#seeing the last panel of all the users smiling fucked me up so bad i genuinely cried seeing it

[amaranthdahlia]

farewell, one for all

[jessnotfoundd]

Your fics are so good- I can not get enough of them !

Here is another prompt idea-

Tommy and Reader (who is also a cc ) first met at vidcon, and started talking. From there Tommy, of course, had to go back to the UK fairly quickly, but the two of them stayed in touch. After a couple of months, the two end up officially dating, long distance style since the reader is still living in the US. And since TwitchCon Amsterdam was coming up, the reader decided to fly out and go to the con to surprise Tommy ! Also, I’m not sure if you’ve seen Badlinu’s video about him sneaking into Tubbo’s meet and greet line, but I’m thinking that the reader does that type of thing.

-🎃

Yessss I have seen that video of Freddie, should write about him too?

I'm really glad you like my fics! thank you for all the requests <3

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨��

Pairing: cc!Tommyinnit x cc!reader

Masterlist here!

After a few months of dating the blond, I started to have this necessity of seeing him, like face timing all night Isn't enough anymore. Holding my phone so he can see my face, the realization comes.

-So, twitch con Amsterdam is so close, do you think you could make it?- he asks, he's lying on his side and I smile at him.

-I hope so, but I'm not sure, lots of work in the middle, I'm finishing the book and I need to be with all the editors for the final touches.- I pout. I wasn't one to lie, but I wanted to surprise him.

-Yeah, I get it I guess, I thought It was a good opportunity to see you again.- he pouts too.

-Maybe I can fly to the UK after the book it's ready.-

-Yeah, I need to train my patience a little.- we both laugh, knowing how impatient he was.

After a few hours of making terrible jokes and remembering each other how much we loved each other, the call comes to an end, I get up and start working on the last touches of the book, he didn't need to know that I work my ass off a few weeks to be able to fly to Amsterdam and see him.

Now, dressing up in my hotel room in Amsterdam, after telling Tommy this week I would be super busy, so if I didn't text him was because of that. I could feel the sadness in his voice. I couldn't help but smile when he didn't see me, he's gonna be really surprised.

I put on some black sweatpants and a black hoodie Nike, a beanie Quackity gave me at some point on the Vidcon and some black glasses, I bring my mask to cover the rest of my face. When I get into the big event. I showed my credential to all the bodyguards that tried to take me out for my suspicious look. When my turn to 'meet' Tommy came, I walk to him and pulled him into a big and warm hug.

-I appreciate my organs, so if you let me keep them would be amazing.- he jokes and I laugh silently, so he wouldn't recognize me right away.

-Can you sign it, please?- I hold my credential and he takes it, I immediately take my glasses and mask off.- Surprise I guess.- he was looking at the user and the 'partner', and when he looks at me I could swear to god, he almost lost his mind.

-No fucking way- he wrapped his arms around me and I hug back.-I've missed you so bad- he hasn't let go yet.

-Babe, there's people waiting for you, I have all the time in the world with you, but they don't- I let go and he nods.

-Wait for me, please- he smiles.

-I'm not going anywhere soon.- I left a single kiss on his cheeks and leave for my actual meet and greet.

After a really long meet and greet, I'm ready to move to the SMP panel, where I'm sitting right beside Tommy. At some point, his hand move to my tight, and everyone freaks out, he starts to get red.

Now we were moving to my hotel room, he throws himself onto my bed and I snuggle to his side, with my face right in front of his.

-I love you- I peck his lips a few times.

-I love you too, so so much.- he pokes my cheeks and I smile.

-I still remember your face when you realize it was me.- I can't help but crack a laugh. He pushes me a little and I hid my face in the crock of his neck.

-I was so excited I just couldn't stop smiling so hard after that.- He laughs with me.

-I love you so much it feels unreal.- I left a trail of kisses from his neck to his forehead.

-Everybody dreams of being a billionaire, but every time I look at you I just don't care.-

-Isn't that a song from the vamps?- I smiled, we were so close that our noises were touching.

-I'm trying to be romantic, y/n.- he giggles and closes the gap between us.

The rest of the night went by playing games and seeing movies, enjoying each other company.

[sugoi-writes]

ilomilo- Midoriya X Reader (BNHA)- Part 1

S-So, my usual content overs around fluff or n/sfw, but I came up with a loose concept that has a little bit of everything, including some angst! All characters are aged up to 20, and you have a quirk! I hope you enjoy part one of whatever musing this is! (I’ll think of a name later!) ~2.2k Words

Summary: You’re on the run with some stolen goods, and you’re injured mid pursuit. You don’t know if you should be relieved or terrified that a familiar hero intervenes. You aren’t willing to go down without a fight.

Quirk- Empath: An extreme mental/psychic link, that can force a person to experience forged (or the person’s) emotions/feelings. This can range from emotional distress to extreme phantom pains. This can hinder or cripple a user, but never physically hurt them. The quirk is initiated through eye contact instantaneously, and can last up to 5 minutes. The affects may dwindle due to outside interference (distractions or injuries to either party), or an incredible mental resistance. 

The blaring sirens and the harsh licks of rain beating on your exposed skin were more than enough to keep you running. You desperately clutch your side, bleeding profusely as you try your best to shake off your pursuers.

Your satchel bounces haphazardly as you continue to bound down a particularly cold and damp alleyway. You grimace as you hear the dreaded phrase, “STOP RESISTING! FREEZE!” Like you had a choice to right now!

Bobbing and weaving between debris, shouting and gunfire, you manage to duck behind a dumpster. You sigh shallowly, shakily looking at your hand to find a thick masking of scarlet. You wouldn’t be able to keep running like this… you knew that. You fumble for your pistol, detaching the clip momentarily to find… you’re almost out of bullets. And this would definitely become another shoot out if you weren’t careful.

You take a hefty breath, your hand trembling as you grit your teeth. At the rate of your decline, you think that it may be for the best. If you were going down anyway, you needed to go down with a fight. Dying in an alleyway before getting back home wasn’t ideal, but you would rather go down in a blaze… versus bleeding out pathetically behind this dumpster.

Your prior fear for your life was over shrouded by pure adrenaline (you’d later blame your wound for that). You hear more shouting, egging you to come out with your hands up. You furrowed your brow, nodding as you psych yourself up.

When you hear a police officer warn you once more, you leap from behind the dumpster, readying yourself. But before you or anyone else could dare shoot a single bullet, a brilliant flash of green light invades your senses. You reel from shock as an astounding force repels in all directions backwards, forcing you to brace yourself. As the light dims, and you recover, you pale to a sickly shade. You had thought things were already bad, but you find out to your horror what had caused that impact.

Deku. Number One Hero, Deku.

You grimace in pain from your worsening wound, as green, soul-piercing eyes meet yours. But, instead of heated anger, or even hatred, you find… concern. Worry. This man, this hero… was concerned for you. Your ears ring as you watch Deku’s mouth move, barking something to the police force behind him. Dammit… you can already feel yourself weakening with each tremble.

As the tension seemed to thicken, it suddenly lessened. The officers lower their weapons (whether in fear of what Deku said, or to stop him from getting caught up in the crossfire, you don’t know).

Your gun fumbles out of your hands, clattering to the ground as you struggle to stand. Deku looks back to you as you cry out, his hands instinctively going to the defensive. He slowly advances towards you, and you know that he’s speaking to you, but you aren’t able to make out his words.

You fall backward, landing hard on your rear, clutching yourself as you try to slink further away from the green-clad hero. In a last ditch effort, you lock eyes with him once more, letting out a blood curdling shriek.

“ STAY AWAY, YOU BASTARD!!!”

Deku winces and bows, reflecting your instinct to stop the bleeding on his right side. Your quirk was working, and he should be feeling the shredded flesh and hot blood running from your gunshot wounds. Though he is clearly in pain, he manages a sincere smile, slowly advancing towards you. As you focus on him, sending waves of panic and intense pain through his core, you manage to catch some of his words.

“ Trust me… th-this… doesn’t have to end... l-like this. Nggh-- N...Not in this alley, not with...m-more bloodshed! I w-want to help you... But I can only help you… i-if you let me!”

You shake your head desperately, able to see that he’s reeling, but not hindered beyond that. You hear commotion from behind the emerald hero, but he barks at them again. There’s no flashes, no shooting… he’s holding the force back, with the intent to actually save you.

“ Surely, even you know… my dream is to save--ghh… e-everyone. Everyone that I possibly can. Even those... who feel they are h-hopele-- fuck…!... U-Useless and abandoned... Even down-trotten people... l-like you…”

You hear the hero rasp, wincing with each inhale as he speaks to you. You know that the pain is only doubling, as you’re focusing what little energy you had left to really make the man HURT. But… here he is, smiling… SPARING you.

You tremble, tears streaming down your face as you instinctively shield yourself, unable to move any further.

” St...Stay back… pl-please, I…. y-you can’t...”

You cry out again, falling onto your left side, your face meeting cool asphalt, “...you...can’t save… people like…. M-me. I’m… already--”

You feel warmth enveloping you where you previously felt your blood run cold. You manage to look up as you are lifted off of the ground to a weak but sincere smile. Your cheek rests on something firm, yet warm. As your vision swims, you notice the color green enveloping you, and scarred, strong hands supporting you. Deku lifts you as if you were delicate chinaware, keeping you close as your quirk begins to dwindle.

“ It’s alright, Y/N. I know you’re scared, but you’re going to be safe. I promise.”

Your eyes widen, as a sense of calmness rushes over you. You haven’t been able to feel your hands or legs for a while, and yet you feel a warmth budding in your chest. You know that Deku must feel it too, as a full, strong inhale makes his chest rise confidently. He sighs, turning around as your eyes are blinded by the blaring lights of an ambulance.

Deku softly cooes to you as the other voices and noises surrounding you bustle and violate your ears chaotically. You can hardly hear or see a thing as you’re laid out on a stretcher, and lifted into the brightly-lit vehicle.

“--sir! You can’t leave yet, we still need to file a--”

“Please. I’ll only be a little bit. I want to be sure she makes it safely. Besides… She’s gravely injured. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn't make sure she made it. Until then, Squad A- secure the perimeter. Make sure Squads B and C are taking testimonies and…--”

Your eyes flutter shut as the swarming voices and sounds of machinery fall onto deafening ears.

Slowly but surely, your senses dull and everything fades to black.

~

When you wake up next, you feel a dull pain radiating from your core, but not much past that. A bright, peaceful light fills the tiny room you’re in, and you blink a few times, unfamiliar with your surroundings. It is then you realize that you’re connected with an IV, your saline bag dangling above you.

When you try to sit up, a nurse with blonde locks walks by your cot, urging you to not make too much of a fuss. Using the bed’s control panel, she manages to help you sit up, the headboard and top part of the bed tilting up to support you. You glance around the small room, then to the nurse.

“Am I… at the (X) District… Hospital?” you groaned, your voice a bit dry as you struggle to speak. The nurse nods softly, smiling.

“Yes… but everything is already taken care of. The gentleman who brought you hear also visited and--”

You blink in confusion, narrowing your brow,” What…’gentleman’?” you questioned, dreading the answer that may follow.

“ I… to be honest, he was pretty reserved and covered up, but-- he came to visit while you were unconscious. You’ve been asleep for at least a day and a half. And looking at you, you probably needed the sleep!”

The nurse chuckles, and you reflexively probe at your dark circles, noticing that your bags weren’t as swollen as usual,” R...Right… but-- what happens… when I’m better?”

The nurse straightens her posture, as she picks up her clipboard, noting your vitals displayed on your monitor (you hadn’t even noticed the clamp on your index finger, checking your pulse).

“ Well, you’re… being transferred to a rehabilitation center, as recommended by the gentleman and your physician. You’ll be there for a while for treatment-- ahh, the flowers!”

You noted that the nurse seemed a little… spacey, for your liking, as you look to your bedpost, finding a small vase of yellow daffodils. Your brow raises, and your cheeks flushing at the realization you indeed had a visitor.

“T...Treatment… right,” your head hung slightly at this, before you stiffen,” W-Wait a sec, I have a friend at home actually-- th-they need at home care and-- please, you have to let me go home when I’m better--!”

You fumble around, looking for your satchel, before the nurse pats your knee,” Didn’t I tell you? Everything is taken care of. We have a nurse stationed at your house right now, and we put your friend on a plan to have her cared for everyday while you’re gone. With their condition, though, it wasn’t as life threatening as yours, so… they were able to stay home. We can assure you we’re working very hard to be sure they’re comfortable while you’re recovering.”

Your shoulders slump at this, and while you should be at ease that your friend is okay, something is nagging at you.

“I… I don’t have a lot of money, and sub-par health insurance. Between the rehab and a stay-at-home nurse, I… there’s no way I can pay for all of this… w-with all due respect,” you admit quietly, your chest feeling tight. That’s why… the satchel... It was full of medication to keep your friend stable, you… you would have rather risked your life than let your bank account or insurance hold you back.

The nurse sighed heavily, crossing her arms,” The gent that brought you? He has you covered. He paid for everything in full, up front. Your claims will still be noted on your insurance, but you’re already fully paid for. You don’t have to worry about anything. The bill, your friend, yourself… For this next while, it’s better to focus on recovery. Alright?”

You feel your chest clench again, knowing damn well that only a hero had that kind of money to cover those expenses. Midoriya…

You relax, letting your head rest on the pillow as the nurse finishes her vitals check, before she offers you another smile,” I know, right now… things seem confusing, and… really scary right now. But for now, just try and take things as they are, day by day. We will take care of your every need. And if there is anything you need, please reach out. Recovery is… difficult, but very humbling. And I think you’ll find that it’s very worthwhile in the end.”

You muse to yourself that the words seem to come from someone with experience to back up the claim. And in all honesty, you’re too tired to fight back or argue against it. You blink as the nurse smiles sweetly, showing you a toothy grin. You are a little shocked to see two sharpened canines smiling back at you, before the blonde hair nurse nods to herself.

“Well! For the moment, you’ve made some remarkable progress. With the amount of blood you lost… it’s astonishing you’re already feeling able to sit up.” She pulls something from her pocket, setting it by your gift and a full glass of water: medicine, thank goodness.

“Be sure to take this; you’ll probably need it to dull the pain. And if you need anything, just hit this button right here on your control panel.”

The nurse clutches her board to her chest after showing you your bed side controls, waving to you,” I have a few more patients to check on. But… I hope this was able to help clear your mind up a bit. Try to rest, if you can.”

Finally, the nurse turns on a small TV that’s mounted on your wall, handing you the remote. You nod and thank her quietly as she leaves you, alone. Your hand falls limp to your side, as you sigh deeply. This was… all such a relief and shock to you at the same time. This was so much to process, but like the nurse said, you figured it’s better to just take this one step at a time.

As you force yourself not to overthink, your eyes drift over to the flowers, glistening in the vase by your bed. You smile slightly to yourself, eyes fluttering to your window as the sun glimmers above a busy, bustling city. Daffodils… What was this guy thinking?

“You… must be in over your head huh, hero?” you muse to yourself, flashes of emerald and warm smiles flooding your thoughts as you zone out.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 257: New Year’s Party and All Might Feels

Previously on BnHA: The kids ate some yummy cotton candy and got to demolish a bunch of robots in flashy and expensive ways, because U.A. is every child’s dream school and All Might is getting closer to finally achieving his goal of being The Cool, Fun Teacher. There was also some cute Kirimina and Izuocha stuff, and also some panels of All Might watching Deku with a wistful dad smile which was both heartwarming and also makes me slightly terrified for his chances of surviving to the end of this series, but what else is new. Anyway so after class we cut to Aizawa and Mic who were all “we’re still sad fyi” until the Big Three interrupted them to get Aizawa to come help with Eri’s quirk. Meanwhile, All Might sat down with Deku and Kacchan and gave Deku a notebook all about THE PAST SUCCESSORS AND THE SIXQUIRKS. And we’d better be covering that pronto in this chapter because holy shit I had to wait two weeks after that cliffhanger and that was not fucking fair.

Today on BnHA: Kacchan and Deku read about the one quirk user WE ALREADY FUCKING KNEW ABOUT before they get bored and decide that WE DON’T NEED TO HEAR ANY MORE ABOUT ANY OF THOSE OTHER LAME QUIRKS APPARENTLY. In an effort to console me, All Might reveals that Shimura Nana’s quirk was THE POWER OF FUCKING FLYING YEAH BITCHES, which does admittedly warm my heart. Also Deku and Kacchan have an entire page of going back and forth at each other like the squabbling siblings they are and that helps too. Also we then cut to all of the 1-A kids having a New Year’s party, and yeah, Horikoshi admittedly knows how to play me like a goddamn fiddle I guess. The chapter then takes a sudden swerve for the nostalgic, with Deku and pals reminiscing about how much they’ve grown and how lucky they are, before we cut to All Might who’s sitting on a bench having Winter Night Angst until he’s comforted by Aizawa of all people, because this chapter is actually fucking great. And then we cut to THREE FUCKING MONTHS LATER LMAOOOO [blows noisemaker] SHIGARACALYPSE 2020 COMING ATCHA KIDS. WOOP WOOP.

okay so I have been persuaded to try out the fan scanlation this week! for several reasons: (1) the new scanlators have had a few weeks now to improve their game and I’m curious to see what the quality is like, (2) there are already spoilers all over my dashboard lol and I’m tired of trying to dodge them, and finally (3) I have nothing else to do this afternoon and I wanna read it. SO IMMA READ IT. BRING ON THE SIXQUIRKS OF DEKU THE NINTH

-- GOD DAMMIT ALL MIGHT

I assume that those are the two shadowy ones, then? Bakushadow and PonytailShadow? goddammit. meanwhile even if we didn’t have that whole mystery, the second user would still be the one I’m most curious about, because (s)he was the first one to actually get OFA handed down to them, and to say that I’m curious about how exactly that went down would be putting it mildly. like how the hell did Lil Bro figure out that he could pass his fucking quirk down to people. and what exactly was the trial and error process involved, if any. was he just like. “dude, come here, I want to try something okay? this is gonna sound really fucking weird but hear me out... I want you to eat my hair” 

sob, honestly a time-traveling Bakugou who already knows how The Whole Deal Works might honestly be the least bizarre explanation. I have so many questions ughh

btw I do also want to call attention to the fact that this chapter is titled “make it your own”, a.k.a. the mantra that Kacchan has been trying to get Deku to adopt since the provisional license exam. so this I do like. that is very promising

hmmMMMMMMMM

motherfuckin time travel is starting to sound more and more likely you guys. oh my god. but how?? someone’s quirk?? or maybe they can just get Mei to build them a machine. fuck it, she’s already upgraded Deku’s costume ten thousand times with random crap, what’s one more. you read it here first, Deku’s next upgrade will be gloves that carry him back and forth in time

lmao Katsuki

on the one hand that is very rude, but on the other hand I too would like him to get to talking about the ones whose quirks he actually did learn about. so yeah. [taps watch] we gonna do this All Might, or

lmao Deku’s asking about Blackwhip and meanwhile Katsuki’s just PICKING UP THE NOTEBOOK, WITHOUT EVEN ASKING, YOINK

(ETA: Kacchan with a normal face is such a rare Charizard of a panel that I just have to stop for a moment to appreciate it. take a good look everyone, we probably won’t get this again for another 50 chapters.)

fucking thank you Kacchan. holy shit. I mean All Might worked hard on it, might as well make use of it. and never mind the explicit “FOR YOUNG MIDORIYA” plastered on the cover I guess lol

also!! BALDY FINALLY GOT HIMSELF A NAME OMGGGGG. “LARIAT.” we’ll see how Caleb translates that tomorrow, I guess. I have no idea what it means but I’m excited!!! yay naaaames

OH THAT’S JUST HIS ALIAS HE’S GOT A REAL NAME TOO OH SNAP

(ETA: also there’s the expected “go” since he’s #5. so that’s apparently still a thing, meaning the mystery behind nos. 2 and 3 is still as perplexing as ever. maybe a bit of a stretch, but does anyone suppose that the “己” at the end of Katsuki’s given name could be interpreted as kind of looking like the Arabic numeral for two? eh? eh??)

seems to be causing a whole lot of collateral damage, but hey, price you pay for being a badass

oh my god my sons are bickering

(ETA: but lmao though at Katsuki being all “YOU THINK EVERY FUCKING QUIRK IS AMAZING” because sob it’s true.)

Katsuki please. first of all WHY WOULD YOU ONLY GO INTO DETAIL ABOUT THE ONE FUCKING QUIRK WE ALREADY KNEW, and two, I kinda need at least one of those quirks to be at least a little bit badass, because fucking shit you guys, uhhhh. [gestures frantically to the last page of chapter 255]  nyghhnghh. and also!! [gestures to the last two pages of chapter 245] ...

hmm so All Might says that Kacchan is right, and that it makes sense that most of the quirks would be weak ones because AFO made it his business to stomp out any strong quirk users on account of the whole “he’s fucking evil” thing and all of that world domination biz

look how evil

oh wow

goddamn that’s one hell of an image. all these fallen heroes desperately trying to make sure that their power, the world’s only hope, doesn’t die out with them

so then from the way All Might makes it sound, it seems like some of the successors maybe weren’t carefully selected at all, but instead they were just the ones who happened to be in the right (wrong??) place at the right time. maybe some of them were fellow soldiers in the war against AFO, and when their comrades fell they were there to pick up the gauntlet. that actually makes a hell of a lot of sense

and also the way they seem to be passing on the quirk appears to be the blood-on-blood method rather than the hair-eating method, so that also potentially addresses my snarky rambling earlier in this very recap lol. Lil Bro may not have meant to pass it on at all; he might have just been gripping some spiky-haired passerby’s hand while mortally wounded, and knowing that his time was up, and hoping against hope that this MYSTERIOUS KACCHAN-LOOKING STRANGER would somehow be able to take up the fight and continue what he started. and then lo and behold

-- motherFUCKER HE REALLY JUST PUT IT BACK DOWN ON THE TABLE LIKE

SO, I GUESS WE JUST DON’T CARE ABOUT ANY OF THE OTHER QUIRKS THEN! WELL FINE. let’s just never talk about anything I’m dying to know about again ever!!

