#I have no clue how I’m so low empathy and yet so high empathy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

puckyess · 4 years

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I Hope Part 2 | Roman Ahcan & Brock Caufield

For the morning crowd: Get your tissues ready! I’m super happy with how this turned out. Let me know your favorite part. Listen to the Afterglow/Ghostin’ mashup for some extra sadness (linked on my blog). S/o to @penaltbox for getting this one going ❤️❤️

*Italics indicate flashbacks

*** FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED***

Words: 10.1k

Part 1 // Part 3

“I forgive you, Ro, I really do. It’s the forgetting that’s the hard part. I can forgive, but I can’t forget”

Your words hung heavy in the air and he accepted them graciously. You had just basically rejected Roman, the least you could do now was offer him a place to crash for the night. While his apology had brought you some nice closure, you weren’t ready to jump into a relationship with him and at this point, you weren’t even sure you wanted to anymore. He definitely still had a hold on you, but that’s what scared you. He had just piled a lot on you and you needed some time to digest it all. Doing that with him a room away was not ideal, but you didn’t have the heart to throw him out, especially at this hour.

“Do you want to stay here tonight? It’s late, well early now. I don’t want you out this time of night” you asked him. It felt odd to ask him to stay in a non romantic way after everything.

“On the couch?” He shyly questions.

You crack a smile at his shyness, a contrast to the overconfident Ro you were used to getting. “Yes, on the couch, Ro”.

He agrees after some prodding and that’s how you find yourself digging through the drawer that used to be his, but is now someone else’s, for clothes for him to wear for the night.

He watches you and can’t help but stare at the back of your shirt. “We play for each other” written in the signature Wisconsin font. Who’s was it? Were you dating someone on the team? How had he missed that? He’d admittedly gone through your social media a lot lately and hadn’t detected anything unusual, just the regular back and forth chirping, no flirty interactions, but now he was going to have to go analyze the boys’ comments. Would they do that to him though?

He’s broken from his thoughts when you stand up and say, “These are Brock’s but they should fit, you guys are like close to the same size”. His eyes zoom in on the red 29 on the leg of the sweatpants in your hands.

“Of fucking course” he thinks to himself. He should’ve known Brock would weasel his way in the first chance he got. He tried to not let his irritation leak into his voice as he thanked you for Brock’s clothes and you pretended to not notice the way the muscle in his jaw twitched when you said Brock’s name. It was just like old times.

—

You laid in bed that night, unable to fall asleep. Tonight had brought up so many feelings and memories. You thought long and hard about the boy sleeping on your couch. From the first time you encountered his fiery temper, to your roller coaster of a time together, to the night that everything went to hell and the mess he left behind.

Living across from a quarter of the men’s hockey team was a blessing and a curse. They were constantly yelling and tonight was no exception, this time accompanied with incessant pounding on a door. You shouldn’t be nosy you kept telling yourself, but a little peek through your peephole wouldn’t hurt anything right? If only you had known how much he would come to change your life.

You peered out just in time to see the boy laying another beating on the door and then putting his whole body into yelling, ”Fuck!”, dropping his head back in defeat when his efforts were met with silence. He must be locked out. You take a deep breath and open your own door, propping yourself against the door frame. “I was going to invite you inside, but with a temper like that I don’t know that I should?” You tease him, sending a little smile his way to let him know you were only giving him a hard time.

That was the first time you had seen that smirk you love so much spread across his face. You would come to find out his name was Roman and he quickly became your person. Well, besides the other boy in your life who was your best friend.

The highs of your relationship with Roman were so high. You were borderline inseparable with each other. He did everything he was supposed to as a boyfriend, he was the type of guy that you’d proudly brag to your family about, the one your friends looked at and said “I wish”. He could be sweet and thoughtful, and had a spark to him that you adored, his temper the first time you met him, proof of that. He was that little rough around the edges kind of guy that every girl chased, a little mean to everyone but you. You were his soft spot and for a while, you couldn’t have written a better love story. In hindsight things were probably too perfect, you should’ve seen the storm that was brewing.

Between the friction between Brock and Roman and Roman’s wandering eyes, the lows could be pretty low. It was the same old fights every time, always starting and ending the same. Roman never acted on his insensitive behavior, but it still didn’t sit well with you. You tried not to play the jealous girlfriend part too often but sometimes it would just build and build until you snapped and then you both engaged in loud arguments, leaving a sinking feeling in your stomach, but Ro always managed to patch things up afterwards with flowers or warm baths that made you forget all about what had just transpired, at least until next time.

Roman’s jealousy would shine at moments too. He’d call you out saying, “You baby Brock too much” and that “You shouldn’t worry about someone you’re not dating as much as you do. He can handle himself, he’s a big boy” anytime you’d defend Brock, and then under his breath he’d mumble “He’s too soft already” and that drove you crazy. You’d frown at your boyfriend's lack of empathy and ill feelings toward one of the most important people in your life. You had heard some of the stories the boys would tell you and you knew he called Brock soft to his face and you hated it. You loved his temper, but not when it was directed toward your best friend. You had no idea why the boys hated each other so much. Part of the reason you were always so nice to Brock was to make up for your boyfriend's behavior, though if only you knew the half of what Roman said to Brock. You’d called Roman out on it multiple times and instead of apologizing, he’d say, “It’s not like it’s not true. You know it, I know it, and he knows it”. You of course can’t just sit around and leave B out to dry when he wasn’t even around to defend himself so cue another fight. The cycle was endless.

You had half expected Brock to come over and check in on you the night that Owen sent you that picture and your world had caved in on itself, but he had only sent you a simple text that said “I love you. You’ll get through this, I’ll help you”. And then he was at your door the next morning with coffee and a shoulder to cry on, ready to let you grieve and then when you were ready, to pick up all the pieces.

You finally fell asleep that night, not thinking about the boy who had torn you apart but instead about the one who had helped you to grow and become who you were today.

Roman laid on your couch, his mind going a mile a minute. You having a drawer full of Brock’s clothes answered his earlier question about the T-shirt. He hadn’t asked about it though, not wanting to start a fight. You always had a soft spot for the kid. It was one of the very few sore spots of your relationship.

How could he not hate Brock’s guts though? The kid had a huge stinking crush on you and you had no clue, you just continued to show him affection and give him your attention. He thought about all the times you’d go running to Brock after you two had gotten in an argument and he did know about all of them because Brock would waste no time in posting to his Snapchat. But never in a way where it could get turned on him for rubbing it in Roman’s face, it was always just enough so that Roman would know he was with his girl but if Ro dared to bring it up to you you’d take Brock’s side no matter what. You stuck up for Roman in every other situation and would fight a whole hockey team for him, but not when it came to Brock. He wasn’t blind, he knew that Brock could steal you without even trying, though he did credit the kid with trying.

He thought about all the times he had dangled the carrot over your head, practically telling you about Brock’s feelings for you and how you’d watch as Brock’s cheeks reddened and defend Brock and tell Roman to knock it off. He thought about the time that Brock had caused yet another fight by telling you about some locker room talk. That was the first time you had threatened to break up with him and damn it if that didn’t fuel his hatred for his teammate.

Roman sat in his stall, trying to get dressed for practice, but was unable to because all he could hear was Brock’s voice. Normally he could just block it out, but today he was talking to Alex about you and well, he just couldn’t have that. He was downright gushing as he happily told him about grabbing dinner with you at the Union the other night. He rolled his eyes as he bent down to tie his skates. It was time to remind Brock who you belonged to, who had won and who had lost. He begins to tell Tarek and Josh all about the activities that had taken place after your little dinner with Brock. He bragged maybe a little too loud about things you’d hate knowing he talks about in front of the boys, just to make sure Brock heard. Normally, Brock would sit back and take it. He knew that Roman messed with him to get a reaction out of him. But today he was degrading you in front of everyone and he wouldn’t allow that, so he speaks up on your behalf.

“No one wants to hear how quick you are in bed, Ahcan. She probably doesn’t appreciate it either”.

Roman’s face twisted into a smirk knowing he was about to hit him where it hurts. “Shut up, Caufield. We all know you wish you could please her like I do. 30 minutes or 30 seconds, it’s still more than you’ll ever get with her”.

The locker room falls silent and Brock bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. The amount of disrespect Roman had just shown you made him sick. It takes all of his self control to not tackle Roman in the middle of the locker room. Luckily, his brother keeps him busy as he goes to lunge at Roman, himself. Brock has to throw an arm across his brother and shove him back to his stall. “Don’t”, he says, shooting him a dangerous look. “He’s not worth it. I’ll take care of it”. Cole’s fuming, as he aggressively grabs his stick that’s fallen to the floor in the hustle of things. “You better”, he says as he storms out of the locker room, shoulder checking Roman along the way.

He’d kept his mouth closed about all of Roman’s other taunting and bullshit, but this was unacceptable. He couldn’t let this slide. You deserved to know that your personal business was being spread out for all to hear in the locker room. So he grabbed his phone and sent you a quick text. “Your boy keeps running his mouth about all your bedroom activities in the locker room. Figured you should know.”

When you read the text your heart dropped. It was basically one of your worst nightmares. All of your business and most vulnerable moments on display for a bunch of guys who could pick you apart and look at you differently. You had trusted Roman enough to give yourself to him and this is how he respected you? You felt so many things, but betrayed and angry were at the top of the list. You were ready to lay into his ass when he got back from practice.

You let Roman have it the second he walked through the door. He brushes your feelings aside, as he’s more concerned with who told you.

“I knew that little shit would go running to you”

“It doesn’t matter who told me, but I’m glad they did! There’s two people in this relationship, not a whole locker room”

“Exactly, Y/N, there’s two people in a relationship, the key word being two, not three. Tell Brock to fuck off”

“God, that’s not even the point, Roman. It’s like I speak and you just don’t even listen!”

“How am I not listening? You just said there’s two people in the relationship and I agree with you, but Brock thinks he’s one of those two people and so yeah, maybe I had to remind him who gets to please you in bed and that’s not him”

“If you ever. Fuck and tell again, I swear to God Roman, you’ll be single. I’ll dump your ass so quick. No more kill stories in the locker room.”

While he knew your threat was probably hollow because of the darkness that had taken over your eyes ever since he mentioned pleasing you in bed, part of him should’ve known to never doubt you.

Brock had won that round, you had put Roman in his place rather than him putting Brock in his. He couldn’t stand the fact that you spent so much time with someone who he knew for a fact wanted you as much as he did, especially someone who was the polar opposite of Roman, himself. What if you woke up one day and wanted the sweet guy? Roman knew he wasn’t sweet. The gentle, always doing the right things guy? He tried to show that side of himself to you, but he was generally hard headed, feisty, and anything but just plain old nice. Brock already seemed to fill so many places in your life, he couldn’t let him take over the boyfriend role too. So he made sure Brock knew his place and he had been chastised by you more times than once for it. And apparently it hadn’t worked because it looks like he took his place anyway.

It made him question the night everything went down. Was Brock the one who had sent the picture? He doesn’t remember seeing him there, though he doesn’t remember a whole lot from that night besides the fight. Your look of hurt had stayed with him but he had someone else to go to during that time so he had put the little detail of how you had managed to get the picture in the first place to the back of his mind. Laying here on your couch now, it would make perfect sense for it to have been Brock. He had always had a nagging suspicion but never talked to you about that night.

—

The bye week couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. The boys had hit a rough patch, having lost three weekends in a row now and the tensions in the locker room were high. The combination of losing and Brock’s history with Roman made for a stressful past month.

Brock breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t spot Roman anywhere in the bar. Some of the guys had decided to blow off some steam and reset for the upcoming weekend by going out tonight. He scanned the room once more making sure he didn’t see you, but since Roman wasn’t here he didn’t assume you would be either. Ever since you had started dating him, you barely went anywhere without each other much to his dismay. Yes, he had feelings for you but that didn’t change the fact that you were also his best friend. He missed you in more ways than one.

“Dude, she already said she wasn’t coming out tonight”, Ty said, nudging his teammate.

Brock replies instantly, “I don’t know who you’re talking about”. But he knows he’s been caught looking for you again. He doesn’t say anything about the fact that Ty had known who he was looking for without asking.

Owen shows up then with an arm full of beers and a handful of shots. Brock throws back a shot with barely a grimace. It was going to be one hell of a night.

Flash forward a few rounds and the boys are rolling. It had been a fun, easygoing night, exactly what everyone needed. That is until Brock turns his head and spots a certain someone a few tables over. His eyes narrow and he has to do a double take.

His jaw clenches and his hand that wasn’t holding his drink, balls up. He swears he sees red as he looks on at the scene playing out three tables over. He reaches over and grabs Owen’s arm so hard Owen says ow and swats his hand away.

“Please. Tell me that isn’t my Y/N’s Roman making out with that girl?” He says through gritted teeth. He can’t take his eyes away.

“There’s no way..” Owen trails off in disbelief. That was most definitely a girl straddling Roman, her tongue down his throat and that girl was no where close to being you.

The rest of the guys look over then at what has their teammates so dumbfounded and the same silence spreads across the group amidst all the noise of the bar. With ten pairs of eyes burning holes into their faces, the pair continues to make out in the corner, as if you weren’t at home waiting for your boyfriend to return to you.

Brock is livid. He slams his glass down so hard the liquid splashes out and he’s ready to rip Roman to shreds. How could he do that to you? Sure, he had always had an issue with Roman, how could he not? Roman had the girl he had been crushing on since the first day he met her and Roman had no problem rubbing that in his face any chance he got. But he did make you happy (most of the time) and that’s what mattered to Brock. This though? Throwing all of that away, your trust, happiness? It made Brock want to cave Roman’s face in. Nostrils flaring, he’s up and out of his seat.

Owen is quick to grab B’s arm and frantically looks to the other guys for help. Owen’s taller frame was no match for Brock’s 5’9 one when he was fired up and boy, was he fired up. Cole was in front of him then and shoving his older brother back in his seat.

“You can’t go fighting him right now. Not now, not here in the middle of a bar” Cole says, trying to talk some sense into his furious brother.

Brock was seething. “Who does he think he is? This is going to kill Y/N, I’m going to fucking kill him!”

O backs Cole up, “Your brother’s right, man. We all love Y/N, but you and I both know how she is when it comes to Roman. She won’t like that you threw the first punch”.

Brock’s shaking his head at that, he knows they’re right. You always gave Roman the benefit of the doubt and it really grinded Brock’s gears when you made exceptions for Roman. He took you for granted and didn’t appreciate you the way Brock knew he could.

“She probably wouldn’t believe me, just say I’ve always had it out for him. She’s not wrong but I can’t be the one to tell her about this”.

The boys all agree on this and finally Owen says, “Why don’t I just send her a picture? She can’t deny it if it’s right there in front of her, right?”

Brock finally agrees with a small nod. He hates that he can’t just knock Roman out right there. And he hates even more what this picture is going to do to you. He wishes you would’ve just picked him and you never would’ve had to deal with this pain. But you hadn’t, you had chosen the more exciting boy, with his flaring temper and charming smirk. You chose to pass over the cute, boy next door who was everything you needed but nothing you wanted.

—

You should have known that word would get out somehow that Roman had stopped by. The boys hockey team was worse than old women at tea time when it came to gossip.

You barely had time to register the neatly folded blanket and clothes on your couch before your door was swung open and a very pissed off and hurt looking Brock is storming through it, coffee in hand.

“Well good morning to you too. What’re you doing here so early?” You said in the middle of a yawn.

He shoots you an irritated look. “Early? It’s past noon, Y/N. Or is your long night with Roman screwing with your head again? I can’t believe he had the audactiy to show up here after everything.” The venom in the way he says Roman’s name has you rolling your eyes. Roman had been..civil about Brock last night. Though you noticed the way he tensed about the clothes, he hadn’t said anything. Brock was your rock, your level headed one and yet he was the one speaking out today.

“You do realize this is my apartment you’re standing in right? And my business? And my life?” You’re annoyed that he wants to have this argument again and right after you woke up. He was not catching you at a good time.

Brock had a hard time hearing it wasn’t his life. It was like his hands were pinned behind his back. Roman being back in your life very much affected his own because that would mean he’d lose you again and you were very much a big part of his life.

“Roman staying the night has nothing to do with you” you tell him, plopping yourself on the couch. You catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across Brock’s face, along with something else you couldn’t quite place as you reach for your coffee.

Brock felt like he had just been slapped in the face. He had always been there for you, that night and every night there after. He had finally gotten his best friend back and at times it felt like he could have more than that and now you were just brushing him off like his opinion meant nothing. It absolutely killed him that you couldn’t see how much this had to do with him. He was there for you, he’d always been there for you and yet he couldn’t be there for you in the way that he wanted to because you wouldn’t let him.

He wanted to shake you. “That’s where you’re wrong, Y/N. This has every bit to do with me. I was there when he broke you and I helped you pick up the pieces. I let you cry on my shoulder, sleep in my bed. Not just that night but so many times before that. Or do you not remember why ice cream is our thing now? Or all of the walks home we’ve had? And all of the games of pong we’ve played? I’ve put up with so much shit from him for you and I’m sick of seeing you get hurt over and over by the same guy when you deserve so much better than that”.

You weren’t insecure by any means, but everyone had their days and today just so happened to be yours. You had a long day at work and didn’t really want to go out to dinner with the guys, but you had already promised Roman and Brock that you’d be there.

You trailed behind Roman as he led you to the table. Brock immediately noticed that your smile was off as you leaned in to give him a quick hug, not wanting to set off your boyfriend. He gave you an extra squeeze and then released you. He noticed the little frown on your face when the waitress shamelessly flirted with Roman in front of you and Roman made no effort to stop her, even giving into her banter and eyelashes. Wanting to see you smile again, he gave you a little nudge and asked if you were getting the kids’ meal, poking fun at the fact that your ordered chicken fingers everywhere you went. You cracked a smile and playfully punched his arm and then got serious again to tell him that yes, you were in fact going to devour some chicken’s fingers, which he chuckled at.

However when it got around to being your turn to order, Roman spoke up for you. “She’ll just have a salad.” He says to the waitress and she shoots you a look that says she agrees with that being an appropriate selection for you. “Aren’t you trying to start that diet? That’s what you said when you were jumping into your jeans before we got here. Now’s a good time to start” he asks you rather loudly. Your face heats up, embarrassed, but you mumble a “yeah, I guess” and close your menu, handing it to the girl and then looking down at your hands in your lap. Brock is absolutely speechless and the rest of the table is equally uncomfortable. As much as he wanted to deck Roman, he wanted to wrap you up in his arms and tell you how perfect you were even more.

When you snap Brock later that night, you’re by yourself and your face is still in a frown. He knows he has to do something about it, so he asks if you want to go get ice cream with him. You snap back that you really shouldn’t and you’re biting your lip and it makes Brock throw his head back with a groan. Why did the universe hate him so much? He leaves you on open, but grabs his keys and ends up showing up at your door.

