#whether that be sparring or curling into each other under the covers

[awaywithself]

Thinking about zosan where they butt heads during the day, shoes to blades, scalding words, scathing glares. while none of it holds any real weight, they still play up this grand facade of hating each other, swearing by the stars they can’t stand to be in the same room.

but when night falls, those same stars pay witness to how zoro lingers in the galley as sanji cleans up after dinner, dozing off to the gentle clinks of washed plates. they see how sanji climbs up to the crow’s nest long after everyone has fallen asleep, with blankets and a bottle of zoro’s favorite sake in tow.

they see how zoro ambles into the men’s quarters after night watch and clambers into his hammock, bumping not-so-subtly into sanji’s. they see how sanji gently rouses at the movement, and when zoro’s settled, his breathing even, he slides out of his own bed and climbs in with him. he nudges him over, zoro huffing with childish and weightless petulance as he shifts to give sanji the space to curl into his side. they stay like that for however long the darkness of night lasts, sanji’s head on zoro’s chest and zoro’s arm around him, tucked close into each other, warm under the blankets and briefly, blissfully impervious.

and when the sun rises, chasing away the stars and their secrets, they part and do it all over again.

[shatterinseconds]

future, continued

Julance ‘23: week 4

Lance wakes up early one morning to find Keith training. The sun starts to tip over the horizon, early morning rays dancing across the ocean. Keith performs the typical hand combat training maneuvers he used to do on the castle-ship by himself, mostly late at night, and even then Lance would often find himself settling into the training room to watch, unable to sleep as well.

Lance perches himself on rock; his bare feet slide into the sand, covering up the bottom of his sweatpants. “The war’s been over for a year. It’s alright if you want to sleep late some days,” he says loud enough for Keith to hear him over the waves and seagulls. It was Keith’s idea to find a small cottage on the water, despite the fact that they do work in space more than half the year, and Lance couldn’t be happier about the location. 

Keith stops immediately, retracting from his stance. He rolls his shoulders as he looks at Lance unamused but there’s a slight quirk to his lips that Lance can see—that Lance can always see. “You know, you can just say you want to join me.”

“But that would be too easy.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith gestures. “Come on.”

Lance grins as he hops off the rock.

They don’t hold back their punches. War taught them to never show restraint even during practice. Despite the threat of battle having long since ended, it continues to take root in their bones. Maybe it will forever. A terrible souvenir really.

Keith counters his moves with practiced ease but still meets the challenge each other presents. They kick up sand as Lance blocks a punch and sidesteps a whirling kick to the ribs. Over the years they have become more evenly matched in hand-to-hand. It makes their sparring sessions much more exciting—less of Lance getting his ass handed to him after a meesely two seconds and more of actually having a chance to win, though still rarely.

Lance runs up a sand dune and back flips over Keith. Landing softly in the sand, he catches Keith, who spins around a second too late, and kicks his legs out from under him. Falling with him, Lance straddles Keith’s waist before he has the chance to stand back up. 

Whether because he’d already been training before Lance arrived or because they don’t need to sharpen their skills anymore, Keith doesn’t try to buck Lance off. Instead, he smiles in defeat—a sight that a few years ago may have rung alarm bells in Lance’s head, wondering what kind of deceptive tactic this was. But now he knows it’s more about wanting to head back home to have a proper breakfast and not waste their entire morning in the sand dunes. 

Chest heaving, Lance brushes back his sweaty curls and looks at Keith delight. He’s sprawled on the sand, just as wrecked as Lance is. Sweat glistens on his forehead, his pale skin flushed from the exercise and the sun.

“You have sand in your hair.” Lance brushes Keith’s bangs away from his eyes and traces the burn scar cutting up from his jaw.

Arching an eyebrow, Keith slides his hands up Lance’s thighs. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours,” Lance answers immediately. “You never watch your left side.”

“It’s the only way you can beat me.”

“You mean taking advantage of your one weakness? I take pride in that. Don’t ruin this for me.”

Keith laughs, a full belly one that even Lance can feel. He wraps his arms around Lance’s neck to pull himself up slightly and kisses Lance the best he can. Lance thinks of a time when he didn’t believe he could have this, when he couldn’t be certain whether they would survive at all.

And now he’s married and owns a home and realizes that—

“We made it,” Lance says when they break apart. All of them made it, their entire team. He slowly opens his eyes to find Keith with a soft smile on his face, understanding. 

“We did.”

[river-bottom-nightmare]

you know what i’m curious about? jason reacting to dick after red hood.

and by “after red hood,” i mean after he’s become a more of an anti-hero, teaming up with the bats when it fits his convenience, looking out for the underprivileged and lower class of gotham specifically, not turning to killing as his first thought but not shying away from it if required either.

and that’s roughly how the bats are pulling him back into their little universe: it’s not their first priority anymore now that jason’s established himself as someone who uses lethal violence but has still managed to gain the trust of gotham’s people, but they aren’t shying away from how they clearly want him back either. so jason isn’t plugged into the bat’s central mainframe, but oracle passes on knowledge whenever it’s deemed important. and tim made jason a couple of fake ids as an olive branch, he returned it with the keys to a safehouse he never uses but tim may find useful. steph doesn’t seem too terrified of him, cass doesn’t seem to hesitate talking to him. and bruce is awkward and fumbling and manages to completely screw up almost every interaction the two of them have, but goddamnit he’s trying, jason can see that bruce is really, really trying. so he backs off bruce’s neck, knowing that he won’t ever be accepted into the family again, knowing that bruce has made it clear he won’t ever see jason as his son again, but maybe he can establish himself as an ally. someone they don’t trust with their hearts, but they trust with their lives. 

(and jason’s okay with that. he really is.)

the one person that doesn’t sit right with jason is dick.

because the dick that jason remembered from his scattered, ash-blown mind was nothing like the dick he saw parading around the manor.

for one. he was in the manor. jason’s formative years as robin were filled with the most agonizing screams he could ever think of. his father’s drunken yells, the gang boys that busted up far too near jason’s dilapidated little home, the yowls and howls of a thousand voices in gotham city screaming in pain, all of that had nothing on what jason heard. because sure, he’d heard from the people bruce and dick took him to meet that dick was so kindhearted, so good, so passionate. and,,,,passionate certainly seemed to be a word for it. there was nothing more terrifying, thirteen-year-old jason decided, then the harrowing, angry screams of a sober man screaming at someone he loved. because bruce and dick loved each other. loved each other so much that love turned to hate, rolled around until it became black and blue like an ugly bruise, except dick decided to take that black and blue and smear it across his chest so the whole world could see his pain. 

now? now, dick smiled at bruce like a mischievous little boy, corrected his form during spars, pointed out things he missed in the field. and bruce,,,,,acquiesced. he rolled his eyes longsufferingly at dick’s antics when previously, a hint of that humor would have bruce sneering at dick’s childishness that he should have outgrown. bruce corrected his posture on the mat, then struck again calmly. bruce nodded his head at the correction, thanking dick for his insight with a glance and a nod, then carried on with the investigation. that easy trust the two of them fell back on, previously only seen during a combat situation when jason was robin where action was instinctive, was now present in almost every interaction the two of them had. seemingly overnight, bruce had learned to respect dick as an adult, and dick had grown around bruce’s paranoia and obsessiveness instead of rushing straight into it. 

for another thing. he wasn’t joking when he called dick the “golden child.” he’d joked when he was a kid, calling him every iteration of the nickname his team had given him, because in his mind it was ridiculous. over time, dick had warmed to him, though it had taken a while for the man to stop seeing robin every time he looked at jason and started seeing jason. the death and the resurrection and the impromptu swimming lesson in the world’s most dangerous indoor pool had mixed up jason’s memories, but he was slowly getting back flashes of a laugh, a hand on his shoulder. dick teaching him how to train surf, dick taking him out for ethiopian and scoffing at how americanized it was, dick stitching up a nasty gash on his calf. but those incidents were rare, few and far between, and dick knew it. the two of them knew dick wasn’t as perfect as the world made him out to be, and dick shot jason a rueful smile every time he called him “goldie,” because jason seemed to be one of the very few people in the world that got to see how imperfect dick really was. 

when jason was younger, he used to think that made him special.

now, jason couldn’t decide if dick had stopped thinking of him as one of the select few that actually saw dick grayson and not a picture-perfect mask he presented, or if dick had taken a dive in his own personal lazarus pit, only this time instead of anger issues and trauma, he got a fat ass and brilliant big brother skills. the guy managed to connect to cass on a level no one else could, the two of them using their bodies as a language few others could read. he coaxed laughs out of steph even though the two of them didn’t see each other that often. but the biggest change? timothy goddamn drake. his replacement, only you can’t replace a position that never existed in the first place, can you? to dick, jason was only ever a kid he babysat sometimes, someone whose hair he ruffled on occasion and bought hot chocolate for, but nothing more. dick tugged tim into hugs so naturally, jason almost believed they’d been doing it all their lives. dick’s teachings were evident in every fluid line of the kids arms twirling a staff, dick’s influence in his not-as-beautiful-and-smooth yet practiced acrobatics, dick’s mark on the kid showing up even in his ice cream order. tim was dick’s brother, someone that looked up to him with stars in his eyes, someone that dick actively strived to be perfect for. 

the stars in jason’s eyes had burnt up into a supernova of tears the first time he’d met dick, that tiny flame of hope snuffing out immediately as he curled under dick’s harsh gaze and spiteful words.

the thing is, people don’t just change like that. jason liked to convince himself that he’d become someone new, someone different once he came back to gotham, but he knew deep down he was that same scrappy, street-smart kid. jury was still out on whether that little kid had the same inky darkness drenching his soul that jason was covered with now, or if robin’s wholehearted goodness still shone through in the cracks of red hood’s armour. 

dick sure as hell hadn’t been the perfect big brother back then that he was now. he wasn’t the family mediator, translating bruce’s gregorian knot of emotions to something the others would understand. he wasn’t the calm, cool, collected crimefighter with a powerful name stretching out in front of him and the biggest legacy ever created behind him. 

dick was human. he screamed and raged cried and hated and made mistakes and broke like a dying star. this glossy, picture-perfect mask he seemed to have drilled to his face wouldn’t stay on forever. and jason wanted to be there when it cracked.

who even knows what the fuck this was. certainly not me. i was just having some robin!jason feels. 

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @iwhumpyou 

[keilemlucent]

if you are interested, i would like to present my dear salem with hero hawks and his little horny crush on his innocent assistant bc man’s corruption kink go brrrrrr😇

okay look LOOK i have... such a thing for hawks getting a h*rd on for his sweet, far-too kind PA.

(NSFW)

word count: 2.5k

warnings: dubcon, coersion, (a little bit of) yandere hawks, reader wears lingerie, reader is sorta oblivious,  sugar daddy hawks, scumbag hawks, power imbalance, hawks is a manipulative bastard but its hot so who cares <3

...

“Are you sure this is... appropriate, sir?” 

No, no, definitely not, not at all. Taking his sweet, desperately-in-need-of-a-break PA out on a little shopping spree was definitely crossing a lot of professional lines, but how could he care? He was far more focused on the wobbly way ‘sir’ had dripped off your tongue.

It wasn’t sin, but he’d get you there, he was quite persuasive. 

The little shopping trip (literally) landed you at a luxury mall across Fukuoka, many-floored and lavishing decorated with twinkling, bright bulbs and crystal on every fixture. The stores were expensive, too expensive for you to afford on your own but Keigo knew how hard you’d been working! All that extra paperwork (he’d been purposefully giving you because it kept you around the office later and more often) had been getting done beautifully, and you deserved a treat. Many of them. 

Consider it an early bonus.

You already had quite a few bags dangling off your arms, the cords and ribbons digging into your arms (god, he wished he could make some marks of his own--). And Keigo had decided to treat you to one, final stop. He guided you to the store entrance with a hand on your lower back.

God help you, a lingerie store.

Nothing cheap, only custom-made and designer pieces. It was more of a boutique, some places private where no one would bother the two of you. 

He watched your expression, the pull of your brows and the way your pupils dilated. It might’ve been from a bit of ill-placed stress, but he’s sure he can get your eyes just as inky other ways, if given the opportunity. 

“This is remarkably appropriate, dove,” He hummed and ushered you inside the store entrance, flashing a grin to the starry-eyed salesclerk. His hand drifted downward, just over the upper curves of your ass, just to watch you squirm. “Consider it a reward! You’ve been doing so much good for me and the agency, you deserve a treat or two, don’t you think?”

You shifted the bags on your arms and dared to meet his gaze with your own, meek and wide, “I-I think this is more than ‘a treat or two’--”

“Then shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, thanking me for my generosity then?” Keigo smirked as your expression faltered. You were way too easy and god, he fucking loved it.

Before you had a chance to fret anymore, he assured you quietly that everything was alright. A bit of praise to ice the pinpricks he left behind. He shooed you into the fitting rooms, pointing a beaming smile at a clerk and getting to work. 

He’d have you spoiled, whether you liked it or not.

...

You sat on the plush bench of the fitting room, hands in fist and lip tucked between your teeth. You chewed on it, swallowing around your dry throat. Hawks’ voice drifted back from the salesfloor, though you couldn’t tell what he was saying. You could pick up words like ‘sweet’ and ‘cute’ and you could only assume the words were about the bright-eyed, big-titted employee you saw when you walked in.

You squeeze the fabric of your skirt and tried to let some of the tension in your shoulders dissipate. 

“Oh, wow, dove, the selection they have here is amazing!” Hawks whistled as he returned to the fitting room, alone, carrying an armful of padded, velvet hangers. 

“I can imagine,” You wished you could have looked around a bit yourself, but Hawks had a much better eye for these things than you did. You were very fortunate to have him around. 

He arranged them on a gold railing nearby, wings tucked to his back as to not crowd the small space of the dressing room.

It was truly just a single room, though it was large enough. Six-sided, each wall complete with a well-padded, velvet bench seat to idle on. The middle of the room had a little raised platform, leading to three, angled mirrors. They were massive and felt a bit too revealing as Hawks hummed to himself nearby.

The only thing separating you from the rest of the store was a heavy, velvet draping. 

Hawks plopped onto the cushion next to you, letting out a deep sigh and leaning back. You watched him, gaze flickering from the garments on the rack and the exposed patch of his chest visible from the unpopped buttons of his shirt. 

His feathers brushed up against your arm and you shuddered.

“Now, sweet thing,” He clicked his tongue, jerking his gaze to the hangers. “I picked out some pretty sweet pieces for you. Why don’t you try them on and let me know what you think, hm?”

You nodded, though your stomach felt like there was suddenly lead in it. From the looks of the lace and silks, those pieces weren't going to cover much of anything. You mentally sparred with yourself.

It’s not... that bad. It’s not like he’s going to see anything more than he would if you were wearing a swimsuit. 

Besides, this a gift, right? You should at least show him what he’d paid for on an actual body. 

He had you so well-trained--

You stood, moving to the rack on shaking legs and examining the pieces.

They’re all... a bit whorish. None of those soft babydolls and teddies that folks wore in those softcore pornos that you definitely never watched. The pieces Hawks picked for you aren’t the least bit modest. They’re all lace, mesh, and ribbons. Stockings and garters that looked like they might be a tich too snug. You grab the least garish-looking piece. 

And Hawks was still in the room, body lax and slumped against the cushions.

His eyes lazily opened, a bushy brow-raising, “You good, dove?” 

“... Aren’t you gonna step out?” 

He chuckled and you knew you were fucked. Just not literally, not yet. 

“Why the hell would I do that?” Hawks laughed and righted himself. His vibrant gold eyes bore into yours, though they looked more black than topaz by that point. 

You swallowed. 

“I would prefer if you d-did.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice oozed something that made your knees weak. “What then? I know you don’t like disappointing me.”

You didn’t, but this was a bit far. ‘A bit’. 

“... s-sir, please,” You begged, albeit quietly. 

This was crossing lines. As much as Hawks gave you special treatment at the agency, literally and figuratively taking you under his wing and tending to your needs as he saw them and has he saw fit, stripping and playing dress-up in expensive lingerie definitely was too far.

As much as part of you adored the attention, you tried to keep that quiet. Stuffed down and hidden. Hawks was your boss, and you had to keep yourself occupied with his busy schedule and mountains of paperwork, lest you allow yourself to dissolve into thinking his attentions were anything other than favoritism. 

Oh my god, you really were that dense

“’Please’?” Hawks cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips curling. “‘Please’ what, dovey? Tell me.”

You let out a shaking breath, “Hawks, this is remarkably inappropriate--” 

“Maybe,” He cuts you off swiftly, a flap of his wings pushing him to his feet and directly in front of you. “You just need some help? That’s it?”

Your mouth went dry. He wasn’t wrong, not really. 

“That’s all, huh?” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, his wings curling around the room, too-wide and fluffed for the small space. “Should’ve just said something. I imagine you don’t do this kind of thing often.”

“N-no, I don’t.”

Does anyone? 

“That’s alright, I know you try your best and just need that extra push, hm?” Hawks sighed, deep in his chest. 

With the scarlet swallowing your peripheral vision, you feel like you’re suffocating. Maybe in a good way. You nodded, pliant.

He always knows you. What you want, what you crave, what you need. 

Nimble fingers untucked your blouse from your waist, and you yipped at the chill of his fingers. He was undeterred, loosening the garment and immediately going for the buttons.

One by one, they came undone and you wrap your arms tighter around your middle. Hawks ogled, openly and without a care. It made something in you writhe, but you still wanted more of it. His attention, overt affections that supposedly mean nothing-- you want it.

He slid the blouse from your shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. You watched as his feather shuddered, rippling as he let out a few harsh breaths. You knew how you must look, hot and flushed to the touch. Bare on your upper half, sans a cheap bra that had seen better. 

“Are you sure--” You weren’t sure what you were going to ask, but Hawks didn’t let you say it besides.

“Yes, of course, obviously,’” He licked his goddamn lips. A taloned-finger caught the pilling strap of your bra, snapping it against your shoulder. “Besides, look at this! Can’t have you representing the agency, me, and my brand wearing shit like this.”

Something burned in your gut, some mix of shame and arousal that was threatening to spill from the wet corners of your eyes. 

Hawks dropped to his knees, so fast you hardly could register it. His hands hooked in your skirt by the first two knuckles and tugged and he went down. The sound of splitting fabric cracked in the air, and your skirt fell to the floor in tatters.

And Hawks, the fucker, hovered just inches away from your covered cunt. The cheap cotton of your panties did nothing to shield you from the hot breath that he fanned over you.

“H-Hawks!” You cried out, attempting to push at his shoulders with sweaty palms. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Just taking a closer look,” He gave you no time to protest as those quick fingers of his pulled the elastic of your panties, tugging them down your thighs. He had the decency to tap your ankles, one at a time, so you could step out of the garment. “You don’t mind, do you?”

You let him. 

Perhaps you should’ve protested a bit more. Maybe. But it wasn’t like this wasn’t your wildest fantasy. Your sweet, too-kind boss, spoiling you. You weren’t sure if you’d thought about Hawks that way at first, but he had gotten to you at some point. The impromptu lunches, the late nights together, the walks and flights home. There was even that one he’d managed to wrestle a guy getting too handsy at a club with (how had he known you’d even been there?)

Hawks unclipped your bra, throwing the thing to the side with a  look akin to disgust. He snatched the hanger and garment from your hand and nodded toward the platform.

“Stand over there like a good girl for me, okay? Don’t take your eyes off yourself.”

You couldn’t disobey him, could you?

You’d seen what he did to people who crossed him, when it really mattered. He didn’t put his heart or energy into something unless he really, actually cared. And the handful of times you’d seen that go to shit had left memories of sharpened feathers and terror-filled eyes in their wake.

But you were good for him. His assistant who always made sure his meetings lined up with his patrols, and that everything was brief unless entirely necessary otherwise. You were the one who made sure he had caffeine nearby and a full belly, even on his most busy of days. 

He’d never do anything other than be kind, right?

You didn’t want to find out otherwise. 

He approached you from behind, the silk of the garment tucked over his arm. His eyes looked predatory, gleaming and inky. 

He only stopped when his chest is flush to your back, hands finding their home just above your hips with a squeeze. You shuddered at the feeling, new and raw and you couldn’t tell if you hated or loved it. 

“I want to see how this looks on you, god,” Hawks groaned, nails biting into your skin. “Hold still for me, dove.”

You did.

You didn’t dare move an inch as Hawks took his sweet time dressing you up. The garment is silken straps, the lace wrapping around the curves of your hips and chest, securely with expert bows that he pats into place after each one.

It was impossible to ignore the bulge pressing into your ass. Even as he pulled the pair of panties between your cheeks, stroking the lace and the fat with a wide palm, you were far more focused on the heat and hardness slowly grinding at the other cheek.

He tied you up expertly, and you watched in the mirrors, seeing each angle of it. The way his hands squeezed and pulled at your flesh along the way. The hungry glint in his eyes as he traced your figure. The way his wings seemed to shake and flutter in tandem with your short, quick breaths.

You were truly at his mercy. 

“Look at that,” He whistled low, grabbing your jaw and pulling your gaze just where he’d like. “Tied up like a pretty present I told you this would be good, didn’t I?”

“Y-You did.”

Hawks sighed, draping himself over your shoulders and nuzzling into your neck. You could feel the part of his plush lips, the way they drag over your skin. You swore you a nip or two.

His gaze met yours in the mirror. One of his hands trailed low, very low, sliding over top of the lace panties and cupping your sex. His index fingers lazily traced your lips through the fabric, idle. His other went to grope your chest, more insistent as he palmed at you, pinching a nipple as you began to sputter. 

A warbled moan cracked from your lips as Hawks fingers dipped below the seams of the pretty garment, rubbing at just the rights parts of you, tugging your body flush to his. 

“W-Wait, Hawks!” You wrapped a hand around on his wrist, begging your breath to stay somewhat even. “What if someone hears? Or one of the employees comes back? What if--”

“Do you think I care?” Hawks groaned, grunting as he ground into your ass. The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing cut through the room (again) and the fabric of his pants hit the ground. And suddenly you could feel how hard and hot he was. 

Something twisted in your gut and your legs rubbed together. Hawks caught your gaze, scarlet enveloping the room from the sides of your vision and the mirror in front of you.

Hawks shifted your face toward his, nosing along your cheek. The grip on your jaw was replaced by one on your throat; he was hardly exerting any pressure but the threat and meaning were clear.

Keigo has you right where he wants you. He always has, always will. You’re just a bit too... naive? No, maybe dumb... That’s a bit mean, isn’t it?”

“You need this just as I do,” He spoke low and rolling, touch burning like embers. “You know you do. I know you do. You trust me, don’t know?”

All you could do was nod before Keigo slotted his lips to yours, staking a claim that was only new to you. He nipped at your bottom lip, tugged until you were wincing into his mouth. He caught every sound, every little gesture of yours was his, just like you were. Keigo kicked himself for waiting for this so long, but he could be ginger, under the right circumstances. Ones that benefited him. He could only hope you were as good of a fuck as you were fun to toy with. 

You’d be sin yet, Keigo resolved as he pulled away. He just had to coax you there first, and he wasn’t against more... direct methods.

Maybe you’d finally get it then.

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 8

What's this? An update! Massive thanks to my betas for helping me get through this chapter <3

In Which: A few answers are given to the family and Danny is rudely awoken

[Side note: If you wanna know the general ages of the batfam, its listed in the AO3 version. I also talk about katanas in the end notes ^-^]

AO3 | Prologue | 7 | [ 8 ] | 9 DAMIAN INFORMED TODD—and Drake when he arrived on his bike sometime later on—that the boy whose face is plastered across the monitor was neither a picture of himself nor of Father.

Drake took one glance at the monitor and sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Just when I thought this day was getting better.”

“What, did that café on 5th finally let customers supersize their drink?”

“God that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” Drake sighed wistfully. “Nah, but I did get a lead on where some of that stolen Cadmus tech might’ve ended up. I was gonna spend the night following up on it, but I guess we have to deal with,” he gestured to the monitor, “whatever this is.”

Todd leaned against the edge of the computer, arms crossed over the red bat insignia on his chest. “What are we dealing with this time, brat? A clone? An alternate universe counterpart? Magic shenanigans?”

Maybe. Perhaps. All of those were perfectly valid conclusions for the enigma that was Daniel James Fenton. (Why Fenton and not al Ghul? Or even Wayne?)

Damian, too, was a genetic experiment; a ‘test tube baby’ as Drake put it at times. Damian was born for greatness, created to be perfect. The perfect soldier. The perfect assassin. The perfect heir. Was this boy—Daniel—like him as well?

A failed one, then. Perhaps the precursor to Damian’s own existence. But that would not explain why the boy was allowed to exist for so long. His grandfather demanded perfection, especially from those of his own blood. If the boy was a failure, he would have been eliminated immediately, not sent to live with some eccentric scientists in the Midwest.

Damian was not naïve enough to think that his mother and grandfather did not keep secrets from him. On the contrary, he expected it. The League of Shadows dealt in secrets as often as it did in death. Certain information was worth its weight in gold, whether it was given or buried away.

But he could not help the sharp pang in his chest. A lightning strike, quick and electrifying at the notion that they kept secrets about their family from him.

His father’s face flashed in his mind. The shock turned into a slow, dawning horror. That flicker of light, of recognition, as he scrutinized the contents of the flash drive and cross-referenced it with a public database.

And grief.

Damian recognized the grief.

Alfred, too, nearly dropped his tray of fresh-baked cookies when he stepped in front of the monitor. His usual unflappable demeanor was momentarily broken at his father’s whispered “Sixteen years. Alfred— he’s sixteen years old.”

His father knew of the boy. He was allowed to know of Daniel when he was not allowed to know about Damian.

------

Grayson returned to the cave with a distinct lack of energy in his step. His mask dangled off the tips of his fingers, chin angled downwards and covered largely by his hand. For a split second, their eyes met. Grayson shifted his gaze away, scratching the back of his neck. Father told him, then. Damian wondered how much Father revealed to his favorite son.

Damian clucked his tongue and buried himself deeper into the chair, arms crossed and pointedly looking away. If it was not for his accursed ankle, he’d have headed out to the training ring to take his frustrations out on the dummies.