“seems they’ve all died young” WELL ISN’T THAT JUST FINE AND FUCKING DANDY. what a wonderful legacy All Might has bequeathed unto our sprightly green protagonist. what a barrel of laughs this has turned out to be

sob my son literally doesn’t know how to take his foot off the gas

but I guess it’s not necessarily a bad thing to have someone there who only relentlessly knows how to go forward, forward, forward

SDFLKSHDOGIHSOGISHLGKSDLFJ

EXCUSE ME, MCFUCKING WHAT DID YOU SAY?! SO YOU’RE TELLING ME MY BEST GIRL COULD FUCKING FLY, IS THAT IT?? AM I READING THIS RIGHT?? WAIT -- HOW DO YOU BREATHE, AGAIN?? OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD, I

LOL WHAT THE FUCK

(ETA: I left the edges of his speech bubble in while cropping this so everyone can appreciate just how spiky it is.)

me too kid!! you were playing quirk bingo, right? it was only a matter of time before someone came along with flying powers and we all knew it. I’ve been saying it and saying it, Deku was born to touch the sky

lulz he’s screaming at Deku that he can already fly with his explosions, so now while Deku works on mastering his own flying quirk, Katsuki will pull ahead of him SO THAT MAKES HIM THE WINNER I GUESS. lol honestly this speech is one of the nerdiest things he’s ever done and I almost wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d ended it with “OWNED!!!” watch him look around for a mic to drop

oh my god

this isn’t even rival energy, this is sibling energy. like, this one panel is some of the rawest fucking sibling energy I’ve ever seen. the relentless shittalking, the competition over absolutely nothing, the ridiculous faces... just, wow

anyway so I have a ton of thoughts about Katsuki’s current feelings toward Deku ever since the Endeavor and Natsuo “you don’t have to forgive me” thing, but the short version is that I think Katsuki lately has actually been really worried about upsetting the status quo with Deku, and, well... “losing” Deku, so to speak. I think during the internship he finally clued in to the fact that he actually had been a real certified jerkweiner to Deku, but more importantly he woke up to the realization that he doesn’t know for sure if Deku actually has forgiven him. like, he’s been going around thinking that it’s in the past, that it doesn’t matter, and then along come the Todorokis with all their drama, and he sees that and he realizes oh shit, sometimes people secretly have tons of resentment that’s just burning away at them underneath and shit!

and so the thought is kind of eating at him now that Deku might not have actually forgiven him, and he’s actually really scared of that, and so he’s reacting in two different ways: one, by being irrationally annoyed/angry with Deku for having that power over him (the power to either forgive him or not), even though that’s his own fault; and two, by trying in his own way to aggressively push things toward being the way they were back when they were little kids before their whole falling out. which, in his mind, means them being rivals. like, in the second character book, there’s a section that’s all about the characters’ relationships with each other, and in for Deku it says he views his and Kacchan’s relationship as “childhood friends”, but from Katsuki’s perspective, their relationship is listed as “childhood rivals.” so yeah

anyway so I guess I lied about this being “the short version” (I’m gonna have to essay about this more in a separate post I think), but basically I think that in Katsuki’s mind this kind of juvenile making-faces-and-egging-each-other-on thing is how he interprets their friendship, and he’s very awkwardly trying to get back to that

anyway! I got hella sidetracked there so let’s get back to the plot shall we. there’s a sweet panel of All Might smiling at the two of them because I think he also sees that this scene is somehow heartwarming in its own bizarre way lol

and then WE’RE CUTTING BACK TO THE DORMS YESSSSSS

(ETA: stray thought -- it’s an absolute fucking delight to see all of the male characters cooking for once while the girls, as far as I can see, are just sitting around chilling in the living area. like I’m sure they are helping as well, but you have no idea how fucking refreshing it is to not have the girl characters be all “WE’LL COOK FOR YOU BOYS SINCE YOU’RE SO HOPELESS AND/OR YOU’RE WORKING SO HARD TEEHEE.” holy shit. it’s great.)

to answer your question, Sero, they’ve been having secret powwows with All Might and discussing things like how Kacchan is objectively better than Deku it’s science, and how to make Deku fly. what have you all been doing

OH I SEE YOU ARE HAVING DINNER

is that Tokoyami running like a Hanna-Barbera character in the background. every time I think I have a handle on his character Horikoshi has a new twist ready to keep me on my toes. also lol at Kirishima remembering how Kacchan did jackall to help during the Christmas party, and making sure he does his part this time IF HE WANTS TO EAT

(ETA: lol so after rereading this that’s clearly Deku in the background. I still think it looks more like Tokoyami though! but obviously the two of them are the only ones still in their uniforms, so.)

OH BOY OH BOY NOW THIS CHAPTER IS CRACKIN’

TODOROKI SHOUTO!! YOU HAVE BROUGHT SHAME UNTO YOUR FAMILY! lmao he’s so quick to answer “IT WAS ME I DID IT” with his two fucking exclamation points too lol. I don’t know why that’s so amusing to me but it is and I love it

meanwhile Horikoshi got a little too playful when drawing that Momochako page there huh. drew the back of her head but was then like “BUT THEN YOU CAN’T SEE HER ADORABLE SMILE” but he couldn’t be assed to redraw it so he improvised. IT’S CALLED ART

ahhhhhhh class B is joining them yesssss!! and Kodai’s bringing a couch oh my god such an excellent and practical application of her Ant-Man quirk to make sure everyone has someplace to sit these children are so cooperative and wise

YAY WHOLESOME NEW YEAR’S PARTY ANTICS

KATSUKI HAS UPGRADED FROM SANTA GRUMP TO SITTING NICELY WITH HIS SQUAD!! SHOUJI IS WEARING ANOTHER OF HIS LEGENDARY PONCHOS!! TSUYU JUST SAVED MINA’S LIFE!! KOUDA BROUGHT HIS BUNNY BECAUSE BUNNY DESERVES TO PARTY TOO!! AND AOYAMA IS PROBABLY WEARING A ROBE, BUT I CHOOSE TO BELIEVE THAT IT’S A DRESS AND YOU CAN’T STOP ME!! NEW YEAR NEW HIM YES CHEERS

oh my god they’re starting to reminisce, no my emotions were not ready for this please chill out kids

look at them talking like they’re all grown up now

you do realize you all are still just babies right. “it was a crazy ride... back then we were so young...” is that Joe Cocker’s version of With a Little Help from My Friends I hear playing in the background. why has the film quality gone all grainy. what is this what’s happening

THANK YOU IIDA

as expected from the resident 40-year-old. please tell these children to get a grip. they’re out here talking about which Roth IRAs they’re going to get and how much their lower backs hurt

also, this scanlation hasn’t been too bad so far, but I feel like knowing it’s “Iida” and not “Lida” is like the bare minimum of translating a chapter of BnHA. like at least get the names right. but anyway I cropped that part of the panel out regardless because Mineta’s face was ruining the atmosphere so it’s all good

oh no. oh shit wait. what’s going on here

do not tell me this is one of those “calm before the storm/AND THAT WAS THE LAST TIME EVERYONE WAS ALL TOGETHER AND HAPPY EVER AGAIN” things. please no. please tell me I’m overreacting and grossly misinterpreting the general vibe here. fuck

also though, you see that bit in the Kacchan panel though lol. so yeah their relationship is just like that. it’s weird but they like it

jesus christ now Deku is sitting there saying “I’m very fortunate” with this face like he’s just DARING fate to come on over and punch him in the balls. DEKU!!

no!!!! [swipes at the air in an attempt to ward off the oncoming plot] go away! shoo!

and interestingly, Tokoyami is watching him!

do you want in on this plot too buddy. is that it. well your mentor has gotten himself all wound up in this spider’s web by this point, so why not. if we’re gonna have angst I guess the more the merrier

LMAO NEVER MIND, THE VERY NEXT PANEL HE’S ASKING DEKU TO PASS THE FUCKING PONZU AGAIN. DEKU COULD YOU FUCKING SNAP TO IT ALREADY HOW MANY GODDAMN TIMES DOES HE HAVE TO ASK

NOW ALL MIGHT IS SITTING ALONE ON A BENCH OUTSIDE THE TEACHER’S DORMS AND AIZAWA IS THERE SUDDENLY

is he going to talk to him about Eri. or the whole Noumu thing. ahhhhhhh

someone please tell All Might he needs to stop acting like he’s about to die. holy shit. this is reaching unacceptable levels. the fond smile while watching Deku’s progress. another fond smile while seeing him and Bakugou going back and forth, perhaps feeling reassured that someone else will be there to look out for Deku once he’s gone. giving Deku a notebook with everything he knows about OFA. and now SITTING ON A BENCH ALONE IN THE DARK IN THE MIDDLE OF WINTER WITH HIS HANDS FOLDED IN HIS LAP JUST THINKING THOUGHTS!! AND AIZAWA’S ALL “WHAT ARE YOU DOING” AND HE’S ALL “NOTHING... JUST...” HOLY FUCKING SHIT ALL MIGHT COULD YOU PLEASE NOT

but anyways so what’s this you say about training Eri now

fffFFFFFS HE’S DOING IT AGAIN

he doesn’t know if he’ll be here come springtime, that’s what’s up. the clock is ticking on Nighteye’s prophecy, and even though he swore he’d live and punch fate in the mouth, you never know though and shit but this is depressing. anyway if my guess is right he may be about to share the secret of OFA with Aizawa though, because that’s what I’d do if I thought I was possibly gonna die and my student might need someone to continue mentoring him once I was gone. so, you know, still a bummer but also YES ALL MIGHT DO ITTTTT

oh nope nevermind he’s just rambling and Aizawa doesn’t have a clue wtf he’s on about

fffff this is some prime grade A All Might angst right here, the gods have blessed us after so long oh snap oh dang

so then maybe he doesn’t think he’s dying lol. well whatever. I think it’s probably a little of column A, a little of column B, that sort of thing but hey

yo you guys, Aizawa bonding with All Might is just. [chef’s kiss] it’s been so long. I don’t think we’ve had a long scene between them since the parent teacher meetings oh my god. Aizawa definitely respects him so much more now and it’s great

totally off subject btw, but the third light novel has a chapter where the teachers all meet up at a local bar and get trashed and talk about all kinds of crap, and Aizawa drunkenly tells All Might he respects the hell out of him, and it’s an absolute delight and everyone should read it. here’s the link to the Viz edition. it’s easily the best of the light novels (though I haven’t read the fourth one which is coming out in March), and an enjoyable read from start to finish. anyways thus ends my unsponsored plug, now back to our regularly scheduled programming

yep. safe to say the days when he thought All Might was an attention-loving media whore are long gone. fuck I love this

oh my god oh my fucking god

wow. just. ...shit. this is a message that I think everyone should hear, first of all, and this is easily one of the most gorgeous and profound panels this manga has ever had. like holy shit I almost cried

and second of all, tell me something, how is Aizawa the most comforting, gentle, supportive, encouraging man in the universe, and how did we get so lucky, and can you believe this man wasn’t even planning to become a teacher holy shit. we can’t afford to lose him, ever

OH FUCK ALL MIGHT, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU START CRYING HERE --

let me tell you I did not need that flashback panel of Nighteye TODAY OF ALL DAYS, HOLY SHIT. THE HELL KIND OF TIMING IS THAT. HE KNEW WHAT EPISODE WAS AIRING THIS WEEKEND, HE DOES SKETCHES FOR THEM EVERY WEEK, THIS WAS FULLY INTENTIONAL AND I FEEL AGGRIEVED

my god All Might is pinching the corners of his eyes and apologizing I can’t. STOP OFFLOADING ALL OF THESE ALL MIGHT FEELS ON ME. even now, after everything he’s given, he still feels like it’s not enough. it’s in his nature to feel restless, to want to do more. he’s earned the right to rest -- earned it more than anyone in the world -- but he can’t, and he feels guilty and helpless because the burden he shouldered for so long has been passed on to everyone else now, and he knows how heavy it is, and he was so willing to carry it even if it destroyed him, but he can’t anymore! and then to have someone come along and say “it’s okay, you’ve done enough, you’re doing enough, you are enough,” just. shit shit shit shit shit. I can hear Horikoshi’s truck beeping as it backs up to dump YET MORE FEELS all over my goddamn house. there are feels being tossed out of an airplane door overhead with little parachutes. fucking paperboys are riding by on their bicycles and whipping them at my face screaming “EXTRA! EXTRA!” fucking...

-- HOLY SHIT!?!?

well my jaw just dropped. um. [peeks at calendar] do you mean to tell me that we’re just CUTTING STRAIGHT TO THE PARTY NOW, JUST LIKE THAT

WELL FUCK, LMAO. BEEN NICE KNOWING Y’ALL

sDFLKSHGLKH

Horikoshi: [poking his head in the door] hey what’s up guys just thought I’d toss in this panel of Ujiko here to remind you all that Spring is when --

everyone: JESUS CHRIST WE KNOW

-- WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK LOL, WHAT

well I guess it’s nice to know that those feelings of impending doom were apparently RIGHT ON THE MONEY sob. NOTHING TO SEE HERE, JUST THE END OF ALL HEROES!! JUST UJIKO ROAMING THE HALLS OF HIS LOCAL HOSPITAL BEING ALL “HO HO” BECAUSE HE’S FINISHED HIS WINTER PROJECT OF TURNING TOMURA INTO ONE OF THE FOUR HORSEMEN AND HE’S FEELING REALLY FUCKING GREAT ABOUT LIFE. JUST THE MANGA JUMPING AHEAD THREE FUCKING MONTHS JUST LIKE THAT, AND DROPPING US BACK IN BARELY A WEEK BEFORE THE START OF THE KIDS’ SECOND YEAR, A.K.A. “YEAR OF THE SHINSOU”, A.K.A. “YEAR THAT KACCHAN FINALLY REVEALS HIS HERO NAME BECAUSE HOLY SHIT SON YOU REALLY FUCKING SAT ON THAT FOR THREE MORE FUCKING MONTHS!?”, A.K.A. “THE YEAR ALL MIGHT BETTER NOT FUCKING DIE”, AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST, A.K.A. “[GESTURES FRANTICALLY TO CHAPTER 245 AGAIN]”

lol. here I was hoping we had at least a little more time before the whole “we’re fucked” thing kicked in, but I guess the apocalypse waits for no one. gentlemen it has been a privilege playing with you tonight

[under-the-blue-sun]

THE 882 FILES. - chapter two

story summary:  When their space pod unexpectedly loses power, Dan and Phil - two crew members from the International Space Station - suddenly find themselves revolving far above the strange atmosphere of an alien planet, and must now find a way to survive as they wait for help to arrive.

story word count: 4057

rating: teen & up audiences

warnings: profanity

song of the chapter: cherry bomb - the runaways

notes: yes yes i'm late i’m using the same excuse as last time i'm sorry !! look but i am gay and i can't count days so if you're mad.. homophobia.

link to ao3 (would highly recommend reading on ao3 due to formatting changes on tumblr!)

“Captain?”

 Captain P.J. Liguori huffed and trudged to the door. 

 “What do you want?” he demanded, swinging the door open aggressively.

 The person at the door clicked their tongue. “I believe it was you who sent me for your coffee, Peter Jones.”

 PJ rolled his eyes. “For the last time, stop guessing my name.”

 Chris smirked and walked in the office, tray in hand. He set down the cup of coffee with his milk and bags of sugar, trying to catch PJ’s eye. In all his years of working with PJ, he had never seen him this glum. Ordinarily, PJ would try to be positive about everything that approached him. Today, PJ was positive about nothing. He ignored Chris’ smiles and continued scrolling through his phone. Chris took a peek at his screen.

 “I thought you were quitting Twitter,” Chris said, pouring the sugar into the coffee.

 PJ sighed. “Can’t exactly be keeping off social media at a situation like this, can I?”

 “Here’s your coffee, Captain.” Chris said, pushing the cup forward. “How are you doing?”

 PJ glanced at the coffee. “Not well,” he said, stirring the coffee. “Also, can I have a long black instead?”

 “No. We haven’t got the time for worrying about coffees today. You have a lot to do today.” Chris said, secretly pleased that he had an excuse to not remake PJ’s coffee. 

 PJ nodded gloomily. “Alright. Read them off for me, then.”

 Chris pulled out his clipboard and cleared his throat. “Well, you have to announce the official numbers of the incident in 1 hour, followed by time with the press, questions from the audience, etcetera. Then, you have a meeting with the CEOs of all the companies on the ISS which I estimate would be around two hours. After that, we managed to book you an interview with the BBC tonight, so please wrap up so we don’t be late for that.”

 “Jesus Christ.”

 “Quite a lot to do.”

 “I can see that.” PJ said. “So I’m announcing the official numbers in an hour?”

 “Correct.” Chris replied.

 PJ hesitated. “So what are the official numbers?”

 “Overall, it’s 132 dead, 15 injured and 2 missing. For BPS, it’s 10 dead, 3 injured and 2 missing.”

 “Oh God, those are terrible numbers.” PJ said.

 “Here’s the list of names.” Chris said.

 PJ skimmed the list. “Macsen Crane, Victoria Guy, Loretta Hess, Daniel Howell, Kason Kumar, Ca-”

 PJ paused. “Captain Philip Lester.”

 “Peej? Are you okay?” Chris asked.

 “I’m fine. Kendall, is this the list of the dead?” PJ asked.

 “The dead and missing, Captain. Are you sure you’re fine?” Chris frowned, watching as PJ quickly wiped his cheek.

 “I’m sure.” PJ assured. “Who’s dead and who’s missing?”

 “I don’t know. I was just given this list of names.” Chris replied.

 “Kendall, go and ask for the specifics.”

 Chris nodded. “Yes, Captain.” he said, and scurried out of the office

 PJ closed his eyes. Please, God, do not let Phil Lester be dead.

SC LOCATION: SPACE SHUTTLE 882 - CONTROL ROOM

 Phil: We’re dead. Oh god, we’re dead.

 [Dan taps Phil on the shoulder, who finally opens his eyes and looks at Dan who’s smiling at him]

 Dan: Captain. We’re alive. We did it. We made it.

 Phil: Oh my god.

 [Phil pulls Dan in a tight embrace. He lets Dan go awkwardly]

 Phil: Sorry. It’s just-

 [Dan nods]

 Dan: It’s fine. 

 [Dan smiles slowly]

 Dan: We made it. We actually made it.

 Phil: And with 30 seconds to spare. We should have taken our time.

 [Dan and Phil both laugh, tears of happiness streaming down their cheeks]

LOCATION: ??

DATE: 25/06/2053

TIME: ??

DAYS IN SPACE: 1

 USER: Mr Daniel Howell

 My name is Dan Howell, pilot of the 882, assistant to Captain Philip Lester and flying to fuck-knows-where. I’m here because I barely survived the International Space Station’s first emergency situation after 53 years of safe work in space.

 It felt good surviving, at first. We had just made it, fire right at our tail. But when we looked back, half the ISS still burning, we felt sick. If we had barely managed to make it, we couldn’t imagine how many people didn’t.

 Fire in open space is weird as hell. On Earth and on the ISS, fire causes the surrounding atmosphere to thin and expand and flames rise with the pull of gravity at the base of the flame. The oxygen makes sure it burns until it runs out of fuel.

 In open space, the hot air from the flame still thins and expands, but as it’s without gravity, the shape of fire is more like a dome. Instead of flickering, the fire orb sort of just hovers there. The oxygen molecules drift into the fire, meaning the flame still manages to persist, but it’s slower and more sluggish because there’s not that much oxygen to deal with.

 It’s weird. Also kind of cool. Everyone loves the idea of fire in space, including me. My first experiment on the ISS was playing with fire in microgravity. Looking back, it was actually pretty dangerous. Jayden Hebert almost caught on fire, which was hilarious but also terrifying. Adrenaline was boiling in my stomach and we were all shaking with excitement.

 Now, my stomach hurts and I am shaking but for all the wrong reasons. The captain nor I have any idea about how many people did or didn’t make it out. There's a possibility that someone we know could be in there, slowly dying, and that scares the both of us. 

 If I seem upset, the captain is even more distressed. I didn’t have any friends on the ISS. I didn’t talk, or know anyone that well. But the captain is an all-round good kind of guy who was friends with everyone on the station. He hasn’t said it to me, but he feels guilty for surviving. 

 He shouldn’t feel guilty for long, though. We’ve realised that we’re going to die on the ship, and there’s not really much we can do about that.

 You see, these shuttles were created and packed by NASA, purely for emergency purposes. Outside of that, not really any use of them. The only thing mechanics have to do with them is make sure that they’re functional, and since there hasn’t been any emergencies on the ISS in the 54 years of running, they’ve kind of been slack for doing that as well.

