#i will never be able to make everyone understand that & fic is equally character-focused as /

[devondespresso]

i will not dedicate hours to explaining that & pairings are not the lower-focus version of romantic pairings, i will not dedicate hours to explaining that & pairings are not the less important version of romantic pairings, i will NOT--

[bigskydreaming]

#when i read about tim i often kind of come to the idea that he's relatively self centered#and that can be both a flaw and a strength#but he doesn't often consider other people's feelings and circumstances#like when dick made damian robin he didn't really consider the situation from anyone else's view#or in his origin story#he doesn't seem to consider how dick would feel about hearing how tim was affected by dick's parents' death#or with the spyral situation#or in regards to him earning robin#and its pretty consistent in fandom characterization even if a lot of writers don't seem to be aware of it#its interesting cause i think its something i think he has in common with bruce#its honestly a surprisingly consistent thing from what i see#and it can be a strength to#it can absolutely lead to some confidence and self actualization#as well as being able commit to fixing something and working hard at it#because you believe you can and don't think anyone else can/will do it via @emenerd

Y’know, what’s interesting to me about these points is the fact that like.....Tim having tendencies towards self-centeredness is actually something that COMPLETELY makes sense and can be quite sympathetic in light of his backstory of having neglectful parents.

In an age of armchair diagnosticians eager to label anyone who expresses a controversial viewpoint while centering themselves as an example, as like, having a narcissistic personality disorder (and with the loaded implication that this makes them a bad person even if its true, instead of just....having a disorder, yay weaponizable ableism) like, it can be important to add in distinctions that even tendencies that share overlap with a lot of things born of entitlement, etc....aren’t always necessarily proof of that.

For instance, in Tim’s case, an overemphasis on himself and his own position in situations and arguments can very reasonably be attributed as a coping mechanism he developed in an attempt to acknowledge and address self-esteem issues he sees himself as having, DUE to parental neglect.

Its not that he thinks he’s the most important person in the room, necessarily, its that he spent so many years not even being considered a person in the room, that now he OVERCOMPENSATES on his own behalf, in an attempt to remind himself that no, his opinion and feelings and situations do matter.....and because he like most of the Bat-characters has a tendency towards hyper-fixating on a problem they’re trying to address, this can also understandably create a kind of tunnel vision. Where he’s so busy focusing on what he’s diagnosed as an actual issue he has that he’s trying to address or make up for, in order to build up his self-esteem....that he neglects to keep everyone around him equally centered in his interactions with them, and remember that like, they have their own issues and ignoring that to focus entirely on his own runs the risk of negatively impacting them in the exact same way he’s still learning to cope with having been negatively impacted in his development as a child.

None of this makes him a bad person, or is stuff that can’t be addressed and developed just by paying the appropriate attention to it and his interactions.

SO the issue I tend to more often have....

Is with how often in fandom and fanon we hear references to Tim’s neglect and emotional abuse and how this impacted him.....much in the same way we see Jason and Cass and Damian and Dick’s various forms of abuse and the developmental impact it had on them....

BUT there tends to then be a disconnect, IMO, because that acknowledgment of the WHAT of Tim’s neglect and abuse and the HOW it hurt him.....isn’t often followed up by an examination/awareness of how it also SHAPED him.....at least, not compared to how discussions/fics about say, Jason’s abuse tend to point out the latter as much as the former.

And this is a big part of my gripe with the ways abuse is centered and tackled as a topic in fics and fandom discussions, because its so often capitalized upon as a defense or shield for a character from criticism, stuff like that.....without ever actually EXPLORING the topic itself, or the FULLNESS of the impact it can have.

But only in regards to some characters.

What I mean is like....we see a lot of focus on Jason’s childhood abuse, yeah? And this often is then connected through headcanons, meta and fics to various aspects of Jason’s characterization as a teenager, and as an adult as well.....with a tendency towards anger or violence, abrasive personality, etc. Don’t get me wrong, its usually presented as such in a SYMPATHETIC light, especially when raised by fans of Jason themselves.....but his abuse is very much present and centered in fics and discussions as something that not only impacted him and made him suffer, but something that actually shaped him to varying degrees as well....with a lot of focus then in fics of him as an adult, like, paid to him going to therapy and unpacking his childhood abuse in an effort to WORK on these aspects of himself that make his present day life harder or less healthy than he’d like it to be. The issue of how his abuse lent itself to various behaviorisms is raised in order to address various byproducts of his abuse as FLAWS that he seeks to eliminate, in order to make himself happier and make himself someone that people want to be around more.

And again, don’t get me wrong - for the most part, this is a GOOD thing. The caveat here is just a personal dislike I have for how often these narratives smack of a kind of saviorism, and act like it was only through the grace of Bruce and becoming part of the Batfam that Jason’s ever afforded the opportunity to better himself as a person. I dislike the hell out of this because it not only pairs all too well with a lot of classist shit, it feeds into the singular narrative we’re so often presented with by media about abused kids: the myth of the victim being destined to become a victimizer, it all being an inevitable cycle. The reason this myth is so easily perpetuated is the exact reason I’m so critical of the saviorism in a lot of abused-Jason fics.....people can very easily fall into the trap of assuming that abused kids are likely to grow up to be abusers because they never have anyone to TEACH them that abuse is wrong, or to lead by healthy example. 

The harm of this perception is that it kinda throws under the bus every kid who never lucks out and gets a Bruce Wayne style savior swooping in to not only save them from their abusive environs, but TEACH them that they deserved better and that abuse is wrong. 

Because its like, uh, the thing is, plenty of abused kids who never get a personal mentor or savior figure are fully capable of figuring out for themselves that they deserve better and that people hurting them is wrong, because it makes them feel bad and they don’t like that? 

Many abused kids don’t grow up in a media vacuum where they simply have no access to glimpses of lives different from their own.....we see kids having happier, healthier family lives on TV or in books and are able to figure out that society overall thinks that’s what family is SUPPOSED to look like, and its ours that is the aberration? 

The very fact that we’re taught or have it instilled in us by abusive parents that like, we’re not to bring up instances or examples of our abuse to teachers or friends, that its a SECRET, is like, usually a dead giveaway that there’s something WRONG with it that we’re being instructed - and enforced with abusive consequences - to keep from alerting others to....like, this is basically a blaring siren to a lot of us that no, what’s happening to us ISN’T normal and acceptable, and that’s literally WHY the parent we’re afraid of is so insistent on us keeping the facts of it hidden? 

And so like, tons of abused kids figure out for ourselves the difference between right or wrong, based off nothing more than our own feelings about things and a desire to not be like the people who make us feel miserable - like, never underestimate the power of spite to like, keep a kid from growing up doing the same thing to others that was done to them, lol. 

But point being, lots of kids never get a Bruce Wayne figure to take them away from their abuse and also teach them that they never deserved it and how not to pass the hurt forward by doing the same things to others. And its kinda condescending as fuck that we so often see narratives that take it as so obvious it barely merits commenting on, that like, ‘of COURSE abused kids grow up to become abusers if they don’t have someone else step in and show them a better way’....mmm, no. Fuck that. But you get what I mean.

So like, its a mixed bag. Its a good thing, to see Jason-centric stories that show him addressing his childhood and seeking just a more fuller, happier, healthier life for himself. Its a less great thing to see this narrative presented as all encompassing, with it never being raised that no, Jason actually could figure out he deserved better and how to treat people in ways he’d want to be treated even without a billionaire guardian angel.....NOT because the narrative wherein someone helps an abused kid figure out what was wrong about how they were treated is like, NEVER valid....but rather it just becomes a problem when looked at as a data point against the larger tapestry of fandom-wide works....and noticing that this specific narrative is pretty much the ONLY one raised or treated as valid. With it just being ASSUMED to be the natural course of events and characters, rather than just....the direction society overall has their perceptions of abuse steered towards due to a singular and constantly reinforced abuse narrative shown to us in media.

And the way this all plays back into my point about Tim and what took me down this road in general.....

Is that disconnect I was talking about, lies specifically in HOW Tim is often acknowledged and regarded as an abuse survivor due to his emotional abuse and neglect......with this abuse and its impact on HIM often taking center stage, much the way Jason’s abuse and its impact takes center stage in his narratives.....

BUT with a key difference being that while a lot of Jason’s narratives go on to denote the specific ways his abuse helped SHAPE him and his interactions with others, and raise and address the ways in which he can better himself and his relationships by unpacking all of this openly....

Most of the stories about Tim’s abuse/neglect tend to just STOP at the awareness of its existence and impact on him. Never taking it that one step further to examine how those specific forms of abuse could have additionally SHAPED him....in ways that sometimes negatively impact those around him and his own loved ones, even if this is completely unintentional on his part. The difference, the disconnect, lies solely in how rarely its ever acknowledged that Tim’s own upbringing can and does play directly into how he interacts with people later on in life.....and in ways that he’s fully capable of addressing and bettering himself so as to be happier and healthier just in his own life, and in his relationships, as someone others want to be around.

Aaaaand once you actually examine or consider WHY there’s this discrepancy between the full ramifications of Tim’s abuse and that which various siblings of his underwent, when there’s full agreement that what he did go through absolutely can be termed abusive as well....like, its the implications of what about Tim makes him more naturally resistant or whatever to being shaped by his abuse in ways that have actual negative impact on others in his life, whereas the same isn’t true of say, Jason.....that’s when the red flags start to go up for me, and the unintended subtext starts to get Less Than Stellar, IMO.

Anyway. Just food for thought on the subject of Tim, his upbringing, the various impacts this had on not JUST him but also on how he interacts with others, and ways in which all of this compares and contrasts with how the subject of abuse is raised and depicted in regards to other Batkids.

[mira--mira]

Madara and Hashirama for the ask meme 👀

Hashirama

What I love about them:

I really love Hashirama's stubborn optimism. I say "stubborn" here bc I think after a certain point of pain in misery in someone's everyday life, in some way it is a choice to remain optimistic despite that suffering. I don't characterize Hashirama as constantly happy and he can recognize the more realistic/pessimistic possibilities, he just refuses to accept them. I have it in my notes for OoT but haven't worked it in verbatim but Madara would call him "ruthlessly optimistic " and while that's tinged with Madara's own bias, I think it fits quite well.

What I hate about them:

Hashirama is stubbornly optimistic LOL. It's a double-edged sword and I think by the time he reached adulthood in a canon setting, Hashirama was so desperate for there to be peace he maintained his "everything will work out" attitude when he otherwise shouldn't have. There were the concerns with Madara and the Uchiha, his own brothers views that he certainly should have recognized could become a problem, and, after depending on when Tobirama took on students/how old they were, the possibility of biases being passed down and a Danzo like figure coming to power. However this was not Hashirama's responsibility alone to fix. I don't think, despite his love, Hashirama alone could have kept Madara in a village that hated him and a clan that distrusted him. Tobirama was an adult and let his own bias pass under a veil of "logic" and passed that, either intentionally or unintentionally down to his students. None of this is Hashirama's fault, but I think part of the canon story being a tragedy was he was blinded by a bright, hopeful future that he failed to see the early signs right in front of him.

Favorite Moment/Quote:

"To me, Madara was like a gift from the divine."

Even thinking about it makes me melt. It's so sweet and really emphasizes how much Madara means to him. 🥺

What I would like to see more focus on:

In fics? Hashirama's mental health and how his childhood affected him. Most of the long fics I've read focus on Madara. Which I understand, Madara has an arc into becoming a villain while Hashirama is just kinda "there" and it's easy for him to fulfill a support role to helping Madara in canon Au fics. A sort of unshakeable, always optimistic stone for Madara to depend on and stop his downward spiral into villainy. But, what makes hashimada so great for me is that Madara and Hashirama are equals. There will be times one falters and needs to depend on the other, and they're capable of giving each other that support. It'd also be great to see Hashirama struggle yet continue to choose optimism and compassion time after time because that feels more weighty and important than an eternally optimistic characterization that never wavers.

Headcanon wise...this isn't something I've found but desperately want to see (and will come up in all of my own aus) is the connection between the god tree and the god of shinobi who's famed ninjutsu is wood release and who's cells can be used for everything under the sun and are specifically needed to control the gedo statue / ten-tails. 👀 Look when I got back into Naruto and only vaguely knew about the war arc plot I thought Kishimoto was Doing Something with that. He was not. I am.

What I would like to see less focus on:

This is pretty much mentioned above but Hashirama as mainly a support for Madara rather than getting his own (non romantic) arcs in long canon Au fics. Headcanon wise, this is such a small nitpick, but Hashirama constantly being the one described as warm whereas Madara is cold. The big tree can *retain* heat, but he pales in comparison to Madara's ability to *generate* heat.

Favorite pairing with:

Hashimada (Hashirama x Madara)

No one should be surprised. I can wax prose about this for days but it's about ultimately finding someone else in a terrible world that *understands* you that you can grow with and support. I'm a sucker for friends to lovers and battle couples so guess what's right up my alley?

Favorite friendship:

Canon/BoaF- Hashirama & Mito

I know Madara & Mito is more popular, and I do love their dynamic but christ Hashirama needs friends outside Madara and Tobirama and I think they'd be good friends. Canon!Mito would provide a good level-headed perspective and wouldn't have the messy, complicated history like the three founders have together and it'd be good for Hashirama to get a break from that. BoaF!Mito and Hashirama are cousins their relationship eventually progresses to a sibling-like bond. They’re quite protective of each other and gossip endlessly together. Mito’s not as good as gardening, but they do it together and incorporate Uzumaki sealing techniques for certain houseplant decorations. Mito also might know about Madara 👀 

OoT-Hashirama & Sakura or Hashirama & Sai

His and Sakura's relationship is p similar to how I would characterize his and Mito's but with the added hilarity of Sakura being his "student" yet having 0 deference for him once they actually get to the "teaching" part (surprise: Hashirama's most uttered lines are "you do the thing, you know the thing, you know you just...do it. The thing. Madara "translates" a lot of their sessions.) Hashirama and Sai antagonize each other constantly and he *will* tease Sai into oblivion as any older brother would. Tobirama never reacted to Hashirama's mischief in ~fun~ ways and he felt bad about messing with Itama, who was even more emotional than he was and Kawarama, who hero-worshipped him. Sai is the perfect "if anyone messes with you I will personally make them regret being born yet *I* will tease you mercilessly to my hearts content" kind of little brother.

NOTP:

Hashitobi (Hashirama x Tobirama)

I don't do incest. At all. Even "non-incest" aus where they aren't technically related squick me out.

Favorite headcanon:

Hashirama can Speak to the trees.

Either humorously or seriously, I love this kinda, sorta, maybe not quite human power.

.

.

Madara

What I love about them:

Madara is kind and does his best to do what he thinks is right. The “kind” point is a lot of Hashirama talking/flashbacks and the “good” intention behind the Infinite Tsukuyomi. Making everyone a “winner” in the dreamworld, while absolutely insane and full of holes, is odd for a villain’s motivation. His role in the war arc is mostly focused on watching him wreck absolutely everyone he comes into contact with but I love Hashirama’s flashbacks and the glimpses of kid!Madara we get. Madara believed in his philosophy from a lifetime of pain that ended in him losing everything and being manipulated but he was still seeking a way to “help” the most people he could. He’s such a rich character that makes it easy to want to imagine other what-if scenarios where things turned out just a bit differently.

What I hate about them:

Madara takes all responsibility onto himself. This is more speculation because we don’t get Madara’s POV of his childhood or any significant scenes with the clan. However, I think this is one of the primary roots of most of Madara’s problems. If he blamed himself for mistakes that weren’t technically his, he could get into a cycle where he only blames himself and doesn’t seek help/support when he should have and purposefully reduces his support circle because he becomes paranoid that he won’t be able to protect them. A smaller issue that is both about Madara and not is he didn’t fall victim to the Talk no Jutsu, but was Madara aware of what was happening when he was possessed(?) by Kaguya? I forgot but if he wasn’t...I don’t think he’d agree Hashirama’s way was the right way at the end, merely his way was wrong. Because, in Madara’s point of view, the village may have been “better” (used very loosely) than becoming food/power for an alien goddess but it wasn’t good. It wasn’t the solution. Hashirama saying they were both wrong in some way saved the scene but Madara still jumped back to Hashirama’s dream being the right one too quickly imo. 

Favorite Moment/Quote:

“What are you going to do about the second [meteor] Onoki?” 

I’m sorry, that was just hilarious. We see this man slaughter an entire division and drop a meteor from the sky...two kages desperately try to stop it and it looks like they managed to succeed and he just...cool. What about the second? Really cemented Madara is Here and he is Dramatic. A close second fav is him flying across the battlefield to confront Hashirama only for the “I’ll deal with you later” line. 

What I would like to see more focus on:

I really love it when fics fill in the blanks of Madara’s childhood/his time with the Uchiha so that’s always a plus for me. The other thing is Hashirama calls Madara a “fundamentally kind man” and according to Tobirama the Uchiha feel love “too deeply” so I like fics that do focus on these aspects of Madara’s personality while staying true to his prickly demeanor. For headcanons I love, love, love exploring kekkei genkai/ninjutsu/genjutsu and how they individually affect people/clans. Digging deeper so that “fire affinity” means constantly running hot/pushing into possibly having fire resistance/unable to distinguish “too hot” / or even affinity acting like a secondary blood type so even if two people had AB blood if one had a water affinity and the other fire their blood would be incompatible. Also the mundane ways powers can be used (I have some Ideas for non-combat genjustu applications that the Uchiha use and those will come up in OoT 👀)

What I would like to see less focus on:

This again kinda ties into the Hashirama segments, but Madara completely depending on Hashirama and Hashirama alone for happiness. Especially in long AUs where he’s still in Konoha but has a poor relationship with the Uchiha. That’s fine starting out! But if the fic ends or doesn’t seriously work on improving that relationship it just sits a bit weird with me bc I don’t think Madara could be truly happy in that situation. (NSFW start) The other thing I see commonly is Madara is extremely passive/submissive in bed with Hashirama which is...weird to me? There’s also a reoccurring thing where he doesn’t have a lot of experience but Hashirama does and this leads to embarrassment and the aforementioned passive/submissiveness. I understand lack of experience can be embarrassing and I do believe Madara could be embarrassed, but instead of withdrawing into himself I think he’d push through it with something close to bravado and his usual single-minded intensity, for better or worse. I do think Madara usually bottoms in his and Hashirama’s relationship but both of them are as enthusiastic about sex as they are fighting and neither is especially submissive or dominant. (NSFW end)

Favorite pairing with:

Hashimada (Hashirama x Madara)

See absolutely everything else 😂 

Favorite friendship:

Canon/BoaF- Madara & Naori or Madara & Hikkaku 

I really like focusing on the Uchiha clan and exploring the dynamics within it. We get nothing about Madara’s early life outside of Hashirama so this is almost completely speculation. For the angst of canon, I like Madara being close to his clan only to lose them after his friendship with Hashirama is revealed bc he awakened his sharingan over Hashirama and that can’t be easily hidden. For BoaF, a large part of it is exploring the clans’ cultures before they made the village so this necessitates actually fleshing out said clans. Naori and Izuna are v similar in personality and both live to prank Madara and annoy him, but they hardly ever team up bc they start squabbling amongst themselves. Hikakku is stoic and calm in contrast to Naori’s mania and Madara’s intensity but he keeps track of every little favor and Madara dreads the day he’ll act on them because he knows it’ll result in something embarrassing for him. But like all BoaF!Uchiha, they’re fiercely protective of one another and you really don’t want to insult the wrong person. 

OoT - Madara & Naruto or Madara & Sai

I really Madara and Naruto’s dynamic, it’s very entertaining and fun for me to write and they’re both positive influences on each other. Madara gets more people to smother with his brand of affection and Naruto gets early recognition and training. Their weird non-training shenanigans (coupon collecting, gaming, etc.) also is p amusing. Madara and Sai have a similar relationship but I really like writing theirs from Sai’s POV bc he insists that he doesn’t feel close/like when Madara treats him like a little brother when he really does. 

NOTP:

Madatobi (Madara x Tobirama)

Logically, I know why this pairing is popular. Fanfic is saturated with the enemies to lovers trope yet emotionally I Do Not Understand it. Personally, I don’t enjoy toxic relationships, to read or write. And, to me, that’s what a close canon Madara and Tobirama pairing would be. Tobirama tried to convince Hashirama to kill him, he killed Izuna, even if it was in war, and I don’t think Madara could or would get over that. If Tobirama has similar attitudes about the Uchiha it makes it worse. AUs exist to rewrite this, of course, but I still don’t enjoy their romantic chemistry. At best, I like Tobirama and Madara as reluctant frenemies who insult each other and try to one-up each other. 

Favorite headcanon:

Madara is fire proof. 

I have a whole rant about this in OoT’s author notes 😂 Sasuke’s Amaterasu should have been a serious threat when it hit him. Instead the man just lets his clothes fall off then kicks their asses. He’s fire proof.

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In response to the ask game:

[plumoh]

[Yuumori] tethering touch

Rating: G

Word count: 1846

Summary: “Sherlock's soft and long fingers don't shake in the slightest when he touches William's hair, brushing aside uneven bangs that were covering the scar of his eye.” A touch, no words, and trust. / pre-chapter 57.

Note: AO3 link. The fic is set right before chapter 57, during the timeskip, and was written before the release of chapter 62.

The window is open.

A carriage drives at a brisk pace and causes someone to hurl half-shouted insults at it, probably due to its close proximity to the sidewalk. A dog barks, terrified, while its owner murmurs reassurances. The cries of children running around and playing games travel from one street to another, clear and innocent.

The wind blows gently against the thin curtains; the weather is nice, a good day to take a walk and enjoy tea outside to relax.

The second chair at the table scrapes on the wooden floor, and Sherlock winces as he lets himself drop into it without grace. He at least had the forethought to put his mug of coffee on the table beforehand; William wouldn’t have cleaned the stains for the third time in as many days.

“It’s too early for chairs to make that much noise,” Sherlock mutters.

“Perhaps yanking on a chair without lifting it from the floor isn’t the right way to sit,” William says, the corner of his lips curling upwards.

Sherlock shrugs, his face giving no hint of a change in behavior in the foreseeable future. William thinks he can manage watching chairs being poorly treated for a while longer, since a month or two are meaningless compared to three years of cohabitation.

“Did you leave the window open all night?” William asks, glancing at the slightly damp ledge that got rained on during the night.

“I smoked too much last night, I figured it wouldn’t be pleasant to walk into the living room with that stench in the morning.”

It tugs at William’s heart, a gentle grip that can turn forceful any time. No matter how long he spends observing Sherlock, no matter what truths and secrets they’ve told each other, one way or another William finds himself always, always surprised at small gestures and reasonings that make up Sherlock’s strange character. He’s grown over these past three years—they both have, though not everyone would be satisfied with whom they’ve become, most likely. But they are the only judges of themselves, uncaring of the opinion of others.

But it is unlike Sherlock to forget something as basic as opening the window when he smokes. William stares at him, searching for a sign of discomfort or doubt that wasn’t apparent the night before. There is a small crease between Sherlock’s brows, pinching his face into an expression of both focus and concern that hardly belongs on these cocky features allowing nobody to think he’s hesitant.

William brings his cup of tea to his lips, carefully, biding his time.

“I was under the impression your habits have improved, and that you have been smoking less in the last few months,” William says. “Did you get enough sleep this week? We could re-institute our nightly games of chess, if it helps you relax.”

Sherlock, mirroring William in a deliberate and casual gesture, sips his coffee and stays silent. His gaze never leaves William’s, assessing and critical, like he’s expecting to be teared open from the inside out if he lets too many emotions slip through his fake calmness. William smiles at the thought behind his cup.

"Of course, I don't believe that losing to me every night would give you the desired effect. Your brilliant mind needs rest, too."

"You have a way with words that makes me wonder if I should be amazed or frustrated, Liam."

Sherlock puts down his mug and sighs deeply, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. William places his cup on its saucer, and gets up. He pushes back his chair like he's handling something precious, his gaze focused on where his feet are and what his hands are gripping to avoid stumbling, then he makes his way around the table to stand next to Sherlock. Sherlock cuts a glance at him, half-sprawled on his chair and half-stiff with unnecessary worry.

"I'm not saying this lightly, when I suggest you should let your mind rest," William says in a low voice. "You are filling your head with cumbersome thoughts that have no reason to exist in the first place."

William doesn’t understand why the air is so heavy with doubt this morning, so stifling when they’ve agreed on the plan a long time ago already. Being overwhelmed with the panicked need to back down at the last second before the act is not an option permitted in the life they’ve chosen to live; they go through with their decisions and succeed. Failure is rarely brought onto the table, because they can’t afford to fail.

Sherlock’s body relaxes ever the slightest upon hearing William’s words.