“Oh, thank god you’re here, Dickface. Damian’s completely out of it.”

Damian shot him a look. “Shut up, Todd.”

“Leave him alone, Jay. Is Tim back yet?”

Drake emerged from the changing room in a dark green shirt, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He took one long sip before exhaling. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“O-kay…” He pressed his hands together, mouth thinned into a grim line. “Uh, hey Tim, glad to see you back safe. Bruce is coming down soon to explain some things.” He let out a deep sigh, carding a hand through his hair. “This kind of thing would probably be better with the girls around, but I—god, I don’t know.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know whether to call Steph and Cass in Hong Kong, or don’t know what’s going on?”

“Yes.”

------

When Father arrived, Pennyworth following dutifully behind him, it was with an aching slowness in his gait. His steps measured and precise, preternaturally quiet as he made his way to stand by Damian’s chair. Damian sat up straighter, shoulders squared and back an inch away from the backrest. The rest, even Todd, stood at attention; an ingrained habit among Robins and an amusing instinct even among the senior heroes of the Justice League when it came to facing the Batman.

His father kept a steady hand on Damian’s shoulder, and Damian, shamefully, leaned into the touch; his head inclined towards his father’s hand so much so that he could feel the ends of his hair being pushed up slightly as he brushed against his father’s forearm.

He spoke with his usual monotone, as if he was heading a Justice League meeting as opposed to unveiling the secrets surrounding that boy. He brought forward the few photos they obtained from the flash drive. “A few weeks ago, we were alerted of suspicious movement from the League of Shadows in Amity Park, Illinois. Their objectives are, as of now, unclear, though it appears to be tied to the death of Amity Park resident, Daniel Fenton.”

One photo was a standard ID picture people get for their driver’s license, the lighting deliberately horrible so that any attempt to look decent would always end in failure. Another photo was a little better; a candid scene of him chatting with two others his age, a Caucasian girl in gothic-style clothes and an African-American holding a sleek, but still very outdated PDA. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, hand reaching up to his face to stifle a laugh. There were other photos like this, some candid, others posed. At the forefront of each, a boy that looked too much like his father, too much like Damian.

His father glanced at the photos. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, he fixed them on some distant stalactite in the Cave. “Around six months ago, Daniel was pronounced dead in a vehicular accident. A body was present, but according to police reports, he was identified via his driver’s license as opposed to any kind of DNA profiling.” He leaned over Damian’s chair to pull up a profile of Masters. “Our source—Vladimir Masters, mayor of Amity and a friend of the Fenton family—indicated his belief that Daniel is actually alive. I am inclined to agree.”

“He’s your son, isn’t he,” Drake said, more of a statement than a question.

Father gave a curt nod. “I cannot say for certain until I can perform a DNA test, but I highly suspect that to be the case.”

“First the demon spawn, now this. Great.” Todd made a hand motion towards the screen. “You know, Bruce, not knowing you have a kid once might be a coincidence, but twice? How do you do that?”

“As of three hours ago, I was still under the impression that my son never made it to term.”

“What?”

“Over sixteen years ago I was involved in a mission that put Ra’s and I on the same side. During that time, Talia and I entered a relationship that resulted in a pregnancy. Though initially ecstatic, she eventually led me to believe she miscarried the child and pushed me away. For what ends, I do not know, but trust me Jason, if I knew—” He paused, the hand that was not on Damian’s shoulder curled into a tight fist.

Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why she hid it from me then doesn’t matter. Why Talia wants him back now is important. Judging from Daniel’s records, he was adopted into the Fenton family as an infant and has since lived a seemingly normal life as a civilian. His adoptive parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are brilliant scientists and engineers focused on the field of paranormal studies. Eccentricities aside, they have zero connections to the League of Assassins or any other concerning parties.”

“So why now?” Dick asked, shifting his concerned gaze from Bruce to the static picture of Danny’s tired smile. “Why, after all this time, decide that now would be the best time to recover him?”

------

Danny’s experienced plenty of rude awakenings before, but waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to avoid his kidnapper-slash-assassin-slash-biological-mom launching a surprise attack takes the fucking cake. He can’t believe he’s saying this, but thank god for all those late night ghost attacks that conditioned him to be a light sleeper. And, of course, the League’s insistence that everyone be in optimal condition regardless of how little sleep you actually got.

Danny kicked Talia off of him, ripping his blanket away before scrambling to his feet. Seriously, if the universe decided to spontaneously give him powers again, he’d really like an upgrade to his ghost senses, please and thank you. Something that works on humans and not just ghosts. Like spidey-senses. He’d really, really like some spidey-senses.

“Your reaction times have improved considerably,” Talia said.

He eyed the katana sheathed beside his bedroll. “Thanks. Who could have guessed that constantly challenging someone to a spar in the unholy hours of morning would make them paranoid to sleep too much? Really, how am I supposed to grow taller at this rate? ” If he could just get it--

She smiled, taking a step forward. “Prepare yourself.”

“Heh.” Danny stepped further away from Talia, keeping his back to the mouth of the cave. One hand stretched in front of him and the other, coated in a green light, was kept hidden behind his back. “Am I actually gonna get some answers today?”

“Let us make it interesting. Last 10 minutes against me and I shall tell you more about your brother.” Talia twirled her blade. “If you happen to draw blood, you may ask any one thing of me.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

His face caught between a grimace and a smile. He’d rather be sleeping right now, but if he had to be awake, then he’d better make the most of it. “Deal.”

Talia’s smile dropped. She veered her body to the right, barely dodging the streak of bright green that whizzed from behind her. The ectoplasmic energy that surrounded the katana bled away as the handle connected with Danny’s outstretched hand.

She quickly glanced back at Danny’s bedding. Beside it lay an empty sheath. “You have telekinesis?”

He shrugged. “It comes and goes.” Yeah, no way was Danny gonna admit that seven-out-of-ten-times he forgot that he had telekinesis. Besides, that shit was hard to do when he wasn’t Phantom.

“A surprise attack from behind is a sound strategy, Daniel. Though it’ll take a lot more than that to harm me.”

Danny pointed to the side of his cheek. “Are you sure about that?”

Talia frowned. She reached up to her face. Her fingers brushed against her cheek and came away with a thin streak of blood.

Danny grinned, pointing his blade at his opponent. “First blood goes to me.”

------

Fact: most fights don’t last long. An average street fight could last anywhere between 25 to 40 seconds, and sword fights rarely last over a minute. Like Talia said, the goal of a fight was to end it with as few injuries to oneself as possible. Humans, even the most skilled ones, can rarely last long in a fight. Prolonged combat is suicide; it makes you tired, makes your muscles heavy. It’s nothing like what Hollywood would have you believe.

Even with Danny’s own enhanced stamina and Talia holding back, he couldn’t last a full ten-minute spar. If Talia didn’t finish him within twenty-five seconds, then he’d fall by his own human limitations.

But the goal wasn’t to spar continuously for ten minutes.

He only had to last that long.

Danny sprinted out of the cave. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, a thin line of deep orange breaking apart the wide expanse of blue-black sky above. He couldn’t see shit; great news since that meant there’s a good chance Talia couldn’t either, but that doesn’t fix the fact that he can’t see.

Nearly stumbling on the ice, Danny veered to the left. The edges of the lake stopped at towering rocks twice Danny’s height, leaving little room for cover. Though if he remembered correctly, there should be a few crevices here and there to hide in.

“You’ll have to be faster than that, Daniel.”

Shit—

Danny stopped. He brought his sword up to parry Talia’s strike and twisted away, putting distance between them.

Well, so much for just avoiding her for 10 minutes.

He adjusted his grip, keeping his sword steady and eyes trained on Talia as they circled each other. Danny lunged with an overhead strike. Talia used one hand to block the downswing by gripping his wrists. She thrust her sword forward, the tip harshly poking Danny’s abdomen.

“Less than three minutes.” Talia let his wrist go, Danny’s arms slumping to his sides.

He sighed as he sheathed his sword. “Damn, I thought I’d last longer than that.”

“You made a good effort,” Talia assured him. “Putting as much distance between us at the beginning was a good strategy. You recognized the win conditions immediately and attempted a battle of attrition.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am very proud of you habibi, especially as you managed to draw first blood.”

A warmth grew in Danny’s stomach at the words, heating his cheeks. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure that would work, honestly.”

“It was clever; half a second later and you might have even killed me. You are an al Ghul through and through” She brushed his hair out of his face. “What would you like as your prize, then?”

Danny’s heart clenched. He frowned, dropping his arm to his side. If I was such an al Ghul, then why didn’t you keep me? The question lodged itself in his throat, stifling his thoughts. It was something he’d been wondering for a while, actually, in the moments of solitude he had at the compound. Talia, during their training, would always remark at his potential. How talented he was, how adaptable he was, how much greater he would have been if he had been trained at a younger age.

Well then, why wasn’t he? Why did she give him up?

But each time he tried to ask, his tongue would turn to lead and the moment would pass, the question still left unsaid and simmering at the back of his mind. A Pandora’s Box that held none of the world’s evil but all of Danny’s possible shortcomings.

He could ask the question now.

He could.

He didn’t.

“Why did you take me?”

Talia tilted her head. “It is because you’re my son.”

“No. Not that. It has to be something more than that. You had sixteen years to come back for me—or, hell, you could have just never left me.” His breath hitched, fingers mussing his hair and hiding his eyes. “Why else did you take me?”

“It is true that there was more than one reason why we decided to retrieve you from Amity Park. One of which is because you are my son and an heir of the Demon’s Head.” Talia stilled. The dark skies of dawn made it impossible for him to read her. “The second reason was to protect you.”

“You kidnapped me…to protect me?”

“Knowledge of the ghosts of Amity have spread through the more insidious parts of the world. There are many out there who would pay exorbitant fees to study one of you or to use you.”

Use him? What did she mean by—

Oh.

Ghosts—Amity Park’s brand of ghosts—were a new element that the world had to contend with. Amity Park might have a crime rate of zero but that wasn’t the case everywhere else. Theft, assault, murder; the world was rampant with crimes and criminals clawing their way to the very top. Having ghosts, even ones with the most basic powerset, would be a huge advantage.

“There’s no way that would work,” Danny insisted. “Most ghosts just want to be left alone, and the ones that want to wreak havoc would never work with humans. The only reason they even work with halfas like me at times is because they still consider us as ghosts.”

“If my sources are to be believed, ghosts might not even get a choice.”

Danny’s blood curdled in his veins.

No.

Someone’s found a way to control ghosts.

[allwaswell16]

This is a fic rec of One Direction fic writers who both appreciate positive, long comments and enjoy replying back to these comments! This was made in honor of an enthusiastic friend who had a few bad experiences commenting in our fandom and receiving less than kind replies. Instead of just fuming about it, I decided to do something about it. I knew that most writers would absolutely love to receive comments like the ones she leaves, so I made a post asking for writers who fit this to recommend their fics to us. And wow did you all come through for us! 

Below the cut are 54 writers, each with one of their fics to recommend to us! But please be sure to check out all their other fics as well! I’ll put the fics in order of wordcount and I’ll list pairing, rating, and wordcount along with the summaries. 

(Please note that there are really lovely writers out there who also very much appreciate each and every one of their comments, but are too overwhelmed or anxious to reply. I am not at all saying that writers who don’t reply are unappreciative!)

Love After the End of the World by @mercurial-madhouse​ / writing_practice [Louis/Harry, E, 162k]

“Wait. Just so I’m clear in me fucking noggin,” Niall says. “An international worldwide takeover is well under way and the only thing standing between having hot showers and a second end of the world is us five fuckers?”

-----

Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.

When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

Hold You Now by @solvetheminourdreams​ [Louis/Harry, M, 131k]

The string within Harry's own sweatpants is now dangling outside of his pocket, stretched so far out that the seams of his pants have tightened. His eyes remain hyper focused on Louis, how oblivious he is—scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, while Harry feels his tilt on its axis.

Three years ago, Harry Styles said goodbye to communications consultancy firm McQuiston Worldwide, leaving a life of travel and agency PR behind. When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

forever is in your eyes by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed​ / we_are_the_same [Louis/Harry, M, 125k]

Harry looks fragile in the moonlight, and Louis stands there, pondering, not even sure what it is that he’s thinking of. It’s all just noise in his head, a mix of melancholy and desire, of longing for something that he doesn’t even have a name for.

He wants-

He wants love. He wants to be held and cherished and have a home. Not just a place to lay his head down at night. He wants to be loved the way that Louis had loved creating Harry. He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be real. He wants Harry to be real-

His lips press against marble, against something cold and unforgiving, and it’s not until his hand comes up to rest against a sculpted neck that his eyes fly open and he stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the stepladder that he’d stood on.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue.

A statue that Louis has just kissed.

don’t want to fight you by @lt2soon​ / starryharry [Louis/Harry, M, 124k]

Louis hates that it’s familiar. He hates that sparring Harry is familiar because they train together. He hates that he even has to spar Harry at all, because Harry is good.

Louis wonders what his life would be like if him and Harry didn’t hate each other. He can’t picture it, really. The incessant bickering that often turns into real arguing, the nasty looks, the eye rolls, the middle fingers. It all feels very necessary at this point.

Or, the one where two fighters can also be lovers because routines are never permanent.

Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo [Louis/Harry, E, 114k]

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

promise your whispers are mine by @lightwoodsmagic​ / lightswoodmagic [Louis/Harry, E, 94k]

"Where did I say it’s been easy for you, or,” he paused, staring at Harry’s lowered head and willing him to look up, “where have you ever gotten the idea that it’s been easy for me either?” When a few beats had passed and Louis was sure the conversation was done, Harry looked up, straight into Louis’ eyes like he was trying to physically pin him in place. “Our situations are completely different and you know it, please stop trying to - .” “Then let me help you fix it, Harry,” Louis interrupted, desperate to reach out and cover his hand with one of his own. “Let me help, please.”

Harry’s the head chef at Azoff’s Catering, and he loves his job; the opportunity has always been more than he could dream of and he’s proud of the food he creates. Until he meets Louis, an event coordinator rising through the ranks with his own company, and who reminds him of the dreams he once had for his own career. While their easy friendship initially thrives in an industry known for chaos and betrayal, they soon discover they both have their secrets, and maybe it’s too late for either of them to try to find happiness outside of their work. Especially when they realise that their happiness might rely on each other.

Playin’ It Safe and Breakin’ The Rules by @local-troubled-writer​ / local_troubled _writer [Louis/Harry, M, 90k]

In his life, Louis Tomlinson set out to do three things: find a way to make art that he loves, make his mum proud, and have as much fun as he could reasonably fit into one lifetime.

--

“Hello?” Harry’s deep voice calls.

“Hi,” Louis pops his head out of his doorway, motioning Harry back. “Louis,” he holds his hand out for Harry to shake and a small grin takes over the popstar’s face. He’s taller than he seems in photographs, but his smile is just the same as the ones that used to wallpaper his sisters’ walls.

“Harry.” He seems to have just gotten off stage, still sweating in a pair of skin-tight black jeans but a soft-looking blue vest. A beige headscarf holds his long curls off his face and he has all the easy confidence of a world-famous pop sensation, but still slouches in a way that isn't unfamiliar to Louis’ own posture.

“Yeah, I know who you are, popstar.” Louis teases, pulling his hand away and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

--

or the One Where Maybe this Fake Relationship Gets a Little Too Real.

Consequences by @allwaswell16​ [Louis/Harry, E, 78k]

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

The Sound The Leaves Make In The Heat Of The August Sun by @sleepwalk-living / anderscones [Louis/Harry, T, 76k]

Louis is an elf who lives in the Kingdom’s forest, as far away from the pompous Castle Court as he can get while staying within city limits. He’s a thief out of necessity and is happy enough to steal from the rich when they’re not looking. He notices something mysteriously dangerous happening in his forest one morning and begs for an investigation from the Court, who of course tells him he’s seeing things.

Intro a shamed knight, a runaway prince, a blacksmith, and a mage with fae blood who figure something is better than nothing. The King is all too happy to make criminals out of them and run them thinner than they already are just to prove a point to his son. With the combined powers of Captain Pla- One Direction, they figure it out.

adjudication by @bottomlinsons​ [Louis/Harry, T, 75k]

Harry's been engaged to Princess Charlotte of Ryde for as long as he can remember. He's come to know her, to love her, through the letters she's sent him over the past three years.

But when the wedding finally arrives, Harry quickly learns that nothing is as it seems. With his crown and country at stake, Harry must decide who to trust in this strange new land. And the sly Crown Prince of Ryde doesn't seem inclined to make things easy.

The Ground Below is Above My Feet by @zanniscaramouche​ / zanni_scaramouche [Louis/Harry, E, 63k]

“-ouis, are you awake?”

“M’ff,” Louis manages. Slowly he remembers where he is. Who he is. His nerve endings take stock of his body, the soft sheets twisted around his legs and the warm rush of breath on his face. Harry.

“You were sleeping like the dead,” Harry muses, calloused fingers delicately brushing through Louis’ fringe. “Could barely tell if you were breathing.”

Louis' heart stutters, his throat working hard to swallow the lump of ugly truth. Blinks until Harry’s bright eyes come into focus across the pillow.

He holds back the obvious joke.

Plant New Seeds in the Melody by @vintageumbroshirt​ / 28sunflowers [Harry/Louis, E, 58k]

After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of.

Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening.

But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

Live a Thousand Lifetimes by @laynefaire​ / Layne Faire [Zayn/Liam, E, 57k]

It’s 2025.

After secretly writing and producing their first album in ten years, One Direction is weeks away from releasing their first new single and announcing a world tour.

With the whirlwind about to begin again, Liam re-evaluates the last ten years - the fame, the money, the people who changed his life forever - and the person who walked away.

just a flicker in the dark by @falsegoodnight​ [Harry/Louis, E, 57k]

Harry Styles is his case partner. High and mighty, annoyingly smug Harry Styles who’s known him for years and has fucking seen him naked for fuck’s sake.

He glances at Venus who’s blinking up at him with curious eyes, no doubt sensing the agitation sparking in his magic.

“This is not happening,” Louis says loudly. “This is not fucking happening. I am going to kill Liam, oh my god.” He doesn’t even know if Liam is responsible for this but it feels like something he’d do to drive Louis absolutely insane - exes don’t just show up to your assigned haunted house out of nowhere. “Fucking fuck!”

He nearly jumps when Harry knocks again, his muffled voice carrying through the wood. “I can hear you, you know,” he drawls, sounding frustratingly amused.

Louis exhales, resisting the urge to scream.

-

Or, Louis is a struggling witch desperate to prove himself after yet another magic disaster and finds a calling in the haunted house of client Niall Horan. Things get more complicated when he’s assigned a case partner: acclaimed medium and ex-boyfriend, Harry Styles.

I'm On the Hunt Now (I'm After You) by @afangirlfantasy​ [Louis/Harry, M, 56k]

Omegas haven’t been able to shift into their wolves for two hundred years. That is, until Louis Tomlinson changes everything.

Or...an AU where Alpha Harry and Omega Louis have a lot more than falling in love to deal with after The Mating Ceremony.

That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright​ / yeah_alright [Louis/Harry, T, 50k]

Harry’s never noticed how lovely Louis really is. Maybe it’s just that she’s usually so guarded – a little tense, a little irritated, a little put out. At least when she’s at school, and also usually when she’s around Nick, which are the only times Harry has really seen her. Until tonight. Tonight Harry’s seen her with her guard completely down. Too busy laughing and enjoying herself to remember to be prickly, maybe. She seems different.

It feels different.

A Ferris Bueller's Day Off AU that picks up right where the movie leaves off, and imagines what might happen if Ferris' girlfriend and sister become friends. And maybe something more, too.

Baby, Won’t You Look My Way? by @peachbootylouis​ / PeachBootyLou [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

Louis tiptoed to the door and opened it, looking over his shoulder for a moment. Harry looked absolutely gorgeous, almost enough to make him strip back down and give it another go. But that wasn’t who Louis was. So he sighed and stepped outside, leaving back to his flat. And for the first time in years, he felt alive.

Or the where Louis’ routine centered life runs like clockwork until a chance hook up throws a wrench named Harry into it all. But as it may turn out a change in plans could be what Louis has needed all along.

dirty laundry looks good on you by @tomlinvelvetfics​ / tomlinvelvet [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).

OR; the utility room is a great place to fall in love.

Passing By by @larryyouknow​ / Larry_you_know [Louis/Harry, E, 48k]

Sometimes, people are in each other's lives just for the briefest of moments. They meet and then go their separate ways because being vulnerable is scary and it might be easier to not let anybody else in. But some people aren’t meant to be just passing by. Maybe when they open their eyes, they can learn things about themselves they haven’t known before. If they let their hearts speak they will find a way to be together.

Or the one where Harry doesn't even know he's into guys until he meets Louis on a boat trip. There's something more to their friendship but it ain't gonna be smooth sailing.

i kiss you (across hundreds of separating years) by @milkcurls / loveroflou [Louis/Harry, M, 44k]

He reminds Louis of the day he met him, the first day of Harry’s first year and Louis’ second, when he stood on wobbly legs beside Zayn, his cheeks flushed and hair parted to the side and tucked neatly behind his ear. He’s all dainty and soft – he’s pretty, Louis can admit that.

He’s also a rich frat boy who fucks every omega that will throw themselves at him – and they all do – so instead of pretending to be a precious little doll Louis thinks he should spend more time learning how to be a decent human being.

or, the stars and two amused boys are playing cupid, and there are one too many coded love letters and a duck plushie that smells like home

don’t want no other shade of blue by @louisisworthit​ / padfootyoudog [Louis/Harry, E, 43k]

“I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis.

“All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.”

“As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.”

prompt 339: it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

A Thousand More by @travelingwinchester​ / Ot5aresoulmates [Louis/Harry, NR, 42k]

Harry wakes up one morning during the separation of April 2015 missing Louis fiercely. He wonders if they had never been on the X-Factor would they have met. Cue the weirdest "dream" he's ever had in which lessons about the course of true love are learned.

fondre ton absence by @scrunchyharry​ [Louis/Harry, T, 41k]

Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him.

It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life.

When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died.

Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in.

He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

I’ve Been Hoping You’d Be Somewhere Better Than This by @runaway-train-works / runaway _train [Harry/Louis, E, 40k]

“Does she know who it is then, from the New York office?” Louis enquires.

“Yeah, some guy Henry? Henry Styles I think she said?"

“Harry.”

“What?"

“Harry. His name is Harry Styles.��� His heart sank. Louis hadn’t met him, they had only shared a couple of emails back and forth, but he knew exactly who he was. And Harry hadn’t just been killing it in the Big Apple, he’s been ripping the place to absolute shreds, nailing some of the most lucrative accounts in the business.

Louis is so fucked.

Or

The one where Louis is up for a promotion, he just has one tiny, little problem standing in his way.

Without you it’s a season I ain’t needing by @whatevertearsyou​​ / perfectdagger [Louis/Harry, M, 38k]

Spring was everything in '17, now I'm just cold Summer fell to fall after all November froze Without you it's a season I ain't needing, I want to go come back home The reds and all the greens don't mean a thing when you're gone Winter means nothing to me now without you.

A long distance relationship au in which Harry is away for a year and Louis is left to pick up the pieces.

take my hand, wreck my plans by @daggerandrose​ / amomentoflove [Harry/Louis, T, 38k,]

Louis meets the man in the center of the room, feeling every eye on him.

“Mr. H,” he whispers.

The man smiles brightly and laughs as if he can’t believe his eyes. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Nor I you, especially under these circumstances.”

“Even so,” Mr H says, his eyes bouncing from Louis’ eyes to his lips. “Will you do me a great honor and join me in leading the first … um…”

“Dance?”

Mr. H laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s the one.”

Louis bites his lips and doesn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.”

Mr. H beams and reaches for Louis’ hand. Sparks fly at the touch and a zing of excitement shoots through Louis’ body. His face heats up as he’s afraid his scent would give away his feelings towards the other man.

I Wish, I Found Love by @slytherinzouis​ / friendofhayley [Louis/Harry, E, 37k]

A fandom retelling of the Maiden Without Hands.

Solace is a land of religious hypocrisy, demons, and two ostracized families. When prophets from every denomination foretell a boy of unknown origin who might change the tide of the magical world, is any place safe for him?

Harry and Louis grew up together, two pariahs among their peers. Will their love be able to overcome distance, prophecies, and the trials of finding out who you truly become under pressure?

You Try To Be Everything (I Need) by @lululawrence​ [Harry/Louis, NR, 36k]

Wars, and rumours of wars, were nothing new for the world in the twenty-fourth century. The fighting had evolved over the years, and rarely did it involve traditional weapons. A group most widely known as the Southern Powers gained strength amongst portions of the western European continent and spread quickly.

There was a fight the Southern Powers didn’t expect coming from the north of England, though. Resistance came in the form of an organised underground; a group comprised of people with the Touch that did the best they could to enforce a line that would not be crossed. Slowly, that line was moved from the Channel to boundaries further and further north. It seemed only a matter of time before the Southern Powers took over everywhere.

Until that time, people did the best they could to live their lives in some semblance of normality. For Louis Tomlinson, that sense of normality was about to change when his best friend, Harry Styles, goes missing.

Louis embarks on the journey of a lifetime where he uses his newly developed abilities to search for his friend, even when it takes him to places he never thought he would see while surmounting trials he never could have imagined.

Your Wonder Under Summer Skies by @emilee1421​ / Emilee_1421 [Louis/Harry, NR, 34+, wip]

Needing an escape after a particularly hectic year, Louis decides to join Harry in Italy where Harry is working on his next Gucci campaign. While in Italy the two decide to join an old friend at her county home to enjoy a much deserved break from their usually busy lives. Louis and Harry begin to see their friend in a different light and all three are forced to confront the possibility that their friendship may actually be something much deeper.

Work of Magic by @justalarryblog​ / Bekita [Louis/Harry, NR, 34k]

"C’mon Liam, are you really going to use this against me now? You know the kind of humans his kind is! You know very well why we hunt them!" Louis said, done with the conversation and walking down the hall.