 Shuttle 882 broke after Allen Stephenson got drunk and spilt his beer inside two years ago, and the mechanics got really mad at him and told him to fix his own problem. Of course, Allen’s an idiot and doesn’t know shit about repairing a fucking shuttle, and even if he did, he didn’t have the proper tools to repair anything, so there wasn’t much he could do. The mechanics knew that. Like I said, there hasn’t been an emergency in the ISS until yesterday. Fixing a random shuttle in Locker 5 was really none of anyone’s concern.

 However, this does pose as a problem for me and the captain now. Allen the Fuckface managed to spill his beer in a lot of places, but most importantly, the teleporter and communications area. Normally, protocol for an emergency is to use the shuttle to immediately teleport the ship to Earth. They made this super easy for us, making a button which only allowed you to teleport to our home planet. However, obviously, Allen managed to mess that up which means that we are 100% screwed. 

 In cases like this, normally, you would communicate with mission control, and they would send an unmanned ship to collect you from the coordinates you send over. However, Allen spilt his beer all over the coordinate tracker and, more importantly, the SOS messenger, meaning that we have no way to communicate with Earth or know where we are. 

 Yeah. Fuck Allen.

 SC LOCATION: SPACE SHUTTLE 882 - MAIN ROOM

 [Dan walks into the main room]

 Dan: Good news and bad news, Captain.

 [Phil looks up from the communications panel he is trying to fix]

 Phil: Let’s hear the good news first.

 Dan: Well, the good news is that NASA always prepares for an emergency by packing way too much food. I counted, and we have exactly 100 freeze-dried meals.

 Phil: That sounds good, but even if we both only have half a meal a day, that’s only going to last us for just over three months.

 Dan: That’s the bad news.

 [Phil chuckles sorrowfully]

 Phil: So, we’re fucked.

 Dan: Pretty much.

 [Phil sighs]

 Phil: Any good news, Howell?

 Dan: This shuttle is an older design from ‘32, so there’s a bedroom with a double bed.

 Phil: That’s good, but I feel like there’s a catch.

 Dan: That is the only bedroom, so, we either have to draw straws or we have to take turns sleeping on the bed.

 Phil: Right.

 [Silence hangs in the room]

 Dan: Well, you’re my superior officer, so you can take the bed. I can sleep on the couch. 

 [Phil stands up]

 Phil: Well, you said it was a double bed.

 [Dan nods slowly]

 Dan: Yes I did, Captain.

 Phil: Well, that’s it, then. We’re grown men. We can share the bed. 

 Dan: Right. Of course. No problem sharing a bed with my captain.

 Phil: Absolutely. And vice versa. No problem sharing a bed with my...uh...pilot.

 Dan: Definitely.

 [Silence awkwardly hangs in the room yet again]

 Phil: Any other problems we need to deal with either than...you know…SOS messenger and all?

 Dan: Yeah. Uh, no. No more problems. Not that sharing a bed is a problem.

 Phil: No, of course not. Uh…

 Dan: Yeah, I’ll just leave you to try and fix the messenger and teleporter while I plan out our meals.

 Phil: Yeah. Cool.

 [Phil crouches back down to stare intensely at the communications battle]

 [Dan leaves the main room]

LOCATION: ??

DATE: 25/06/2053

TIME: ??

DAYS IN SPACE: 1

 USER: Mr Daniel Howell

 So apparently, I am now sharing a bed with the captain.

SC LOCATION: SPACE SHUTTLE 882 - EATING ROOM

 Phil: So, is this half of the meal?

 Dan: Yep.

 [Dan and Phil prod their food]

 [Dan begins eating the food]

 Phil: Oh, fuck this.

 [Phil gets up and gets the full meal]

 Dan: Captain-

 Phil: I don’t care, alright? I would rather live for 100 days with a full meal rather than this half-ass shit. 

 [Phil sighs]

 Phil: I’m sorry for that. It’s just such a stupid situation.

 Dan: You’re right, it is. We barely survive from a fire and plunge ourselves into what? Starving and thirsting to death. It’s like the universe wants us dead.

 Phil: No. Don’t say that. The universe does not want us dead.

 [Phil grabs Dan’s hand]

 Phil: We are going to get out here. As your captain, I promise you that I will get us out of here. We will survive these hard days, and we will return to Earth. Understood?

 [Dan doesn’t reply]

 Dan: Not I, Captain. We.

 Phil: Sorry?

 Dan: You may be my superior, but it isn’t just your responsibility to get us out of here. This is on both of us, Captain. We can’t get out of here unless we work together. 

 [Phil smiles]

 Phil: Of course. Not I. We.

SC LOCATION: SPACE SHUTTLE 882 - LEISURE ROOM

 Phil: So? Any good movies?

 Dan: Not really. There’s the X-Men movies.

 Phil: Hugh Jackman or Jayden Benton?

 Dan: Jackman, of course. Why would they bring those Benton ripoffs on here?

 Phil: True. Anything else?

 Dan: The old Harry Potter movies. Some random rom-coms. War movies. Animated films. Space movies, unsurprisingly. I haven’t heard of most of them, and there’s a lot.

 Phil: Well, we have plenty of time. What should we watch tonight?

Aladdin (1992): 1 hour 31 minutes

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 Aladdin (1992) downloaded

[tia-dreamer]

SoukokuWeek2019 Day 4

Prompts:

Price - Debt and Payment - “Take a good swing at me and everything is even.”

#

Nice, normal mornings weren’t really something that was familiar to the people working at the Armed Detective Agency in Yokohama. So when one such morning rolled around quietly, when suddenly there were no emergencies or extra chores to do and even Dazai was only lazing around on the couch, everyone distrusted it. Immensely. These sort of morning’s always came with too steep a price. In the two hours since the work day started Dazai had caught six people sending prayers to various deities, seen Ranpo case the room, twice, and had been enduring looks from every single person in the office. Even from the Chief! It really wasn’t fair. Dazai had nothing to do with this, and he had, for once, little inclination to stir up trouble.

Though that was suspicious in it’s own right, maybe, so even he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

And drop it did, about fifteen minutes later, when the door to the office was flung open violently, in a way that hinted at a kick more than an enthusiastic push.  Dazai saw a good amount of people relax, from his vantage point, and then blanch. 

He heard the croaked sounds of breaking floor panels and familiar footsteps before he ever caught a glimpse of their surprise visitor. He buried his head more in the couch cushions. No, Chuuya was annoying on the best of days and he didn’t want to get kicked around again for some tiny issue that the Chibi blew out of proportion to compensate his stature. 

“Ah, Nakahara-san?”

Weird, Kunikida sounded perplexed. 

“Heh?! So you all do know me. Wonderful. So where is the Spoiled Brat?”

Dazai hadn’t heard that nickname in years- what-

“Aaaah- What happened, Nakaha-”

“What do you think, de-tec-tives?”

Dazai had a bad feeling about this. But the conclusion his brain was shoving at him sounded disastrous and he really needed to check it, before he started believing it. So he sat up, made his way over to the opening of the visitor booth and turned to look out into the office. 

“Chib-eh?”

Well. Fuck. 

Staring back at him was a tiny - and for once he didn't mean his height, though that of course was a fact as well - version of Nakahara Chuuya. A fifteen year old version, to be exact. Same clothes, but short haired once again, and he couldn't see that one scar on his jaw that Chuuya had gotten at 17. 

“Fuck me, did you let someone stretch out your skeleton, asshole?”

That pulled Dazai out of his stupor. His response was reflexive as always.

“No, I just think Chibi shrank overnight. I didn't know you wanted to compete for the ‘tiniest microbe’ competition so badly you’d get yourself de-aged Chuuya.”

“I just woke up to a stranger poking me with needles and an older version of your little shackle freaking out. I don’t know what happened, okay?”

A huff, but less aggravated and much more indulging than he had heard it in years. Dazai let a smile slip onto his face.

“Well, Chuuya most probably ran afoul of an ability and now I get a flashback to Mini-Chuuya. Maybe I should send them some flowers? Chuuya gets a lot less cute when he grows… or rather, when he ages. You don't really grow, Chibi, even though I tried watering you.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Wait what?” 

Dazai decided to ignore his coworkers in favour of interacting with a much less jaded version of his ex-partner. Not to mention that Chuuya was actually scared, considering he hadn't risen to half the bait Dazai had slipped into their conversation. It had always been the easiest gauge for his mental state.

And Chuuya must be wondering what the deal was with Dazai at the ADA of all places. Maybe he didn't want to see it right that moment, but he would get the picture soon enough. Dazai didn't want anyone else to see that confrontation. 

 So he went and slung an arm around his ex-partner-turned-child-present-partner, ignoring how Chuuya didn't even try to shrug off the contact, and tried to grin at the whole office, all of whom were staring in shock or horror at the scene. Ah, silver linings, those were a thing people prattled on about sometimes, didn't they?

“Well, I guess Chuuya and I will see if I can’t find a rogue de-aging gifted, so we’ll be going-”

“Dazai-kun.”

Dazai stiffened as Fukuzawa-san stepped into the office proper, looking somewhat more severe that usual. 

“Ah, yes, Chief?”

“Mori-sensei just informed me that their Executive went missing after a run in with a very curious ability user. It seems he is no longer missing, though.”

Dazai felt the startling and unfamiliar urge to shove Chuuya behind him and hide him from view, even as the 15-year-old stepped forward instead, straightening out and jaw stubbornly set as he stared at the man who fought with Mori on even footing. Not that Chuuya actually knew that.

“I didn’t go fucking missing. And who wants to know that anyway, I don’t answer to you.”

Dazai wasn't aware of whatever face he was making, but it was probably a pained one. A cornered Chuuya was never a good thing. Even now, Dazai could hear the floor creak ominously, and Chuuya was tensing like he was readying himself for a fight. This was… less than ideal. 

After a quick moment of contemplation Dazai reached out to pull Chuuya back towards him, hand mostly on his left shoulder, but very deliberately also touching the side of his neck. 

“Down boy.”

“Not a dog, Dazai. Two weeks of no names, remember?”

Oh. That made the age Chuuya had been… well, de-aged to much easier to pinpoint. 

“Ah, it has been seven years for me, Chuuya. But I’ll be nice and refrain anyways, how’s that?”

A kick against his shin, and then Dazai’s face was pulled down a good foot until it was almost level with Chuuya’s.

“Don’t fucking patronize me, shitty mummy. I’ve been in worse situations and you don’t need to fucking coddle me. You never did before.”

He didn’t so much as blink at the rapid change in perspective.

“Ah, but last time we were both irresponsible teenagers. I’m an adult now and you're still tiny.” 

Another kick, hitting the exact same spot with pinpoint accuracy, before Chuuya stepped away and to the side, eyes never leaving the people around them. He smirked. 

“I call bullshit. That one over there is younger than me, and considering she has her own desk and a knife that she’s been grasping at for the last five minutes, I doubt this place is any less of one that employs children.”

The grin turned wolfish as he met Kyoka’s gaze head on. “And I’ve definitely killed more people than her. You're not coddling her. So you can shove your adult responsibilities up your ass.”

Again, both of them ignored the offended gasps and exclamations from their audience. Dazai had to admit they weren’t used to that. He didn’t call them out either, and didn't want to be called out for his own hypocrisy any more than them. But Chuuya had always been blunt and sharp-edged at the same time. 

So a rueful sigh was the only reaction Dazai allowed himself. 

“Very well, Chuuya. But fighting’s still not in the plan right now.”

“Quite right.” Fukuzawa interrupted whatever Chuuya had had to say to that, and gave them both a quelling look. Thankfully Chuuya only glared, uttering a “Tch,” before falling silent and focussing on Fukuzawa-san as well. 

“Nakahara-kun. I will inform Mori-sensei of your whereabouts. Considering your temporal displacement, you might be under considerable stress, so I will negotiate terms with him to have Dazai and you stay together and for the ADA to take on your case to reverse whatever happened to you.” His gaze shifted to Dazai, who felt himself straighten, relief coursing through him. “Dazai-kun, please show Nakahara-kun to our infirmary. We should at least make sure that there is no unexpected strain on him.”

And then the white-haired man turned on his heel to step back into the hallway. 

“Eeeh?” Chuuya fixed another glare at Dazai. “What is he-”

“Chuuya.” 

The redhead narrowed his eyes at the taller man. “Urgh. Fine. I don’t want to stay near an audience anyway.”

That was as much of a concession as Dazai could hope for, not that it meant that Chuuya had surrendered to whatever plan the people around him were making. Dazai knew that with a surety that came from years of being stuck next to Chuuya in these sorts of situations. So he led the way towards the infirmary and Yosano-san, and hoped against hope that it wouldn't blow up in everyone’s faces. After a few steps, a third set of those made themselves known, and both of them turned around, almost simultaneously. The little out-of-synch movements were a stark reminder that this wasn’t his Chuuya- his time’s Chuuya. They came face-to-face with Kunikida, glaring and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“I do not believe leaving you alone with a Mafia execute is a good idea, Dazai-kun. For your safety and ou-” 

Dazai threw a quelling look at his partner. He really didn’t need Kunikida to give Chuuya more information on what the situation was like. It would complicate things immensely and-

“Oh come off it.” Chuuya swatted at Dazai with a hand and shook his head.

“I don't have the full picture but you've obviously left m- the mafia. I’m an executive and that guy is your new partner. And we’ve had run-ins that were less than friendly. I won't be here that long, so I don't much care because for now you’re a somewhat more annoying version of my partner as far as i'm concerned, so don't sweat it, okay?”

Abort. Deflect. 

“Chuuya is really giving his brain a workout today, are you sure you won't drop dead from exertion?”

A quicksilver grin as Chuuya gave him the finger. “You’re the one with no stamina to speak of, spoiled brat. That's the whole reason why you can't call me names, remember? OR are you getting amnesiac in your old age?”

The grin that took over Dazai’s face then was completely involuntary, for the record. And he got a pleased little grin in return as Chuuya noted that yes, Dazai remembered quite well. But then Chuuya’s expression hardened as he looked back to Kunikida. 

“You wanna come, you walk in front of us. You obviously trust Dazai, but I don't trust you at my back, mullet-man. Not even if shitty Dazai does.”

In the face of one person already on the verge of a conniption, and the looming threat of Yosano-sensei, Dazai was actually loath to poke Chuuya by admitting that he had grown his hair out to at least resemble a mullet in the furthest sense as well. 

Instead, he took a few steps, laid a hand on Kunikida’s shoulder and then dragged and pushed him towards the infirmary in front of Chuuya. 

#

Yosano caught one glimpse of the Chi- of Chuuya and slammed the door in Kunikida’s face. Dazai genuinely didn't know who had the funnier reaction: Kunikida, who was squawking something about decorum and basic curtesy, or Chuuya, who stared and then started laughing. Dazai was probably the only human in existence who could see the flash of calculation that made Chuuya’s eyes glow before the redhead, seemingly impulsively, started cackling and jeering about scared old ladies. 

And it was effective. Chuuya knew as well as Dazai did how to coax people into certain reactions. For Dazai, it was a learned skill he used in accord with his observational abilities - he was brilliant at figuring out exactly what to say, but Chuuya got people. And an impertinent teenager calling her old? Yosano-san hauled them all into the room after less than ten seconds of loud taunting.

What followed was a rapid fire check-up that went over surprisingly smoothly, considering that Chuuya didn’t know her and had never taken well to strangers prodding him, and that Yosano-san only ever interacted with him the time he had attacked their hide-out. It was a less than ideal situation for a cordial visit. But the two of them spoke little, and interacted mostly through gestures and nods and really, it almost seemed like they had come to an understanding right under Dazai’s nose without making it apparent in any way. How had they done that?

But then they were done, and Yosano swept out of the room, “to update Fukuzawa-san on the situation”, and Kunikida and Dazai both stared after her. Chuuya apparently hadn’t felt the need to do the same, because he was flopped down on the bed and had pulled out a phone he was holding above his head and by all appearances engrossed in. 

Kunikida fell for it like the utter fool he was. Dazai almost wanted to shake his head, but then again, most people didn't expect a 16 year old to deliberately thump his nose at them or try to aggravate him. And Kunikida would see the child before the 16 year old mafia member and mass-murder weapon just because he was lounging around, playing on a phone and affecting a careless attitude. Chuuya had learned exactly how to take advantage of people’s misconceptions. He’d routinely seen Dazai pull the same move, after all. 

“Are you not the least bit cornered about your situation, young man?”

Moments like these, Dazai could see exactly what the math teacher had been like once upon a time. He had a certain “adult-to-child” demeanour that was, if Dazai was being honest, and he always tried to be so as little as possible, very aggravating.

“‘Course not. The boss can’t stand missing an executive and the mummy misses the older me- I’ll essentially cease to exist as soon as they find whoever did this. And that won’t take long with the port mafia on the job.”

“Do not talk so casually about death!”

Chuuya turned his face towards the blonde man. “Your partner was literally humming that bloody suicide song of his when I arrived.”

“Dazai should never be a standard to which to hold yourself-”

“I fucking know. Get off your high horse, mullet-man. I’m not suicidal, I’m realistic. And I haven’t ever seen that waste of bandages as someone I wanted to be like in any capacity.”

“Aww, Chuuya, you’re hurting my feelings!”

“Fuck off, Dazai, you don’t have feelings that can get hurt.”

It was telling how complacent Dazai had gotten within the ADA when it took honest effort to suppress the minute twitch at that. Kunikida seemed too just get more aggravated.

“Now-”

“Oh please. You may know this version but Dazai is still the same shithead who manipulated my friends into stabbing me in the back and also literally stabbing me just so he could get a minion of his own.”

Blue eyes glared into Dazai’s direction. “Not to mention that he also decided that clumsily flirting with me would be a good idea afterwards because he had no people skills and wanted an obedient little housewife and attack dog in one.”

Kunikida sputtered. Dazai just wasn’t sure what to think of Chuuya airing out their past in front of his current partner. Especially because the blonde started muttering something mostly unintelligible, and the only words Dazai caught were something to do with “straight” and “terrible” and Dazai really didn’t care to know exactly what made Chuuya chuckle at that. He could extrapolate it anyways, thank you very much, especially when Chuuya calmed down and shook his head at the former math teacher.   

“You guys completely fell for his shitty obfuscation didn't you. Figures.” And then a mean little grin spread over his face. 

“I was his first kiss.”

And when Kunikida, predictably (really, Dazai needed to teach his partner something about composure in the face of obvious distractions. Then again, he had never needed to teach that before) lost his calm once more, Dazai was all to aware that Chuuya’s grin was a mirror image to his own. 

Chuuya had picked up a lot just by watching him. And Kunikida’s denials continued, much too Chuuya’s obvious amusement. “Ya’think the guy knew other people he’d get into a five foot radius off? Fuck no.”

And that, apparently, was too much for the blonde’s brain, because it evidently gave up on processing anything it had been occupied with for the last minutes, to instead fixate on Chuuya’s vocabulary.

“Language.”

“Fuck you I lived on the streets for 7 years.”

Dazai now really wanted to laugh at the way Kunikida turned purple, but Kunikida might implode if he did that, so instead he raised an eyebrow at the sixteen-year-old and raised an eyebrow. He was met with a sharp grin. 

“I don’t think most girls will appreciate that sort of language.”

Chuuya’s head turned so quickly towards the blonde again that Dazai almost got whiplash, and the face Chuuya wore was one of utter bewilderment.

“I literally just told you that I own Dazai’s first kiss. I’m fucking gay, what the fuck would I care what some civilian chick thinks about me?”

Dazai still tried, but now he really couldn't hold back his laughter. Oh, that was precious. 

 And that was the scene that Yosano arrived back to: Chuuya glaring incredulously as Kunikida squawked and Dazai laughed at the whole situation. 

#

Chuuya was remarkably quiet and almost… well, not exactly docile but definitely more agreeable than expected as they made their way out of the ADA and as Dazai started herding him towards Dazai’s own flat. He was not going to leave him out of his sight, and he had sensibly decided not to think about the reasons for that. 

The calm lasted until they had turned three corners and Chuuya dragged Dazai along in two consecutive loops, executed to catch any possible tails and really, Dazai fell into step with Chuuya way too easily. It had been a habit before they both turned 18, to shake any tails and trip up Hirotsu when they wanted less supervision. 

It was plain discomfiting. Everything was nostalgic in ways that bothered Dazai. The Mafia had been horrible, and still was. But these weren’t bad memories. Ambivalent mostly, though he couldn't help a certain fondness when it came to the pure life that Chuuya exuded as 16, arrogant and confident and settled into a space that he could fit himself into.  

Seeing him like this, Dazai only just realised how much the PM had broken his partner in the later years. He knew how it had broken himself, but he hadn't been watching closely enough to see the same thing happen to Chuuya. 

Evidently though, it had. 

Just for a moment he wondered how much he himself had contributed to that. But that almost made him want to throw up, so he turned towards the currently 16 year-old to start some other nonsensical discussion and met Chuuya’s own narrow-eyed stare.  

“What is she going to want?”

“Huh?” 

Chuuya levelled a glare at Dazai. “The Doc Lady. You said you trust her with your life, but you also said she is an acquaintance,” Chuuya affected air quotes, “of the boss’s.”

“Chuuya, Yosano-san’s not like that.”

That had come out more placating than Dazai had intended. And Chuuya, understandably, growled at that. 