“You’re right,” Sherlock whispers. “I just have to act like I always do.”

William smiles. “I’m sure three years aren’t long enough for you to forget how to act around your brother and the MI6. You’re still the same.”

Wild, unpredictable and straightforward Sherlock Holmes—a person that slips through people’s fingers when they think they have him in their palms, someone that uses flamboyant methods to get out of unpleasant situations. His words are sharp and awkward in their honesty, grazing at skins without the intention of hurting, but he’s too earnest. William is nothing like Sherlock at all, from their opposite dressing styles to their obvious different way of thinking, and yet.

And yet, William shares half of his mind with Sherlock, and Sherlock listens to him.

William slides a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, feathery-like touch leaving behind trails of phantom strokes. He smoothes a wrinkle here, dusts off a spot there, then pulls lightly on the shirt’s collar, prying it open easily without a tie holding it together. The underlying message doesn't go unnoticed, judging by Sherlock's soft laugh. When he looks at Sherlock’s face, William finds hawk eyes watching him with rapt attention, scrutinizing him like he’s harboring all the unresolved wonders of the world.

“Well, mostly the same,” Sherlock points out with a grin. “My tie’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it later.”

“You will make a lasting impression, I’m sure.”

“Yes, reappearing three years later with a tie strangling me will do that.”

A laugh escapes William’s throat, and Sherlock keeps looking at him like he will never tire of watching the blooming of roses. Sherlock shouldn't make this kind of expression; he should know better than to let such naked feelings dance on his face and in his eyes, hiding none of the bizarre, fiery affection he's nurtured over the years for William. It's a dangerous train of thought that William lets fester in a corner of his mind without doing much about it—maybe when it fully takes root and can't be plucked off anymore, then William will acknowledge it and will no longer run away.

Sherlock wrenches his gaze away and glances at the table. William follows his movements and watches him pick up the abandoned black eyepatch next to the tea pot, pinching it gently by the thin strap.

There are no words exchanged. William withdraws his hand from Sherlock's collar, and Sherlock rises on his feet with a smile. His soft and long fingers don't shake in the slightest when he touches William's hair, brushing aside uneven bangs that were covering the scar of his eye. The scar is an ugly thing, a mess of tissue and discolored skin surrounding the hole where his eye should be, but they've never been one to flinch at the physical manifestations of the cruel trials of life. There is warmth oozing from this gesture, as quick as it is intense. The two of them are not people who are used to the touch of others, preferring the cold and grounding sensation of a weapon held in their hands. In spite of it, William closes his good eye.

It's permission as much as it is curiosity. How long will they keep doing this, allowing small acts of service and reveling in the peace they bring, without ever addressing the meaning behind them? William isn't one to let anyone stand so close to him, at a distance where any threat is invisible and any counter-attack is ill-timed. Sherlock could grab him by the sides of his head and hurt him, and William wouldn't be able to stop him. In another world, where their shared future is written in stone, it could have happened. They could have been facing each other like this, silent as a tomb, following the script of a justice punishing all criminals equally, one of them delivering it and the other accepting it.

But it isn't that harsh and implacable reality. In the world they live in, William feels the eyepatch placed over his eye, the two ends of the strap traveling behind his head to be tied together. Never once does he stop sensing the warmth of Sherlock and his hands. They are close enough they can hear each other's heartbeat; one second passes, then two, and then three, and Sherlock's fingers are still in William's hair. A careful and tender pressure, a steady touch he savors.

"I could do this with my eyes closed," Sherlock says quietly.

He slowly, slowly extracts his fingers from William's hair and lets one hand linger on his cheek. William opens his eye, already knowing what he'd find staring back at him. Sherlock has always been unable to hide his emotions, even in his touch.

"That's good to know," William replies just as calmly. "You can be my two eyes, as well."

"I'm anything you want me to be, anyway."

Sometimes, Sherlock's words are so honest they are hard to parse. Abrasive, frank and sincere—how did such a man end up with someone like William? He caught him, and he's not letting go.

"You are too trusting," William settles on saying.

Sherlock grins. "I trust you as much as you trust me, Liam. Don't forget that."

"That is assuming you know how far my trust in you extends."

"That's because I do know. You haven't left yet."

William chuckles. Bold words coming from a shameless person.

"I suppose I haven't, no," William agrees.

William lifts a hand, and in turn, he cards his fingers through Sherlock's hair, much longer than it was when they first met. He makes it more presentable, less wild, smoothly. Sherlock's eyes are locked on his, like he has nowhere else to look.

Small acts of service that punctuate their shared life, charged with significance they cherish without uttering a word.

"Finish breakfast and go retrieve your tie, Sherly. It's almost time for you to go," William tells him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that. You should get ready too."

They came back to England and are continuing their fight. It leaves no room for hesitation.

William drops his hand. Sherlock does too and smiles at him, and if it were yet another universe, where he isn't a coward, William would have kissed him.

But not yet—this isn't the right time yet. The way they look after each other is enough, for now, and William will protect it, until they are ready.

[aye-write]

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex! 

This was another chonker chapter at 4.5k that I didn’t anticipate being this long at all! The joys of plantsing, eh? I had hoped to reveal the starters this chapter, but that’s being bumped to next update. In the meantime, please enjoy the reveal of Brootser, and the partial reveals of Weldeon, Ampster and Coastrot!

*****

Chapter Three

Despite everything, night rolled over the Whispering Pine Croft.

After hours battling insomnia, Isla stole downstairs not long after the clock in the hallway chimed midnight. Goosepimples erupted on her skin, the air chilling her to the core. Clicking on the floor lamp, she cast her gaze around the living room. A rickety bookshelf took up most of one wall, covered in dust and trinkets. It didn’t take her long to strike gold.  

The Etymological Dictionary of Old Kildonian, 1981 Edition.

Sitting at the old coffee table, she spread out her books and copies of the Old Kildonian script until there wasn’t an inch of space left. Then she opened the dictionary and started to read. She read, moving between dictionary and text, until her eyes strained in the dim light of the lamp, and the words on the page turned into incomprehensible squiggles. Just keep going, she told herself, as she marked off another decoded word. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep—

“Isla?”

Isla slammed the book shut. The noise seemed to echo forever in the quiet of the living room. The intruder snapped on the main light and Isla blinked foolishly as everything illuminated around her. It was Blair at the door, swaddled in an enormous red dressing gown and a pinched look on his face.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, pulling his dressing gown tighter. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“I’m… I’m not doing anything,” Isla said, trying to collect the papers together, position her body over them, anything to hide them from sight.  

“Really? You look like a student trying to panic revise a whole subject the night before an exam,” he chuckled, plopping himself in the seat opposite. “Come on. What’s up?”

Isla sighed. What was the point in lying? “I’m just trying to make some sense of these texts.”

Blair glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “At half two in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep. This presentation is doing my head in.” When Blair frowned, she added, “My supervisor asked me to update them with all the “progress” I’ve mad so far. Of course, I haven’t made any yet.”

“So, you’re trying to decode all these old books with…. an out-of-date Kildonian dictionary?”

“I found it in the bookcase. I thought it might help.”

“I’m pretty sure that book is older than me. Please don’t tell me you’re taking it word-by-word.”

“More or less.”

“You’ll be there months trying to sort all that lot.”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Isla’s voice cracked. “Everyone is hounding me. I can’t let this come undone. They’ll pull approval of my project and fail me if I don’t keep jumping through all their hoops.”

“Why is the legend of the Chessmen so important to you?”

Isla hesitated. It was an innocent enough question, but the thought of answering it felt like ripping her chest open and exposing the beating heart underneath. “Well...” she started, cringing at how stupid it all sounded in her head. “When I was little, I was kinda lonely. I didn’t have siblings. Or friends, really,”

Blair made a sympathetic noise.

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t that bothered by it,” Isla lied. “But because I didn’t have many friends, I naturally leant towards books instead. And I loved fiction, like adventure stories and that, but I felt so much more connected to things that were actually real.”

Blair nodded. “Understandable.”

“Anyway, one Christmas, I got this book. I think it was called Myths and Legends of the Pokemon World and it had all the origin stories of all the legendary Pokemon from like… every region in the world. God, I ate up every single story - how Arceus created the world, the theory that all Pokemon came from Mew in some way, how Groudon and Kyogre created the land and sea. I was absolutely hooked. Then, right at the end, there were a couple of small articles devoted to a place called Kildo.”

“Typical,” Blair muttered. “Always playing second fiddle to the big guns.”

“The book explained a little bit about the legend of the Chessmen. I was just… amazed at how these Pokemon brought humans these gifts of technology and arts and whatnot and how advanced the region was for its time. And then when I read what happened next, well… I just wanted to know why. Why did the Chessmen take away what they gave the humans?  What happened to them after they became dormant? I was obsessed. When I was younger, I had this stupid dream that I would like… Oh, it sounds so cheesy now, but… like solve the mystery of what happened all those years ago.”

“It’s not cheesy, Isla. Dreams are never cheesy.”

Isla bit the inside of her cheek. “I know that. It’s just… well, this legend has been everything to me for years. I’m not bigheaded enough now to think someone like me could ever solve it. But I’d love to find something. Even if it’s just standing in the same place these Pokemon stood once, all those years ago. But now it feels like it’s slipping away from me. I won’t be able to do anything unless I get these texts translated.”

“They’re well-known texts, right? Haven’t they already been translated?”

“The only translations that exist are locked behind online paywalls,” Isla sighed. “Not exactly within my budget. The originals were family owned. I suppose you can’t blame them for wanting them kept safe.”

“Could the university not pay for you to access them?”

“Not my department. They already think the project isn’t worth the time. They’re usually into social changes, modern day life, that sort of thing. Mythology doesn’t get a look in. Even though I changed my project a bit – focusing more on how the mythology influences modern life, with the Chessmen more of like a case study – the department still don’t want much to do with it.”

“Well, that’s their loss. Your project sounds fascinating just from what I’ve seen of it.”

“This little bit you’ve seen might end up being all it ever amounts to. With Nana Morag in the hospital, my options for translations are limited, and these old texts are all I have to help me piece together where the Chessmen might be.”

Silence unfurled around them. Isla stared down at her lap, her legs shaking and her mouth dry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever talked so much about herself and she found that she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Blair in the eye.

“I think I might know someone.”

Isla pricked her head up. “Really?” she said, hope throbbing in her chest.

“I have a friend who lives in Inverbrook. It’s not a huge city, but they do have a subsect of Tideburgh University there. He’s doing a Masters in Language and mentioned being involved with an elective on Old Kildonian. I can contact him for you. He might be able to help.”

Something surged through Isla like she’d just taken a shot of adrenaline. “Oh, Blair, thank you! That’s amazing!”

“No guarantees, of course!” he said, spreading his hands hastily. “He might not know enough of it to be a proper help. But he may be able to put you in touch with some other folks who can help, if that makes sense.”

“It does. A lot of sense. Thank you again.” Isla paused. “Where is Inverbrook?”

“Pretty much directly south of here. About forty odd miles or so. Following routes 29 through 26 pretty much leads you right there. Public transport is crap, though, so you’re better walking most of it. Shouldn’t take much more than a couple of days if you’re…”

He paused. Isla knew what he wanted to say. If you’re fit. Women like her weren’t supposed to be fit. And even though the thought of days of walking filled her with equal parts apprehension and dread, she forced a look of determination onto her face.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can handle it.”

**

Isla shared the news that she would be leaving in the morning as they sat down at the kitchen table. Kenneth and Skye stayed quiet, barely reacting to the news, but Rhona’s face crumpled.

“Oh, chick, are you sure?”

“I think it’s probably for the best,” Isla said. “I don’t want to be a burden, especially with you guys having your hands full with the croft and Nana Morag being ill. Having a guest is too much on top of everything. I really do appreciate everything you’ve all done, but I think it’s best that I head towards Inverbrook and start my research properly.”

A strange expression passed over Rhona’s face, one that Isla couldn’t make sense of. For several terrifying moments, she thought she’d offended her.

“You wouldn’t be a burden on us, Isla,” Rhona eventually said, her eyes brimming. “We’d happily have you here for as long as you want. It’s been lovely having you.”

Isla felt something in her heart buckle.

“We do understand that your studies have to come first. But… you said you wanted to go to Inverbrook?”

“Yes. Blair is going to put me in touch with a friend of his there that might be able to help me with some translations.”

“It might not be as easy as you think, chick. I’ve just been watching the local news. There was flooding down south. The river that goes through Route 27, which connects Port Glen to Inverbrook, burst its banks. The whole route is submerged. No-one can go through. It’s completely impassable.”

**

You wouldn’t have said the entire of Port Glen had only just recently been battered by a storm, Isla thought, as she set off down towards the harbour after a filling breakfast. The morning sky pinkened gently, like a mother’s embrace, and golden threads of sun drifted through soft, watercolour clouds. A cool wind kept the worst of the heat at bay as she walked. All in all, it was a fairly pleasant experience. Well, as pleasant an experience as walking would ever be.

It was Rhona that had suggested trying the ferry. She couldn’t be sure what passenger routes they ran from Port Glen, or if they only did international and goods shipments, but it was a better option than waiting the potential weeks for the Inverbrook route to be cleared or taking the (extremely) long way around the whole region.

Breathing heavily and sweating despite the brisk ocean breeze, Isla stopped to catch her breath as she arrived at the harbour. She cast her gaze around hopefully. It was quiet. Too quiet. Not a good sign in the least.  Aside from the occasional sailor pacing the docks, and the sharp, cutting cry of seabirds, the place was still and silent.

The thought of asking someone to help sent panic crashing through her like waves in a storm, but there was no other choice. The best option rested with a nearby sailor, busily looping ropes and picking apart complicated knots. A Pokemon stood at his side. Squat, muscular, with short brown fur, flecked with white, and cut into a stout triangle pattern, it was another one that Isla didn’t recognise. Every now and again, the sailor tossed it a particularly difficult-looking knot of rope, which the Pokemon expertly shredded with sharp, curved claws.

“Brootser, the Pelting Pokemon. The evolved form of Brogue. With incredibly sharp claws and powerful jaws, Brootser are highly aggressive and territorial. Even against much stronger foes, it won’t back down easily,” her Pokedex chirruped.

Isla’s hand tightened around Soba’s Pokeball as she read more details. A Fighting type. A second evolution. Being a Furret, Soba wouldn’t stand much chance in a fair fight, much less an unfair one. While she did generally feel more comfortable approaching a fellow Pokemon owner, she probably could have stood to pick one with a less terrifying partner.

All the same, she approached the sailor, keeping herself primed like a coiled spring. “Excuse me? I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

The sailor had a strong, lined face, but he didn’t seem anywhere near as intimidating when he relaxed into a smile. “Sure,” he boomed. “What can I do for you?”

“Are there going to be any sailings from this port in the next few days? Anywhere that lands near Inverbrook?”

The Brootser, distracted from its work with the knots, pressed its wet nose against Isla’s hand. Isla let out an involuntary squeak.

“Brootser, stop that!” the sailor said firmly. “Sorry, miss. He’s obsessed with leather. Have you got leather in your handbag or anything? Your shoes? I swear, he can sniff it out within a mile. I have to keep him distracted at work otherwise he’d never leave people alone. Here, Brootser, go and do this for me.”

The sailor tossed a section of rope a few feet down the docks. The Brootser growled, a deep throaty rumble, before dropping to all fours and pursuing. Within moments, the rope was ripped to little more than fibres.

Isla searched for something to say. She eventually settled on, “He’s cute.”

“He’s a menace is what he is,” the sailor said, wiping his brow. “Anyway, you were asking about the ferries? Unfortunately, the passenger ferry was badly damaged in that storm two nights ago and won’t be running any routes for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Isla asked nervously.

“We’re waiting for some metal workers to come down from Hydrogate. They’re delayed because their Weldeon team were exhausted after a big job in the ironworks. Currently we’re looking at about a week.”

“A week?”

“I’m afraid so. If you go to reception and leave your details, they’ll be able to contact you as soon as we know when the sailings will be going ahead.”

“Aren’t there any other options?”

The sailor considered. “Not here. But if you’re set on sailing and you could get to Dewbrae Town, I think they’re still running sailings.”

“Where’s Dewbrae Town? Is it close?”

“It’s up past Aberdrip City, which is an hour’s drive north of here. Then you have to pass through Aberdrip Forest and that brings you out just at Dewbrae. Maybe a couple of days walking if you keep a steady pace,” he paused, and Isla felt his eyes rake her body. “Maybe a couple more. But, if you’re in a hurry, it’s better than waiting around here. Everything’s very up in the air at the moment.”

Isla thanked the sailor, trying to ignore the heavy feeling that came over her. Why was this so difficult? She’d encountered disaster at every turn so far and, in her darkest moments, she couldn’t deny wondering if it was even worth it to keep going. Nana Morag ill, no passage to Inverbrook through Route 27, no ferry from the Port Glen docks, now she had to go all the way to Dewbrae – wherever that was – on nothing more than a possibility?

But what could she do? What other options did she have?

Rhona would know what to do, Isla decided. She had a way of sorting things out, an uncanny level-headedness her own mother didn’t have. That’s what she’d do. She’d head back to the croft and take stock of the situation. She started walking, thoughts whirling through her head like the flapping of birds’ wings. Maybe there was another way to Inverbrook. They knew the region better than she ever would. Maybe they could—

“WIIIIING!”

Isla gasped and swore as her foot trod on something soft. With a gust of cold air, the offending thing burst upwards and pain erupted at the top of her head. Sharp, pointed talons dug into her scalp and she yelped in pain.

“Gull! Gull!” her assailant screeched; each squawk accompanied by a swift peck to the head.

Isla’s hands closed around her attacker’s soft wriggling body. With all her might, she tore it from her head and tossed it as far as she could manage. But the Pokemon swooped back into the air, seemingly unharmed, fixing Isla with a glare that sent a tremble down her spine.

“Gull! Wingull!” it shrieked.

Recognition dropped into Isla’s belly like a stone. It was a Kildonian Wingull. The same Kildonian Wingull that had attacked Rhona the day Isla got off the ferry. At least, it certainly looked like the same one – she could hardly call herself an expert on them – but it was roughly the same size and had the same high-pitched squawk. And didn’t the Pokedex say that Kildonian Wingull only attacked people who had food? Isla didn’t have a single crumb on her. So what other motive could it possibly have for attacking her?

Isla reached for the Pokeball at her waist, panicked fingers scrabbling for the catch. But the Wingull screeched again, diving into a tackle.  The impact came low in her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and leaving her doubled over. The second blow sent her off-balance and stumbling, eventually crashing to the ground where the pain came in sharp spikes. With a fury of feathers, the Pokemon ripped Isla’s bag away from her.

“Hey!” She wheezed. “There’s nothing in there for you!”

Her protests were rewarded with a face full of frigid water.

By the time Isla had sluiced the water from her face, the Wingull had unhooked the bag’s clasp and was digging around in her things. Hairbrush and deodorant were both ignored, the coin purse in the shape of a Quagsire got an inquisitive gnaw but ultimately left in favour of a pen, which lasted a whole thirty seconds until it splintered and was promptly spat back out.

Every inhale felt like she was being stabbed underneath the ribs, but she still forced herself to move. “Leave my things alone! There’s no food in there!”

Wingull had wriggled itself right into the bottom of the bag and had pulled out an old emergency kit that Isla had nearly forgotten about. Most of the items had already been used or dumped over the years she’d had it, leaving only a couple of travel sized Potions, a Repel Kit, and a Poke Doll, wrapped up in a worn-out bag. The Wingull squawked indignantly and decapitated the doll in one fell swoop. Then it turned back on the travel bag, scraping around and tearing at it with its beak.  

Something dropped out. Isla’s heart plummeted to somewhere near her feet.

It was a Pokeball. An old Pokeball scratched and grimy with age. A Pokeball that Isla had all but forgotten about ever since she made the decision to train just Soba all those years ago. A Pokeball that was now right in the Kildonian Wingull’s line of sight.

She saw it happening before it actually did. The hungry Wingull viewed the Pokeball as nothing more than a shiny, tasty snack. It darted forward, opened its beak wide, and engulfed the old capsule. Isla prayed that the ten year old ball would turn out to be too old to work anymore, and the worst thing to happen would be the Wingull hacking it back up again. But the Pokeball made a shrill shiiing noise as it made contact with Wingull’s beak, and the Pokemon disappeared in a flash of blue light.

The Pokeball shook. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it was still.

And Isla had caught a Kildonian Wingull.

**

Isla told the story of her accidental Wingull capture to an appreciative audience when she got back from the docks. And then again over sandwiches at lunchtime. While Soba curled up in the corner next to the radiator, oblivious to this new teammate, Isla released Wingull for the nerve-wracking job of introductions and feeding time. Rhona’s eyebrows rose so high that they practically disappeared into her hairline, but she didn’t protest.

“I can’t believe it’s the same one,” Rhona said, eyeing her half-eaten sandwich she was planning on saving for later. “Most try their luck once and then move on.”

“I think it’s young,” Blair said, lifting its wing to get a better look. “Perhaps separated from its mum too early. Maybe it doesn’t know any better.”

“I didn’t mean to catch it,” Isla sighed. “I’d forgotten all about that old Pokeball. We were always told to carry an extra one or two, even if we never intended to catch Pokemon, like for emergencies and that.”

“It must have been starving if it thought a Pokeball was food. Or maybe just exceptionally stupid.”

“Jury’s out on that one,” Isla said, as the Wingull pecked at a Tauros shaped pepper shaker.

“Kildonian Wingull are incredibly food oriented,” Blair lifted his plate to avoid the Pokemon’s frantically flapping wings. “Most of the bird Pokemon around here are.”

“Why is that?”

“Competition. Because there’s so many, they all compete for the same natural resources. That’s part of why people think Wingull adapted for Kildo the way they did. They couldn’t compete for most of the natural food, so they evolved to take food from humans instead. Problem is, they end up thinking all food is fair game. Hey, watch it! No! That’s mine!”

Isla suppressed a chuckle as Wingull lunged for the crusts on Blair’s sandwiches. In the kerfuffle of squawking and feathers, Isla looked over at Skye, who hadn’t said a word through the entire of lunch. Her face was screwed up.

“Skye? Are you alright?” Isla asked.

Skye made an odd strangling noise, pushed herself back from the chair, and ran for the stairs, each one thudding under her feet. A moment later, a door slammed.

“Did I say something wrong?” Isla said, horrified.

“No, not at all,” Rhona said, rescuing a glass of juice that had been upended when Skye left the table. “She’s just a bit upset. We were supposed to be going up to meet Professor Spruce tomorrow to get her trainer’s license and first Pokemon. But because Nana Morag is in hospital, I have to be here in case something comes up on short notice, and I just can’t spare the time to take Skye up to Aberdrip City. She’ll only be delayed for a few days, but the poor lass was so looking forward to it. Especially when she’s had to wait so much longer than everyone else.”

“Why’s that?”

It was only after she asked the question that she considered it might have been rude. Or none of her business. Too late to save herself now, though. Rhona’s face tightened, her mouth puckering like she was sucking on a sour lemon.

“Sorry,” Isla looked down at the table. “I shouldn’t be nosy.”

The kitchen fell quiet. Rhona let out a deep, juddering exhale and sat back down, folding her hands into her lap, the kitchen suddenly feeling about ten degrees colder. Isla took a sip of water, her mouth and throat turning to chalk.

“Skye had childhood cancer.” The words didn’t even get a chance to settle before they were tumbling out again, like Rhona was trying to get them all out at once. Like they couldn’t hurt her as much that way. “She spent most of her childhood in hospital with leukaemia.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Once again Isla found herself cursing both her mother and herself for not bothering to find any of this information out beforehand.

Rhona shook her head. “It’s alright, chick. We don’t talk about it much. Besides, she’s been in remission for a year now. But she’s missed out on so much school and she gets tired so easily.”

There was nothing Isla could say that would be enough. She had to settle for, “I’m sorry to hear that…” and hope Rhona could somehow understand just how much she meant it.

“There was a time when she was being treated that she became very low and very depressed. It was frightening. I’ve never been so worried in all my life. We were scared she was just… giving up. Then, one day, they had some Pokemon trainers visit the hospital. A lot of children there would never be able to go out training. Some wouldn’t even… you know, live to see their next birthday.”

Rhona’s voice wavered. Blair put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Easy, Mum. Don’t go upsetting yourself now.”

“One of the trainers was assigned to Skye,” Rhona continued. “But she was so quiet and so withdrawn that we didn’t think the trainer could get through to her. The trainer had this Pokemon with her – Ampster, I think it was – and it was like a light turned on behind Skye’s eyes when she saw it. I saw glimpses of my daughter again. This trainer stayed with her for hours. Just talking. She’s wanted to be a Pokemon trainer ever since. And I hate that so many things keep getting in her way.”