"No! We hunt people who don’t care about others, and neither Harry nor anyone in his family is like that!” Liam exasperated, following behind. “Louis, it's been two weeks, don’t you wanna know how Harry is? Has this hatred taken over so fast?" Liam inquired, knowing the hit a nerve.

"You know what, Liam? I'm not going to have this conversation with you." Louis said decisively, turning his back to his friend ready to go to his class.

But life is never fair, is it? When he turned around he was face to face with Harry in the middle of the hallway. The two stared at each other. Do I hate him? Louis wondered as he watched Harry's eyes fill with tears and seem to be begging for something. He preferred to ignore the pang in his chest and the urge to comfort the boy in front of him. He lowered his head and continued on his way.

Or the one that Louis is a WitchHunter and Harry is a Witch and they keep it as a secret, but they fall in love.

Swear I’ve Known You Since Forever by @louinlavender​ / abaddxns [Louis/Harry, T, 33k]

Harry then pats around his trouser pockets only to remember that Gemma has his phone in her bag so he can’t even call her, and he’s far too intimidated to ask a stranger if he can borrow theirs. She has his wallet, too, so all he has on his person are the stick of gum in his back pocket and his muddy wellies and a too-long scarf he’s ready to ball up and throw the ground, because he’s only sixteen and he’s just a shopboy in a bakery and he’s about to cry twenty minutes into his first music festival that he had to beg to attend, all because he lost his big sister and her uni friends, who didn’t even want him to come in the first place, and—

“Oi, y’alright, mate?” a bright voice asks, just as his eyes start to water.

Or: Harry attends his first music festival and promptly gets lost. Little does he know that the first friendly face he encounters is bound to change his life forever.

Part one of three of 'And The Sun Came Out'—a series detailing the growth of Harry and Louis' relationship through the years after meeting at Leeds Fest as teenagers.

i’m gonna keep this love, if you let me by @tomlinbuns​​ / pixies [Louis/Harry, E, 26k]

Louis makes Harry pretend to be his boyfriend one night out. The rest is history.

Dear Diary (series) by @alwayslarry-vol28​ / kikiberosski16 [Louis/Harry, E, 20k]

Life in quarantine is hard, especially if you're an arrogant son of a bitch and your husband is a stubborn little shit. Harry and Louis argue a lot, so much it affects their daily routines. Harry tries to write his feelings down in a diary, but will this cause more trouble for the couple?

The Golden Prince by @behappyhl​ [Harry/Louis, E, 19k]

When He arrives in London, he’s speechless.

It’s so different from his little hometown, he can’t help the feeling that it is an unknown planet. Everything is bigger; The streets, the buildings, the stores. The people are always running somewhere, always in a hurry. Harry instantly feels out of place.

Or, Harry lives a perfectly normal life until he gets a life changing job opportunity.

The Boy with the Tin Chest and a Glass Heart by @louloubabys1992​​ / louloubaby92 [Louis/Harry, M, 17k]

Alpha Harry Styles, world-renowned author of fairy-tales, is being persuaded by the Beta, Liam Payne to hire a new illustrator. Since Harry’s own illustrations are too graphic for what is supposed to be children’s stories, Liam feels the need is dire. Omega Louis does not agree with Liam since he believes that Harry’s stories are fine just the way they are. Of course this has nothing to do with Louis being totally biased or totally head over heels for Harry. It certainly has nothing to do with being jealous of the mysterious omega illustrator Liam has in mind to team Harry up with. Seriously, it has nothing to do with that at all. Nothing, absolutely nothing, zilch, nada. Yeah...

Sweet Heart by @bluecolouredlou​ [Niall/Louis, G, 16k]

Designing clothes, not falling in love.

That was what Niall had in mind when he first met up with Louis. He couldn't be falling in love with the other omega. Not while work as one of the few omegas at the company was getting more stressful. Not when he was supposed to find an alpha and settle down.

just one look (and i fell so hard) by @disgruntledkittenface​ [Harry/Louis, M, 15k]

Louis takes a small step back, breaking the moment first. “Well, I should–”

“Do you want to come up?”

The words are out of Harry’s mouth before he’d even planned them, and he bites his lip.  

“Oh, thank god,” Louis laughs, stepping back into Harry’s space. “I wasn’t, um…”

“Wasn’t ready to let go of you yet,” Harry finishes quietly, glancing up at Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, reaching up and twirling one of Harry’s curls in his fingers. “Yeah, exactly.”

Harry has wanted to go to the Shubert Theatre ever since he moved to New York and lucked into a rent-controlled apartment just outside of the Theatre District. When he finally gets his chance, he hopes the night can meet his sky-high expectations. But the last thing he could have expected was the man seated next to him.

wasting my time when it was always you by @hometothecanyonmoon​ / sunflower_lwt [Harry/Louis, T, 15k+, wip]

A "Married To The Maverick Millionaire" AU. Louis is the captain of Manchester United, Harry's the heir of the richest charity organization in the country as well as his best friend and they have to fake being married to save both of them from impending doom.

Sounds like love to me by @neondiamond​ [Louis/Harry, G, 14k]

“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

Louis watches as Harry’s face falls with the realization that this is one of those things he won’t be able to experience. For a second, Louis considers saying no, to show Harry they’re truly on the same boat through all of this. But he nods in the end, reaching over for Harry’s hand as the doctor flips a switch. Noise fills the room then, and it takes a few seconds for the sound to become clear enough for Louis to make out the baby’s fast heartbeat.

“It’s really fast,” he voices his thoughts out loud as he uses his thumb to tap against the back of Harry’s hand, replicating the rapid rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat. It takes the younger man a little while to figure out what Louis’ doing, but a huge grin breaks out on his face as soon as he does.

“Is that them?” He signs with the other hand, his own eyes starting to tear up when Louis nods.

OR: Harry is deaf, Louis is pregnant. They figure it out.

The Prince and the Youtuber by @haztobegood​ [Louis/Harry, E, 12k]

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

One Way Road To Something Better by @femstyles​ [Harry/Louis, T, 12k]

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

stop the world ('cause i wanna get off with you) by @thedevilinmybrain​ / devilinmybrain [Harry/Louis, E, 12k]

Five times Louis and Harry get walked in on at the worst time, and one time Louis makes sure they don't.

my solitude ain’t the same no more by @dryourtearsaway​​ / louisnights [Harry/Louis, M, 10k]

Louis is a traveling homicide detective who goes to the small town of Holmes Chapel to investigate the murder of a young woman.

somewhere only we know by @quelsentiment​ / wordsnnotes [Zayn/Louis, T, 9k]

Their eyes meet again, and the man suddenly frowns, asking: “Do we know each other?” Oh. So maybe that’s why Zayn is so intrigued with him. He’s always been pretty bad at remembering people’s faces, but there is some kind of vague familiarity to the man’s appearance. “Might help if you told me your name”, he points out. “Right. Sorry, I’m an idiot”, the man chuckles. “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” And of course. With this voice, Zayn should have known. He’s actually surprised he didn’t recognize it right away. “Lou”, he says, his own voice caught in his throat. “It’s me, Zayn.” Or: Zayn and Louis grew up together, but haven’t seen each other in over a decade. Now they're both in their twenties and meet again on a flight from LA to London, with ten hours in front of them to catch up, and maybe start something new.

I'm Asking You Please, Don't Talk Dirty to Me by @larry-hiatus​ / larry_hiatus [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

Prompt #68: Harry’s best friend Louis is a nice, well-mannered omega, at least when it comes to sex talk. He has always been closed off and quiet... until Harry hears how Louis talks during his heat. Now, it's all Harry can think about before his upcoming rut... (Original prompt wording edited for clarity)

making me sweat by honey_beeing [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

A not-exactly University AU where Harry and Louis meet at an orgy where the both of them don't intend to have sex at.

Twist the Knife by @snowjosh​ / jishler [Harry/Louis, E, 6k]

Infuriating, but Louis missed it. Louis missed him. His thighs and his chest and breath and warmth and toothbrush next to Louis’. He missed sex with Harry but he missed his presence more: Louis would settle for watching Harry get himself off if it meant he got to see him; hear the voice that was like a soothing balm over all his wounds.

Two weeks after their breakup, Harry wants his toys back.

the stars are coming home by @harrystinyshorts​ / lsforever [Harry/Louis, G, 5k]

For years Harry has been waiting for their schedules to click just right. Finding a day where he’ll not only be available but also is the only visitor on the premises has been near impossible.

After three years together and nearly a full year of marriage, Harry has finally been permitted to sit in for one of the team’s practices. They get more than they bargained for.

My True Love Gave to Me by @ponymom-stuff​ / ponymom [Louis/Harry, NR, 5k]

After puzzling over a Christmas gift for Louis, Harry comes to what he believes is the ultimate gift for his true love.

Fistiana by @louandhazaf​ / YesIsAWorld [Zayn/Louis, NR, 2k]

They met in the center of the ring and bumped their bare knuckles together.

Strawberries and Cigarettes by @hlhome28​ / ThoseFookin_Avacados [Louis/Harry, T, 2k]

strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you

"Need help there, love?" "Oh god, yes-" Harry turned around to look at the source of the voice and his heart dropped to his stomach as they caught each other's eyes.

Or on a very lonely valentines day, Harry's car breaks down in an unknown alleyway, where he bumps into a blue-eyed boy who takes him back seven years ago on the same day.

Safe Like Springtime by @beelou​​ / cherrylarry [Louis/Harry, G, 1k]

On the way out of the park, Gabriel gasps suddenly and points across the grassy area. He starts running.

When Harry catches up to Gabe, - that boy runs fast - he's with a man and his dog and Gabe is petting the dog.

"Gabriel James. You know better than to run off like that! Did you ask to pet the dog?" Harry scolds.

"I'm sorry Uncle Harry. I saw a dog and I just wanted to see the fluffy dog! Look how fluffy!" Gabe exclaims.

Harry rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the dog owner. The very attractive dog owner.

Or, the one where Harry takes his nephew to the park and runs into Louis and his Labradoodle Clifford.

best hangover cure by @loulovehome​ [Louis/Harry, E, 1k]

"A wank will miraculously cure your hangover, honey."

Stay Till The A.M. by @flexible-racoon​​ / goneforbooks [Harry/Louis, G, 1k]

It's 23rd July and Louis reminisces.

[peninkwrites]

the dead don't dream - ch 36 of 37

Wilbur has a hard time getting groceries. Tommy wants to play a game. Niki knows what she deserves.

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 35

Ch 37

~

Wilbur is still unaccustomed to having a sword in his hands, the weight of armor on his shoulders.  Tommy stands across from him, frame set, a serious frown across his face as he holds his sword and shield more carefully.  They’re both already doing better.  Their first efforts had been more challenging.

It had been Tommy’s idea of course.  “I’ve been itching for a fuckin’ fight!  You gotta get trained up, Wilbur!  You used to be a general look at you now!”

Tommy had been the one pushing to spar up until Wilbur was standing in front of him with a sword.  Wilbur had assumed his grave expression had been one of focus.  Wilbur swung first, expecting Tommy to parry it easily as he always had.

Tommy had flinched, dropping his sword from trembling hands and falling back onto the ground hard, scrambling away, desperately kicking at the dirt trying to get an inch more distance between himself and a blade.  Tommy didn’t try to run.  He just curled into as tight of a ball as he could manage and covered his eyes.

Wilbur had dropped his sword and rushed to Tommy’s side, horrified despite this in no way being his fault as Tommy flinches yet again when Wilbur had placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.  “Tommy, Tommy you’re okay.  You’re alright, man.  It’s just me.  I don’t have the sword or– or anything, alright?  You’re okay.  You’re okay.”

Tommy came back to himself bitter and furious, shaking off Wilbur’s gentle hand and grabbing his sword.

“I think– I think we should stop,” Wilbur stood, stepping away from him, still trying to give him space.

Tommy had glared at him.  “No, no we keep fucking going.”

And they did.  For the rest of that day, they’d kept going until Wilbur thought his arm was going to fall off, until it got hard to breathe, whether the few years of smoking or the time dead, Wilbur felt like his lungs were not built for this.  But Tommy had stopped flinching at every blow by sunset, at least enough to keep fighting even when it scared him.  Maybe not the healthiest means of progress, maybe not even progress at all, but surely something like it.

They kept going.  Not every day, but often.  Tommy always being the one insisting and Wilbur unable to say no.  So they continue.  Now in diamond armor with iron swords, a nice compromise from being fully kitted in netherite or just hitting each other with wooden swords.

Wilbur still isn’t very good at this, but if Tommy wants him to keep going, he will.  So Wilbur steps to the right.

Tommy follows, stepping to his left with a careful, calculated footfall, always measuring up his bad leg against the distance to the ground.

Wilbur rarely swings first.  Tommy used to always be the first to act.  Instead for the both of them there’s always a pause, both of them circling, not wanting to make the first blow.  Wilbur, after decades of everything moving so slowly, is still surprised by how quick things change around him.

Tommy swings first, low to the ground, trying to get under his guard.  Wilbur neglects his shield with a yelp, instead, hopping away like he’d just almost stepped in lava.

“Ha!” Tommy almost growls as he gears up to ram his shoulder against Wilbur’s with his shield.

Wilbur keeps stumbling back, just managing to get out of the way as Tommy struggles to shift his left side, instead almost tumbling into the grass.

“Ha!” Wilbur jeers back.

“Fuckin’ dickhead, I’ll cut you, bitch!” Tommy turns around, jumping back as Wilbur tries to hit his sword arm.  “Come on, Wil!  You should at least try.”

“Annoying child!”

“Stupid fucking adult!”  Tommy hits his shield against Wilbur’s knocking him back a few feet.  “You wish– You fucking wish you were as strong as me!”

Wilbur tries to hit Tommy’s right knee, but Tommy blocks it easily, taking the chance to land a blow against Wilbur’s left shoulder, sending him stumbling back.

“Point, me!” Tommy shouts.  “Why do you even try anymore?”  He grins.   Tommy is, even after all that time out of practice, undeniably a better fighter than Wilbur.  Wilbur has yet to actually win one of their rounds, at most managing to trip Tommy up.  “I’m getting bored.”

“Do you want to stop, then?” Wilbur says wearily.  He’s out of breath already.

“Nah, I wanna shake things up a bit!” Tommy says.  “Grab an axe.”

“An axe?  I never use an axe.  And neither do you,” Wilbur grumbles.

“Hence, shaking things up,” Tommy nods resolutely.

Wilbur takes the axe, it feels so much clunkier and unsteady than the sword he’d slowly readjusted to over the past days.

Things are different immediately.  First, Wilbur fails even more miserably than he had before, the axe is too top heavy and he keeps on hitting far lower than he aims.  Tommy nails him in the chest enough to leave a bruise, Wilbur steps back with a gasp.  Tommy stops for a moment, staring at Wilbur’s chestplate.  Wilbur takes the opening, not even aiming for Tommy, but cracking down on his shield.  Tommy gasps, stumbling back as his hand struggles to keep ahold of the shield, it slips through his weakened grip, caught just enough that the weight of Wilbur’s axe sends him tumbling to the ground with it, his bad leg unable to catch him.

“Fuck!” This time Tommy doesn’t merely complain or reply to taunts, genuine frustration bleeds through as he throws aside both axe and shield.

“Aw, sorry, Tommy.  I never win.  It was just the one hit, right?  You’re still winning.” Wilbur hesitates, axe loose at his side.

Tommy gives him a scathing look.  “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, well, it is not just one fucking hit, then,” he snaps, kicking his axe away.  “You’ve been holding your own past few weeks, haven’t you?” Tommy says gloomily.

Wilbur stares at him baffled.  “I don’t think I’m supposed to say thank you.”

“I used to be fucking better, Wil!” Tommy snaps.  “Now I can’t even use a fucking shield properly ‘cause it’s too heavy or big or whatever and now it’s like I’m all wiggly or fragile or some shit…” Tommy tucks his knees into his chest, having to move his left leg closer using his arm to support it.  He stares ruefully at his left hand.  “It’s just… It’s just one fucking finger, why does it make it so hard?” His voice gets shakier, less anger, more bitter exhaustion.

Wilbur drops his axe, sitting in the grass across from him.  “To be fair, you still are better than me, you know.”

“Used to be more better,” Tommy grumbles.  “I was…” Tommy’s voice breaks, he clears his throat, fighting for calm.  “I was almost like… more okay with the fucking limp, even if that like, actually literally hurts more, ‘cause it was because something I did.  This one…” his left hand balls into a fist, “I fucking hate because he fucking did it.  It was… it was something forced on me I had no say in and it’s never going to fucking go away.”

Wilbur nods.  “I mean, not quite the same, but…” Wilbur pulls back his cheek, revealing the gap in the back of his mouth where a tooth had once been.  Tommy stares and maybe he does feel something like relief, or if not relief, solidarity.

“It fucking sucks, right?” Wilbur’s words come out muddled and strange.

“Stop making that stupid fucking face,” Tommy tries to scold him instead of showing anymore vulnerability.

“Why?  Something about this funny to you?” Wilbur keeps talking, giving Tommy a look of offended surprise with his raised eyebrows.

Tommy snorts, badly burying a laugh.  “Fuck off.”

“If you insist,” Wilbur gets his hand out of his mouth and goes to dry it on Tommy’s shirt.

Tommy shrieks, jolting back.  “You’re fucking disgusting!”

Wilbur cackles.

“Aren’t you supposed to be making me feel better?” Tommy pouts.  “You’re so mean!”

“Fine, fine.  I’ll be nice.  I’ll make it up to you–  How about you pick lunch?  I’ll get it,” Wilbur is feeling quite pleased with his own generosity, but Tommy gives him a look that looks far too thoughtful, too much mischief and careful calculation.  “...What’d you want?”

Wilbur knows Tommy did this on purpose.

Tommy was not short on food, nor did he need a specific type of bread from the middle of fucking nowhere, no, rather, Tommy had figured out the easiest way to get Wilbur to talk to Niki and then he’d pushed.  Wilbur had made something like progress in the past weeks, he’d spoken briefly with Jack, finding a young man with less anger and more confidence.  Seeing Fundy had been much more painful, he returned to the Mainlands only at Tommy’s request, and when he had finally spoken to his father he’d mostly had questions.  Tommy had killed himself, just like Wilbur, but now they were both back and death was never the solution once offered.  Fundy had treaded carefully around the subject and by the end of it, neither hatred nor peace was found between them, but something in between.  Fundy had carefully explained he was moving to Niki’s secret city.  She’d extended the invite when she’d left Drywaters.  It hadn’t been an invitation, but Wilbur was grateful to find Fundy was okay with Wilbur knowing where he was.

Wilbur had spoken with Eret more extensively, that had been hard at first and then so much easier.  Eret had beaten Wilbur to the punch.  He supposes that’s easier to do when you’re still alive, but Wilbur had spoken with Eret about his own post-mortem– mid- mortem?– atonement and Eret replied in turn.  Eret had helped Tommy with his efforts to try to bring him back.  Eret was one person Wilbur was surprised to find he believed when they said they were glad he’s alive again.  No one had openly rebuked him for his resurrection, but Wilbur thinks that might be mostly because of Tommy.  No one could complain about the emotional support dead brother of a kid who had already suffered so much.

And then there was Niki.

She didn’t spend much time around the Mainlands, instead residing in a not-so-secret city underground.  She was baking again.

So Tommy made the executive decision to demand and expect cheesy bread, but only from Niki’s bakery, so Wilbur had done something harder than staring death in the face–  He reached out first.

He doesn’t know why he feels so fucking nervous it’s ridiculous–

No it isn’t.  It’s because she is– or maybe she was, your best friend.  And you hurt her.

Eret betrayed you.  That made it hurt less to see them.  You were on even ground, or something like it.

Jack it felt like he’d already been moving on, even just a bit, by the time you got to the elections.  He was still there for the war, but for L��Manberg, not for you.

Fundy, ruse or not, cut you off and stayed in Manberg.  He let go of you then, you knew what to expect so it hurt to see him again, but nothing you hadn’t seen coming.

But Niki…

Niki never let go.

You did.

The scar he had left Niki with would surely match more closely to what he had left Tommy and Tubbo with.  Those three had never left him, and for that he will always be sorry.

Walking down those stone steps was far more daunting than any trek into hell– he would know– but Wilbur almost thinks whatever comes next is worth it as he gets to see Niki, flour smeared across her face, working the dough in front of her with a serene concentration.  He should say something.

“Uh, hi–” Wilbur has a split second to feel embarrassed about his voice cracking as he tries to get the words out, because in the next moment there’s a sword level with his throat.

“Oh my god– I could’ve killed you!” Niki lowers the sword, her surprise replaced by irritation before what him being here means catches up to her.  Her expression turns cold, staring at Wilbur like she doesn’t know what to make of him and certainly not like she trusts him.  “I’d heard you were alive.  Wasn’t sure if it was worth believing it this time.”  She finally puts away her sword, floured handprints now marring the hilt, as she returns to her dough like Wilbur’s presence is merely an aside to her work.

“Niki…” Wilbur hesitates, swallowing thickly.  He’s more scared now than he had been trying to kill Dream.  “I am here to…”  He trails off.  Niki finally turns back to look at him, an accusation in her eyes but something almost hopeful too.  Wilbur recognizes it, that little gleam that he was a fool not to see back in the L’Manberg days.  Niki had trusted him and therefore she had needed him.  And he left her behind.  “...to get some bread.  Tommy asked for some bread.”

Niki turns cold again, looking at the wooden shelves along the side wall filled with fresh loaves.  “What does he want?”

“The cheesy bread.  The… the one with the garlic?” Wilbur doesn’t know why he phrases it as a question.

“What do you want?” Niki goes up a step ladder to the right shelf.

“What do I–?” Wilbur’s voice goes hoarse, faltering.

Niki returns to even ground, placing the bread on the brick counter between them.  She looks up at him.  Wilbur can’t remember if she’d always looked this fucking strong and he’d just been blind to it or if she’d changed that much.  Who is he kidding– everyone he’d once known had changed so much.

“Yeah.  What do you want, Wilbur?  Or are you just here getting things for Tommy?” Niki asks.

“Oh!  Oh– Right,” Wilbur laughs almost with a hint of panic.  “How–” He clears his throat, trying to sound anything close to stable.  “How are you?”

Niki gives him a look, mildly exasperated, but maybe even concerned.  “Do you have anything to pay for it?”

“What?”

“For the bread.”

To pay for the bread.  Wilbur Soot left his fucking brain in limbo, he’d come all the way over here and hadn’t brought anything to trade, not emeralds, not iron, not anything.  “I…”

“Didn’t think so.”  Niki doesn’t send him away, instead she nods him around the corner, opening the door back into the bakery.  “Take off your coat first.  It’s dirty.”

“My– Oh, right,” Wilbur tosses his coat on a row of hooks in the corridor.  He stops and stares at his old cloak right beside it.  He cannot begin to fathom what that means.  It will surely break him.  So he just joins Niki inside the bakery.

“If you help me with this, I’ll count that as payment, alright?” Niki nods to the dough on the counter.  “For the love of god wash your hands first,” she gives him a sharp look as if she’d really expected him to get right to work.  To be fair, Wilbur most definitely had in his frazzled mind.  “Good.  You remember how to need, don’t you?”

Wilbur feels like there’s a strange hum in the back of his head.  “I– what?”

Niki repeats more slowly.  “You remember how to knead, right?”

“Oh!  Oh, right– Right, yeah, I do,” Wilbur nods quickly.  It’s been over ten years, but he hasn’t forgotten.  Niki’s bakery.  The scent of bread.  

Wilbur is quiet for a change.  He doesn’t know what to do with this.  With any of it.  Niki is still being short with him, she isn’t exactly her usual– or once usual– friendly self, not that he’d expected that in any way, but the fact of the matter is, she’s being kind.

“Niki, I–” Wilbur doesn’t know what he’s going to say.

“You’re a liar, Wilbur Soot,” Niki says quietly, but she has him silent in an instant.

Wilbur feels the words caught in the back of his throat.  He forces out a reply.  She deserves  reply.  “Yes.  I was.”

“Was,” Niki laughs, sharp and painful.  “You don’t get to say that to me.  Not yet.  Or maybe ever.”

Wilbur tries again.  “Yes.”

Niki isn’t looking at him.  

“You didn’t care in the end.  Did you?”  Niki’s voice is shaky now, but she doesn’t stop.  “Not about L’Manberg, not about us– about– about me–”

“No,” Wilbur can’t help it.  Anything else, but not that.  Niki stops.  Wilbur takes that as the expectation to continue.  “I never stopped caring.  About any of it– about you.  But…” Ah.  There’s that familiar old feeling.  That last stretch dead he thought he’d stopped hating himself, but maybe sometimes it’s only fair for it to return now.  “I still hurt you.”

“That’s… That’s worse.  You know that’s worse, right?” Niki still isn’t looking at him and Wilbur is so fucking grateful.  He doesn’t think he could survive her looking at him right now.  “If you cared, and you still… you still did that, then– God, you’re the most– the most selfish person!”

“I am so sorry, Niki– I’ll go, I should never have– Shit, Niki, I am so–” Wilbur goes to grab his coat, refusing to look at the cloak beside it.

“Don’t you move, Wilbur!” Niki turns to face him sharply, eyes shining with tears and righteous fury.  “You’re going to stand there and you’re going to listen for once!”

Wilbur stops, he fights tooth and nail to meet her eyes even as it feels like a knife in his chest.  At the very least, she deserves this.

“I have tried so hard to recover from– from you.  I didn’t sleep or-or eat and I was so alone because I trusted you and you left me!  And don’t you dare apologize again– I can see you about to, don’t you dare!” Niki catches the words on his tongue.  “Because I got better!  You stayed dead, and I got better,” it’s a threat and a promise.  Niki glows like the sky on fire.  “And I gave up on forgiving you because you were gone.  I’ve had a lot of time to think about what having you back would mean.  The last time– you have no idea what that was like, to love you and hate you and have you back and have you die again.  To– To see you like that, so much time after the sixteenth–”

Wilbur knows what she’s talking about and maybe he’s still supposed to keep his mouth shut, but the words come out whether he wants them to or not.  “I saw you.”

Niki pauses, something cautious mixing with her anger.  “What?”