“Bull. Ane-san said it's... like, Debt and Payment. It's a ‘principle of human interaction.’ And seriously, you know as well as I do that His acquaintances never do shit for free.”

Dazai hummed noncommittally as he steered them around another corner, smoothly avoiding the police outpost on that street. 

“Yosano-Sensei is possibly the person least likely to ever become one of Mori’s typical acquaintances, Chuuya. There is quite a bit of bad blood there, from what I have gathered.”

And incredulous look. 

“What, you haven’t gone snooping and gotten your hands on the whole story? When did you grow a sense of respect for other people’s privacy?”

“Imagine trying to spy on Ane-san, Chuuya.”

That single sentence made both of them wince as they looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes. If he had been a lesser man, Dazai would have shuddered. Spying on Ozaki Kouyou was as good as signing a warrant for eternal torture- not death, but unending, eternal torture. Dazai was not a fan. 

“Fact is, Yosano-Sensei may know Mori, but she is not the type to ask for payment from a 16 year old. Maybe it will be different once you are back… to an older age, but I doubt you will care all that much.”

There was a huff.

“Alright, we’ll see.”

“Aww, doesn’t Chuuya trust me?”

The bristling came as no surprise, even as Dazai made sure to smile extra-irritatingly.

“Not as far as I can throw you, shitty mummy. You know that.”

Dazai shrugged. “Well, you are here.” 

“Because there is nowhere else to go! At least you’re honest with your fucking shady shit.”

The brunette stopped and rolled his eyes. “Of course, Chuuya, but I did mean that you are here- this is my apartment building.” 

Chuuya stared up the clean, if somewhat old high rise and raised an eyebrow. 

“You’ve really moved up in the world, now, haven’t you,” he quipped, voice laced heavily with sarcasm. Dazai very obviously bend down a little to smile at him. “Well, since Chuuya never went up all that much I did have an advantage, didn’t I?”

He got a rude gesture for his trouble and a quick hand snatched the keys and stomped inside.

“Fuck off!”

Dazai trailed after the teenager, smug grin firmly settled on his face until they both were in the elevator and Dazai pressed the button to his floor. It was a quick ride, and then Dazai made a beeline for his door and was overtaken by Chuuya as soon as he had discerned which door Dazai was heading towards. He let them both in. 

The apartment Dazai lived in was the complete opposite of his staff-cleaned room in the Port Mafia. After two years in hiding that had been intentional. Possibly the most deliberate decision he had made during those years. It wasn’t vast or clean-cut, it wasn’t a stylish combo of monotone colours and the lights and window blinds weren’t automated. 

Not to mention that he had to take out his own trash which… he should have done two days ago, judging by the state of his overflowing bin. 

And he knew he had a spare futon somewhere because Yosano had gotten a new one for her place and the old one hadn’t been threadbare yet… he just wasn’t sure where exactly it was. 

Chuuya, evidently completely unbothered by the state of Dazai’s flat, had slipped off his shoes and made his way down the hallway meanwhile to peer into every room until he found the kitchen. And he’d already found the Onigiri Dazai had planned on having for dinner, as well as two cans of canned crab from his emergency stash.

When Dazai entered the room, Chuuya wordlessly shoved the cans at him and proceeded to dog into his Onigiri and Dazai very belatedly remembered that Chuuya had been a bottomless pit during his teenage years. He didn't even know if that had changed. He made a face at the redhead. 

“Were you not planning on eating me out of house and home, Chuuya?”

“Fuck off, I’m hungry, and tired and its not even 6. You don't have shit to cook and I’m not going outside again. You’ll just drag me along into another disaster.”

“I think Chuuya is the disaster out of the two of us.”

Chuuya snorted. 

“Yeah right. That little assassin girl was great at detailing exactly how much shit you get up to while you were talking to that boss of yours.” A click of his tongue and a bite as he watched Dazai sit down opposite him. “Seems to me like you just walk from one shitshow into the next ever since you left the PM.”

Dazai took a very deliberate bite of his crab. 

“Shitshows are universal when you’re around ability users, Chuuya.”

The redhead rolled his eyes at him. 

“Oh fuck off with your evasive bullshit. I already said I don’t care, didn't I? I know exactly what the Port Mafia is like.”

Dazai stared at him for a moment. Maybe this version didn't care, but his partner did. 

It had been overly blatant during both their reunion in the basement and during the Lovecraft debacle. Dazai just hadn’t noticed that he had been stepping on someone’s trust at the same time. Words didn’t matter. And neither did words spoken as Chuuya slumped over in exhaustion. Those were negligible. But that his partner, a version of his partner that didn’t know him half as well too, had chosen to come to him when faced with a situation that could have had multiple available solutions? 

It drove home what Chuuya had already said a few times. He did trust Dazai. Not just in the “we have to work together and you’re my ball and chain and you won’t let me level the city” kind of way, but genuinely trusted him to search him out in a vulnerable situation. 

Dazai swallowed another bite and got up, making a deliberately stupid little wave at Chuuya and made his way out of the room to find the second futon. 

This wasn’t something to think about now, when Chuuya watched him closely enough that he might even be able to decipher Dazai’s thoughts. 

Older Chuuya and his preconceived notions was much easier to lead around the nose. 

He ignored the catty “coward” comment that drifted after him. 

#

Dazai’s phone rang at 3 a.m. that night. 

Chuuya had sat up straight on his futon before Dazai even turned to the side to reach for it, a dark, lanky silhouette in the room that was only illuminated by the sliver of a waxing moon. 

He picked up the phone and accepted the call from a blocked number. And really, at this time, there were very few people that would call him. 

“Dazai-kun.”

“Mori-san!” Dazai chirped, deliberately chipper, as he watched Chuuya tense and straighten. “What seems to be the problem at this hour?”

“I do fear for your intellect, if you cannot deduce it from the situation, Dazai-kun. But very well. We have found the hiding place of the ability user that affected Chuuya-kun, so we would be very happy if you could make your way there post haste.”

“Ah, but it is very early, Mori-san, don’t you think?”

“Fukuzawa-dont has assured me that you will be happy to help and resolve this issue as soon as possible, Dazai-kun.“

Dazai sighed. There was little he could do to stall for time in this. And with the way Chuuya was up and grabbing the day clothes at his side, he knew so as well. 

He suppressed another sigh. “Very well, Mori-san, send me the address and we will make our way there.”

He almost grinned the pause that followed. 

“You might remember Chuuya at 16, Mori-san, I won’t be able to keep him from going without grievous harm to myself and we both know I would rather avoid that.” 

“Very well. See that you don’t dawdle,” came the terse reply, and then the call broke off. Dazai pouted slightly at his phone. Mori could really bet indescribably rude.

And still, he rolled out of bed and made his way towards his wardrobe, pulling out a somewhat darker attire than he regularly wore nowadays. 

When going into an area undoubtedly swarming with Port Mafia goons though, he was very much conscious that this would make it just a little easier for him to blend in and keep the tension at a minimum. Not really necessary normally, but he was walking in there without any sort of back-up this time.

Dazai went into the bathroom after Chuuya came out, completely dressed and hair still wet, but not dripping all over the place like Dazai sometimes left his own. 

And fifteen minutes later they were stepping outside again, heading towards the nearest subway station as some other blocked number send him coordinates. The train ride was filled with a mostly tense silence, with Chuuya obviously caught up in his own thoughts and Dazai trying to puzzle out whom he would have to deal with in the next half hour. Hirotsu was almost a given, but he didn’t know whether Mori would send Akutagawa and Gin-chan just to complicate matters or if he would not, to facilitate a quick and successful mission. 

It was a bit of a toss-up, and as such not something Dazai was particularly happy about. 

When they did get out at their final station, they both noticed the suited men waiting for them at the street corner. Dazai only just caught the undecipherable look that Chuuya send in his direction before they met up with the men and were lead down a few alleyways, only to stop in front of what looked like a shop in the middle of renovations, and one that was awfully quiet.

“Huh, is the show over already?”

A familiar voice reached them from the door. “Dazai-kun, Nakahara-kun. You’ve missed the exciting part.”

Hirotsu-san stepped out a minute later, looking as unruffled as always, even in the face of a way-too-often-seen traitor and a de-aged superior. 

The older man gestured for them to step inside. 

“We’ve already captured the ability user, and Mori-sama was asking for a quick resolution of the matter, so if you would, Dazai-kun?”

Dazai hummed and turned to look at his de-aged partner, feeling his smile turn... weird on his face. 

“Well, Chuuya, that was a very short-term solution to your fear of aging, don’t you think?”

“At least I don’t dress like a grandpa, half the time, you fucking waste of bandages.”

A sharp grin and a shove that did make Dazai stumble, even though he had seen it coming. 

“Now go and resolve this fucking mess, you procatinating disaster.”

“Stop trying to order me around brat, you’Re to tiny to look down on me.” 

But Dazai went and turned around, walking past the row of grunts and Hirotsu to stand in front of the obviously unconscious man. It was a male, most probably over 40, lying in the dirt and obviously at least somewhat post-torture. Dazai couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for him. He’d attacked Chuuya after all. And speaking of Chuuya-

“Just a minute.“

“Chuuya-kun?”

Hirotsu’s face looked vaguely disapproving as the teenager ran past the goons and right at Dazai, who, really, had expected this. Chuuya would want to get in at least one hit, he’d known that. 

But then, suddenly, Chuuya was right in his face, and Dazai knew that look. It was stubborn and fixated on him and really, it felt nice to be looked at like that. Like someone wanted him. Like someone cared.

It felt a lot less nice when he considered that this was an out-of-his-depth sixteen-year-old who had latched onto him for all the wrong reasons. 

Dazai didn‘t want this Chuuya. He had outgrown this Chuuya when Chuuya himself had outgrown that age. He still liked the boy, loved him, maybe, but in a distant sort of way. Like a memory, perhaps, and definitely not in a way that would make him comfortable kissing a teenager. Especially with all these people around him. 

So he stepped back. And, really, the look the boy gave him was… it hurt Dazai possibly almost as much as it seemed to hurt Chuuya. But this was the right thing to do. The thing Oda would have nodded his head and smiled at him for. 

But Chuuya’s face… Dazai crossed the distance he had put between them himself and hugged the redhead. 

There were… so many things he could have said, but none felt adequate because, in the end, Chuuya had been right. This version of him would cease to exist- would, for lack of a better word, die. And though they both had always been more than familiar with the harsh reality of their own mortality, it still had to be scary. 

So he hugged his younger partner and felt gratified, maybe and slightly humbled, as he felt the smaller male hug him back and bury his pale face in Dazai’s vest. And then Dazai reached back with the other arm to blindly grasp the forearm of Chuuya’s attacker. 

There was a shocked gasp, and a cut-off yell, and something pulsed in Dazai’s arms before the rapidly aging body crumpled to the floor, heavier than Dazai could manage to hold up with one arm. Instead he went down with him, kneeling as he tried to lay Chuuya down gently, head cushioned on his lap. 

Just from the way his jaw was clenched Chuuya was almost certain that Chuuya was living through a condensed amount of growing pains. Of course he wouldn’t scream. Both Dazai and Chuuya had learned very, very early on in their mafia careers that screaming often only made things worse. 

And then Chuuya‘s hair was back at normal length, slightly wet looking and Dazai would bet that Chuuya would take a 30 minute shower the moment he got back to his own home.

Most people would have stayed unconscious after something like this. Chuuya woke up half a minute later, scowl on his face and eyes narrowed. 

“Fuck that was a fucked up trip.” 

“Well, if Chuuya hadn’t decided he wanted to try out the newest de-aging treatment this could have all been avoided, but Chuuya’s brain is possibly too small to think of the consequences.” 

Dazai knew that it wasn’t his best work. Really, he did, but the actually amused snort his partner made was just about worth it. 

He didn’t stop the Chibi from sitting up, didn’t try to help because that would have just resulted in a fist in his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet either. 

He should have. Dazai knew he should have, but it just wasn’t something he was willing to do right this second. With a certain amount of absentmindedness he noted that Chuuya didn’t seem to want to stand up just yet either, was resting back on his hands and staring up at the ceiling. 

Dazai managed to do the same thing for one, strangely peaceful moment as well, and then he was caught off guard the second time in the last fifteen minutes as Chuuya, once again, decided to get right into his personal space. 

He was clutching at Dazai’s collar again, the brunette noticed vaguely, as he stared into still narrowed blue eyes. 

It wasn’t the same soft look the sixteen-year-old version had levelled at him. It was harder, more bitter and held a wealth of history but at least it was really Chuuya’s. And so were the words. 

“You don’t get to pull away and deny me after you coddled me this whole day, bastard.”

Chuuya kissed him before he had really processed the words. 

All things considered, it was one of the chaster kisses between them, but Dazai could feel his blood rushing towards his face anyway. They were in public. Hirotsu of all people was standing not 10 meters behind them and the first thing Chuuya did after a day under the influence of a quirk was kiss him? When had he stopped being capable of predicting the Chibi?

Dazai kept sitting on the floor when Chuuya stopped pressing their lips together and stood, barking orders at the Port Mafia members surrounding them. And then he swivelled around to glare at Dazai and point a finger at him as Dazai finally started to stand up. 

“And don’t you fucking vanish! We need to talk about some things. I’ll come by tonight, and don't you try avoiding me. I need to go do fucking paperwork now.“

Dazai stared at the tiny whirlwind that was his partner and sighed. Really, today was already not his day. He had just been planning to hide on the Agency’s sofa for a while. So, really, he didn't feel like having a talk with Chuuya. Those always ended with a bloody nose, even if you could talk and blackmail himself out of everything. The grin he affected was, Dazai admitted to himself, deliberately shady. 

“Ahh, Chibi, how about this: You take a good swing at me and everything is even right now, so you don’t have to come and search me out later.”

To be honest, it was kind of impressive that Chuuya had even heard him over the ruckus the Mafia Goons were making around them. But he evidently did? Because he sent an exasperated glare into Dazai’s direction. 

“Are you fucking… Urgh.” Then he took Dazai’s wrist and dragged him out of the room and down the hall, ignoring Dazai’s questions in favour of looking at doors and finally pulling both of them into something that looked like an office. The door was shut with a kick, and then Chuuya was in Dazai’s personal space, hands coming up to grip at his shirt collar and pulling Dazai down until their foreheads were almost touching.

“Listen to me for once in your goddamn life, Mackerel. What you did was decent. Really, fucking decent, ok? I know, you're on the side of the light and all that blah blah blah. But I didn't expect shit as a 16 year-old. You would have had an easier time not trying to coddle and protect me from your own friends. No one would have blamed you. You wouldn't have done so at any other time. So there's something that actually changed. I didn't think so before, and somehow I think you didn't either. So take this situation as proof, got it?”

Dazai thought back to leaving Chuuya, exhausted from corruption, lying on a battlefield. Thought of a sixteen year old version not even shrugging off his arm, as Chuuya let go of him and stepped back a tiny bit.

Then Dazai felt a punch on his shoulder, much less painful that it could have been and shifted his focus to stare into Chuuya’s eyes. 

“We have more to talk about. I mean what I said. Be home tonight. I’ll hunt you down if you’re not, but you wont like it.” Dazai made a show of pouting. 

“Ah, but who says I like Chuuya near me at any time? You’re annoying, Chibi.”

A snort, utterly amused. Oh. That was… not the intended reaction. 

“Yeah, try selling that to someone who didn’t see you light up when I was talking about our little bets and who didn’t see you shuffle around your whole living space just to keep me near you. You know as well as I do that there are more than enough places that you could have shipped me off to, but you didn’t.”

“That’s because no one knew whether the ability would have adverse effects on your control, so of course it was safer to keep you supervised, Chuuya.”

Dazai was trying - really, really, trying - to extricate himself out of whatever this situation was starting to devolve into. But Chuuya wasn’t rising to his bait, wasn’t even huffing or stomping off, and all of that made Dazai decidedly less certain what he was dealing with now. 

Not that he got another chance to try and get back into familiar waters when Chuuya just grinned at him, and then turned to strut out of the door. 

Dazai let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling once more. He needed to get a grip. And then he needed to figure out exactly what had happened in the last two days and what had changed. 

This was important. But for now he would make his way home and bury himself in his futon. It was too early to deal with such a weird day. 

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 23: Abraxas - Part 1

Moya is thinking about the ocean when Shizuka finds her, standing alone on the grass beneath the overpass between Post Way and Sepulveda Boulevard, just beyond the terminal complex. “What are you doing here?” Shizuka asks, with a serious expression.

Moya looks at her. “... Getting out of the sun. What are you doing here?” 

“I told Jerome to go on without me. I felt… I needed to talk to you.”

“... What is there to talk about? You asked for the truth and I gave it to you.”

“You did. I just wanted to say that I’m grateful…”

“Grateful? All I did was give you bad news.”

“It was the truth. I hope I can rely on you going forward, but I understand if you can’t- ”

Moya squints at her. “What are you talking about? Going forward? Towards what? You’re not… you’re not seriously still going after T’onga, are you? After what I told you!?”

“... You know why I’m in LA.”

“To reunite with your mom! To… reconcile with her, be a family or whatever! Right? I thought I made it clear, that is not going to happen! Not with T’onga, not ever.”

“That’s ok.”

Moya stops, and frowns. “... What?”

“That’s ok,” Shizuka says, candidly, “I’ve known since I got here that my mom might not be a good person. She might even be an evil person. That doesn’t matter, because I don’t want anything you said from her. I already have a family. All I want… all I need from her is the truth. About who I am, where I came from. So that the dark spot from the beginning of my life can finally be brought into the light.”

Moya stares at her. “... You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Nope!”

Moya stares at her, for a long time. For a while, she can think of nothing to say. Finally she declares, “I’ve got enough nightmares. Seeing you get killed would send me over the edge. I’ll see this through with you, as far as I can.”

“Y-you will?” Shizuka asks, her smile returning.

“Yeah. Of course, it’s easier said than done. I wasn’t lying before, there are players in the Congregation that are beyond dangerous. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help. Plus, with Tarantula dead and me AWOL, they will be coming down on us. Hard… What’s so funny?”

Grinning, Shizuka shakes her head. “The last time you told me that, that was the exact moment Tarantula showed up!”

“That was just bad timing—!” she begins, then trails off. In the distance, coming up Sepulveda is a sight that makes her blood run cold. She quickly steps in front of Shizuka, to her confusion. 

It is a gleaming white Cadillac limousine with silver hubcaps which seem to glow like ultraviolet lamps in the intense glare of the sun. On the hood is a large silver ornament in the shape of a swooping eagle, light gleaming off its metal talons. It slows as it approaches them, stopping right in the middle of traffic, forcing a trail of cars to stop and raises a chorus of angry beeping.

To this tune, the occupant of the vehicle steps out. She must duck her head low to fit out of the door, and when she stands at her full height, the beeping gradually fades out. Like something pulled from ancient folklore, she stands as large as life itself, clad in silver and blue, her face covered by a mask decorated with white flames.

“Phantasma…” Moya says in a harsh whisper.

Phantasma stares at her, her gaze like a hail of bullets. “Moya. You helped to kill Tarantula. You’ve betrayed me.” The woman in the blue mask raises her right hand. WITCH MOUNTAIN flickers in and out of being behind its users, but Moya herself does not move an inch. Deliberately, Phantasma points at her and says one word: “Challenge.”

Moya winces and shuts her eyes, looking down. She clenches her fists, then releases them and her breath in a shaky sigh. “Challenge accepted,” she replies.

“Huh?” Shizuka says as Phantasma lowers her finger and strides back to her limousine. “I’m sorry, what’s happening now? Moya, is… is that really the lady you mentioned back at the mansion? The… your boss? Why is she wearing a mask? ...Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“... I gotta go… I’m sorry,” Moya says, wiping the sweat off her forehead. She looks straight ahead at the limousine, of which Phantasma has left the door open. The masked woman sits inside, waiting.

“Go? Go where? You can’t be serious…! If that’s really the woman you were talking about, then … I don’t know what her, like, deal is, but I can tell she’s strong just by looking at her! You can’t go alone…!”

“NO!” Moya snaps, turning her head furiously to Shizuka. “You are NOT coming! You are not going ANYWHERE near that woman!” Shizuka is struck dumb by the sudden outburst. “I have to do this alone, and you will stay right here. You are not strong enough to fight her. I won’t have your murder on my hands, got it!? … Goodbye.”

 Moya turns away, giving Shizuka no option to not get it, and stomps to the limo. She clambers inside and looks at the Joestar girl once more, making sure she is still standing there, before shutting the door. It slams shut and echoes around the interior. It sounds like a coffin nailed shut.

Phantasma taps on the glass dividing them and the drivers side, signalling the chauffeur to move. The interior of the Cadillac is immaculate, the upholstery lined with rich Corinthian leather, and the whole cabin is made as cool as a tropical lagoon by the air-conditioning. Moya shivers, but also sweats. She sits hunched over in her seat, hands clasped tightly between her knees. She keeps her eyes on her feet, away from Phantasma sitting across from her, legs crossed. 

The masked woman presses in a leather-clad panel in between the fine seating, and this opens to reveal miniature drinks cabinet. She takes a bottle of tequila and pours it into two gleaming crystal glass tumblers, then presents one of them right in front of Moya’s face. She says nothing. 

Slowly, Moya takes it, fighting hard to keep her hand from shaking. She feels as though the air itself is crushing her. 

