all thanks to her because i wouldn’t have made the effort if she hadn’t pressured/encouraged me to which is. absolutely false, dumb as shit and frankly insulting lmao

Anyway. she’s constantly telling me to find something i love to study so i can get a job i love! and be emotionally fulfilled and feel like i have a purpose! or whatever! but the problem is (i’m gonna make a list it’s easier for me):

- there are only like. four things i consistently enjoy. and that’s rounding up

- if one of those things goes from “thing that i like/that distracts me and relaxes me” to “thing that i have to do every day because my life depends on it” then it’s going to stop being something i enjoy really fucking fast, so in the end doing something i don’t particularly like would be BETTER for me because the end result would be pretty much the same BUT i wouldn’t lose one of the At Best Four Things I Enjoy

- probably repeating myself here but it’s important to note that literally i can NOT think of anything less emotionally fulfilling for me than a job. not saying that’s an universal thing of course but the like, structure and feeling of dependency that come with a job would absolutely ruin everything else for me no matter how good it is/seems

- studying is hell for me because the academic environment and all the pressure + obligations involved fuck me up VERY BADLY so even if i found something i love (but not too much) it’d take me like... 7 years to get a degree depending on how long the major is supposed to be for people who don’t regularly have Big Bitch Breakdowns

i probably fucked up the order in which these should be but whatever. the point is that i am NOT going to find my ~vocational calling~ because i probably do not even HAVE a ~vocational calling~. and studying some random thing for the sake of making my mom happy would genuinely just be a waste of time and maybe not lead anywhere because. y’know. a degree does not guarantee a job. so whatever

kinda lost where i was going with this at first but i needed to rant and i’m getting there now. because what finally made me go “ok i’ve had enough i need to write a weird journal on tumblr dot org now” is that she’s currently obsessed with me studying programming. of all fucking things.

like the thing is that whenever i talk to her about my hobbies she’s like “OH THIS COULD BE YOUR JOB STUDY THIS”. and she knows that i a) like videogames, b) would VERY MUCH prefer to work from home, because c) going outside on a regular basis usually makes me uncomfortable and d) my #1 favorite activity is staying in the same spot (often a chair) all day

so for her the very obvious logic there is some kind of youtube recommendation reach of “you like videogames so you will like programming, which is used to make videogames”. and also “you’re good with languages so you’ll be good at programming because uhh Programming Language???” (and completely ignores the part where i keep telling her that i’m not good with languages, i just speak english fluently because i do everything in english so it sticks, and even that just started out of necessity because i fucking refused to play videogames with spanish-from-spain aka Worst Spanish translations/voiceovers, and i’m pretty sure that if i tried to do the same with Programming Language??? it’d either be impossible or give me a migraine because i’m 95% sure you’re not supposed to play videogames by just like. looking at the code).

and HERE IS THE PART THAT I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO SAY FOR LIKE 11 PARAGRAPHS NOW I LOST COUNT: i did try basic programming once and it was awful because... ok honestly i was going to blame it on Probably Dyscalculia Brain but not everything is because of Problems Brain, even for me, who is 99% Problems Brain. i just think it’s very hard and i don’t get it. and yeah i guess maybe i could do it if i spent a long time trying, but like if the idea here is “get a job soon” i don’t think that “spend 11 years learning how to program” is. the best way to do it.

but my mom has this thing where like... she thinks that all those things that i have been talking about for 12 paragraphs are a result of me just being like. stupid? naive? idk. like i don’t understand that the way i’m handling everything is kind of fucking up my life, so it’s a Big Deal. but. i know that. i absolutely know that. and it’s terrifying and upsetting and etc etc etc i was going to overshare more about my current state of mind (bad) and my emotional stability (none) but uh. better not.

so she keeps sending me stuff that i guess she thinks will suddenly make me go “oh thanks mom this article from lifetipsthathelpandaregoodforyou dot blogspot dot com made me rethink my entire life and i know The Way now!!!!”. which is. annoying. AND today’s was an article about how programming is the job of the future and it’s well-paid. and i just. don’t know what to reply to that. like i literally told her “no, i don’t think programming is for me, i know it’s in high demand now and it pays very well, the issue is not that i don’t UNDERSTAND THAT, it’s that i’m just not good at it? and it requires a lot of practice?” and her answer is essentially “you’re wrong <3″ (even though, for the record, she knows even less about programming than i do)

the way i phrased all of that makes it sound super stupid i know but mostly i just don’t know how to deal with her or how to make her happy anymore because it’s like. nothing is enough for her? her idea is “get a job NOW. study NOW. get a job based on what you’re studying WHILE YOU’RE STUDYING it now. learn programming IMMEDIATELY programming pays well. STUDY LITERATURE (the thing that i wanted to do but didn’t) AND LIKE ABSORB PROGRAMMING KNOWLEDGE FROM THE INTERNET AND PROGRAM (it pays well) WHILE UHH ALSO STUDYING BIOLOGY (another thing that i wanted to do but didn’t)” and then “if you don’t do these things it’s because you’re too stupid to realize they’re important. you need me to constantly tell you that you’re fucking up your life because you’re stupid. if you fail it’s your fault. if you do well it’s all because of me”.

it’s like. fucking exhausting. maybe i’m exaggerating and of course the programming thing isn’t the biggest issue here but it’s kind of... all of this has been happening for years, as i said, and i feel it’s been getting worse and worse, so her new obsession with programming is just a tiny little bit/symptom of that but also uh *checks linguee* the straw that broke the camel’s back