“I saw you.  Through– I could see through that… that stupid ghost sometimes.  And I saw you.  When they found my body again,” Wilbur stops himself.  He won’t do that to her.  He won’t say I saw you mourn me.

“You– You saw,” Niki has a war going on behind her eyes, as she struggles to factor in what this means to all the rest of it.

“I never should’ve left,” Wilbur sounds almost steady.  He hopes even if she never believes in him again, she’ll at least believe this.  “And I will never be able to take that back, but I…” He has nothing else to give.  Apologies and wishes for things to be different are so worthless they’re cruel.  “I never should have left.”

It’s like picturing a dream, but Wilbur knows he’ll never forget it.  Not the sight of Niki over his body, she’s so easily lost among the crowd, but the sound of her screaming his name.

Niki nods, still unwavering, but it’s so clear she doesn’t need him anymore.  “You’re back now.”

“I– Yeah?”

“And whatever you are now, whatever this is,” she still looks grim, but also so determined.  Completely unyielding.  The face of a woman who had shouted her fury up at a podium in the midst of a bloodied festival, without weapons or help, she had burned them.  “I deserve to have my best friend back.”

“You do.”

Niki assesses him carefully, coming to some conclusion.  “I hope you can be him one day.”

“Me too,” Wilbur’s voice breaks but he holds back tears.  He’s not entitled to relief when he’s the one who did this.

“You’re not redeemed, you know.”

“I know.  That’s not what I’m here for.”

“Right,” Niki turns back to her bakery.  “You’re here for bread, right?”  There’s almost a smile there.  Almost.

“Right,” Wilbur feels weak.  He feels alive.  ”For bread.”

“Then you stay,” Niki decides it.  “You’ll need to do a better job than that, Wil,” she nods to the lump of dough she’d carefully begun to shape and which Wilbur had managed to ruin almost immediately.

“I will.”

~

Tommy and Wilbur try to keep busy.  It isn’t easy.  The rain comes down in sheets and they stay in Phil’s place, him now waiting out the weather at Techno’s place in the arctic.

At least Tommy feels bored.  That feels like something.  Bored is better than numb or nothing.

“Phil’s house is boring,” Tommy slumps down in his chair.  “Don’t fucking smoke in here– you wanna do that you take that shit outside,” Tommy sees Wilbur reach for his pocket and snaps at him immediately.

“I’ll drown if I do that!” Wilbur huffs.

“Then don’t,” Tommy teases.

“Okay– Okay, then we gotta do something or I’m going to lose my fucking mind, man,” Wilbur says irritably.

This is impressive.  To the both of them.  They’re not fading out, they’re not getting stuck, no how matter strong the pull may be under these conditions.  Wilbur especially had been gloomy that day, emotionally drained is more like it.

“I’m putting on Cat,” Tommy gets up and goes to the jukebox.  It’s not Phil’s.  Tommy has just made a habit of bringing his with him.  He does, pausing as music joins the sound of rain beating against the roof.  A thought comes to him, maybe a foolish one, but Tommy has always had a knack for making ridiculous plans work.  “Would you want, like, a deck of cards, d’y’think, Wil?”

“What?”

“A deck of cards,” Tommy repeats.  “Would you want one.  Bet you anything Phil’s got one shoved in a drawer somewhere.”

Wilbur looks frozen, his brooding replaced by something almost like stage fright.  “I don’t know if I…”

“Come on, you’re smoking, aren’t you?  Might as well pick a vice that doesn’t got it out for your lungs,” Tommy points out.

Wilbur looks as if the very thought is something precious he doesn’t want to touch.

“I’m… I’m not gonna make you.  Just thought I’d…” Tommy treads more carefully.  “I mean, I listen to the discs now.  And that’s… That’s good.  It helps.  But it scared me at first too.”

Wilbur stares at Phil’s kitchen table, trying to burn a hole in it with a bitter look.  “I only play solitaire, I mean…”

“Whoa, slow down there, eager, much?  I gotta find it, first,” Tommy starts clattering about Phil’s house, searching chests with no reservations for privacy or niceties.  “There we are!  Told you– everybody’s got a deck of cards.”  Tommy takes out a worn blue box, tattered and frayed.  “Though, I’ll say this one’s seen better days,” he slaps the deck down in front of him.  “Come on, I’ll even let you shuffle.”

“You don’t know how to shuffle.”

Tommy turns red.  “Yeah, like, three years ago, maybe!  I could do it now, if I wanted!”

Wilbur smiles softly at that, but he stares at the box like the casket of an old friend.  It’s a dangerous thing.  Wilbur dreads the spiral he knows it contains for him.  If he’d been allowed to bleed in limbo, his hands would’ve been raw and bloody from shuffling over and over and over and over and over and over– “I don’t know about this, Tommy.  I don’t think you’d like competitive solitaire.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re not fuckin’ playin’ solitaire,” Tommy sits down across from him, drumming his fingers on the table.

“What, then?”

Tommy ponders it for a moment.  “How about go fish?  I bet I can kick your ass at go fish.”

“Go fish?” Wilbur laughs.

“Uh huh.  Yeah.  Go fish.”

Wilbur hesitates another moment before taking the deck out of the box.  The cards fit so neatly into his hands.  He could do it.  Make those neat familiar rows and drown in them.  Instead, Wilbur deals out seven cards each.

“Right,” Tommy leans back in his chair, assessing his hand, feet kicked up on the table.  He clears his throat, like he’s announcing something important.  “Got any three’s?”

Wilbur smiles, looking down at his cards, the room lit only by the soft yellow overhead light and the windows left dark and overcast by a storm.  For a fleeting moment Tommy has a pang of panic thinking Wilbur is about to cry.  “Go fish.”

Tommy makes a fuss over it, whining and swearing as he reaches for the deck, just to make sure Wilbur keeps that smile.

They play.

[midyxthcrisis]

let them go - part three | j.t.

part one | part two

sorry for not posting last night! i was with family and didn’t have the time to write

The next thing you remembered was waking up in a bright white room to the never ending sound of the heart monitor you were attached to. You shifted a little, a groan leaving your lips in response to the soreness that had settled in your ribs.

“Morning, sunshine.” You looked over to see none other than Jason Todd sitting on a chair with that signature cocky smile on his lips. 

“Where the fuck am I and why the hell are you here?” 

“We are at Titans Tower, babe, and I am here because Dick asked me to. He couldn’t be here to keep an eye on you.Titans shit, I guess.”

There was a warmth that again bloomed in your chest at the thought that Dick had specifically asked Jason to watch you. Perhaps Dick could see the way your eyes seemed to soften whenever you looked at the young Robin. Or that you had fainted in Jason’s arm as soon as Trigon lost control of you and Jason refused to leave your side afterwards.  

“Titans Tower... I never thought I would actually get to see the place. Dick’s told me stories about the Titans. What happened while I was out?” You had sat up properly and soon realized that you were wearing a shirt you didn’t recognized. It clearly wasn’t yours, you would have known, but you also knew it couldn’t have been Dick’s. On the front of the shirt was the logo for some band you didn’t know. You could only assume it was Rachel’s. She seemed to be someone who was into shit like that.

Jason filled you in on everything that had happened while you were unconscious. Who Rachel’s father was, how he had gotten control of you all, the week or so following when Dick had dropped you all off at a motel before going to Gotham in order to talk to Bruce.

“Holy shit. So what, are we all Titans or something?”

Jason shrugged and stood up from the chair he was sitting in. You were working on taking the various ivs and other things that were stuck in your skin. “I’m not. I’m going back to Gotham soon. The only reason we’re here is because Bruce wanted Dick to bring me along.”

You could feel your face falling slightly at the words Jason spoke. He was leaving. Going back to the one place you swore you would never go back to. A part of you wanted to go with him, to see what had become of Gotham since you had left. But you pushed that part deep deep down and told yourself that you had just met this boy. You had to stay with Dick, who you had known for years and trusted with your life.

“Oh, well, um, thanks for staying with me. Do you know where Dick is?” You had shifted in the bed so you were sitting with your legs hanging over the edge. There was a pounding in your head and a dull ache in your ribs. You pushed past the pain and willed yourself up from the bed, a soft groan passing through your lips.

“I’m not sure, the last time I saw him he was in the security room.”

“Thanks, for everything.” You walked over to the boy can gave him a gentle smile. “I’ll see you later, Boy Wonder.” With a pat on the shoulder and a moment of silent pain, you slowly walked out of the hospital room and off to find Dick.

- - -

A thick piece of black fabric covered your eyes as you stood in the middle of the sparring ring. There was a wooden sword in your hand, you had gotten used to the weight of it over the past few weeks of sparring. Jason stood across from you, wearing the same blindfold and holding the same sword as you were. It was a dumb training thing that Dick was making you all do. His explanation for it was that you never knew what would be taken from you while in combat, including your sight. 

“Don’t hold back on me, babe.” You heard Jason’s voice ring out in the room. You could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke. You let out a chuckle and adjusted your position. It had been a few weeks since you all had arrived at Titans Tower.

“I’m sure you’ve been wishing to say that to me, Boy Wonder. And don’t worry, I won’t.”

With that the spar started as you lunged forward and attempted to land a hit on Jason. Within the few weeks that you had been at the tower, you and Jason had only grown closer. The two of you would spend your days drinking shitty beer and listening to the collection of records Dick had in the tower between sparring sessions. The sparring sessions were certainly a sight to see, that was for sure. There were joking remarks thrown and momentary pauses where the two of you would just stand there. Sweaty, breathing heavily, trying your best to ignore the comments from Gar and Rachel for you two to “Just kiss already damnit!” Sometimes you swore you saw Dick standing in the hallway with a bowl of popcorn when you and Jason would spar. 

You were falling behind in the spar. You had always gone the defensive route when it came to spars, but this time you went the offensive route. It must have been a sight to see; you getting your ass kicked by none other than Robin. There was a moment when the two of you were circling around each other. You could hear him shifting the weight oddly between his feet. You had come to learn Jason’s fighting patterns very well over the few weeks.

You didn’t think as you lifted your hand and felt the familiar cold energy rush through you. 

“What the fuck, Y/N?” You immediately took off the blindfold and dropped the sword onto the ground when you had seen what you did. You had unintentionally put up a wall of ice between you two out of pure instinct.

“That has to be cheating. Dick said-”

“Dick never said that we couldn’t use our abilities! You’re just pissed because you don’t have any. You’re basically a glorified bodyguard that wears fucking spandex.” You had touched the ice wall preventing you from getting closer to him and it quickly disappeared. Over the few weeks you had gained a better control of your abilities, and now you could do things like the wall of ice.

“I’m not a fucking bodyguard, and it’s zylon, not spandex.” This was slowly becoming the back and forth you often had with Jason. Gar had started calling them flirt battles, even going as far as to commentate a few of them. 

“Really? Tell that to the tights I found in your room the other day.” There was grin on your lips as you stepped up to the boy. You knew that you had won this one from the way his lips curled into the smirk that sent your stomach into somersaults. You two were so close that one movement would press your lips together, and it seemed to put you and Jason under a spell that was only broken by Gar’s voice.

“What were you doing in Jason’s room?” There was a teasing smile on his lips, a soft laugh emerging from Rachel. 

“I was showing him a new record I got from the place down the street and Boy Wonder forgot to put away his suit.” It seemed to be that every day you were flushing more. For the first time in your life you weren’t chronically cold, whether that meant sweating from training or having warm cheeks from the constant teasing coming from your other teammates. 

“Yeah, sure. I think Dick wanted to see us after you were done.” Gar wasn’t buying your story and that was obvious. But he let it go and hopped down from the table him and Rachel had been sitting on before walking out of the room. You and Jason were alone again. You picked up your own blindfold and sword before replacing them on the shelves where they had come from.

“You wanna go for coffee later? There’s a place not too far from here that’s also a record store-”

“Hell yeah, I’m in.” A smile stretched across your lips at Jason’s response. You hadn’t even gotten the full sentence out and he had already agreed to. There was a flutter in your heart when you realized that fact.

- - - 

Unfortunately that coffee would have to wait. 

You all soon learned that a man who had tormented the original Titans had escaped from prison, and that meant the Titans were getting back together in the tower. To say your nerves were high was an understatement. You hadn’t seen any actual conflict since Trigon, and you were unconscious for days after that. What if that happened again? Or worse.

The original Titans had gone out to try and capture Dr. Light when they figured out that he was drawing power from the stadium nearby. You could tell that Jason was antsy, he had shown up in his suit ready to go only to be shot down by Dick. He had gone to his room after that and hadn’t come out since. You gently knocked on his door before opening it and leaning yourself against the doorframe.

“Didn’t think Jason Todd was one for a pity party.” You teased, a smile on your lips. It was true. Jason always seemed like a strong person. You thought that at the most he would mope for a couple minutes and be over with it.

“Fuck off, Y/N.” As much as he hated it, there was his own smile creeping to his lips as he spoke. Unfortunately you didn’t get a chance to make any witty comeback as a voice rang out through the whole tower alerting you to the Titans’ return. The four of you who had been left behind all emerged from your rooms to see what had happened.

And they had let Dr. Light get away. 

Jason was pissed, and everyone could see it. He had yelled at Dick about how he wouldn’t have let Dr. Light get away. It all happened rather quickly, really, and before you had the chance to stop either of them Jason was throwing a punch and Dick had pushed Jason down to the floor. There were a few moments of silence before Jason stood up and stormed away. You fought the urge to go after him. You knew that it would only end in a screaming match or you getting kicked out of his room. It was best to leave him alone when he was like this.

“What the fuck was that, Dick?” Your voice broke the tense silence that had settled over everyone.

“I was- I didn’t mean to.” 

Instead of responding you just walked back to your room, clearly shaken up by the confrontation. You never had enjoyed violence. It was quite ironic really. You came from Gotham and yet panicked every time someone fought in front of you. Especially when it was two people you cared deeply about. It sucked, but Jason had manage to worm his way into your heart in a way nobody ever had. 

That was why you made yourself rise from your bed and go check on him. You had knocked on his door a couple times, only to receive no answer, so you opened the door and saw nobody was in there. And that the briefcase where he kept his suit was gone from its normal place.

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself as you rushed to the control room to find Gar. He could pull up Jason’s tracker and you would find him in no time. Nobody would even notice that he was gone. 

But Gar was gone too.

“Shit!” You immediately rushed to the main area of the tower, your breathing heavy from a mixture of nerves and the fact that you had sprinted there. Everyone had turned to look at you with confusion.

“I can’t find Gar or Jason. And Jason’s suit is gone.”

[hillnerd]

I don't have a particular question, but thoughts on Ron/Neville? (How they'd get together/kids/do you like the ship, etc)

Rated PG-13 Ron liked Neville just fine, of course. He was a good bloke! A mate through and through. Reliable, down to earth, steady. Sometimes he wondered how someone that meek and stodgy made it into Gryffindor, but then he'd think back to all the times Neville had kicked arse and spoken back, and it made some kind of sense. He didn't really think of those moments as 'Neville' though. It almost felt like someone else had taken over quiet-Neville's body to do the barmy brave acts. 

How could someone so unassuming do... all that?

He began to wonder about the other side of Neville as they joined the Aurors. 

Neville? Why was he there? He was meant to be potting plants and doing... whatever it was Neville got up to when he wasn't tagging along or doing plant stuff. What did Neville get up to? He had no idea, and felt a bit shit about it. They'd never hung out much. When Harry or Hermione weren’t available at Hogwarts, he normally hung about with Seamus and Dean. They were always good for a laugh, and Neville was just off somewhere doing Neville-things.

Now they were both Aurors, and instead of putting Ron and Harry together, Management changed things up and put him with Neville. Figured. They thought Ron wasn't good enough to be Harry's partner, most likely.

He and Neville had nothing to talk about after about five minutes, besides any business that needed seeing to. It was so quiet! This was why he never hung out with Neville. He was sort of boring. He wasn't arguing all the time like Hermione, or being a sarcastic prick like Harry, or laughing it up like Seamus and Dean. He looked over and gave a smile to Ron, a quiet almost apologetic one, then got back to his report. 

In the office it was horrible, but whether it was in sparring or in the field taking on escaped Death Eaters, Ron was quickly impressed with Neville. Others were going out of their way to show off or do stupid shit, but Neville? He was still quiet and unassuming- but he fucking did it. He did everything you were supposed to. He might not be the fastest, he might not be the strongest, but he was the most reliable. Solid, that’s what Neville was— and if not for him, Ron was sure he'd have done so pisspoor in his own scores. 

"Nice work out there today," Ron said, giving Neville a nod and heading to his locker. 

"Just doing my job."

He hadn't just done his job. The two of them had demolished the other teams, thanks to Neville, and were the top pair for the training scenarios each time that day. It continued like this for weeks.

"That was one wicked hit!"  "It was thanks to your shield charm." 

"Well done, mate!"  He'd duck his head and blush. "Same to you." "Naw, mine was shite- but you? Neville that was unbe-fucking-lievable!"

"That was wicked! Ron crowed, squeezing Neville's surprisingly hard bicep. Who knew Neville Longbottom had arms like that? "I can't believe how you nailed that Fitz-bastard to the floor!"

Fitz was a pisspoor Auror and only in their ranks due to Wizengamot nepotism. He was always messing up, showing off, dodging the hard work, and generally making Ron's life a bit of a nightmare.

"Thanks. But it was mostly because of your plan and fast spell work earlier that led to Fitz getting the snot beat out of him before I did that. Now that was wicked."  

After three weeks of it, Ron had little patience.

"For fucksake, Nev!" he bristled in irritation. "Why do you always have to be such a downer? You did well!"

Neville's cheeks colored. "Sorry... I'm not trying to... Sorry."

"Don't apologize! Merlin, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Ron bristled, striping off his shirt and getting ready to shower. He glanced up to see Neville biting his lip, looking unsure of what to do or say. He stayed frozen in place and gave that same apologetic smile he always gave. 

A deep chest rattling sigh left Ron, and he pressed some knuckles into his brow to relieve the tension there. 

"Look... I'm sorry, but just... Neville you've got to stop treating yourself like... like you're not any good. You're great! I'm happy to have you as my partner. More than! You've got to start believing in yourself."

He expected Neville to smile or something, buoyed up by the admittedly lackluster pep-talk.

He looked up and instead saw a thunderous expression. Ron glanced about to see if Fitz was up to something behind him. 

"You're one to talk," Neville quietly muttered, striping his own shirt off and throwing it into the locker.

"What?"

"It's nothing," he bristled, slamming the locker and heading towards the showers.

"What's got your wand in a twist? I said I was sorry," Ron apologized, following him. "Look, I know I'm a real pain to work with sometimes... Okay, probably a lot of the time. I'm a git, but I was just trying to--"

Without warning there was a giant crash as Neville's closed fist hit the metal lockers with such force a few of the unlocked ones popped open.

Despite his closed angry fists Neville let out a chuckle, shaking his head back and forth.

"The fuck, Nev?"  

"You! I just... You're a real piece of work, Weasley." 

Ron squinted at Neville, seeing if there was bruising around his head. Maybe he'd gotten a concussion during the partner duels?

"You're trying to give me a morale boost about self-worth or whatever, and couldn't be more hypocritical if you tried," he mirthlessly laughed. "Do you know how often I try to let you know how great you are?"

Ron stared at him, confused. 

"Every time we get done with some exercise or another you act like I'm the one who did everything, but I'm not. You're great, better than me by a lot, but It doesn't matter what I say! You're always telling me how shit you are, or what a git you are, or acting like you didn't do anything. It's been driving me mad!"

Ron felt his ears begin to turn red. "I don't really do that, do I?" 

"Every damn time."

"Well…” Ron began, his anger back. “Well every damn time I try to tell you how brilliant YOU are I get a rebuff. I try to compliment you and you're all 'Oh no it wasn't me at all. I basically took a shit on the floor as you did everything! Sorry I exist!'"

Neville's cheeks turned pink. The blushing men stared at one another.

"I guess we both have some improvement in the self-confidence department."

"I'd say so..." Ron said with a sheepish grin. He put his hand out. "Let's agree we're both the best partners in the world and leave it there?"

"I'll agree to that," said Neville, firmly grasping his hand.  _______________________________________________________

After their talk Neville began to loosen up. Ron never would have thought he could laugh and shoot the shit with him so easily.

Every time Ron said something sarcastic or went for a laugh, he found himself looking to see if Neville was laughing. Sure it was nice when the rest of the recruits laughed, but getting Neville to? It was more of a challenge, so that made it all the sweeter. 

Neville would sometimes try to keep from smiling, but Ron could see the corners of his lips twitch, or that look in his eyes that made them twinkle with good humor, and that was all he needed.

They'd go for drinks after work and he could make Neville actually curl his head over and laugh so hard he was wheezing and slapping the table. Sometimes Neville would surprise Ron and get him to laugh just as hard.

It was a nice little pattern they had. They'd spend all day together at work then spend the evenings together too, either at a pub, or occasionally hanging out at one another's flats.

They didn't just laugh together.

When Ron got rattled from a nasty spell that behaved a lot like a fucked up nightmare fueled Boggart-Dementor had taken over his brain. He couldn’t see anything but the memories, and felt his knees go out from him. He was left a crying mess as his worst memories from the war tormented him.

“Ron?” he heard a voice cut through the panic. Neville. He was solid and there. He could feel his partner holding him through it. Ron gripped back like his life depended on it. Later when Ron had recovered, Neville’s arm had a series of fingerprint sized bruises on it, but he didn’t flinch or complain.

Later that night as they quietly dressed in their locker room, Ron noticed Neville's build was much like his personality- solid. Like when did Neville start getting so fit? He looked a bit fat, but you hugged him and he was solid as a fucking oak tree. Right under that layer of pudge around his middle was a firm set of abs. His arms weren't flabby at all, and were getting big. His shoulders were broader than he'd realized too, and his bum—

What the fuck?

Ron hadn't been thinking about Neville's bum. He hadn't been thinking about his body and how built he was getting. Well... He was, but purely in a 'very platonically noticing things about a mate' way, and not in a 'some undetermined feeling was making him squirm and need to cover his crotch with a towel before someone noticed he had a hardon' sort of way... 

Nope. He’d put that thought in a deep dark untouchable part of  his brain, and most certainly not think or speak of it ever.

For months he was able to keep those thoughts at bay. Well, kind of. He just made a point of not looking at Neville in the locker room. Or when he leaned down to pick things up. Or when he leaned against the bar in those Auror trousers that left nothing to his imagination-- which didn't help because his imagination had tons of locker room sights to supply it. 

He continued to make Neville laugh. They continued to be the best partners. He continued to appreciate Neville more and more every day.

One night they went to a Muggle club with a few of their mates. Ron was a little bit tipsy, he had to admit. Tipsy enough that he had danced a while, and even done it near Neville. Okay, maybe he was a bit drunk. Neville had laughed and barely moved as Ron energetically bounced to the music, but it had been nice. In the dark he could more openly watch Neville. 

After a particularly robust bunch of dancing, Ron windedly went back to their table to cool off, Neville joining him. Hermione was dancing with Lee and Ginny, while Harry awkwardly moved next to them with so little grace it was almost shocking. 

"How can he be so bloody good at movement with duels and flying,” Ron slurred a bit, “but be so gob-smakingly pathetic at movement the second music is involved?"

“Look. There's a pattern to it," Neville said, conspiratorially leaning close to Ron's ear. Ron nervously swallowed feeling the warm breath against him. "First he does a hip thing, and then come out the thumbs. Watch. He's about to bite his lip and do it!"

Ron watched and sure enough Harry did a strange stilted wiggle of his hips. A horrible overbite took over his face. Wagging his elbows, thumbs began to move about like a broken hitchhiker. 

Ron snorted into his beer. "God, if I ever look that bad dancing, I give you permission to body-bind me."

"Should I do the body bind here, or...?" Neville asked, that cheeky smile on his face that made Ron's pulse quicken.

"We can do it at my place," he replied, giving his partner a shove that made beer almost spill down his front. "I'm spent on loud music anyway. I'd rather spend the evening with you."

"Fair enough," said Neville, paying their tab. They were near enough that they could take one of those Muggle pedi-cabs instead of the stomach churning Knight Bus. Ron had never taken one and was delighted when they did the bell for him.

"You two seem to be having a nice night," the sturdy woman with closely cropped hair laughed.

"I've been out dancing with the best partner in the world," Ron gushed, putting an arm around Neville who contentedly smiled back. "This guy right here. He's my partner!"

"Oh that's nice!" she said with a smile. "Me and my girlfriend love this neighborhood. It's really friendly to that." 

Ron nodded, though he wasn't sure what she meant. 

"He's really strong and muscled."

"Mmm hmm," the woman said with an amused look.

"He's my partner!" Ron needed her to know that.

The ride was too short, and Ron tried to work out the Muggle money, quite the task when he was so tipsy. Neville quickly took over and thanked the pedi-cab cyclist, passing along some bills.

"Let's get you inside, partner," Neville laughed. They didn't have to bother with keys, as Ron's door was warded to his wand. It was a good thing too, as he didn't think he'd be much use with keys at the moment.

Ron threw himself on the sofa, watching Neville get water from the kitchen. Thoughtful as usual, Neville had a glass for Ron as well.

"Drink up so you don't have a hangover."

"I have potions," Ron said with a dismissive hand gesture, but he drank the whole glass anyway. 

"I wanted to make sure you got home alright, but I probably should get going," said Neville, rising from the sofa.

"No, wait, stay a bit longer," Ron said, pulling Neville back to the couch, and this time a whole lot closer than before. Their shoulders were almost touching. 

Neville sighed before saying, "Okay..." 

"Good!" replied Ron, putting an arm around Neville's shoulder. "You're the best!"

He leaned in and kissed Neville's temple. His partner's breath hitched, and it took a moment for Ron to realize why. He let out a nervous laugh.

"Hah... yeah... The best," he repeated, straightening up a bit, but his eyes started trailing over Neville's face. The squint of his eyes, the same blue as the sky right when a storm was brewing. The set of his jaw that was pulsing a bit. The questioning look. The lips that were doing that little smile when he was holding back from laughing or saying something. Ron didn't want him to hold back. He wanted to make Neville laugh and say things, and do things with him, and he couldn't stop looking at that mouth. 