“B, what’re you doing here?” you question. Your hair is thrown up in a messy bun and you’re in a pair of sweats and a baggy Badgers hockey tshirt. You look so beautiful and natural, he has to really concentrate to remember what exactly he’s supposed to be doing.

“You said you wanted ice cream?” he said with a smile, as if it were obvious.

You smiled back. “I believe I said that I shouldn’t get ice cream”.

He wouldn’t be taking no for an answer tonight. “No, I think you said you should get ice cream. Go get your shoes or don’t, but we’re still going”.

You shake your head at your best friend, but take the couple steps backward to retrieve your shoes and coat and lock your door as you head off to ruin the diet you hadn’t started.

A short drive later, you find yourself standing at Dairy Queen’s counter debating over a cookie dough or oreo blizzard. “I’ll have a small cookie dough blizzard, please”, you finally decide.

Brock also orders and the cashier asks, “Are you guys together?”

“Yeah, we’re together” he answers and then looking over at you his eyes widen in alarm. “I mean no, we’re not together, well we’re together but not together together”, he stutters over his words.

You’re looking at him like he’s lost his mind, but you’re also laughing, “B, chill. She meant our orders.” and then looking at the annoyed cashier, “yes, to clarify, our orders are together”. Brock mumbles an apology, handing over some bills.

“Well that was fun”, Brock huffs as he brings over your tray. When he sets down a chicken tender basket in front of you, your heart swells.

“What’s this?”

He just shrugs. “Figured you might want your kids’ meal. That salad didn’t look very filling”.

You swear you could cry on the spot at how thoughtful he was. “You noticed that too huh?”

“I notice everything, Y/N”, he says, taking another bite of his blizzard.

“So how is this fair? My boyfriend is an ass to you and me both, yet you’re the one buying me ice cream. Shouldn’t I be buying this for you?”

“How is he an ass to me?” Brock asks you. You’re not wrong, but he’s surprised you’ve noticed.

You give him a sheepish look. “A couple of the boys told me about what Roman said at the bar after last week’s game.”

Brock knew what you were referring to even though you were being very vague with your words.

They had gotten shut out and everyone all around had just had an off night. They had gone to the bar to blow off some steam but Roman was still heated, he took a while to calm down. You were off playing pool with Brock and it irritated Roman to no end as he watched you laugh easily with the wannabe lover. Soon your game finished though and you headed to the restroom before rejoining your boyfriend and the group and Roman took advantage of his opportunity. He was jealous and angry and just feeling a little mean so he took a swing at Brock.

“Hey, Caufield, maybe you should spend less time at the pool table and more time on the ice. We would’ve won tonight if you would’ve hit any of the shots you took. You were like 0 for 20.”

Brock looked at him wondering where this was all coming from right now. “Yeah, it wasn’t my best night”, he admitted.

Roman snorts. “Even your best night wouldn’t be good enough. You should stop trying to be your brother, you’ll never be as good as him. The only reason you’re even on the team is because they wanted Cole here, so they tried to sweeten the deal by letting you play” he says pointing at Cole with his beer and then taking a swig.

The comment brings an onslaught of “Hey, hey, hey”, “I think you’ve had enough”, “That was unnecessary” and “You better fucking take that back” from all the guys at the table. Everyone knew Roman could be a real dick when he wanted to be, but that comment was taking it too far. Just then you returned to the table, seeing everyone’s faces you asked “Whoa, what’d I miss?”

“Nothing. As fun as this has been, I think I’m gonna head home” he said looking at Roman. You pouted, but you didn’t question it as you hugged him goodbye and told him to text you when he got home so you knew he was safe.

“By a couple of the guys, I'm sure you’re referring to my brother?” he chuckles.

“I didn’t say that”, you tell him, but the small smile you’re wearing tells all.

“Yeah, he was pretty fired up over that”, Brock says.

“As he should’ve been! Why didn’t you say anything that night? I was fucking pissed when I found out. That was completely uncalled for. I let him have it when I found out. We’ve barely spoken all week because I’m still mad at him. Probably why he was such a dick tonight” you say, ripping off another piece of a chicken tender.

Brock just shrugs. “I don’t know why I didn’t say anything that night. It’s not like it’s not true, nothing I haven’t heard before. I know I’ll never be as good as Cole.”

You frown at the boy sitting across from you and take his hand in yours. “You know none of what Roman said is true, right? Not one word. You’re playing hockey for a D1 school and not just any school, the college hockey capital, Brock. You have so much talent and skill, I promise you’re on the team because they need a reliable, dependable, versatile player like you. You’re such a valuable part of the team, B.”

He would probably cry if you weren’t in the middle of Dairy Queen. You said the words with such conviction and love that he believed every one. To think that you saw all of that in him meant the absolute world to him.

“Thank you, Y/N. I can’t tell you how much that means to me”, he tells you honestly.

You beam at him. “Of course, B.”

He smiles back at you. “And to answer your question, no offense, but I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to buy me ice cream when Roman screws up again. It can be like our thing”.

---

You were at your breaking point as you pulled up Brock’s contact. There was a good chance he was already sleeping and wouldn’t answer, but you had no other options so you pressed call. He answered on the first ring.

“B, I really need you. Can you come get me please?”

Brock shot up in bed at the sound of your shaky voice. “Y/N? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I- yeah, I’m fine. I’m just stranded. Roman and I got into this huge fight and he left and won’t answer my calls or texts. I’m sorry to bother you, I know you left hours ago, but Roman has my credit card and cash so I can’t even get an Uber… I could walk, but it’s kind of far”

“No” he just about yells into the phone. “Don’t you dare leave wherever you are by yourself. I’m coming. I’m leaving right now, just send me your location and stay on the phone with me so I know you’re ok, okay?”.

You do and he curses to himself. He couldn’t believe Roman left you stranded and drunk at a party in the middle of Madison. That was low, even for Roman.

“B, why do you sound so out of breath? Are you running?” you ask. You can hear his breathing through the phone and it sounds slightly labored.

“Are you calling me out of shape?” he jokes, “Yeah, I had a few beers tonight so I don’t want to take the chance of driving. We can walk home together. But I want to get to you as soon as I can so I’m jogging. I’m about a block away now, should see you in five or so minutes”.

You blink away your surprise, your hand clutching at your heart. You look up to the sky and thank whoever it was above for blessing you with Brock.

“How did I get so lucky to have a best friend like you?”

You don’t see him trip as you say “best friend”. It must’ve been a crack in the sidewalk, just like the one in his heart.

You knew going in that dating a basically famous college hockey player wasn’t going to be easy. You knew what you signed up for. Admittedly, most of the time Roman would make you forget about the outside world. He acted like any other boyfriend, spoiling you with love and affection. But there were times that the ugly side of what he does came to bite you and unfortunately he was the one to bring it up.

It was a Saturday night and the boys were having a party to celebrate the weekend’s sweep. Your night had been great until you had heard Roman’s comments. You were standing with a small group of girls gossiping about the one girl’s interest in Mike when you heard your boyfriend’s voice brag about the “hundreds of girls flooding his Dm’s after that game against Ohio State”.

“No way you have hundreds, there was barely anyone there at those games last weekend”. Tarek pointed out, trying to call his bluff.

“Okay, maybe not hundreds, but there’s a ton. I could literally have any girl I wanted. And they’re all like, really hot too.” He glanced to his left and saw you standing there, but you were turned, not paying him any attention so he continued, “Check out the rack on this one, pretty face to match too”.

Your heart sunk as you listened to the boys talk, one boy in particular really. You turned around just to make sure it was your boyfriend even though you’d know his voice anywhere. He was standing with a group of the guys, his profile to you, but he was only a handful of steps away. Close enough for you to see him holding out his phone to prove to Tarek that he had a bunch of Dm’s. You watched on as his thumb scrolled down the list until he found the girl he wanted to show off. You suddenly didn’t feel like being at the party anymore.

Brock was standing with Lex, Cole, Ryder, and Dylan when he first heard bits of the conversation going on in the group next to him. His temper flared as he realized it was Roman who was doing the bragging. If Roman even glanced to his left in the slightest, he would’ve seen you standing there, well within earshot. And then he watched as Roman did just that, looked right at you and still continued to show off. Brock too looked over at you, hoping by some miracle that you weren't hearing what was going on. But when his eyes fell on you, you were already staring at Roman and there was a pained expression on your features. His heart broke for you and he wished for the millionth time that he could show you what love really is. But he couldn’t so he settled for at least getting you out of that situation. He didn’t even bother saying anything to the boys as he removed himself from the group and walked over to you, placing himself right in between you and Roman.

“Can I steal you for a few? I could really use a kick ass pong partner” he asked, smirking at you. He knew you loved pong, it was one of the few drinking games you were actually good at.

You took one last look over the shoulder of Brock and saw your boyfriend pulling up yet another girl’s profile so you gave Brock a weak smile and followed him across the room to the pong table, far away from Roman.

It only took a few throws for your arms to be held over your head and your chirping to take over. You and Brock pretty much dominated, to the point that it would’ve been boring had you guys not been keeping each other entertained.

With one cup left, Brock looked at you, a confident smirk on his lips. “Are you ready for this trick shot, Y/N? I’ve been practicing.”

You grinned and nodded eagerly. “Show me what you’ve got, Caufield.”

Instead of overhand tossing the pong ball, he flicks his wrist underhand so that the ball bounces off the ceiling and arcs directly into the remaining cup.

His arms raise wide above his head and he backs up in a subtle celly. The smile on his face can only be described as cocky.

Your jaw is still on the floor, but you're screeching and launching yourself into his arms. He easily catches you, lifting you off of your feet and spinning you around.

The room is loud, still reacting to Brock’s trick shot, but you don’t hear any of it as he holds you close, still having not put you back on your feet. The smile on your face is bright when you tell him, “I can’t believe you just did that! I hope you know you just sealed your fate as my pong partner for life”.

---

“While I appreciate you doing all of that, and I really do, I couldn't have done it without you, I didn’t ask you to do any of that. Never did I ask you to come save me” you snapped at him, trying to defend yourself. And it was true, you had never once asked for Brock to come save you, he just did.

Hands running through his hair, tugging hard, that’s when Brock explodes. You were practically proving his point. “That’s the thing, Y/N, is you shouldn’t have to ask! It should just be normal for someone who cares about you to not hurt you over and over and to be there for you and help you get better when you’re hurting, not just turn their back on you with some other girl and then just show back up in your life when they decide they want you back. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” He’s looking at you desperately, you were putting him in jail for something he didn’t even do.

You know he’s right. You know it with every bone in your body. Roman had done things that were far from loving and had conditioned you to think that that’s what love looked like. You had made exceptions for his behavior and built a tolerance for his actions. And that’s not how it was supposed to be. But you had also loved him and part of you still did and that was hard to just turn off and forget, you would know because you had tried.

“Brock, I loved him. You know that. What was I supposed to do? Things weren’t perfect, but I couldn’t just throw away what we had and pretend that I didn’t feel anything for him. I accepted him and his flaws because that's what love is.”

He hears every word of what you’re saying because he feels it too. He was living a parallel life, but with you. As much as he’s tried and wishes he could, he can’t just turn off his feelings for you and pretend they weren’t there. He accepted your flaws even if giving too much of yourself to others who didn’t deserve you was one of them. He wants to tell you that he could have shown you what loving hard instead of hard love is but he knows the time isn’t right for that confession yet. There’s still a lot left to be said.

“Well he threw it away for you and now you’re what? Just going to let him walk right back in again? You’re going to let him back in like usual? It’s not hard to see why he doesn’t take you seriously, if you don’t even take yourself seriously. You need to at least respect yourself, since he never does. You’re better than that, Y/N. We worked so hard-“ he corrects himself, “you worked so hard to be strong and build yourself back up...I’m just afraid he’ll break you again”.

His concern was well placed but the fact that he just assumes that you’d let Roman walk back in, even though you almost did and that he thought you’d break so easily was disappointing. “Well what am I supposed to do Brock? I’m not some D1 big time hockey player like you, I don’t just have this line waiting at my door to take me out like you guys do”

Brock’s voice catches in his throat as he almost lets out the secret he’s been keeping bottled up from you. But he panics and instead tells you, “you need to figure this out, Y/N because I can’t stand by and watch that happen again. And if you do decide that he’s the one you want and you’re willing to let him into your life again, I can’t promise to be there to put back the pieces this time.”

His statement makes your eyebrows shoot up.You don’t know that you’d still be here had Brock not been there for you, and as he pointed out not just this past time but so many times before. You can’t imagine having to go through another heartbreak, much less without having Brock at your side. Your heart’s racing at the thought of losing him. His statement surprises you and hits you like a ton of bricks. Why’d you have to break what you love so much?

“You’d leave me?” You quietly ask him, tears threatening to spill.

He sighs, shaking his head. Why was this so hard? “I’d never leave you,” he says swallowing hard, “but I can’t hurt like that again”.

The look on his face shatters your heart and you know you’re the one to blame.

You don’t miss that he’s talking about himself and you hate that you’ve caused him so much hurt over the years. You’d put him through more than one ever should and you’re hating yourself because this is the first time he’s admitting to you that it hurts him. Hurts him to see you with someone else, hurts him to always be the one to pick up the pieces, and hurts him that you might pick that someone over him again. You knew his feelings for you, you had for a while now. Cole had pulled you aside and told you as much and as if that wasn’t confirmation enough, you had accidentally overheard Brock say it himself, just not to you.

Brock had invited you over for a movie night, something you had done regularly with him in the months before you had started dating Roman. But ever since you started seeing Ro they had become less and less frequent until it got to the point where they ceased to exist all together. So he had finally reserved you for the night and had a whole night planned for you two to catch up. Or so he thought.

He was rushing around his dorm, trying to find his wallet and keys to go pick you up. He needed to hurry so that you guys weren’t late for your reservation. A new steak place had opened up downtown and though it was a little more fancy than your usual pizza dates, he knew you had been wanting to try it so he made the reservation.

“B if you’re five minutes late they’re not going to give your table away” Cole tells his brother, sensing his nerves.

“Yeah but if I’m five minutes late picking Y/N up, then we’re going to be 15 minutes late to the restaurant and then the table will be gone” he replies.

Cole shakes his head at how well Brock knows you. The boy had it bad. “Yeahhh you’re right. You better get a move on then.”

Brock huffs in response as he trips putting his other shoe on.

“Oh and good luck on your date” Cole calls as Brock heads out the door, lightly teasing him. Brock smiles but flips his little brother off as he shuts the door.

Not 20 minutes later, a very disappointed and frustrated Brock is slinking his way back through the door. Cole pauses the game he had been watching on the tv and turns toward Brock as he throws himself on the couch.

“She cancelled.” Brock mumbles into the cushion.

“What?!” Cole questions. He shouldn’t be surprised, he could probably guess as to the reason you cancelled but he couldn’t believe you’d do that to Brock and so last minute.

“S’fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” He said, face still pressed into the couch.

“It’s not fine, Brock! I get that you’re like in love with her but she doesn’t just get a pass. That was really shitty. Did she say why she cancelled?” He was fired up now, as Brock should’ve been but he would let you get away with murder.

He sighed as he pushed himself to a seated position and shrugged. “Said Roman had some kind of thing planned that he just told her about and she meant to text me about it but forgot. She felt bad”.

And just like that you were let off the hook, Cole could tell by the simple way he justified your actions by saying you felt bad. It didn’t erase the hurt that was in his face even if he tried to make his voice sound casual or the droop in his shoulders. It seems to be a more and more common thing lately and he doesn’t like it.

Turning the tv off he stands up. “Well let’s not let that dinner reservation go to waste. Steak sounds pretty good and you’re buying! ” he says and kicks Brock’s shoe to get him off the couch and back out the door.

As it turns out, Cole was right and they won’t give the table away if you're five minutes late. The steak was actually worth the reservation and it was nice to spend some one on one time with his brother. He knew nights like that wouldn’t last much longer. Brock seemed to be in less of a slump but Cole continued his care taking, telling Abby he’d call her tomorrow and catch her up on the Brock/Y/N saga to watch movies with his brother.

His phone rings in the middle of Grown Ups and Cole doesn’t even have to guess to know who it is. “You should just leave her hanging after she ditched you tonight” he says.

Brock shoots him a look and picks up on the second ring. “Y/N? Is everything ok?”

With the movie paused, Cole can hear the whole conversation, though he could’ve told Brock without having heard. It was the same old story. Roman promised one thing and then did another, leaving you upset and Brock comforting you. Of course he invited you over and offered to come and get you, already putting his shoes back on before even hanging up the phone.

“You deserve better than second best, Brock” he honestly tells his brother.

Brock looks at him then with a look of defeat and acceptance. “I’ll take what I can get.”

A short time later he returns with you in tow. You look sad, just as Brock had hours earlier when he walked through that same door, but without you. You give a tight lipped smile to Cole and then you’re following Brock to his bedroom where you’ll spend the night telling Brock about your boyfriend while wrapped in Brock’s arms and in Brock’s bed.

It breaks his heart that you’re crying again over him..Brock would never make you cry until your wedding day when he shed tears of his own and you wouldn’t be able to hold yours in because you always cry when other people do.

The next morning is when Cole decides to give you a reality check. You emerge from Brock’s bedroom in his T-shirt and Cole just raises an eyebrow at you. From an outsider’s point of view, you knew what it looked like. But it was Cole and this was unfortunately a rather regular occurrence. Nothing had happened, nothing would happen. “What?” You ask him as you reach into the cabinet and grab a mug. Their home was basically yours too, you spent so much time there.

“We’re gonna go grab something to eat before he drops me off, do you want to come with us?” You ask. Your offer however, is met with silence even though Cole is staring right at you.

“Dude what’s your problem today? Are you not speaking to me or what?” You question, growing irritated.

Cole thought the world of you, honestly. You had become a close friend but his brother was his favorite person and you were messing with his happiness so it was about time you were put in check.

“You know, one day he won’t be waiting around for you anymore. He’ll have his own girlfriend again and he won’t be able to play part time boyfriend when yours decides to be an asshole”.

He doesn’t specify who “he” is but you know he’s talking about Brock. And he doesn’t come out and say that Brock has feelings for you but “waiting around” sure makes it seem like maybe he does. You want him to just say it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you say, looking down at the mug in your hands. Brock’s favorite you think to yourself.

Cole gives you a look and holds his hand out in front of him, gesturing up and down your body. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t give me that. Look at yourself right now. Where are you right now? Where do you spend your time, enough to know where the mugs are? Whose clothes are you wearing? Whose bed did you sleep in? Who was beside you? Who -“

“Okay, okay. Jeez, I get your point” you say, wincing, wanting to stop him there.

“Do you though? Because you let him get all the way to your place before you cancelled on him last night. You didn’t see the look that was on his face when he came back home. He’d been looking forward to this all week, Y/N. He’s been planning this all week. He never gets to see you anymore” Cole continues.

You grimace, knowing you did him dirty. “All week? I felt so bad -“

Cole cuts you off, not wanting to hear the excuse he’s heard a hundred times before “but Roman” is how it always starts.