“Salud,” Phantasma says, raising her glass and sipping on the alcohol.

Moya raises her own glass and downs the fiery liquid, holding it in both hands. She stares at the glass. The tinted windows make it impossible to tell which way they’re going. 

“How long?” Phantasma asks.

“... How long what?”

“How long have you been a traitor?”

“... How do you know that I am? Maybe I was there to help Tarantula.”

“Tarantula himself long suspected your loyalties were in question. He came to me some time ago, but I dismissed him. Promised to kill him should he doubt you once more. But now he is dead, and my sources confirm witnessing you assisting in his murder, on the rooftop of the C-King mansion.”

“Alright. Then maybe we found the place together. And maybe, we figured out they were the wrong guys, but Tarantula felt like killing them all anyway, because he was a fucking lunatic who turned on me when I tried to stop him. Or maybe I was just tired of his shit.”

“Maybe,” Phantasma says, “but that isn’t the truth.”

“... No, it’s not.”

A heartbeat passes in silence. “How long?”

“... 6 years.”

Further beats pass. The ice in Phantasma’s glass clinks. “... 6 years…”

Moya nods, sitting back in her and looking off to the side. 

“... Since you came back…”

Wordlessly, Moya slowly pulls her badge from her back pocket, presenting it to Phantasma like a naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. The masked woman reaches over, taking the badge from her hand and studies it. Her expression cannot be discerned, but Moya believes she sees the corners of her mouth twitch downward. That is all. She tosses the badge to the side, losing interest. She opens her mouth, then closes it, then takes another sip of her drink. Then, “... And that… girl, in the face-paint? How does she fit into this? I doubt she’s your superior. Much too young, and… liberal…”

“She doesn’t fit into this,” Moya says quickly, “You must promise to leave her be.”

Phantasma stares at her. “Must I?”

Moya swallows once. “… She stumbled her way into our world, chasing fantasies. Just some little girl who started clinging to me after I showed her a bit of kindness. She had no part in Tarantula’s death… or my betrayal.”

The masked woman leans forward in her seat. “Tarantula’s murder. Do you feel nothing for the loss of, if not a friend, then a comrade?”

Moya grimaces, then forces herself to lean forward, meeting Phantasma’s eyes. “Tarantula was evil, and he knew that someday, somebody would take him. The last words out of his mouth was a prayer to his bloody idol. He got what he wanted. He had no regrets… And neither do I.”

This hangs in the air. The two women glare at each other for some time, each waiting for the other to break the eye contact. Like gun-fighters, waiting to see who will make the first move.

It turns out to be Phantasma. Slowly, she reaches her hand into her jacket and produces a silver cigar case. She takes a cigar from inside and lights it, inhaling deeply and releasing a cloud of thick grey smoke, swiftly dissipated by the air-conditioning.

“You and I,” she begins, “were once… very close. And I do not forget, even when others do… In memory of that bond, the final kindness I do for you is to honor your request. While I live, no harm will come to that girl.”

Moya sighs shakily, and bows her head. “... Muchas gracias…”

[hunkjasontodd]

Call In to Talk?

I revisited @pichiba’s blog and was scrolling through the radio!au tag when I realised I hadn’t written much about them in a while and it was bugging me so... 

Prompt: Ryan’s down with the flu, and is feeling down because nobody’s paying attention to the show. Shane steps in to help. 

Sequel to this!

Also available on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321384

Ryan stares at the control panel, a little lost. 

Let’s rewind, yeah?

Ryan, the kind soul he was, was persuaded (more like peer pressured, but he’s not going to be that mean) to take over his best friend Steven’s radio show so that he could return home and spend time with family. Unawares of the traps, Film student Ryan went on to set up a show talking about unsolved mysteries. 

While most listeners had their fun, pitching in ideas and other possible theories, two of them decided to be a pain in his side and tear apart his theories with even more possible science, leaving him flustered and a little embarrassed. Well, one of them dropped off the face of the world, rest in peace, Brent, but the other one, an even more annoying man named Shane, decided to wreck havoc in his little haven by having Ryan play into his little game. 

Shane truly knew how to smooth talk his way to the results, and Ryan hated it. He hated it because he’d thought that Shane would just be a casual listener, but it turns out that his new “friend” decided to become one of his most loyal listeners. Every session, every fucking morning at 3, Shane would be there, live-tweeting how he thinks the weird theories are all whacky and supporting scientific theories with evidence and proof. At the half-hour mark, he’d call in to argue with Ryan for a solid five to seven minutes, leaving the Film student gasping for breath and bubbling with irritation. Then, as the show comes to an end, Shane would haughtily tweet out “seems like the Boogaras are losing, again.” 

They’ve gotten to a point where people have begun taking Shane’s side, and more and more people are converting. It took the fun away from being a supernatural radio show host. It was tiring to talk, now. Shane would always be there, armed with his stupid science, ready to rip apart everything Ryan built. 

Long story short, Ryan doesn’t like Shane very much. 

Just his godforsaken luck. 

The last day of Unsolved, and he gets a cold. Great. 

Ryan sniffles miserably, eyes and nose red and stuffy, leaking gross liquid. Steven had come back to the States a week ago and told him that Worth It would be back on air in about three days, leaving Ryan with the final Saturday, 3 AM slot. 

Then, he had to fall ill. Fantastic. 

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Steven asks, handing him a paper towel and wincing at the noise that escapes Ryan’s nose. He nods, hoarsely replying, ‘I’ll be okay.’ 

‘You don’t have to force yourself, dude,’ his best friend reprimands lightly, smoothing circles into his back, ‘I can take over. We’re done with the scripts and stuff.’ 

Ryan shakes his head, glaring at the lunch table, ‘no, no. I can do this.’ I need to do this. ‘Worth It doesn’t deserve to get the worst slot ever.’ Steven levels him with a glare, aggressively stabbing his bowl of noodles with chopsticks, ‘my best friend doesn’t deserve to overwork himself when he’s not feeling well and has a test to study for.’ They both stare at each other, until the other breaks. ‘Really, Ryan, you don’t have to.’ 

‘I want to,’ he whispers, softly, ‘I- I got attached.’ Steven’s eyes widen by a fraction, yellow noodles slipping off his chopsticks, ‘I need to say goodbye.’ He knows he must look pathetic, clinging to something as dumb as a supernatural radio show. But, it was his baby. He loved interacting with the live-feed, the preparation, the recording, the whole routine and mood. 

They sit in silence for a long while, a dark cloud over their heads. 

Steven lets out a slow breath, grip tightening on his utensil, ‘okay.’ 

Ryan startles, ‘okay?’ 

‘Okay. You get to do a last slot for Unsolved.’ The Chem student drums his free hand on the table, ‘but, if you feel terrible, I’m not letting you enter the studio.’ The underlying threat of something horrific eases into his tone a little too easily, but Ryan lets it slide in favour of thanking Steven.

‘You’re the best,’ he chokes, tears blinding his vision. 

Which brings him back to the current setting: he’s in the studio, Steven and Adam, alongside TJ, on the other side of the glass, ensuring that everything’s alright and things are running smoothly online. Steven has a perpetual frown on his face, worry lines creasing his forehead. 

‘Ryan, what’s going on?’ Steven’s voice rings in his headphones. The Twitter live-feed was full of “get well soon”s and other minor insults/concerns about how he shouldn’t be on air if he was feeling unwell. 

They weren’t talking about the show at all. 

A twinge of hurt strikes in his chest. He sniffles, ignoring Steven’s concerned shouting and TJ’s attempts to fill the silence. He can’t even end Unsolved the way he wants to. Just grand. 

‘Incoming call,’ Adam’s soft voice pulls him out of his stupor, urging him to pick it up. Ryan does so, albeit slowly, ‘hey, wha--’ He’s abruptly cut off by a familiar voice, one that’s so used to mocking him.

‘Are you saying that something happened at the Sallie House and nobody in their right minds filmed it? Are we really going to trust some probable hallucinations?’ Shane’s annoying voice leaves him stumped.

‘Huh?’ He wasn’t expecting anyone to talk about the case at all. ‘You heard me, Ryan,’ Shane replies, ‘wait let me get on Twitter and just-- okay. Check the feed, dude.’ Ryan does so, adjusting the brightness to see that Shane’s posted several photos of diagrams and heat signature readings. There’s a rustling sound on the other line, ‘you see it, right?’

‘Well, I’m definitely seeing something, alright,’ he fires back automatically, confusion and rage fueling him. ‘Good, good,’ Shane murmurs, the rustling continues, then another tweet loads. It’s more pictures, this time, hand-drawn. Ryan expands all the images, eyes going back and forth. 

Shane clears his throat, ‘right, so, I’m drawing out the setting of the so-called “incident” and sent you images of the heat signatures of the area during that day, as well as the insides of the flashlight. It could very likely be possible that the light turned off and on due to the irregularities of the surrounding temperatures.’

Ryan sputters, scrambling for a counter attack, ‘but- it happened more than thrice, when they were demanding the demon turn it on!’ Shane hums, as if mulling over it seriously, ‘have you ever considered the fact that when they talked in close proximity to the light, they were actually releasing heat, which could cause it to turn on and off?’ 

It leaves him stumped, for a few microseconds. 

Shane prattles on, listing out all the possible situations and scenarios for the light to have been acting weird, tweeting out even more pictures and diagrams to help facilitate his point. Ryan slowly gets the point, and comes up with a few more arguments, talking about how some rooms in the house had stable heat signatures but experienced the same things. 

At this point, the live-feed has shifted from talking about Ryan to talking about the case. 

‘User @boo-gara-fan made a good point: it can’t be possible that the light acted weird on command, but then stabilise itself again for the rest of the incident. It’s almost too coincidental.’ Ryan wants to applaud himself for being able to stand up for his own point, glad that there were people on his side. 

Steven has been strangely quiet, he glances up to see if his friend was still around. Sure enough, there he was. A big, broad smile on his face, eyes glimmering in relief and pride. Huh? 

Before he gets a chance to ask, more people chime in with their own opinions, and the show is back on track. 

‘--and this has been Ryan Bergara! Thank you guys for being such awesome listeners these past two months! It’s been a blast, hosting Unsolved. I had my good and bad moments, but I hope I was a good host and provided the entertainment you were seeking. Thank you, and farewell!’ Ryan cuts the recording, ignoring the tears sliding down his cheeks and the tremble in his voice. 

He was done. Unsolved is over.

The crew start to move in, clearing up the area and helping him one final time in shutting the studio’s power off. Before the live-feed is cut off, he sees a final tweet flash on the screen: 

Shane Madej @shanealexmadej

Take care of yourself. I hate hearing you sound sick. It’s been fun. 

Ryan chokes back all the tears he’s been holding back. Sliding down against the control table, he finally lets his sobs out, lamenting how the end of something he loved had finally come.

Forty minutes later, Ryan locks up the room for the last time. He stares at the door. Studio 13, it says, painted in bright orange. He takes a deep breath, walking towards the front desk. He signs his name on the checkout sheet, turns his Crew ID in, and drops off the keys in the pink box for the last time. 

‘Ryan!’ Steven yells from across the field, running to him at full speed. ‘I’ve got news for ya, buddy!’ Ryan is about to ask what happened when Steven crushes him into a hug. 

‘Unsolved is back.’ Steven whispers, a grin in his words. 

‘What?!’ The words have yet to settle in when Steven drags a tall, lanky man in front of him. ‘He’s been pressuring the studio to give your show back to you, and they finally relented! On three conditions, though: you get the prime slot, and have to do supernatural and crime.’ 

‘What? Where’s the third?’

The other man smiles at him, genuine and relaxed. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Shane Madej, your new co-host.’

[iphoenixrising]

Anything Angsty with Tim please. Recommendations, a fic anything, just feeling angsty .... (P.S doctor!tim is everything I've ever needed and looking forward to AOB part 5! You're amazing! Good luck with your day)

Hi babe. I’m sorry I kept this for so long, but I am def aware how much you love your pain (lol) and I had this idea spinning for a while, so… Yeah. But ah, I started thinking about this what-if from the Fracture Verse and it got really long and intense really fast>.Destroyed. Basically, the Titans take on theinvaders and most the JL mentors take their sidekicks for some R&R exceptfor Red Robin, who goes back to the Tower to take care of himself and Batmanjust kind of lets him go.Well, What-If B just wasn’t having any of that? What if shit started getting so real there and just ALL THE KNOWLEDGE DROP HAPPENS THERE INSTEAD OF A YEAR LATER O_O  Like, Tim has only been back from his little torture vacay and then the mind fuckery of the Insurgents and just!

So…here it is.

**

All-in-all, invading aliens are douche canoes.

Seriously.

Kon, Cassie, Bart, Rave, Gar, and Miguel are allin agreement with him on this one; especially after they were all trapped in anendless of loop of their worst moment, worst losses, worst failures while stuckin the alien’s most powerful weapon: the Mind Trap.

Sure, it had been his brilliant, last-ditch ideato jump ball to the wall into the trap, giving him the access to their neuralnet he needed to break the hive mentality and shut them down from the inside.

It doesn’t make anything, any of it, anybetter.

While he’s reliving Kon’s final moments, Raven’snear insanity at the hand of Trigon, Gar’s out-of-control power ripping hisbody apart, Cassie’s nearly fatal injuries, Bart’s last wishes while hecoughs up blood and bile, Miguel watching his beloved slip in a coma to hoveron the edge of death—

While he’s doing all of that, Cassie is gettinghit with a two week span of time he was tortured as Tim Drake, Kon is getting aload of life with a ruptured spleen bleeding out, Bart is feeling the contagiontaking hold to kill Batman’s sidekick, Gar is feeling the pain when he, Damian,and Dick are fighting it out after the Robin tunic was given away without hisconsent, and Miguel is feeling a whole lot of owfuck from that time theRed Hood tried giving him a second smile to worry about.

But what matters in the end? With Raven’s help,he’s able to keep part of his mind partitioned off from the alien device so hecan live through the atrocities of his team and hack the invader’s tech at thesame time—enough to put in his carefully recalibrated virus to take them thefuck down.

The trap faded around them once the virus his jackpotand breaks the neural-net connection, essentially making the invaders as potentas five-year olds throwing temper tantrums.

The following beat-down is enjoyableenough to make up for the hour spent reliving their worst moments and fears, inhaving those moments share with the rest of the team.

Well, not really.

But still, it’s a pretty sweet revenge fight.

As per usual, the JL appears out of the sky overSan Fran once the main body of fighting is pretty much over and done with.They’ve already started on clean-up with the local authorities when Superman,Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Zatanna, the Flash, Martian Manhunter, GreenArrow, and the Batman show up to take a look around at the nice pile of former mayhem.

It’s a surprise when Superman goes straight forSuperboy, eyes wide with concern, gripping the teen’s arms and asking quietlyif he’s been hurt, is he okay? Does he need to go to the fortress for somehealing time?

Wonder Woman is similarly concerned upon seeingWonder Girl wavering with some bloody patches on her elbows and ribs, but it’sthe younger hero’s eyes that really bother her. Without a word to therest of the Justice League, she takes one of her protégé’s arms around hershoulders and takes to the sky, intent on going to Paradise Island for theyounger to recuperate.

The Flash pretty much catches KF in anall-encompassing hug, blurting out how bad ass the younger speedster didon such terrible bad guys, how proud he is of what KF did here today,how they need to check him over before he collapses, and just let me feedand care for you, little bro.

Zatanna feels the sharp, aching throb of paincoming directly from Raven, the power radiating in shards of agony. As a fellow magic user, she has no qualms going directly to the youngerwoman and talking gently, almost begging her to come to New York and the quietroom set-up to negate magic and allow for healing.

Martian Manhunter, who’s known Gar for years,sees the strain, the trembling, flinching muscle, and just pulls theunresisting Beast Boy up in his arms with something spoken softly against themop of green hair, and flies off with a nod to the Bat.

Red Robin, beaten and abused, bloody andlimping, is glad the JL came for his team; the aftermath of this, the rawnessof it, the pain, would be a real bitch for them to deal with. They would needthe support and the time to come back from the slideshow of horrors they allexperienced.

He turns away from the members of his team beingtaken away by their mentors and friends, going up to Cyborg with a copy of thevirus he created to take the Insurgents down, and gave the JL membersome of the deets about the who, what, when, where, and why since, you know,invading aliens are usually part of the JL’s extensive repertoire ofass-kicking.

He finally puts the bo away now that clean-upcrews are underway and the invaders are being detained by A.R.G.U.S.  Withthe job over and done with, he pulls a grapple in one bloody hand, fires it atthe convenient rooftop to take to flight. Their part is done and AmandaWaller’s people can figure out what the fuck to do with the aliens.

At least from here, he’s close enough to theTower to get half-way there without doing more damage to his ribs and theterrible concussion—

(V)

—Vash the Stampede, hitting the back of hisbrain pan. He needs antibiotics and first-aid to stop the bleeding as well aspossible other bad shit, like septic shock, from setting in (since,really, it’s ass) before he starts up adding this little sitch to theTitan’s records. Then he needs to get back on the hunt for those curiouslywell-funded labs getting Black Market equipment, and—

The slight paf of another zip line shakeshim a little in mid-air.

The shadow of the Bat is coming right up behindhim, dark cape flaring out behind the older vigilante so Red can plainly seeB’s arm already out to grab him around the middle and pretty much pull himright the hell off his own zip line.

“What the f—!?”

But they’re moving through the air, his wordslost to the rushing wind while B’s line attaches to the Batplane flyingoverhead, retracting to bring them closer to the dark silhouette in the sky.

With his back pressed up against the yellow ovaland symbol on B’s chest (and once upon a fucking time this meantsomething, didn’t it?), and that arm like iron around him, Red’s lip curls upin a sneer, shouting over the Batplane’s engine making his hurting jaw achejust that much more.

“What the hell do you need?” The unsaid can’tthis wait? Is right there.

B leans in to talk against his ear while they’restill in mid-air, probably not at all aware of the ringing so loudanyway, “I don’t need anything. Hold on.”

But through the lightheadedness, the strikes ofvertigo, the nausea rising up, Red still clenches his aching jaw and focuses onhow the hold around his gut hurting this much proves he’s pulledsomething probably important.

“Then I don’t want a ride to the Tower. I’ve gotit” Because he does. He’s had to have his own back for the better partof two years, before and after he brought B back from being lost in time andleft the Bats to figure their own shit out. He’s stayed away from their familywhen he’s in Gotham, stayed back because, well, Replacement, right?

Even if he and Jason are on better terms than ‘letme show you the pointy end of this knife,’ he’s still not even fucking goingthere.

The exit door to the Batplane slides open rightunder the cockpit. “I’m not giving you a ride to Titan’s Tower.” Is B’srumbling reply as they close in.

“Not all of us can jump from one crisis to thenext. Give me 48 hours and then you can email me with whatever intel you’reafter.” But he’s blinking behind the whiteouts, feeling sick and fuzzy, theinjuries that apparently aren’t going to just wait a minute.

“I don’t need any intel, Tim,” B snapsout, seemingly angry at something.

Red is too far into the pain game to really givea fuck about more of this little back-and-forth with his former partner.“Then what the hell do you want?” He snaps back, gripping the armaround him at the wrist, pulling his secondary grapple for, you know, justin case.

(Well, it’s not like they’re on good termsor anything—B has a Robin, so what’s this all about?)

“Stop it. You’re going to fall,” the arms getstighter with his meddling, and Red gasps out a pained noise when somethingtender is squeezed right along with it. His upper body flops over B’s arm in anattempt to curl up against the pain.

He barely realizes they’re up through the doorand into the cockpit while the plane glides smoothly on auto-pilot. The minuteB’s arm falls away, he can brace himself on the control panel and try tobreathe without puking.

Gloved hands turning him makes him jerk back astep as far as he can in the small space, pulling away.

“Just…just get me to the damn Tower,” ishoarse, blood on the Batplane’s floor now. Great, he’s going to probably get a rightbitching in his voicemail from Alfred explaining what a pain in the assbloodstains are to get out, Sir.

“I’m not taking you to the Tower,” Bgrowls back.

And there it is again, Batman is gripping hisbicep, pulling him closer, the whiteouts dipped down and the free hand rovingover the torn places in his suit.

“Then why the fuck am I in here, and—and stopthat. Shit!” His knees wobble, his move to pull back aborted when agloved hand presses along his left side. Bile rushes up into his throat,swallowed back down by sheer fucking willpower.

“The Titans just took on invading aliens,Tim. You need medical attention and time to recuperate. Your suit stood up tomost of it, but you’re bleeding.”

Again. There it is. B saidhis name more times in the last ten minutes than he has in the last year. What.The. Ever. Loving. Fuck. Is. Happening?

“Then—” he stutters out between panting breaths,fighting the dizziness and pending gray edges to his vision, “let me go to the fuckingTower so I can patch myself up.”

B seems to finally get that something isrotten in Denmark, and lets Red pull out of the hold. With his vision failingand go time eminent, Red fumbles back at the control panel in an attemptto slam the button that will open the door back for him to jump out of and firehis extra grapple. Then he’s going to be hitting the Medical floor in like, sixminutes tops because much longer and he’s going to be in oh shit landjust like when the Triad—

He misses on the first shot because B knocks hishand away and the exit stays closed.

“Wh-What the hell are you—?”

And sometimes, B is just that guy becausethe corresponding blow to his worst injury is such a fucking dickmove.