"Ron..." Neville let out, but Ron didn't want to just look anymore. He leaned in and put his lips to Neville's, turning his head just far enough for the kiss to be more than a peck. It was so much more than a peck. It was like being held in that solid embrace of Neville’s. It was like making his partner laugh. It was feeling valued. It was warm and thirst quenching, and Ron moaned.

Neville's body was against his, one of his earth-rough hands slid to hold Ron's side as the kiss deepened. They were opening their mouths and instincts were taking over that Ron didn't even know he had. They enthusiastically snogged until finally they parted, panting, and staring at one another.

"Er... Was that...?" Ron trailed off.

"It was..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah!"

"Cause I..."

"Can we just agree we're the best partners in the world, and now that includes being good at snogging?" Neville asked, putting out a hand.

"I'll agree to that," Ron said, giving the proffered hand a shake before pulling Neville close and snogging him again.

___________________________________________

Two Years later

"This is my partner!" Ron enthusiastically told the pedi-cab cyclist. 

"Hah, yeah-- I remember you!" she laughed.

"Not that kind of partner- a husband-partner!" Ron let her know. 

"I remember that too," she said with a smile.

Ron looked at Neville with confusion. They hadn't been in a pedicab since the night they'd first gotten together. 

"Best partner in the world," Ron said quietly to Neville. 

"So are you," he said with a kiss.

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia -- Chapter 79: Drop the Bomb

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

A snout pressed to the ground along the side of the road, where the highway gave way to more densely wooded country. Yes, that was the scent they were after, no mistaking it. Less than another day’s travel ahead. Lips curled back past sharp teeth, releasing a low growl of satisfaction. They had missed the departure of the students, all nestled into their transport and none the wiser that something was just behind them. It wasn’t a short journey from the school to their destination, but traveling cross country, a nearly straight line whenever they didn’t have to stop to find the scent again, made up considerable time. They did not tire. This terrain was what they were bred to cross. They moved back into the cover of the trees as they followed the smaller road, claws digging into the dirt as they pushed forward.

They’d be at the camp soon.

***

“Ooooh, that had to hurt,” Isamu winced.  

“I’ve told him he relies on his Quirk too much,” Midoriya replied, gazing at the scene before them through his fingers.  “Tell me he’s still breathing?”

“He’s groaning, Toshi,” Tokoyami said.  “He’ll be fine.”  She chirped a few times.  “I think.”

“She really hit him hard!” Frog-Shadow said, adding her own opinion from Tokoyami’s shoulder.

“Poor Shota,” Izumi said. “Still, he lasted longer than I expected him to.”

“Well… that was definitely something,” Boost-Rush said.  “Where’d you learn a move like that, Kaniyashiki?”

Kaniyashiki was busy helping Shinso back to his feet, but she looked over in the Rookie’s direction. “My Aunt Monika’s a police officer, sir,” she said, tossing off a salute with her free hand, before turning it into a crab-claw V.  “She taught me a lot of self-defense stuff.”

“Well, tell her she did a good job,” Boost-Rush said.  He looked to the larger group of U.A. and Shiketsu students.  “And I think that’s our best example so far of why being able to fight without your Quirk is important.  Shinso here has one of the most powerful Quirks in either class, and Kaniyashiki laid him out in two moves.”

The morning’s instruction had largely been focused on Quirkless exercises, directed by Boost-Rush. The powerfully-built Rookie was an extremely good hand-to-hand combatant, though he’d admitted that Doc Clock was even better than he was, something which had gotten Aizawa beaming with pride for all of about three seconds before his natural resting grump face had taken back over.  Boost-Rush had put them through a number of exercises, before he’d set them up sparring. Eventually, they’d break off into pairs, but for now, they were also getting a bit of a show out of it, as he called different combinations to spar against each other and demonstrate what they’d learned so far.  

A few students, mostly those with heavy mutation-type Quirks like Shoji and Bondo, had largely been exempted, and would get some other specialized instruction, since their Quirks were more innate Mutant types.  Ground Zero, Aizawa, and a couple of the other Rookies were with them.  Some of the others had also been peeled off for other types of training with some of the other Rookies.

He had to admit, though, it had been especially exciting when Boost-Rush had opened it with Kana against Kimiko Ojiro.  As the two best martial arts in any of the classes, it had made sense.  It hadn’t been one hundred percent Quirkless, since Ojiro couldn’t turn off her invisibility, but she’d wrapped her arms and legs, donned gloves, and wore the visor from her costume so that Kana would have a decent idea of where her limbs and face were.

It had been, in a word, spectacular.  And not in a “two attractive girls fighting” sort of way (Though he’d be lying if he completely denied that part.  His girlfriend was very hot.  And also very scary when she went full out like that.  He was starting to realize the comparisons to Kirishima-Bakugo weren’t entirely inaccurate.), but also in a “two incredibly skilled people giving it their all” sort of way.  Kana’s style was more aggressive than Ojiro’s, focusing on powerful strikes and kicks, while Ojiro focused on speed and repeated strikes to confuse and disorient. Both of them were absolutely on the top of their game and on a completely different level than just about anyone else.  Shiro Monoma had watched the whole thing with rapt attention.

“That,” Shinso said, “was so cool!  She just grabbed my wrist, and the next thing you know, bam!  I’m on the ground!”   He stared at the 1-B girl with wide eyes.  “You’ve got to teach me how to do that!”

That got a groan from Isamu, Midoriya, and Tokoyami.  That would be Shinso all over.  The kid was trying really hard lately, had been ever since the end of their Internships, but at that end of the day, he was still a ray of sunshine fanboy.  Somethings just never changed.  

Kaniyashiki threw back her head and let out a laugh.  “Sure thing, shorty.”

“Hey!” Shinso said, crossing his arms as a grumpy look spread across his face.  “I’m not that short!”  Of course, he was the shortest one in the class, but he was also several months younger than most of them too…

“Anyway,” Boost-Rush went on, “next up, we’ve got… Haimawari against Awase!”

“Oh boy…”

***

Since he was dating their Class Representative, Isamu had gotten to know several of the members of Class 1-B reasonable well, and several more of them in passing.  Bondo, Kaniyashiki, and Fukidashi were some of Kana’s best friends. The first two were a terrible twosome, usually cracking jokes and up to some small measure of no good, and both of them really loved antagonizing Monoma.  And he had yet to determine whether or not Fukidashi was legitimately crazy or just extremely differently wired. He’d been surprised, though, to learn her mother was the support equipment designer, Bibimi Kenranzaki. Though honestly, that may have explained some of her more extreme tendencies.

He’d had several pleasant and lengthy conversations with the bat-like Koumori about music.  Koumori’s musical choices tended themselves more to rock than pop, but they’d found some common ground in that both of them had an appreciate for the horse-headed American rock duo, Wild Stallions.  And the giant Fukui seemed to be able to get along well with anyone.  He’d even managed to make sure there were no hard feelings with the force field generating Kido, even after he’d bested him at the Sports Festival.

Hell, he’d even managed to have a couple civil conversations with Monoma.  Even if the blond also did a lot of “I’m watching you” gestures at him when he thought no one else was looking.

Awase, on the other hand, he didn’t really know.  The Vice Class Representative was studious and not particularly talkative.  He’d probably said hello to him in passing, but beyond that, he didn’t know him.  Awase was dark-haired and athletically built and, if Isamu remembered right, his Quirk had something to do with being able to fuse his molecules with other substances, taking on their properties.  Not that that would matter much in a Quirkless spar.

He stepped into the circle that had been set up for sparring, watching Awase as he did the same.

“You can do it!” he heard Shinso call out, bringing a smile to his face.

“Show them what 1-B’s made of, Awase!” And that would be Monoma, as expected.

“You’ve got this, Isamu!” He heard Kana call out.  Followed by, “What?  He’s my boyfriend.  I’ve got to support him.”  Which was probably her defending herself against Monoma.

Awase dropped into a fighting stance, hands up, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.   Isamu on the other hand, dropped lower, legs spread wide, arms flared out to his sides.  Even without his Quirk, his style was never going to be about all out brawling. Keep it fast and loose.  He didn’t have the raw strength to do otherwise.

“Are you both ready?” Boost-Rush asked.

“Yes, Sensei,” Awase said simply.

“I’m ready,” he agreed.

“Then begin!”

Awase didn’t make any sounds as he charged forward, but he was telegraphing his right hook pretty badly. Isamu dropped all the way to the ground, like he would when using his Quirk and pivoted, swinging his leg out. It connected solidly with Awase’s leg, tripping him up and knocking him down.

But Awase was just as quick to spring back up, and Isamu got back to his feet, back-peddling away from a flurry of punches.  “Oooffff!” All the air got knocked out of him as one of Awase’s punches connected with his stomach.  Guy definitely had a lot of power behind him, even without his Quirk.

Isamu wasn’t completely helpless though, and he managed to get his hands up and ward off the next punch, just like Midoriya had taught him before the Sports Festival.  He managed to fire off a few rapid fire punches of his own, putting Awase back on the defensive.  Isamu had a few inches on the other boy and his arms and legs were longer too.  It gave him a reach advantage that he pressed, throwing a couple more strikes to unbalance him.

Unfortunately, Awase was quicker on the recovery than he expected, delivering a punch that set his head spinning back around.  He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his blurring vision as Awase came in for another round of strikes.  

This time, Isamu was able to dodge, bobbing this way and that, leaning and ducking out of reach of Awase’s blows.  When he was fighting with his Quirk, he relied on movement, keeping out of the way, and staying just long enough to get a couple of hits in.  There was no reason not to apply the same principle to Quirkless fighting.

“Stand still, dang it!” Awase shouted, after he’d missed with yet another blow.

“Ah,” Isamu said, “how about no?”  He dodged again, ducking under another blow.  His picked up his speed a little, so that he continued to circle Awase, letting him wear himself out trying to keep up and throwing blows.  The other boy should have been aiming for where he was going to be, but instead kept trying to catch him, which resulted in most of his blows being too slow to hit anything or only scoring a glancing hit.

So he kept it up, dodging several more blows that way.  Awase was definitely slowing down, starting to tire.  So when he launched his next blow, Isamu moved as though to duck and dodge to the left, but instead came up with an uppercut, knocking Awase down once more (And ow, ow, ow, boy did that leave his hand smarting!).

“He did it!  He did it!”  Isamu heard Shinso shout, before hearing Tokoyami try to quiet him.

Awase let out a groan, before slowly getting back up to his feet.  “Dang,” he grunted.  “You’re fast as heck even without your Quirk.”  Isamu could already see a bruise forming where he’d punched him.  For a moment, things seemed like they were going to get tense, but Awase nodded decisively.  “Good job.  Easy to see why you won the Sports Festival.”

He offered a hand, and Isamu took and shook it, trying very hard to take the praise.  He still had a lot of trouble believing his own win, even months out.  But he was getting that self-confidence up.  “Thanks,” he said.

The sound of applause broke the moment.  “Good job, both of you,” Boost-Rush said.  “Go see Bioshock if you feel like you need it.”

The Hero looked down at his clipboard.  “Okay, next… Let’s have Kirishima-Bakugo and Tatsuma.”

***

Katsumi may not have had Papa’s shark-teeth, but she’d been told that her grin was very frightening indeed. Right now, her grin seemed to be so scary that several of her classmates and 1-B students were actively backing away from her.  Sero had, in fact, let out a rather high-pitched shriek and leaped into Tensei Iida’s arms.   At least Izzy had stayed by her side.

“You’re being deliberately frightening again,” Izzy said.  There was a disapproving tone in her voice and Katsumi did feel a little bad about that.  Disappointing Izzy was not something she liked doing.  Maybe she could live with it for this the chance to teach the Shiketsu girl a lesson.

The giant girl was giving her a look that seemed to match her own.  She stepped into the ring and for the smallest of moments, Katsumi wondered if she wasn’t biting off more than she could chew.  Tatsuma’s overall build was comparable to her own.  Both of them were muscular, especially for women, though Katsumi’s build was the result of rigorous training and hard work.  She couldn’t tell it that was the case for Tatsuma or if it was related to her Quirk, not that she knew what that was. But Tatsuma had considerable height, reach, and weight on her.  Katsumi was the second shortest person in the class, only barely taller than the Loud Kid. But it wouldn’t be Womanly to step away from a fight, no matter how big the other person was.

She didn’t know what Tatsuma’s deal was, why she thought she was so much better than U.A. students. Izzy had said something about Tatsuma having a good reason, but she also didn’t especially care.  You disrespect her, you disrespect her friends, her school, she’d kick your ass, plain and simple.

“I look forward to educating you,” Tatsuma said.  She cracked her knuckles.  It was noisy. Definitely a show of intimidation. Katsumi approved of the strategy. If she was anyone else, it might have worked.  But she was too damn tough to be scared by some wannabe from some pretentious school like Shiketsu.  

“You can try,” Katsumi shot back. She rolled her neck casually, tensing the muscles in her arms. No backing down.  Never let them think they can intimidate you.  And give back as good as you got.  She shot back with a glare of her own.  It’d be a lot more satisfying to unleash some explosive hell on her, but punching would do pretty nicely.

“Oh hell no, this isn’t happening.”

Katsumi spun around, realizing it was Vanish Veil who had spoken.  What the hell?  This was like the time Toshi had tried to tell her that picking her battles didn’t mean she could pick all of them.  Why were people so opposed to her using violence on the deserving?

“You two’ll kill each other and nobody’ll learn anything,” Vanish Veil said, crossing her arms.  She sounded more annoyed than anything, but there was a little of what sounded like concern in her voice too.

“Don’t think I can take her, Old Lady?” Katsumi snapped.

“I told your dad I wouldn’t let you cause a scene, Brat,” Vanish Veil snapped back.  Katsumi’s usually ability to wind Mahoro up was failing her here, it seemed.  Damn it.

“You have a problem with my teaching choices?” Boost-Rush asked, approaching Vanish Veil. Katsumi could nearly hear the sneer in his voice. If she didn’t already know he was a Monoma, that would have confirmed it.

“Only when you don’t get the memo,” Vanish Veil told him flatly.  She walked over and poked him hard in the chest with a finger.  Her twintails swayed with the motion.  “Pick somebody else, you sanctimonious ass.”

Boost-Rush just laughed at that.  He was wearing his helmet, but Katsumi could hear the smugness in his voice.  “Oh, if you insist,” he said, sounding as though he was the one doing Vanish Veil a favor.  “Still… how about Park?”

Vanish Veil seemed to be weighing her options there, her mouth set in a frown.  “Yeah, okay… that’ll probably be all right…”

***

Well, at least she’d get to show up one of those Shiketsu kids, Katsumi thought.  Windbag was all right in extremely small doses, but the rest of them could go hang. Definitely time someone knocked one of them down a peg and she was very good at knocking.  Didn’t really matter which.   Could have just as easily been the pretty boy cat guy.  He’d have probably been real satisfying to punch.

Park…  Hmm.   Katsumi considered herself pretty decent at reading people.  Tatsuma was simmering fury, waiting to erupt, buried just barely below the surface.  A lot like herself, really.  Not that she’d admit that to anyone.  She went from zero to one hundred in no time, even when the situation didn’t really call for it.  It was pretty much a family trait.  She had it, Dad had it, the Hag had it.

Park, though, Park was a quieter kind of angry.  A cold one. As Katsumi began sizing her up, she wondered, possibly for the first time in her life, if she hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew.

“And begin!” Boost-Rush called out.

Katsumi got her hands up and she and Park circled each other cautiously, both looking for an opening. She’d taken some different martial arts classes as a kid and she had had plenty of instruction from Dad and Papa, Uncle Deku, and even Ojiro’s dad.  But overall, her style mostly focused on single, powerful moves, putting someone down with just a punch or two.  It was best to take them out before they had a chance to be a threat.  

“DIE!” she bellowed, throwing the first punch, a powerful left handed strike that had a lot of her weight behind it.  

Park sidestepped her blow and came in close.  Her hand snapped out and grabbed into the shirt of Katsumi’s gym uniform.  Before she could even react, Park’s leg shot up, slamming into her side several times in rapid succession.  Katsumi let out a growl and managed to shove her away, buying herself a little space.

“Okay,” she snarled.  Her side was protesting furiously as she kept moving. “You got one in. Congratulations.  But that’s all you’re going to get.”

Park’s expression didn’t change much, but one eyebrow raised slightly, as if to say I disagree.  She calmly took a couple side steps, her eyes maintaining that cold indifference. “Angry already? If being struck upsets you, then you’re aspiring to the wrong profession.”

Katsumi knew the other girl was trying to get in her head.  But knowing that didn’t make her any less angry about it.  “I don’t know about you,” she growled, “but I was born to fight.”  She shouldn’t have been talking either, she knew.  Wasted breath.  Maybe it worked for some people, like Horse Girl.  Katsumi would, under duress, admit that Mineta had made provocation a weapon she could use.  But that wasn’t her.

She charged, throwing a right hook at Park’s head.  Park’s head shot to the left, her hand coming up and grabbing Katsumi’s wrist. In a single fluid motion, she bent and twisted it. Pain shot up her arm light a bolt of lightning, overriding her rage, overriding everything except for the white-hot sensation of pain.  It felt like her wrist was one small increment of pressure away from snapping like a twig.

“I’m aware this would likely not work if you could use your Quirk, but since our esteemed instructors insist on this human cockfighting, I might as well emphasize their point. Though I suppose with your Sports Festival, you’re used to bread and circuses.” She twisted it more. “Perhaps if they bothered with a more extensive self-defense course this wouldn’t be necessary.”

Pain shot up Katsumi’s arm so intensely that she had to grind her teeth hard to keep from crying out. No way she’d give Park the satisfaction of hearing her scream.  What the hell kind of fighting style was this?  Aunt Ochaco had done a lot of the grab and flip stuff, but…

At least she still had her other hand free.  With Park’s attention on her other arm, Katsumi brought her left hand in low for a body blow.

Park saw the blow coming and released the hold, but she wasn’t not fast enough to dodge all of it. She let out a small growl as Katsumi’s strike connected, though it was more of a solid graze than a full hit. She moved with the dodge, twisting and sending a kick up at Katsumi’s head.

Even if she wasn’t using a Quirk, Katsumi had to admit that Park was fast.  Deceptively powerful too.  She might have been impressed, if she wasn’t so damned angry.  She saw the blow coming, fortunately, moving out of the way.  Her right arm still hurt from the wrist grab, meaning her options were limited, but she knew how to play through the pain.  She faked left, throwing a couple blows to try and get Park moving the way she wanted, then followed up with a roundhouse kick from the right.

Park had obviously been expecting punches, and hadn’t expected Katsumi to throw a proper kick. As she made to defend against the punches, the kick sent her down. She gathered herself quickly and rolled so that she came to be resting on the soles of her feet.

“That had to have been learned outside class.”  Her look was harsh, judgmental somehow. “Makes sense with the amount of enemies the child of a pro hero has.”

Park got up, her eyes narrowing. “But how will that do against someone who’s had enemies the moment they were born?” She darted toward Katsumi, looking to launch a kick, but instead threw a straight-forward punch like something out of a street fight.

Okay, what the hell was that supposed to mean?!  And sure, they’d all had some basic self-defense lessons, some of them more than others.  You heard horror stories about the kids of Pro-Heroes being threatened or kidnapped. A few of them had even come damn close to it.

The punch hurt, leaving Katsumi seeing stars, her vision swimming.  “You haven’t rung my bell yet,” she growled in the direction of what she hoped was the actual Park.  The world was spinning and it felt like a struggle to stay upright, but she forced herself to keep fighting.

She moved quickly this time, throwing one punch after another.  Not too much style, but plenty of power.  Park was good and, as much as it pained her to admit it, more technically proficient than she was.  But she had more raw power than the other girl.  She just needed one really good punch to make an end of it.

Park dodged the punches, attempting to once more grab and twist Katsumi’s arms. This time, she was ready for that crap and kept herself moving too quickly to be caught. Katsumi’s style may have been straightforward, but the speed was forcing Park to stay on the defensive.

***

‘This is stupid. Beating each other for the sake of some trite lesson that could easily be fixed with a proper martial training program. Look at them: So self-important while others are thrown aside.’ Park’s thoughts raged through her mind. She cast a glimpse once more at Boost-Rush. ‘Alright you son of a bitch. You put a child in this situation.  Don’t whine at me when the expected happens.’

***

Park darted as if dodging again, but grabbed the waistband of Katsumi’s pants, using the leverage to throw her down. It was a hard, bone rattling impact that knocked her senseless for a moment.  Katsumi’s first instinct, drilled into her, is to protect her head, but Park snarled and instead threw a kick at her back.

The kick hurts, Katsumi’s damn sure that was one of her kidneys.  The pain kept her down even as she tried to get herself back up.  There wasno way she’s going to let herself be beaten like this.  She’s one of the toughest damn U.A. students there is.  Daughter of two Top Ten Heroes.  Practitioner of the Art of Womanly Living.  And when it comes to a fight, she doesn’t quit.  Ever.

“You’re going down!” she screams, forcing herself back to her feet, swinging wildly.

“That’s my line.” Park dodged to the side again.  Her arm shot out like a stone from a sling and grabbed Katsumi’s arm, wrapping her fingers around it in an iron grip.  She twisted it, and used the momentum to drive Katsumi into the ground. Park hung onto her arm this time, pulling it back and locking in her grip behind Katsumi’s back.

***

A little more torque and she could easily break it. For a moment she felt herself wanting to. To share even a small ounce of the suffering. She looked into the crowd, and saw the kind rock girl who shared her faith. Akaya. She looked concerned and scared for her classmate.

“I’m not as good a Christian as I’d like to be.” She had told Akaya that. She turned away from her, looked at Katsumi’s struggling face, then looked back at the U.A. students and Rookies. She let go of Katsumi.

***

“This is stupid. Find another pawn.” Park then got up and walked toward her classmates, then past them entirely.   Tatsuma tried to stop her, but she brushed her off.

Katsumi forced herself to her feet, her limbs absolutely aching.  “Get… get back here,” she started to growl, eyes locked on Park’s retreating form.  “I… I can do this… all day…”

She couldn’t lose to some pretentious Shiketsu brat.  And she definitely wasn’t losing to someone who wouldn’t even stick around to assure their victory.  Who just gave up in the middle of a fight like that?  Especially one they were winning?  None of it added up.

Wasn’t she worthy of fighting?  Or finishing off?  

What the hell was wrong with Park?!

Someone helped her to her feet.  It was the Old Lady.  Of course. “I’m fine,” she grunted.  A lie.  She was not fine.  She didn’t think anything was broken, but she could practically feel the bruises growing in all kinds of uncomfortable places.  There was still pain radiating from where she’d been kicked and she was still seeing double.  

“You’re not fine,” Vanish-Veil said, sounding guilty.  “C’mon. We’ll get you to my brother. Hopefully before your dad finds out about this…”

***

“She… she lost,” Toshi said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.  The fight had been incredibly short, but incredibly brutal. It’d been deeply uncomfortable, even unsettling to watch. He’d wanted to intervene, no matter how much Katsumi would have yelled at him for it, but the sheer brutality had left him paralyzed where he stood.  He was sure if it hadn’t been so quick, the Rookies surely would have intervened…/

It was only then that he realized that his arm was hurting and had been for some time. “Izumi…?”

“What?  Oh!  Oh my…!” Izumi quickly released her death grip on his arm and he could feel the circulation returning to it. Izumi was willowy and often looked like she’d blow over in a strong breeze, but she apparently had ferocious grip strength.  “I’m so sorry, Toshi…”

He shook his head. “It’s okay.  I think we were all a little shellshocked.”

“I don’t believe it,” Haimawari said.  He was shivering, Toshi realized, and then realized he was too.  Izumi must have been drawing in heat as she’d grown more and more frightened for Katsumi.  “I saw it, but I still don’t believe it.”

Toshi never would have thought it possible either.  He’d seen Katsumi lose, of course.  The two of them were about evenly matched when they’d sparred in the past and he’d won about as many as he lost.  And, of course, Katsumi had lost against Izumi during the Sports Festival.  But those had been friendly competitions, between people who had known each other for years.  This had been different.  This had been a beating.

Both Katsumi and Park had been looking to prove something, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what it was for Park.  He knew already, that Tatsuma didn’t think especially high of them.  But it didn’t look like Park did either.  He’d spent of a lot of time thinking over Tatsuma’s reasons for disliking the Hero System and what this class represented, and was still grappling with those.  But he didn’t know what drove Park, not yet.  

Katsumi, he knew, just wanted to prove she was better than the Shiketsu students. They’d gone after her pride and she really wasn’t the best decision maker where that was concerned.

He was also fairly certain this wasn’t something he could fix, wasn’t something he could make right. That was a hard admission for him to make.  Dad had always said you couldn’t save everyone but that you still had to try. He’d thought maybe he could still try here, but after this…

Katsumi was his friend. And she was confident and powerful. She was one of the best fighters in the class, with a strong Quirk and an iron will.  Even in friendly sparring with him, she just took every loss as a way to get stronger still.  To see her humbled like that…

“Is it over?”  Shota asked.  Toshi looked over and jerked with surprise as he saw that Shota had his eyes scrunched up tight, with his hands over his ears.

Asuka put a reassuring arm around his shoulders.  “It’s all right,” she told Shota, gently removing his hand from over his right ear with her other hand.  “You can look now.”

“She didn’t win, did she?”

“I am afraid not,” Asuka replied.  

“This will not be good,” Izumi said, worry filling her soft voice.  “Even though her injuries can be treated, Katsumi will treat this as a grievous wound to her pride and a personal insult besides.  She won’t let that go any time soon.  And I fear what she may try in retaliation.”

“She’s right,” Asuka said. She chirped softly and worriedly. “Izumi, Toshi, you know her the best. What do we do?”

Toshi frowned. Tatsuma and Katsumi had been ready to tear each other apart, before Aunt Mahoro had intervened.  She hadn’t objected to Park, but…

If they didn’t do something to try and buy a little peace with the Shiketsu students, then someone was just going to get hurt worse.  