Rhona sunk her head into her hands. Her shoulders quivered.

Isla felt terrible. No wonder Skye had been quiet during the whole of lunch. How stupid had she been? Skye was being kept from her dream of being a Pokemon trainer and she’d waltzed into their kitchen showing off a Pokemon she hadn’t even meant to catch? It made Isla’s toes curl just thinking about it.

“Could Skye not make the journey on her own?” she asked.

“No,” Rhona lifted her head again, looking pale even at the thought. “She’s not fit enough. We were going to rent a car and drive her, but…”

“Could I take her?”

The offer slipped past Isla’s lips before she knew what she was doing. Rhona looked at her in mild shock, her mouth slowly gaping open.

“I mean, I’ll be passing through Aberdrip anyway!” Isla continued. “One of the sailors said I could get the ferry from Dewbrae Town which is just past Aberdrip, right?. I could take her along with me.”

“Gosh, that’s very kind of you, chick. And I’m sure Skye would love it,” Rhona said, nervously glancing at the stairs. “But I’m not comfortable with her making the trip back on her own. Or even just the amount of walking she’d have to do.”

“I could go with them,” Blair said.

Rhona looked at her son like she’d only just remembered he existed. “What’s that, honey?”

“I could go with them,” he repeated. “We could put Skye on Coastrot. That’s my partner Pokemon,” he added for Isla’s benefit. “He’s strong enough to carry her and we can keep her nicely bundled up. Then once Isla heads off to Dewbrae, I can take Skye back.”

“I don’t know,” Rhona said. “We need you here too.”

“Mum, it’s a day. Maybe two, tops, if we let Skye rest overnight. You and Dad can manage that long, right? You could ask a couple of the lads from the market to pitch in if you really need to. I’m sure they’d work for a hot pie and some cash in hand. And you don’t need to worry about us. We won’t do anything silly. We’ll just get Skye her Pokemon, check in for the night, see Isla off to Dewbrae the next morning and head back ourselves. Easy-peasy!”

Rhona still didn’t look convinced. “It’s such a long way, though. She’s not been away overnight in such a long time.”

“It’s a few hours of travelling, Mum. You said it yourself, Skye’s already missed out on so much. It might not feel like much for us, but for Skye, it’s her whole life. One delay after the other. And with everything the way it is right now, what if there’s just more delays? More reasons not to take her? You have to let her.”

Rhona went very quiet, her face pale.

“I’ll look after her, Mum,” Blair said. “She needs this.”

“I know you will. And I know she does,” Rhona heaved a sigh. “She’s not my little baby anymore. She’s growing up.”

“I’d like to go.”

Everyone jumped at the voice that came in from the doorway. Rhona wiped her eyes. “Oh, Skye, honey, sorry. I didn’t hear you come down. Are you okay?”

“I think I can do it,” Skye ignored her mother’s question. Her voice was louder this time, but still hesitant, like she was testing out its limits. “I want to go get my Pokemon and I’d like Blair and Coastrot to take me. And Isla,” she added, and Isla felt a smile curve onto her face. “If that’s okay with you?”

Silence widened like a chasm between mother and daughter and for one horrible moment, Isla half-expected Rhona to turn away, to start shouting, to deny her flat out. But then tears spilled out of Rhona’s eyes and her whole face softened.

“Yes, honey,” Rhona said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Yes, that’ll be okay with me.”

As they hugged, Isla felt a stray tear prick at the corner of her eye. The emotion surprised her. Yes, it was touching to see a mother and daughter hug and reconcile, but something told her it went deeper. As she looked out at the dying sky, strewn with deepening orange and slicks of black, something unsettled itself in her heart.

Tomorrow she would be leaving Port Glen. Tomorrow she would leave behind a family unit where she felt accepted. Tomorrow she would start her journey to Inverbrook.

She didn’t know which one felt scarier.

[gallickingun]

I hope you don't mind me asking... How did you get followers? I want to start my own blog but I want to make sure I can reach audiences I want to reach. I don't have any friends who know I write, and honestly I'm not sure I'd want them to read my works anyway. I get embarrassed easily. It's much easier for me to talk to someone that I don't have a face for. Does that make sense? Probably not. But how did you start your adventure here?

I want to preface this with follower count can make sense, or it can’t. I’ve made friends with some of the most amazing, most talented writers who have less than a thousand followers. I’ve made friends with amazing, talented writers who have thousands of followers. I genuinely don’t know how to trick the algorithm into listening to you, haha, but just know that numbers don’t equal talent; popularity does not always equal skill. So please, even if you don’t have the high follower count of someone else, don’t let it discourage you from writing! Everyone starts somewhere, and everyone grows differently. 

But, I’ve found that it all depends on who you write for, what you write, and how often you write. 

Who you write for: Bakugou is one of the most popular characters. I truly didn’t know this when I entered the fandom, but it was really what got me started on the upward climb. I’m by no means a big blogger, lol, but I know that writing for Bakugou was what helped me out initially. He was originally the only character who I could write for because he was my favorite and I hadn’t really gotten too far into the show. I think the same goes for other fandoms - if you write for the more popular characters, who have more content in demand because they have more fans, you’re more likely to gain more followers. 

DISCLAIMER: Do not let this keep you from writing for other characters who are less popular, if you prefer to write for them. Content is needed for all characters! I am desperate for some Sugawara content, but he’s not one of the more popular characters that people write for (see: Kuroo, Ushiwaka, Bokuto, Oikawa, Iwa, and Akaashi). If we only focus on the popular characters, the ones that get us the most growth, but those aren’t the characters we love, the content can seem disingenuous, if that makes sense. I got lucky by Bakugou being my favorite. But like, when I try to push out Kaminari content, I find that it’s a real struggle for me because I don’t necessarily vibe with Kaminari as a character. The same goes in reverse. If the minor characters have your heart, but you try to force out content for the popular characters, it can be tough to write and come across like you don’t really want to write it. Write who you want to write! 

What you write: This is a really big deal right now, but I’m just gonna say it lol. NSFW gets more notes. I don’t say that to force you into writing NSFW content - I actually had never read/written NSFW content until this past March, and I’m 22, going on 23. Originally, when I decided to start writing, I wanted to be NSFW-free, but some stuff changed in life and in writing and I chose to make the change.

Also, I’ve found for each fandom, different things are more prevalent. For instance, the BNHA fandom seems to do a lot of AU’s and full length fics, but the Haikyuu!! fandom seems to do more traditional works that follow canon and then the content itself is mostly headcanons and short scenarios. I think you have to find what works for you and write it to the best of your ability. I suck at headcanons, I’ve never really been able to do them and they stress me out. So I stick to full length fics. I know this means I’ll do better in one fandom versus the other, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to start only doing headcanons just because it’s what’s popular. 

DISCLAIMER: This does NOT mean that just because someone wrote 10k words of smut, that it’s better or more involved than your 10k words of fluff/angst/domestic/etc. writing. Unfortunately, there are horn dogs out there who are especially touch starved during quarantine. It doesn’t make anyone better or worse because they choose to write about being naked versus being clothed. Please don’t let this discourage you from writing SFW-only writing, as there are tons of people out there who are just as desperate for some comfort fics about cuddling completely clothed. 

How often you write: When I first started, I had a lot more time on my hands and was able to pump out content much quicker. I grew pretty rapidly in a short period of time because I was able to consistently put out content. Since I’ve gotten more busy and my mental illness has reared it’s ugly head, I’ve not been able to write as much and I can tell my follower count growth had tapered off. But the pace in which you post content generally helps increase your follower count, because people know that you will continuously feed them with the goods! Sometimes it might be good to set a schedule so others know when you’ll be posting - say a new fic every Friday? Or sometimes it can be good to keep your followers engaged with thirst posts (SFW or NSFW), or specific nights where you do events that focus on a certain character or genre. 

DISCLAIMER: DO NOT FORCE YOURSELF TO PUSH OUT CONTENT. Please be aware within your own self what your limits are. Just because one writer can sit at home and push out tons of short scenarios and drabbles during the day, but you can’t, doesn’t mean either of you are doing anything wrong. It just means that one person has a different availability than you. I don’t really do thirst posts a ton in the same respect that others do them, because I know that I’ll want to write a whole fic out of the couple of sentences that my followers might send in. However, there are many others within the fandom that can respond with a few paragraphs that take a few minutes to type out. It doesn’t mean that they’re better than me and I’m a horrible writer, it just means that in this area, they’re more skilled or have more time. 

Also, don’t be afraid to tag people and send out DMs! I promise your writer idols are not nearly as scary as you think they are. And they’re probably just as excited to get a DM from you as you are to talk to them! I was really hesitant to reach out to anyone before, because I never really did much chatting in other fandoms, but the anime fandoms I’ve been apart of have been very kind and welcoming, and helpful! I made some of my closest friends because I tagged them in my works or I joined a server with them in it, or I read their stuff and reached out to them to fangirl over it. Don’t be afraid to reach out, even if you just keep the conversation focused on your writing, it’ll still be worth it in the end! The worst thing that could happen is they don’t reply or the conversation fizzles out. Either way, you will have made a connection, and blasted one another with some serotonin.

Remember to take breaks. Take a hiatus every once and a while! Take some time for yourself to recharge. If this begins to feel like a job, like an obligation, and you feel yourself dragging your feet just to put out content, please step back and reevaluate. This is a hobby, it’s supposed to be fun. Once it stops being fun, take a breather and reassess what you’re doing. Sometimes this means closing requests, sometimes this means opening requests, sometimes this means participating in collab fics, sometimes this means disconnecting entirely. This is just tumblr, in the end, and you should be able to take care of yourself first rather than pinning yourself into a corner to try and post content for the sake of your followers. In the end, everyone wants you to be happy and healthy, so you can put your best foot forward in life and in your hobbies. So please, for the love of everything, take a break every now and then. Disconnect, recharge, and regroup. 

I also had a blog before this one, my main, so I’ve been on tumblr for eight year prior to this. I’m not going to even claim that I begin to understand how this hellsite works, but I will say that I’ve been writing on here for a while now, since way back to my band blog days. Eventually you just write what you want to write, and chat with your followers and your friends, and you’ll grow organically. When you start to pressure yourself over it, it can become like a cloud looming over you, and then when you don’t perform up to your preset standards, it might be a little disappointing. Follower milestones are cool to want to achieve and celebrate, but don’t pour all your focus into them. For the most part, I use milestones for celebration events to give back to my followers, or to set goals for myself like opening commissions! But they don’t determine my worth as a writer, because sometimes the tumblr algorithm is more giving to some rather than others.

Whew, this was a doozy. But I hope it helped! Some of these answers might come off a little crass, but I’m just trying to be honest. Don’t let anything deter you from doing whatever the hell you wanna do.

You wanna write that rarepair? DO IT. You wanna write character x character? DO IT. You wanna write about your Original Characters? DO IT. 

Whatever it is you want to do, do it! And have a helluva time doing it 💕

[mothercetrion]

Falling

Summary: Takeda has started to date one of the members of his new team. Hanzo is more than thrilled to hear all about it.

Characters: Takeda Takahashi, Scorpion (Hanzo Hasashi); mentioned Jacqui Briggs

Word Count: 1615

Request: “hanzo listening encouragingly to takeda gush abt jacqui for the requests please? :)”

first fic of 2020 is for you, anon!!! enjoy :) (warning: hanzo mentions harumi for like 5 seconds and its kinda sad but i promise this whole thing is very sweet)

———

It was Takeda’s first visit to the Shirai Ryu garden since deciding to join a team with the Special Forces. He had spoken to Hanzo whenever he came to the base for any reason, neglecting to meet all of his team but one single time, and it had been so hectic in the recent weeks that Takeda had not been able to find the time to see Hanzo.

He arrived during the evening, when training had winded down for the day and all members of the Shirai Ryu were doing as they pleased. Upon arriving, he waved at many that he recognized, but he urged all of them to keep his arrival quiet. He wanted to surprise Hanzo with his visit, so keeping everyone quiet was important. All members were quick to oblige and pointed to the back garden, where Hanzo was meditating.

With silent steps, Takeda stepped through the garden and spotted Hanzo nearly immediately. He was visible through the doorway of a building, kneeling on the floor. His back was to Takeda, but he heard footsteps and rose to his feet. Takeda could not help but smile when he stepped out of the building and through the doorway, staring at Takeda in shock.

“Can I join you, sir?” Takeda called, his smile growing.

Hanzo did not reply with words, but his actions were telling enough. He showed a rare grin and walked down the steps of the building, and he approached Takeda with quick steps and opened his arms. A hug. A rare hug. Takeda was quick to take up on the offer, and happiness filled him instantly. “I’ve missed you, Master Hasashi,” he said kindly.

“And I have equally missed you, Takeda.” Hanzo ended the hug and held Takeda by his shoulders, his grin remaining. “I see your schedule has allowed a visit. I want to hear everything about the Special Forces over tea.”

And that is exactly what happened. Hanzo set up some tea in the garden, where they sat and prepared their tea. After Takeda made his own, Hanzo looked at him with a small smile. “I hope that Cage has given you proper training. I will be displeased otherwise.”

Takeda shook his head. “Oh, no, he has. He’s a great mentor. He has his wisecracks, of course.”

Hanzo shook his head. “It would not be Cage without them.” Hanzo gathered his own ingredients and began his preparations. “So run by me one more time who is on your team. I have already met Cassandra and have known her for an extremely long time.”

“She told me that she knew who you were,” Takeda mentioned, taking a sip of his tea. “She’s taken on a leadership position because of General Blade.”

“Is she performing well?”

“Absolutely.” Takeda laughed to himself. “She butts heads with someone in the group. Kung Jin, he’s the other boy that isn’t me.”

Hanzo thought for a moment before nodding. “I remember him vaguely. He reminds me of his uncle. I have heard a large number of rumors about their respective egos.”

“Jin has earned his to an extent. He joined the Shaolin later than most members, but he’s really good with a bow and hand-to-hand kombat. He’s definitely my best friend.” Takeda smiled. “You need to meet him. He’s great once you get to know him.”

“I have no doubts.” Hanzo took a drink of his tea and thought back. “I know there is another, but… I neglect to remember her name.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s Jacqui. Jacqueline Sonya Briggs. I know you like formalities.” Takeda could feel himself begin to blush at the thought of her.

Hanzo noted his lack of immediate explanation for who she was. He then noticed Takeda’s blushing, and his smile became mischievous. “Oh, heavens… do not tell me you like this girl?”

Takeda instantly shook his head. “Oh, no! No… No, liking her would distract me from my team. No way, Master Hasashi.”

Hanzo looked at him knowingly, and Takeda huffed. “Okay… Maybe I like this girl. Maybe.”

“I can always see your true feelings, Takeda,” Hanzo said. “If I recall, she is Jackson Briggs’s daughter, yes?”

“She is.” Takeda tilted his head. “You guys were revived at the same time, right?”

“We were,” Hanzo confirmed. “I have made contact with him, but not much. I have neglected to meet her.” He gave Takeda a small smile. “Do you have a photo of her? I know Cage gave you some sort of phone.”

“Yeah, hold on.” Takeda pulled his phone out of his uniform pocket and grinned upon unlocking it. “Perfect timing! She sent me a Snap on Snapchat.”

“A…” Hanzo hesitated a bit. “A Snap? What’s that?”

Takeda was confused for a moment before laughing. “It’s a social media thing, Master Hasashi. I’m on it with my whole team so we can communicate if we so desire.” He opened the app and showed it to Hanzo briefly. “We mostly just send pictures back and forth to one another. There are filters that can give us, ah… cat ears and big eyes and stuff. All in good fun.”

Hanzo nodded knowingly. “I see. What did she send you?”

Takeda swiped over and opened her message. He felt his breath leave his lungs at the sight of a sweet mirror selfie and a grin. The caption read, “Tell Master Hasashi that I said hello!” There was a heart at the end of the caption.

“She… She sent me a photo of herself.” Takeda turned his phone around so Hanzo could see. “She says hello.”

Hanzo admired the photo for a moment before smiling. “She is beautiful. Also…” He leaned a little closer to the phone. “Why is there a heart next to her name?”

Takeda immediately retracted his phone and inspected it. Sure enough, her name in his Snapchat had a heart next to it. He forgot he did that.

“Uh…” Takeda pocketed his phone with a nervous laugh. “Master Hasashi, I can explain—”

Hanzo chuckled softly. “No need. You two are…” He waved a hand around. “…together, are you not? And you waited until you saw me in person to share the news?”

Takeda smiled sheepishly. “You got me, Master Hasashi. I figured telling you during a brief visit would be rude. I wanted to wait until I had a chance to visit.”

“I understand. Congratulations to you both.” Hanzo took another drink of his tea and put it to the side. “It cannot have been too long.”

“Nearly six weeks,” Takeda confirmed. “Not long, but… still a great time.”

“Wonderful. The first few weeks are very thrilling. It is all about new and exciting things. The euphoria that comes with a newly-birthed relationship is often unmatched.” Hanzo rested his elbows on the table. “Tell me all about her, Takeda. What is she like?”

“She has done stuff involving the Special Forces a lot longer than I have. She and Cassie are childhood best friends, and she sees Mr. Cage and General Blade as family. She whoops me in sparring a lot, but… it’s good training.” Takeda felt himself smiling even wider as he described her. “She’s tough as nails. She gets focused on training, and it’s the only thing on her mind for days. She gets up and goes on a run every single morning, and I’ve gone running with her, and she leaves me breathless… for multiple reasons, not just because she’s faster than me.”

Hanzo could not help but chuckle as Takeda went on. “She is so smart, Master Hasashi. She knows about… vehicles, farm life, taking care of animals, math, history. I can ask her any question, and she knows the answer to it. She even knows about the Shirai Ryu’s history and the Lin Kuei’s history and realm history and… everything. She has common sense as well, and she can think logically in any situation to keep our team safe.” Takeda sighed happily as he thought. “She has a great sense of humor. She is great at comforting people and has the biggest heart of anyone I know. She’s stunning from her head to her toes. She makes me excited to try new things and go to new places, and we get to do those things together.” His cheeks reddened in a blush. “She makes me feel things I have never felt before, Master Hasashi. It is too early to call it love, but… I feel phenomenal about where this is going.”

Hanzo shook his head with a content smile. “I have never seen you gush so heavily about anything, Takeda. This is… This is very exciting.” His smile faded a tad. “I trust that you will bring her to meet me properly. She… She reminds me of the woman I married, and I mean that in the kindest way. Headstrong, a big heart, beyond her years in wisdom. I need to meet Jacqueline in person.”

Takeda felt his chest tighten with emotion. “Absolutely. Mr. Cage will probably give us a few days off soon… I will bring her by here.”

“Excellent. I will offer tea when she visits.” Hanzo continued to smile as he thought about the day they would properly meet. “Does she… Does she like tea? Would she accept if I offered her tea?”

Takeda laughed. “Yes! She loves tea. She drinks it at least once a day. She would love it if she received tea from you.”

Hanzo sighed in relief. “Good. Her happiness is of high importance to me. After all, she needs to stick around, so you remain this happy always.”

The two grinned at each other and laughed. Takeda was glad that he visited the garden that day.

[bigskydreaming]

I’m literally in love with the way you write Dick and Jason’s dynamic

Thanks, glad to hear that! Personal preferences aside, I honestly do think it just opens up SO many more potential stories if you go with the idea that they did have a brotherly relationship before Jason died, just they didnt get together around Bruce because Dick was still hoping Bruce would make the first move in reaching out to him. Rather than just stick with the usual assumption that because it wasn’t seen on the page, they had barely any interactions and both resented each other for various reasons.

But those reasons all trace back to Bruce, and if you look at them as two people who are united by the common experience of being fish out of water, adapting to the same environment after coming from DRAMATICALLY different origins, able to connect over that and understand each other in a way nobody else really can because nobody else has ever really had to straddle two worlds as definitively as Dick and Jason had to in their formative years....

Like, the big sticking point for me in the Dick vs Jason: The Grudge theory was just that....at the end of the day, these are two boys who grew up with very few loved ones to start with, or having had to deal with the loss of those loved ones.....

But one way or another......are these two specific characters really ones that make sense as wanting to reject the possibility of more family?

They’re connected through Bruce, like it or not, that was never going to change even from before they ever met......and the idea that Dick Grayson and Jason Todd would each be content to waste literal YEARS never even TRYING to connect with the person who was probably most like him and who by all accounts was already his brother in most ways just by way of Bruce...not even to see if maybe they COULD actually be brothers? To have family beyond just Bruce and Alfred? 

Me @ every fic or headcanon that says Dick had Only Child Syndrome and resented Jason because of that: right because Dick Grayson of all people is anti-family. He’s full up with that one guy whose legal guardianship of him has been expired for a couple years and who he hasn’t spoken to since long before then.....nah, why would he want any more or any other family beyond that?

I mean, I absolutely believe that Dick was upset and hurt that Bruce adopted Jason while he’d never even offered to adopt Dick......but Dick has never been one to pass around blame instead of focusing it on its true point of origin. That’s his and Bruce’s issue. And honestly, there are TONS of reasons for Dick to be upset about that, without making it about Jason at all. 

There’s literally no reason for Dick to take it out on Jason ever, if his biggest issue or grievance is that like....it feels like Bruce was just so done with Dick and considered him so out of his life, something like “just added a new kid to the family” didn’t seem like relevant information he should pass on to Dick despite the tenseness between them. When you have to find out from the NEWS that your old family unit just full on up and adopted this kid you’ve never heard of before now without even so much as a phone call.....there’s plenty of cause to feel like this is a message that you’re not really considered part of that family unit anymore, so why would you need to know?

Or like, the fact that Bruce didn’t consider hey I’m thinking of adding another kid to my family that consists of me and the kid I’m so afraid to tell I think of him as a son in case he doesn’t feel the same way, that I’ve sat back and let things get this bad between us and fester.....hey maybe before I issue adoption papers for a second kid, I should think about putting in an equivalent effort at fixing things with my first kid first?

Or why not write Bruce thinking: “Hey if I can’t even fix things with the kid I raised for almost a decade and think of as my own no matter how long its been since I talked to him.....what on Earth makes me think I’m qualified to take on a SECOND child?”

Like....Bruce was the one who held all the power and all the options, Dick had no other option but to go along with whatever Bruce decided Bruce was going to do, and neither did Jason really.....so there’s no real reason in my head that should be a point of contention between them or a reason to resent each other instead of just stressing to them the importance of having significant family ties beyond just Bruce because history clearly showed even at that point that best intentions aside, the man is fallible.

If anything, that should have been common ground!

I think there was like, an initial negative reaction of maybe one night, the first time they met and Dick even though he was prepared for it still had to adjust to the reality of actually seeing this stranger he was irrevocably connected to now by both his names, even if neither was technically his anymore....like to actually SEE him standing there in his old role....that’s gonna hit anybody hard.

But he also would have clearly been able to see that whatever else he may have been, this twelve year old Robin was still a kid, and one who hadn’t had a lot of time to ever be a kid in the first place.....which again, instant camaraderie, because boy could Dick relate.....remember, Dick may have had a happy childhood with his parents before they were murdered but it was also a childhood where he WORKED. He loves being an acrobat, he loved being in the show, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t WORK, that his childhood didn’t consist of training as long and as regularly as any adult acrobat while everyone else his age was running around playing outside and making friends. And after Bruce took Dick in, most of Dick’s free time was spent being Robin, training as Robin, etc?

Which IMO would have made him take one look at this kid in his old costume, literally standing where he had once stood, stepping into his old shoes.....and I think Dick’s real honest reaction once he brushed aside any kneejerk feeling of pain or bitterness the way he brushes aside all the physical pain he feels when out as Nightwing but refuses to let get in the way of him doing what he has to, doing what’s right....

Nah, Dick would have taken one look at this tiny kid full of fire and bravado but also so clearly eager to please, to be praised, to be told he was doing a good job and even without that he was worth something, his life had value, the world was better just because he existed......

And I think Dick’s bitterness about the situation would have crystallized into him resentfully thinking well B’s not exactly the best about dishing out affection or praise so I’m gonna make sure this little Mini-Me standing there in my old colors looking just as young and small as I must have looked then even if I didn’t realize it at the time....I’m gonna make sure I keep him supplied with a steady diet of “Nice Words and Gestures That Kids Should Grow Up Receiving Regularly.”

Dick has always been a firm believer that the best way to make sure something gets done is to do it yourself.