But it has the intended effect, showing how weakhe apparently is because his knees knock together and go out on him. He wouldhave ended up on the floor if B hadn’t swept him up like some fainting lily andkicked the co-pilot’s chair around with one foot to set him down in it.

“You’re in no shape to go back to the Tower,” Bmakes it statement punctuated with the last hit.

“…asshole…” he faintly gasps while the painmakes him clench his jaw against a noise.

“We’re going to talk when I’m not worried aboutinternal bleeding and broken bones. Since when have you been taking care ofinjuries this extensive on your own? I’m fairly sure a stipulation to joiningthe Titans was that you keep me updated when you get hurt.” B fills in, handspausing when he realizes the Red Robin’s suit design is…different. Verydifferent. The design has changed, along with the security traps (and hewonders when it happened. He should have the current designs of allhis sons’ suits, including armor schematics and the necessary details).

His Bat sense is going off about everything,more so than when Clark first picked him up from Gotham to inform him theTitans are in the fight of their lives because invading aliens managedto bypass the Watchtower’s systems.

He’d set the Batplane for follow them, alreadyworried about how Red Robin would be holding up while Clark sped them as fastas possible to San Francisco, meeting up with the other JL members on the way.

None of them had to say how worried they were,it was evident, even if you weren’t the so-called World’s GreatestDetective.

But the nagging something tugging at hisinner sense when Red shot his grapple without even a word to him isgetting stronger, is making him worry a hell of a lot more than he was even anhour ago.

He feels out the obvious injuries, even withRed’s hand weakly shoving his away.

“No internal bleeding, nothing broken. Thisconcussion is the bee’s knees thanks. A stop at the Tower to drop me offwould be just—” and yes, B, that was one of their agreements.Back when he was still Robin, when someone actually gave a fuck. Healmost comes out with that, but stutters to a halt because Batman gives nofucks about anything but flicking out a razor-sharp batarang and cuttingthe tunic right up the center, pulling away the dented, broken armor to get tothe body suit and main bleeders underneath.

“Tim, I said I’m not taking you there. No one isgoing back for the moment, and you need medical treatment, these look serious.”B already has the gloves and gauntlets off, “Batcomputer,” he turns slightlyand gets the acknowledging boop, “full body scan of Red Robin. Send results toAgent A.”

“N-No, no, not—” but his arms flop uselessly andthe six-minute window has already passed him up. It’s fail timeapparently.

Behind the whiteouts, B’s eyes narrow with thisconsistent fight. There’s something very wrong here, something wrong when hisformer Robin is fighting him tooth and nail when he’s half-loopy on blood lossand exertion. “Yes. There is no way in hell I’m leaving you in the Towerby yourself like this. Not going to happen, Tim. I am not goingto let you bleed out all over your computers.”

And B shoves his cowl back to show thoseelectric blue eyes, narrowed stubbornly when there’s my way or no waygoing down.

“Why,” he stutters when black replaces gray andhis brain fuzzes more, starts shutting down because of the impending owfuck,“the hell does it matter? I’m not your fucking responsibility anymore, right?”

He tries to sneer, tries to move, tries to snarland snap about why not a little bit of fuck-off for your day, butnothing is responding to command. Before he blacks out, though, he gets to see thelook of utter shock on Batman’s face, and well, the small surge of satisfactionat getting the drop on the Dark Knight leads him to the way—

Out

**

“Septic shock?” Dick gasps, utterly dumbfounded.

“Yes, Master Dick,” Alfred carefully works,aproned and gloved, cleaning the last of the ragged, raw injuries before hewould need to wrap them. The boy on the bed isn’t moving except for his chestrising and falling with slow, even breaths.

He does, however, press a button on the touchpadabove the bed in the Cave’s medical area to show the outline of a human bodywith a glaring red circle.

“It seems Master Timothy is no longer inpossession of the viscera necessary for fighting off infections.”

Bruce in only the body suit, Dick in sweats andt-shirt, and Damian without the domino all turn to Alfred.

And stare.

“You are saying he no longer has a spleen?” Damiverified, “and is thus more prone to illness?”

“That is precisely what the scans are showing,Master Damian, and I ran them several times to verify.”

The youngest Bat blinks once, blinks twice, andturns back to the unconscious form of Tim Drake lying still and silent. It wasbad enough the four of them received a nasty shock while peeling the RedRobin body suit off to reveal a mass of still-healing welts, burns, and brokenskin marring the span of Tim’s back (what the hell happened?) andthe other injuries in the process of healing, injuries that look suspiciouslylike torture on his upper body, arms, and hands; not to mention howAlfred huffs angrily at the visible curve of ribs standing out against paleskin, but finding out he also lost, you know, a semi-crucial body part sometimesince his last Bat-physical (hearing the date is the next shocker of thenight) is pretty much the last straw.

“I’m going to do some research. Let me know ifhe comes to, Alfred.” B turns away with a snarl, the muscles in his back andshoulders tight.

“I shall, Master Bruce. However, I have nointention of tying him down to the bed frame. Should I be detained with dinner,please refrain from using cuffs.”

“I’m not making any promises,” Bruce snaps back,already in his chair at the Batcomputer to start digging into the last sixmonths of Red Robin’s vigilante career and Tim Drake’s personal life.

Gingerly, Dick ruffles Damian’s hair and movesto sit on the medical bed by Tim’s hip, staring up at the closed eyes and slackfeatures. He doesn’t process Alfred taping gauze down on the current injuries,but picks up a bruised and battered hand to hold in both of his while lookingat a very obvious scar now that he knows some of what’s been going on inthe time since Tim has been back to the Manor after the Robin mantle went toDami.

(And Dick feels like a right bastardbecause he remembers coming up the stairs, thinking Tim might have been in hisold room after their thing with Ra’s people before B had been found—whenhe thought Tim might have come to his senses and come home to be RedRobin here with them…and found Tim’s room empty. His things moved out, theshelves missing his usual array of books and video games, no clothes in theclosets, no extra suits in the hidey holes, no shampoo in the shower ortoothpaste on the sink. The Flash shower curtain is gone, replaced by a genericone in most of the other guest rooms. And just turning in circles, the hardweight in his chest, the utter pain when he realized Tim never meant to comeback. He was already gone from the Cave where Alfred had patched him up,where Tim had told Dick specifically, “You’re my brother. I knew you’dcatch me.”)

He sighs, shoulders rising with the move. Hedoesn’t say anything as Alfred continues to dress the injuries and Tim sleepson.

It’s not very long before a sharp intake ofbreath from the computer draws their eyes, and B is typing furiously to getmore information. Hacking into the Tower’s mainframe is child’s play,especially when he has Vic doing the hard work.

Tim’s ghost drive, however, is yielding moreresults than he anticipated.

The video file labeled Triad makes hisstomach churn.

Dick leaves Tim to sleep off the drugs andantibiotics, for his fever to slowly come down under their ministrations. Hegrins a little at Damian asleep in the chair next to the medical bed and stepsover to the computer where Bruce is looking grim, fists clenched tight on thecontrol panel.

Dick almost asks, almost, until hecatches the video playing—

And watches Tim Drake take a whip to the backwhile their former Robin is screaming.

“Oh…Oh my God,” he blinks, chest tight,nausea rising up when the footage skips and the next scene is Tim being helddown by the arms and shoulders, the remains of his business suit ripped to givea span of bloody skin for the glowing hot iron bar to be set down.

He doesn’t know when he moved or when B got tohis feet while the two of them try very hard not to be sick as Tim screamedover and over on the security footage.

They stand together, silenced by horror as theslideshow continues, as Tim is tortured over and over, as one of their ownattempt to escape, gets to the control room and tries to get a communicationout to the outside world.

By the time they have the full picture of howthose marks got there and what Tim Drake had to go through, Bruce is deep inthe Bat, anger radiating from every pore.

Tim was abducted outside Wayne Enterprises ashis daytime persona, as Tim Drake, CEO, and none of them had known a damn thingabout it.

**

It’s almost forty-eight hours later.

The Bats are in from patrol and upstairs to dohuman things, like sleep and eat and bathe (because the sewers of Gotham are nastyno matter how many times you’ve been down there—the sitch never gets any better).B has scrubbed down and changed in the Cave, making sure he was free ofcontaminants before coming over to check on his still-sleeping Robin. Handsaccustomed to delivering pain are absurdly gentle when he lays a palm on theback of Tim’s neck, glad to see his temperature is finally getting back tonormal, and checking the IVs as well as the bandages on Tim’s healing back andnewer injuries on his side and knee. He ruffles the too-long hair gently beforegoing up to check quickly on Alfred and the boys before planning on coming backdown to stay close to Tim, hoping he might be stable enough to wake up and talkto them.

So the Cave is empty for the moment when themachines attached to the sensor clamped on Tim’s finger and the little stickypads on his chest start to pick up slightly. Not enough to trigger analert, just enough for him to blink open his bleary eyes riding the dredges ofpainkillers and sedatives.

It’s the Bat-cocktail of owfuck.

Really, he should have known better.

The fog is clearing out while his head flops onone side to look around and see where he’s—and what’s happ—how did—?

His head flops to the other side, eyes wideningwhen he realizes the big car is parked a little past the curtain, and on theother side of him, the Batcomputer looks the same, but there’s a few morethings on the control panel.

He gets the urge to violently hurl oncethe screeching overhead signals where he’s at just in case, you know, theremight be any doubt.

The air in his chest chokes off, leaving himcoughing hard for a few seconds, enough that the pulsox beeps once in warningand he struggles to get himself under control.

The haze of painkillers is still there, but nothingshort of death is going to stop him. Instead, he uses the lead to pull thelittle machine close to him and manages to pop the casing off. A few wires and boom,he takes the sensor off his finger and the monitor keeps going. It takesmaneuvering for him to sit up enough to reach the heart monitor and do prettymuch the same.

There’s cameras everywhere, but he’s sure no onewould be watching (because why would they?) as he stands on stiff,aching legs, manages to stumble a little before righting himself.

The knee isn’t going to get better anytime soon,so he’s good to be limping around because at least that means he’s onhis feet.

The Red Robin suit they must have taken off ofhim is folded neatly on a workstation table, easy to pick up.

He feels immensely better with the body suit on(even if the pressure on still-healing injuries is about a bitch, damn);boots, gloves and gauntlets, harness and utility belt. It’s enough to rock.

A domino goes on while he nabs his somewhatstitched back together cape, but the armored tunic is totes a lost cause.

Bummer.

With the machines beeping steadily behind him,Tim leaves the tunic, makes his way further down into the Cave, favoring theleg, moves as straight-backed as possible to keep the marks on his back frompulling and getting sore all over again, as been the pattern in the last monthsince he’s been back from a certain little vacay.

(And it’s fucked how B probably saw thosemarks isn’t it? Just another check in the who gives a shit category…but,the old memorial case with Jason’s Robin suit is still there where it’s alwaysbeen—and a double-take confirms it. His first Robin suit is in a new case nextto it. Mother. Fucker does it makes his chest hurt.)

The line of just in case vehicles is inthe same place it always was. A crappy beater for Matches Malone, a van forpick-ups, an Ambulance in case shit gets real. A covered car in the backcorner that is terribly, achingly familiar, and his eyes skitter away from it,just like he did with the memorial cases.

Instead, he goes to one of the four Ducati’sserviced and ready to rock, lifts up the seat while balancing on his good leg.Keys fall into his palm, so score.

His hip only hitches slightly when he throws thebad leg over the bike so the good one can steady it, and the bruises tomorroware going to be fucking beautiful.

But for the moment, all good. He’ssitting down at least, and flips the bike on, raises the bad leg to start theengine—

When Dami drops down from the ceiling vent andlands a few feet in front of him at a crouch.

No suit, no domino, but the pose is all Robin.

A Robin in his pjs, but then, well, there’sschool and shit in the morning isn’t there?

“Drake,” a low, almost-question.

“Nice to see you too,” he smirks with oldbitterness, just waiting for it.

Dami’s eyes go from the whiteouts to the bikeand back up. “This…is not a favorable course of action,” is said morecarefully than he can remember the Demon ever being.

“What now?” Because seriously, what now?

“You have been recovering from septic shock,”the youngest informs him, still in that crazy careful tone. “Among otherinjuries. It would be best if you stayed where you could be monitored shouldyou relapse.”

Now he thinks he might be more loopy on the I’mfucked up cocktail than initially assessed. Things just aren’t…aren’tmaking sense here.

“I’m in a multiverse aren’t I?” Is a stupid butkind of valid question.

Damian, however, is not amused.

“You are a fool. This is not surprising. However,as I have been informed, your team stopped an alien invasion. That if nothingelse would merit time, Drake.”

“Telepaths that want to take over our world are assholes.Haven’t you figured that out yet?” He comes back easily, “and I have a place torecoup. It would be nice to be on my way there right about now.”

The bad leg comes down, shooting a thrill ofpain up, but fuck it. Really. He needs to get out of here before JasonTodd comes around to give him a bro fist or something else just ascrazy.

The engine purrs to life against his thighs.

Again, it’s opposite day because thatlittle brat is leaning against the handlebars, scowling and talking over theengine instead of doing things like, you know, moving.

“I would not do this if I were you.”

He blinks behind the whiteouts. “I don’t knowwhat the fuck is going on here, but this is getting to creep-tasticsproportions.” He leans over the handlebars as much as he can without someserious owfuck hitting, “you wanted me gone, Demon. Riff raff,remember? That cut zip line? You think I need a written invitation toget the fuck out?”

Dami’s eye widen a fraction before narrowing,the little asshole leaning in as well like they’re going to fight it out forsome crazy reason because this is what they all wanted butwere too chicken-shit to tell him.

“Dick’s too nice to say it, but you think hereally has to after all this time?”

“Grayson—” Dami starts, voice raised to be heardover the purring engine.

“Never wanted me either. I guess you and JasonTodd were right all along. Want to gloat about it? How about you do it overSkype so I can get back to my life?”

Dami growls, baring his teeth in a snarl, “no,you fool. Grayson has missed you unbearably in the last twoyears. He has attempted to keep track of you while you searched for Father andthen later when you re-joined the Titans. He is the one that built the case foryour Robin suit.”

And just…what the ever-loving fuck?

“I am aware of how things were left whenI began my own time as Robin, Drake. I am aware of—”

“Get off.” Because now he’s blinking behind thewhiteout, his eyes getting hot and wet fast. “Get the fuck off.”

“No!” Damian snarls back, gripping thehandlebars tighter, like he has every intention of holding on. “I refuseto let you leave like this!”

And so, apparently it’s time to spell it out.“No one gives a shit if I’m here or not.” He shoves himselfstanding, old, buried pain rearing up from the terrible place in his brain panwhere he’d buried it all just so he could keep moving. “They let meinherit the cape because I was an asshole kid and found out theirsecret. They let me keep it because I did an alright job at keeping Bfrom fucking himself up like Robin is supposed to do. And he took me inbecause my fucking father was murdered when my identity was compromised.It’s ‘adopt an orphan syndrome,’ Damian. That’s it. I fucking Get.It. Now.”

Those eyes narrow, color rising to the youngervigilante’s face. But Tim leans down, blinking rapidly behind the whiteoutbecause he’s not going to give him or any of them that fuckingsatisfaction.

His voice is low, almost angry if it didn’tcrack, giving away more than he wants, especially to Damian. “Besides,why would they want the replacement when they’ve got the real son in thecape anyway, right? You said that, and you were right, weren’t you?”

“N-none of that—Drake…Timothy, youdon’t honestly,” and the twelve year old almost looks his age for once, “youdon’t honestly believe that.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a veryunfunny smirk, “I’m a detective, Damian. I don’t believe anything until I haveevidence.”

The younger Bat sputters a moment, looking oddlyshell-shocked, but he doesn’t let go, refuses to give up, “evidence? Openyour eyes, Drake. Father ordered the Justice League to attend your battleas soon as he knew, made Kent come to pick him up as he knew it would be thefastest way to get to you.”

“What part of aliens wasn’t clear? Thatis usually JL territory, we just happened to call dibs.”

Dami’s fists tighten around the handlebars, “Ihave been Robin for three years. Three years, Drake. If there isanything I have learned in that time, it is how Father would not leave any ofhis Robins behind. Not even you.”

Welp, that’s going to be a very hardeventual realization for the kid. But really, it isn’t any of his businessanymore. None of this is.

He sinks back down slowly, painfully becauseit’s time to go. “Get out of the way.”

The hair on the back of his neck, however, cutshim off, makes his straighten up again on the bike and rev up the engine. Damiisn’t moving, but is just staring at him looking like he might pull out thatwicked katanna for a little sliced n’ diced vigilante rather than dealwith his shenanigans. Not like it’s nothing new.

But the ghost sensation has drawn the brat’sattention as well, those eyes drawn over Tim’s left shoulder.

Without turning to look, he gives the standard,“thanks for the pick-up. Let me know when you need the next batch of intel.We’ll have a crime-fighting party with confetti and everything.”

The hand on his bicep is something he hadn’tanticipated, startling him to look up at Bruce’s bare face and angry eyes.

Oh shit. Batman’s not a happy camper. Time tohit the dirt.

From his other side, Dick comes out of nowhereand reaches around him to turn the bike off and take the key out of the ignition.

Oh, so that’s how it is? After all theyears he put into maintaining the bikes and cars just like everyone else—

“Like I said,” he deadpans, trying very, veryhard not to get pissed off at the snub, “thanks for the pick-up. I’ll gettogether whatever data you’re looking for when—”

“Get off the bike, Tim,” Bruce emphasizes theorder with a tug to his arm.

“Seriously?” Well, there goes the best ofintentions, “I’ll bring it back if this is a problem.”

“Not the point. Get the hell off the bike.”

He shoves himself to his feet, already planningon hitting up Kon in a quick text just to get a ride out of here as fast asfucking possible, itching to jerk his arm out of B’s hold (and dammit,he hates to do that now that Clark isn’t being an asshat extraordinaire). So helets it ride for the moment since, well, he pretty much shouldn’t be hereanyway, so the lecture is probably going to be fucking spectacular.

His hip hitches again when he swings his legback over the bike, but it’s only slightly painful this time around. Nope,there’s more pain elsewhere that has nothing to do with skin and soft,fleshy bits.

He in no way is prepared for Bruce pulling hisarm up and around those massive shoulders, bending down enough to be aboutTim’s height. The limp isn’t as bad with B supporting him with an arm aroundhis waist (under the worst of the older marks) and gripping the wrist, walkinghim right the fuck back into the depths of the Cave where Alfred is waitingwith hands properly folded behind him.

“Ah, the patient is awake,” Alfred is calm,cool, and collected as per usual. “Perhaps a stronger dose of painkillersshould have been in order.”

“Not necessary,” he fills in shortly, pullingaway from Bruce as soon as possible, a passing glance off the machines he’dreconfigured. “Thanks for patching me up, Alfred.”

The butler sighs through his nose and it’s sopainfully familiar. “Of course, Master Tim. If you would be sokind as to change clothing, the bandages will need to be checked again.”

He holds up a hand, “again, not necessary. I’mon my way out—”

Dick shoves sweats and a t-shirt in his chest,jaw clenched tight enough that a muscle is jumping there, and it’s fine,he gets it. Dick doesn’t want him there. He really doesn’t need this—

“I’m trying to be out of your hair,” hegrowls back at the former Batman and current Nightwing. “I didn’t ask tocome here. Not my bad.”

If anything, Dick’s expression gets even angrier.Angry enough that the hands holding the clothes are trembling finely until Timtakes them just to get the older vigilante to step back.

“Drake,” and it’s really saying something when Damianis the one stepping between them, trying to keep, well, whatever peacedistance can realistically bring. “This is difficult to believe, but there is agrave misunderstanding happening here.”

His eyebrows draw together, head tilted down tothe youngest, but he wisely remains silent because there’s volumes hecould say about that.

“Do you need assistance, Master Tim?” Alfredcuts in, trying to divert the brewing storm raging in Dick and Bruce’sexpressions, “I should say some of your injuries must be rather painful at thisjuncture. Your back, for example—”

“I’ve got it. Thank-you.”

“Very good, Sir. Once you have changed, I have adelightful pot of coffee and breakfast—”

But those words make his head snaparound, “coffee?”

Because yes. The answer is always yes.

Alfred hums knowingly, “indeed. I believe it isthe Sumatra brand you seem to favor?”

And dammit. Just, dammit Alfred.

In reply, he limps back to pull the curtainclosed in the sectioned-off medical area, flopping the sweats and t-shirt downon the gurney. Deep, cleansing breath, and he reverses order, taking off glovesand gauntlets, boots, utility belt and harness, cape and dom, leaving the bodysuit for last (since there’s the most owfuck of the day).

“Tim? You okay?” B’s voice is softer, floatingover the partition, his silhouette against the curtain.

“I’m fine,” he taps on his wrist computer withone arm through the t-shirt. Getting the sweats on is painful but it’s whateverreally, the knee isn’t going to get any better so no use whining about it.

Instead, he puts the wrist computer back on hisforearm and comes out a la civvies, his too-long hair probably wrecked,but with a KO of approximately two days?

He shoves the curtain back, cracking his neck,and starting to move to intercept Alfred’s approach. “Bandages are clean, soI’m good. Thanks.”

The butler tisks and gently simply steers MasterTim back to the gurney, “I will need to check your levels as well as theinjuries you are unable to see, Master Tim. You certainly cannot assessyour back unless you’ve taken to perform feats of magic?”