Looking around, he could see, not just the concern, but the anger, on so many of his classmates’ faces. Even many of the 1-B students looked disturbed by it, especially Monoma and Kana.  

Of the Shiketsu students, only Tatsuma and Yoarashi were there.  Park had walked off somewhere, and Tsuchikawa and the spider-girl were with one of the other training groups.  Tatsuma was looking vaguely smug and satisfied, though Toshi couldn’t help but notice that she was also looking off in the direction Park had left. Yoarashi had gone pale and oddly quiet. Toshi didn’t know him as well as some of his friends, but he’d still known him for years.  Yoarashi didn’t do quiet.

If they didn’t do something to try and make peace with the Shiketsu students, someone was going to get hurt.

Get hurt worse, he realized, as Aunt Mahoro led Katsumi away.

“Oookay,” Boost-Rush said, much of his earliest bravado gone.  “That’s… that’s enough direct sparring for today.  Why don’t we break into small groups to work on what’ve learned so far.”

A stupid, desperate plan dropped into his mind.  He couldn’t exactly slip away, but… “I hate to ask you to lie,” Toshi whispered to Izumi, “but…”

Izumi nodded.  She grasped his plan without him having to even say it.  They’d been friends a long time.  He wasn’t as close to her as Katsumi was, he wasn’t sure anyone could be as close as the two of them were, but Izumi was still one of his best friends.  Hell, after a hopeless childhood crush on Nejire Togata, he’d had a crush on Izumi for a little while too, though he’d never worked up the courage to ask her out or anything.  If nothing else, Katsumi’s looming presence in both their lives had made it clear if anyone really loved Izumi, it was her.

“I do believe I’m feeling a bit of a flare up,” she said, stretching exaggeratedly.  I should probably go get checked out.”

***

Izumi arrived at the first aid station that Bioshock had set up.  The Metabolic Hero was laying hands on Katsumi as she approached and she could see her friend’s bruises start to fade already and a bit of her color return. Bioshock’s Quirk was not quite the cure-all that Doctor Izumi’s was, but it was still very effective.  She knew now, from what she had read, that he had run himself ragged during Plague’s assault on Japan, pushing himself nearly to death’s door until Uncle Izuku and his sister had literally had to drag him away from the hospital wards.  

“Okay,” Bioshock told Katsumi, “I think that should be good.  Nothing broken, thank goodness.”  His features darkened.  “What the hell was Boost-Rush thinking?  Dammit…”

He shook his head, his eyes going wide as he realized he’d spoken out loud.  “My apologies.  That was unprofessional.”

Katsumi waved him off. “Eh, you said what you said, Doc. Own it.”  Her red eyes had locked with Izumi’s.  For all the fierceness and bravado Katsumi put on for the rest of the world, Izumi could easily tell when she was faking it.  Such as now.

“Oh, hey, Todoroki,” Bioshock said when he noticed her.  “Everything all right?”

“I’m feeling a bit fatigued,” Izumi told him.  She spoke each word carefully, trying to project some measure of exhaustion into her voice.  She was tired, but not that tired.  “I fear this new schedule is playing havoc with my body.”

Bioshock looked between her and Katsumi for a moment, then his expression changed ever so slightly. “Oh, sure,” he said.  “Let me go check the coolers, see if we’ve got anything with some electrolytes for you.  Why don’t you keep Kirishima-Bakugo company while I’m gone?”  He gave them a little wave as he walked off.

Katsumi just gave her a look as she took a seat next to her, in one of the small folding chairs.  It wasn’t especially comfortable, but that was of little importance.  “You are the worst liar I have ever met, Iz.”

“What?” Izumi asked. “But Bioshock…”

“He was humoring you, Iz.”

Oh.  Well.  She supposed that was all right.  She was still able to achieve her goal of getting to talk to Katsumi.  Though perhaps she could work on the lying? Heroes did need to sometimes, well, not exactly lie, but certainly project more hope and certainty than they might have been otherwise feeling.

“Are you all right?” she asked instead.  “Not physically,” she added quickly.  “That much I could see.”

Katsumi looked down at the dirt.  “That wasn’t a fight, Iz.”  The words were said so quietly that Izumi could barely hear her.  

“That level of brutality was well outside the bounds of a friendly spar,” she agreed.  “Though you too were quite ready to rise to violence.”

Katsumi’s head snapped up, a snarl starting to pull at her lips.  “Damn right I was.  Did you see the way that giant was looking down her nose at us?  She disrespected me and she disrespected the school.  I had to teach one of them a lesson.”

“Did you?” Izumi asked, when she was certain Katsumi’s rant had finished.  “Or were you just seeking conflict?”

“So I like a good fight,” Katsumi replied, looking rather annoyed still.  “Is that a crime?”

“How badly would you have hurt one of them?” Izumi asked instead.  Answering Katsumi’s question would do no good to anyone, and likely lead to a very circular conversation.  Sometimes you had to point Katsumi in the direction you wanted her to go. Even if you usually had to make her think it was her idea.

“Broken nose, maybe,” Katsumi said, shrugging.  “I just really wanted to punch one of them.”

She sighed.  “But that wasn’t a fight, Iz.  That was a damned beatdown.  She was toying with me.  Whatever damn style she was practicing, it’s damn good at causing a lot of pain.  And… she’s better than me.”

Katsumi trailed off. She’d said something, but so softly that Izumi couldn’t hear it.  “I’m sorry,” she said, “what?”

“I said she’s better than me!” Katsumi snapped.  “She could have kicked my ass from here back to U.A., up and down both sides of the street, easy.  But she wanted to make it hurt and she wanted to make sure everybody saw it.”  Her fists were clenched hard, her knuckles going white.  “This wasn’t even about putting me in my place.  She was making a damned statement.  Hell if I know what it was though…”

Katsumi bolted up out of her chair suddenly, grabbing it and spinning around sharply, letting it go flying through the air.  It landed several feet away, bouncing a few times before it finally stopped.   Izumi would give her friend credit: she’d expected it to explode.

Katsumi was visibly shaking and Izumi rose to embrace her.  Katsumi’s strong arms soon found their way around her and Katsumi’s head came to rest against her.  As Izumi held her, Katsumi’s shaking began to subside.  

“I’m supposed to be the toughest woman around here, Iz,” Katsumi said quietly, but there was a growing fire to her words.  “This isn’t over.”

Katsumi was right. For more reasons than she thought. If they didn’t do something soon, to try and bridge the gap between the two schools, things could very likely explode, in more ways than one.

[the-navistar-carol]

Daminette Songfic: ‘Summer of ‘69’ by Bryan Adams

From the Maribat AU of @ozmav

@maribat-archive I’m back at it again >:)

I got my first real six-string

Bought it at the five-and-dime

When he had first been taken in by Bruce Wayne, he had turned up his nose at the prospect of entertaining some kid superhero from France. She wasn’t going to be impressive.

She wasn’t even going to be good!

Man, Damian thought to himself, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, was I wrong.

Played it 'til my fingers bled

Was the summer of '69

It had taken forever for them to even consider being on speaking terms, let alone friends. That alone had been a marvel in and of itself.

Not that he’d trade it for anything in the universe. If it came to it, he would probably let the world burn for another minute with her.

“Dude,” Dick had whistled. “You are whipped.”

Again, he’d turned up his nose at the prospect. He hadn’t even known what the former Robin had meant.

But yeah. I had been.

Me and some guys from school

Had a band and we tried real hard

She’d never given up, not even when she was flung into the floor. Not that she did now. Ladybug, Marinette, was and is the greatest girl he knew.

Top of her class, an aspiring designer, with the biggest heart he had ever seen. And not only that, but she was a superhero, saving cities on the daily and pulling the croissants out of the oven.

At least he had a family, people who were there as backup. And not to mention the budget of a billionaire.

She managed with a family who barely knew what she got herself into, a class who had turned against her, and the funds of a bakery. Plus public schooling.

Damn, he mused. If she was one of us, look out Joker.

Jimmy quit, Jody got married

I should've known we'd never get far

Dick had befriended her first. Well, second, after Alfred. But he had taken the first step.

His teasing had never failed to make her laugh, giggles scrunching up her nose and a beaming smile that lit up the room. Ladybug and Nightwing would have late-night philosophy talks, making each other think beyond their boundaries.

She’d taught him to bake, always there with patience when he’d fudged a recipe.

The eldest Robin had shown her more complicated gymnastics (not that she wasn’t already more flexible than most of them would ever be), and acrobatics that turned her every slip and fall into a tumble, and she’d roll right back up onto her feet.

Dick had taught her how to get back up.

Oh, when I look back now

That summer seemed to last forever

Jason had taken her under his wing after Dick.

Whenever she’d curled into a ball, shuddering after a hard practice, he would toss her into the air and take off like a shot, careening through the halls of Wayne Manor. It wasn’t long before her laughs rang off the walls, the Red Hood with a wild grin.

They had the sibling dynamic — there for each other, even at their faults.

Marinette had introduced Jason to color schemes and designs, at least how costumes worked. It was most definitely because of that awful helmet.

Jason, on the other hand, had taught her how to shoot. It was out of necessity, he claimed. If she didn’t know how to defend herself, and her yo-yo was out of reach, she may not have a choice.

Jason had given her the tactics nobody thought she would know.

And if I had the choice

Yeah, I'd always wanna be there

Tim had warmed up to her third, although he had been a bit worried about her age.

As her superhero duties became more needed back in Paris, the two of them started working together at night, on cases none of the rest could crack. The Insomnia Buddies, she’d dubbed them. Or, rather, as Tim called them, the Coffee Crew.

Whenever he became stressed to the point of a breakdown, she taught him meditation, she taught him calm.

The Red Robin showed her computers, and how to bypass firewalls with a tap of a key. Underhanded, but in case she needed the information.

Tim had taught her how to think.

Those were the best days of my life

He, Damian, had taken the longest. It had taken years to become as close to her as the other three were.

But they eventually bonded over common interest and curiosity about the other, growing closer every time they spent an hour in each other’s presence.

Marinette opened his mind to possibilities outside simply what had been placed in front of him. You never have only two choices, she told him firmly, eyes narrowed in determination. Never.

The newest Robin may not have been the first to pick her back up after a tough spar, but he would always be there in a real one, whether it was to take the hit or let her rest.

He, Damian, had given her a real partner.

Ain't no use in complaining

When you've got a job to do

The summers she spent at Gotham had become less of a chore and more like a long-lost family member returning to them. They gained inside jokes, and Skype chats between Gotham and France became more common, until it was almost an everyday thing.

They watched each other grow from bratty kids to mature teenagers, from gangly to sure of themselves.

And man, had her almost literal transformation had him whipped.

Watch out, Hawkmoth.

Spent my evenings down at the drive-in

And that's when I met you, yeah

He’d joined an exchange program to Paris, planning on not telling her, but of course the day he had Jason blurted it out on their nightly video call.

She’d gone absolutely red, and fallen off her desk chair with a loud thud. To this day, it brought a smile to his face.

“R-really?” Her voice had been hesitant, but excited nonetheless. “I can’t believe it! When are you coming?”

Dick, from his position out of the way of the camera, gave Damian a knowing look, a wry grin, and a small wiggle of his eyebrows.

Dumbass.

Standin' on your mama's porch

You told me that you'd wait forever

It wasn’t long after that announcement, when she was in her final year of lyceé, that her video chats had started to become more… tired. She’d change the subject whenever they talked about her classmates or, worse, her friends.

It wasn’t only him who had noticed it. Tim had been the first to pick it up, and immediately set off on finding information about the class. Without telling Marinette, of course.

What he found was no concrete proof, but more videos on the Ladyblog detailed a girl named Lila Rossi.

An awful liar if he ever saw one.

Oh, and when you held my hand

I knew that it was now or never

The detective work lasted a week and a half before it was outed. Marinette didn’t get mad about it, but simply hung her head and apologized for not telling them.

His heart had torn to see his angel beaten down like this.

She was across the ocean, president of a class he couldn’t defend her against.

He, Robin, a superhero, was useless.

The exchange program left in six months.

Too long.

Those were the best days of my life

He went to her over winter break, though. Thank whatever higher power he could.

As soon as he had stepped into her room with the door closed, she had broken down in his arms. His brothers were right behind him, and joined the hug with words of comfort and encouragement.

It had taken her half an hour to calm down, but when she had finished, they were tears of happiness. Happiness that they were there for her.

“We’re gonna make this the best two weeks of your year, little lady” Jason had promised her with a crooked grin, the white patch in his hair tousled.

Tim didn’t miss the way she looked away at the word lady. “Mari-bug, what’s going on?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and tugged Damian over to her bed, not wanting to let go of him. “It’s a long story.”

We aren’t going anywhere, angel.

Oh, yeah.

Back in the summer of '69

When she finished, she had had to take breaks three times—three times!—to calm herself down.

“And I’ve almost been akumatised because of this, a few times,” she admitted, her voice a quiet whisper. “I figured out how to not let my emotions get the best of me, though. My parents don’t really know.”

Jason’s expression clearly told Damian he was in need of a skinning knife. Or guns. Guns were faster.

A series of pops filled the room. Dick, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face, had popped his knuckles. “I think that it’s time some other people knew the harm Lila caused.”

“And if she gets akumatised,” Damian added, “she’s well deserved it.”

“She can’t keep going like this and not receive the consequences,” Tim put in. “It’s not right.”

Hell’s coming to Lila Rossi.

Man we were killin' time

We were young and restless

And the damned Lila situation didn’t even begin to cover Chat Noir. But Marinette insisted they get away from the topic.

She was on winter break, dammit, and Jason was hellbent on making good on his promise.

Tim had the best idea, oddly enough. An arcade.

While Damian had found the concept childish at best, the way Marinette’s eyes lit up at the prospect quickly stilled any protest.

To the flashy lights and cheap prizes we go.

We needed to unwind

I guess nothin' can last forever, forever, no! yeah!

Once they got there, Dick was quick to pull out his credit card and get a near- unlimited token supply. He nudged Damian with a sly grin. “Get her a big prize, loverboy.”

Thankfully, he said it out of her hearing range. Then he pushed him over, and they toured the arcade together.

Naturally, Jason was a master at the shooting games. Tim was an unexpected genius at Guitar Hero. Dick, of course, managed to beat the highscore on DDR by a good hundred thousand points. Show-off.

You deserve all the joy, angel.

And now the times are changin'

Look at everything that's come and gone

The two weeks had come and gone like nothing. But the two months afterward were an absolute hell of a waiting game.

But Marinette was happier, knowing that her Gotham friends were there for her.

“He’s still whipped,” Dick cackled one night after a video call.

Tim grinned, and ruffled Damian’s hair. “I can see why.”

He’d only growled at them, but they persisted anyway, giving bad advice they knew full well was awful.

But what else were brothers for?

Sometimes when I play that old six-string

I think about you, wonder what went wrong

The exchange program left them in Mlle. Bustier’s class. Well, at least Damian and a few schoolmates.

He could see just how bad the class was for himself.

At his first step into the class, he had been mobbed by a tanned brunette (Lila) claiming to be his lost soulmate, which he quickly and sharply shut down, and proceeded to sit next to Marinette.

Damian could hear her fake sobs from all the way in the back.

“Can you believe it?! He doesn’t remember me!”

Oh, fuck off.

Standin' on your mama's porch

You told me that it'd last forever

He stood, furious, and proceeded to give a thorough explanation on why she was wrong, a liar, and an awful person.

“I’ve never met you, I’ve known Marinette since I was ten, and I don’t see how the daughter of a single French domestic diplomat would ever meet an American at a charity gala in Gotham!”

Silence.

Then explosion.

Not fiery, of course. Of apologies, launched directly at Marinette.

She simply raised a hand to quell them in their tracks. “Some of you I will be able to forgive. Some of you I will not be. Thank you for your apologies.” Her tone was nowhere near the broken girl who had sobbed in his arms two months ago. She was reforged, stronger than steel.

And with a head held high like that, nothing can bring you down.

Oh, and when you held my hand

I knew that it was now or never

Nathanaël, Alix, Ivan, Myléne. They were able to be forgiven easier than the rest.

Sabrina and Chloé, she was neutral to. They, if they wanted to gain her trust, had a neutral starting ground.

Max, Kim, Nino. They were forgiven less easily, and would take weeks to even be on friendly terms again.

Alya, Lila, and Adrien she probably never would.

And he was perfectly fine with that.

They don’t deserve her.

Those were the best days of my life

Near the end of the exchange program, he took her to the Eiffel Tower as the sun set, overlooking all of Paris. He wasn’t nervous, of course he wasn’t. Damian Wayne, nervous in front of the girl he had been absolutely whipped for for the better part of a year?

Oh, you better believe it.

At the top tier, he covered her eyes for the entirety of the ride.

“Damiaan.” She was struggling to hide giggles. “I’ve seen this before, y’know?”

“Nah,” he grinned. “You haven’t.”

The top deck was empty, devoid of any and all tourists.

And then the fireworks started, filling the sky with all the colors of the rainbow.

Worth it.

Oh, yeah

Back in the summer of '69, oh

She grabbed his hand, eyes widening in surprise as a dazzling smile swept any amusement off her face and replaced it with wonder. “Oh my God, Dami.”

“I told you, you haven’t seen this before.”

“Wait— you— for me?”

Don’t you dare freeze.

“For you,” he agreed. “I love you, Marinette.”

Those words had been like weights—saying them the first time was hard.

It was the summer of '69, oh, yeah

Me and my baby in '69, oh

She didn’t say anything, only turned her gaze away from the fireworks and to him, the colorful explosions mirrored in her silver eyes. She was close, he could quite distinctly smell the strawberry lip gloss.

“Dami, I…” Hesitation. Shit.

Then, she launched herself at him, arms going around his neck as she crushed him in a tight hug. His arms came up to pull her close.

“I love you too, you extra idiot!”

Oh.

It was the summer,

They had shared a first kiss then, beneath the fireworks and the stars and the moon.

Neither of them were particularly any good, and she kept giggling, but he wouldn’t have traded it for anybody else.

Nor anywhere else.

Never in the world.

the summer,

This time, after she had graduated université, started as a designer, and finally moved to Gotham, they didn’t have to wait for time zones.

This time, as he caught his breath when he saw her in dazzling white, they would never have to wait again.

And this time, they could face things together.

Was he still absolutely whipped for Marinette Dupain-Cheng?

Always.

the summer of '69, yeah

[tarithenurse]

If I succeed - 9

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Content: Past events, pining, smut, secrets revealed, more questions, softness, distractions. None of this necessarily in that order. A/N: Writing’s going a bit slow due to illness, but a few chapters more are waiting for you. Also: I’m combing through the taglist to remove those who aren’t showing any interest. Want a tag? Send an ask or reblog! I’d love comments and feedback – even if it’s corrections on language or whatever. I’m not picky as long as I know my work brings joy too.

9 – Something good

...   Geralt   ...

If something as fleeting as luck exists then it has smiled at the little group: just before nightfall, they happen across a ravine with a cave at the very top and what at first glance appears to be a narrow, wet hideout opens into a large chamber with a couple of niches and a stream of fresh water running through the middle. Even Roach accepts being led in after her owner has made sure the premises are vacated.

Dinner is cold – the only heat and light is from a slow-burning torch jabbed into a crevice between two rocks – and silent as each is occupied by their own worries. In Geralt’s case, his mind has been filled with half plans which he cannot finish until he knows more about the enemy. He has told just one of what he saw before overcome with his injuries. Vampires. Hm. There are many subspecies of the monsters, some less intelligent than others, and too many are unbothered by the rays of the sun as well as most commonly known repellents though silver at the very least can wound them.

“Well, this’s been wonderfully cozy but I’m gonna turn in,” Jaskier breaks the silence, standing to stretch before hurrying towards the niche furthest away which he has claimed for himself, “g’night,” he adds over the shoulder.

“Sleep well.”

Of course Geralt cannot help but glance towards [Y/N] as she speaks. There is always a kindness to her voice that softens the features of anyone who listens, even now when she is deeply engrossed in the work at hand. Spread out on a cloth in the flickering torchlight are bundles of semi-dried herbs, a few pouches of powder, and several small vials. Working nimbly with a small blade, she separates leaves from stems before loosening the bark with the longer dagger by rolling and crushing the plants between a flat stone and the flat of the weapon – the torchlight glinting in the metal and her eyes.

“Lemme see that,” the Witcher extends a large hand in a silent command for her to bring him the knife.

There is a fire from within, gleaming dangerously as she looks over. Slowly, deliberately, she finishes the task rather than handing over the weapon right away, and when she finally does she merely holds it out. It is a silent challenge. A waiting game to see who might give in first and cover the distance for the exchange.

Neither gets up.

Then, with a flick of the wrist, [Y/N] tosses the dagger is a soft curve, hilt first and easy to catch. Was that annoyance? Whatever it was, Geralt decides to study the metal rather than comment upon her demeanour.

“This’s silvered.” He had expected as much after noticing the gleam reflecting off of it.

“Yes. It was my father’s,” she explains, hesitating a fraction before continuing as if to consider whether to reveal something at all, “look at the crossbar.”

Curiosity wins. Leaning forward, he turns the weapon over and over for the dancing light to illuminate it until: “Witcher’s seal.”

“Vesemir’s.” The sigh she lets free is one of exhaustion – years of keeping a secret, perhaps. “Vesemir found my parents in Beauclair...helped us get outta there without a trace. The dagger was to serve as a token of truth if they needed his help.” Again, she sighs but this time with a sadness that threatens to break Geralt’s heart. “All father ever used it for was teach me how to fight.”

Well...where to begin unravelling all of that? Practicality wins. Few possess the agility and strength of a Witcher, of course, but now it does makes sense why the maiden from a tiny village is able to hold her ground slightly better than others when the two of them spar. Has she held back? It would explain how she moved so swiftly when the wolf attacked.

“Show me.” When [Y/N] does not respond, he walks over and places the knife in her hands. “Show. Me. And don’t hold back.”

She takes her time to pack away the antidotes and other healing remedies, tugging them neatly into a side pocket on the rucksack. She even takes the time to tie back her hair and roll up the sleeves before turning to Geralt who has been standing patiently, his own dagger still in the belt but eyes upon every movement of hers to witness the dawning acceptance of something unspoken – a mind made up despite some unexplained concern.

Geralt is prepared when she moves. He is not prepared for the torch’s fire flaring out towards him with a ferocity that makes him jump aside. In a flash, [Y/N] is upon him in a whirlwind of attacks he barely has time to parry while recovering. Oh. Now this is an interesting development and not only does the man want to know more, he wants to test the limits. Push her. Get her blood boiling.

“You’re a mage.” A grin accompanies the flash of his own dagger as he no longer worries about holding back.

“No.”

True or not, she does increase the efforts to outmatch him, turning the sparring into a dizzying dance where they often are close enough to taste the breath of the other as chests heave and sweat begins to bead on brows and lips.

“I’m not...some...political pet,” the woman huffs icily as they lock themselves in a knot of limbs and steel.

He might have her body in a strong grip, but her cold blade is resting against Geralt’s throat, tip digging slightly into his jowl. Still, there is no fear in his heart because death is not in her fiery eyes. Cockily, he taps his own weapon against her ribs.

“Tied.”

The way her eyebrow arches is a sinful challenge. “Try again.”

What...? And there it is, the added pressure of a tiny knife against the uninvited swell of his cock. Conceding to his loss by sheathing his own weapon, the Witcher is acutely aware of the lingering gaze when [Y/N] reciprocates and he can feel the burn of it when she turns away to stove the little knife back in its place. Fuck. In two steps he is right behind her when she straightens up, her back against his chest and the ass fitting neatly into the dip and poke of his crotch.

If he had expected any objections – or hoped for them as the last effort to keep from succumbing to temptation – every remaining concern is dashed as she leans into his arms and allow the hands to roam. Soft curves contained under wrapped fabrics and tiny knots are palmed. Fingers dig into the flesh of hips and thighs. [Y/N]’s scent is intoxicating, dizzying as he breathes in deeply at the crook of her neck between the hundreds of kisses and teasing bites which each puncture the silence in the cave with a gasp from her lips.

Shivers run down the length of Geralt’s spine when she reaches back to tangle a hand in his hair, nails scraping softly against his scalp. It is immediately followed by another as yellowed eyes catch a glimpse of what her free hand does.

“Let me,” the rasp is barely audible yet the woman hears it.

Her irises are almost swallowed by lustful darkness, watching while she backs towards the last niche and Geralt works quickly to rid her of the tunic before slowing down to take time to savour every moment as, a tiny knot at a time, the last layer is unfastened and releases a bosom he has dreamed of for too long.

A second of breathlessness.

“Hmm.”

The familiarity of the soft skin against his calloused fingers, the sweet-and-salty taste as his tongue sweeps and circles the hardening nipples. It is bliss, soothing the aching corners of his soul without softening the bone-gnawing hunger.

A single word falls in a whisper from [Y/N]’s soft lips. “Please.”

Cooperating hurriedly, it becomes a race to reveal the shape of each other. Bulky muscles against smooth lines outlining curves and expanses. Somehow, in the middle of the almost fevered rush where hands begin to explore, Geralt manages to unfurl a bedroll, using the other as a pillow for the magnificent female as he lowers her onto her back with an extra layer of a pelt for comfort.

Looking at the beauty bared beneath him, the Witcher momentarily feels transported to the field under the sun when she was revealed to him for the first time. Oh, he has lain with pretty people before, all too often finding that their outer grace is unmatched by their minds and souls. Not [Y/N]. Everything about her was and is a reflection of her call as a healer in the village, kindhearted, clever, funny. Untainted. He had hesitated that day, afterwards promising himself not to ruin her by dragging the spirited maiden into his life of monsters and darkness...even if it was excruciating to part.

She’s here. Slender hands caressing his form, sometimes conjuring goosebumps by the drag of a nail along a sensitive line. Geralt gasps as fingers curl around the strained shaft, using it to drag him closer. Closer. Lips finally meet and he damn near melts at the sensation of her tongue sweeping across the seam of his mouth to gain access – which he gladly gives.

...   Reader   ...

You are out of breath, dizzy, when Geralt backs out of your reach with a strained moan and dark eyes that wordlessly relay why he pins your wrists to your sides. He is right there – body brushing against your thighs and strong arms weighing your hips to the furry layer beneath you...still he feels further away than ever.