So yeah, I honestly do think that back during those days, Dick and Jason were thick as thieves when their schedules allowed for it, with it being simultaneously painful and unspoken that they had to like....work around Bruce’s presence so Dick could avoid him, but somewhat softened by the challenge and thrill of two brothers scheming to pull one over on the Big Bad Batdad every time the older brother wanted to take the little brother to go somewhere or do something, like, even just to spoil him rotten.

Cuz really....isn’t that a lot more interesting than ‘oh they barely ever even met back then and it wasn’t great, that’s it, the end’? There’s so much you could do with even just that, from them sneaking Jason out for a fun adventure that’s layered with just a hint of poignant angst because of the unspoken why of him needing to sneak out instead of them just saying hey Bruce, we need some bro time, Jason’s hanging with me this weekend? Or you dial up the angst and layer it with lightness or literally anything between those two points on a spectrum.

There’s so much Secret History potential buried back in those years....adventures they had together and never told anyone about, secrets shared between brothers they never shared elsewhere.....maybe Dick opening up to Jason more than he usually likes to, but here felt it might be the only way to get Jason to do the same, with Dick thus offering up some painful tidbit from his past that he never told even Bruce or Alfred for some reason, if he thinks Jason’s upset about something and needs to vent but will just keep insisting he’s fine unless Dick leads by example and goes first.

There’s so much potential for in-jokes that only the two of them know and everyone else is ENDLESSLY curious about, because everyone always forgets that those two have so much history because it was literally kept out of sight, out of mind, so they could keep it free of the friction that was bound to come of adding Bruce to the mix before their father cleared the air with his eldest first.

So its an easy thing to forget about or overlook, especially since it rarely comes up....but everytime it does rear its head via some private joke only they know or a reference to some event back then that everyone else is kept boxed out of having any context for....that’s the kind of stuff that would drive a family of detectives craszy, because they want to know! What’s the joke??

And yet its likely they’d never ask, because as curious as they are to hear about the mysterious missing years of the first two Wayne children, back when there was literally nobody else present to ask for details.....they never can figure out HOW to ask those questions, not when they’re equally aware of the swiftly hidden expressions of pain or bitterness that flash across the two eldests’ faces after each unearthing of some long-buried treasure they shared between them. Unable to ever escape the fact that each of those treasured moments would forever be followed with an inevitable reminder of why there were so few of those moments, in the end. 

Why those years ended far earlier than they should have, and why their reunion upon Jason’s return was hindered and complicated by Dick’s obligation to other siblings Jason hurt while dealing with Pit after-effects and the lack of a strong support system while swayed to League sympathies...

And of course, ultimately there’s the reality that after the Adventures of Young Dick and Tiny Jason were cancelled far ahead of schedule, and that several year long intermission....by the time everything else was gotten out of the way, the stars of those earlier adventures were as long gone as the adventures themselves. Dick and Jason were both entirely different people by now.....still containing within each of them enough of who they were back then that those memories are kept carefully protected and hidden away, all the more valuable for how few and sparse they are, and how rarely they’re brought out to look at and enjoy.....

But with those vaults buried deeply enough within who Dick and Jason both are these days, that there’s a lot of blood and loss and pain you have to cut through just to reach that vault. There’s no retrieving anything from it without a cost. A cost worth paying, given that they can’t help themselves from calling back to it every now and then, even though they know the inevitable result is going to be end negative and not end positive. But still high enough to give them pause before actually doing so....holding back sometimes so the toll is doled out sparingly and over time. Getting greedy and trying to bring out/back/up too much too fast is far more daunting than either can afford to pay at the moment.

So that’s how I like to view the two of them and their dynamic back during and because of those early years before Jason’s death. Bittersweet and shaded by nostalgia.....temptation and warning both, in how much they want to revisit it but how much they fear ruining what they’ve managed to cobble together now by bringing the past too much into the light, comparing past and present too clearly and risking that being reminded too strongly of the brothers they were back then, will just make it impossible to ever be content with anything but that bond replicated in full and they’re not sure it can be, are both too afraid too much has happened since then and trying too hard, putting too much pressure on the dynamic they’ve built now could risk shattering the relative fragile bond completely.

Pretty much everything I write with the two of them, unless I specifically state otherwise via context, is generally written through that lens, with me viewing that as the backstory for their dynamic that I’m running with.

[youremeimyou]

The Lesser Gods of Bangtanis(pt.1)

Introduction - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 

pairings: Kim Taehyung x reader, Jeon Jungkook x reader, OT7(this fic is about all of the boys’ characters, not just ‘Y/Nxsomeone’ focused) genre: angst, fluff, comedy, adventure.. - fantasy au, medieval au, magic au, royal au word count: 4k warnings: brief violance?(just some combat and sword fighting stuff)

Description: Princess Y/N, who holds the fate of her people on her shoulders arrives at the kingdom of Bangtanis, that is the home of our mighty heroes. What will the destiny of our heroes be, when she brings along a threat called dark magic and a little bit of love with her?

A/N: (To understand the characters and where the story stands, it’s best to read “introduction” before this one.) I can’t believe how much I enjoyed writing this.. This will be a series about all of our boys in an adventure with Y/N. I hope you’ll like it. I’m actually very nervous about this cuz it’s different than what I’ve written before. Any feedback is appreciated and encouraged, please let me know what you think. Enjoy!

It was nearly evening and the sun was threatening to dissappear under the hills but another boring lesson of Dynasties History was still going on in the study hall. And Taehyung was imprisoned alongside these stuck up dukes and duchesses. He couldn't wait to get out of there. The worst part was he could never understand why these young people pretended to be interested in kingdom afairs while they could just live their lives to the fullest.

As he stared outside the window he spotted his best friend and companion, the court jester Park Jimin, taking a stroll towards the city with two beautiful women on either sides of him. Oh, he had to be there. Or else he'd lose the bet the jester and himself had made to win over two hearts at once. He quickly got out of his seat and made lots of rattling sounds while doing so. As a result, all eyes in the room turned to him, questioning stares came from everyone including the elderly teacher. Taehyung was confident, he had a way with people to help himself get out of trouble.

"Lord Taehyung, I'm sure you have a good reason to disturb the study like this?" questioned the teacher with a non-approving look on his face. Taehyung spoke back with an equally smug comment as he walked towards the exit.

"My, of course I do, Instructor Seong. But I couldn't possibly say what it is."

The old man was baffled like everyone else in the room. Enjoying the attention, Taehyung continued.

"You see, I'm not supposed to talk about matters of the kingdom anywhere I like. Therefore I have to get to the throne room immediately to complete an important task."

Now every other young royal with a rank in there looked at him with envy. Everyone knew he was the favorite of the king. He was the only one among young royals that was informed about government business. So, everyone wanted to either be him or be with him. But his careless attitude made these other nobles despise him. And he loved it.

The teacher couldn't say much to stop him and the poor old man knew it. So, instead of trying to discipline him like he would with other students he settled for a sigh.

"I suppose we shouldn't expect your quick return to the lesson, my lord?"

"Well, as much as I love learning this subject I'm afraid duty comes first, instructor. At least my friends here are lucky to be staying." Taehyung said, barely able to keep his laughter in and walked out shorty after.

All was going well until he turned around the corner and came across the one person he couldn't fool, King Namjoon.

"Taehyung? Good, come join us."

"My lord, I actually-"

"Aren't you supposed to be in the study hall? It has only been a moment since I sent men to come get you."

Taehyung was surprised to hear that. He only said those things back there as an excuse to go out to the city. He didn't know the king actually needed him.

"What's the matter my lord? You seem concerned."

"You'll see once we get to the throne room."

When they entered the great hall that was the throne room, Taehyung spotted the royal advisors Kim Seokjin, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi, already discussing what seemed to be an important issue. The commanders and high-ranking knights of the army were also gathered there.

King Namjoon went next to his advisors to hear their reports and Taehyung listened from the other side of the table as they informed the king about the coming of a princess. Min Yoongi leaned in towards the king after that and spoke in a low voice.

"Why have you brought the kid again?" he asked while looking at Taehyung.

"I wasn't kidding when I told you I'm preparing him for the throne, my friend." the king replied as silently.

Taehyung couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. Everyone seemed to be worried.

"My lords, if I may interrupt. What's so concerning about a princess coming to visit?"

Yoongi shook his head in disapproval while Hoseok explained.

"It's not a visit. We've recieved word from this princess that her home was envaded by the creatures of the night. She managed to escape but her family was left behind. She seeks our help. For shelter and more importantly, for an initiative to take back her lands."

The creatures of the night were beings born from dark magic that were thought to be terminated ages ago during the Dark War. Everyone knew it as a myth. But dark magic was real. And after the war the use of magic altogether wasn't common as it used to be. Some kingdoms forbid it and some, like Bangtanis controlled the practise of it to not let dark magic rise. Only a few experts in the palace were allowed to conduct magic in Bangtanis. And every one of them answered to the head sorceror, Jung Hoseok.

"Who is the poor princess?" asked Taehyung, understanding that the issue was a most troubling one.

"Y/N is her name." The answer came from Kim Seokjin. "I remember her from when she was little. She was here once with her father, a mighty king who came to sign a treaty with the former Lord of Bangtanis. This news upset me for I had become very fond of that king and his family back then."

Princess Y/N.. Taehyung thought he remembered her too, from when they were kids.

King Namjoon spoke up after moments of thinking.

"Dark magic is too dangerous of a threath to expose our kingdom to."

Min Yoongi added, "I agree my lord. It'd be unwise to get involved. I'm afraid there isn't much we can do to help."

"But the princess and her company cannot make it to another kingdom without getting caught. Even if they did, no one else would accept them. We'd be condemning them to death." Jung Hoseok objected.

The king looked troubled. Kim Namjoon was a man of honour, the best ruler Bangtanis ever had. Turning his back to people in need wasn't something he was keen to do. But the risk on the other hand was very big.

"When will they arrive?" the king asked.

"The letter said they'd be here most probably at first light, tomorrow. It also said they ran out of food and supplies."

Taehyung hated politics mainly for this reason. A few men in a room were arguing on what to do when actual lives were in danger.

"My king, may I have a word in private?" he decided to try and get the king to help these people. The king and Taehyung moved away from the table and started talking with low voices.

"My lord, we have to help them-"

"Taehyung, you're a young prince. You may not understand the consequences of such an attempt against this curse of dark magic."

"Hyung.." Taehyung exhaled desperately. "You're a young king, aren't you? But you've achived so much because of your good heart. What does your heart tell you?" he appealed to the kind side of the king, trusting on their brotherly bond that Namjoon wouldn't consider his words disrespectful.

"What do you suggest?"

"I wouldn't know much of what to do regarding fighting dark magic. But can't we at least grant them shelter for the time being?"

King Namjoon walked back to his advisors and announced his decision.

"We will accept them when they arrive, attend to their needs and help them recover from what they've been through. We're not deciding on anything else until we talk with the princess about the details. And that's final."

So began the preparations for the arrival of the princess. A troop of knights was formed and given the task of meeting Princess Y/N on the borders and guiding her company safely into the kingdom.

After the meeting, Taehyung decided to go down to the city to clear his mind of troubles, as he always did. Big responsibilities were his greatest fear, so he felt he quickly needed to get rid of them by doing reckless things. Besides, the princess wouldn't be arriving until tomorrow, he had plenty of time before being given more tasks.

Right when he entered his favorite tavern, he spotted Park Jimin, surrounded by even more than two women this time. Though, all over the jester would be a better term to say about the ladies. He made his way to them and interrupted without a care.

"Isn't it too early for this kind of entertainment?"

The jester rejoiced as he heard the voice of his best friend. From where he was sitting, he reached an arm to grab the prince by his shirt and pulled him closer without disturbing his lady friends.

"Glad you could join us. I think it's safe to say that I won the bet, dear mate."

Prince Taehyung cleared his throat with a deep grunting sound which captured the women's notice and made them realize who he was. Three of the five quickly went to him giving him all their attention. It made Taehyung smirk at Jimin. The jester sighed in defeat, kindly sending the women away.

"You're right, too early for that."

The two rascals spent the evening playing games and gambling. Only when it was deep into the night that they decided to get out of there and slowly head back to the castle.

As they were passing through the now closed mart, they heard sounds coming from the other side of the road. Too dark to decipher who, Taehyung saw two figures, one big and one small. The bigger seemed to be approching the smaller in a hurry. As the boys got closer to them they could see it was a man about to attack a woman.

Rushing towards them they stopped in shock when she grabbed her attacker by the wrist, twisted him around and landed a strong kick on his back. When the attacker tried to get back up from the ground where he was knocked down to, the girl took out a sword from inside her cloak and pointed it theatheningly on his neck.

When she heard the two boys arriving, she quickly used the back of her weapon to knock out the attacker and aimed it towards the boys after that.

"Woah, woah relax. We won't harm you." Taehyung said.

"You couldn't even if you tried."

The boys gave each other a quick look with cocked eyebrows. That was one wicked young woman.

"Who are you? I hope you're not drunk fools like this one right here. Otherwise your fate will be the same as him."

"We should be asking you the same thing." Taehyung said back.

Sensing her discomfort growing, Jimin spoke up to let her know they were friendly.

"I'm the court jester and he's a prince of the Kim Dynasty that rule here. What about you?"

"I'm a simple villager."

"Who owns a quality sword?" Taehyung spat back. Jimin tried reasoning again.

"Well you see, my friend and I sort of know every women of this village but we don't know you, so.."

The girl let out a huff in response to their arrogant faces after that comment.

"I'm not from this kingdom, I just arrived here." She slowly lowered her sword, seeing that they looked harmless and were unarmed but still held a tight grip on it, just in case. And since they've moved closer, Taehyung had a chance to get a better look on her face.

"Well then, since you're a traveller from another kingdom, what's your business here?" Taehyung asked.

"My business is not your concern."

"Oh but I think it is, princess."

Both the jester and the girl looked surprised.

"I don't like pet names-"

"It's your title, Y/N. I never forget a face. And you still have the scar on the corner of your eye."

Taehyung was now standing right in front of the very much confused princess whose cover was blown unexpectedly early.

"How do you know that?" was all she could manage to ask.

"I'm Kim Taehyung."

Taehyung? Who- wait. Prince Kim Taehyung? That prince? Oh no.. the princess thought while the memory flooded back to her. The boy who gave her that scar, playing sword fighting with sticks as kids.

"And what does that supposed to mean to me?" She played it off like she didn't know.

Taehyung slightly tilted his head in dissappointment as Jimin spoke.

"You two have a history?"

"She was here once before, for sometime. We were kids but still.. Kind of hurts that you don't remember, Princess Y/N."

Jimin secretly smiled at the ground, understanding she was pretending. Taehyung decided to let it go for now and try to figure out what was happening.

"Where is your company? And you were supposed to arrive in the morning."

"I will. I mean my double will."

"You have a double?"

"It's a means of safety. They're looking everywhere for me. Not just those creatures but also bounty hunters, too. Everyone expects me to travel with company. But that's my double. Try to think of it as acting, if you can. I made her memorize every line she needed to."

"I am an actor princess. The concept is familiar, thank you. But how in the world is travelling all by yourself in the dark is safer?"

"As you've witnessed, I can take care of myself. And I have a mission of my own. But you say you’re an actor? Please don't tell me you're an actor, pretending to be a prince right now."

Taehyung's mouth dropped open a little bit in response to her snarky remark. When he realised she was being sarcastic, he settled for just rolling his eyes. Jimin was enjoying this bickering between the two, even though he didn't know what exactly was happening. It was rare to see Taehyung not being able to get his way with a woman for the first time.

"What mission?"

Y/N wasn't planning on getting exposed as the princess this early. But she had to admit, getting help from people like them that knew this city and its people would be better than going at it alone.

"My father told me to find the head of the Jeon family. He said it was crucial for our salvation."

Jeon family weren't nobles but they were known to be great warriors among the people. Jimin knew of them. So he informed the confused prince.

"It must be the father of that Jungkook kid. The one who saved you from a beating once, when you cheated while playing dice, remember?"

The prince remembered but thought he was hardly a kid. Sure, he must've been a bit younger but he was more bulked up than both the prince and the jester.

"What would they have to do with this?"

"I don’t know yet but my father was very specific. Now, do you know where they live?"

“I do. We’ll take you.” Jimin offered, understanding the subject to be important. Taehyung on the other hand looked at him in surprise for knowing.

“Well, I walked Jungkook’s sister home a few times.” Jimin winked as the prince and the princess rolled their eyes.

When they arrived at the said family’s door, Taehyung made his hand into a fist and moved it to slam the door. The princess was quick enough to catch it before he could.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She whisper-shouted at the surprised prince.

“Knocking?”

“That’s not knocking. That’s punching the door. And it’s the middle of the night, we can’t startle people like that.” 

Taehyung was quick to response. “Fine. I’ll let you do it the girly way, then. The lady way..” he said and looked at her closely to observe her reaction in order to figure out if she still disliked being called a lady as much as when they were kids. 

“I’ll do it the nice way, Prince Rude.” Taehyung smirked for his success in making her annoyed.

“Is he always this dim-witted?” She directed the question to the jester who tried to hide his laugh but failed, enjoying this too much. And with that, Taehyung’s smirk was replaced with gritted teeth. 

The princess gently knocked at the door a few times. When no one answered for a while, she knocked.. a little harder. Taehyung didn’t miss the opportunity to retort, of course.

“So much for the nice way..”

As Y/N glared at him, the door slowly opened up to reveal a young woman in her night gown. “Who are you-” she stopped when she spotted the jester at the back. “Jimin?”

Jimin could only smile awkwardly back at Jungkook’s sister who looked at him like she was ready to hit him. “Why are you here?”

“Apologies for disturbing you at this hour. I’m Kim Taehyung from the palace. We’re here on important business.” Taehyung adressed the girl in the politest way possible and the princess noted how his demeanour changed in front of a beautiful girl.

“Prince Taehyung? I’m so sorry, my lord. Of course you must be. How can I help?” The girl’s whole demeanour changed, too and all her attention was now locked on the prince. Y/N crossed her arms and started talking.

“You know little lady, it’s dangerous to answer the door to strangers at night. Especially when dressed like that.” In all fairness, her gown was a bit short. The prince looked at Y/N questioningly.

“I’m just saying. You’re lucky we’re harmless but next time, better bring a knife-”

Jimin finally cut in.

“Look, I know it’s late but this is very important. We need to speak to your father, right now.”

She granted them entrance and woke her parents up, explaining who the visitors were. Jungkook’s father immediately remembered the young princess. From the time her family visited Bangtanis, years ago.

“Princess.. It must be an urgent matter for you to come here at this hour. But I must say, I’m glad to see you all grown up. I bet your father is very proud.”

His words made Y/N a little sad for they made her remember her father’s current condition.

“My father was the one to tell me to find you. He’s being held prisoner by the creatures of the night.”

“What? The creatures of the night? But how-”

“We don’t know. All I know is that my father told me you could help us fight this dark magic. Please.. I’m desperate.” 

Taehyung could see the worry on the princess’ face for her family and kingdom. This must’ve been hard for her. Even though she was obviously skilled and brave, she was still young. He thought her strength was admirable.

Just then, a young man with messy hair and messy bed clothes came out of one of the rooms at the back. 

“What’s all the noise abou-” his eyes connected with the princess’.

Y/N? He thought. Was it really her? The princess he met fifteen years ago and couldn’t really forget about was sitting on the couch at his home?

His father had introduced the princess to him when they were kids. 

“What’s your name, then?”

“It’s Jungkook, my lady.”

“You don’t need to call me that. Call me Y/N and I'll call you Guk.”

“But my father said you were a princess.”

“That doesn’t matter. We’re both kids and we’re equal. Let’s be friends.”

That was how she stole Jungkook’s heart as a kid. Jungkook himself was surprised to remember all of that and to instantly recognize her. 

His sister spoke up to break the silence that took over after his entrance.

“Sorry, that’s my older brother Jungkook. He doesn’t like to be woken up.”

“Jungkook, come here and sit down.” His father beckoned him.

“This is Princess Y/N. You two have actually met when you were children.”

He knew that. But looking at her face, Y/N didn’t seem like she remembered to him.

“She’s in dire need of our help. Her home is invaded by dark magic. I will gather some-” he coughed while looking at Taehyung before continuing. “rather skilled men tomorrow and you will do everything you can to ready them for battle.”

Jungkook looked confused. “If they’re skilled, why do you need me to ready them, father?”

“They’re not skilled like that, son. You’ll see later.” He turned to the princess once more. “I don’t know if you already have, but you should speak to King Namjoon, princess. I have a group of men that can be of help, like I said. But having the knights of Bangtanis in on your fight would also be of great help. And maybe Prince Taehyung can help you convince the king.”

Taehyung nodded.

“I’m scheduled to meet with him in the morning, which probably will come soon. So we should head out to the palace but I want to talk about the details of what you’re preparing, later.”

“Of course. I will inform my son about everything and have him come find you later to explain it in length. You see, I’ve grown old.” 

Jungkook’s father laughed bitterly and Jungkook shook his head from side to side at what he said.

“But you can trust my son. Just as your father has directed you to me, I’m directing you to him.”

Jungkook and Y/N’s eyes met and she gave him a quick, tired but hopeful smile.

“Thank you all for agreeing to help.” she said.

Jungkook’s father smiled at her. “I owe your father a big debt. He has helped me and my friends in the past. Now we’ll return the favor.”

The walk from the village to the castle was a long one and morning had arrived even before Y/N, Taehyung and Jimin arrived at the gates. The princess guessed her double to be in the throne room already, as scheduled.

The princess was visibly struggling to even walk for she had been on foot for a long journey and hadn't slept for quite some time. Moreover, consently being on the edge, looking over her shoulder and waiting for someone, something to sneak in and grab her took quite the toll on her. Coming here undercover was a key factor to her mission but travelling all alone had been harder than imagined.

As they made their way to meet the king, Jimin parted ways with them. Jesters weren't supposed to be involved in such matters. He would be learning everything from Taehyung later, of course.

"This is it." The prince pointed at the door as they arrived.

"Great. I'm about to meet the king but I must look like a mess." Y/N said with a sigh. Taehyung didn't think so. For someone who had been roaming the wilderness, he thought the princess looked rather.. well, lovely.

He then pulled her to the corner away from the guards at the door and spoke to her in a low voice.

"So, how do you want to do this? You know, you're double is probably in there."

"You're right. Just introduce me as a villager bringing news of a problem on the outskirts or something."

"Good thinking. You certainly look the part." He teased and managed to get a death stare from her.

"Just let me do the talking. Otherwise they might not believe you when you claim to be the actual princess."

Guards let them pass without question. Taehyung was a prince of the ruling dynasty after all. The meeting inside seemed to have come to a conclusion.

"That's the double?"

"Yes."

Taehyung looked at the double. Then, at the princess. More like stared at the princess, really. Taking in all her features, he'd admit to maybe having been a little mesmerized.

"She looks nothing like you. You look much more.."

He stopped. Got out of the daze he was in and changed what he was about to say to something different.

"...colder."

Y/N scoffed.

"You're quite the charmer aren't you?"

He flattened his lips together to contain a smile and then grabbed her by the arm to bring her to the king as unnoticed as possible. But the people in the room slowly turned heads their way one by one. Y/N was starting to feel a bit nervous, afraid of compromising the task. And Taehyung could feel her body stiffen next to his. He spoke in a volume only she could hear.

"Don't worry. Everyone thinks your double is the princess. They're just not used to being disturbed at an event like this. Especially by dowdy looking people like yourself."

And his reassurance and sarcasm worked in getting her to relax.

The advisors of the king took action after seeing Taehyung. Kim Seokjin quickly stepped towards them while Jung Hoseok started to kindly lead the people in the room outside, stating the meeting over.

Taehyung thought Seokjin would be angry with him for not attending the meeting.

"Hyung, I know I'm late but before you start scolding me, this is-"

"Princess Y/N?" Seokjin was almost sure but he had to ask first. And Taehyung was initially shocked but thought if he remembered the princess, so could Seokjin. Seokjin was older at that time, after all.

"Yes, that's me but please keep it down. Also, how did you know?"

"I was the prince who was assigned to see after you and your father back when you visited for the treaty."

"The one who took me to see that play?"

"With me!" Taehyung cut in. "I was there, too. You do remember me, don't you?"

Y/N kept talking without acknowledging his little comment.

"How did the meeting go?"

"Your double was wonderful, don't worry. She almost had me fooled! Now, let's have you meet the king."

"I believe it'd be better if everyone else left before I reveal myself."

"Those are the king's advisors Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok. King Namjoon wouldn't decide on anything without their counsel."

"But they're very young. Normally all advisors are old men."

"Our king is young, too."

They explained the situation to the king and Y/N told them everything that had happened to her. Then she asked for their help, almost beggingly.