“Yes. All week. He even made a reservation for you guys at that new steak place you’ve been wanting to go to. Hell the kid spent a half hour going through his closet and making me choose between shirts” he tells you.

Your heart sinks when you hear about all of his wasted efforts and the thought he had put into wanting to have a night with you.

“And you obviously didn’t feel too bad because you still called him when Roman bailed. You always call him, Y/N. Maybe you should think about the fact that he’s always the one you turn to when you need something, maybe he should just be the one. You can’t keep going back and forth between your two boyfriends though, it’s hurting Brock too much and I won’t let that happen anymore. He’s dealing with enough shit right now, he doesn’t need you hurting him too”.

His words sit heavy in your mind and never leave you. You can’t say how much of an impact they’ve had on your affection toward him since then but it definitely plays a part, maybe one larger than you realized.

—

Brock and Roman had been going at each other all day. Brock had started hanging around less and less so you were excited to be able to spend the whole evening together. The boys were having game night and then hitting the bar. Starting with the pregame Roman had been a pain. He was complaining about the whole night and how he didn’t want to share you. This meant he was extra clingy and barely let you out of sight. You really had wanted to see Brock, but he was in the apartment across the hall, the team having to split into two apartments since everyone was coming out tonight.

You pryed yourself from Roman and wandered to the next room, an easy smile spreading across your face as you found who you were looking for. You were instantly wrapped in a warm hug and he kept an arm over your shoulders as he talked close to your ear, trying to be heard over the shouting of the boys. “I saw you earlier and wanted to come say hi but didn’t want your boyfriend to get mad” he tried to play it off as joking but you could hear the slight bite to his words. He didn’t get to say much else as Roman came in and spotted your two heads bent together in the middle of the room. He made a not so light hearted comment about Brock stealing his girl and then all but dragged you back to the other room claiming you guys were up next for pong even though you still had to wait 15 minutes for the game to be finished.

And that’s how the night went with the two boys exchanging jabs and glares. Roman’s temper is short with you and even shorter for Brock. He’s been making stupid comments to you that he knows get on your nerves like “damn those jeans make your ass look good. Brock doesn’t her ass look good?” And “your shirt’s so low cut every guy in this bar has been staring at your tits, just ask Caufield.” and each time Brock also sends a look your way, one you read as pity and you become frustrated. There was a difference between him complimenting you and him making you feel like a piece of meat and tonight he was doing the latter. He was also dragging Brock into it which he knew you hated and so you became increasingly angry, more with yourself and Roman but after about the tenth time Brock looks over at you you take it out on him and just snap. “I don’t need the looks, ok Brock? I can take care of myself, you looking at me every time he opens his mouth isn’t making anything better”. You can’t quite read the look on his face before he just nods and says he’s going to head out for the night. You groan and guilt and more frustration flood your system. You know you have to go after him because it’s Brock after all. So after corralling a stupidly drunk Roman into his bed you head over to Brock’s to apologize.

The first thing you hear when you go to knock on his door is yelling. You don’t expect to hear anything given the time of night but with the quiet halls you can hear every word he’s shouting. “I just don’t get why she lets him treat her like that! She’s so strong and independent and then she just sits there while he spouts off his mouth the whole night. And she’s so beautiful like how can he even say the things he said tonight.”

He’s obviously talking about you, that much you can tell. You can’t hear what the other person is saying but you do hear what Brock is saying next. “ I just need her to give me one shot. That’s all I’m asking for is one shot to show her how much better I can be for her. Be to her. If I could just show her how much I love her and appreciate her the way she deserves… god why am I not good enough? I do everything I can for her, hell I’d do more if she let me. Do I have to act like an ass to get her attention? Because I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing I haven’t done yet”

You feel extremely guilty standing there in front of his door listening to something he doesn’t know you’re hearing, him pouring his heart out. But you’re frozen in place with his confession. You eventually get your act together and do what you went there to do in the first place, the whole time with your heart beating in your ears.

—

You had never let on that you knew how he felt. You had honestly thought that maybe his feelings for you would lessen until they disappeared since you had at the time still been very much in love with Roman. You hate to say it but you were often times wrapped up in your own drama that you pushed his feelings to the back of your mind but they were always there. With everything that he had told you that night, unknowingly and everything he was saying now, you could see it all in a new light.

Right now, with his cheeks flushed and his chest still heaving from anger and emotion it’s clear that those feelings are still very much present. He’s so worked up that you have to put a hand on his chest, something you often did with Roman, to calm him. Though unlike Roman, B instantly softens as soon as you touch him, practically melting under your hand.

“B, stop. It’s ok, I’m not getting back together with him. We talked and he apologized. It was nice closure, but that’s all it was for me, was closure. I can’t forget what he did. What you did to help me. You’re right, we did build me up and he’s not worth losing myself or you over. I don’t want to do this to you anymore, I don’t want to lose you” You can literally feel his heart skip a beat as you drop this information on him.

His mouth tries to form words but all he comes up with is “oh”. He’s surprised to say the least. “So what now? Is he going to go back to being an asshole to me about you?”

You frown. “Not if I have anything to say about it. I really am sorry you had so much to deal with because of me. So much stuff that I had no idea about. You did it so well, you’ve been so understanding, so good. If it were anybody else, they wouldn’t have lasted a day dealing with me and all of my baggage. But you, you’ve been the answer to all of my prayers”.

His heart catches at your words. Finally, finally he was getting some recognition for all the hell he had been through for you. He gives you a soft smile and a little shrug. “Wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I’m glad you didn’t have to deal with it, honestly. Now that I don’t have to worry about you not listening to me about him it makes it all that much more worth it. You’re worth it”.

You roll your eyes but there’s a smile on your face as you say, “and I love you for that” and you don’t know what that little line does to him.

He has to look away when you say that even though he knows you can see the blush quickly taking over his cheeks and feel his heart hammer a little faster over it. It gives him a little courage to try and see if maybe he can get you to say those words to him again, but in the way that he’s been wanting all of these years.

“You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?” He mumbles, running a hand over his face.

“What’s that supposed to me, Caufield?” You ask, tilting your head up so that your eyes can search his face.

A look of wonder is on his face as he says “You have no idea do you?”

Now it’s your turn for your heart to speed up as you do have an idea of what he might be about to tell you.

You don’t get the chance to hear what he has to say because you hear yelling from the hall and the voice that it belongs to is Owen. Both of your heads turn as he crashes through your door, breathless.

“Y/N have you seen Brock, I think we have a problem - oh shit, am I interrupting something?”

#Roman Ahcan #Brock Caufield #Cole Caufield #Owen Lindmark #Alex Turcotte #Ryder Donovan

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fictorium · 4 years

Note

Hey sugar lips... you still taking prompts? #46

Sure am honey pie!

#46 “What happens if I do this?

Kara waited until Eliza had dozed off in front of a rerun of The Lion in Winter, Alex and Kelly having already retreated upstairs before the movie started. Their fake yawns had been so transparent that Kara had to smile. The house in Midvale was as still and peaceful as it ever had been, but for Kara it was just that little bit lonely too.

Stepping out on the porch she found her way to the old swing and settled in. She didn’t need the blanket for warmth, but reached for it anyway. From there she had a perfect view of the night sky, one expanding further and deeper than Eliza’s much-loved telescope, which sat waiting for its next search.

Kara watched the stars for a while, looking for patterns that she knew weren’t visible from this planet. Every so often she could convince herself the stars of Orion’s Belt had realigned to form constellations relating to Rao, but it was just a trick her mind liked to play on her.

“Kara?”

She hadn’t heard Eliza wake or come looking for her. Kara gave her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry I left before the movie ended. I just wanted some alone time I guess.”

Eliza came to sit beside her. “I’d say you’ve had a little too much of that lately. Alex told me about your… falling out with Lena. And I know James left, just like Winn did, and Mon-El before that.”

“People leave,” Kara said, dropping her head on Eliza’s shoulder. “Or they send you away. Sometimes you lose them and sometimes you find a way to get them back. I still have friends, good ones. And Alex, of course.”

“You don’t have to put on a brave front for me, Kara. It’s okay to miss someone. One special someone most of all. I know things haven’t been the same… since she sold CatCo. That was a big betrayal for you.”

“It wasn’t so bad. Andrea is difficult but—“

“Honey, I don’t mean that sale.”

“Oh. Oh. I didn’t… I mean I don’t… Ms Grant has probably forgotten all about me by now. Last I heard she was in Gotham. Or Metropolis. Either way, she’s busy.”

Eliza gave Kara a reassuring pat on the cheek. “You forget that I’ve seen you together. I’ve seen how you look at her, and not just that silly crush you had while she was on television. You didn’t see how she watched you as you gave that speech and saved everyone from Myriad. People don’t forget someone like that.”

Kara felt the tears welling up as they had so many times before. “Then why didn’t she come back? She said she wasn’t going anywhere and then she was gone.”

“I think,” Eliza replied, shrugging Kara from her shoulder and turning to face her fully. “I think that’s something you have to ask her. Do you know where she is right now? You could call. Or better yet…”

Without thinking, Kara closed her eyes and let her hearing roam. Within seconds she had traced that familiar heartbeat, just a little out of step with the ones around it. Cat Grant was always unique.

“She’s at her family home, in Metropolis. Weird, she doesn’t usually spend time with her mother out there.”

“Well I’m going to make some tea, and take that book you got me to bed. I won’t listen for you coming upstairs.”

“Eliza?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Kara stood and watched her foster mother go inside. Before she could talk herself out of it, Kara raised herself up on tip toes and closed her eyes, feeling the night breeze whispering across her skin. It was barely nine in Metropolis. She could be there and back in minutes if she pushed it.

Decision made, Kara raised her arms like in the old prayers to Rao, and rocketed into the night sky.

The house was all but in darkness when Kara landed on the roof. She’d circled a few times before approaching, listening to Cat’s heartbeat vary as she moved from room to room, restless. Kara could have used her x-ray vision to see exactly what was happening, but it felt like too much of an intrusion. Instead she waited on the roof, knowing that Cat was a creature of habit, and eventually she always sought out higher ground.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later Cat walked through the room directly beneath Kara in the tall brownstone, and came out onto a small stone balcony that overlooked the slightly tangled gardens.

“If you’re one of the Bats or the Spiders, I’m not in the mood,” Cat said without looking round. “And I happen to know Superman is on bottle feed duty tonight, so I doubt he’s the one lurking on my roof.”

“Hey,” Kara said, dropping down beside Cat. She hadn’t bothered to change into her suit. There was no point pretending she hadn’t heard Cat calling her Supergirl last time they were together. “How did you know anyone was there?”

“My mother had an impressive security system. Courtesy of yours truly, of course. You wouldn’t believe how many two-bit villains thought going after her would bother me in some way.”

Cat hadn’t looked at her yet, so Kara took up the spot next to her, leaning on the balcony, propped up on her elbows to mirror Cat’s position. The only difference was that Cat was nursing a heavy crystal tumbler in her left hand, the liquid in it almost gone. Kara could smell the rich, peaty Scotch along with the fading notes of Cat’s perfume, something with a woody undertone that Kara hadn’t realized she missed quite so much. It was as comforting as the scent from her sheets on her bed at Eliza’s, but at the same time it sparked that low heat in Kara’s belly that she’d gotten so good at ignoring.

“You look good,” Kara said, not least because it had the benefit of being true. Cat had let her hair grow, and she was wearing it straighter. It made her look younger, not that Kara would ever say such a thing out loud; Cat Grant was stunning for any age. The black dress was pretty plain by Cat’s usual standards - no interesting geometry or leather panels anywhere that Kara could see.

Cat’s response was just a quirk of her lips, a smile that never quite made it all the way into being.

“Cat? I’ve never known you to ignore a compliment. Is everything okay? How’s Carter?”

“Fine, fine,” Cat replied, finishing her drink. “Well, mostly fine. He’s almost sixteen now, and things have been… difficult these past few months. But he was with me for all this, of course. Now he and Adam have gone to Opal City, so at least it’s nice to see them getting along.”

“All this?” Kara repeated.

“The funeral. I assume that’s why you’re here. You heard about my mother and came to make sure we salted the earth after we buried her.” Cat’s words were as disgruntled as ever on the topic of her mother, but Kara could tell her heart wasn’t in it. Even if they hadn’t gotten along, Cat had still lost her mom.

“I… didn’t know,” Kara had to admit. “I was at home, in Midvale, and I realized… well, it doesn’t matter now. Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Cat shook her head. “Not even Supergirl has power over death. I see you’ve taken to flying in civilian clothes. Risky.”

“I flew high, and it’s cloudy.”

“Still. I worry about you, Kara. Not about you losing a fight, or coming across a scary new alien. I worry about you being exposed, about you losing the things that make you… like this.”

“Your mom died and you’re worrying about me losing my privacy?” Kara didn’t understand, even though she was one of the few people who’d really seen the depth of Cat’s compassion and empathy. “You’re right, though. It’s been close a few times. The new administration wanted to know everything, wanted to take away everything that lets me feel normal. I’m used to it by now.”

“I threatened you, before. With exposing everything.”

Kara nodded. She had forgiven Cat a lot of things, but they weren’t all forgotten. “You were trying to win an argument. It’s like Monopoly, you don’t necessarily play by the rules. I trust you now, for what it’s worth. Or I wouldn’t have flown here in leggings and a sweater.”

“Yes. Just as well there’s no dress code,” Cat replied with a pointed sweep of Kara’s clothing. “Though the thought of my mother’s face, seeing you dressed like that… you’ve brought a little light into my day as always, Kara.”

Although she was clearly attempting her usual dry humor, Cat’s mouth crumpled just a little around the words. Kara didn’t even think before pulling Cat into a full-body hug that felt better than anything had in a really long time. It didn’t take long for the shoulder area to become damp with Cat’s tears.

“We can go inside?” Kara suggested when Cat finally settled in her careful embrace, her right hand clutching the soft material of Kara’s top just above her heart. The same heart that was beating twice as fast as normal.

“No. Everything in there is her. It’s suffocating, even now.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Surprise me,” Cat said.

Kara considered for a moment, looking out over the semi-familiar Metropolis skyline. “I could have ended up here, you know. If my cousin had taken me in.”

“No, you ended up exactly where you were supposed to. In Middlebottom--”

“Midvale.”

“Right, Midvale,” Cat continued without any hint of embarrassment. “And then in National City, with me.”

Kara didn’t have the words to reply to that, not yet, and so she pulled Cat close and shot them both across the city to a far less fancy district: the still-bustling streets of downtown. They alighted on the giant piece of metal atop the Daily Planet building, and Kara sat Cat carefully on the flattest part so they could sit together comfortably.

“Ta da?” Kara tried, smiling at Cat with all the affection that was threatening to pour out of her. “I put you on top of the world.”

“Perry White would be furious!” Cat kicked her legs up with something like glee. “Oh, he was always forbidding employees to come up to the roof. This is perfect. Wait,” she added, taking out her phone and snapping a selfie with her location quite obvious to anyone with half a clue. “I’ll send that to him later.”

“I’m glad I could give you something nice,” Kara said, offering her arm to wrap around Cat and being silently thrilled when Cat nestled into her side without any more prompting. “You deserve nice things, Cat.”

“Even though I left you? That’s the part you keep not saying.” Cat didn’t look up at Kara to see her point land, they both knew it had.

“You did. But I came after you, eventually. Isn’t that what people do? Go after what they want?”

“Kara--”

“Of course, I didn’t know about all this with your mom. So I can wait. I can put this all on hold and be a friend to you. I’m happy to do it.”

“Everything is up in the air,” Cat said, gesturing at the giant drop below them. “Quite literally right now. I don’t know what happens next, so I can’t promise you anything.”

“What happens if I do this?” Kara asked, summoning every last scrap of her courage into one finger, using it to gently touch Cat’s chin and tilt her face up toward Kara’s. Cat’s expression had softened, her lips were as soft and inviting as ever, and as soon as Kara realized all of that, she was a lost cause. She kissed Cat with sweetness and forgiveness, and a promise of comfort and more.

“Oh.” Cat still had her eyes closed when the tender kiss ended. “That was everything I hoped. But Kara, I don’t know if I can just come back, if I can find a life that makes room for all this.”

“You can. We will. However it has to be, I think we can make it work, Cat. But it’s better to try and fail than never take a chance in the first place.”

“Someone very wise must have taught you that.”

“You did.”

“Like I said.” Cat cupped Kara’s cheek with her hand, running her thumb over the cheekbone with exquisite care. “I’m tired of fighting this, Kara. I ran halfway around the world to escape my feelings for you, and they haven’t gone anywhere. Maybe all I cost us was time.”

“We still have lots of that,” Kara answered. “More than enough, I promise.”

“Will you come back with me? To the house? I can’t bear being alone in there.”

“Of course,” Kara said. “Now?”

“Not yet,” Cat replied, leaning back into Kara’s side. “Let’s stay on top of the world a little longer.”

Kara held her close, content to do exactly that.

#supercat #s1 nostalgia meme #cat grant #kara danvers #minor character death #xxtorchxx

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bryonysimcox · 4 years

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The internal battle of forced monotony: Week 13, Spain

The negative emotions associated with isolation have reared their ugly heads this week. Amid tales of homemade ramen, torrential rain and a new film we’re working on, this post also reflects on the less positive moods that lockdown has gifted us.

Life feels more surreal as each week passes. The end of our sixth week in lockdown also marks a quarter of a year since we set off from England in our freshly converted campervan. When I frame it like that, our overland adventure to date both stretches back into eternity and only feels like a couple of days ago. Little did we know that ‘life on the road’ would entail confinement indoors and restrictions on all kinds of activities, like going to a cafe, seeing friends, making videos and driving through Europe.

There’s certainly something deep within me that is inherently optimistic. Even though if I was realistic about it, I knew that the ‘State of Alarm’ here in Spain would likely extend beyond the date of 26th April (which had already been extended twice), I had sort of psyched myself up towards regaining some of our freedom on that date. So when one morning this week, I flicked my phone onto the website for EL Pais (a major Spanish newspaper) and Pedro Sánchez had announced he was set to ask congress for another extension until the 9th May, my heart sank.

If there’s one thing I’ve wanted this weekly blog to be, it’s authentic. I’ve wanted to use it as a record of where I’ve been - not only geographically, but emotionally, and that means reflecting on the lows as well as the highs.

It’s hard putting into words the feeling of being so helpless in your own life - the feeling I’m experiencing now in lockdown. I guess one way that this helplessness has taken effect is in my increased empathy and consideration for people who live much larger parts of their lives facing uncertainty and helplessness - whether that be living under an unstable dictatorship, drought and famine, civil war or poverty. It’s not that I’ve only just started caring about these people, but in experiencing a fraction of the emotions that they must be going through, my sympathy deepens into something much more.