“Geralt...” you plead, trying to keep quiet as to not wake up Jaskier, “please.”

“Always,” is the mumbled answer as he dives between your legs and licks a long stripe upwards to your clit.

You are aware of his chuckle even as you arch your back to breathe in sharply, it just does not matter because the man refuses to relent in his newfound quest to drive you mad with coiled-up lust growing stronger with each lick, each thrust and twist of his fingers when he finally lets go of your wrists. Scrabbling for purchase, his silver locks becomes an anchor and a rudder directing his mouth to where it is needed and you can barely contain a mewling scream as the tension inside snaps and drops you into earth-moving ecstasy.

“Hmmmm.” Was that a sigh or a groan? In your delirious state, you cannot tell which. “You’re...” Sloppy kisses trail up your sensitive abdomen to breasts that ache for his attention. “[Y/N],” he sighs against your lips as his cock nestles between you drenched folds, “I...you...no one else.”

Both his words and manhood sinks in slowly, agonizingly perfect in the stretch and depth as though made for you specifically. Always meant for you. The words must have slipped out because he stops to cup your cheek, golden eyes burning with an emotion you never have seen within him before. The kiss is different too, familiarity mingled with a new understanding.

A slow roll of your hips spurs Geralt on. Resting on an elbow to still cup your cheek, the other hand is freed to roam your body as his thrusts set a slow pacing. You can feel each vein and the fold and head of the cock drag along the ridges in your cunt. Almost frustratingly lazy as he pulls back to the very entrance each time. No. Not “almost”. Arching into him, pulling him deeper with the hook of your heels against his ass and knees pinching against his torso – all you want is him without any veils. Still, it is impossible to complain as long as he keeps looking into your soul the way he does. Geralt is teasing you, yes, causing your toes to curl with pent up need yet simultaneously providing you with the most intense experience in your life.

A calculative gleam shimmers in the blown pupils. “You’re...much stronger than I’ve been thinking...”

“Don’t hold back...take me.”

There is barely time to register how the Witcher flips you onto your knees, hands braced against the rock wall, before regaining entrance to your (due to the position) much tighter cunt with a groan bitten into your shoulder. His chest is heaving, sweat-slicked against your back as he holds you pinned in place for a second. A large hand finds a breast to toy with. Another hand grips your hip so tight it feels as though there is no flesh between his fingers and the bone, but you are glad for the restraint as the man draws back only to ram into you hard, knocking out your breath on a keening moan before he has a chance to cover your mouth.

“More?”

You nod frantically against the calloused palm, eager for the feel of a second release as the greedy urge already builds in the pit of your stomach. It grows bigger, warmer with each thrust until breathing is nearly impossible and...it is Geralt’s hand, strong and calloused that has slid along your jaw and found your throat to squeeze just enough around your windpipe for you to feel dizzy and heighten each sensation in a rush. Almost.

Maybe Witchers can read minds. This one certainly seems to as his other hand abandons its purchase, fingers reaching for the nub at the apex of the slick folds. Teasing. Circling. Tweaking. His breath is hot against your throat, fanning your ear as he tells you to come undone for him. Pleads you.

How can you deny that husky voice? It is impossible to stop the explosion that starts in your core, ricocheting with incredible force through your body which contorts until the storm recedes, leaving your blissed-out in your Witcher’s arms, gasping for breath now that air flows freely.

Hair sticks to faces, necks, only stubbornly brushed aside once Geralt has laid you down, tugging you close.

“My wild flower,” he mumbles against your cheek and you can feel the smile on his lips, “get some rest.”

There will be a lot to talk about, secrets to explain before anything can begin to make sense, but right now...rest sounds good.

[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (18)

Something’s got to give eventually.

She just never expected it would be her.

It’s lunchtime, and they’re trying to navigate the strange, new dynamics that come from Ino trying to gain Sakura’s attention rather than the other way round.

She’s noticed that, despite bringing her normal lunchbox, Sakura has been picking at her food recently. As though she somehow finds it all somehow unappetizing.

It’s beginning to get a little worrying, so she brought something she knows the pink haired girl enjoys, just to make sure her blood sugar stays up at least.

She wordlessly holds out a skewer of dango to the pink-haired girl.

“Oh, no thank you.” Sakura says. “I’m on a diet—got to watch my figure you know!”

What.

“What?” Ino asks.

The wooden dango stick splinters in her fingers.

“What.” She says.

Over the blood rushing in her ears, she faintly hears someone go “oh no”.

“What do you mean, diet?” Her voice is as calm as she can make it.

Sakura flinches back, so she wasn’t as successful as she hoped she’d be.

Her tone is clipped when she replies, “You know, it’s not attractive to eat so much food, especially not unhealthy stuff. I’m working on fixing that. You should too, Mayu-chan, Ino-chan! We could be so pretty if we just lost a teeny bit of weight!”

No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend yet Tamara, the way you scoff down food like a pig.

She stands up, chair skittering away from her. She doesn’t grab Sakura’s collar, but it’s a near thing.

“Do you know when it’s acceptable to be on a diet?” She hears herself asking. “If you have food restrictions that it will kill you to violate, like diabetes or lactose intolerance. If your religion has foods that it’s not acceptable to eat, like pork or beef or animal products. If you want to improve your health by eating food to supplement an increase in activity, to build up protein for your muscles and iron in your blood. But thinking it’ll improve your looks...”

She hisses, “Open your mouth.”

“Wh-what?” Sakura leans away, hand coming up to try and cover the mentioned body part.

“M-Mayu-chan, hold on—” Naruto tries to caution.

She grabs Sakura’s hand, yanking her forward.

At this distance, her teeth don’t seem discolored and her breath doesn’t smell like bile...

“At least you’re not «bulimic».” She grumbles, dropping the limb. “So it’s just «anorexia» we’ve got to deal with. Shit.”

“W-what are you talking about, Mayu-chan?!” The pink-haired girl demands. “Those—those words, wh-what do they even mean?”

“They’re shitty eating disorders.” She tries to keep ahold of her temper. If she doesn’t know any better, it’s okay. She can be taught, she can be helped. “«Bulimia» is where you compulsively overeat and then throw up the meal. «Anorexia» is denying yourself food altogether. Both are symptoms of mental disorder, and done under the delusion that shitty starving will somehow lead to beauty. So why are you wasting food for this shitty delusion?”

Sakura flinches at the words “mental disorder”.

“T-th-that all sounds made up!” She blusters. “E-everyone knows that boys like thin girls best! My mom and Ino’s mom and all of Ino’s mom’s magazines say so!”

She throws her hands up. “What are you even talking about?! What boys?!”

Sakura’s eyes glance to Uchiha and away.

“Oh. Oh Sakura, no.” She says, despairing. “You’re—”

“What?!” Sakura cuts her off. “Do you not think I’m good enough?! Is the sidekick too presumptuous for trying to catch up to the heroine and the rival?!”

Okay, now she’s just completely lost.

“Sidekick?” Ino says, hands held up placatingly. “What do you mean, sidekick?”

Sakura laughs, a high and shrill sound. “Don’t pretend you don’t know! That’s all I’ve ever been to you! Just-just following you around, with no strength of my own! If it weren’t for you, nobody would even notice if I disappeared! Nobody would care! They’re all your friends, not mine!”

Ino shrinks back. “That’s-that’s not true Sa—”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” The pink-haired girl’s chest heaves for a moment before the all rage in her expression and posture just...vanishes. Like she’s slipped on a mask.

It’s more than slightly disturbing.

Sakura exhales, a sweet smile on her lips. “I’m going to be a strong, ladylike kunoichi heroine on my own terms. Strong enough to beat all of you. If any of you have a problem with that, you can just keep your stupid mouths shut.”

So saying, she picks up her things and flounces to an empty table at the back of the room.

She pulls out a chair and resolutely turns her back to the rest of them.

There’s a moment of silence where they all stare at each other.

“...What just happened?” Naruto asks in a hoarse whisper.

She shrugs. It started out with vile words about diets and beauty that still set her teeth on edge, then went to Sakura’s awful taste in boys, then something about her not having friends?

That last one stings, honestly.

Ino curls into herself, looking miserable.

“She’s not a sidekick, she’s my friend, my best friend, but why, why—” The blonde girl looks up, pupil-less eyes lost and sad. “Am I a bad friend?”

“Nah.” Shikamaru says. “You’re fine. She’s just being troublesome.”

Chouji nods, reaching over the table to squeeze Ino’s hand and making gentle hushing noises as Ino’s shoulders hitch with sobs.

Sakura’s back twitches.

So she’s listening in then.

“I don’t get it.” Kiba complains, hugging Akamaru to his chest. “Why wouldn’t we want Billboard Brow to be strong? Isn’t she already strong anyway?”

“Ask Uchiha.” Shino says, stabbing a straw into his juicebox. “Why? Because he has repeatedly expressed disdain for Haruno’s abilities on the basis of her civilian status.”

“I have not!” Uchiha snaps. “It’s not my fault that civilians aren’t as prepared as clan ninja!”

“I rest my case.” Shino mumbles around his straw.

She massages the bridge of her nose. “Look, playing the blame game is not what we need right now. Not when our friend’s so intent on starving herself to death.”

“Is she?” Shikamaru asks, almost carelessly. “Our friend, I mean.”

There’s a quiet inhale around the table.

Sakura’s posture is tenser than a set tripwire.

“Of course she is!” Naruto slams his hands down on the table. “What kinda question is that?!”

“A rough patch is nothing to jump ship over.” She scoffs, biting into the spurned dango. “Usopp and Nami and Robin all had them, didn’t they?”

“And they all literally jumped ship.” Shikamaru mutters, though with less heat behind it.

“Gi-give her time.” Hinata murmurs diplomatically. “It’s-it’s awful, to be ho-hounded. Let her ha-have room to breathe.”

Ino blows her nose noisily on a napkin. Her eyes are bloodshot.

“Anything.” The blonde says shakily. “Anything she needs.”

Chouji leans over the table to give her a hug.

“Anything she needs” turns out to be close to two weeks of pointed silences and increasing misery.

Poor Lee has it bad, because he wasn’t even there for the big blowup. Sakura will at least be civil towards him, but the tension between his crush and Naruto and her with no remedy in sight upsets him, though he does his best not to show it.

At least they’ve finally found a store that will sell them the materials and instructions on how to build twelve smallish shrines that can withstand the elements, so silver linings.

They just need to buy the right colors of waterproof paint and some offerings and it’ll all be ready.

Just in time too.

Now at lunchtime, she feels increasingly keyed up at the sight of Sakura’s steadily diminishing portions, getting more and more agitated until digging her nails into her legs is the only thing stopping her from marching over there and— and—

And at this point she’d almost be more worried if this was all her than if it wasn’t.

It gets to the point where she pours it all out to Gai-sensei one morning during training, while Naruto and Lee are busy sparring.

Gai-sensei’s eyebrows furrow, and he’s quiet for a long time.

“Sometimes,” He says eventually. “My most cool and hip rival does not feel very youthful. There are days where he is fighting many battles in his head. So many that plenty of tasks become like perilous trials in his already burdened state. Do you know what I do?”

She shakes her head

He smiles. “I try to see what he needs. Some days, he needs privacy and time, so I give that to him. Others, he needs a reminder of the present, that the battles in his mind need not impede the Springtime of our Youth, so we undertake most youthful challenges together.”

He claps a hand on her shoulder. “Your rival is trying her best to blossom as you and Naruto and Lee have done. You merely need to be there as best you can for her, to judge whether it is prudent to give her time or to test her mettle against yours. Do not try to force it. A rival is an equal, someone who you trust to stand alongside you rather than someone you need to protect.”

“I’m not sure if Sakura’s my rival.” She admits, rubbing the back of her neck. “...but I thought we were equals. I just don’t know why she thinks that I don’t think she’s my friend.”

“You did say that her attempts to improve herself, however ill-advised, meant she was insane.” Gai-sensei points out.

What?

Oh.

Oh.

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” She says miserably.

Gai-sensei ruffles her hair. “Not to worry, Mayu-chan! Admitting you have a problem is the first step to being able to rectify it!”

She thunks her head against her knees and groans.

So she’s made mistakes and needs to make up for them.

The only problem now is working out how.

It’s something she puzzles over for most of breakfast, and on their walk to the Academy.

Gai-sensei said to let Sakura “test her mettle” if she’d had enough time to herself.

And those terms she keeps using—sidekick, heroine, rival—sound like something out of a comic book or cheesy novel.

Wait.

Narrative roles.

The part of her that’s been trained to break down literature and rebuild it into a coherent thesis begins ticking over the possibilities.

She cautiously grins to herself. “I think I know how to help Sakura.”

Naruto and Lee look at her with naked hope in their eyes.

It’s like her favorite quote says: The value in fairy tales isn’t that they tell us dragons exist—but that dragons can be beaten.

Fortunately for her, today is a sparring day.

Even more fortunately, her first opponent is Shikamaru.

He can see she’s up to something so he forfeits in record time.

When Sakura stands opposite her, she gives her best innocent smile while they lock fingers.

“Y’know, I still don’t get why you’re even interested in that guy. You’re about a million times prettier than him, you know.”

So that’s what pink hair looks like against a red face and thERE is a punch.

It’s wimpy compared to what she’s previously seen, no real force or form behind it.

“A-are your eyes working?” Sakura sputters, trying to regain her composure. “Of course he’s prettier!”

She grins, making no move to fight back beyond blocking or dodging. “Eh, you’re a ten out of ten, he’s a five on a good day.”

She thinks she hears Uchiha screech from the sidelines as Sakura tries to force her emotions back under the mask. She darts in and pokes her opponent’s cheek before darting away again.

The pink-haired girl makes a sound not unlike a whistling kettle and begins to chase her around the ring.

“You honestly think you can beat me as you are now?” She taunts, mentally cringing at the line. “You can’t win if you keep half-assing it. You’re better than this Sakura, I know you are.”

“No. I’m. Not.” The next kick actually whistles past her ear. “I need to get stronger so he’ll look at me. I need to get stronger so you and Ino-chan don’t get hurt again!”

She darts forward to flick her opponent’s arm. “And this is the best way? Constantly putting yourself down, starving yourself, playing weak to look “ladylike”? Could you even protect Akamaru by hiding your strength like this?”

A growl emerges from Sakura’s throat. “You wanna see strength? I’ll show you strength, shannaro!!”

She spreads out her arms, grinning. “Finally. C’mon heroine. Stop holding back and show me what you really can do!”

Sakura’s punch connects so hard stars burst behind her eyelids.

She stumbles back a step or two and spits the excess blood into her palm.

She blinks at the small white things that come with it, poking experimentally around her mouth with her tongue.

Chopper’s Rumble Balls.

Sakura’s actually knocked her front teeth out.

They’re only baby teeth, but still. She can’t really help her burst of slightly incredulous laughter.

And this—this bubblegum bruiser thinks she’s just the sidekick.

Whispery boisterous laughter echoes in her ears.

She feels like her grin is going to split her face in two.

The pink-haired girl is babbling, horror clear on her face. “Oh my gosh, Mayu-chan, are you okay?! I’m so—”

She holds up a warning finger. “Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize for that, Haruno. If you do, I’ll kick your ass, I swear to Luffy.”

Haruno Sakura stares at her, bewilderment, guilt and irritation flashing across her face.

Then she squares her shoulders.

“As if you could.”

Iruka-sensei calls off the match then and there before they can really get into it, unfortunately.

He sends her inside to wash the blood out of her mouth once he’s reassured that it was only her baby teeth she’s lost.

He seems perturbed when she mentions putting the teeth under her pillow for the Tooth Fairy. Telling him that the Tooth Fairy gives good children money for more than one tooth doesn’t appear to help matters.

She gets back outside in time to see Sakura rush at Ino with a grin that bares all her teeth.

Ino, for her part, stares at her friend with something like amazed awe in her eyes, and only very narrowly dodges a black eye at the last second.

Their fight can only be called “dance-like” in the sheer synchronization of throwing blows. Otherwise it’s nothing that can be called elegant, or Nami, Robin and Vivi forbid, dainty.

It’s one of the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. She thinks they might even surpass Naruto and Uchiha’s fights in terms of passion.

And now she sounds like Gai-sensei.

Maybe time to quit her musings while she’s ahead.

She sidles up to Naruto. “How‘s Sakura?” She lisps quietly.

“So awesome.” Naruto breathes almost without realizing it, transfixed on the girl in the ring.

She pokes him in the side. He jumps and scowls at her.

“Kaa-san’s gonna ban you from cooking again, believe it.” He informs her.

“Not if you don’t tell she won’t.” She replies, doing her best imitation of his puppy-eyes.

“I’m gonna tell.” Naruto says immediately, the traitor. “And I’mma tell Tou-san and Gai-sensei that you stood there and let Sakura-chan hit you.”

She breaks out in a cold sweat at the thought of all the extra kata her father and Gai-sensei will put her through when they hear that she was messing around in a spar.

She flops forward at the waist. “Ugh.”

Naruto snickers.

She straightens up when Sakura and Ino begin screaming at each other about protection and supporting even really bad romantic endeavors and what sounds like the plot of a romance novel and standing side-by-side instead of in front or maybe in front is okay if they fight for it?

She doesn’t quite get what they’re saying.

Judging by their faces, neither do most of the Lunchtime Group, the rest of their class, or Iruka-sensei.

Well, even if it doesn’t quite make sense to her, Sakura looks a lot happier, if bruised and bloody.

That’s more than worth losing her front teeth and a week of cooking over, no matter how much the latter pains her.

She fiddles with the teeth in her palm, running her thumb over the root. They’re always so much smaller than it feels like they should be.

“Did people of your world really believe there’s a fairy that collects teeth?” Naruto mutters to her as Sakura lands the decisive blow.

“Kids were taught to.” She lisps back, doing a bit of mental math as the pink-haired girl throws herself into the arms of her downed opponent, the pair of them sobbing their eyes out. “You’d get, like, one ryō for three teeth.”

Naruto pulls a face that manages to be disgusted and delighted at the same time. “Your world is so weird, Mayu-chan.”

She tilts her head to the side and nods, as Ino and Sakura limp out of the ring and Kiba takes some of her weight as they head to the nurse’s office. “That’s fair.”

Sakura doesn’t join them for lunch that day, but she does move one table closer from the back.

The next day it’s two tables closer, despite the grumbles from some of the other boys in class as she perches at the end.

It continues in this pattern until Sakura’s sitting at the table behind them, pretending badly that she’s not interested.

She doesn’t quite understand why. The way Shino tells it, Kiba apparently broke Sakura’s window the evening after the spars by throwing a first aid kit through it.

Sakura’s parents thought it was a sweet gesture. His Ma was Not Happy.

Despite that, the pair of them came to school the next morning looking happier than they had for weeks. Ino and Sakura have been walking home together too.

Hinata turns around. “U-um, Sakura-chan?”

Sakura cocks her head, but no more than that. “Hm?”

“I-if it’s not too much trouble, w-would you like to si-sit with us for lunch?” Hinata says.

There’s a tense silence as Sakura tilts her head, considering.

The pink-haired girl exhales gustily. “Yes please, Hinata-chan.”

Naruto cheers as she gathers her things and sits back down in between Hinata and Ino.

“Hey, hey, Sakura-chan, do you wanna come over to Mayu’s this weekend? We’re gonna be painting shrines for the StrawHats, it’ll be really fun, believe it!” He asks eagerly.

Sakura’s brow furrows, but the smile she gives to Naruto is genuine. “I-I’d love to. Thank you for inviting me, even after...I-I’m really sorry I said...”

Naruto just beams at her. “S’okay! You’re our friend after all!”

She grins into her cherries as Sakura gets up to give him a great big hug.

That afternoon, they don’t have their usual lecture.

Instead, Iruka-sensei leads the class down the hall for a sneak peek at a new addition to the Academy curriculum that would be implemented next year.

“Now this comes from a new company based in Yukigakure.” He lectures. “They were kind enough to sell these weapons to Konoha at half the price they were selling to other hidden villages.”

There’s several large wooden crate, with heavily stylized kanji and a logo of four thin diamonds arranged in a strange pattern printed on its sides.

The kanji reads: Tsuruku Industries.

She’s not sure if that’s supposed to be a pun or not.

Iruka-sensei carefully lifts the lid off of the crate, and pulls out some of the packaging covering what’s inside as everyone crowds around.

“The Council has decreed that all Academy students from next year onwards need to be at least proficient in these as they are in kunai and shuriken to graduate. You all will still be on the old graduation plan, so your jounin-sensei will probably be the ones teaching you how to use them.” He explains.

Uchiha asks him something, but she can’t hear what it is.

She’s frozen at the sight of rows of gleaming black handguns and clear cases of bullets neatly packed into the styrofoam, all decorated with four thin diamonds.

She doesn’t think she can breathe.

«What the fuck.» She wheezes, before the world goes wobbly and sideways.

[rxdshood-a]

the ghost of you // self para

WHO: Jason Todd & Stephanie Brown. Mentions of Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake.

WORD COUNT: 3159 words. 

LOCATION: Wayne Manor.

GENERAL NOTES: Jason comes to visit Steph finally at the manor. Steph tells him what she knows. A self para with a sprinkling of technically self-interaction! Jason angsts. We all cry.

WARNINGS: Mentions of past death, injuries, anxiety, past trauma, violence, blood.

Jason hated being in the manor more than anything. There were too many ghosts. Too many foggy memories that made his chest tighten with a storm of emotions that he didn’t want to name. It loomed over him like it did back when he was a foot shorter and daunted by the fact that Bruce could change his mind at any moment. Even older and taller than he was back then it still feels daunting, the anxiety was already threatening to make him turn tail and run, but he had to do this. If not for Steph herself, but Tim.

The mere thought of Tim made Jason grimace, like poking at a sleeping bear with a stick his anger was reignited with a fury. The green that always lingered in the back of his mind seemed to perk up, circling like a shark. He had to take a few even deep breaths, fingers curled up into two tight fists before he could feel the anger and green smoke recede back. The combination of his unresolved anger at his brother’s disappearance and the anxiety and bad blood the manor brought was likely a disaster waiting to happen. Regardless, Jason trucked on. He had to. He would.

Opening the door to the manor Jason surveyed the long, seemingly quiet hallways. It was like getting slapped in the face with nostalgia. Half memories he could somewhat recall. There were some happy ones, like trying on the Robin suit for the first time. Him jumping out from behind the batcomputer and scaring Alfred, laughing in utter excitement and claiming it was the best day of his life. The nights he would sit in the kitchen and read while eating whatever cookies Alfred had made. The feeling of finally belonging. There were bad memories too. Screaming matches with Bruce, too many ‘I’m not Dick!’s thrown around. Too many plans made with Dick that were left abandoned, Jason hoping and staying too close to the phone only to be met with silence. Lashing out at Dick as he reached the end of his very short line of patience with him, going as far to break formation in their sparring session to bite the older Robin’s arm.

Dick still had a scar on his arm from the incident. 

The anxiety stayed a constant presence, each step up the long manor stairs feeling all too dread inducing. The silence in the manor was something that Jason hated more than anything, even as a kid. It was so big and so quiet. The silence was always broken anytime Dick actually visited, whether it was broken by his squabbles with Bruce, or the pair of them actually laughing and enjoying video games or movies together. Other than that the silence was broken by him, making his presence bigger and louder. Constantly he was yelling, being reprimanded by the butler for shouting at inappropriate times, the laughter whenever he and Alfred would cook dinner together. If he didn’t make extra noise then Jason would drown in the silence, the cold the silence brought as the cavern between him and Bruce grew and grew, all before he even had died and it had become a grand canyon between them. 

It was just one foot after the other. Simple, right? Wrong. 

Each step brought ghosts, memories he didn’t want. Flickers of memories that haunted the man every time something triggered it. Passing the library, days and nights spent in there, reading all he could and perking up anytime Bruce entered, giving him a book suggestion. The time spent there together, reading in silence and feeling the smile that would play at his lips as he did, constantly aware of the man’s presence. It was their own form of bonding, it didn’t leave Jason no matter how hard he tried to forget it. The hope it gave him that led him to believe he actually could have a father. A family.

A shudder wracked through Jason’s body and he pushed forward, trying not to linger outside the library. A closed, all too familiar door, had him stopping in his tracks once more. His stomach lurched as he found his feet bringing him to the door, hand laying flat against the cool wood and staring at the doorknob like it’d open itself. 

His room. His old bedroom. If it wasn’t locked, Jason was sure that if he opened up that door it would be just how he had left it before it all. His clothes all folded and tucked away in the wardrobe drawers. His textbook lay on the desk collecting dust. The mere thought had Jason grimacing and staggering back, immediately looking away. Ghosts. It was a thought that had made itself repeatedly known the moment he stepped onto the Wayne Manor grounds. There was a piece of this place that wouldn’t ever leave him, no matter how far he traveled. It’d always be a part of him, as much as he despised it. 

Jason knew what room Steph was in, had been lamenting on it, whether he wanted to even do this, but ultimately pushed through. It wasn’t hard to figure she’d be holed up in Tim’s room. It didn’t take the skills of a Robin to know that she’d be in his room. As far as he knew of, Steph hadn’t seen many people save for those in the manor currently. Refusing to see anyone, staying silent on the groupchat end. He didn’t blame her. This trauma was something Jason was entirely too familiar with. 

(The sound of maniacal cackling echoed in his head, phantom pains of bones breaking and sticky blood beneath his body caused Jason to shudder.)

It wasn’t something you could get over within a few days. Months even. She was grieving and processing trauma she endured all in one sitting. That could knock even the most trained bat kids on their ass. There’s only so much you can compartmentalize before it's all spilling over and you’re cracking and breaking at every seam. Maybe it comes out in anger like it did with Jason. Or maybe it came out in agonizing sadness. Whatever Jason was about to walk into, he was more than wary to see what state the Gotham girl was in. Scared that he may just see entirely too much of himself reflected back in her. 