"Princess, first of all I'm really sorry for all you've been through. We've been trying to figure out what we can do to help. Unfortunetely, sending my men to fight a force they have no experience with is not a great option. We've settled with your double on helping your company recover from the dreadful journey for now." King Namjoon stated.

"I understand your reluctance. I know creatures of the night are quite terrifying. I've witnessed that first hand. But I cannot hide here forever. I must try to free my kingdom, with an army or by myself... We thank you for giving us shelter, no matter what your decision will be about lending us a fighting force."

Taehyung felt so helpless and he couldn't imagine how Y/N was feeling. Coming all this way and not even getting an actual answer. He hoped whatever the Jeons had planned would turn out to be good.

They assigned Taehyung to attend to the princess, to help her keep her indentity a secret as she preferred. And Taehyung would carry information between the two parties. After that, Hoseok convinced Y/N to get some rest for the time being.

"I'll take her to her chambers. Which one did you have prepared?" Taehyung asked.

"Well, her double was escorted to her assigned chambers. We should quickly have another one readied." Jung Hoseok said in a hurry. They weren't exactly prepared for two princesses.

"No. Maybe I shouldn't accomodate inside the castle. It's crucial that I don't get discovered."

Min Yoongi had an idea. "There's an empty cottage out in the village. It used to be my home. Prince Taehyung can take you there. And he will stay with you. We'll have knights securing the cottage from afar. How does that sound?"

"Perfect. Thank you for your understanding."

The duo left the throne room and started making their way to the said cottage.

"Why does a village house belong to an advisor of the king?" Y/N was curious. First the advisors turned out to be young and now she learned one of them used to live outside of the castle. Bangtanis was full of surprises.

"Min Yoongi isn't royal born. He was an orphan who King Namjoon befriended as a kid. He made sure the cottage would stay there even after moving in the castle. By the way, I don't suppose the beds will be comfortable so thanks for that, princess."

"You're welcome to leave me after we get there. In fact, I encourage you to." Y/N spat back.

"You already said you think it's perfect. Admit it, you can't wait to catch me alone."

"Keep dreaming, Prince Smug."

Neither of them knew just how much their destinies were intertwined. Taehyung somehow had a feeling, though. A feeling that made him want to stick close by.

...

A/N: to be continued haha..

[fallingin-like]

november 9

not all who wander are lost: the “not all that glitters is gold” remix by @leahlisabeth [requested by @gluupor]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post!

this is a remix fic, but you definitely don’t have to read the original one first. this is a fascinating magic!au that really draws you in and makes you so invested, even though it’s a relatively short fic. this is a renee-centric fic that does a great job of analysing her character.

okay i actually read this before i read “not all that glitters is gold” and i think you did an amazing job remixing it so that it can standalone. this was such a fascinating fic, there are not many that really explore too much about renee, especially from her perspective. i admire how fantastic you are at establishing the universe, and where all the characters fit within the powers. your writing style fits renee in a way i don’t know how to describe.

some bits that i especially liked:

”row upon row of handwritten journals with names and descriptions” my attention is immediately caught. it was so interesting to me because i hadn’t realised the consequences of renee’s powers yet. reading it a second time it’s still so interesting because this says so much about renee. to take the time to create this system of tracking her actions, the people that she’s met, and what she has forgotten? i wonder when she established this, what pushed her to start writing everything down, and how memories she lost that she doesn’t know about.

i LOVE this idea of her power not being a system of equal loss. the unpredictability of it must cause her to think especially hard about using it if using it for a minor thing can cause such damage.

”but she has already decided she’s going to do it because losing a memory, any memory, could never hurt as much as losing andrew” ahh this is so good. i think that often renee’s relationship with andrew is kind of overlooked, because renee is nice to everyone so of course she would be friends with andrew too. but it’s so much deeper, with their shared understanding of the evil that exists in the world and the trust they have built over time. and this idea of renee being willing to a memory for andrew. she’s basically trading away her life for his. because your memories are what make you who you are, and it’s not the same as reading something you wrote down knowing that they’re memories.

love the imagery of renee changing from her colourful clothing to black, the seriousness that she takes on

”strapping on her knives, even though she knows they aren’t the weapon that will save them” i really like the wording that you used for this. something about it makes me shiver at the idea of them having so much power within them

THE SLITS IN THE GLOVES IS THE SMARTEST THING IN THE WORLD

oh my goodness neil’s eyes flashing reD

i want so bad to know how andrew got cauGHT!!

”renee imagines him rubbing his hands together in glee like some cartoon villain” even though we’re talking about riko and the scene is so tense with andrew with them in terrible shape not knowing what’s going to happen, this sentence was able to lighten up the mood.

 i just want to say that i love andrew.

what a great description of how different renee’s powers are from andrew and neil. theirs is so physical, so much easier to see, more temporary (altho i guess neil lost a finger? rip). i think that’s why it makes it so much more painful to see what she has lost.

“she smiles fondly for a moment and then her stomach climbs into her throat and for the first time in her life, the hole in her memory is big enough, catastrophic enough for her to see the jagged edges” this is one of the most heartbreaking things ever. it makes me want to cry, reading about her having to deal with that. to hear her trade her clothing for “the softest and most vibrant pieces of her wardrobe” is so sad. so so interesting to think that in a way she traded andrew for andrew. i can’t even imagine where she would go from there. what is the extent of memories that she forgot? how did she tell andrew?

you were so good at building up suspense by giving readers information, but not enough to spoil. this fic was startling and surprising in a way that was both delightful and heartbreaking. i liked the way that you really focused on staying in renee’s perspective instead of explaining everything that was occuring in the scene (which also is great because i was very interested in reading “not all that glitters is gold”). it also meant that this fic didn’t feel just like you were retelling the original fic, this is a remix, yes, but ultimately it really feels like its own fic even though you’re telling the same story. by concentrating your fic on different areas of what happened, this is an engaging and unpredictable fic, even for people that read the original fic. thank you so much for writing this!

[spacejunk-tm]

Idk why but for the last few days I have been thinking about how smart Izuku actually is and how he probably could have made it even without OFA. I mean, the kid made it through the first two stages of the sport festival even without using his quirk.. that's pretty impressive. So.. I know it sounds stupid but could you write something about deku's intelligence? Idk a meta, some HCs, a mini fic.. whatever you like! I just want to see my boy being appreciated for his brain and skills! Thank you❤️

Hi! Let’s talk about Izuku Midoriya’s intelligence. 

Now, in this ask you mention how Midoriya could’ve made it without OFA and I agree with you. Midoriya is highly characteristic and rather good at making the best of everything. OFA doesn’t require a high intelligence (actually, All Might nearly picked Mirio who canonically doesn’t score very high on tests and other exams and isn’t incredibly intelligent) so I’m going to very quickly dismiss other theories I’ve seen in the fandom where OFA somehow granted Midoriya his intelligence. 

I’ve talked before about Bakugou’s intelligence and how it started at home. Like most people, Midoriya’s started at home. ( I still don’t have any of my notes from watching/reading BNHA so bear with me please) 

Midoriya’s home we know has stayed almost entirely the same since he was very young. Him being childhood friends with Bakugou because of proximity alone tells me that Midoriya hasn’t gone very far and that his homelife hasn’t really changed in what would be Midoriya’s memory. 

This is the very first image we get of Midoriya’s home and mother (Inko Midoriya.) Inko is shown being a very empathetic, loving, caring mother. She is shown always alone (no father is ever really mentioned in Midoriya’s memory, his father’s name itself is a joke that basically means “he’s really far away”) and she is often shown simply supporting whatever Midoriya is doing...

Inko is a lovely, lovely person but she is not very smart. She is shown having about an average intelligence. What you’d find out of an average person. She has an above average empathy capacity and is very loving and lovely. But she’s not very smart. 

Which plays a lot into how Midoriya uses his own intelligence. Unlike Bakugou, Momo, or Todoroki, Midoriya did not grow up in an environment that enriched what natural potential he had. He is never shown growing up in a place that truly valued his intelligence as a natural talent. 

This was highlighted to me actually in the display of another character’s intelligence: Bakugou’s. 

I’ve said this before but I firmly believe that Bakugou continuously thought that Midoriya was on an equal playing field with him until the world pushed Midoriya down (and enforced Bakugou pushing Midoriya down) enough to the point where Bakugou got very angry with Midoriya for not keeping up despite said pushing down. 

This plays right into the idea that Inko isn’t very smart. Bakugou’s parents were teaching him to read or at least showing him pages of books/things to read at a very young age. Inko wasn’t doing that. It isn’t shown in this panel but it’s clear in the montage that Midoriya could not read when Bakugou could despite that I believe Midoriya had the potential to. They went to the same school, had the same teachers, it leads me to believe that the only thing that separated them was the intelligence of their parents/the richness of their environments. 

This all seems really insignificant but, like Bakugou, everything that happened to Midoriya caused Midoriya’s intelligence to shape around that. Midoriya doesn’t have the connections that Bakugou had, he doesn’t have the same type of intelligence on its face. However, through imitation, Midoriya can get that kind of intelligence. He can get that thought-pattern. And that’s not easy to do. 

Midoriya has what I like to refer to as a compilation intelligence. He’s smart but he doesn’t know the book-talk. Everything that Midoriya does is out of an imitation of someone else (typically Bakugou or All Might). 

He uses his intelligence as a means to an end, he has a lot of emotional intelligence (likely the main thing that Inko gave him unknowingly) but not a lot of “practical” intelligence. This is kinda what makes him a disaster. 

For those that don’t recognize, this is the U.A. Sports Festival’s end of the first challenge. The end of the obstacle race where Midoriya straps himself to a piece of scrap metal he picked up after the robots were destroyed and kept with him, he uses the piece to propel himself off of a bomb to get ahead of Bakugou and Todoroki (and to win first place.) 

This is by far the best example of Midoriya’s intelligence and how it shines. It’s a disaster. It’s messy. It shouldn’t work. It’s crazy. If we were not aware who Midoriya was, he’d look outright like a madman. 

Re-read what I said: he strapped himself to a piece of metal and then set off a bunch of bombs beneath him to travel a few dozen meters. 

That’s mad! Entirely outta nowhere, beyond rationality. I get that Horikoshi goes a bit wishywashy on physics but this is flat out crazy. 

But it’s a great display of Midoriya’s intelligence. He prepares, he keeps things that might be useful later on (there was no way to know what laid ahead but he just picked up a big, heavy piece of metal for the hell of it.) This is learned from what wasn’t given to him and what was. The Midoriya’s were clearly not well-off, they were stable but they weren’t rich. Anyone that’s lived paycheck-to-paycheck kinda knows that there is a sense of “gotta hang onto that” that comes with it, this makes the most out of Midoriya’s resourcefulness as a person. 

He is shown repeatedly hanging onto things and doing things he didn’t need to do just because he thought he might need them later. The idea of foresight is like an after thought to Midoriya. Everyone else is focusing on the current challenge and Midoriya is already three stages ahead and aware that he’s running in blind but he’s gonna grab a slab of metal because it might be handy. 

This foresight is amazing to his intelligence, it allows him to one-up nearly everyone time and time again. He predicts others movements by putting foresight and a high amount of empathy and personality analysis (the notebooks) together. He predicts Mirio’s movements before anyone else is even aware what Mirio was even doing. Midoriya nearly landed a punch on the liquid man. 

Midoriya’s intelligence is messy, it isn’t refined in the slightest. His ability to foresee obstacle and prepare is what keeps saving him. The ability to empathize with others and become apt to anyone (adjusting from the best people in the world to the worst in a few seconds isn’t easy) keeps saving him. It is the saving grace of his intelligence and it will continue to be. 

It’s his strong suit. OFA didn’t give any of this to him, Midoriya would have had all of this without OFA. 

Midoriya’s intelligence revolves around people. It revolves around the long-term use of things rather than an immediate and situational intelligence. However, this can often lead to disaster in the moment and can be dangerous because he isn’t paying attention to said moment. He adjusts very quickly to people and is able to hand out a lot of advice. This isn’t so easy and it requires a lot of fine-tuning that Midoriya isn’t very aware of.

It’s a slow intelligence, it stains very, very slowly but it’s much harder to wash out. You don’t notice it creeping up until you sit back and you’re like “holy shit, he just used a slab of metal and some tiny land mines stacked together to propel himself up and over the competition.” This intelligence is highly useful in what Midoriya is going into but it’s also very dangerous and messy. The show does a good job of showing just how messy it can be and convincing the reader that Midoriya isn’t partly crazy for using his intelligence as he does (though, a lot of smart people can seem kinda crazy if you don’t take them as a whole.) 

Midoriya is great, he’s brilliant, truly. I don’t have the best grip of his intelligence but this is my understanding of where it comes from and how it works. It works by the idea of “What will be next” and he is often caught thinking “what’s going to happen next”. It plays into his empathy well and I think it’s pretty well done. It will continue to be refined again and again to shape to the mold he needs it to be. I don’t think he’ll ever lose the “slightly crazy” aspect of his intelligence (the guy is willing to break his own bones, he doesn’t have a huge sense of self-preservation) so he’ll always be a little out there and his intelligence will sneak up on people. Which can be good! Villains will underestimate him 

[redvelvetreel]

Red Velvet Reel 6.5: Cele-BRAT-ion!

                 [Fic Directory]

Pairing: [Married] Spicyhoney (Underfell Papyrus x Underswap Papyrus)

Summary: WELL THEN. Now that they’ve got Swapfell squared away, time to get Undertale to toe the line.

Characters: Edge (Underfell Papyrus) & Stretch (Underswap Papyrus) & Red (Underfell Sans) & Blue (Underswap Sans) & Classic (Undertale Papyrus) & Comic (Undertale Sans)

Contains: Mpreg/Skelepreg! Meeting up in a (sports) bar! Everyone talks a lot and never shuts up! (More) Stupid Fellverse posturing and antagonism! Lots of headcanons! Culture clash! 

Rating: Teen and up! (I guess?)

Note:  1 more part left for this installment! <3 Thanks so much for sticking through this with me!! ;w;

Underswap Papyrus – Stretch         Underswap Sans –  Blue Underfell Paprus – Edge                     Underfell Sans – Red Undertale Papyrus – Classic              Undertale Sans – Comic

“No.”

Edge abruptly returned to the table, gesturing over his shoulder incredulously as he stared at Red.

“Huevón!” Red slammed his fist into the table, smiling broadly. Everyone jumped, but there was a note of admiration in his voice, “Whatta bitch! Hate that guy! The fuck! Congrat-fuckin’-lations!”

“What does that mean?” Edge hummed in absentminded agreement, drumming his fingers on his crossed arms restlessly, “Así no más? They let it drop, and we win?” He didn’t wait for Red to answer, shifting with nervous energy. “Ugh, we’re so out of practice, and they’re so weird about it!”

“Rrrelax, Ñaño.” Red shrugged nonchalantly, an easy smile on his face, “Do what we do. Wait ‘n see ‘n fuck ‘em up if necessitated, yeah?”

“Yeah...” Edge didn’t look convinced, but he sighed as Stretch put an arm around his shoulders. His mouth quickly quirked into a smile as he put his arm around his husband’s waist, sounding pleased, “You were fantastic! Truly a ‘charm’ offensive!”

“BOSSASS, Stretch!” Red’s smile stretched even wider as he banged his hands down again, pointing at him approvingly. “Ya healed Pup! Goddamn! Then tell lil’ bastard to fuck off with a hug!”

“Black didn’t know what to make of that!” Edge sounded gleeful, a mischievous sparkle in his socket as he turned to Red with a smirk. He kept his arm around Stretch’s waist in an unusually public display of prolonged affection, so he must have been really impressed. “I thought he was actually going to accept out of spite!”

“Hell yeah!” Red gestured that his mind was blown, “Lil’ bastard ain’t know who he’s fuckin’ with! Stretch’s rock solid!“

Edge scoffed, “He’s soft by choice, not lack of ability- as I’ve told you hundreds of times!”

“Whatever,” Red drawled, resting his chin and looking bored, “Yer biased as fuck. Damn! Now I wanna fuck somethin’ up! Ya any good to rumble, Stretch?”

“Of course he is!” Edge looked insulted, “You think I would marry someone who wasn’t?!”

“Ah, yes,” Classic leaned back and played with the straw in his drink absently, “You two like to talk about not so good things like they are very good things, even though they absolutely are not.”

“I’m not taking any shit from you!” Edge’s demeanor snapped into something more hostile as he turned towards Classic, pulling away to point at him dramatically. “What the fuck were you thinking?! You tryin’ to get me dusted?!”

Classic’s eyes bulged out of his sockets, spitting out the mouthful of his drink on the table, “Hah?!”

Red pointedly leaned over, holding a napkin daintily as he dabbed at the spot. He cleared his throat, pitching his voice higher in obvious imitation of Classic, “Let me just-“

Blue jabbed him in the ribs hard enough Red hit the table with a bang, “Knock it off, asshole! Haven’t you had your fill of violence and arguments yet?!”

“Nope!” He answered petulantly, throwing the napkin in Blue’s face. “And you hush up, backstabber!”

“Me?!”

“Yeah!” Red gestured at the door with palpable frustration, “Ya cain’t speak ‘gainst me till after they gone! Ya tryin’ to get me killed? Yer bro’s hubby?! Yer own goddamn fuckin’ sobrino?!”

Blue blanched.

“No?!” Red sneered, turning away with disgust, “Then shut up ‘n listen fer once in yer fuckin’ life!”

“I-“ Classic gestured at himself helplessly, “I don’t understand what you’re talking about?!”

“I just told you!” Edge let out an angry huff, crossing his arms over his chest, “It’s a Fellverse thing! Magic is everything to Fell! If I can’t use my magic, I’m weak! If I’m weak, I can’t protect nothing I got!”

“Yeah!” Red crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring his brother with a sour expression, “Then everythin’s up fer swipin’, includin’ Honey ‘n the brat! S’when whose backin’ ya up gotta look real dread! If y’ain’t look united, then y’ain’t shit! So they don’t got not reason to hold back, ya dig?”

Classic looked almost queasy, “Black and Slim would never-“

“I don’t fuck with chance!” Edge slammed his fist into the table, looking angry, “I don’t know where they stand or what they want, so I had to make myself clear! My...” Edge glanced at Stretch, drawing a line with his finger.

“Line in the sand.” Stretch did not want to be drawn into this at all. He sat down and slid over to his old spot as unobtrusively as possible.

“Of course, now you’re helpful!” Edge still complained loudly, shaking his head. He was mostly talking to Classic, but made sure to look at Blue too, “At least wait until mi hijuepu enemies are gone before you are questioning me! And! Por el amor del Ángel, don’t ever ask me to apologize! Carever-“

“Ojo!” Red’s voice took on an oddly stern tone, “Ain’t no need t’be nasty. If they ain’t gonna help, they gonna sit pretty ‘n stay outta it, right?”

The Fell monster didn’t look the least bit abashed at all the incredulous looks. Which was maybe to be expected, but was still incredibly surreal. Red scolding anyone, let alone Edge, about their language?

“Yeah?” Red prompted again, moving his hand in impatient circles. “Baby Blue?”

“Ok.” Blue nodded quickly, still not quite able to meet Edge’s eyelights, “I won’t get involved. ...Sorry.”

Stretch didn’t like this- he wasn’t sure what Edge and Red were trying to prove against Classic and Blue, of all people, but he knew he couldn’t say anything. Even if it seemed excessive, Edge was acting out of a sense of paternal duty and insecurity. Especially after those impassioned lectures of being publicly supportive, he wasn’t sure what he should do...

“Class-“ Red started to say, only to be cut off by a sound that was equal parts distressed and irritated.

“I don’t want to answer!” Classic shook his head, a stubborn set to his unsure smile, “I can’t give you my blanket approval- because I do not approve! And I cannot condone the use of such forceful methods!” He sighed heavily, looking tired, “You could have handled things with Slim much, much better, Edge! You didn’t need to escalate it to violence- and just because Stretch healed him doesn’t mean it didn’t happen! I think if you just-“

“Papyrus,” Edge leaned on his hands, an undertone of frustration to every punctuated word, “I’m not asking for your permission- I’m going to do whatever I feel is necessary to keep my baby safe.”

Comic cracked one socket open, but didn’t entirely drop his pretense of sleeping, “Don’t you think you’re worried about the wrong guy?”

The Fell monsters exchanged a look. “Nah, ‘cause the Lil’ Tyrant gave in, ‘n so they gave us an out.” Red put his face in his hands, worrying at his sockets restlessly, “They’re ‘duty bound’ to be ‘not enemies.’ Honor ain’t mean nuthin’ back home, but them Swapfell’s’re different ‘bout that shit. Sides, Puppydog ‘n us got history.”

“Oh?” Comic closed his socket with a nonchalant shrug, “Guess honor’s not for chumps, and his goody-two shoes act is believable.”

Equal parts impressed and annoyed, Red’s grin was razor sharp, “Point is, esfinge, that we know Fell, ‘n we know what they’re gonna do. The real concern’s both of yas.” He pointed at both of them with the same hand, “When shit hits, what’cha gonna do?”

Edge crossed his arms over his chest, eyelight bright and focused, “I just need to know if I need to protect Pancake from you.”

Classic put his head down into his hands, muffling what sounded like a frustrated scream. Which, fair enough- Stretch has no idea how he would handle being on the receiving end of this. Just as quickly, Classic was sitting up again, looking like he had just come up with a brilliant idea.

“How about a compromise?” He asked brightly, “I know you know that I would never, ever purposely hurt your babybones! And I absolutely would never ever want to inadvertently cause them harm!”

He crossed his arms, looking torn, “But I can’t just sit here while you maim, humiliate, or otherwise fight with someone just because they make you nervous! That’s a terrible way to handle feelings of anxiety, and will undoubtedly lead to more problems than it solves! So, let’s just not!”

Edge tilted his head, looking cautiously curious, “Not what?”

“Not stay! Let’s just leave! You can tell me you don’t feel safe, and I will escort you out to make sure no one lays a hand on you or Pancake!” Classic held up a hand at the dubious expressions he was receiving, literally waving concerns off, “Let me finish! That way, you can stay physically safe and feel safe, too! And it will still give you the ability to rectify bad behavior- if these people won’t respect your wishes, then they are probably people you don’t want around Pancake right now anyway.”

Classic puffed out his chest with a broad smile, “If it makes you feel better, I can also guarantee I will do my best to find a solution while you are not there! You see, I am very good at conflict mediation, and very stubborn! And Sans is very good at getting out of situations he doesn’t want to be in, so he can guarantee a quick retreat!”

“So...” Edge’s expression soured, “You want me to flee-“

“He wants to be your bodyguard.” Stretch cleared his throat, still not sure if he should comment, but it seemed innocuous enough. “Hustle you out of danger until the coast is clear.”

That changed their attitude. Edge finally sat down next to his husband, arms still right over his chest as he looked at Red. “Bodyguard.”

“Maybe.” Red drummed his fingers on the table, “Switch it. Y’ain’t gotta get your claws dirty, good, ‘n he’s pretty reliable. ‘N tall...”

“I am all of those things!” Classic agreed with a proud toss of his head.

“It would never work with Fell.” Edge started cracking his knuckles, looking down at the tabletop, “They wouldn’t-“

“Ain’t no Fell!” Red whistled loudly to get get his brother’s attention, “Puppydog ‘n Lil’tyrant ain’t no challenge no more, d’fuck else ya worryin’ ‘bout, huh? Ghosts?”

For whatever reason, Edge flinched at that. Hard.

“Edge.” Classic’s voice was gentle. “I won’t let you down.” He slipped off his mitten, holding his pinkie out with an unusually solemn expression, “I promise I won’t let Pancake get hurt under my watch.”

The Fell monster sighed, long and weary, but hooked his own pinkie back, “I’ll let you try. If I need to get involved afterwards, I will- but fine. I’ll let you try first.”

When he made a move to pull back, Classic kept his hand in place. “Sans!” He hissed to his side, jostling his brother with his elbow, “You too.”

Comic took his sweet time sitting up and reaching over to hook his own finger around Edge’s finger. “I’ll back Pap up, and getcha out. If I need to.” He said simply, expression carefully neutral. Well, that was about what Stretch expected- Red didn’t look surprised either.

Comic pulled back a moment later, resettling himself on the cushions with a sigh, “But you should know who your friends are by now.”

“Yes, fine, friends-“ Edge tried to shrug the comment off, but it clearly bothered him enough he felt the need to justify himself. “But I can’t take the same risks as if it were just me.” He managed to keep himself from touching his scarred socket, but he picked at the scars on his knuckles absently, “Friends can still hurt you, even if they don’t mean to- sometimes they’re even worse than enemies. If I’m wrong-“

“Yeah, well-“ Stretch cut in with a cough, putting a discreet arm around his husband’s waist, “We do what we gotta do to protect ourselves and the people we love, right?” Edge didn’t give him much of a reaction, but didn’t resist as he was tugged a little closer.