I’m so used to being in control. I trust that I will wake up tomorrow and night will turn to day; that I will put my keys in the ignition and the van will start; that I will be safe from persecution and oppression and that I will be able to access food and water. Even the element of my life which is the most uncertain as we undertake this overland adventure, which is money, is usually tempered by the knowledge that George and I have the skills and resources to find work, even if it has to be something we don’t particularly like. And yet now, life has thrown us a curveball. Coronavirus has left us spinning out of control.

Not feeling in control of my life has sapped my motivation. I still manage to get out of bed, and get various things done for our film channel Broaden or just general life admin, and I still eat well and exercise where possible. But things have lost their shiny glow, and I lose the energy to focus on a task for long.

It’s not like every waking moment I’ve spent has been devoid of positive energy. Back at the start of the week we ventured out to the supermarket on foot which was a welcome change of scene, I sat out in the sun and bleached my hair with lemon juice, and George learnt to eat crisps in a handstand. We laugh, we have fun and we create little activities like this to pass the time. But somehow, even investing in positivity like this can be tiring. You spend one day trying really hard to be grateful for what you’ve got in this time of crisis, and focus on celebrating the silver linings of copious free time, only to wake up the next day with your energy reserves run dry. Is anyone feeling this too? I know I’m not alone.

(images, left to right) Bleaching my hair with lemon juice, filming snippets for our upcoming ‘Place Portraits’ video and learning to eat crisps in a handstand.

Meanwhile, frontline workers continue to fight for us all. To save our lives.

The juxtaposition of the chilling images we see on the news about Covid-19 against the confines of the little cottage we’re currently staying in is bizarre. Each day I read new statistics about people dying, articles about PPE shortages and quotes from global health authorities telling us the worst is yet to come.The boredom and helplessness I’m feeling shrink in comparison to the intensity of this global pandemic. My emotions seem petty and mundane, perhaps even pathetic. And yet, something tells me these emotions are still legitimate. That all of our emotions are legitimate, as we each attempt to process the situation and what it could mean for the future.

The future is no longer a thing which feels predictable. We have stepped over the cliff edge, and as each day that the pandemic unfolds, we are in new territory. Of course, one of the opportunities presented by such an enormous global event is the chance to reassess how we live on this planet, redefining the new ‘normal’.

I have always been interested in the study of the future, and using different approaches to imagine how it may play out. And yet whilst there are opportunities amid the crisis, right now, I’m terrified by what I see. Yes, there are clues and behaviour changes that we can use to project future scenarios, but most of what is in front of us is completely unknown. We don’t know how long we have to work from home, furlough our staff, keep our children educated and occupied indoors or talk to loved ones through a screen. We don’t know what horrors tomorrow’s headlines will bring.

It feels like the world is staring into a dark abyss, reaching out for something to hold onto.

From a selfish perspective, not having any control over the future is a huge spanner in the works. Driving across Europe in a van and working as freelance videographers is the least ‘essential activity’ there could be, and we are conscious that governments have much more to focus on than two British travellers running out of money and desperate to continue their adventure. But it’s still so disheartening to be at the whim of something, something bigger and greater than you, particularly in light of the arduous year we spent preparing for this trip. There have certainly been a few tears here this week, and waves of the same emotions I felt when building the van and knowing there was a chance we would have to give up.

The weather really hasn’t helped lift the mood either. This region of Spain faced endless days of torrential rain this week which rendered the garden inundated and the road flooded. We couldn’t even get out to the supermarket and even worse, a leak developed in the roof of our van! It all felt rather doom and gloom.

(images, left to right) Torrential rain turned the road into a river, the point where we had to reverse all the way back home and couldn’t get to the supermarket, and a neighbouring lane which is closed off by Police.

One of the other realisations that brought me crashing down this week was sussing out that we’ll still be in lockdown for George’s thirtieth birthday. He’s not even someone who cares much for birthdays, but it had always been such an important milestone in my head and I was really looking forward to doing something nice together - going to a restaurant or watching live music or mooching around a city. Hilariously, back when we left Sydney we made a plan with our friends to have a reunion for George’s 30th… in Goa, India! It’s actually quite amusing to see how monumentally wrong we were in predicting the future, as we are thousands of miles off India right now.

All that said, George has been a cornerstone. Not just to comfort me about his birthday, but to be there through this all. We sort of balance one another out, ready with a positive mindset and hug when the other one is feeling super low.

If there’s one thing life in lockdown has strengthened, it’s our relationship.

On a lighter note, George embarked on a grand mission to make the best homemade ramen on Sunday. It all started with the broth, inspired by a zany French chef he follows on YouTube, and by mid-morning the cottage was filled with the smell of this incredible broth combining vegetable peelings with burnt garlic, ginger, miso paste and soy. What started as a broth-making test unfolded across the day, and saw him make handmade noodles, a sticky garlic and sesame sauce, soy soaked eggs and grilled tomatoes. Needless to say, watching George’s ramen odyssey was definitely the most entertainment I had all day!

(images, left to right) George’s homemade noodles (as food stocks were running low), the finished ramen, and the delicious oily and fatty broth in progress.

The two of us have also been working on a new video that will be released on the Broaden YouTube this Saturday (25th April). It’s a far cry from ‘The Hundred Miler’, but hopefully will be well-received nonetheless. It’s called ‘Place Portraits’, and we filmed it back in Paris, in the first week on the road back when temperatures lingered around zero degrees. Whilst we haven’t been as excited about making videos as we usually would be, I continue to be grateful to have a creative focus amid the pandemic, and being stuck inside is forcing me to get inventive with ideas for upcoming projects.

I also love seeing things that people have baked, sung, written, built and performed across the world each day online. The internet can be an incredible place.

As I write this, I reflect on a rocky week battling the internal voices and contradictory emotions of lockdown.

It’s a strangely tiring combination: of not knowing what the future looks like and trying to make sense of a world devoid of human contact or normal routines. Each day, let alone this whole week, has been filled with so many highs and lows that by the evening, I’m left feeling exhausted and churned up inside.

But we made it. We made it another week in lockdown and I’m so glad I have this blog as a place to reflect. I hope it’s also a place where my honesty (and in this week’s post, my negativity) makes you not feel so alone in your emotions.

As if she knew I needed her right now, Mother Nature has finally blessed us with glorious sunshine and I can already feel my mood lifting. Perhaps the pain associated with this period is also signifying something else: growth. As we face this together, and all of the ugly emotions that come along with it, we learn more about ourselves and human nature, and in doing so, we grow.

p.s. apologies if this week’s post was all doom and gloom! If it was, may I redirect you to last week’s ‘photo essay’ as a soothing antidote.

#traveldiaries #life in lockdown #covid-19 #estado de alarma #coronavirus #BryonyandGeorge #suzithevan #digitalnomads #vanliving

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findmyrupertfriend · 5 years

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WRITTEN BY: KATEY RICH

Rupert Friend knows he probably wasn't the first choice for the title role of Cheri, and when you mention that he's yet another star that Stephen Frears plucked out of obscurity to stardom, he doesn't take offense. But Friend, also known as Keira Knightley's boyfriend and as the dastardly Wickham in Joe Wright's Pride & Prejudice, may very easily be the Next Big Thing, a sexy Englishman with gorgeous eyes and, oh yeah, acting talent. As the spoiled, lazy Cheri, who starts a six-year relationship with an older woman (Michelle Pfeiffer) mostly because he has nothing better to do, Friend is both the hero and the villain of his own story, a lover to Pfeiffer's character who also causes her the greatest grief. I spoke to Friend during a roundtable interview at the Cheri junket, where he walked in the room by himself, wearing a Hawaiian shirt that may or may not have been ironic. Check out what he said to say below, and underneath the interview watch our exclusive behind-the-scenes featurette about how Cheri got made. The movie comes out in select theaters this Friday.

How did you like the way you looked in this film? The clothes, the hair? We had a lot of visual ideas about Chéri, one of them being the idea that he was sort of a devil and an angel. Physically he looked like a most angelic, sweet, sort of well-behaved boy, but he actually had the morals of a Lucifer. We also had the idea—Stephen and I—of a sort of ballerina matador in the way that he moved, working with Consolata Boyle on the costumes, we very much wanted to keep that element of dangerous grace, where you can be gliding through a room one moment, and pouncing the next with a barb or an action or a look. When I was preparing the role, an image that came to me very strongly was of this lazy tomcat on a hot, brick wall, sort of just lazily watching the world go by, but when a mouse came too close [knocks the table], it was a goner. That was something I felt as soon as I read the script.

Stephen Frears said they were looking for an American for your role, because Michelle Pfeiffer and Kathy Bates were American. But then you came in. Did you know that was what they were looking for when you came in for the audition? Well, I was aware I was probably quite low on the list. And also that I was going to have to fight tooth and nail to get the part when you have a script and a director of this caliber and a star like Michelle comes on, I should think there were many more high-profile actors than I am who were keen to play the role. So I think the script had some fingerprints on it. Stephen is rather reticent in discussing his process and how he approaches working with actors. Could you tell us something about how you discussed where you were going with this role, and what he gave you each day as you approached the day’s shooting? I can understand his reticence because I share it. I think that the process of trying to become somebody else, and obviously the director/actor relationship in trying to do that, is such a weird, undefinable thing. There’s definitely not a sit-down board meeting where you talk it all through, at least not with Stephen. It’s much more of an instinctive, felt thing.

What was your experience working with Michelle? It was nothing but wonderful. She was a very, very generous actor and we established a trust early on, which was lucky because we had to do some very hard work together. Not just the more obvious intimate scenes, but the characters go through these 180-degree changes of emotions seemingly without reason, and you have to feel that you are dancing together, that one will catch the other. Otherwise it’s very exposing.

What did you do to build up that trust? I don’t know. It just happened. We met the night before we were going to start shooting, and knew nothing of each other before then. Obviously I knew her work, she didn’t know mine. So we had a quick cup of tea, and then what I think happened was we left ourselves behind at that point and started to just inhabit the world we were creating. Chéri must have been a hard character to play because it’s so indecipherable. It’s all inaction. Did you have any fears about playing a part like that? It can be a thankless part to play. Definitely. One of the first walls that I came to was this statement that Léa makes, that she can’t criticize his character because he doesn’t seem to have one. Which for an actor, is a tricky thing, because obviously we are looking for character. A great way of finding out about somebody, as an actor, or even in life, is to find out what they want. That can give you a lot of clues about their behavior. But when somebody doesn’t seem to want anything, has everything he could possibly ask for, but doesn’t seem to want any of it, it is a very challenging onion to unpeel.

How do you make your character likable? Or was that not a concern? I do not have a concern to make the character likable. I have a concern to play him truthfully. I believe that if you can discover something of the truth of a person, then you will start to understand, and to understand is to move towards, if not like, then at least an empathy of some kind. Colette wrote a very complicated young man, and I don’t think he was a standard, square-jawed hero—quite the reverse in many ways—and when you start to look at why that might have been: What has kept him a child for so long? Was it Léa’s fault? Could you put it at her feet? Is it his mother’s fault? Is it society’s faulty? Or was he just born that way? It’s more interesting than trying to paint a sympathetic picture every time.

There’s a transition in the film between Chéri being 19 to being 25. That’s a lot of aging in a really short time. What did you do in your performance to capture that six years, and the development of their relationship as well? That six-year period also encompassed Chéri doing more of the same thing. And it’s that curious thing that you see nowadays among the very, very wealthy—the jet set, or whatever they’re called—where you have no money worries whatsoever, and when you’ve sailed in the biggest yachts, and gone to the best tailor, and eaten at the finest restaurants, and you’ve done that every night for six years, and you cannot buy a better bottle of wine than the one you’re buying every night, there’s a point, I think, in the human nature, where you just become incredibly bored of life. You start to become listless and apathetic, and lose your hunger. I think that what drives most of us as human beings is the want for something. You might have a hope, or a big dream, or a goal that you haven’t yet achieved. And when you take that away from somebody, whether by incarcerating them, or in Chéri’s case, by making them possibly over-privileged, you’re left with very little to live for, literally, so it was really trying to explore what six years of that sort of luxurious monotony might have done to somebody.

What do you have awaiting release that you can tell us about? There’s a film called The Young Victoria, about the early life of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, and their romance. Are you Albert? Yes. So a much more decent human being, on every level. Yeah, so that’s in the fall, I think, coming out here. He was quite a remarkable man. He was an extraordinary man, and the opposite of Chéri, in that he didn’t ever see his life’s work being done, and had this incredible sense of urgency, about his philanthropic work, about his commitment to his queen, the country that wasn’t even his, and all this in the face of immense opposition from the British people, and even from Victoria herself for awhile. He persevered through all of that to become the love of her life. I was trying to understand what it might be in a man to make a woman mourn for the next 40 years of her reign, never take the black off, build monument after monument to him. That was very inspiring to me.

What about Lullaby for Pi? That was a lot of fun. That was a film that I did this year with Forest Whitaker and Clémence Poésy. It’s about a musician, so I learned the piano, I’m playing a washed-up jazz musician. It’s about a man who’s mourning his wife in a hotel room, and one day a girl bursts into the hotel room and locks herself in his bathroom and won’t come out, and they conduct a relationship through the closed door—they never see each other. So it’s full of music, and he’s a kind of raconteur, so it has lots of rambling musical stories. It’s a very different piece from other things I’ve done.

#words with friend #cheri #rupert friend #interview #cinemablend.com

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iknowthekoolaidflavor · 5 years

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Only Human

Part 3 for the wizard!au

You sat in the back of class, trying to take your notes. Thomas sat on the other side of the room, doing the complete opposite. He tried everything he could to get your attention. Throwing paper balls, whispering your name out loud and in your head, and his last resort: getting a classmate to tap your shoulder.

“Tell him if he bothers me again, I’ll light him on fire”, you sneered

Your classmate was confused, yet she still obliged and Thomas blanched. There was definitely a spell for that and at this rate, it wouldn’t take you long to learn it.

As soon as class was over, you left as quick as you could, getting lost in the crowd of students. It honestly didn’t matter how much you didn’t want to be near Thomas. If he needed to keep an eye on his asset, he knew how to do it without you knowing.

At moments like this, you missed Angelica. She may have been a wizard, but she never treated you like you were weak. To her, you were just (Y/N). She wanted nothing more than to teach you as many spells as she knew, but she got into a school in France and you haven’t seen her for a nearly a year. You talked whenever you could. Recently, it’s been silent on her end.

“(Y/N)”, a familiar voice called

You turned to see Hercules sitting in a booth in the cafe by himself.

“You’re almost never in here”

“That’s not true”, you smiled, “I only come here for dinner. The lunches here aren’t that great”

“What brings you here then?”, he asks as he moves his backpack out the way

You sit down next to him, “I’m in need of company”

“So am I. Lafayette is still tutoring. John is trying to start a new organization and Alex just started the debate team, so you know that will take--”

“Hours”

Thomas is on the debate team too. You knew Thomas and Alex never saw eye to eye. Maybe Alex can provide a welcome distraction for a few hours.

You could always seek solace in Hercules. He was warm and inviting. You weren’t sure if he was a wizard or not. If he was, you would have begged your father to fire he who should not be named. Herc would probably never refer to you as an asset.

You talked for a couple hours, got some homework done, and had dinner. You barely noticed the sun was beginning to set.

“Ma moitié”, Lafayette grinned, “Did I take too long?”

“No, you’re right on time. (Y/N) was telling me about Thomas’s sudden interest in her well-being”

Herc smirked with a suggestive wink. Lafayette’s eyes widened at the name as he sat down in front of you two.

“Really”

“It’s my father’s fault. I’m not a fan of--”

That insufferable jackass.

“--Thomas. My father pays him to keep me safe”

Lafayette looked right into your eyes. You couldn’t figure out why he was giving you an intense stare.

“Keep you safe from what?”

“My family's line of business is...dangerous”

Or as my father would put it, “For humans”.

A part of you knew how helpful it would be to figure out who on campus was a wizard or human. There were times where you didn’t want to stress yourself out because the possibilities were endless. So far, there was Samuel, Thomas, and possibly Lafayette or Herc.

Lafayette begins to tell you all about his day and the students he helps with French. As entertaining as it sounds, it sounds like an absolute nightmare. You can’t help, but let your mind wander.

If only he picked someone else. There’s probably plenty of wizards on this damn campus. You send me to completely different state to keep me safe and I still end up in danger. Then, you leave me in the care of someone that assumes I can’t take care of myself. Calls me an asset. If Lafayette were a wizard, he probably wouldn’t even attempt to make me feel useless.

Now that I think about it, I might actually light Thomas on fire. Make it look like an accident.

You never noticed that Lafayette stopped speaking. He covered his mouth, trying to hold back a giggle.

“Are you alright?”

“Mhm. Herc...was telling me a joke”

Hercules gave his boyfriend a knowing glance. He was back to his old habits.

“Well, I think I’m going back to my dorm”, you sighed as you stood up

You could see Thomas entering the cafe, looking as exhausted as ever. You would have to remember to buy Alex lunch. His eyes almost immediately landed on you. He seemed genuinely surprised to see you.

“(Y/N), can we talk?”, he asked, finally at your side

Before you could answer, Lafayette had his arm around your shoulder and Hercules finally stood up, glaring at Thomas.

“I don’t think she wants that, you insufferable jackass”

Thomas pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

“It’s important. We really need to talk”

He reaches forward to grab your arm, only for Lafayette to slap it away. He was in Thomas’s face in a split second, ready to strike.

“I think I’m a lot safer with Lafayette. Wouldn’t you agree Herc?”

“Agreed”, he smirked

“Laf?”

“Agreed”

He stepped away from Thomas, who decided to back off. Thomas grabbed his backpack and left the cafe. You were putting him in a terrible position, yet he knew he had it coming.

Lafayette and Herc walked with you to the dorm because they lived there too.

“Soooooooo”, you grinned as you reached your room, “You read minds?”

“Que veux-tu dire, minette?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I’m human, not stupid”

“No, no you are not”, he gave you a soft smile, “In spite of what Thomas thinks, you are not stupid. You’re father was a fool to pick him, but I know why he did it”

“Oh, I’m all ears”, Herc said as he make himself comfortable on the window sill

“Thomas and I are wizards, but I have a higher rank than him. My family started training me before he even knew he was wizard”

“Is that why he left when you told him I was safe with you?”, you asked

“Well, that and it probably bruised his ego a bit. Serves him right”, he mumbled, “Thomas decided to take on the task of keeping you safe because he has something to prove to his father. He’s a man that lacks empathy. Especially when it comes to his children. According to him it, ‘Helps with their self esteem’ or something like that”

“So I’m like a test?”

“In a way, yes. Some wizards make a living off of being security detail. It’s a pretty low tier job, but if he can do this right, his father will probably stop being so hard on him”

“Why didn’t you take the job?”