The others approach, watching with grave facesas the butler allows a cup and saucer inside the medical area, an excuse tokeep Tim’s hands busy so work can be done.

“My levels are f—” The smell hits like anaphrodisiac and his eyes fall half-mast just because coffee.

“Do not say ‘fine.’ For a young man without thenecessary organ to build up proper immunities, then I would dare to say yes.However, for a crime-fighting vigilante, your white cell count is woefully deficient.”

Oh. So that’s whatthis is about?

Shit.

“I’ve had enough time to adjust.” Is all hebites out as the butler gloves up, winds a stethoscope around his neck.

When B’s hands plant on his hips like he iswinding up for the mother of all lectures, and Damian puts a hand toDick’s forearm to stop him from saying whatever might be ready to comeout of his mouth, Tim realizes how much of a thing this might be.

The butler, however, just frowns, “then I willpose the obvious question, Master Tim. How many episodes of septic shock haveyou experienced before now?”

His jaw clenches, eyes close briefly becausewhen he got off that fucking ship—

The pinch to his inner elbow jars him out of it(luckily) or he might still be smelling stagnant water and imagine the worldrocking under his feet.

“Twice,” and he leaves it at that, going morepale at the bits flashing through his brain pan.

Alfred removes the syringe, tapes a cotton ballto the small wound. “Twice, Sir?” is quiet, neutral.

Tim swallows, looking at the span of wallinstead of any of them, “yeah.”

“Once recently I’m afraid?” And Alfred sets theblood sample aside, easily moves a gloved hand to be under Master Tim’s stillholding the delicate saucer. The minute clattering stops when he does.

“Yeah,” hoarse, but fuck yes.

“Your back, Tim?” now Alfred’s tone is movinginto soothing, someone that can (used to be) be trusted.

Still staring at the wall, keeping himselftogether, Tim gives a short, pointed nod.

“What—” Dick steps a little closer to his side,not enough to set him off, but enough to reach out, slowly, easy, “who did thatto you, Timmy?”

His shoulders tense with the contact, and heblinks hard, shaking himself out of it, shaking himself the fuck back tothe present. He lifts the cup and takes a drink of utter heaven.

It helps to steady him, to keep his head outof the two weeks he spent being tortured as Tim Drake, CEO, and the more recentfight with dick bag aliens.

“I took care of it.”

“That doesn’t tell us anything,” Dick counters.“Timmy…you were tortured.”

And well, yes. Yes, he was.

“Yup,” is his soft admission, staring down intothe depths of his coffee while Alfred moves around behind him and the shirtinches up his spine, making his hackles rise just slightly. “I was.”

And he knows, he knows, Alfred was tryingto be careful, wasn’t trying to do anything, but the wounds, the memories, allof it was still so new and raw, that when the touch hits the wrong spot,reminds him of a burning iron bar pressed against his shoulders, he chokes andmoves without thinking.

The cup and saucer crash to the floor, and he isup, moving away, spinning in mid-air, landing at a crouch with his legand back screaming, his eyes wide, hand automatically poised in a nerve strike.And he can fight, he can fight, and he can win. He can save them thistime, save them all, and he can—

He can, he will.

Whizzing and moving, focused on not throwing up,focused on not stopping.

Bruce is gripping his face between those massivepalms from one blink to the next, and Tim realizes he must have been movingagain because they aren’t standing by the medical area anymore.

Instead, he’s pinned down on one of the big matsused for practice and training half-way across the Cave, the vinyl soft andworn-in under the arm Bruce has pinned at the wrist. His back is fucking agonybecause he’s laying down on the healing injuries. Worse, he’s shaking likefuck, the coffee in his stomach rolling with it.

“Tim! You need to stop. Just. Stop.”

But it’s just as bad because he can’t be helddown.

That…he’s not good with that, and hiships take over regardless of owfuck, bucking up enough to get Bruce offhim so he can turn over, land on all fours and gag.

“Fuck…fuck…fuck…fuck…”

He gets a million vigilante points for notthrowing up his coffee.

A. Million.

Plopping down on his ass to try getting air backinto his lungs, however, is seriously the best idea for the moment even if he’sshaky as fuck and probably embarrassed the shit out of himself.

(Regretting letting him back in now,aren’t you?)

Dick kneels in plain sight, ducking down tocatch Tim’s rapidly blinking eyes. “Hey, just me,” is meant to be soft andsoothing.

It’s not.

Instead, Tim closes his eyes again it and triesto calm himself but his brain is too fuzzy, still half-stuck on the ship, inthe mind trap, in his team’s memories—

“…something for me, Tim. Let me know you’rewith us.”

He doesn’t open his eyes so he can’t see whateverexpression is on those faces.

“Should have just…dropped me at the goddamnedTower,” he manages hoarsely, bringing his knees up to hold his heavy head.

Bruce, refusing to be diverted, gets closeenough to wrap his long fingers around Tim’s ankle slowly, carefully. “No,” heclaims slowly, mind working furiously at the flow of new and disturbinginformation, “no, Tim. I’m glad, very glad, I brought you home.”

The laugh coming out of Tim’s bent head ishalf-way to a sob (home? There hasn’t been a home in a while actually),and Bruce’s hand moves up to grip into a calf instead, sliding subtly closer onhis knees.

Dick paces right beside him, being absurdlycareful, recognizing the reactions, the instincts Bruce bred into all hisRobins to fight when you’re out of all other options. It’s knee-jerkreaction to any situation.

“You blanked out for a few minutes there, Timmy.It looked like,” he hesitates slightly from saying it even if he has plentyof experience dealing with this kind of thing, “you were having a flashback.”

“I don’t talk about it,” is the hoarse reply,the horrible panting sounds finally easing down.

“I think we’re going to try checking over yourinjuries again,” Dick gingerly touches a few fingers to Tim’s limp hand,“without trying to set you off, okay? We’ll…Timmy, we’ll be right here withyou.” His finger firm a little, squeeze Tim’s fingers before the hand jerks outof his hold, the leg moving away from Bruce.

Tim scrambles backwards on the mat, shoves tohis feet because ignoring pain is something he does like a boss, but pity?Oh, he gets all kinds of pissed off about it.

Just ask Kon. The impressive choke hold issomething the super is probably never going to forget.

“I don’t need checked over. I don’t needanything other than a way to get back to my damn Tower—” and the fuckaway from here is implied.

Because really. They can stop this moundof variable bullshit anytime now.

“I don’t need whatever in the hell this,” andhis hands flutter around for a second, “this shit is all of a sudden. I lead mydamn team, and it doesn’t effect how I work. How I’ve workedfor the last few years. I’m. Fucking. Good.”

Bruce’s mouth flattens into a grim line, staringat his third Robin, the son that took his name without qualm, the son he’d letget too far the fuck away because he felt like he didn’t belong in hisown home. And Dick might share the burden of that, the younger vigilantenearly radiating beside him facing Tim down, ready to stop him if he tries tobolt.

And Bruce doesn’t feel bad about Damian andAlfred slowly coming up behind Tim to box him in, takes a moment to beratehimself for thinking he was doing the right thing in giving Tim the spacehe thought the former Robin needed to heal. The same space Dick needed when hehad to move on from the Robin mantle.

But he’d inadvertently caused both hisformer Robins nothing but pain by giving them the space to throw their bodiesinto the Mission to try and escape the devastation, the loss.

It’s another black mark under his name, but ifanything, Bruce, the Bat, has no qualms rectifying his mistakes.

And he’s perfectly fine starting now.

“Tim,” interrupts the snarling commentary on howRed Robin isn’t fucking anything up (which is unnecessary because Brucealready knows it), and makes the injured bird abruptly pause. “Let meget this straight.”

The third Robin stops, seems to mentally re-set,like when they started up a new case and the personal lives had to be left inthe Cave before they got into the big car for the upcoming night. It’s enoughof the old Tim that Bruce takes a few cautions steps, holding up fingersto tick off so he’s got Tim’s attention on the visual.

“You were kidnapped as your daytime persona, asTim Drake, not Red Robin—”

Oh shit. Well, World’s GreatestDetective. Of course he’d find out. It happened in his city.

“—they tortured you on a ship in the middle ofthe ocean. You escaped, brought them down, and turned them in to severalbranches of authorities. Four days ago, you showed up as Red Robin when theInsurgents hit Earth’s atmosphere. You went into a fight with your team againsta psychic horde without calling for back-up. And you won. Allright so far?”

“Sounds…about right.”

Bruce hums, nods, “and…why do you thinkI would questioning how effective you are as a vigilante?”

Wait.

Tim’s mouth works but nothing comes out because,well, point.

“I have no idea why you’re trying to convince mewhen I’m already well aware how incredible you are in the field. I don’tneed any other justifications. What I need to know,” and Bruce unfoldshis arms, hands loose at his sides, trying to look less intimidating so Tim’shackles won’t rise again, “is when your spleen was removed and what criminalcaused it. What I want to know is if you’ve seen anyone to help youthrough the trauma you went through on that ship. What I want to know is whyyou keep telling me you’re fine and you handle it when you are obviously notfine. No one, Tim, no one could be after all that.”

And the younger vigilante stares up at him,taller than the last time Bruce had a chance to really see him, withnarrow eyes that are already calculating his next moves. B knows it because hesees Tim’s eyes slide to Alfred and Damian, slide over to Dick before comingback to him. It’s saying something when the Bat is hovering at the fore of hismind, ready for another mad attack if Tim flips back into those flashbacks andstarts fighting by instinct.

“What I need to know is,” B counterssoftly, “why you didn’t come home when you needed to.”

When Tim stays silent, when his beaten, batteredbody gets as straight as it can, Bruce sees enough, knows enough.

He nods slowly, like he gets it, whateversilent message Tim is putting out, and returns that intense look, sees so muchhidden under the exterior that he should have picked up long before this verymoment.

“You three go upstairs. Have some downtime,” hewaves a shooing hand at Dick, Damian, and Alfred, “Tim didn’t get his coffee,and I honestly don’t need any more caffeine induced contingencies on my hands.”

“Bruce—” is Dick’s desperate attempt tostay because now he knows how much of this, how much of it isright on his head.

“Dick. Go have some downtime.”

Dami isn’t happy, is looking with his headtilted up, those dark eyes all for the scowl on Tim’s face, the sneer.

Alfred, however, steps between them, MasterTimothy and Master Bruce to break the stare down and lift a fresh cup andsaucer into the younger vigilante’s hand. It breaks the oldest man’s heart whenMaster Tim…hesitates.

But the hands are steady when the coffee istaken, and the young Master is looking carefully away from the butler, a musclein his jaw flickering.

“Thank-you,” is said softer than the rest.

“What else could I do, Master Tim? My life isdedicated to caring for my family, and that includes you.” A small pat to theyounger man’s head while the angry, defensive expression falls to wide-eyed andslack, like the younger Master is genuinely surprised. The saucer isheld tighter in busted fingers when Timothy’s spine snaps straighter and heblinks rapidly, trying to harden himself, pull his strength around him like acloak so none of them can see what abject pain he is in—how he obviouslywas very certain he no longer belonged here, with them all.

“Oh Tim,” the butler sighs sadly, gently, “thismay be untoward, so forgive me, but it is so nice to see you. As much as wehave missed, as much as you have suffered and succeeded, I am still so happy tohave you home.”

The reaction is those wide eyes, the true tellto Master Timothy’s thoughts returning to his face and immediately seeking outany deception on the butler’s part, any lies or placations, any shred ofevidence to support his previous theories.

Alfred smiles, just a small curve of his lowerlip, when the younger man’s shoulders lose a small bit of tension, just enoughto prove he found no lies here. When he can have just a hint of belief. It’sjust enough for Alfred to fit a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and squeezewith infinite gentleness before he’s herding two of his other charges up into theManor, casting a glance back at the long line of Master Bruce’s tense backbefore he and Master Dick exchange a very concerned look.

**

And they leave Tim and Bruce in the Cave withthe fluttering of bats, the gentle hum of working equipment, with damagedsuits, and healing bodies, with injuries and trauma.

It’s such a painful thing for Bruce, staring atTim and remembering a younger kid standing in the same place with the Rover his heart, the suit of his Robin and that crazy, wide grin in anticipationfor nightfall when they could move together.

When Tim’s team was Batman and Robin.

“None of this is necessary,” and it’s RedRobin’s voice, unshakeable and reliable. A leader. A vigilante.

And not the person Bruce wants to talk toright at this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce cuts off that train ofthought, seeing past the denials and old pain, seeing past everythingTim is spitting out, the abject hurt, the theory that maybe, maybethey’d just been-been using him all this time. That he was just a kid ina cape or something just as ridiculous. “I’m sorry it got this far. I’m sorrynone of us, me or Dick or Alfred jumped in to remind you that you will alwayshave a home here, no matter what.  There’s no excuse for it, Tim,absolutely none.”

The younger vigilante frowns harder, his thoughtprocesses obvious to the World’s Greatest Detective.

“Once Damian and I could realistically worktogether, Dick left out of Gotham to trail the Titans and see if he could atleast talk to you, but the team was moving fast, so he wanted to waituntil you were in town again. But, regardless, we let this go on for toolong, letting you get further and further away without checking in, withoutcoming back.”

“I didn’t need to.” Tim interjects, firming hisjaw, still staying as far inside the mask as he possibly can, trying to protecthimself.

And Bruce finally sees it.

“And you don’t have to do this,” the youngervigilante puts the cup and saucer down immediately, eyes never losing that hardedge, “at all. It’s not necessary at this point. I’m still going to be theintel guy, the IT solution. I’ll still come when you call just like I’ve alwaysdone.”

“That’s not good enough.” Bruce insistsback, arms loose by his sides, “it was never supposed to be needed over wanted,and it isn’t like that. You won’t believe me until you have evidence, I knowalready, but Tim,” and Bruce comes up on him, not the stalk of the Bat or thestride of the daytime persona, it’s all Bruce Wayne—

Dad.

He’s careful but firm, hands tilting his son’sface up a little, taking in the widening eyes of surprise, “Tim, you arealways, will always be one of my sons. Just like Dick and Jasonand Damian. That’s what you agreed to when you took on the mask. You becamemine and the Batman’s, our Robin, our partner, our son, and yes,yes this is necessary. It’s completely and totally necessary becausealong the way the important things got pushed to the wayside, and it’s so farfrom fine that I can’t even begin to list the problems here.”

And the younger vigilante has the most probablereaction Bruce can predict.

He fights.

“Bullshit,” is hoarse, angry when Tim shovesaway, steps back, “and I don’t need bullshit, Bruce. You think Idon’t get it? I was the kid that figured out your secret, you hadto keep me, to keep me quiet about it. So of fucking course you’d let mewear the R. What would I have done if you hadn’t? Just because I got goodat it doesn’t mean I don’t fucking recognize how it never should have been me.It should have been Jason and then Damian. It should have been blood,not some fucking kid you never wanted.”

And God it hurts, these things tearingout him like fucking poison, like rancid bile he can finally vomit up, to get outof him.

“And you did good. You did great, Bruce,dealing with me. You really did. You did the best you could under thecircumstances,” and fuck, yes, he means it because Bruce was there forhim when he was Robin, when Dad died, when his world was going to shittime and time again. Bruce put up with his crap more than anyone in his entire life—evenhis real Dad. “I appreciate it, all the shit from back then. You don’t—” andhis chest hitches, but he grinds his teeth, straightens his back for it, “youdon’t even know how much I needed you. How much I respect you, how muchI wanted to be your partner and friend, and you gave me that, Bruce. You didthat for me, but…but your real son has the cape now, just like italways should have been, and I understand that. This,” and his handswaffle back-and-forth while he looks away, tries to choke down the bitternessall these realizations still leave behind, “this is the way it should havehappened. This is—” not okay, never fine, not really, “how itshould be.”

But when he looks back, chances a glance, hejerks a little because Bruce’s expression is—

(Is there some fear toxin somewhere? What thehell?)

The hands at Bruce’s sides are clenching intotight fists, his forearms cording, muscles getting tight.

“How long have you felt like this?” Theoldest vigilante demands in a low, dangerous voice, “how long do youthink I’ve just been tolerating you? How could you even— Jesus,Tim.”

But really, he’s the detective, right? “Iforced my way in,” he deadpans, “you never chose me, Bruce.”

And even though he’s come a long way from thatRobin to now, he’s still not fast enough to dodge Batman.

Nope. That’s not happening.

Because Bruce is across the span separating themin a skiff of shadows, literally picking him up off his feet with an arm aroundhis waist below the healing whip marks, the other hand buried in the hair atthe back of his head, pushing his face into Bruce’s neck and shoulder (and he’sshaking, Bruce, Batman, the unstoppable, the indomitable, is shaking).

The move is so out of what he expected,so unpredictable, Tim’s eyes are wide, just blinking wetly, hands up toautomatically brace himself on Bruce’s biceps.

“In…in the beginning, I was terrifiedof you,” Bruce blinks back his own wet eyes against the side of Tim’s too-longhair, “I was so scared of getting another innocent kid hurt, and you were…youwere so smart and so brave. You were fearless, Tim. You were perfect forthe job, but if I got you hurt, if I got you killed, if this world losteverything you are because of me and my Mission… then there would be noredemption. And I—” and Bruce grips him tighter, breathes in slowly,presses the side of his face into Tim’s hair harder, “I couldn’t lose you too.I couldn’t lose you, Tim.”

And that. To hear that it wasn’t becauseof Jason Todd, to hear that he was valued back then for himself, has Tim’sheart give a painful throb in his chest, makes him hold on to Bruce like he wasstill that Robin.

“In the beginning, I didn’t want anotherkid in danger. I didn’t want another person’s life in my hands, I didn’twant anyone else to suffer because of my choice to do this, to be Batman, to bethe crime fighter Gotham needed. So…so you-you were partially right. Backthen, I didn’t want you involved. When you helped solve Dick’s caseand-and you gave me no choice, Tim. You proved to me you were everything Ineeded Robin to be, everything Dick was, everything Jason was, everythingDamian is learning to be. There was no way I could let you go.”

And God, to hear that, just to hearthat from Bruce.

It’s more than he ever expected.

“You’re more than just a kid in a cape.You always were. You were always the kid I needed, the kid that groundedme, the kid that was so much like me that you should have been a Waynefrom the get-go. Just like Dick and Jason. You taught me just as much as Itaught you, and even though I never wanted to overstep my boundaries, I neverwanted to try and take your Dad away from you because—” and Bruce has to pause,has to let his eyes spill over because back then? Back then when Jack was anass, was a damn terrible father, Bruce still couldn’t fight him because, “—becauseif mine had lived, even if he couldn’t understand me and what I grew into…Istill would have at least had him.”

And Tim bites down on his lip hard enough todraw blood, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from spilling over too, from his armsmoving to wrap around Bruce’s shoulders and hold the fuck on.

“But,” Bruce breathes in, rolls his eyes upwardto try and calm down, “but when you still lost him, I…There was no question,Tim. There never was. You were my son just as much as his, and there was nevera question as to where you belonged, that you have a home here. Not-nota room, not a cot in the Cave, not a locker for your gear. Your home,Tim. And I…I thought I was helping, letting you be the vigilante you needed tobe. When you brought me back and it was Damian in the R, I… I understood why,but I still missed you. I was still…upset with Dick, doing thatwithout telling you, without giving you an opportunity to have your say. I wastrying to give you time to stop hurting, to grow from it. I was trying not topush you too hard, to make it hurt worse.”

Gentle movement, Bruce walking carefully towardthe medical gurney still carrying Tim without even straining, still holding himclose, still so painfully angry at himself for how long these thingsmust have been buried in Tim’s psyche, how all of it must have pushed thisyoung man to his breaking point.

“And I…” Bruce closes his eyes briefly as ithitches, “and I failed you, Tim. I’m so sorry that I failed you as your Dad.I’m sorry you ever thought I only wanted to keep you from telling mysecret because it was never about that.”

But Tim, hanging there, limply, pain a dull redthrob in his brain pain, gripping Bruce around the shoulders tight,hides his face away from the realizations, from the things he never imagined.

Bruce folds himself down and rocks justslightly, comforting them both a little with the motion, “and you’re not goingto believe all this. Not for a while. I know you, young man, and you’regoing to need time to believe in me again, to believe in the family, andthat’s-that’s okay. That’s completely understandable. I’ll give you as muchtime as you need, but goddammit, Tim, I’m not letting you getthat far out of my sight again. I’m not ever going to let you go. Whether youlike it or not, you’re stuck with us, kid.”

He doesn’t laugh or chuckle, still in a state ofshock since he really didn’t imagine this in his future, or well ever.

After all this time, all the bad guys andterrible night, all the sacrifices and job well dones, he’d pretty much figuredit was really…over.

This is a whole lot of unexpected that his brainpan can’t handle all at once. He needs time to think about it, to review theevidence.

“Give me a chance, Tim,” is breathed gently againsthis ear, “don’t give up on me yet. Please, don’t give up on me.”

“You’re an idiot,” he finds himself saying backwith a scratchy throat, “I didn’t give up on you when the world thought youwere dead. Like I’m going to start now?”

And Bruce, B, the Batman, just breathesout in the quiet dim of the Cave, holds this almost nineteen-year-old on hislap like he used to do to Dick when the kid was on overload or he’s finallygotten Damian to just deal with it.