“We never actually toasted Pancake yet, did we?” Blue was unusually hesitant, still chastened from earlier, but clearly desperate for a topic change. “We should!”

“Yes!” Classic clapped his hands, looking absolutely delighted, “A toast for the baby! And, because I know how much Edge values action over words-“ He opened up his STAT menu, withdrawing 200 g from his gold pouch. “I will fund it!”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah-“ Red perked up immediately, moving his mug to his new spot with magic, “Gonna get chumado as fuuuuck-“ He poured the remainder of Black’s drink in his mug, and moved Slim’s glass closer.

Classic put the gold on the table with obvious flourish, pushing it in their direction, “A gift from us- mostly me, but this is technically everyone else’s money, too- to you... all! Happy impending babybone’s birthday!”

“I-“ Edge looked surprised for a moment, touched and guilty and confused rolled into a too open expression, before he buried it down with a devious smirk. “How very generous!”

He curled his hands under his chin like a cartoon villain, tone innocent in a way that could only be deceptive, “I can only wonder how you’ll top this at Pancake’s shower party! I’m looking forward to see what kind of unique and lavish gift you’ll bring, ‘Uncle Classic.’”

“Uncle?!” Classic’s expression lit up, eyes becoming large hearts as he gasped dramatically. “I get to be Uncle Classic?!”

“If you want,” Stretch barely managed to suppress a relieved sigh, glad everything seemed to be much less tense, “Unless you wanna be called something else?” He glanced at Blue and Red, but neither seemed to be particularly bothered by sharing that title. “We were thinking ‘Sir’ might be fun too, like a knight or something-“

“Wowie, Sir Papyrus!” Classic’s eyelights positively sparkled, “I’ve always dreamed of being a knight!” He shook himself free of the sparkles- literally, although Comic didn’t seem to mind having some on the top of his head- before continuing earnestly, “Of course! I cannot let Pancake down! I will get them the absolute best present of them all!

“Because! I am great at a good many things, especially creating artificially high standards that are difficult to reach! By everyone, sometimes including even me!” Classic smiled broadly before his face became incredibly blank, “What event is this? A baby what?”

“A baby shower! It’s a human tradition!” Blue perked up and launched into a long, detailed explanation Stretch started to tune out immediately. This was more of what he had been hoping for the entire evening, honestly- he was relieved everyone finally seemed to be getting along again and having a good time.

Well, almost everyone. Edge always had a tendency to lay his acting on a little too thick when he was preoccupied, and there was stiff tension to his spine. Stretch would be looking into that at the end of the night. (Early tomorrow morning?)

For now, though, he was content to enjoy warm conversation with good company and this delicious honey mead.

[Part 1 ] [Part 2 ] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5 - Here! ] [Part 6]

[sunbrights]

fic: somewhere surely lived (7/14)

fandom: danganronpa characters/pairings: fuyuhiko & peko as main POV characters + a "relationship of the day" character + some side characters. kuzupeko + 6 secondary ships. rating: e (not all chapters have smut, but a fair number of them do) summary: Hope's Peak is not just a dating program; it's a guarantee. With the right compatible partner, the benefits are endless: boosted life expectancy, improved self-esteem, increased productivity, new opportunities, better overall work and life satisfaction. For society's elite, Hope's Peak makes finding that partner straightforward, if not easy.

It provides an Ultimate Match-- provided the participants are willing to go through its paces.

(AU based on the Black Mirror episode, "Hang the DJ.")

read on AO3

He’s late. He knows that even before he gets dumped off at the central hub. His device had beeped at him in the middle of the afternoon and he ignored it, kept ignoring it, until a preset alarm kicked in half an hour before and wouldn’t shut off until he manually dismissed it.

He’s not going to stand someone up. He’s not that kind of guy. It’s just exhausting, the idea of it, having to go back to that same fucking booth and talk about the same fucking shit and go through the same fucking motions until it’s over. A day, a week, a month, a year— it ends the same, no matter what.

So, he’s late.

She’s already at the table waiting. She hasn’t ordered her food, or touched her wine glass. She’s sitting there at an empty table with her hands in her lap, and the twist of shame in his stomach speeds his feet up.

She looks up at him when he gets there, and it’s only then, that close and at that angle, that the recognition hits him. She has high cheekbones, pale hair, and bright, focused eyes. The dim lighting of the restaurant softens out the harshness of her face a little, or maybe that’s just because he knows better now.

The careful neutrality in her expression opens up into surprise.

“Oh,” she says. “Hello.”

“Hi.” He puts his hand on the back of the booth. “... I know you, don’t I?”

“Yes,” she answers. “We met at Ruruka and Sounosuke’s pairing day, a few months ago. You might not remember, but—”

“Oh, no,” he says, “I remember.” He slices the air with his index finger. Color rises in her cheeks. It brings out her eyes.

“I didn’t get your name, before,” she says. “I wanted to thank you. For…”

“Fuyuhiko,” he tells her. “And don’t mention it.”

She smiles, that little curve that’s almost not a smile. “Peko,” she answers.

His stomach is doing something stupid. He told himself he wouldn’t let himself get dragged down this early in the game.

She holds her hand out. “... Would you like to sit?”

Right. “Right.” He unbuttons the front of his jacket and slides into the booth. “Sorry. Made you wait this whole time and now I’m just standing around like an asshole.”

“It’s alright,” she says. She turns in her seat, opens up her purse, and then she has her device in her palm, held out over the table. She looks back at him expectantly.

Right.

He fishes in his jacket for his, and thumbs through the options: Main, Info, Expiration. It’s just a button. If they both tap their screens at the same time, the system will tell them how long they have.

He looks up at her. She must already be on the right screen, because she’s watching him, one finger poised over her device. She’s still smiling that little not-smile. He tries to put ‘thirty-six hours’ to her face, and his stomach sinks. He tries ‘eight months,’ and feels sick.

Technically, checking the date is a choice. The system doesn’t force it. It’s just that everyone does check. Why would you not want to know if you were about to waste your time?

Impulse grabs him. “What if we didn’t?” he asks.

She frowns. “Didn’t?”

“Didn’t check it. Didn’t know.”

She looks down at her screen. Her finger curls back around the edge of the device.

“Just— Listen, hear me out,” he says. “What’s the point of knowing, anyway? No matter how long it is, you still just end up waiting for it to be over. You’re setting yourself up, every single fucking time.”

“I suppose,” she says dubiously.

“How about this,” he says, “if either of us ever decides we do want to know, we look. No questions asked. But to start out…” He shakes his jacket back open, puts the device away, and shows her his empty hands. “You and me. That’s it.”

Something about that gets her attention. She looks up at him, contemplative.

“If you decide right now you want to know, we’ll look,” he tells her. “But… how about it?”

She sets the device aside on the table. “Yes,” she says, and her eyes are warm. “Alright.”

He finds himself smiling, too. “Great.”

*

The house has a full kitchen.

It’s a stupid thing to be relieved about, after he just got done trying to make an argument for not checking the expiration, but it at least means they made it past the thirty-six hour mark and the two week mark. He’s okay with that.

(She runs her hand over the wide granite island, and lingers there. Maybe she's relieved, too.)

“You can have the bed,” he calls back to her, when he goes for the extra blanket in the bedroom. It's in the same style, in the same place, like always. “I’ll sleep on the couch for now.”

She looks at him from across the kitchen. She says, “... Why?” like he’s just suggested the dumbest thing she's ever heard.

“Because,” he says. “I’m not gonna force you to share the bed with me on the first night.”

“You wouldn’t be,” she answers. “It’s fine. There’s no reason for you to be uncomfortable when there’s room enough for both of us.”

“It’s not about that!” His ears are hot. He glares at the wall. “It’s- It’s the principle of the thing.”

She stares at him. She steps around the counter, past him, up into the bedroom. He thinks maybe she’s decided to let it go, except then she tears the second, full blanket right off the mattress.

“Hey!” He twists in place, when she stalks past him again. “What the hell?”

The couch is sectional. She’s able to split it into two roughly-equal pieces; either one is technically long enough for him to sleep on without breaking his knees, but neither is even close to long enough for her, which is why it makes no fucking sense when she bundles herself down onto one.

“Are you serious right now?”

She stares back at him, resolute. She’s not the shrinking, unsure girl from the pairing day.

“You know what?” He flings his blanket on the opposite couch. “Fine. You’re on.”

1 DAY

When he wakes up, she’s still asleep. She barely fits on the couch, even with all the pillows thrown off, but she’s still perfectly peaceful. A loose lock of hair curls over her cheek, and flutters with each slow, even breath.

Meanwhile, his back hurts like hell. It’s somehow worse than the last time, like it got used to him sleeping in a real bed for eight months and is lashing out at him now for switching back to couches.

He keeps doing it. He’s not gonna be the one who cracks first.

3 WEEKS

They get invited to a pairing day.

He doesn’t want to go. It’s irrational and stupid, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to go, and he’s fine with that— until he tells Peko he doesn’t want to go, and her expression briefly crumbles into something crestfallen.

“Of course,” she says, “I understand,” and just like that she’s bounced back up into neutrality, like the downswing never happened. It annoys him in a familiar, prickling way.

“Do you want to go?” he asks her. “I didn’t think you liked them, either.”

“They can be tiring,” she agrees. “Especially when they last the entire day. It’s alright. I understand.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says.

“I don’t want to go if it will make you uncomfortable.”

“Dammit, Peko, that’s not what I asked.”

For a second she looks so pained that he thinks he may have pushed too hard. She’s not Rantarou. Her walls aren’t the same.

“I... think they can be enjoyable,” she admits. “Under the right circumstances, and…” She looks down at her hands. “... with the right person.”

Shit.

She isn’t even wrong. The last pairing day hadn’t been all bad. The food had been good. For a few minutes, the company had been good.

“Alright,” he says. “Okay.”

“Please,” she says, “don’t feel like you need to—”

“But,” he says over her, “if it sucks, we’re leaving early. Deal?”

He sticks his hand out between them. She almost smiles, and clasps it back. “Yes.”

*

It’s not bad. The party itself is a classy affair. It’s held on the patio of some hollowed-out mansion down by the river, with colorful fairy lights strung up around the railings. They dress to match, both in black: him with a subtle gray pinstripe and her with sheer silk ruffles on her sleeves.

It starts in the early evening and goes on into the night. It’s warm, but not sticky; the river keeps tossing rolling breezes their way, enough to always keep things on the edge of comfortable. Summer stars spill out into the sky over the water. There’s drinks, food, music. It’s romantic. As far as fancy dates go, it’s solid.

The only problem is, he can’t seem to keep himself from spending the whole night neck-deep in his own ass.

She’s got more patience than he deserves. She puts up with him the whole time, all his comments and little scoffs and sour mood. She tries to bring him back up. She stays at his elbow, talks with him, keeps the two of them away from the cloying chatter of the main crowd.

She tries the whole night, and it falls apart anyway. Not because of her. Because of him: how he blows up over nothing, how he shouts loud enough for people to turn to look at them, and how he stalks off like a child, shoving his way through the crowd of guests.

She saw someone she recognized. She’d wanted to say hello. That’s it. That’s all.

He hops the railing of the patio to get closer to the riverbank. It’s the only part of the yard that’s mostly devoid of people, and it’s where all the fresh air is coming in. He needs the fucking air.

She finds him, even though she’d have every right to leave his sorry ass behind. She hops the railing, too, effortlessly, even in a little dress like that, and sits down on the bank. Not beside him, but close enough, a few feet away.

She doesn't say anything. She wraps her arms around her legs and watches the water.

The speakers dim. There’s a stretch of long minutes where there’s no music at all, just the gurgling of the river and a few buzzing crickets. There's no one else out here. Back at the house, someone has picked up a microphone, and the rest of the party has crowded together for the grand finale.

Peko is here, with him.

“I left early, the last time,” he says. He can’t look at her, but he sees her turn her head in his periphery. “Right after the ceremony, like you said. That’s why you couldn’t find me after.”

“I see,” she says, carefully. She’s confused. Who could fucking blame her?

“My last relationship got all fucked up at that pairing day,” he says. “I’m not- I’m not making an excuse. I’ve been an asshole tonight. I know that. I just— It’s not fair to you, when it’s my shit I’m all hung up on. So… I’m sorry.” He folds his arms over his knees. “That’s it.”

She’s quiet. She’s watching him. “It’s alright,” she decides, and that’s the only way he can think to describe it. A decision: hers, not his.

“Yeah?” he demands anyway, because apparently he can’t fucking stop even after he’s just gotten done apologizing. “How do you figure?”

“You need time,” she says. “The system doesn’t account for recovery. It can take a toll.” She stretches her legs out in the grass. “I understand.”

Whoever it is finishes giving their speech. The house erupts into cheers and applause.

“This could be over tomorrow,” he tells her.

“It could,” she agrees.

“And you’re okay with that? Letting me fuck around for however long trying to get my shit together, while you’re stuck wasting your time?”

“I don’t see it as a waste,” she answers, and it’s soft, but her eyes are steady.

There’s a commotion up on the patio. The crowd is starting to spill out toward the steps. “They’re leaving,” Peko says, rising to her feet. She dusts off the end of her skirt. “Would you like to see them off?”

“I don’t even know their fuckin’ names,” he says, “do you?”

“Chisa and Kyousuke,” she answers, without missing a beat. He looks up at her, and her smile is embarrassed. “... It’s written on most of the decorations.”

“I hate these fucking things.”

She holds her hand out to him. “If you prefer,” she says in that same careful, noncommittal way, “we could leave instead.”

He lets her pull him to his feet.

5 WEEKS

They keep sleeping on the separate couches. She rolls off of hers every morning like it’s nothing; she does a few stretches, laces up her shoes, and is on her way out the door, all before he’s even managed to get his spine in the right alignment.

“Fuck,” he groans into the pillow, “how do you do that?”

She twists her hair into a high ponytail at the top of her head. “There’s room in the bed, I believe,” she says, “if you’d be more comfortable there.”

He bows over the edge of the couch, and hangs his head down to stretch out the line of his vertebrae. “Fuck off,” he mutters into his knees.

She hovers. “I could show you a stretch,” she says. “It may help.”

He’s fine. He doesn’t need it.

But she offered, so he lets her.

*

They figure out how to get the system to let them order ingredients, instead of just more of the pre-made meals. He doesn’t think it’s possible, but she insists and keeps insisting until she manages to hit on the right voice command.

They go the full gambit: meat and fish and grains and vegetables. They fill up the kitchen. They order for weeks in advance, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s reckless, potentially pointless, and for once, in the moment, he doesn’t even think about it.

She orders a parade of different cheeses for a casserole recipe she loves, which is how she finds out he’s lactose intolerant. He orders a bottle of a sweet, fruity Merlot, which is how he finds out that she doesn’t like sweetness much.

She does try it, though. She manages three or four sips before her mouth puckers and her nose scrunches, a pinch of delicate disgust. It’s an expression he hasn’t seen on her before. She wears the negative ones even less often than the positive ones.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “Message heard loud and clear. I’ll get something drier next time.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, but she’s smiling when she leans over to put her glass down next to his on the countertop. They’re standing close enough that her sleeve brushes his elbow. The wine has left a faint red stain on her bottom lip.

She’d taste like the sweet plum of the Merlot, if he kissed her.

She doesn’t like sweetness, she said, but he does. He could sweep the flavor out of her mouth for her. All it would take is for him to shift his weight forward, part his lips, catch her open mouth, and—

“What is it?” she asks.

He clears his throat. He steps back from the counter. “You got ideas for dinner?” he says. “I’m gonna warn you right now, I’m a shitty fucking cook.”

2 MONTHS

He doesn’t need any more time.

If he knew they had a day left, or a week left, he wouldn’t waste it. He’d kiss her right now, tumble her down into their unused bed, and use every goddamn second to make up the difference for the mess he’s made her sit through.

He doesn’t want to do that, though.

He wants to take her somewhere special. He wants to have the date that pairing day was supposed to be, the two of them together under a smattering of summer starlight, maybe some dancing, maybe to a waltz on the piano. He wants to be able to wake up a month from now with his arm around her waist and take a few extra minutes of their morning, just because.

He decides on, “Let’s go somewhere,” over breakfast, when she’s still damp and shiny from her shower, pale hair turned dark over her shoulders.

She smiles at him. It still makes his stomach do something twisting and stupid.

*

It’s not fancy. There’s no starlight or piano waltz. They hike one of the shallow paths through the woods to see where the first licks of autumn are starting to turn the leaves orange and yellow. They have lunch on a couple of stumps. He asks to hold her hand on the way back, and she says yes.

When they get home, they sit together on the couch (his couch, he thinks, and it rings in his head the same way his bed might), and he opens a bottle of Bordeaux that she likes much better.

It’s an accident when it happens, maybe. They're sitting close enough that their knees are touching, talking about what other commands for the device Hope's Peak might be keeping on the down-low. She turns away to set her glass down on the coffee table.

Maybe he doesn’t need to have his head at that angle when he says her name. Maybe she doesn’t need to dip her chin like that when she turns back to him. But he does, and she does, and they catch there in the middle. It’s a brush, that’s all it is, but neither of them do anything to turn it into less than that.

He reaches for her with both hands. He frames her face, thumbs behind her ears and fingers tangled in her hair. She inhales just a little, sharply, and when he tugs, she sinks forward. She kisses him like that: no accidents, no pretense.

There’s not enough room for both of them on the couch, not like this; they slip and fumble trying to find a configuration that’s comfortable, and keep bumping hands and elbows. It’s fine. He doesn’t care. He loses traction once when his knee slides on the slippery fabric of her dress, and the smile that breaks against his mouth is more than worth it.

He pulls back enough to look down into her face. Her mouth is red. Her eyes are dark. His hand hovers at the high edge of her dress, where the skirt has slid up to the top of her thigh.

“Do you…” His whole mouth feels dry. He wets his lips, and it barely helps. “Tell me to fuck off if you want, but I was thinking… maybe…”

Behind him, his device chimes. It’s so loud it makes him jump, and she exhales a breathy laugh when he has to make a grab for the armrest behind her.

“No consent preference registered,” it chirps. “Fuyuhiko, do you consent to oral sex as the giving partner?”

Beyond the edge of the couch, he can see that her device has lit up, too, on the end table. They’re always tracking them, he realizes. Reading their intentions— and sharing that data, when it’s relevant.

Peko’s realized it, too. She’s gone scarlet— not just pink, fully red, right up to her hairline. She turns her face down against his shoulder, and the only benefit of that is that she can’t see his face, either.

“Shit,” he says into her hair, and it’s as much laughter as it is disbelief. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“The system requires that all participants submit their consent prior any sexual activity,” his device explains.

“Fuck, alright, yes, okay? Yes.”

It chimes again. “Thank you, Fuyuhiko.”

“I’m sorry,” she says in a small voice. “I didn’t realize—”

“Yeah,” he says. “Next time we gotta remember to do that part first.” She still won’t raise her head. He turns his lips against her temple so that she can feel him smiling. “What I was gonna say, was, uh… Y’know.” He slides his hands up her thighs, beneath her skirt, and hooks his thumbs into the elastic band of her underwear. “That. Basically.”

Her head snaps up from his shoulder. Her eyes are wide.

“I mean,” he hedges, “if that’s okay with you. It really only asked me, I guess, so—”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I- I… yes.”

He sinks to his knees in front of the couch. She lets him skim his hand back under her skirt to help her slide her panties down and off; they’re plain, black cotton, simple and practical. From this angle, he can see how every heavy breath rolls from her belly through her chest and out her throat.

She’s flushed and beautiful.

Her device chimes. “No consent preference registered. Peko, do you consent to oral sex as the receiving partner?”

She draws both hands up the inside of her thighs, and lets the hem of her dress catch on her fingers. She murmurs, “Yes,” with her eyes on him, lidded and intense, and it makes him feel like his hair is standing on end.

“Thank you, Peko.”

He leans in.

The angle’s bad, at first. The couch cushions are soft and deep; that’s fine for when he’s trying to sleep, but not so much when she keeps sinking back too far for him to keep pressure where she needs it. Her hand flutters on his shoulder, clenching and releasing. He’s getting a crick in his neck.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and then, “Hey,” again, until her eyes flutter open. “Try- Try scooting up a little.” He spreads his palms wide on the outsides of her thighs. “Closer to the edge, so I can…”

She bites her lip. She’s flushed down to her chest. “But...”

“It’s okay,” he tells her. He scoops his arms around the small of her back in a clumsy hug, the most he can think to do. “I got you, alright? Last thing either of us want is for you to fall on your ass, I swear.”

She nods, unsteady. She lets him draw her down to the edge, and lets him lift her knees over his shoulders. It leaves her sprawled on the couch cushions, dress hiked up around her waist, with her hips pressed close and spread open.

He brushes his lips against her, not even a kiss, and she inhales, sharp and quick.

“Oh.” She pulls his collar hard against the back of his neck. “That’s… That’s better.”

He laughs against her, so that the sound vibrates on her skin, and her breath stumbles back out. “Yeah?”

Her hands scrabble for purchase against the back of his head. She’s trying not to press down, and doing a bad job of it. “Yes,” she whispers. “Go- Go, please.”

She’s dead fucking silent, the entire time. She lies there with her head tipped back against the cushions, her throat bobbing with every swallowed sound, and he thinks he’s fucking it up, at first. He starts to pull back, means to ask her what he’s doing wrong and what he could do better, when her fingers twist around his ears to keep him in place, hard enough to hurt.

He switches gears. He turns off the part of his brain that focuses on sound, and focuses instead on the things that make her knees tremble around his ears, or her nails rake back across his scalp. He figures out where her line is, learns to feel when she’s right up on that edge but not letting herself past it.

“Come on,” he growls against her. He sits up on his knees, and smooths his thumbs into the grooves of her hips. “I got you. Come on.”

She shudders. She spills over. She gasps, “Fuyuhiko,” at the ceiling, and it hits him like a stone, right in the gut.

He carries her through it. He tries to. Maybe the best he does for her is make sure she actually doesn’t fall on her ass. He has to come up for air as much as she does when it’s done, when she’s looking at him like that, lips parted and eyes dark, with the fingers of one hand curled around his ear.

“Fuck, I wanna kiss you,” he manages. “Can I kiss you?”

She surges forward, and grabs him by the face with both hands. She kisses him, full-on and messy, even though his mouth must still taste bitter and slick. She wraps her arms around him and drags on his shoulders until he gets the memo to come up off his knees.

He holds himself over her, both hands on the back of the couch. He has to brace one knee on the cushion between her legs to keep himself upright. “Shit,” he whispers against her mouth. “You’re incredible.”

Her lips move against his, too, only he can’t concentrate on what she’s saying because his blood is roaring in his ears and she just thumbed through the button on the front of his slacks. She fumbles with his belt, finds his zipper, and then she stops.

He’s dizzy. It’s a struggle to find her face, until he realizes it’s because she’s bent her head forward, against his chest.

“Wh-What?” he pants. “What’s wrong?”

She tilts her chin. He can see the flat edge of her smile. She’s trying not to laugh. “It wants to know… if…”

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Goddammit.” He rearranges his grip on the backrest, and clenches his eyes shut. “I consent, you stupid piece of shit.”

“Thank you, Fuyuhiko,” his device chirps behind him.

The momentum is broken. Her thumb at the top of his zipper feels more awkward now than promising. “Sorry,” he whispers, “I- I should’ve thought this out better. You don’t have to— I mean—”

She turns her face back up to him. Her fingers curl around his cheek. She presses gently, until he tilts his head in the direction she wants, and then her lips are on his again, softer this time, slower.

Her hands settle on his hips. Her thumbs hook in his waistband, tug until it slides down enough to give her room to work, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Peko,” he gasps against her mouth.

It doesn’t take much, even after all that. The warm curl of her fingers, the touch of her tongue to the roof of his mouth, a few quick twists of her wrist, and that’s it: he’s done. He tries to garble out a warning, but she just presses her free hand against the back of his head to hold him in place while it shudders through him.

They’re a wreck, the both of them, when it’s over: her with her hair a mess and her makeup smudged, hanging off the edge of the couch, and him half-draped on top of her, barely able to keep his balance.

He touches his forehead to hers. She traces the curve of his jaw with her thumb.

“Bed?” she asks.

He breathes in her smile. “Yeah,” he answers, “fuck this.”

*

It’s the best goddamn sleep he’s had in months.

When he wakes up, it’s abrupt, and dark, and cold. He doesn’t know much with his brain operating on empty like that, but he does know that his half of the bed is wider than it’s supposed to be. He reaches for her, paws out into the space, and finds the edge of the blanket again. He drags it back around his shoulders.