“I wanted to”, he sighed, “There are men like you father and Thomas’s father that think that humans are weak. You need to stay in your place. One of the rules your father set, was that no matter the circumstance, you were not supposed to learn any type of magic. He has his ways of figuring this kind of stuff out. Knowing me, if you would have asked, I would have done it anyway. I think he may have known that too”

“Now I feel even worse about him picking Thomas”, you mumbled

“Thomas may be a little rough around the edges, but he wasn’t always like this. A lot of his beliefs were enforced by his father. Now that he’s away from him, I hope my friend will come back.”

“How long is that supposed to take?”, Herc chimed in

“Not a clue”

You hugged Lafayette and Herc before going to bed. In spite of what he told you, it did end on a high note. Lafayette would help you find a protection spell. In the mean time you would work on Thomas’s poor view on humans. Your father wouldn’t find out about you using magic and Thomas wouldn’t get punished for it. Sounds like a win-win.

You felt relieved as you finally fell in to a peaceful sleep until two in the morning. There was a loud knock at your door. Someone was mumbling your name on the other side.

“Thomas?”, you groaned as you opened the door

Thomas was leaning against the door hinge, bloodied, bruised, and a black eye. His shirt caught most of the blood. He pushed himself up, trying to muster as much energy as he could. He groaned as such a little task caused him so much pain.

Thomas managed to make eye contact with you, so many emotions crossed his face at once. The final being anger and fear.

“NOW can we talk”

It was all he could get out before he passed out and fell into your arms.

#wizard au #wizard!thomas #thomas x reader #thomas jefferson x reader #supernatural au #college au #thomas jefferson drabble #drabble

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haikyuulovercompany · 5 years

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The Beauty & The Monster Pt. 1 Tendou x OC.

I’m so happy to know you were interested in read this old piece about Tendou and one of my OC’s !!!

So, here it goes!!!! I hope you like it <3 <3

---

If she had to describe their relationship with one word, it would probably be ‘empathy’: The capacity to identify with one another’s emotions, and mental state.

She was sure neither one of them was crazy. They seemedcrazy, but they weren’t. People would look at them and wonder. Oh, how much they wondered. They inquired all the time about what was going on under the surface. Some bet they were having it behind everyone’s back. Others clarified they were just good friends. The answer laid somewhere in between. They weren’t sleeping together, but man, it would be cynical to say there wasn’t any tension between the two.

They touched all the time. When they walked together he would sometimes drape his arms around her shoulders, or they would constantly bump against each other. The hall was large enough for them not to, yet they were always invading each other’s personal space. They sat so close together their legs would be pressed together. If they were talking, she wouldn’t be able to help herself from holding his forearm. She was aware of it all. All her friends assure her he was aware as well.

That’s why she had made a stupid bet. It was so obvious that they liked each other; no one understood why they weren’t a couple yet.

Everyone was expecting Shiratorizawa to win and go one more to nationals. And she truly meant everyone. In three whole years the volleyball team hadn’t lost one match—not even one match. It was insane. They were beyond good. They were extraordinary.

When she became part of the cheerleading team on her first year in high school, she could only imagine in dreams to cheer as much as she had to for those three years. There had been times she was left voiceless for how much she had shouted the chants game after game. Now they had to experience something new: the bitter taste of defeat. It was their last year in high school. The team wouldn’t be playing another game, nor she was going to cheer again.

It had been simple. Shiratorizawa never lost, it was a safe bet. She would confess to Tendou once they qualified once again for nationals, being too confident of the outcome of the match. They would go as the typical, cheesy, sporty couple. A star player and a cheerleader. What a cliché. She was up for it. She was so fucking ready.

Then, they lost. At the last minute, at the last set, they lost. Her heart sank. Satori might have been the light of her eyes, but she was close to the whole team to hurt for the others too. Watching Taichi and Lion cry was too much. She ended up shedding tears, too. Her dear Shiratorizawa, how could that be?

On their way back, they had to take separated busses. The whole mood they had brought at the start of the event dead and gone.

After a match the coach would let the cheerleaders ride the same bus as the volleyball team. They had always won, so it was some kind of price from his part. Satori and she had already arranged they would sit together like every single year. In her mind she would have already confessed by then, so they would be together, hand in hand filled with the ecstasy of qualifying for nationals once again.

She stared at the cold night through the window. The whole bus was dead silent. She zipped up her jacket to the top. She was still in her cheerleading uniform and the night had gotten noticeably colder.

“Are you okay?” her best friend asked.

She shook her head while she sighed. “Is any of us okay?” she quizzed, looking at Akane.

“Yours is a special case.”

Michiko gazed at the nothingness. Akane was one of the two persons who knew what she was going to do that day. “I had spent the last month imagining how this day would play off,” she inclined to the front, and rested her forehead on the front seat. “Believe me when I tell you it was the opposite of what is happening now.” She felt her back being stroked gently.

“I know, babe, I know.” Akane‘s voice was as low as hers.

Michiko turned her head to face her. “Is this a sign of destiny? Was this the way life told me to not do it?” She was feeling beyond hopeless and it showed. Her heart had been broken in more than one way that night.

Akane stopped stroking her back. “Bullshit. I think it still is the best you can do today.”

Michiko sat straight, her eyes full of skepticism. “Really?” she said sarcastically. “They lost. The only thing Satori surely wants right now is to go home and watch fucking anime. Not to be part of a romantic tragedy.”

Akane sighed tiredly. “Or it can be the best thing to make up for this whole situation. Maybe he lost the final, but he got the girl.” Michiko looked away from her, and to the ceiling. “You’d be a total liar if you say you’re not dying to be in his arms.” Michiko notably blushed, and covered her face with both hands making Akane giggle. “You know how people affirm Tendou and you are obviously sleeping together? If only they knew what an innocent and pure snowflake you are, they would stop. I believe Tendou might be a pervert, but you, you are a saint.”

“Stop it, Akane.” She quarreled her, and gave her a slap on the arm.

“Then do it, Michiko. Or at least give him a clue.” Akane grey-blue eyes went wide open, and she jolted on her place. She twisted her whole body towards her friend.

“Oh no,” Michiko gasped. “Now what do you want me to do?” she asked defeated. The person who had come up with the idea that the qualifiers final was the perfect occasion for her to confess was Akane. She was constantly plotting every one of her moves. It was her thing.

“I swear this is genius. You can totally pull it off,” she said excited.

“Spit it out.”

Akane squealed taking the attention of a couple people. Their team lost. What was she so animated about? “Say something obvious to him, and then, walk away. It’s okay if you don’t want to straightforward confess to him given the situation, but c’mon. It’s been two years. You need to let him know.”

Michiko gave it a short thinking. It didn’t sound all that crazy. “But what can I say?”

“I don’t know. You have your inside jokes or codes. How do I know what goes on with you pair of weirdos?”

“Our secret jokes are that, Akane. Jokes. There’s nothing romantic, or erotic, or whatever.”

“Okay, let’s think. We’ve still got time before we arrive to school.”

They both went to complete silence. Michiko couldn’t think of anything. She was nervous and depressed at the same time. She could have a panic attack at any given moment, and she would let herself suffocate to death due to the lack of energy in her.

“I know.” Akane said.

“That was fast.”

“Oh, Michiko, I’ve been rooting for you two to be together since last year. I’ll do anything for you to just get over it with.”

“Since last year?” Michiko asked amused.

“The year before that doesn’t count because you kept denying you were head over hills for him.”

“Well, what’s your new brilliant idea?”

“A kiss.” Akane declared provoking Michiko to choke on her own saliva.

“I’m not going to kiss him, what the fuck. That’s a blunter move than say I like him.”

“No, a kiss on the cheek. You two roam around each other like starving wolves, but I’m sure you have never gave him any kind of kiss.”

“Well, no. I haven’t.”

“Say something sweet like only you know how to, and give him a kiss on the cheek and walk away. If he doesn’t get the memo, maybe it will encourage him to go for you for once and for all.”

“If that works, you’re officially a medium.”

“I have seen the way you two look at each other like helpless lambs all through high school. I don’t need to be a medium to know it will work.”

“Let’s hope I can do it.”

“When you are near him you become a flirting machine. Both of you have a chemical reaction to the other. Without noticing you’ll say the perfect thing, and the current of the moment will lead you. And what’s the worst that can happen, anyway? Shiratorizawa just lost to a bunch of nobodies from an unknown school. That’s the ultimate all time low.”

And so there she was. She had unzipped her jacket since the school was a lot hotter than outside. Akane gave her blessing to her and went home. Michiko promised to call her right after to let her know every single detail.

Michiko had stayed for Satori. Not only for the whole confession thing, she also wanted to hug him and see how he was. Satori had only told her he would drop volleyball after high school, and she was sure Satori thought he had had more time. He was the god of reading people but he was completely unreadable.

After long twenty minutes of waiting, the doors of the gym opened and the volleyball team went out. Stoic faces adorned with sad eyes, and dried streams of tears were everywhere. None of them were surprise to see her. One by one hugged her. She gently clutch Semi’s forearms before hugging him and squeezed Goshiki in her arms a little bit tighter than the others.

“Next year is yours,” she told him. Goshiki nodded with a broken smile.

“Of course, Amai-senpai. I’ll do my best to make you proud,” he said, and went on his way with the rest of the team.

“Take care of things here,” Lion whispered to her after they hugged. With his head he signal to the back, where she was sure Satori was waiting for her.

The last one was Ushijima. They gave each other a simple hug, and without words he softly smiled at her and kept walking. He was the second person of the only two who knew what she was truly doing there.

Tendou was already siting on the floor with his back against the wall and his long legs stretched. She went up to him with a slow pace.

“Look who’s here,” he started saying without looking at her, “if not Shiratorizawa’s sweetheart, Amai Michiko.” He turned to see her then. His face had an unaffected expression, his usual half a smile and sleepy eyes were unchanged. She moved in front of him with his eyes following her, and knelt before him.

“I’m sorry you won’t get to do your pretty dances at nationals this year,” he said.

She gave a subtle, small laugh. “Like it matters.”

“It matters to me,” he said. “I like to see you dance.”

“You’re a cheeky bastard.” She felt shy, and crossed her arms over her stomach.

“Not only me. I promise you tons of people were waiting to see our cheerleading squad at nationals.”

“They’ll be left hanging, then,” she said in almost a whisper.

They stared at each other. It was a bittersweet moment. They had a bad taste from losing, but being close to one another always felt great. Satori knew her face by memory. She had waist-long hair in an intense chocolate brown shade and special hazel eyes—they were the type of hazel eyes, which were a lighter tone than the usual. “You could have been the cheerleading captain if you wanted, ya’ know?” he declared after observing her.

She scuffed. “Akane is gorgeous, and she is the most charismatic of us all. She was born a leader.”

“Mmm. I’d like to defer.” He trapped one of her locks in his hand, and gently played with it. “You are the sweetheart of this school for a reason, not her.”

She had to do it now. She could even just kiss him on the lips. Akane was right. They had a chemical reaction that pulled them together—like opposite magnets.

She just had to do it.

She looked down hiding her intentions and searching for the right words. “I’m especially happy to know you of all people think that of me.” She raised her gaze again and pressed a soft kiss on Tendou’s cheek. “Thank you, Satori. Good night.”

She quickly stood up and began to walk. She hadn’t seen his expression and hadn’t wait for him to say goodbye back to her. She had missed his stunned expression. She only knew he hadn’t gotten up and went after her. She was too focused on getting away from the school. She considered maybe she had been too vague, or maybe he wasn’t really that into her.

She had done what she could, and had been scolded by Akane when she called her on her way home to tell her. Maybe she could have been a tad clearer but what was done was done.

#tendo satori #shiratorizawa #The Beauty & The Monster #tendou x michiko #tendou x oc #michiko amai

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theanoninyouraskblog · 5 years

Text

Well, well, well.

@erasermic-aus

Looks like henry and windy are at it again. Lets give them hell shall we.

Mmm look at that delicious hint. Alright you know the drill lets look at obvious stuff first.

1: We’ve got a recording microphone. Specifically based on the shape it looks like we either have a condenser mic (specifically a large condenser mic) or a Ribbon microphone. Knowing what we do about Present Mic canonically (He has a radio show) we can assume this Mic also has a radio show (or a vlog, we’ll get to that later) which means he’s probably using a Ribbon Microphone given that they’re said to have the most natural sound and are usually used for recording human voices.

But we can take this further.

Hizashi’s Microphone is a mounted mic on stand... obviously (they help with audio quality). And he appears to have a pop filter on the front (basically it makes audio not sound like shit or in the words of an expert: “One of the simplest recording gadgets is the humble pop filter... positioned between the vocalist and your microphone to block plosives – those percussive P and B sounds that cause annoying low frequency bumps.”- a random fucking website, I did this research myself, I’m not sighting it if I don't have to.)

2: Red eyes. Now Hizashi canonically in the Bnha comics has read eyes, it was changed for the show... for atheistic reasons I guess? This isn’t some measly one off, because Windy and Henry aren’t sloppy. Lets take a look at what versions of Mic have green eyes. The mad hatter. Waiter Hizashi. That's it... there aren't that many full color pictures of hizashi with his eyes colored/open.

But lets look at who has red eyes. God’s Abomination, specifically when it’s villain mic and hero eraser. (there's no fully colored version the other way round so I’m just sort of assuming his eyes are green when it’s hero hizashi and villain eraser, would make my job soooo much easier being able to draw that conclusion) BUT NOPE I can’t make that clear decisive cut of red means evil, because guess what... HERO MIC HAS RED EYES IN SCREECH’S AU.

But you know what we do know.

Mic isn’t a hero. Henry told us as much.

Odd emphasis on not there... implies he’s a villain. But we wont rule out civilian yet.

Now we get to talk about this:

Firstly, that one eye visible one eye not is a fucking trope in the art world.

Want to know why?

Nah, I’m joking it’s been around a lot longer than him. But the glasses glare and the one eye is a very common theme. Don’t believe me?

That hiding one or both eyes on dangerous characters thing? Also a fucking trope.

Want a list of popular anime character with only one eye showing??? I have one!! https://www.ranker.com/list/best-anime-characters-with-one-eye-showing/ranker-anime Want a whole fucking page about it? https://www.animecharactersdatabase.com/tags.php?id=1085 Here's the data base!!!

Want videogame examples? Undyne (undertale), Sans (undertale), Garry (Ib)! The list goes on!

And doing something with a character’s eyes is always a trope! Character got possessed??? Guess what you can change the eyes to clue your audience in! You’re character just went fucking feral? SLITTED PUPILS ARE THE WAY MY DUDE. Aizawa Shouta just activated his quirk? Zoom in on them eyes, change color and do a weird color fracture.

Super powerful character has eyes flash? Totally normal, robot character’s eyes change color when scanning? One eye changes color?

Heterochromia is also super common.

This implies that Hizashi is dangerous, since it’s not happening before a fight as far as I can tell, it just implies he’s a dangerous man and not to be messed with.

Also remember how I mentioned vlogging? There is the off chance Hizashi is blogging and that’s why his attention isn't on his microphone. Or he could be looking at photos, or something... maybe a kidnapped and tied up Aizawa... who knows.

3: Now lets look at that dialog.

“He was amazing!” We can infer that the he in this situation is probably Aizawa... though it could technically be anyone. But we’re going to stick with Aizawa.

He was amazing? Well sounds a bit like Hizashi talking about Hero Aizawa, having seen Aizawa on patrol or even having fought him. One this is for sure, this is probably an obsessive mic. The sort that fixates on Aizawa or the like. Seems to me like a villain obsessing over a hero. Now, subtler details.

1: Lets take a look at this background. That’s glass right there which means this isn't Hizashi’s house, this is a recording studio. And Hizashi is either the host or is being interviewed, and we can rule that out due to the fact his feet are up and it’s fucking rude to do that if your being interviewed.

Now this could also be a police interrogation room, but the chair lends to it not being so, as does his posture and the mic itself. No this is a recording studio which means Mic defiantly has his own show.

Not only that, he’s a public figure. And probably a villain!

2: Hand guestures are something distinctly Hizashi. As someone who speaks with their hands the same way he does, expressing with hands isn’t just a thing for other people, you move your hands by yourself, reminding yourself to put on socks with motions, etc. But that, that's an odly specific position.

Now talking with your hands is a common phenomena, books have been written about it, it allegedly conveys strong leadership and the like... however it’s also a trait sociopaths and psychopath are known to mimic in order to endear people to them. Now let me put up a sociopath/psycopath checklist (The tests are very similar and I didnt feel like doing both) and lets look at Present Mic as a character.

GLIB and SUPERFICIAL CHARM — The tendency to be smooth, engaging, charming, slick, and verbally facile. Psychopathic charm is not in the least shy, self-conscious, or afraid to say anything. A psychopath never gets tongue-tied. They have freed themselves from the social conventions about taking turns in talking, for example. ✓ Hey, look Charm? Never gets tongue tied... hmmm

GRANDIOSE SELF-WORTH — A grossly inflated view of one’s abilities and self-worth, self-assured, opinionated, cocky, a braggart. Psychopaths are arrogant people who believe they are superior human beings. ✓ This one is a little harder to check off, because he’s not nearly as self centered, but cocky? yeah... yep, so he gets half a point here.

NEED FOR STIMULATION or PRONENESS TO BOREDOM — An excessive need for novel, thrilling, and exciting stimulation; taking chances and doing things that are risky. Psychopaths often have low self-discipline in carrying tasks through to completion because they get bored easily. They fail to work at the same job for any length of time, for example, or to finish tasks that they consider dull or routine. ✓ I dunno if you’ve met Hizashi, but this fits in rather well.

PATHOLOGICAL LYING — Can be moderate or high; in moderate form, they will be shrewd, crafty, cunning, sly, and clever; in extreme form, they will be deceptive, deceitful, underhanded, unscrupulous, manipulative, and dishonest. ✓ If he’s a villain he checks this easily. Especially if he’s a public figure AND a villain.

CONNING AND MANIPULATIVENESS — The use of deceit and deception to cheat, con, or defraud others for personal gain; distinguished from Item #4 in the degree to which exploitation and callous ruthlessness is present, as reflected in a lack of concern for the feelings and suffering of one’s victims. ✓ See above

LACK OF REMORSE OR GUILT — A lack of feelings or concern for the losses, pain, and suffering of victims; a tendency to be unconcerned, dispassionate, cold-hearted, and non-empathic. This item is usually demonstrated by a disdain for one’s victims. Ehhh… I really need to see more of this version of Hizashi to determine that.

SHALLOW AFFECT — Emotional poverty or a limited range or depth of feelings; interpersonal coldness in spite of signs of open See above.

CALLOUSNESS and LACK OF EMPATHY — A lack of feelings toward people in general; cold, contemptuous, inconsiderate, and tactless. Once again see above

PARASITIC LIFESTYLE — An intentional, manipulative, selfish, and exploitative financial dependence on others as reflected in a lack of motivation, low self-discipline, and inability to begin or complete responsibilities. Nope.

POOR BEHAVIORAL CONTROLS — Expressions of irritability, annoyance, impatience, threats, aggression, and verbal abuse; inadequate control of anger and temper; acting hastily. ✓ Acting hastily? Yep.