“When I really believe you mean that, I’ll let yougo back to Titan’s Tower.”

That does earn a snickerbecause really, Bruce?

“Can you just—” and the World’s GreatestDetective hesitates for a second, not sure how hard he wants to push whenthere’s been some progress made tonight.

“…you want to know about the spleen thing,don’t you?”

Bruce pats the uninjured leg a little and nodswith Tim’s head tucked under his chin.

Closing his eyes, Tim sighs out through hisnose. But, well, to start gathering evidence, this might just be the way tostart.

[skeleton-closet-writers-blog]

✫Start of Something New✫ | JonTron x Female!Reader

(Screenshot from this video on YouTube)

Word Count: 1,818

Author: moonshine ❤

Description: As requested by an anonymous user on Tumblr, I present yet another JonTron fanfiction! The anon didn’t give me any details regarding the actual content for the fic, so I just wrote whatever came to mind. The prompt I made up for this fic –> “You sing karaoke with JonTron at VidCon.”

Author’s Note: For the sake of the plot, the reader can sing/act/perform very well. Also, you have to look at this, and any fic I write, like an AU of our world…because a lot of real-life facts I put in here doesn’t exactly coincide with real life’s timeline.

What is Interactive Fics? It’s a Google Chrome extension that you can get [HERE]. With this, you’ll see your actual name and other info instead of seeing these abbreviations littering fanfictions; Y/n, L/n, E/c, etc.

I kinda left this one open in case any of you are interested in having more added to it. I know lots of people read these fics for him, and they all say “there’s not enough JonTron reader inserts out there!” Honestly, I was one of those people until I got stubborn and impatient, so here I am, writing my own JonTron fics so that there’s more out there. Let me know if you’re interested in reading more parts? Ta-ta for now!

You and your best friend were finally at VidCon, the place where YouTubers come to meet their fans and speak at panels about upcoming content. You were never able to go before with travel expenses and being able to actually get the weekend booked off of work. You and your friend planned for this trip for a few months now, and now that you’re finally here, you can’t get the hamster’s doing somersaults out of your stomach.

You both walk through a big room with multiple stands set up for various YouTube channels. The room is bigger than any banquet hall you’ve ever been to; it compares to the size of a warehouse. A small stage with a simple sound system and generic backdrop catches your friend’s attention, and they tug on your arm to get you to notice it.

“What do you think the mini stage is for?” your friend wonders out loud.

“I dunno,” you cross your arms, “I’m assuming you wanna check it out though.”

Your friend smiles and nods, and you both slowly approach the front of the stage. There’s a small crowd loitering in front of the stage, but nobody seems to even know what it’s set up for. Everyone is just waiting around, talking amongst themselves as they all wait for the big reveal of the stage’s purpose.

After standing with your friend in the front of the small crowd for five minutes, you turn over to them saying, “maybe we should leave. It doesn’t look like much is happening here –”

Just then, a guy walks on stage with a microphone, tapping it to get everyone’s attention.

“Hey, everyone! Welcome to a new fun thing we run here at VidCon! It’s a little thing called karaoke!” the guy says with a huge smile. Everyone laughs, sarcastically groaning and rolling their eyes at the reveal. You and your friend look at each other, laughing at the unsuspected surprise.

“Now, to kick this off, I’m gonna pick two random people to sing for us,” he explains while holding his hand over his eyes, scanning the crowd for two unfortunate souls to embarrass themselves. He stops, pointing in the general direction far behind you to the left. Everyone turns to face where the guy is pointing as he says, “hey, JonTron! You can sing! Come here and help start this karaoke party, will ya?”

“No thanks, I’ll pass,” you hear Jon respond. You are subscribed JonTron, but you wouldn’t describe yourself as a super fan or anything. You hear some people cheer him on, urging him to go on stage, and you and your friend decide to join the audience. If there has to be one thing that you and your friend like the most about this YouTuber; it would have be his talent for singing.

“C’mon, Jon. They all wanna hear your amazing voice!” the guy urges on. You haven’t figured out if this guy is just a YouTuber you haven’t heard of, or if he just works at VidCon as some sort of activity director.

“Karaoke isn’t for singing well, it’s something you do while you’re completely drunk out of your mind,” Jon rebuttals, causing everyone to laugh.

“Sing well - don’t sing well, I don’t care. Just c'mon!” the guy urges one last time. Just then, you hear Jon struggling while Arin from GameGrumps drags Jon to the stage with a hilarious smirk on his face. The small crowd roars with applause as Jon stumbles on the stage, looking out at the crowd like a deer caught in the headlights. The guy on stage leads Jon to one of the mic stands set up, and then leans on the other one.

“Alright, who’s gonna be our lucky candidate the to sing with the one and only, JonTron?”

Suddenly, a couple dozen hands shoot up with some loud screaming from many eager fans. Most of the fans waving their hands and screaming are female, but you notice a few eager male voices in the crowd as well. You didn’t realize your friend was eagerly pointing at you as quickly as the guy on stage did. He suddenly grabs your hand, and pulls you on the small stage, catching you off guard. You shoot your friend a bitch face as you’re positioned behind the microphone to Jon’s left. The guy quickly asks for your name, and you give it with a blank expression. The nerves start kicking in, and you don’t know if you should let yourself sing horribly or actually try.

“Alright, we have Jon and Y/n here to start off karaoke at VidCon!” the guy receives a loud cheer from the crowd that has gotten much larger since the guy first stepped on stage. You notice more people in the distance watching from afar, and some even manoeuvre their way into the ever-growing crowd.

You gulp nervously as the guy walks off stage to his DJ stand, which you realize probably controls all of the instrumental tracks. You notice the two screens in front of you and Jon off stage turn on, and you realize the screen appears behind you as well since everyone laughs at the song displayed.

The instrumental of “Start of Something New” from “High School Musical” starts playing over the PA system, and you nervously look at Jon for a moment. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, looking like he’s gonna quit at any given moment. You shoot your glance back at the screen in front of you, counting down to the start of the song.

5…4…3…2…1

“Livin’ in my own world, didn’t understand,” you hear Jon’s voice echo through the speakers. He’s not really trying to sing at all; it’s sounds more like a monotone talk-sing. Laughter erupts the room as more people flood into the crowd.

‘Oh, God…’

“That anything could happen, didn’t take the chance.”

You have to make a quick decision as he sings the end of his part.

‘Do I actually try to sing? Or do I talk-sing like Jon to emphasize how awkward this is?’

‘Fuck it…’

“I never believed in, what I couldn’t see,” the crowd’s laughter dwindles down gradually as they realize your voice isn’t half bad. Jon even double takes, looking at you with a small smile on his face, “I never opened my heart,�� you feel Jon’s eyes on you still as he sings an ‘Ohh’, “… to other possibilities…ooh…”

“I know, that something has changed…” Both of your voices sound harmonious, causing some people to whistle and cheer at how nice you two sound together. Most people, including yourself and Jon, chuckle at the cheesy irony of the moment with the song.

‘This is so cliche. The guy clearly put this song on as a joke, and we both end up doing a decent job at the song…exactly like what happens in the movie… How ironic?’

Throughout the song, you and Jon mockingly recreate the scene from the movie with perfect attention to detail. You both even recreate the part where he causes you to back up to the edge of the stage, almost falling over like in the movie. The guy running the show catches on to what you two are doing, and gives you a good shove back onto the stage, causing more uproars of cheers and laughter. You two also start belting at some point, still singing harmoniously together.

By the end of the song, you both lower your microphones, looking deeply in each other’s eyes to recreate the movie moment. The crowd roars, and you both burst out laughing with crimson faces. You finally look back out at the crowd, and notice that it has gotten much larger; so large, in fact, that the surrounding booths are almost blocked off because of people trying to squeeze into the audience.

People suddenly start chanting incoherently for a few moments until it becomes loud and clear. “Encore! Encore! Encore!”

You look over at Jon with a crooked smile.

“Are you up for another?” Jon asks you through the microphone.

“I’m in if you’re in,” you reply with a shrug. The crowd erupts in another wave of cheering, and you and Jon look over to the guy running the show.

“Do we at least get to pick the song this time?” Jon asks.

“No,” the guy says with a knowing smirk. Everyone, including you and Jon, burst into a fit of laughter. Suddenly, Arin approaches the guy, whispering what you assume is a song request in his ear before the guy nods and searches through the music library. You notice the screen change color as a new song title pops up. You all laugh as “Firework” by “Katy Perry” appears on the screen. The instrumental track starts playing, and you and Jon take a breath to calm yourselves before another performance.

You both harmonize again; this allows Jon to not strain his voice as he sings an octave lower than you. By the final chorus, you both basically scream it, making ridiculous faces at each “ah, ah, ah” part. And then, you both knowingly look at one another as the ending approaches, and you both scream, “DINO CITY IS A GA-AH-AME!”

The crowd loses it, laughing instead of cheering as the song comes to an end. The laughter soon transitions into another round of applause, and Jon reaches out to gesture for a high five. You eagerly give him a high five, and then you both put you mics on their designated stands.

Before leaving the stage, Jon grabs your hand for a handshake. He quickly leans in, catching you off guard as his lips ghost your right ear.

“You’re very talented. What’s your name, again?” Jon yells in your ear so you can hear him over the crowd. He backs up a bit so you can lean towards his left ear to respond.

“Y/n. Y/n L/n,” you say matter-of-factly before backing up to look into his eyes. You both smile as you finish your handshake, not breaking eye contact in that moment.

In reality, you two maybe starred for three seconds, but you’re pounding heartbeat made time stand still in those three seconds. His skin looks smooth, and very youthful for someone in their late twenties. His eyes are dark brown, but the lights in the room causes them to have a golden shimmer around the outer rim of his irises. Based off of where you stand in height, you guess he must be a few inches under six feet. ‘Maybe 5’11?’, you silently ask yourself. His smile is hypnotizing; it charms you into feeling warm and fuzzy in your core. You’ve never let loose like that with a stranger before, but it was so easy to be yourself around Jon for some reason. You both have the same sense of humor, and you both clearly know how to entertain a large crowd. You were a theater kid in high school, always wanting to entertain people so they can forget about suffering in life for a little while.

Before you know it, you both part ways, and return to your friend while he wanders off to his small crew. Your friend shakes you excitedly, saying how amazing you were and how they also made new friends in the audience while you were singing with JonTron.

You politely introduce yourself to the group your friend has befriended, however, your mind is still on the stage with Jon as they all converse with one another. You silently wish to yourself that you can perform something with him again as you and your friend walk towards the cafeteria with your new buddies.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 034: “Sorry... I Overdid It”

Previously on BnHA: Deku was brainwashed by Shinsou and almost lost the match, but managed a comeback with the help of some weird mystical intervention from what appeared to be the previous users of One for All. Anyway, he broke his fingers and used the shock of that to snap himself out of it, then ran over and basically just tossed Shinsou out of the ring. It was all a lot more entertaining than my description makes it out to be.

Today on BnHA: Shinsou is revealed to be a nice guy who took a quirk that was all but tailor-made for nefarious purposes and was like, “eh but I kind of want to be a hero though.” Deku asks All Might about the mysterious One for All bullshit that went down in the previous chapter and asks if it’s important, and All Might says no. You know, like a liar. Todoroki’s dad picks a fight with his son in the hallway. This annoys Todoroki, so to blow off steam he goes out and casually freezes half the fucking stadium.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 70 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

damn what a cool cover though

my poor lukewarm son

looks like Shinsou is getting a Tragic Villain Flashback!

does it count as a Tragic Villain Flashback if you weren’t really a villain to begin with though

and honestly he might have shown enough here to still get placed in the hero course after this. but like, in class B’s hero course. class A is still tops, you’re not kicking any of them out. well, Mineta though

Shinsou’s old classmates all seem really nice. “you can brainwash people? how cool!” instead of “you can brainwash people? [slowly backs away and never speaks to you again]”

good kids. good, overly trusting kids

aww, he looks really sweet here actually

and he’s thinking that with his ability everyone half-expected him to become a criminal

like, I feel bad for thinking the same now lol. but you can’t blame people for being overly cautious though, what with this kid having an ability that could so easily be used to manipulate people and they’d be helpless to do anything against it

and here we are back in the present, and he’s lying on his back looking frustrated and Izuku’s standing over him triumphantly!

LMAO Kaminari

he sure did, Kaminari. he suuuuuure did

and now here’s another shot of Shinsou being what seems to be way more than just four inches taller than Deku

now Deku is flashing back to the dialogue from last chapter where Shinsou was saying that Deku was naturally blessed

and he’s asking Shinsou why he wants to be a hero

yes Deku! go jesus that son of a bitch! you’re in the big leagues now!

awwww I really like this response from Shinsou

so basically he didn’t decide that he wanted to be a hero, he just does

Deku is empathizing with him something fierce now, but he doesn’t know how to respond

just need to stop overthinking, Deku. that always seems to be your biggest problem with these things. when you’ve got those main character instincts, it’s okay to go with your gut

now the gen studies kids are giving Shinsou props and saying how great he was just to make it this far

Shinsou stop I already have three teenage sons, I can’t fucking afford this

everyone is talking about how great his quirk is. did they all understand what was going on? if that’s the case, honestly Izuku should be getting even more praise for managing to throw it off

I WONDER IF HIS MOM WAS WATCHING, INCIDENTALLY. IS SHE PROUD?? DOES SHE REALIZE YET THAT HER SON SOMEHOW HAS A QUIRK THAT HE’S NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE. OR ARE WE SAVING THAT REALIZATION FOR THE TODOROKI MATCH

whenever and however it happens, I can’t wait to see it, because I feel like there’s no way he’s making it out of this without her finally realizing. to hell with the oblivious parents tropes, she’s been supporting him all this time and she deserves to know. but more importantly, past a certain point it’s going to be impossible for her not to know. even All Might’s going to have to realize that eventually

(ETA: ugh so he apparently did tell her that he had a quirk now. but he lied about how he got it. I mean, it’s nice that she knows that much, though. but it’d be great if she could be more in the loop about just how important he is. even if it’d probably give her a heart attack lol)

anyway I got sidetracked by suddenly remembering that Deku’s mom exists

now Shinsou is giving a speech about how he’s not going to give up. just put this boy in class B already, U.A. just admit your entrance exam is broken

LMAO

LOL THIS SHOULDN’T BE SO FUNNY, BECAUSE SHINSOU IS GRINNING AT HIM RIGHT NOW AND SAYING IT’D BE EASY TO MESS EVERYTHING UP FOR HIM, WHICH IS PRETTY DISTURBING. BUT SOMEHOW IT IS FUNNY. HE THOUGHT HE WAS SAFE

anyway, thankfully Shinsou isn’t That Much of a Dick, and he just asks Deku to promise that he won’t lose pathetically

I’d call that a successful shounen jesusing, wouldn’t you? “SHINSOU HAS JOINED YOUR PARTY”

and now Deku’s in Recovery Girl’s office

“I couldn’t smile at all” loooooool. it’s true. actually he doesn’t really seem like a smiling hero type so far tbh. All Might keeps telling him to do it, but whenever Deku gets really fired up, he gets this crazy face thing going on instead. which is terrifying, mind you

All Might begrudgingly says he understands why Deku didn’t manage to smile, given all of the shit talking coming from Shinsou’s end

looks like Recovery Girl did heal Deku’s fingers. so what was all of that bullshit back in like chapter 7 about how he’d run out of stamina and die if she kept having to heal him? or was she just trying to put the fear of god into him so that he wouldn’t keep fucking himself up every two chapters. because if that’s the case I’d understand tbh

now RG is turning and like backhanding All Might because somehow all of this must be his fault lol

YES now Deku’s asking All Might about that FREAKING WEIRD THING that happened back there with OFA

“one of them had your hairstyle” fucking how did he pick that out? I went back and looked at it myself and couldn’t make out a damn thing

(ETA: it’s clearer in the anime, but if you’re trying to Where’s Waldo him from the manga panel good fucking luck)

but anyway he’s asking if it was the souls of the previous people with One for All

and the answer is obviously yes... right?

“what the? that sounds scary?” ARE YOU SERIOUS

okay he says he did see them once when he was young, and that it means Deku’s getting used to the quirk

apparently they’re “the traces of the quirk’s past bearers”, but they can’t directly interact with Deku or influence him or vice-versa. sorry Deku, I guess you don’t get to go into the Avatar State or chitchat with Vongola Primo today

also this apparently means that Deku did in fact overcome Shinsou’s brainwashing with his own strong will. ...like, okay, so part of me is proud of Deku, but on the other hand it should have been impossible! and also, what a weird freaking coincidence then!

unless All Might... is lying :’D

“yeah I’m still not really convinced.” me neither Deku. that was way too disturbing to just be a one time thing that never comes up ever again. and All Might really is being way too dismissive of it and telling him not to dwell on it at all

but why is he not telling Deku the truth though

now Deku is leaving

and All Might is having a private conversation with Recovery Girl

ooooohh

IS IT A BAD THING FOR YOU??! IS THAT WHY YOU DIDN’T WANT TO TELL DEKU??? HOLY SHIT I’M FUCKING TERRIFIED ALL OF A SUDDEN

NOOOO damn it we’re cutting to something else. fuck

it’s Shouto and his garbage dad

"you disgrace me, Shouto.” by what, coming in first place? not being a massive turd of a person at every conceivable opportunity?

of course not! the “disgrace” is that he didn’t use his left side

lol this is exactly what Shouto wanted, honestly. gets to win and piss off dad? fucking great

"remember, your duty is to surpass All Might.” hahaha. hey Endeavor, remember when I told you, “fuck you”? fuck you

-- ?!!!

um. what

Shouto do you have brothers whom I also need to take into protective custody

(ETA: in the anime the word Endeavor uses is “niisan”, so it’s an older brother(s). oh my god. is this like a GotG Vol. 2 thing where Endeavor just went out and did it with a bunch of different people until he finally got the right combination. jesus christ)

(ETA 2: so yeah he apparently has a lot of brothers and some sisters as well. and it’s pretty much exactly like GotG, except that Endeav didn’t actually murder all of his “failed attempts”, at least. so... that’s something? not really, though? like he’s still such an asshole omg?)

ALSO, WOULD IT KILL YOU TO JUST PICK A CHARACTER TO BE LIKE, SHOUTO. ARE YOU HIBARI? ZUKO? SANJI? WHO EVEN KNOWS

come to think of it, Endeavor doesn’t actually look all that different from Sanji’s dad

the rest of this conversation is just stuff we already knew, but damn Todoroki is looking fairly pretty here

in like, you know, a ~dark~ way

now Deku’s joining Iida and Ochako in the stands!

Todoroki’s fight is starting!

poor Sero is so fucking screwed

OOOHHH

SON OF A BITCH THIS KID DID NOT COME TO PLAY!!

HE’S STILL SCREWED BUT I SURE DO ADMIRE THAT FIGHTING SPIRIT

HE’S PULLING SHOUTO OFF HIS FEET?? HE ACTUALLY HAS A CHANCE IF HE COULD JUST GET HIM OUT OF THE RING BEFORE SHOUTO’S ICE POWERS TAKE EFFECT

UH OH

LOOOOOL SHIIIIIIT

I think this is the first time he’s made this face! I always enjoy seeing faves just snap for a sec and go totally fucking nuts

OHSHIII

is my boy Sero fucking dead now

even fucking Aizawa and Mic jesus christ

everyone’s like... just give him the championship belt now lol

THE ICE LITERALLY STOPPED LIKE SIX INCHES AWAY FROM DEKU’S FACE AND HE WAS IN THE STANDS

POOR SERO IS JUST WEAKLY MUTTERING, “THAT’S OVERKILL...” OH MY GOD

WELL I’D CALL THAT A WIN BY IMMOBILIZATION

LMAO EVEN MIDNIGHT IS HALF FUCKING FROZEN

“SERO CAN YOU MOVE?” “YOU’RE KIDDING RIGHT”

SERO, YOU TRIED AND THAT’S ALL ANYONE CAN ASK

EVERYONE UNDERSTANDS THAT HE NEVER HAD A CHANCE. I HOPE THEY DON’T HOLD THIS AGAINST HIM

awwww Shouto is apologizing and says he overdid it

he was just annoyed

literally can anyone possibly stop this child? [LOOKS AT DEKU]

MEANWHILE DEKU IS WATCHING TODOROKI CLOSELY AND OBSERVING THINGS THAT NO ONE ELSE IS NOTICING AND THINKING THINGS LIKE “SOMETHING ABOUT HIM SEEMS REALLY SAD”

EXACTLY HOW MANY RIVALS ARE YOU GOING TO FALL IN LOVE WITH, DEKU

THIS LOVELY CROWD IS RALLYING AROUND POOR SERO IN THE SAME WAY THAT PEOPLE APPLAUD ENCOURAGINGLY WHEN AN INJURED PLAYER MANAGES TO WALK OFF THE FIELD UNDER THEIR OWN POWER

TODOROKI MOTHERFUCKING SHOUTO MOVES ON TO THE SECOND FUCKING ROUND

BONUS:

why would you wear a jacket that’s so ridiculously small on you

here’s another one whose favorite thing is cats. you and Aizawa should get together and visit one of those cafes

I like that Horikoshi’s whole inspiration for the character was “give this guy a power that is Obviously Meant for Villains and then have him be determined to be a good guy”

honestly, it’s a good move. I hope and assume we’ll see more of him after this arc