He just barely remembers to grumble, “Peko.”

“Go back to sleep,” she murmurs, and there, she’s there, close to his ear. He can’t keep his eyes open long enough to look at her.

“What the fuck,” he slurs into the pillow. “It’s nighttime.”

“It’s morning,” she corrects. “I shouldn’t miss my run.”

He swings his arm blindly sideways, and finds the curve of her shoulder. He grabs, and only gets her sleeve. “Don’t go.”

She presses a kiss to the side of his neck, just behind his ear. She’s smiling. “Go back to sleep.”

Somewhere along the line, he does.

10 WEEKS

“What do you think about tiny dogs?” he asks her. They’re on the couch together, sharing a blanket, his legs tented over her lap. “The yappy, strung-out looking ones?”

She traces the line of his shin with her thumb. She doesn’t want him to see it, but the corner of her mouth tugs sideways. “I think they’re nice,” she answers.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fuckin’ crazy,” he tells her. “They’d bite your fingers off as much as look at you.”

She doesn’t rise to his bait, and she doesn’t take back her answer. It’s her turn. “Are there any sports you like?”

“Baseball,” he answers. “Played it for a while. I’m better at watching it, though.”

“I see.”

“Right, so, if you—”

She squeezes his knee. “I get to ask again.”

“What?” he laughs. “No, you don’t. How come?”

“You asked two.”

“Bullshit I did! ‘Seriously?’ doesn’t count.”

She holds her ground. She lifts her chin at him, and she’s not smiling, but her eyes get narrower underneath like she is.

“Alright,” he says. He leans forward, his elbow on the back of the couch beside her head, and lets his knees fall flat into her lap. “Fine. What’s your second one?”

Her hand finds the side of his face. The tips of her fingers trace the edge of his ear, and it tickles, but he’s determined not to show her any weakness. He sighs, a long, slow exhale, and touches the tip of his tongue to his lips.

Her eyeline drops down.

“Peko,” he says, and it rises back up, painfully slow. He’s won, and she knows it. “What’s your second one?”

(He’s an idiot. He’s underestimated her, like he does every time.)

She curves her thumbnail along his hairline, dips her chin, and asks him in a murmur, “What would you like to do next?”

He loses, right then and there. No chance. He accepts the defeat gracefully, and rolls her over so that she's the one in his lap.

3 MONTHS

He wakes up with his arm around her waist.

They take a few extra minutes in their morning, just because.

15 WEEKS

“You’re not paired with her,” Natsumi tells him. “You know that, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that just because you dumbasses didn’t check the expiration, it doesn’t mean you don’t still have one.”

“Obviously,” he says. “I know that. We both know that.”

She stares at him over the lid of her smoothie. It gurgles as loudly as she can make it.

“Really?” she asks. “Because it kinda seems like you don’t.”

4 MONTHS

He counts the days up. Four months, almost exactly. They’ve overshot it by a few, and it turns out he likes that less than if they’d been a few days shy.

He’s done the math. His average is two months. Hers is five. They’re sitting pretty at almost exactly the point their expiration date should be creeping up on them.

He doesn’t say anything to her. It’d defeat the purpose. Just because he let Natsumi get under his skin again doesn’t mean that he should be making Peko anxious about it, too. What they have is working. Letting the system shove its nose between them adds nothing and takes away everything.

Still.

It’s too late for the summer stars, but the autumn ones are just as good. He takes her out by the river, down to the spot where the sprawling, rickety house they used for the pairing day is sitting empty. She lets her arm unwind from his and steps close to the water, her chin tipped up to the sky. Moonlight and starlight spill over her, and gleam silver in her hair.

He taps his device. The hidden speakers in the trees fade in: a slow piano waltz.

She looks up at the sound, and then down to him. He holds his hand out. “Dance with me?”

Her lips turn up into her not-quite smile. Color rises in her cheeks, and brings out her eyes. She reaches her hand out, too, and her fingers curl into his.

They spin lazily together, there on the riverbank, in the grass and soft soil. It isn’t even a real waltz; it’s way too slow and uncoordinated for that. But his arm fits around her waist, and she’s looking back at him with her eyes soft and open in a way they hardly ever are, and the rest of it doesn’t matter. None of it. The steps, the device, the system, the goddamn fucking wall.

The song slows down. So do they, swaying steps devolving into swaying shoulders.

He imagines that tomorrow is their last day. He imagines that this’ll be the last time he sees her like this, touched by silver moonlight like that, looking back at him with her eyes like that. He imagines her at a pairing day with someone else, beautiful in a light spring gown, with her name on all of the decorations, and he kisses her.

When he pulls back, her eyes are shining. She presses her knuckles into the corners of them. “Wait, wait.” He wraps his hands around the back of her neck, tugs her down until her forehead is pressed against his. “You— Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

She blinks the tears away. She shakes her head, just a little, just enough for him to feel it. “I love you, too,” she murmurs against his lips. “That’s all.”

22 WEEKS

He keeps counting. He can’t help himself. Once he knows the number, each morning is another increment. Each new total carves itself into the inside of his skull like tic marks on a prison wall.

*

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

They’re having breakfast, toast and coffee and sliced fruit. She has one hand on his knee below the table. They don’t have anything planned for the afternoon; she’d wanted a quiet day in, just the two of them, and so had he. He wants as many of those as he can get, from however many days there are left.

There are soft frown lines between her eyes, and he needs to be honest. It’s too late now not to be. “We've been together five months,” he tells her. “More than that. Hundred and fifty-seven days, tomorrow.”

She doesn't understand, at first. Her gaze goes soft, at first, like he’s told her good news, because it is. It should be. It’s something they should be proud of. A mark of what they’ve done, and what they could do.

It isn’t, though. Not where the system is concerned.

She sees it in his face, maybe, or maybe she just knows him well enough now that she understands the implication of his counting. She gets there. Her hand lifts off his knee.

“You want to check the expiration date,” she realizes.

His stomach twists. “No!” He leans forward, and his elbow jostles the edge of his plate. It sends cutlery to the table with a clatter. “No. Peko, no, that’s not it.”

She’s not listening. Her device is on the table, by her elbow, and it lights up under her touch. She swipes through the menus with quick, deliberate precision: Main, Info, Expiration.

“Peko—”

“We agreed,” she says. “As soon as one of us changes their mind, we look.”

He has this sudden, irrational panic that she’s going to look at it without him. He doesn’t even know if that’s possible, and he grabs her wrist anyway. “Stop it,” he says. “I didn’t change my mind, alright?”

“Will it make you feel better?” she asks him.

He hesitates.

“Then we should look,” she says, and holds her finger over the screen.

“You're not listening to me.”

“Please,” she says through grit teeth. Emotion still manages to tremble its way through. “Whatever time is left, I…” It trembles out into her fingers. She clutches the device to keep hold of it. “I don't want it to go to waste. So if doing this helps you, then…”

“This isn’t gonna fucking help!”

It’s louder than he means, sharper than he means. He seizes her hands with both of his, and shoves the face of the device down into the table. It makes a sound like splitting plastic, but he knows it won’t break.

“Maybe it would make me feel better,” he tells her, and forces his volume down. “Maybe. For a second. That’s not what this is about, okay?” He swallows. Breathes. “I don't want to know when it ends.” He can feel her trembling. He drags his thumb over the ridges of her knuckles. “I don't want it to end at all.”

Peko is looking down at their hands. She’s not crying. She’s wearing the same sort of carefully neutral look she had when he was late for dinner the very first night, lonely and quiet, slightly strained at the edges.

“The system makes mistakes,” he says, and now he's trembling, too. “99.8. That’s .2 percent of people who get fucked over. You wanna look at me and tell me this doesn’t feel like a mistake to you?”

She looks at him. She doesn’t say anything.

“Everything happens for a reason,” the device chirps, muffled between their fingers.

*

She kisses him every morning, before her run, while he’s still half-asleep. She brushes her lips wherever she can reach him, between the tangle of blankets: his cheek, his temple, his chin, his wrist.

He teaches himself to count those, instead.

6 MONTHS

He’s in the bedroom, fixing his tie in the mirror. She’s in the kitchen, packing their boxed lunch for later. It’s too cold for a picnic now, but the central hub has a cozy little lounge area with some fireplaces and worn-comfortable loveseats. They’re going to the aquarium first, then lunch, then a concert in the evening.

“Yo, Peko,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“When is this thing tonight again? I was thinking if we have some extra time, maybe—”

His device chimes on the vanity in front of him.

It's programmed with maybe four or five distinct sounds. They all get used for different things: notifications and alerts and acknowledgements. They overlap in a lot of places, by categories. There’s only one that’s unique. There’s only one he can recognize without trying to, or needing to, or wanting to.

He looks at it through the mirror, and the letters are backwards, but he knows. He knew before he looked.

END

He thinks: they didn’t even make it to thirty. She’s given him twenty-six sleepy, early-morning kisses since he started counting.

He barely even remembers the one from this morning. He tries. He grips the sharp edge of the vanity until his palms hurt, and tries to remember. She kissed him on the shoulder, he thinks, the outside curve of it. It’d been lazy, a brush. She’d been tired, too. She’d wanted to stay in bed with him, but she hadn’t.

He grabs the device. He turns on his heel, and stops in his tracks.

She’s already in the doorway. Her device hangs from her limp left hand, but it’s still lit up. He can still read the face of it.

END

“Peko—”

She talks over him. “I would like to say something.” Her voice is steel bent to its maximum; her face is a sheet of ice about to shatter.

“The relationship has ended,” their devices say in echoing unison. “Both participants must vacate their living quarters.”

“I want you to know that I have treasured every moment we spent together,” she says, rushed and clumsy. She struggles. It’s not like her at all. “And that I- I will always treasure them. It has been… unlike anything I’ve experienced in my life.”

“The relationship has ended. Both participants must vacate their living quarters.”

“I know that it’s selfish of me to ask. I know that this will pale in comparison to the connection you will have with the person you are matched with, when you meet them. But I… I hope, if you can, that you’ll remember this, too.” There are tears in her eyes, and she lets them spill over. “I hope that you’ll remember me, too.”

“No,” he rasps.

“Fuyuhiko—”

“How can you still not get it?” Emotion bubbles up his throat, and then his eyes are stinging, too. “How can you stand there and say that kind of shit to me? Like- Like I was going to forget anything. Like I ever could, like I’d ever want to?” He can’t stand it. She talks about herself like she’s a ghost, like she doesn’t matter, and she’s so goddamn frustrating. “I don’t want their fucking match, Peko!”

Her device lights up: a red, flashing ring around the face. He can see the reflection of it on her skin. He looks down, and his is blinking, too.

“Failure to vacate is considered a breach of system rules. Failure to comply with the system may result in banishment.”

He drops it. It hits the floor flat on its face and goes spinning into the wall. He crosses the space between them in two long steps, and reaches for her with both hands.

“I want you,” he tells her. “Only you.”

She sways into him. She lets out a breath, shaking and damp. Her free hand comes up to curl loosely around his wrist, and the other presses her device into her stomach, where the pretty lace of her blouse swallows up the warning light.

He sees it in her eyes. He swears he does. A spark, like possibility.

“Failure to vacate is considered a breach of system rules. Participants have three minutes to vacate, or security will be called.”

He watches her let it wink out.

She whispers, “Please.”

He lets go.

[willag42]

Yuri!!! On Ice Fanfic Recs with Reviews  ["W" Authors]

Note: Doing some major reformating of the YOI fanfic rec pages. The pages that include my reviews are now having the posts separated alphabetically by author (see below). I am also creating separate page(s) that allow filtering the fanfics by category. It's a work in progress, but I'm having fun with it.

This page includes my YOI fanfic recs (with reviews) for authors whose names begin with "W".

Note: For any authors whom I don't know the gender, I refer to them with they/them. If any authors wish to correct me, please do so.

AUTHORS REC PAGES: #0-9 -- A -- B -- C -- D -- E -- F -- G -- H -- I -- J -- K -- L -- M -- N -- O -- P -- Q -- R -- S -- T -- U -- V -- W -- X -- Y -- Z

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Refer to this masterlist for all of my YOI fanfic recs.

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whelvenwings (@whelvenwings)

You Set My Heart on Fire

Rating: Teen Words: 34.6k Status: Complete Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Tags: Alternate careers AU; Painters; Soulmates AU; Anxiety ❤❤❤❤❤  Summary: Everyone has a soulmate. And everyone sees any marks on their soulmate's skin appear on their own body; it starts with the first marks, drawn on by the midwife at birth. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a soulmate who replies, but Yuuri does, and he knows that he should feel fortunate - however, when he's trying to make a living as a small-time painter, and his soulmate is the famous artist, Viktor Nikiforov... well, it seems slightly less than fortunate. Yuuri can't help but feel self-conscious. So self-conscious, in fact, that he's never even shown Viktor his face, never let Viktor hear his voice. The only way that they've spoken is through ink, writing message after message to each other on their skin - but that's all about to change. ❤❤❤❤❤  Review: This soulmate fic takes place in an alternate universe where Yuuri and Viktor are painters. They have been communicating with each other since Yuuri's birth by writing to one another on their skin. Yuuri is an extremely anxious and very sensitive in this AU, nervous to let himself be known to many people, including Viktor. Eventually, at 24, he works up the nerve to call Viktor on the phone and soon gets wrangled into a painting competition with Yuri using Viktor's body as the canvas. This is a story about Yuuri slowly becoming more confident and bold in both his relationship with Viktor and with his art. A big setback occurs which results in Yuuri withdrawing from Viktor, but gradually they work their way back and further beyond. They learn to work with each other's opposing personalities to strengthen and improve themselves and their relationship. This is a delightful fic with a really sweet ending.

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witchbane (@witchsbane)

Kintsugi

Rating: Explicit Words: 114.1k Status: Work In Progress Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Tags: Mafia AU; Enemies to lovers; Angst; Slow burn ❤❤❤❤❤  Summary: Yuuri Katsuki is a hitman burdened with a debt he can never repay. His target: Viktor Nikiforov, next Pakhan to one of the most dangerous families in the Russian mafia. When the two are drawn into a treacherous alliance after a mission gone wrong, the bonds of love and loyalty to family and duty begin to unravel—even as they get more tangled up in each other. ❤❤❤❤❤  Review: I'm normally not much for mafia AUs. I don't enjoy stories with main characters that are genuinely despicable, assholish, or psychotic, and I like it even less when my favorite characters are changed and portrayed that way. What works with Kitsugi is witchbane's talented, careful handling of the characters, more broken and hardened from their experiences, but still likeable and similar to their canon counterparts. Yuuri is turned into an efficient and capable killer in order to pay off a debt, but he hates what he does, feeling guilty about several of his actions, but is determined to see it through because he desires to finally go back home to his family and earn his freedom. Victor is colder and more ruthless, but does so out of loyalty and care for Yakov and others in the mafia family, and he values loyalty in others. He's an asshole to Yuuri at first, being a for-hire hitman and outsider, but comes to genuinely care for him, respecting Yuuri's desire to not be forced into sex, worrying over him when he gets injured, and trusting him with secrets. They are slowly forging a loving bond in harsh, cruel conditions, and it will be interesting to see where the story goes from there considering how much Yuuri is hiding from Victor. The story is realistic, gritty, and angsty, doesn't glorify or romanticize the lifestyle, and still maintains sympathetic characters. It makes for a fascinating fic, and I really appreciate what witchbane has done with it.

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writingfromtheshadows (@lovingnikiforov)

Equivalent Exchange

Rating: Mature Words: 129.6k Status: Work In Progress Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Tags: Fantasy AU; Royalty AU; Politics; Magic; Hurt/comfort ❤❤❤❤❤  Summary: Without the Katsuki line to protect and maintain the laws of magic, Great Mages have become so few and far between that many believe the age of magic is coming to an end. However, when he comes across a young man weaving tales with figures of fire, Viktor begins to wonder if magic is truly dead, or if it lives on in the body of the storyteller with warm brown eyes. ❤❤❤❤❤  Review: This fic is absolutely amazing. Hands down one of the best royalty, political thriller fanfics for YOI, with everyone being a competent badass in their own special way. Dessa takes great care at carefully developing the plot and characters, never sacrificing one for the other. The beginning of the fic sets the stage for Viktor and Yuuri's relationship, both ommitting key facts about themselves, but still able to create a connection. Viktor is a king who just wants a break from the ever-constant responsibility and to connect with someone who just sees him as Viktor. Yuuri is a mage who pretends to not be one, and becomes attached to this man who seems to have a target painted on his back. The beginning is mostly light-hearted, with hints of the trouble to come. The Nikiforovs have a powerful, magical enemy that is determined to destroy their dynasty, and Yuuri becomes the only possible person to combat these attacks. The plot is gradual to work its way in, but once it does it hits in full force, and the topics tackled are heavy - regicide, mass murders, discrimination, duty/sacrifice. The story approaches the conflicts and politics in a realistic manner - everybody has to sacrifice something for the greater good. As much as some of Viktor's advisors would like to play the part of Viktor's friend and trust his faith in Yuuri, they must remain skeptical and wary. As much as Yuuri would just like to run away and hide who he is, he is the only force powerful enough to protect Viktor and change the course of the battle. As much as Viktor would like to be more familiar around Yuuri, he must maintain a certain distance. Dessa utilizes multiple POVs so that you understand the motivations behind each of the main characters. Everyone is so well-rounded. I love it how in one chapter I can be so frustrated with the actions of one character, and in the next I'm sympathizing with their plight and reasons behind their actions. And it's not just one character, it's multiple. They all make frustrating mistakes, but they all also learn and grow from these mistakes. Their inner thoughts and interactions with one another builds the careful framework that this story thrives on. Wow, I really really really can't wait to see how this fic is resolved - this is the story I most eagerly anticipate updates for.

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Wynn (@astreetcarnamedwynn)

Wynn is so great with balancing the dynamics between Yuuri, Victor, and Yuri. Normally I don't care for Yuri taking away focus from Yuuri and Victor, but I love how she weaves him into her fics. She is perhaps one of the few authors that I will gladly read Yuri's POV and interactions with Yuuri and Victor.

Sixty Impossible Things

Rating: Teen Words: 77.9k Status: Work In Progress Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov; (platonic friendship) Yuri+Yuuri Tags: Canon divergent; Alterate meeting after Sochi; Sassy Yuuri; Pining Victor; Anxiety; Getting to know each other; Learning to relationship ❤❤❤❤❤  Summary: Yuuri sits shellshocked at the barrage of messages. His friends and family in Hasetsu possessed a modicum of chill, as Phichit would say, at least when it came to phones and social media. This blitz... possessed no chill whatsoever. None. Yuuri thinks even Phichit would be awed. "Yuri Plisetsky and Viktor Nikiforov are messaging me the argument I think they’re having with each other about each other while likely standing right next to each other while texting me." Celestino stares at him a long moment, silent. Then he lifts a hand to his temple, closes his eyes, and sighs. ❤❤❤❤❤  Review: This is a canon divergence fic where Yuri starts contacting Yuuri soon after the Sochi Grand Prix, and things barrel out of control from there. Something that I absolutely LOVE is that Wynn focuses on Yuuri's relationships with Yuri, Viktor, Phichit, Celestino, and Minami. The way Yuuri interacts with each of them is different, and I appreciate the care and emphasis she puts on making each one important for Yuuri. Celestino is often an overlooked character, so I really appreciate her attention to him. The conversations are honest, occasionally savage, occasionally funny, and just generally sweet. I especially love how he responds to Yuri's rudeness with equal rudeness initially, which is refreshing to the normal "oh what a cute kitten." Yuri can be a real dick, and it's nice to see him called out on such dickishness. And while the interactions between the two are petty and contentious from both sides for a while, this slowly changes as the fic continues. Originally, this story was set as complete at five chapters and has since been continued, which I was so excited to see! Each chapter continues to get better, further developing the dynamics between Yuuri, Victor, and Yuri. Recent chapters have seen a break through between the three, being more honest with each other, and all the angst and stress beforehand was worth the heartwarming payoff. I love this story so much, and I'm glad that Wynn decided to continue it!

Yuri, the Vampire Slayer

Rating: Teen Words: 20.9k Status: Work In Progress Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov; (platonic) Yuri+Yuuri; (brothers) Victor+Yuri Tags: Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU; Vampire slayer Yuri; Vampire slayer Yuuri; Watcher Yuuri; Witch Victor; BAMF Yuuri ❤❤❤❤❤  Summary: One month after the death of his Watcher, Yakov Feltsman, sixteen-year old Yuri Plisetsky struggles to deal with the grief he feels at Yakov's death as well as the burden he bears at being a vampire slayer, particularly keeping his secret from his best friend, Otabek Altin. Yuri's brother, Viktor, struggles as well, having traded ballet and the Bolshoi for lawnmowers and suburbia following the death of their mother two years prior. Into both of their lives walks Yuuri Katsuki, a walking knot of contradictions, with his ugly tie and slicked back hair, bearing the news that he, now, is Yuri's new Watcher. ❤❤❤❤❤  Review: I was hesitant to start this story despite being a big Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan (favorite American tv series still to this day). I saw the title, wasn't too enthusiastic for a story where Yuri was the main character, and stayed away. I shouldn't have worried, because Wynn does a great job balancing the scenes between all three characters. And despite Yuri getting the title role, the Buffy mantle is shared between him and Yuuri (Yuuri is 7th season Buffy to Yuri's 1st season Buffy). Yuuri shares several of his slaying stories with Yuri, which any fan of the Buffy series will recognize (the drowning, fight with the mayor, etc). I love how much of a BAMF Yuuri is. Yuri is understandably angry with the whole situation, slowly improving with Yuuri's guidance. And Victor is desperate to protect his brother and keep their family together. It's really well done, and I hope that Wynn eventually gets back to the story.

[monotonemanday]

Our Days Divided - Mystic Messenger University AU - Chapter 2 Mistah Trust Fund Kid

Chapter 2! Just so you guys know, soon I will be posting things on a schedule. That way I’m not posting both fics at the same time and that there is consistency! All make everything easier all around as soon as I am more settle in my personal business.

Enjoy!

Cypress University was more than just a campus. Basically, the small surrounding towns and the all-encompassing city was run and operated by the board of Cypress. That’s why it was easier for the scholarship students to fill their requirements of holding part/ full-time jobs. Most of the local shop owners understood the situation and were delighted to hire the students.

Kaeli was making her way down the stone pathway in the small villa right off campus. The sun was out but the weather was not pleasant. It was very brisk and even the warm rays from the sun weren't warming her chilled face. Kaeli hated the cold but she was in high spirits and nothing was going to bum her out.

The chime of a bell rang alerting the small café of a new presence. A small corner booth was the home of two girls in neatly pressed Cypress uniforms. Sipping a caramel latte was a girl with big hazel eyes and short brown hair. She normally wore glasses when they were on campus. Her eyesight wasn’t terrible but she worked so hard looking at screens and tiny print from her assignments that her eyes appreciated the assistance. Next to her was a small bag with an apron and a nametag that read Jaehee. She had just gotten off the early morning shift at the café. Sat across from her, nose deep in a book was a girl with sun-kissed tan skin and light rose gold hair. Soft and gentle brown eyes. A perky voice broke her from her book.

“What book is it this morning, Helena?”

“Oh, Kaeli! You’re here early this morning. Actually, I’m reading a script this morning. We think that we’ve pinpointed the first show of the season that the drama department will be doing.”

“Ah, so you wanted to see what kind of a role Zen will be partaking in?” Kaeli gave the girls a snide smirk. Jaehee and Helena were avid Zen fans and they weren't great at hiding it. “I’m surprised you aren’t indulging yourself Jaehee.”

“Oh, I already read it.” Jaehee said with a subtle amount of pride. She gathered her bag and stood up. “Sorry I have to rush ladies but Mr, Corporate Heir apparently has important matters for me to attend to as VP of the business club today.”

“You sound thrilled, Miss VP.” Kaeli and Helena were giggling at their friend's disdain.

“Right, VP. Basically I’m just a glorified assistant.“ She sighed. Jaehee was incredibly grateful that she was able to attend Cypress University. Like Yoosung, she was one of the two winners of the scholarship lottery. It put a lot of pressure on her and she worked extremely hard to prove herself but she often felt like the tuition kids still treated her like a filthy commoner. She didn’t like how the scholarships conducted themselves and aside from Zen, she didn’t care much for them. “Anyway, I better get going. I’ll see you girls later at the meeting?” The two girls nodded and she was off.

“So Kaeli, Yoosung told me about your little group you’re trying to form. He was handing out invitations yesterday wasn’t he?”

“He was. That’s actually why I came to the villa early today. I’m going to catch Sam on her way to campus and give her an invitation. Helena...do you think I’m making a mistake?”