PROMISCUOUS SEXUAL BEHAVIOR — A variety of brief, superficial relations, numerous affairs, and an indiscriminate selection of sexual partners; the maintenance of several relationships at the same time; a history of attempts to sexually coerce others into sexual activity or taking great pride at discussing sexual exploits or conquests. Cannonically this would make sense but we wont check it.

EARLY BEHAVIOR PROBLEMS — A variety of behaviors prior to age 13, including lying, theft, cheating, vandalism, bullying, sexual activity, fire-setting, glue-sniffing, alcohol use, and running away from home. Dunno yet.

LACK OF REALISTIC, LONG-TERM GOALS — An inability or persistent failure to develop and execute long-term plans and goals; a nomadic existence, aimless, lacking direction in life. This man wanted to be a radio host. That's not a fucking stable job Hizashi. This is poor planning. ✓

IMPULSIVITY — The occurrence of behaviors that are unpremeditated and lack reflection or planning; inability to resist temptation, frustrations, and urges; a lack of deliberation without considering the consequences; foolhardy, rash, unpredictable, erratic, and reckless. ✓ No duh

IRRESPONSIBILITY — Repeated failure to fulfill or honor obligations and commitments; such as not paying bills, defaulting on loans, performing sloppy work, being absent or late to work, failing to honor contractual agreements. ✓ if He’s a fucking villain.

FAILURE TO ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR OWN ACTIONS — A failure to accept responsibility for one’s actions reflected in low conscientiousness, an absence of dutifulness, antagonistic manipulation, denial of responsibility, and an effort to manipulate others through this denial. ✓ if He’s a fucking villain.

MANY SHORT-TERM MARITAL RELATIONSHIPS — A lack of commitment to a long-term relationship reflected in inconsistent, undependable, and unreliable commitments in life, including marital. Nope

JUVENILE DELINQUENCY — Behavior problems between the ages of 13-18; mostly behaviors that are crimes or clearly involve aspects of antagonism, exploitation, aggression, manipulation, or a callous, ruthless tough-mindedness. Dunno yet

REVOCATION OF CONDITION RELEASE — A revocation of probation or other conditional releases due to technical violations, such as carelessness, low deliberation, or failing to appear. Dunno yet

CRIMINAL VERSATILITY — A diversity of types of criminal offenses, regardless if the person has been arrested or convicted for them; taking great pride at getting away with crimes. …..✓

Let me spell this out for you, Hizashi is displaying an oddly exaggerated handmotion, even for the most exuberant of hand talkers. (Generaly talking with your hands never gets outside of a box, here I’ve drawn the box on mic for you.)

The larger box is where most people talk and people why are shy or have been bullied/are self conscious of their hands talk in the smaller box.

He as a character ticks of most of a psychopathic checklist and if he is indeed a psychopath he could have learned that hand motion endear people to you. Now I’m not saying he is a psychopath, most people tick off at least 4 of those boxes, I’m just saying it’s possible.

3 yep that eye is still confusing me, he defiantly seems like he’s looking at something and the more I look at that smug expression the more I think it’s Aizawa tied up and gagged in a chair with his own capture weapon glaring at him.

4: That's a nice chair. That's a nice chair. Not interrogation I guess. But something about that chair irks me.

Alright nitpicky now.

Posture:

That's not fucking relaxed posture. That’s posturing to give of the air of being relaxed. Mic may have been relaxed when he crossed his legs but those arms are not relaxed. Look at the stiff angles. That’s a man who’s up to something.

And lastly, no, no I could not figure out what kind of shoes Mic is wearing, and I don't think it’s relevant.

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starspatter · 5 years

Text

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 11

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 4,380 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Also on ff.net and AO3.

There was a time when I was alone Nowhere to go and no place to call home My only friend was the man in the moon And even sometimes he would go away, too

-Ruth B, "Lost Boy"

————————–

Before.

“Batman, wait!”

Robin was too late; Batman had already charged ahead by ruthlessly breaking down the door to the house with the sole of his boot. A low-key villain calling himself “Cluemaster” (whom Robin had incidentally never heard much of until now compared to the likes of Riddler or Joker, having supposedly gone “straight” for a couple years – at least according to Batman) had led them on a lengthy chase, and they ended up pursuing him all the way out to a small neighborhood in the suburbs. As they infiltrated the dwelling, Robin hastily checked around to make sure no homeowners were present who could be caught in the fray – or worse, taken as collateral.

Fortunately the room was empty, aside from their glaringly orange-clad target in the middle of it, reaching for one of the plasti-glass pellets attached to the front of his costume. Batman had already anticipated the move though and launched forward faster than the other, lurching a blurred glove into his opponent’s throat, which caused him to drop the canister as his body was slammed hard against the wall.

“You’re under arrest for multiple counts of grand larceny, Cluemaster. Or should I say, Arthur Brown?”

With his other hand, he grasped at the bandana covering the lower half of the man’s face, which had already come loose from the force of impact. He jerked the rest of the kerchief off to expose a snarl under the guise, the owner evidently infuriated by the idea his identity had been so easily discovered.

“Now, where’s the money you stole?”

Arthur sneered.

“Why don’t I give you a clue to its whereabouts, and you can figure it out yourself, since you’re so smart?”

Batman growled as he grabbed his foe’s collar, lifting high into the air, letting free-dangling feet flail frantically.

“I don’t have time for these games. Either you tell me voluntarily, or I’ll make you confess.”

Robin was getting anxious by the aggressiveness in Batman’s tone; making threats of violence wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but he’d been out of sorts all night, acting excessively and extremely hostile, leaping into enemy territory with heedless disregard to danger – to himself or those around him. Sans his usual sangfroid. He was starting to sound like that time Scarecrow dosed him with a gas that took away all his fear, resulting in Batman almost taking a henchman’s life. It had taken all of Robin’s strength to haul him back up after Batman cut the line…

The current captive seemed to be getting panicky too, as he quickly changed his attitude, appealing to sympathy instead.

“Listen, I’ve got a wife and kid. They’re asleep upstairs. I just needed the cash to help support them. We’re in a bit of a financial jam, y’see…”

Robin’s conscience wavered, recalling the time they had to prevent a penniless man from holding up a drugstore in order to obtain medicine for his daughter, who was simply sick with a high fever. Of course this was theft on a much greater scale, but he still couldn’t help having some lingering empathy – especially based on his own past experiences dealing with poverty.

“That's one of the hardest things about this job, Robin. Sometimes we have to stop someone from doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”

“…Daddy?”

As if on cue, all three revolved towards the top of the staircase, where a young girl with golden curls – probably about his age – was standing in bare feet and violet nightgown, beholding the scene before her with baffled eyes, big and blue and broad.

“Darling, why don’t you go back to bed?” Arthur choked out, his own eyes bulging as cheeks turned indigo as well. “You’re just having a bad dream.”

“Arthur? What’s going on here? I heard a loud noise…”

Robin swallowed as a woman emerged from behind the adolescent, gripping the girl’s shoulders as she drew her daughter in protectively, eyeing the pair of home intruders with fear and suspicion. The situation was steadily turning from bad to worse. He hurriedly bounded up the steps, trying to block at least the shorter one’s view with his arms and cape, acting as both shield and shroud.

“Both of you should stay back…”

Batman’s prey put on a pleading, pathetic look.

“Now now, you wouldn’t hit a guy in front of his family, would you?”

While his quivering lips pouted, his pupils seemed to flash triumphant. Robin felt a sick chill in his stomach. Had he set this up just to take advantage of innocent citizens – and his provider status for them – as an alibi?

Whatever the reason, Batman wasn’t falling for it. While he slowly lowered his fist, he continued to glower viciously at his victim.

“I’m still taking you in. The police will be here soon, they can interrogate you. And if you don’t admit to them, well…” He leaned in close, crescent slivers narrowing. Intimidating. “They’ll just have to call me.”

With that, he twisted his prisoner around, pressing head harshly against partition again as he slapped a pair of handcuffs on. Robin sensed the two frightened females peering over his shoulders, crying and clinging to each other as sirens started to wail outside, and the junior one almost looked like she was about to join them. He thought about reaching out to try and comfort her, but a cold bark from Batman halted him.

“Let’s go, Robin.”

“But Batman-”

“Now.”

He was already halfway out the side exit when he said this, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Robin bit his lip and vaulted over the railing to race after him, cloak whisking out of sight just as officers began filing in. As they headed back towards the Batmobile parked in the shadows close by, Robin hissed his irritation.

“You know, there were a million other ways you could’ve handled that.”

“I did what was necessary in order to get him to talk. The police should have an easier time of it now.”

“Yeah, but did you have to do it while his wife and child were watching? This is exactly the reason Nightwing left you, remember?”

Batman blatantly ignored the bold declaration of disapproval as his pager began to beep: a message from Batgirl, requesting backup.

“Armed robbery in progress, escalated to a hostage situation over on the north side. We’re needed.”

“Did you even hear what I just said?”

Batman brusquely cut him off.

“We’ll discuss this later, at home. Now get in the car.”

Robin grumbled, but grudgingly obeyed.

They never did discuss it though. Concurring collectively, both Batman and Batgirl determined there were too many hired guns in the building, deeming it far too “risky” to bring Robin – the “kid” – along. …Plus it was a school night. So Batman swung swiftly by the manor on the way, dropping Robin – Tim – off unceremoniously at the front gate despite loud and adamant protests, where Alfred was waiting to pick him up and march him straight on inside to get changed and ready for dinner.

“And ‘don’t forget to do your homework’,’” Tim mimicked Bruce’s reprimanding voice with a querulous whine as the vehicle sped off, leaving him in the dust. “God, he still treats me like such a child.”

The butler patted his charge’s back consolingly, ushering within.

“Come along, Master Timothy. There are cookies and cocoa waiting for you inside – after you finish with your studies, that is. We wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite, now would we?”

Tim shot an exasperated expression at the patronizing statement, but acquiesced. Upon entering, he immediately tore off the mask and tossed it on the table in frustrated anger, flopping sullenly onto the couch without even bothering to remove the rest of the suit. Alfred tutted, but made no remark as he disappeared into the kitchen, promising food would be served shortly.

As Tim gazed at the fireplace, he stewed over Batman’s earlier reckless – not to mention downright rude – behavior. How could he even be so cruel and insensitive? It wasn’t just the bossing around that bugged him, but he was genuinely rather troubled by Bruce’s mental state. …Truth be told, he had a guess as to the cause for callousness. He’d noticed a common trend in increasing indiscretion (and intractability) after their latest visit to Arkham, when they stopped by Two-Face’s cell following another escape – and subsequent suicide attempt. Ever since he’d developed a third personality who judged himself guilty and sentenced to death for his sins, his condition had been gradually worsening. It was to the point he – and his coin – had to be kept under constant watch and isolated lockdown.

Tim was never really sure how to feel about Two-Face (in the same way his chest was always confused and ached a little whenever he faced Clayface). The man murdered his father; Tim supposed he should hate him for that. In addition, he’d even once mercilessly electrocuted Nightwing with a wire taser, forcing the senior superhero’s heart to completely stop. …Had he not promptly administered CPR and literally brought his brother back from the brink of death, he might have lost another family member that day.

But, according to Dick, Bruce and Harvey had been good friends once – which explained why his guardian always bore a grieved semblance whenever they went up against Dent. …Tim tried to imagine what it must be like, to watch one’s once close companion fight a losing battle against himself. Clearly it was taking a capricious toll on the old man’s emotional and psychological well-being as well, making him far more mercurial and volatile – prone to violent vagaries.

Yet, even Tim recognized that didn’t excuse him taking it out on others, especially when it interfered with their work. (Frankly that didn’t seem to be the only thing distracting recently either, given Batman and Batgirl had been ditching him more and more often as of late, citing his “immaturity” as pretense. …But he didn’t really want to think about that right now.) He was concerned about that girl as well. Screw Batman, he should’ve stayed to try and talk to her. At least give her some reassurance after witnessing such a harrowing event.

Making up his mind, he snatched his domino from the counter and was out the door (cautiously evading the security cameras he knew were watching overhead) just as Alfred came to call him for dinner. Upon finding the parlor empty, and after exhausting all other options of where the lad might have gone to within the mansion (including underground area), the caretaker finally murmured in alarm.

“…Oh dear.”

…

It took Robin longer to get back by grapple alone, but eventually he made it to his destination. Descending on the rooftop from a nearby tree, he tiptoed towards a single annexed dormer window which jutted prominently from the tiles. Testing the lucarne’s latch, it luckily wasn’t locked and slid open with relative ease. Silently slipping in, he was greeted almost instantly by an unpredicted punch to the face.

As he was thrown flat onto the bed, survival instinct triggered to roll over and try to fight back, but his own fists arrested when he saw his assailant was the same girl from before, glaring at him with mistrust.

“Who are you?! Some kind of creepazoid stalker?”

“Whoa, whoa! It’s me, Robin. You know, from before?”

She stared at him, realization dawning.

“Oh. …Sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”

The way she said it, she still didn’t seem very impressed.

“…I’d hate to be someone you were expecting,” Robin muttered, rubbing at his sore jaw.

She folded her arms firmly.

“So? What the heck are you doing here? Again?”

“I- I just wanted to check and see if you were okay, after… all that.”

An eyebrow raised.

“And you thought coming in through the window was the best way to go about it?”

“…In hindsight that might not have been the best plan,” he acknowledged, repentant. “Sorry. Being with him tends to rub off on you. I apologize if he scared you earlier. He’s really not a bad guy.”

She exhaled, letting her limbs down.

“No, my father is, right? …It’s okay. I know who and what my dad is. He deserves to go to jail.”

Robin cocked in confusion at this unanticipated acceptance.

“But… He’s still your dad.”

“Yeah, and I hate him.” Her knuckles clenched, tightening. “He just wanted to use Mom and me to get away with his crimes. We’re basically just tools, a means to an end for him. He’s a total class-A jerk.”

Robin blinked, unsure how to respond to that. He certainly hadn’t been prepared for this outcome. An uncomfortable hush filled the chamber, which he idly noted details of as he glanced around nervously. He’d never actually been in a girl’s room before, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. He supposed the piles of stuffed animals and boy band posters were probably typical, though he was surprised to see some large prints of Superman lining the walls, and a bulletin board covered with newspaper clippings of Batman and Robin – mostly his predecessor – busting the Cluemaster’s previous petty heists. She apparently wasn’t kidding when she said she had it in for her father. (…The image felt almost eerily familiar, reminding of the days when he kept a similar chronicle in a corner of his own pops’ apartment, much to the old man’s displeasure.)

“…You’ve got weird taste for a girl,” he mused aloud.

“And you’ve got weird fashion sense for a boy,” she retorted, nose wrinkling.

“Hey, I didn’t design the suit,” he huffed defensively.

“And who did? Your mom?”

Robin winced a bit, but bit his tongue. “…Would you believe me if I said Batman?”

She sniffed. “I mean seriously, what’s with that getup anyway? It’s so bright, it makes you look like a clown.”

Fed up with her criticism, he started to skulk back towards the outlet again.

“Look, I didn’t come here just to be insulted.”

A hand reached out to clasp his wrist, and he rotated to see her regarding him sincerely.

“Sorry, I was just joking. …You don’t have to leave.”

He gulped, blushing a little at the light touch. The last time a girl held his hand like this for so long, she’d followed with a…

“Um, okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck uneasily, growing tense as she inclined forward and grinned – before passing him by to hop onto the sill instead, sticking out her tongue at him.

“Ladies first.”

He whirled around in shock as she stepped out over the ledge.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? That’s dangerous, get back here.”

“Relax, I do this all the time. Besides, you jump around rooftops every night, don’t you?”

He impulsively climbed after her, keeping a careful eye on her footing, hovering close behind in case she fell. But, true to her word, she did seem to have practiced this pattern many times before, effortlessly picking her way over the slates to the top, where she plopped down and petted the spot next to her. Indicating invitation. Tentatively, he took it and traced her wondering sightline to the stars above.

“…You know, I used to dream I’d see the Batman someday. Drifting across the moon, dark against the night sky…” She hugged her knees to her breast. “This is the first time I’ve actually seen him in person. For a second, I almost thought he was a monster.”

Robin remained quiet as she continued.

“But, my dad’s the real monster. I know he’s hurt a lot of people – myself and Mom included. He doesn’t care about us at all.”

“How come she doesn’t just divorce him?”

“She can’t afford a lawyer to kick him out. He still owns the mortgage on the house.”

She smiled bitterly, drawing circles on the shingles.

“As a kid, I used to think about running away. Getting on a plane and going somewhere far, far away from here. Someplace exotic, where no one knows who I am or where I come from – like Africa. …But, I could never do that to my Mom. She’d be lonely if I left. Even though she has some… ‘difficulties’, I still love her.”

She looked at Robin, who was still listening attentively. Patiently.

“Sorry,” she mumbled in a slightly sheepish manner. “I’m just making you sit through my random rambling. I don’t usually get a chance to talk to anyone about this, let alone someone my age. Having a lame, insane supercriminal for a dad isn’t exactly something I can tell all my friends at school.”

“It’s all right. I wish there was more I could do to help…”

He replied, feeling as utterly useless – hopeless – as when he came across a bunch of homeless youths in his hunt for Annie after they’d gotten separated, the ragtag group of street rats sleeping together on a filthy mattress in an abandoned shelter; huddled under each other for warmth, sharing but one thin, dingy blanket between them. (…The kind of neglected kid he could’ve easily ended up as had he not happened to be so lucky, to be “chosen” – caught before he slipped through the cracks into faded obscurity and was overlooked – forgotten – by society.) There were some things punches and kicks just couldn’t fix.

“You’ve already done more than enough, thanks. I’m grateful to you both for putting a stop to him. …Even if it’s probably only temporary.”

“There has to be something that can be done though.”

“Really, you don’t have to go out of your way or anything. Besides, why do you care so much anyway?”

He shrugged, surveying the distance. “Maybe it’s because you kinda remind me of someone.”

She scanned his wistful countenance, scrutinizing closely.

“…Was she cute?”

“What- no. I mean yes. I mean, uh-” Robin stammered, flushing red as he was abruptly taken aback by the unexpected inquiry. She giggled in snorting amusement at his oh-so-obvious reaction.

“Relax, Boy Wonder, I’m just teasing you.”

He coughed, regaining composure.

“To be honest, that’s not the only reason. My dad wasn’t much of a prize either. …Although he can’t compete with yours.”

“Ehhh?” She gaped at him in astonished awe. “But he’s so cool!”

“Huh?” He puzzled for a beat, then it clicked what she was talking about. ��Oh, you think that Batman’s- no, he’s not my real dad. I’m not even sure I would even go so far as to call him much of a ‘father figure’ actually. He’s more like a… mentor?”

It was her turn to listen as he ruminated, reflecting.

“He saved me though. Took me in when I had no place else to go. Gave me a second chance. I’ve… done things I’m not exactly proud of either. If he hadn’t found me, I’d likely be dead or in jail myself right now.”