Approaching the door, Jason hesitated in his approach. He didn’t like feeling like this, off balance. The manor did that to him, left him unstable and on shaky ground that never stopped moving underneath his feet. A heavy sigh left the man and he scowled, finally making a decision and moving forward, turning the doorknob in his hand and entering the bedroom. The sight of the evidence walls was what Jason registered first, entirely too amazed at how chaotic Tim’s brain seemed to work. He was constantly analyzing, thinking, moving. That was reflected in the evidence thrown up on his walls. Then his green eyes moved to the unmoving lump buried under the comforter on the former Robin’s bed, a tuft of blonde hair sticking out near the pillows. 

“Your footsteps don’t sound like Alfred. Too light to be Bruce’s, but too heavy to be Dick’s. So I can only assume it’s Jason.”

Steph’s voice startled Jason slightly, hand gripping the doorknob entirely too tight as he stared into the bedroom and hovered in the doorway. He didn’t know what to say. What do you say in these situations? You would think he’d be an expert on this, how to deal with trauma from torture and yet. 

“Look at you. You still got those Robin trained ears.” Jason’s voice sounded stilted against the silence of the room. 

“Not Robin anymore, or Batgirl. Or Spoiler even.”

Jason frowned at that, finally fully entering the room and shutting the door behind him quietly. He grabbed the desk chair at Tim’s unoccupied desk and sat down, wheeling it closer to the bedside but still staying a slight distance away to give her the space she may want. Her back was still to him, unmoving, not even shifting to look at him when he sat down. 

“What does that mean?”

A sharp sigh, irritation bleeding into the girl’s tone in an instant, “what do you think it means, Jason? I’m nothing. I’m hanging up the suit. I’m burning it, whatever I can do to get it away from me. What good am I as a vigilante, as some makeshift hero, if I can’t even save Tim?” The tremble was clear in her voice now, body seeming to follow suit in the way it was now shaking beneath the covers. “I was like a lamb sent to the slaughter. I made it so easy for them to get me and use me as a pawn so he could get to Tim. How am I supposed to believe I can help people like that? I let Tim get sent off to his death, Jason.”

Her words had Jason alarmed in an instant. Death? 

“Stephanie, you didn’t do anything. Ra’s al Ghul is one fucked up old ass man with a lot of experience and power at his fingertips. He would’ve done something, anything, to get to Tim one way or another, even if it meant not using you to get to him. You didn’t send him off to his death, I don’t—” Jason let out a harsh breath, running his hands through his hair and causing entirely too many strands to stick up every which way in a chaotic mess. “How would you have sent him off to his death? You didn’t do anything to cause that, Stephanie. We will find him. You know we won’t stop until we do.”

The silence grew, tension palpable in the air of the room and then finally, the lump that Jason had been talking to moved. Steph hissed and shifted to turn to look at him head on, tugging the blanket down and moving enough that she was propped up somewhat against the stack of pillows behind her. Jason took in the purple and yellowing bruises on her face, the bandage covering her cheek. The finger shaped bruises that were healing on her chin and neck were enough to cause his stomach to roll, a flare of anger igniting in his chest. There was a peak of a bandage from the collar of her sweater that was laid over her collarbone. Ra’s clearly did a number on her, it made Jason grimace. The poor kid. 

“He took him, Jason.” Steph started, swallowing hard and tears shining in her tired eyes. “He wanted him. He kept going on about his obsession with Tim, that he wanted him and that’s why he used me. That Tim would yield to him because—” a broken sob left Stephanie’s mouth and before Jason registered it, his calloused fingers closed around hers and squeezed, her smaller hand trembling in his. “—because he wanted to save me, a girl that he thought he could have even though...even though Ra’s had already ‘laid claim’. He’s with him, Jason. Wherever Ra’s is, that is where you’ll find Tim.”

She looked exhausted. The words having taken a toll on her already bruised and battered body. Jason’s mind was going fast, taking in all the information the girl had offered up to him. His hand squeezed her own and he swallowed hard. That was more information than any of them had. He could work with that. He could get Tim back, or try to at least. 

“He’ll expect you.” 

Stephanie’s words had Jason faltering, looking at her face with a furrowed brow, “what do you mean?”

“The bats. I’m sure he’ll expect us. We’re his family. Of course we’d go after him. We’re just some trained vigilantes he’s come up against before. He has his knowledge on us already, I have no doubts about that. So how do we get around that? How do we get an edge against, as much as I fucking loathe to admit, an incredibly intelligent man?” 

The thought posed a good question, Jason at a loss of an answer and merely shook his head, looking to Steph to see where she was going with this. 

“Would he be expecting powered individuals who care just as much for Tim as we do?” Steph finally asked and in a moment it clicked, Jason sitting up fully with wide eyes.

“You want to have his old team help save him.”

Steph nodded. It was a valid thought. It was the bare bones of a plan, an idea barely if he was honest. Despite the clear anguish and pain in the girl’s features there was a fire that burned in her eyes, one he recognized in his own gaze, in Tim’s. It came with the territory of being a Gotham kid, of seeing this city in all its ugly glory and still loving it with everything you had in you. No matter how many times it beat you down, unrelenting and merciless in the pain it dealt upon you, you still came back. You still called it home, nowhere would compare, no matter how hard you tried. It was different for those who weren’t born here, grew up in its grungy streets and was brought up in the belly of the beast. 

Sure, Dick grew up there to a degree, but he didn’t really get it. Not in Jason’s mind at least. Tim got it, of course he did. He was a Gotham boy, born and raised, but he and Steph understood it differently. They saw the streets, the ugly and violence that you had to wade your way through, trusting yourself before anyone else. Jason came out jaded, guarded and all too quick to throw out harsh and angry words to keep people at arm’s length. Steph on the other side of the coin was warm and loud, personality filling up a room in an instant to fill up the emptiness she felt and mistrust she quietly hid behind big smiles and sarcastic quips. That mistrust stayed with you, no matter how long you hadn’t been fighting your way through Gotham’s shady underworld. 

What also stayed with you was a fire that no matter how dim it got, stayed lit. Gotham could break your spirits, your bones, your everything, but you’d still come back kicking and screaming. All Gothamites did. That was the fire that Jason saw in Steph’s eyes, the determination that was attempting to trump the trauma and fear she clearly felt. Despite how much pain and emotional trauma she had been put through with her time spent at Ra’s hands, she was still determined to get Tim back. It was a sentiment that Jason could return.

The thought of being anywhere close to the man had shivers running up Jason’s spine. The thought that they both shared the pit rage and the effects of it made him sick. He never wanted anything in common with that man. To think that he could lash out in a similar way to the villain painted a grimace upon his face. There were nights he wondered if the old fuck ever agonized over it like he did. If he felt out of control when that green haze crept to the forefront of his brain and took over, painting everything an angry, ugly shade of green that made him go charging in like a bull. Probably not. Jason hated that part of him more than anything like he had been broken and put together wrong when he came back. There were jagged edges that stuck out still, cutting even those he cared for the most despite himself. 

Looking at Steph, Jason saw too much of himself. She was falling apart, doing her best to keep it together enough to tell him what she knew, the only way she thought she could help in her state. His fingers squeezed hers and his lips pulled up the faintest bit in a smile. He was never good at this part, being comforting. He wasn’t Dick who comfort seemed to come to all too easily. His comfort was stilted at best, unsure and awkward, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Even when he was Robin there were far too many times Dick had the right thing to say to quiet the fierce anger that raged inside of him. It was one reason he had looked up to the first Robin so much, he was just so good at everything he did while Jason felt like everything he touched turned rotten and crumbled beneath his fingertips. 

“Thank you for telling me, Steph.” 

Was that the right thing to say? Sometimes...sometimes Jason wished he could ask his brother for advice without the immediate urge to take it back, to lash out in unresolved anger he held towards the older man. 

“I know this is hard to talk about, that you’re having a hard time with this, but this will help. We’ll find him. You know we will.” Jason said firmly, the former Batgirl’s fingers trembling in his own and a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I hope so. God, I hope so.” Steph’s breath hitched and a sob fell from her lips, pulling her hand back in an instant to cover her face with both of them. 

“Hey, you did good. You did great, even. Come on, lay back down. You talked enough for one day.” Jason soothed, standing up and pushing the desk chair back to gently wrap his scarred fingers around Stephanie’s arms and squeezed. 

He eased her back down into a lying position, hating the way her sobs and hiccups tugged painfully at his heart. As much of a pain in the ass she was, Jason had grown fond of the girl who stuck around the bats and had heart eyes for the boy he once loathed for replacing him, now a little brother in his eyes. He pulled the blanket up over Steph’s trembling form and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. 

“You tell anyone I was this nice to you, I’ll kick your ass.”

A startled laugh left Steph, it obviously surprised both of them if her eyes widening a beat later was anything to go by. Jason’s lips pulled up into a wry smile and he patted her shoulder. 

“Get some rest, kid.”

Stepping back, Jason looked at the larger than life girl who now seemed entirely too small and reluctantly moved out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence in the manor halls weighed down on him. Jason had vital information now, but no plan. He hardly ever was the man with a plan, that was Tim, even Dick. Now he had to be that man to save his little brother and bring him back home. He had no idea how in the hell he was going to do that. 

[sassyshoulderangel319]

Patch Up - A Jason Todd One-Shot

I talked to @jason-redhood​ about this one a while ago and just got it finished. Thank you so much, my friend! You’re awesome!

Warnings: violence, mentions of graphic violence and some blood but nothing terribly gory

JT/RH tag list: @welovegroot​ @jason-todd-squad​

“You are such an idiot.”

Not the best first thing to hear after waking up from being unconscious. I grunted. “Good morning to you too, Jason,” I mumbled.

“Y’know, we take pretty bad beatings in this life, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get that royally thrashed,” Jason remarked. I peeled my eyes open to see a pair of blue eyes looking at me, a green ring around the pupils.

“Got jumped,” I mumbled.

Jason helped me sit up. “You look like death reheated.”

“I feel like death reheated.” I rubbed my temple. Flecks of red-brown flaked off. Dried blood. “What happened?”

Jason made a face. “Well...”

---

Two Days Ago...

---

I hung on to Jason’s elbow loosely, looking around the crowded room with idle curiosity. I could vaguely hear him introducing our aliases to important people in the room. “Good evening. My name is Maxwell and this is my girlfriend Victoria...” Truth be told I wasn’t paying much attention to him.

I was a simple girl from a simple world. I had incredible powers, but I grew up completely ordinary. The secrets of the upper class world of the rich and powerful were intriguing to me.

Even if the excess was a bit disgusting.

Jason tugged my hand. “Darling,” he said, trying to get my attention.

“Yeah, babe?” I replied.

“This is Thomas Owen, one of the kings of the pharmaceutical industry.”

I thanked past-me for deciding this formal event required over-the-elbow satin gloves, because they hid the fact that my knuckles went white around Jason’s elbow as my grip tightened fairly well. I put on the most false, forced smile I’d ever made. Nothing frustrated me more than jerks like this making bank on the suffering of others. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Victoria.”

“Thomas. I assure you, the pleasure is mine,” the man said, beaming at me genuinely. He was in his fifties with quick eyes and salt-and-pepper hair.

Jason edged slightly into Thomas’ line-of-sight, cutting me off from his view. “My mother worked in pharmaceuticals for most of her career,” Jason said to Thomas.

I tuned out again. I knew exactly why Jason stepped between me and the older man. That man’s salacious grin was enough to make anyone protective of whoever the grin’s target was. Jason knew untoward behavior when he saw it. I’d never been brave enough to ask whether he knew from personal experience or just training with Batman. My best guess was possibly a little of both, but Jason had never been anything but respectful toward me. And every other woman I’d ever seen him interact with---superhero or not.

Maybe he just always assumed every woman he met could probably kick his butt.

A safe assumption, in my opinion.

Jason and Thomas spoke for a few more minutes while I observed the rest of the party. The person we were looking for would be heavily guarded---but if they were smart, the guards were dressed to blend in almost perfectly with the crowd.

That being said, targets of ours were never as smart as they could be. The guards were blatantly obvious. Men in tuxedoes---who most definitely didn’t pull them off as well as Jason did---standing around the perimeter.

Wires in full view, hands folded in front of them. It was like they really wanted to be seen and noticed. Maybe it was a power play. A display of intimidation.

It wasn’t working.

“Darling, would you care to dance?” Jason asked as the music turned from idle talking soundtrack to acceptable dance tune.

I smiled at him. “Of course, my love,” I said.

Jason and I shared a look that held a gag of irritation. Pretending to be dating was almost awkward after everything our relationship had been through.

We started to waltz around the dancefloor. Jason was remarkably elegant. Much better than I expected of a man of his stature and attitude. He held me so close our chests were touching. His head was bent low near mine. “Six o’clock. Wearing the grey bowtie.” He spun me under his arm slow enough that I caught sight of the target. “There’re too many people here. It’d be unwise to take out the target with this many eyes,” he whispered, lips blocked by my falling hair.

“I agree. We could take on the security guards but not the whole crowd,” I replied quietly, barely moving my lips like a ventriloquist.

“Wait till morning?” he asked.

“Good idea.”

He pulled back enough to look at my face. He gave me a grin---the kind that an outsider would think was lovestruck but I knew was just intensely good acting---and leaned down. I tilted up on my tiptoes to meet him and we shared a quick kiss.

Not long after that, we went to our room in the hotel, a few floors above the party. Jason was kind enough to let me shower and change first before he did the same. We’d agreed beforehand that sharing the bed for one night wasn’t going to kill us and we could be mature about it. So I was curled up on my side, back to the bathroom, when Jason returned.

“Starbeam?”

“Hmm?” I replied, his voice jolting me out of my reverie. I twisted to face him.

“Are we set on the plan for tomorrow morning?” He perched on the edge of the bed and glanced at me over his shoulder.

“Yup.” I nodded.

“One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you mind if I sleep without a shirt on? They always get too twisted up.”

You are a mature and professional superhero. You are on a mission. Don’t be weird about it, I thought sharply. I shook my head. “I don’t care,” I said, forcing myself not to care.

I heard him strip off his shirt. “Thanks. G’night.”

“Night.”

He bedded down next to me. We weren’t forced to be close to each other by any means---it was a king-sized bed---but once he was under the covers I could feel his body heat. Holy cannoli the man was a space heater. I thought about removing my pajamas just so I wouldn’t overheat.

But I didn’t. I’d be fine.

I rolled so my back was to him again. I wasn’t terribly tired, all things considered, but I knew I’d need adequate rest to take down our target in the morning without being exhausted. Part of the vigilante lifestyle was perpetual exhaustion but sometimes I could mitigate just how badly I wanted to pass out at any given time.

Normally if I wasn’t tired, I wouldn’t go to sleep, but the background fatigue that accompanied my life lulled me to sleep pretty quickly.

If I dreamt, I don’t remember what I dreamt about. It was one of those nights where I blinked and it was morning.

Except morning came abruptly.

CRASH! The door was kicked open, the frame around the lock splintering.

Jason and I sat up and leapt out of the bed on pure instinct. Jason reached for his gun and I started to drum up my energy for my powers.

Before I could even begin to use my telekinesis for anything, one of the intruders---who, like the other four, was wearing all black with a ski mask over their head---shot me with something.

Electricity coursed through my body.

A taser.

A smart move. Overloading my body and mind with energy so I couldn’t focus on my powers or even move my muscles. Part of me was surprised that they didn’t just shoot me with proper bullets though.

I heard Jason shout---but couldn’t make out the words---as the one who shot me approached with a baton. It was wider and shorter than Nightwing’s escrima sticks but I knew what blunt force bludgeoning damage would be like from sparring with Nightwing.

Jason took on the other four on his own while I twitched on the floor, helpless, as the baton struck me again and again. I was aware of the pain, but incapable of doing anything about it. I couldn’t even scream. I got hit hard enough---several times---to split open my skin, blood warming my skin where it oozed from the cuts.

The grunts and flesh-on-flesh sounds from Jason’s fight got louder---and then softer.

Another strike of the baton made my vision blur.

I coughed weakly, not even sure how I was supposed to cry out for Jason. I couldn’t use his name---but did I dare call him Hood? I doubted there was a chance our cover was still intact; but could I risk that?

Heck, could I even move my mouth enough to cry out for him? The electricity was still making me twitch uncontrollably as I was struck.

“He---help!” I managed to gag out, not very loud.

I heard Jason’s grunt as one of the three he was facing went down.

The one with the baton raised it again. I squeezed my eyes shut.

But the blow never came.

Opening my eyes again---vision still blurry---I saw Jason, still missing his shirt, throwing the baton-wielder to the ground.

I blinked blearily, slowly regaining control of my muscles. They shook as I tried to get up.

“Star---Starbeam!” Jason shouted.

My vision swarmed with dots and everything went black.

---

Today...

---

I made a face. “Oh yeah. That sucked,” I muttered, trying to sit up.

Jason put his hand on my shoulder, holding my in place. “Oh no you don’t. You’re staying down. You took a bad beating.”

“But I---”

“Starbeam,” he interrupted, a serious expression on his face. Outside of The Work™, it was rare to see Jason quite so serious. He had a sarcastic, playful, nerdy sort of personality when he wasn’t bashing heads in and blowing brains out. “We’re in a safehouse. It’s okay. Just stay down.”

I groaned. The pain sweeping over me was acute.

Jason leaned over and pulled a washcloth out of a bowl, ringing it out in said bowl before dabbing the cloth over my head wounds. He was remarkably gentle, even though his hands were rough and callused when his skin brushed mine. I sighed, eyes fluttering closed, and leaned into his soft touch, searching for the comfort it provided.

“This is gonna hurt. I’m gonna reapply your bandages,” he warned.

“Mm,” I mumbled.

He disinfected the wounds he’d cleaned off, making me hiss in pain as it stung, but once the bandages were on, it wasn’t so bad.

“Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. You’re the best,” I said.

He smiled---but there was a sarcasm to it.

“Nuh-uh,” I put in before he could say anything. “No self-loathing or insecurity allowed when I’m complimenting you, ya hear?” I sounded like an exhausted but enthusiastic friend. That was good, right?

He chuckled. “Okay, okay. I hear.” He set his hand on top of my head. I cringed away as he pressed against a bruise.

I reached up with a bruised, bandaged hand and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t,” I said. “There’s a sore there.”

“Oh. Sorry,” he replied, not removing his hand from my grip.

Impulsively and not entirely thinking straight, I brought his hand to my mouth and pressed my lips to his knuckles---which were just as bloody as mine. “Thank you, Jay.”

He gave me a soft smile. “You’re welcome,” he said. Leaning forward, he placed a careful kiss on my forehead. “Get some rest.” His whisper brushed my skin. “I’ll be right here. You’re safe with me, Death Reheated.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “Shut up,” I retorted half-heartedly, eyes fluttering closed.

Jason held my hand as I drifted back off, finding my relief from the pain in sleep.

[hyperionswrath--archived]

@onepartbrave

“No,” came his automatic retort of pure, boneheaded defiance when questioned about his inability to behave. Amused by his own antics, a soft, half-smile formed aimlessly on his lips and Squall resumed keeping his attention on the hand he captured. Wasn’t like he could look Seifer in the eye presently as the blond’s forehead pressed against his shoulder, him reading a sense of urgency from the gesture. No… disorientation. Thorough, if it was anything like the rest of the night provided so far. He could relate—he was only keeping a reasonably level head from, one, not looking directly at the man presently, and two, copious loads of alcohol in his bloodstream.

When Seifer’s falsely apprehended hand moved in his grasp, Squall withdrew his hold slightly. His own pair didn’t wander far and he was thankful; a moment later, larger fingers entwined with his in a token so delicate, he momentarily forgot how to breathe. They had… never been gentle. Not one memory provided him with details of tenderness shared. Perhaps, in a sense, the blond helping prepare him for the horrors of the world was a nicety in itself, but physically, it had been nothing except harsh spars and even fiercer battles.

This… this was entirely new and that was more terrifying than any demons he’d faced prior.

Letting people into his heart backfired before and he was left alone, fractured, resulting in the apathetic loner he was before them. It had taken an impending calamity and relentless persistency for him to let them in, and after he still struggled to not revert. It was always the same, to this day. None had ever truly busted through…

…That’s wrong. He did. He always has.

Backtracking while his mind processed the image of him holding Seifer’s hand, other memories played like a movie for only him to see. Endless bickering, boastful taunting, always able to ignite a fire within otherwise icy eyes—Seifer had been the only one to provoke a constant reaction from him. Whether Squall showed it or not didn’t matter because the infuriating menace learned to read the slightest nuance in a ‘blank’ expression. The guy was never clueless on what he was feeling or, sometimes, even thought…

I just never saw it before… fuck.

While the revelation was shocking to an extent, Squall wasn’t overly stunned. More… relieved. Allayed the liquor hadn’t fashioned falsities in his head and all of his inner anguish was for a genuine reason. However, now he realised and accepted the logic, what was he to do with it? Sure, the toxicity in his veins might not have influenced his behaviour (with the exception of making him far too open and docile), what’s to say it hadn’t Seifer’s? Loathing as he was contemplating it… he didn’t want to become another body to warm anyone’s bed. On the other hand, the blond had been nothing but brutally honest with him since meeting yesterday (since him recalling their first meeting really…), so he deserved the benefits of any self-doubt. It wasn’t Seifer’s fault he hardly saw himself worth a ‘catch’, or whatever.

“…I’m not sure,” he responded eventually, quiet, tentative. Gaze pinned on their joined hands still, it was only tempted away at feeling faint gliding of the man’s other limb up, up, and up… until it stopped to coil supple digits in his hair. From lack of anyone else daring to brush fingers through his hair, the impact it had wrought a distinctive quiver through his form, running straight down his spine and leaving a tingle in its wake. He knew the definition of ‘touch-starved’ but with how clingy some of his friends were, never would’ve affixed the term with himself. Clearly, he was still learning new things about his character. Intriguing things. “I—I want—”

Timid all of a sudden, Squall’s train of thought cut off sharply as the heat in his face brightened tenfold. Certain he’d be glow in the dark soon, he couldn’t help sneaking a peek at the current object of his puzzling frustration. Really, he was a sucker for punishment sometimes because seeing that clueless yet anticipating face was worse. Swallowing thickly as his inhibitions fled, he maintained unwavering eye contact as he guided their united hands up at a leisurely pace until they were level with his shoulders. Throat feeling inexplicably dry, he wasn’t sure what possessed his next action was beyond his knowledge, but no regret surfaced, only respite.

Fearlessly, yet still donning a brilliant blush, he turned their hands around until the rear of Seifer’s was facing him and he ducked his head down to cross the slightest distance and pressed his lips there. Hesitant, entirely out of his element and second-guessing himself, but still no repentance.

“…I just dunno,” he repeated softly, then choosing to break the eye contact. Bashfulness running rampant through him, he lowered their interweaved hands to his lap and covered the man’s with his own. Absently, he pressed back against the one buried in his hair, too. “…Wha’ bout you?”

Huffing somewhere between exasperation and amusement, the blond shook his head when presented with the obvious denial of proper manners when commanding them. Willing to let it slide so long as the man sat still and didn't try to bail on him again for some ludicrous reason, he watched how infatuated the other seemed to be with his hand. Callused as it was from battles, wars, and holding weapons, the limbs were still slender, though not as delicate as the pale ones of his former rival. They were complete opposites in so many regards, even their lives had taken near to exact opposite directions every possible way. And still, here they were, close to each other, drawn to each other, much like the old saying that 'opposites attract'.

Was it that simple? Was that all behind why he just didn't seem to be remotely able to keep himself from the brunet? Having their hands entwined like this, it felt strangely warm, tingling wherever their skin touched, and he soon found his thumb drawing idle circles, enjoying the feel of smooth skin below his digit. The more he pondered on it, the more he realized he had never been gentle with anyone before. People where there to be used, as he was to be used in turn, there was no gentleness in that. Yet some part of him seemed eager to make up for all the things he had done in spite and vengefulness, all the hurt and pain he had caused, as laughable as it might seem to him.

Despite never having shared their thoughts on such matters - because why would they? - Seifer had a similar stance to letting people too close, allowing them to get under his skin and making himself vulnerable. He did not, however, shy away from being physical, both things usually completely separate things in his book. And still, right here, he did not pounce the brunet every chance he got with fierce flirtations but felt rather considerate, deeming it more important that his former rival felt safe and comfortable in their new-found closeness than to satiate a hunger that had been coiling inside him for decades.

Humming at the insecure statement in understanding, having thought as much, simultaneously aware of the slight shiver making the lithe body tremble when his fingers brushed through chocolate strands, he was for once the one patiently waiting. Well, outwardly at least. For inside he could feel the restlessness again, the urge to get closer, to have more of this. More blushing, more trembling, more of everything the brunet had to offer. Yet, he let the man ponder on his question, seeing in his face clear as day how his mind worked as if trying to come to grips with something.

And wasn't that crimson hue to high cheekbones the most gorgeous he had ever seen on porcelain features? That and what followed was enough to make Seifer hold his breath, allowing the other to move their hands, lifting them all the while holding his gaze prisoner with those stormy eyes full of intent. Plush lips grazing the barest, softest kiss on his hand, a gesture he'd usually mock and comment with a dismissive notion of not being the princess among the both of them, but right now all he could focus on was how innocent the gesture appeared to be. Which nudged an entirely different train of thought into motion. Shit... was the guy still a virgin? Or was he always this gentle?

Unable to hold that thought for too long, still staring with fascination into pale blue eyes that seemed, the longer he sank into them, to have a crystalline hint to them, he finally was able to let out the breath he'd been holding quietly if accompanied by a low hum. Faintly, the mere hint of a smile tugged on one corner of his lips as he, not without regret and reluctance, freed his hand from their tangled state to reach up and gently cup the brunet's cheek, digits once more grazing the skin with fascination.

"I do have some ideas...", he mumbled, finally able to look elsewhere, trailing down so emerald gaze could come to rest on the bow of decidedly soft lips. Briefly, the fingers in soft hair curled, giving in to the coiling in his insides, tugging at the hair in their grip, but releasing it in favor for resting between prominent shoulder blades, while his other hand wandered down, fingers taking the slightest, coaxing grip on Squall's chin, motioning him closer. The blond leaned up at that, no reasonable or clear thought able to form in his head anymore as he leaned in, his mouth ghosting against the others.