Helena was surprised at Kaeli’s self-doubt. “Kaeli what are you talking about? You’re trying to mend an unhealthy behavior. Take down years of dumb discrimination. Why do you think it would be a mistake?”

Kaeli stared out the window trying to formulate her thoughts. “I’ve been friends with Sam since diapers, but I feel like I’ve gotten so distant from her. And it’s my fault. I didn’t have Yoosung deliver her invitation because it felt irresponsible on my part. I think...I think Sam is going to take it as me showing pity towards her and her friends and that’s not true!”

“I don’t think Samantha is going to take it that way at all! She accepted me right away when you introduced us. She doesn't act ill-willed toward Yoosung even though he kind of abandoned them and even though she doesn’ t know Jihyun and Jumin I’m sure she won’t have a problem with them as well! If anything I think it’s the others that are going to take offense.”

There was no response from Kaeli. Helena checked the time on her phone and started to gather her things. “Hey, how about we ask Yoosung how they all reacted when he delivered the invitations? My first class of the day is with Yoosung. We’ll come to the meeting together, alright?”

Kaeli saw Helena’s bright smile and knew she was doing her best to cheer her up. “Sounds good. I’ll meet up with Sam and give her the invitation and one for Saeran. Have a good first class, Lena!” The two parted ways at the door feeling light-hearted once again.

Jaehee was typing away on her laptop working on one of the 11 assignments she had due at the end of the week. Sitting on the windowsill of the classroom was a tall and slender mint haired looker. His hair was quaffed at the top and its mint color made his equally mint eyes seem brighter than the sun. He had a long lens hooked to his camera and was snapping away. Jihyun Kim. Coming from a wealthy and powerful family. His father was an incredibly cold businessman, and his mother a world-famous violinist although, she had sadly passed. Incredibly handsome and insanely kind to everyone. A prominent figure amongst the tuition kids. Some would say second most prominent. First prominent was standing at the whiteboard in the front of the room. Studying it in depth. Silently. Focused beyond reason. He had broad shoulders and midnight hair that lay in quaffed sweeps. His charcoal eyes soul-piercing. Only one man on campus surpassed his looks, but he wasn’t as sought after because he was an untouchable. This handsome devil, however, was top dog. Mr. Trust Fund Kid himself, Jumin Han. Big man on campus, and he was totally oblivious to it. He didn’t understand these weird social coos and quite frankly he thought them meaningless. However, they did fascinate him.

Yoosung and Helena were sat together going over notes and starting work from the class they just had. Jumin finally spoke.

“V...I have a question.” The mint haired Jihyun nicknamed V looked up from his camera.

“Yes, my friend?”

“What does it mean to call someone a ‘man dime’?”

Yoosung choked on his own spit and tried to stifle his laughter. Jaehee had stopped typing for just a moment, rolled her eyes, and went back to work. Helena was lightly smacking Yoosung, also trying to stifle giggles. V was tickled by his old friends question. Jumin and V were best friends. Childhood friends. V was never amazed at his friend's naivety. He found it endearing.

“Isn’t a dime a form of currency?” The man at the board was still questioning.

“Yes, Jumin. People often refer to someone good looking as a dime piece. It’s most commonly a term for women.”

“I’m not quite understanding. Could you use it in context?”

“Sure! Helena is intelligent and super cute, in fact, she is a dime!” Yoosung’s cheeks were bright red and Helena gave him another light smack.

“Jumin. They call people dimes because like the currency it amounts to 10. And when you are romanticizing someone you usually rate them on a scale from 1-10. 10 being a perfect score.” V was trying to break it down analytically, trying to play to Jumin’s mind.

“Ah, so a ‘dime’ must be rare since very little people have perfect looks.”

“Well Jumin, it’s based on personal preference and it doesn’t have to just deal with looks! It’s someone with your ideal personality, appearance, heart, intelligence. Basically, someone you think is the perfect package!” Helena gave her own explanation and Jumin returned to studying the board.

“Someone like Zen.” Helena and Jaehee had both said allowed. They gave each other a smirk.

Jumin was contemplating all the information he was given and came to a conclusion. “Ah, so someone like Kaeli, would be a ‘dime piece.’“

“Jumin Han!!” The whole room was startled by the high pitched voice. They turned to see Kaeli standing in the doorway. “Who taught you something like that?!”

“He had heard some girls in the hallway refer to him as a ‘man dime’ and he was just asking me what it had meant.” V was back to taking photographs already, not even looking at Kaeli as he responded.

Kaeli closed her eyes and shook her head. She always walked in on something like this. She stared at the whiteboard. “What on earth?”

“We begged him not to.” “We really did.” Yoosung and Helena rested their elbows on the table they were sitting at.

On the board, Kaeli observed what Jumin had been studying for what the group told her was the past 30 minutes.

An intricate map was pieced together on the whiteboard. Pictures of 5 individuals with different stats listed, all pieced together by different red lines.

“It’s his map on the untouchables.” Jaehee inserted without leaving her work.

“Well take it down! They aren’t criminals. Do you think they are spending their time tastelessly analyzing you guys?” Kaeli was furious. They were playing right into their own stereotype and she hated it.

“We don’t know if they aren’t criminals. His research wasn’t that in depth.”

“Jaehee, you seem really hostile towards this people. Well other than Zen. Is there any specific reason?” V’s voice was laced with concern as this was extremely out of character for Jaehee.

“I just...I don’t appreciate their attitudes. And I suppose it’s not necessarily these individuals. But they act so entitled! They think just because they have these talents they are gods among men. Just like these tuition students who think they can’t be bothered or criticized just because they’re wealthy and have powerful families! I’m not a tuition student but I also didn’t get in because I could play the piano or paint the next masterpiece. I work so hard and I still don’t belong anywhere!” Jaehee’s hands were balled into fists on the table. She was biting her lip and staring downward. She was embarrassed. She couldn’t believe she had acted like this in front of the group. She had just become so overwhelmed.

“Jaehee, let’s go for a walk.” Helena was gently rubbing Jaehee’s back and Yoosung was gathering her things for her. Three quietly left the classroom. Kaeli giving Jaehee a comforting squeeze of the bicep. She let out her breath and then once again channeled her anger.

“Jumin. Get rid of it.”

“Kaeli, I apologize if this has offended you it wasn’t my intention to be disrespectful.” Jumin had never sounded this ashamed in one of his little projects. He began to remove the things from the board when his old friend stopped him.

“To be fair to Jumin, I really think you should have him explain his research here Kaeli.”

“To me, V, it looks like a witch hunt.”

“Kaeli, please let him explain.” V pleaded with the small blonde and she nodded her head in agreement taking a seat and looking straight ahead as a signal for Jumin to start his presentation.

“Very well. Now Jaehee wasn’t entirely wrong in her sudden outburst. Many people can sing, dance, act, and say, use computers better than others. So I was wondering, what made these particular students so special. All of the scholarship students have to be exceptional in their fields to be accepted here at Cypress, but these students, are a cut above the rest. Just like ourselves. Tuition kids that contribute more than just money. My research was to pinpoint what is so impressive about them.”

“Just take a look at it. I know we didn’t get much done but we actually have to head out. We’ll see you tomorrow madam president.” Jumin and V made there way out of the room.

Kaeli walked up to the board and looked over the stats Jumin had listed. Among her scanning, she couldn’t help but giggle at Jumin’s personal footnotes he also added.

Hyun Ryu AKA Zen Most handsome man on campus (Jumin second most? V?) Talented actor, singer, dancer First Cypress student being paid to do professional theatre Second highest score in the school's history for literature (First belongs to Helena) Has published 12 screenplays that have been sold to theatre companies Won large amount of awards for BMX (Currently just rides a motorcycle - ladies enjoy this? Will ask Jaehee about this)

Liz Paradise Dancer and acrobat Multiple awards for dance competitions Cirque performer. Well versed in aerial silks, high wire, tumbling, aerial hoop, Spanish web, trapeze Top scorer in Foreign affairs Possible royalty??? (Needs further research) New discovery: Possibly a ‘dime’ (needs confirmation from others)

Saeyoung Choi Extremely above average intelligence Tied top score for all tech related exams Specializes in Hacking, Coding, and Programming Started Robotics Lab at Cypress Can seduce women as well as Zen. (Something about good looks but also a ‘quirky sense of humor’ Will speak with Yoosung) Second highest score in the school's history on the Cypress Physical trial

Saeran Choi Extremely above average intelligence Tied top score for all tech related exams Specializes in Hacking, Coding, and Programming Handles all tech and special effects for theatre Head snare drum in all Cypress ensembles President of the botany club (research in plants and medical science doing extremely well) Ladies like him because he is ‘cold’ and ‘mysterious’ (this is apparently not considered creepy???)

Samantha Dae First highest score in the school's history on the Cypress Physical trial (Beating out the redhead) Drum Major and student conductor for all Cypress ensembles Exceptional Piano player Well versed in multiple brass instruments Superb vocals (active in theatre, musical theatre, and vocal ensembles) Composed and sold 16 original orchestral pieces Performed at Carnegie Hall at the age of 13 New discovery: Another possible ‘dime’ (confirmed by my standards but will have to discuss with others)

Kaeli turned off the lights and locked the door of the classroom behind her.

“This...this is going to work.”

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

A System of Sides Chapter Five

A/N: Next installation is coming up! I love all of you guys, your responses are what make me super happy I decided to write this fic! I have plans for a possible prequel/sequel extra content if you all are interested at a later point, for now, let’s continue forth to the fifth! (Haha, get it??? Fourth, fifth...ah, whatever.)

PREV | NEXT

Words: 3,491

Warnings: Arguing/shouting, badmouthing of characters, crying, self-deprication

Patton was nervous, very nervous. It had been one week since this whole truce idea got started, and Roman and Logan had both been very busy either in their rooms or around the house, each carrying around something to write with and something to write on should an idea occur to them. Patton had glanced at the lists and they seemed unnecessarily long, and really, he knew that at this point, he wouldn't be able to keep all of their unchangeable, will-not-budge conditions for the truce. Either of them.

Roman was sitting in the common room, reading and re-reading his list as Patton flitted around nervously, making sure that anything that could be thrown was secured, there were enough water bottles for everyone, and that Logan's spot had toast and a jar of Crofter's nearby, while Roman's had movie theater-style popcorn, right down to the salted butter.

"Patton, I don't know why you're so nervous," Roman said, lying back into the couch and sighing. "There might be a little dispute here or there, but I'm sure we can come to a satisfactory conclusion."

For his part, Patton didn't immediately turn to Roman and go on a fifty thousand word rant about why he was so worried and about everything he could think about going wrong. He was so nervous he was actually surprised that he wasn't being influenced by Virgil. What he did instead, was force his hands to stay still at his sides, keep his legs from continuing their frantic pacing, and simply faced Roman fully. "I'm going to be honest, Roman, I think I'm allowed to be a little nervous. I really want this to go well, you know? And yeah, your confidence is nice and all, but the fact of the matter is that I'm still worried. I want Thomas to benefit from this. I don't want him possibly investigating what's wrong during one of our fights. I don't want him feeling drained because all of the body's energy is coming to our arguing. I just...I want him to be happy, Roman, and I feel like it's really hard for him to be happy right now. I mean, if you were hiding somewhere around here, and we had no idea where you were, but we were always fighting about what you should do, wouldn't you feel tired, or even upset, because of what was going on?"

Roman shrugged. "Possibly. Possibly not. We can't understand how Thomas in-headspace feels. We can only gauge how he feels if we're cofronting, and that necessarily means most of our awareness is outside the body in any case. I know you empathize, Patton, and that's a valuable skill. But it also means you feel things much more intensely, and I think that nervousness you're feeling is just normal nerves ramped up because of how easily you leave yourself at the mercy of your emotions."

Patton fidgeted with the sweater around his neck and nodded. "You might have a point. Okay, how do you recommend I calm down, then?"

"Perhaps focusing on something else may help?" Roman offered. "Ah, I see Logan approaching us now, I think that the discussion is about to begin in any case!"

Logan walked over to them stiffly, sitting on the opposite side of the couch from Roman, taking the toast and jelly as Patton had hoped he would. "Let's get this over with," Logan said in a huff.

His tone had the hairs on the back of Patton's neck standing on end, but Patton nodded anyway. "Okay, what are everybody's conditions, first of all? We may not be able to meet all of them, but we'll try our hardest to make them meet, sound all right?"

"All right," Logan huffed. "My first condition is that I have no less time to front than Roman here. Meaning that if he gets fifty percent of the time to front, I must have the other fifty percent. I won't stand for anything less, as my time with Thomas is just as important as his."

As Logan talked, Patton nodded along and Roman's head snapped to him, instantly making Patton realize this was going to be harder than initially anticipated. "Don't tell me you are actually agreeing with him! Patton, I help Thomas with his career! This...this nerd has no appreciation for what I do! Don't just let him spit in my face like this!"

"Actually, Roman, Logan wasn't insulting you at all. All he was saying was that he had just as much of a right as you to front, and his request is actually pretty reasonable, all things considered. Fronting as much as you do can be managed with a little bit of effort, and it certainly wouldn't hurt Thomas, would it?" Patton reasoned.

Roman spluttered. "That's...that's nonsense! Patton, I implore you to see reason! I do more good to Thomas than him, therefore I should be the one to front more!"

"Come again?" Logan asked in an icy tone, and Patton's head moved so quickly to the logical personality Patton was mildly worried he would get whiplash.

"You heard me perfectly clear!" Roman exclaimed. "I do more to help Thomas than you do! That means I deserve more time at front!"

Logan adjusted his glasses and Patton cleared his throat, shaking his head wildly and crossing his arms over his chest before bringing them to his sides, silently but emphatically imploring Logan to keep a lid on his tongue.

"I believe you have myself confused with you," Logan said, his voice holding no emotion, and void of any anger, which only proved to Patton how enraged Logan really must be. "I am the one who helps Thomas and it is in fact you who does more harm than good. Your fantasies give Thomas an unhealthy attachment to your unreality, making it harder for him to focus on the real world when his stressors become greater. At least Patton has some use by occasionally lifting Thomas' spirits and providing positive emotion when he learns, further reinforcing the desire to pursue knowledge, but your uses only go so far as to feed into unhealthy delusions that really should never be explored in the first place. If anyone is useless around here, it would be you, but I would daresay that you are more harmful than useless."

Roman jumped to his feet. "That is not true and you know it! You are simply jealous of the bond that Thomas and I share!" he roared.

"Oh, sure!" Logan scoffed, also standing. "Because your 'bond' shows so much! He sees you as nothing more than a fantasy figure, someone who he wants to be but can never become! You're an unattainable goal that leads Thomas dangerously close to delusions of grandeur when you front!"

Patton's hands flew to his ears as he instinctively tried to block the bad words and negativity from entering his head. But it was too late, the damage had been done.

Virgil walked into the room and Patton looked over, noticing him before the others did, thankfully. He rushed over to Virgil and hissed, "Now's not a good time!"

The anxious personality looked a little shocked, and held out the bowl in his hands. "I...was just putting this in the sink?" he said, confusion in his voice. "What's going on?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, Virgil, just go back to your room once you returned the bowl."

"Awful lot of shouting for nothing," Virgil said, and if possible he looked angrier and more dejected than when Patton had first spoke to him. "Better be careful; have you ever considered Thomas might be able to hear you guys when you reach that kind of volume?"

Virgil walked off but Patton stood in place, stunned. He had never thought of that, and that would be super majorly awful levels of not good! He turned around to find Logan and Roman about to tear each other limb from limb, and he jumped in between them. "Guys! Hold up! Thomas might be able to hear you, you're shouting so loud! Do you really want him feeding off your anger?!" he exclaimed desperately.

Roman glared at Patton and Logan in turn. Logan just analyzed Patton closely, presumably looking for any kind of lie. "My position remains the same," Logan said cooly. "Both of you are harmful to Thomas' overall health to some extent, and really, I should be trusted with the bulk of fronting, but I suppose 'baby steps' are occasionally needed. For which I will accept equal fronting time as Princey here. No less."

"Okay. Okay..." Patton breathed. "We can arrange that, all right, Logan? Equal cofronting time. We can arrange that, can't we, Roman?"

"He called me harmful to Thomas," Roman seethed.

"You called him less important than you and hurt him like he hurt you. You both said some things that were harmful. But we need to come to a resolution on this, don't we?" he asked with pointed looks at both of them. When he got two sullen nods, he said, "Then let's see if we can come to a compromise."

The three sat down on the sofa and Patton grabbed a piece of paper, writing down that Logan and Roman would get equal fronting time each week. "What were some of your conditions, Roman?" Patton asked.

"I want Thomas' work on his dreams to come first. That means memorizing lines, auditions, and the like come before holing up in his room and reading," Roman said, nose wrinkling at the second half of his statement.

"I can't guarantee that every time, but what if I say that work comes before leisure activities? That way if Logan decides to take a class at a community college he can, and you won't skip it just for an audition? And when you need to practice lines, Logan can't come in and demand you drop everything for him to read?" Patton proposed.

Roman grumbled under his breath before saying, "Fine."

Logan made a satisfactory noise in the back of his throat. "I must sign up for another class soon if that's the case," he mused. "I would love to further our knowledge without interruption."

Patton cleared his throat as Roman started to glare at Logan again. "Guys, please, play nice, we have to consider Thomas here. I know this isn't easy, but we'll make it work. I'm going to put another condition on the truce, saying that just because work comes before leisure, that does not mean that the fronting time can be split unevenly without the person being shorted time getting that time back later. So both of you have to consider the consequences when you claim something is for work."

"Okay, I guess..." Roman muttered.

"That does make sense, I suppose," Logan agreed.

"Nowhere on this am I going to tell you guys you have to like each other, but I would appreciate you playing nice. Keeping disputes to yourselves when possible, sorting it out quietly, that sort of thing. Acting civil, that's all I ask. Is there anything else about cofronting you would like to make conditions?"

"I would like forty percent of the fronting time," Roman said. "Preferably using most of that alone or with you only."

"As would I," Logan said. "I understand fifty percent may be too much to ask for, but I would prefer to share my time at front with no one but Thomas and perhaps you, Patton. I certainly don't want to share it with Virgil."

"Goodness, no!" Roman laughed. "I would hate having to cofront with Virgil, can you imagine the trouble he would cause?"

Patton felt his eyes starting to get hot at the back as he realized he'd have to shoot this idea down and stop them from badmouthing Virgil. Sure, Patton wasn't the guy's biggest fan but he was still a person who deserved respect, like any of them did! Patton could just as easily be the one who dealt with Thomas' fear, it's not like Virgil could help that he processed it! He had to think...had to think...had to come up with a way that he could get them to allow more time for Virgil...a-ha! "I don't know if I can do that, guys," Patton said, cutting through Roman's laughter and Logan's amusement.

"Why not?" Roman said, hostilities rising once more.

"Well, that only leaves twenty percent of fronting time for me and Virgil both, and that's hardly fair. I don't mind getting less time, but that's too little. Can you settle for a third of the time up front?"

Roman looked at Logan and Logan looked at Roman. Patton looked between the two desperately. "I suppose," Roman said evenly.

"Yes, that is not optimal but it would be satisfactory," Logan agreed.

Patton sighed in relief and wrote down that Roman and Logan would have a third of the time fronting each. His eyes still felt hot and guilt was eating at him. He was lying entirely too much lately, and he couldn't stand up for Virgil like he wanted without blowing this whole thing, and he needed the truce! He felt like the worst scum of the Earth, throwing Virgil under the bus like that, but he felt like he didn't have a choice. "Was there anything else?" Patton asked, clearing his throat. He hoped he didn't sound like he was going to cry.

"All my other points can either wait until a later time or have been summarized in what has already been said," Logan said, opening the jar of Crofter's for the first time during this discussion and starting to spread it on his toast. "I have no objections to signing this with the promise that we will review it on a later date."

"The giant nerd does admittedly make a good point," Roman said with a shrug. "So long as we make sure this works and leave room for adjustment, this should be a good start for the rules."

Patton nodded and wrote down as a final condition that the truce could be adjusted as needed and then signed his name at the bottom. Logan pulled out a pen and signed his name as well, and the Roman took Patton's and signed his name with a flourish. Patton picked up the truce and stood. "I'll...uh, I'll be keeping this in my, uh, my room. Let me know when you think we need to go over it again."

The two nodded, already moving about to go on with their day, while Patton rushed to his room, eager to get there before any tears spilled over.

Patton barely made it to his room before his tears started to fall, and he closed his door as quick as he could without slamming it before retreating to his bed. He looked around at everything Thomas had collected throughout his life that held significant meaning to the both of them and took his glasses off, fully prepared for a long session of getting rid of his negative emotions away from everyone else. They couldn't be held back or pushed away, not this time, so Patton would just have to grit his teeth and ride the tidal wave of emotions wherever it took him.

Even if the truce had ended with all three people signing the paper, Patton still felt like it had been a failure. The others' argument earlier, that had been because of him. It was because he couldn't smooth things over like he was supposed to. He was supposed to have the right answer, the moral highroad, and he couldn't find it. He had to lie to them about fronting times. He had to keep Virgil away to stave off another argument. He had done everything right but he couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of wrong that was sweeping him off his feet.

In an ideal world, they all could get along, maybe with an occasional argument but it could always be fixed. This wasn't an ideal world, far from it. But why couldn't Patton work to make it closer to one anymore? Isn't that what he used to do? Work hard to make the world a better place because he was in it and he decided he wouldn't stand by as bad things happened? That didn't appear to be the case anymore.

"Why couldn't you stop them, Pat? Why couldn't you do it and just make sure that the fighting stopped without having to lie to them? Why couldn't you keep them from fighting in the first place? Why did you have to shove Virgil away? What if he never speaks to you again? This is your fault, Pat, your mess! You have to clean it up!" he exclaimed.

But Patton didn't have the slightest clue how to do that. How could he, when the other two still wouldn't speak to each other if it wasn't necessary and there wasn't an intermediary ready at all times?

Patton wanted to cofront, because then maybe at least he could let some of his sadness and frustration out in a way that felt real. But that would make Thomas sad and frustrated too, which was the last thing Patton wanted.

The tears started to fall faster and faster and Patton's breath grew raspy. He wished he could make it silent, because even quiet sounded too loud and he was worried one of the others might hear and jump to conclusions that something had happened. He looked around and found an old radio, putting in a random CD and playing it just loud enough you could hear the beat outside the room if you strained to listen. That would cover up his crying sounds, at least. He didn't have any way to cover the red-rimmed eyes or the runny nose, or the tear tracks down his cheeks.

But he didn't have to worry about that in his room. All he had to worry about was the bad parts of the truce, the things he did wrong and needed to do better in order to prove himself worthy of being a headmate for the others. He had to be at one-hundred percent, didn't he? For Thomas' sake? He needed to be happy for Thomas. He could do that.

Most days, anyway. And when he couldn't, Patton came in here and cried and threw pillows and hoped that Virgil wouldn't make Thomas to scared of anything while he was out of commission.

Why did it have to be today, though? He thought he did well, at first. But the yelling, the shouting, the hatred between Logan and Roman and the accusations that each was harming Thomas and the other was better for him, that was all Patton's mind could focus on. Suck up the bad like a sponge, so the others didn't have to feel it while cofronting with Thomas, and Thomas wouldn't deal with undue stress and anger. But the sponge had to be put through the wringer every now and again in order to soak up more of the bad later.

Patton's breath was heaving in his chest now and he fell sideways on his bed, curling into a ball. He was a failure at keeping the peace in the Mind Palace, he was a failure at keeping himself and therefore everyone else happy at all times, he was just a failure all around today and he couldn't stand it. Why was it that when Roman and Logan both decided to become Type A personalities Virgil and Patton were always caught in the cross-fire? Patton and Virgil almost never argued, and while Virgil argued with Roman and Logan, it was never as heated as what happened today.

Finding that something interesting to focus on, Patton's cries trailed off into sniffles. He wondered if there was anything to that, or if it was just because Logan and Roman had more pride than Patton and Virgil did.

Still feeling bad, though a little bit better, Patton maneuvered until he was lying on his back on his bed, and looked at the truce still in his hand. Somehow he had to get the three of them to sit down again and bring Virgil into the equation as well. But Patton doubted that after today Virgil would want anything to do with them. It...couldn't hurt to try, though, could it? When Patton was feeling better he'd bring Logan and Roman together and talk through what he needed from them when it came to Virgil, and then approach Virgil himself about the truce. That was conceivable, that was doable. That was a plan to fix this mess.

Patton, feeling slightly better now that he had a plan, put the truce safe on his desk before exhaustion from his crying made him fall sound asleep on his bed.

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