Sensing a buzzing interruption from his waist – a warning summons from the butler no doubt – he consulted the timestamp in the corner of the display, and cringed upon calculating how much interval had elapsed in his absence.

“…Speaking of which, I should probably get back soon. Batman’s gonna kill me once he finds out I’m gone without letting anyone know.”

Her forehead creased with contriteness.

“You didn’t have to go that far for me…”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s the least I could do.”

She looked reluctant to end the conversation though. He wondered if he was the first person she’d ever been this open to about her feelings. …After some thought, he fished around in a pocket and pulled out another spare backup communicator.

“Listen, don’t tell anyone about this; Batman doesn’t like me lending out tech. But if you ever need anything, you can get in touch with me on this. I’ll come as soon as I can. …Only if it’s an emergency though. He’ll really give me an earful if he finds out I’m using our gadgets for personal stuff.”

She looked down at the device in trepidation.

“Is it really okay for me to have this?”

“Yeah. It’s no problem, don’t worry. I know how to keep a secret. And I’ll definitely stop by again sometime, so we can hang out some more if you want. Whaddya say?”

Her eyes lit up, and- without warning, she flung her arms around him in an appreciative hug (that very nearly knocked him off balance).

“…Thanks, Robin.”

His hue embarrassed again, but he gently reciprocated the gesture.

“Hey, what are heroes for?”

After an awkwardly long minute, she propelled back from the embrace with a self-conscious laugh. Once the rapid beating in both their ribs had calmed down (and she’d surreptitiously wiped some tears from her face), she afforded him a somewhat odd look.

“…What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just… Calling you ‘Robin’ feels kinda weird. It’s like a girl’s name.”

“Hey, it can be a boy’s name too,” he sulked in indignation. “Besides, at least it is a name.”

She shook her head, concentrating intently on him as she contemplated. After a bit, she brightened with sudden brilliance.

“I know! I’ll call you ‘Peter’ – since you came in through the window. …And ‘cuz of the tights.”

Robin blanched as she pointed playfully at his leggings.

“…I think I’d rather be called ‘Robin’.”

“Nope,” she cheerfully announced. “You’re ‘Peter’ to me now.”

Robin sighed, but didn’t object further to the nickname. It wasn’t like he could tell her his real title.

“Fine. ‘Peter’ it is then. …Does that make you ‘Wendy’?”

She smirked with a wink.

“If you want me to be.”

He blinked, clearing his throat as he stood up, almost stumbling over his heels as he backed up in haste.

“Right. Well then. Wendy. …Guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. See ya.”

“…’Kay, bye.”

“’Kay, bye.”

He waved as he fired his grapple into the branches and swung away, and she merrily returned the motion. Elated, Robin’s spirit soared over heightening city structures back to the estate, performing as many flips and tricks as he could on the way. …Although come to think of it, he had failed to ask for her actual name. …Oh, well. There was always next time.

Rather than directly approach the porch or cave entrance, Robin thought about endeavoring to sneak back in through the second-story opening to his own bedroom, so he could pretend he’d been there all along. …Unfortunately, as soon as he’d made it inside and detached his façade, he bumped straight into a severely stern-looking Bruce towering over him.

“Where the devil have you been? We’ve been trying to contact you for the past hour. Barbara’s out there searching all over for you right now. Meanwhile I’ve had to help Alfred double-check every secret room and passage in the manor. Do you know how long that takes?”

Tim merely shrugged.

“I went out for a stroll. Is that a crime?”

“In this house, it is. Do I need to start putting a tracer on your utility belt again?”

“No, sir,” he squeaked meekly.

Bruce heaved a grunt.

“Just hurry up and go get changed, young man. Your dinner’s cold already. Alfred made soup. Make sure you apologize to him too, he’s been worried sick.”

“Yeah yeah, I hear ya, old man.”

“And did you finish your homework?”

Tim flinched. He knew there was something else he’d forgotten.

“You had better get to it if you want to come patrolling with us tomorrow night.”

“I will.”

Before he vanished into the privacy of his enormous closet (which, in his own private opinion, was way too overly spacious – though no one would certainly hear him complain), Tim paused, calling softly back over his shoulder.

“Bruce.”

“What?”

“Thanks… for caring.”

…

About a month later, a couple men dressed in black arrived at the Brown residence, carrying grim, serious auras and stiff briefcases containing various important-looking official documents. An obstinate Stephanie insisted on sitting down alongside her mother on the sofa as they discreetly disclosed the news she never once conceived she’d get to hear like this:

Her dad was dead.

Apparently he’d cut a deal while in prison, and became a part of something clandestinely known by a select few outside those in power as a “Suicide Squad”. He’d perished while on a covert mission for the government, and – according to these strange men’s confidential report – he’d died a “heroic sacrifice”.

Stephanie didn’t know how to react. What to feel. …How she was supposed to feel.

As she sat in her room, trying to write in her diary but coming up blank, her observation shifted to the window still left ajar each evening, through which a mild breeze blew. Opening her desk drawer, she retrieved the hidden miniature handset from the far back, tucked neatly behind all sorts of stationery. She had avoided using it up to now, afraid of coming off as an annoyance. …But she hadn’t seen Robin at all since then. No one had. Based on what she’d gathered from growing gossip, he’d been fully MIA over the course of the past few weeks, and rumors were starting to spread. It was like his existence had been entirely erased, simply evaporated off the surface of the earth. …She was worried about him too.

She pushed the button, hands shaking in mounting apprehension as she elevated to her ear.

There was a long, low hum of crackling static, before someone (presumably) picked up at last.

“…”

“Hello?”

“…Who is this? How did you get access to this comm line?”

“I’m… a friend of Pet- Robin’s. Is… he there?”

An extensive gap stretched.

“There is no more Robin.”

The pronouncement was deep. Disturbing. Definite.

“Do not contact here again.”

With a final click, the other end hung up.

She tried, repeatedly – desperately – to dial back – but the machine seemed to have been remotely disconnected. Slumping forward in defeat as she let go the last potential link – lifeline – she buried her face in her sleeves, and burst into sobs.

At length, she dried her sniffles and rose, dragging her feet to the wide frame. Casting one last look of longing out at the pitch gloom, she shut the pane. …Shutting out pain, and all the brief memories associated with it.

…

She never saw Robin again.

————————–

He sprinkled me in pixie dust and told me to believe Believe in him and believe in me Together we will fly away in a cloud of green To your beautiful destiny As we soared above the town that never loved me I realized I finally had a family

#TimSteph #Tim Drake #Timmy Todd #Stephanie Brown #Batman the Animated Series #Batman Beyond #DCAU #Return of the Joker #fanfiction #starstories #Happy Father's Day #for some reason I can't seem to insert a horizontal line anymore?#so please excuse the slight change in formatting

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beyondconfessor · 5 years

Text

Visceral

[12/20]

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Psychological Torture, implied/referenced tortured, violence

Pairing: Sara Lance/Alex Danvers

Summary: If she touches her, Alex will alight and crumble into ash

N.B.: Also posted on AO3

The questions came, and Alex answered each one that related to herself. At any mention of Kara, she would go quiet. Even if it was something small, the risk, although it might be a lie, was too high.

And yet she rationed questions about herself, allowing only a single worded answered. What did vehicle did she drive to work? Motorcycle. How many bones in her body had she broken? Numerous. How many years had she known Supergirl? Four. She yearned for the words, spoke each one as if it was her drug of choice. With each word she spoke, the relief of human interaction grew smaller and smaller until it wasn’t enough.

It didn’t help that every time Alex came to back to her room, there was a different meal awaiting her return. Hot steak with roast vegetables. Chicken parm with salad and fries, a burger with the lot.

Instead of a cup of water, she was given a substantially larger bottle to pace herself with.

She laughed the first time. The sound echoed so that the woman backhanded her until she was quiet.

What a waste.

Alex knew what the food was. A bribe to condition her with speaking to continue receiving the food. If she didn’t think it was drugged before, she knew it now. Despite the food, her limbs felt heavy, her body ached. She was always exhausted, always nauseous, always in pain.

She ate the food anyway.

The fourth time, the man offered her a bed if she answered a small question about Supergirl. She considered it in silence, long enough to dream of her bed at home, but her silence was his only answer. There was no food awaiting her return.

Alex didn’t dream of Sara that night.

Instead, she dreamt of her recruits. That they had come and found her and then Veronica had appeared, laughing. She dreamt of Kara asking her why she’d betrayed her. She dreamt of J’onn, mediating with his father, they had been stoic and unresponsive.

Days seemed to pass as Alex drifted between questions and dreams, day after day a relentless string of nightmares and darkness. It seemed to that she had stopped dreaming of Sara and she felt all the worse - Alex had lost the one shred of human connection that gave her hope.

Sara was gone.

And then the darkness spoke. Its voice uncertain and whispering, “Was this a trick?”

Alex jolted at the words, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh.

“Sara?” she asked, throat was sore as she said the word. Hoarse. How long had been since she'd last spoken?

“Were you some minion working for Mallus?”

“No," Alex answered, the word feeling like glass in her throat.

She heard the chains rattle, and then the feeling of someone sitting close by her. Like shoes and cloth scraping on concrete, and the sense of warmth radiating near her hands. Sara hadn’t touched her, and for that, Alex was almost thankful. If she did, then Alex might alight with the touch, crumbling into ash.

She dragged her hands closer to herself.

“Alex…who has you?”

Was that a trick, she wondered, the empathy in Sara’s voice. Only moments before it had sounded cold and withdrawn, to now be…soft and gentle. It made no sense. Maybe this was a different dream. A dream-dream, like the others she'd had.

“Alex?” it felt strange to hear her name said aloud. It’d been a long time coming since she'd heard it. At least it felt like a long time. “I guess I deserve that."

Deserve what, Alex wondered. She was sure it was the dehydration, or starvation causing it. Her head felt so muddled, like Sara’s words turned to static in her head and losing all sense of meaning.

“Look, I’m sorry for ignoring you. I was so sure you were Mallus, and now, now we have Damien, fucking, Darkh. He has no freaking clue about you. I don't even think he was playing dumb…” there was a pause, and then Sara sighed as if she wanted to say something, but was holding back.

It felt almost like Sara was disappearing in the quiet. Fading away as a dream often did when you became aware of it.

There was nothing, no sound or feeling except her breath pulling into her lungs and then exhaling slowly.

Then, there were the gentle weight of Sara fingers as she reached out, a soft graze at first, and then heavy against Alex’s palm.

Alex didn't turn to ash.

It was like a fog had cleared from Alex’s thoughts. Her heart ached all at once at the touch. She tore away from it, curling into herself as she felt a sob rise in her throat. It felt too good, too sudden, too lovely to be real. Like all of her emotions appeared, and at once Alex felt the depth of her anguish.

She was starving to be touched, to be spoken to as a person, to be a person and it felt beautiful and awful and cruel to have that given to her from someone that had spent the last length of time tormenting her with absence.

Like dam walls crumbling, Alex felt the sob rise in her chest, clench at her throat and then tear its way out of her mouth, despite how her jaw shook from the refrained determination to not making a sound.

Once the first escaped, there was nothing to stop the rest. Alex's body shook, the sound squeezing through her jaw, despite how she tried to hold it back.

And then Sara was there, lifting her into her arms and holding her firmly against her body.

There was a hushing sound — a shushing. And Alex felt her cries soften as through the soft material of Sara’s shirt; she could hear her heart. It was a steady beat. A slow, thud-thud that carried as Sara drew a hand over her head to soothe.

“I must smell,” Alex said. The first clear thought she had. It was a disgusting feeling, to be in the clothes for so long. There was a layer of grime from everything, a layer of oil from her body that she wanted to cleanse herself from.

“I live with boys,” Sara said. “Well, I live with Mick. Nate and Ray are pretty good.”

Alex laughed. It was a low, loose chuckle but it was a laugh, no less. “This is a dream, isn’t it?” she asked once she steadied herself again.

“Or something,” Sara said.

Alex didn’t want to argue, so she let it be.

“What’s happening, Danvers?”

Alex took a moment to gather herself, piecing back a semblance of neutral emotions, so she didn’t breakdown again. “Roulette –– or Veronica Sinclair –– has me,” she said, and then she began the story of what she’d been doing on her mission. There was a rhythm to telling the story as Sara listened, the feeling of laying bare everything, making it easier to find herself calming down.

She explained how she got into a car crash and what seemed to follow, drifting briefly over the blue world. She spoke of the man, the questions, the routine, the suspected drugs in the food and water.

“Probably just the water,” Sara said. “Do you ever eat the food in the light?

“No, just the dark. I mean, the people bring me in here, I see it briefly with the lamp that the, ah, the...minion uses.”

“Do you know if the water is coloured at all?”

Alex tried to think back, but she’d never had a chance to look closely. The dark-coloured cups hit the colour of the water, making it appear inky black, and the bottles weren’t transparent. “No. I never see it.”

“Any smells?”

“No.”

“Well, that narrows it down, at least.”

“Not really, this whole room smells, my nose has been ruined by it. And who’s to say if it is something that it’s even of this Earth. Veronica’s a known alien trafficker. Last time anyone saw her, Kara left her on another planet with the people she’d been trafficking. I thought she’d be dead by now.”

Sara told her bitterly, “People like that worm their way back into power easily.”

Alex shuffled against her, moving to turn most of herself to where Sara's voice sounded. “Who’s Damian Darkh?”

Sara seemed to think for a moment, before she said, “The woman that you saw in my head, whatever plane it was on, that was Nora Darkh, his daughter. Damian is a very long story for another time." Sara took a breath, and then whispered, "he was the one to murder my sister.”

“I thought you said he was dead.”

“Resurrection magic, would you believe it?”

“No.”

Sara gave a soft chuckle. “Mm, sometimes I can’t either. But it was magic.”

“There’s no such thing as magic.”

“Well, Mr Dursley, I’m here to tell you the there is such a thing as magic.”

Alex felt her chest warm. The Harry Potter books. Both she and Kara had been obsessed with them back in school. It was one of the ways she learnt how to read English. “Magic isn’t real. It’s just unknown science or sleight of hand.”

“Magic exists. How do you explain this, otherwise?”

“Easily,” Alex said. “With science and process of elimination. I rule out psychosis, which is the most likely, move onto alien technologies, and then, there are metas. Cisco can travel between universes. Or perhaps travelling repetitively through dimensions and parallel universes changes the make-up of the human ––“

Sara’s fingers had pressed to her lips, hushing her words. “Magic,” she said. Even in the darkness, Alex could feel Sara’s eyes blazing at hers. She could imagine the woman smirking as she said the words, enjoying Alex’s rant. “I’ve run all the scans you need to know with Gideon, and they’ve all come up normal. There is no explanation outside of ––“

“Don’t say it.”

“Magic.”

“It could be beyond her processing.”

“It could be, but I’m not going to tell her that. Gideon can get very petty when you hurt her pride. Besides, I’ve seen enough of the world through time to see that some things go beyond science and technology."

“Well, I’ve seen enough of this galaxy to feel the opposite. There are more than enough aliens in this universe to show that science can always find the answer if you’re willing to look long enough for it.”

“Did you just try to one-up me?”

“A little.” She felt Sara pull her back into a hug. It was a very ‘that’s my girl’ kind of hug that warmed Alex. There was also a particular feeling to it, Alex didn’t expect. She knew how she smelt, she knew how she must look, but the darkness hid that at least. But the smell would have been awful. And yet, Sara didn’t care. She held her as if it didn’t matter, as if she couldn’t smell it herself. It was…dignifying. She wanted to explain that to Sara, say thank you, but the words didn’t come out.

Instead, what she said was, “I need a shower.”

“Then let’s get you out of here.”

The hope faded in her chest at those words. “I can’t,” she said.

“Because of these chains?” Sara’s hands were on hers, feeling around the manacles on her wrists. “Are they always chained behind your back?”

“No, sometimes they undo them and put them in front.”

“Do you know when that happens?”

“I think it’s a conditioning reward. It happens when I’ve answered enough questions or done something right.”

“And the questions are about you and Supergirl, right?”

“Yeah,” she felt her chest grow heavy. Sara hadn't been judging her, but Alex felt her judgement as she said the word out loud. She was slowly chipping away at an image of herself. It was a dangerous thing to do.

“Answer one about Kara.”

“No.”

“Hear me out. I think you need to get those people to move your chains from your back to your front. At the moment they’re changing them, you can fight.”

“I’m being drugged. And my arm is broken.”

“Which arm?”

“My shooting arm.”

She felt Sara’s hands go to it then, gingerly pressing over it. Alex held back her protests, despite how painful it was. “It’d be better if I had some light, but it seems like the bone’s snapped out of place. It’s going to heal badly.”

“I know,” Alex said. Doctor’s could break it back into position, but bones that had fused wrongly tended to become weaker. Alex knew that if she got out of here, there was an awful chance that it could become permanent weakened, even with physiotherapy.

Would that be so bad? She wondered, but it wasn’t a thought for now. Now, she needed to work out a plan.

“Can you punch well with your left?”

“No, the DEO decided to leave training only for my right arm because I was assured that I would not have use of it.”

Sara let out a laugh. "At least they haven’t taken your sass.

“Point is, there’s no way I can fight my way out with a weapon. Pain or not, the arm is useless. The whole muscle is weakened by the break that I can’t even hold the chains without shaking.”

“Well, they’re too tight to slip,” Sara said as she felt around manacles. Alex knew that too. She considered dislocating her thumbs early on, but it wouldn’t have done any good, “Could you break the chain?”

“Tried torquing the chains, but that didn’t work. The metal didn’t even budge from where the loop was closed. I’m too weak at the moment.”

“Well, that leaves the oldest trick in the book.”

“Picking the lock.”

“Picking the lock,” Sara agreed.

“That would be great, except that I don’t have anything to pick the lock with.”

“Anything you can steal?”

Alex paused. The lamp, if she could pull it apart, but would involve overpowering the minion woman who was, already, twice her size. If she had use of her hands, and one wasn't broken, maybe she could use the woman’s mass against her, but that was something she needed to be in good health to fix.

“Maybe,” she said. “I’ll see what I can find that that’s the size of a pin.”

“Good girl,” Sara said.

Alex didn’t know about that, but she appreciated the sentiment anyway. “But how do I pick the manacles?”

Sara’s hands were feeling around the lock. “My best guess is, without actually seeing it, that you would need to carve a key that would fit into it. But you could pick the lock that’s connecting the chain to the base. The easiest way to do it would be raking it, except you'll need the tool for that. Without one, it's easier to use the single-pin picking, which I’m sure you already know how to do.”

“Yes,” Alex said. “But the only time I use that is when I’m locked out of my house. Which doesn’t happen often.”

“You’ll be fine. Take your time with it.” And then Sara was pulling her close again so that her head was leaning against her shoulder.

Alex exhaled, feeling the warm arm around her back, it was more comfortable to hold herself in the room and think in clear, concise thoughts. She just needed to find a pin, and then she would be able to get unchained from the ground. It did mean she might have to carry the chain with, which could be used against her, as well as restrict her movement. But…it also gave her a good, heavy weapon.

“What about the door?” Sara asked.

“I don’t think it’s locked,” she said. She'd seen what had once looked to be a bolting mechanism on the door, but it appeared to be missing half of it. “They might have a guard, but I’ve never heard anyone outside. The guard’s footsteps usually fade down the hall.”

“Seems like lax security for a DEO agent. Do they not know who you are?”

Alex chuckled. “I don’t think so. They haven’t used my name, and all the information I was carrying on me was for a cover.” Alex thought back to Roulette and the snaking tattoo on her leg. She hadn’t seen the woman since, and the first underling she had met there, either. That seemed odd too. It could be that Roulette didn’t value her, or had other villainess things to do, but to not see her since seemed odd.

“How long have I been here?” Alex asked.

“A while,” Sara said. “I don’t know. I was…ignoring you, for the most part, busy with trying to get the totems for Mallus.”

“How long has been since…since you were in the blue world.”

Sara drew in a sharp breath. “A while. I’ll find out, okay? Gideon keeps track of time on the ship. I just put one foot in front of the other and get through the days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I should be the one apologising.”

“I’m sorry for how I reacted.” Sara’s face still haunted her from the blue world. The horrified, heartbroken look she gave to her as she turned away and disappeared. She never wanted to see it again.

“Alex…it’s fine. You didn’t know what that side of me was. The things I’ve done to survive Ra’s Al Ghu -- that’s not even the worst of them."

“No, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t you,” Alex drew in a breath as she thought of Kenny. She thought of the first time she fired a gun at combative enemies, hitting her target perfectly in the head, how the person had just dropped to the ground, the military grade bullets that had blown the back of target’s head open like it was just watermelon.

Alex pulled away from Sara to make some effort at looking her into the eye. “Do you know how much I loved killing those Nazis? How right it feels to have that kickback push at my shoulder as I hit person after person. They were nobody. They were nothing to me. If Roulette comes for Kara, I won’t think twice before killing her. I will pull the trigger and then it doesn’t matter what her hopes or fears are. It doesn’t matter that she’s someone’s daughter. When it comes to it, I will kill her, and I’ll sleep easy at night.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Sara said, her voice a whisper.

“How is it not the same thing? You’re not naive enough to believe that the enemies we come across are all some moustache twirling villain who kick puppies in their downtime. The people we kill to keep our teams safe have hopes and fears like us. Some of them think they’re on the side of good and some of them believe they have no other choice. They’re someone’s child, someone’s sibling, someone’s partner or parent. And in the field, they know the same thing about us. It’s them or us. It’s human nature to choose yourself, to choose your team over a stranger. It's just easier if you believe they're evil.”

“Killing someone in the field isn’t the same as going into someone’s house in the dark of the night. Their house which they believe is safe to tuck in they’re kids and kiss them goodnight. And sneaking up on them as they're watching television and then killing them because they chose not to do the bad thing your boss wanted them to do."

Alex felt the air leave her lungs. She felt...stupid. Insanely stupid int hat moment.

"Would you do that if J’onn asked you to?” It was a harsh, but not a rude tone Sara took with her, but Alex didn’t have an answer. In her heart, she knew that J’onn would never ask her to that. She would never be in that situation. Maybe that was an answer in its self.

Sara continued, “I get what you’re saying, but at the end of the day, the people you killed aren’t defenceless, the people I’ve killed sometimes were just on the wrong side of my blade. They were defenceless, they were unarmed people who often just made a mistake. Say what you want, but I am a monster.”

“You’re more than just your history, Sara."

"Am I? Could you say that if you had witnessed everything I've done?"

"I don't know, because I won't ever know yourself the way you do. But I know your actions now. I've watched you with your team, and you choose to be a good person and walk in the light, not hide in the shadows. Whoever you were then doesn't matter, it's who you are now.”

Sara didn’t reply straight away. There was a beat before she said. “My sister said something similar, once.”

“Well, she was smart.”

Sara’s hand founds hers, coming to rest upon it. “Alex,” she whispered.

But then she was gone as Alex was yanked awake and onto her feet. There was a lamp in her face, and the underling was looking at her displeased.

“I'm up,” Alex said with a slack jaw. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the tension in them from the awkward position. Her right arm throbbed painfully as the woman hurriedly moved her out of the room.

She walked with the woman down the hall, making sure to look around. The lamplight cast a low-level light down the hall, throwing shadows on the walls. There was nothing useful that she could see.

In the interviewing/break room, Alex looked around for anything. She couldn’t see any cameras. There was no glass, so there wasn’t a two-way mirror. There was, however, shrapnel on the ground in the corner of the room. It was going to hurt, but Alex had an idea about that.

The man came into the room and began with his questions. Alex didn’t answer the questions this time. There was a lightness to it, as she found herself feeling the blossoming hope in her chest for the first time. Not only did this feel entirely possible, but Alex felt as though she had an attainable goal.

And yet, getting the manacles off was just the first step. She still had to get out of the room, and then escape.

The man’s pen tapped against the notebook, a sign of annoyance as he stared at her. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Alex just looked from his hands playing with the pen, to where she could see the edges of the dagger in the belt. It was a flat blade about three inches long and about an inch and a half across, depending on how thick the sheath was.

He looked from her to his knife and pulled it out to show her. “You know, Ms Sinclair gave me this knife as a gift. Said it would be a good letter opener, as it were. Or a motivator if need-be.” He met her eyes then, but Alex wasn’t buying his bluff. If he wanted to motivate her with a knife, he would have done it a long time ago.

Still, there was something about the way he looked at her that Alex didn’t like. It was like a sick feeling came over her until she found herself blinking as she looked away, her eyes dry from staring.

“Perhaps we should pick this up next time,” he said.

Alex watched him leave, sheathing his knife, pocketing the pen and notebook before finally placing his jacket back on. She felt exhausted by the questions all of a sudden. Like all the energy had been sapped from her.

As the woman returned to take her back to the room, Alex made a show of taking her time. Easing off the chair as if it pained her.

As the woman lead her past where the swept shrapnel and dust had been on the ground, Alex feigned a stumble and fell back against the wall, crying out as it hit her arm before throwing her back onto ass, right in front of it. It hurt like hell against her broken arm, probably pushing it further out of place.

The woman glared at her. “Get back onto your feet,” she demanded as she tugged at the chains.

Alex’s hands scrambled at the muck. I would have been easier if she could see.

She made a show of trying to get to her feet and failing before the woman just grabbed her right arm and yanked her up. With a moan of pain, Alex stumbled on her feet again, but held her stance, hissing in a breath as she woman marched her back to the room.

There was no food on the ground, and this time, Alex noticed that her blanket was gone. The man was setting out to punish her. Good, she'll use it as motivation.

Alex took her place and watched the chains while the woman locked them into place. She moved, blocking Alex’s view of where she pulled and hid the keys used to secure the links on either end. That was fine. Trying to take them would be harder. If Alex even tried to fake-stumble against her, the woman would immediately go to check that they were still there.

It didn’t matter though; she had the necessary tools. As the door shut behind the woman, Alex felt for the pin that she had grabbed from the ground. She bent it as required and then moved to where the padlock was on the chain, connecting it to the welded loop on the floor. It’d be more comfortable if she could see it, but the primary function was there.

Alex worked her way around it, using the pin as she tried to feel for the driver and key pins. Alex had learnt how to pick a lock back in training and had once excelled at it, but she was out of practice. That was on top of trying to keep her bad arm in a position, as well as working blind.

Even though there had been no food or water to drug her in the room, and she’d eaten well in the past few days, Alex felt exhausted. Run a marathon, all-nighter, have the flu exhausted. Her arms grew heavy, aching in the position and although she knew she wasn’t quitting, just…trying to rest. It still felt like surrender.

She hid the pin in her clothes and found herself dropping tiredly on the ground, thinking of Sara. There were still bits of the plan she needed to consider. Bits of…

Why was she so tired, she’d only been awake for an...for an...what was the word...

A metric unit of time...?

#sara lance #alex danvers #agent canary #supergirl fanfic #legends of tomorrow fanfic #supergirl #legends of tomorrow #morgans fics

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manrui · 6 years

Text

Miyuki’s “Twisted” Personality

When the scene starts Miyuki and Kuramochi are seen talking about Sawamura. Kuramochi tells Miyuki how he made Sawamura cry because he was being cocky and Miyuki claims that they’re close which Kuramochi loudly but unconvincingly denies. As they are having this conversation Watanabe Hisashi, lovingly known as Nabe walks up to Miyuki.

Along with Nabe are his two close friends,

Kuramochi asks Nabe what brings him all the way from his class to Miyuki’s. As we all know Miyuki is currently captain, which would imply that players probably come up to him all the time with concerns, ideas and questions but the look on Miyuki and Kuramochi’s face makes it look like this has never happened before. There could be a multitude of reasons why that is, Miyuki has always been seen as weird, difficult and unapproachable, and he has a bad reputation in terms of treating people as the phrase goes “Miyuki has a twisted personality.” and since this is his first time having to actually hold a position of someone as crucial to team/player spirit the surprise on the duos faces and the anxiety on Nabe and his friends’ isn’t unexpected.

Nabe came from his own classroom to say something to Miyuki but when asked what he wanted Nabe immediately backed down claiming that “it’s nothing”. It’s obvious from Nabe and his friends’ demeanor that whatever they were trying to convey to Miyuki was extremely difficult for them. They are either afraid of Miyuki and the team’s reaction, or are anxious about what they were planning on saying meaning it actually must be important to them and also equally as difficult. They seem visibly dejected. Considering this is the first time they’re personally interacting with Miyuki they probably have imagined receiving horrible backlash.

Immediately after, one of Miyuki’s classmates who seems to be a class representative or something of the sort, asks Miyuki, the Captain of the baseball team, whether they’ll be going to a class field trip.

The girls hand papers to the captain and vice-captain explaining that they’re all put into the same group. The team is currently busy with the Fall Tournament with their eyes set on defeating Inashiro. Having lost to Inashiro was very traumatic for the entire team. They had lost to their biggest rivals, were yet again unable to make it to Koshien after all their hard work, the third years had to retire, Kataoka’s plan on leaving was revealed, Sawamura had his ordeal with the yips, Kawakami’s spirit was broken, amongst other things. Under this situation of stress Miyuki was chosen as captain because of his presence on the field and because they literally had no other options. I won’t go into the details of the decision to make Miyuki captain. What I will say is that for someone like Miyuki who doesn’t have clue of how to deal with people emotionally, handling and rising up to his position will definitely be difficult. Miyuki has already realized that he was too hard on Sawamura and had contributed to his finally breaking after their match against Inashiro. Again, when Kawakami needed a pep talk and some self-confidence Miyuki preferred to leave him alone to deal with his shit until Miyauchi scolded him that his position as current captain entails that he act as a leader lifting his team mates up when they’re down and trying to empathize with them. As a result of this Miyuki talks to Kawakami handling it nicely and Kawakami makes a comeback. From both these events it’s expected that Miyuki now understands that he tends to be stiff and rigid when he really needs to understanding and non-judgmental.

To the girls Miyuki responds that the baseball club will not be participating in this class activity because they have important matches and are prioritizing practice.

Nabe this entire time has just been standing there with his friends beside Miyuki’s desk and has quietly been viewing this spectacle. After his enthusiastic denial Miyuki turns to Nabe and includes him into the conversation expecting his affirmation. At this point all Nabe does is hesitantly say “yeah”. Something is on his mind and it’s obvious.

I thought the reaction of the entire class to the guys saying no was quite odd at first but now that I think about it, it only makes the baseball team’s drive that much more obvious and seems to look like their classmates can feel the intensity with which these guys have dedicated themselves to baseball.

Still, why do the other kids look like someone was killed right in front of them, anyways… Also how is everyone not in love with Kuramochi!?

I often am critical of Miyuki’s overbearing personality but I will accept that is it was kind of him to divert his full attention to Nabe-chan right after.

Okay this expression on Nabe’s face is so painful, by the looks of it he has gone through hours of overthinking to come up to Miyuki like this. I love Nabe

Miyuki is just like “huh?”

“Hey!” says Kuramochi.

The point of all of this was to establish that Miyuki has certainly understood at this point that Nabe is deeply bothered by something. Now I can’t say for sure if he understands that he might have to help him out but why else would Nabe come to Miyuki. What is strange is that Kuramochi called out to them and they just ran out of the place even the girls watching on are a bit confused. This is a nice picture of Miyuki btw

Later that evening we find Nabe over looking Furuya, Sawamura and Nori running. It seems like practice ended quite a while ago. He’s just standing there on the road over the ridge.

Miyuki finds him just standing there and the first thing Miyuki asks him is why does he have all those study guides? As a person who has gone through the schooling system I have my fair share of hatred for study guides but Miyuki’s aversion to books is on another level.

I think it’s safe to say that studying is not something baseballs guys at seido should really put too much effort into because their first priority is supposed to be baseball, anyways.

Miyuki was probably looking for Nabe. I’m really going to applaud Miyuki for his kind words. He seems so composed at this moment. He’s relaxed and gentle. Right after this scene he asks Nabe what he wanted to say earlier, Nabe again says it was nothing and Miyuki very tactfully urges Nabe to spill. He gives the impression that this is a safe space and that Nabe’s concerns, whatever they are, will be dealt with calmly.

Miyuki in the next few seconds is the kindest Miyuki ever.

Miyuki:

Nabe:

Miyuki:

Nabe:

Miyuki looks so strained, he’s trying his best. He also looks a bit embarrassed too. And honestly Miyuki just stated his biggest concern. When someone does that, you begin to feel like it’s safe to say what’s on your mind so Nabe finally relaxes a bit and pretty much pours his heart out. But before this, Eijun, Furuya and Nori bump into the duo sitting on the stairs.

Notice Nabe’s face in the second last screenshot. He looks so despondent. From the looks of his expression he feels out of place.

Here I’d like point out something I’ve noticed with Miyuki over and over again. When he is normal, so to speak, not being sarcastic or domineering etc. his eyes are perfectly visible through his glasses but anytime he switches to his “Prodigy catcher Miyuki Kazuya” persona his eyes are hidden by reflection. This happens again in this scene during his banter with Eijun. (It happened earlier when Mkyuki was talking to the girls too.)

Very obviously Nabe is referring to Eijun and the gang. Nabe just starts speaking as soon as they left not giving Miyuki enough time to switch back.

Just seeing this expression I knew something terrible was about to happen. To this day I cannot understand why Miyuki reacted the way he did. He seems offended like his entire personal belief system was questioned.

That’s it. That’s all Nabe wanted to say. He doesn’t feel as motivated as the others because logically speaking his chances of making it into the first string are very low. I understand that Miyuki has never experienced this and he can’t relate but his reaction was shocking.

What the heck Miyuki? Right off the bat. A screenshot can’t capture Miyuki’s tone but he speaks with such sense of superiority it’s digusting. Miyuki sounds like he’s accusing Nabe of treason or something. Seriously, get off your high horse Miyuki. He doesn’t even feel the need to ask Nabe why he thinks his motivation is lacking. Miyuki has no empathy he can’t even pretend to know how it must be like to be in the baseball club but never be able to play any real games. Not everyone is here to just play baseball and if someone just wants to be a part of the club for fun or exercise or socialization that’s perfectly okay and really is the whole point of the club to begin with.

NABE IMMEDIATELY JUMPS UP saying No that’s not what I meant but Miyuki is being so rude and inconsiderate here he doesn’t even care to listen to Nabe

WHAT THE HECK IS YOUR PROBLEM WITH BOOKS?! Dude, maybe they’re not even his!

The message Miyuki gives here is that anyone who doesn’t act like him or Sawamura or Furuya etc. all the time should just quit. That anyone who isn’t just like him isn’t working hard and thus must genuinely want to quit. He’s assuming Nabe genuinely wants to quit because he wants to study which according to Miyuki implies that he isn’t putting all his effort into baseball and if baseball isn’t your life you aren’t a part of the team. Miyuki has no idea of how Nabe practices, he doesn’t care. Because Nabe isn’t on the first string and is carrying around books he isn’t putting effort into baseball and this must be because he wants to quit. Miyuki is supposedly a smart guy but he’s incredibly jumpy to conclusions. “I have no right to stop someone who genuinely wants to quit.” Nabe never said he wanted to quit and you have no right to tell someone they seem like they want to quit. When someone wants to quit something they stop putting effort into it, they start avoiding it and they lose interest in it, according to Miyuki, Nabe perfectly fits this description; he’s being lazy, which isn’t just mean but says a lot about Miyuki as a person. His self righteous behavior makes him unfit for the seat of captain.

He left Nabe speechless, he basically character assassinated Nabe.

“Atleast that’s why I play baseball”. Miyuki’s arrogance is off the charts.

Nabe is so hurt. He came to Miyuki for help.

This is the third time Miyuki has severely mishandled someone’s emotions. The duality of his personality is confusing. Why does he suddenly become so defensive, arrogant and harsh? Miyuki needs help himself as well, i hope they address his needs as the anime/manga progresses. Miyuki’s journey of trying to fill Yuki’s shoes is something I look forward to.

#miyuki kazuya #Nabe #ace of diamond #daiya no ace #diamond no ace #analysis #season 2 #episode 9 #manrui #Watanabe Hisashi

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britneyshakespeare · 6 years

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blur, manic street preachers, and elastica

Blur:

Do you like sunny weather?

No? Yes? I don’t care for the weather one way or another I’ve never been even close to resembling an outdoorsy person for even a day in my entire life.

Do a lot of people know about your sexuality?

Also kinda no and yes. I’ve known I was ace *for certain* since I was maybe 16 or so… and it took me a long, long time to realize and come to terms with being bi and aro-spec (even though I felt like I might be bi since I was about 12 or so… but not getting that I was also aroace yet it still didn’t feel like I was like other bi people, you know? If I had had more queer role models in my youth it woulda helped me but I’m going off on a tangent). As long as I didn’t know what I was, I would just kinda tell people I was close to that I “didn’t like labels.” Really I had no fuckin clue but I didn’t feel straight anymore and I didn’t want people who knew me well to like… assume I was, because in high school I made a lot of lgbtq+ friends. As for my family… well except for my sister who’s my closest friend they know nothing but I don’t particularly feel like coming out to them.

Are you a city or country person?

I’ve always lived in the suburbs but oohohoh definitely a city person. I need to live close to civilization because I’m already prone to being a recluse.

Favorite brand of athletic wear?

Ha.

Do you like your smile?

I don’t really know. I try not to think about my appearance too much because I have a reeeeeally long personal history of self image issues but as far as my face goes… Eh. It’s okay. I have an okay smile. Nothing stunning.

Manic Street Preachers:

Do you believe that humans are good?

Not inherently, but I also don’t think things like empathy are 100% forced on us by societal pressures. Humility, affection, those are all as intrinsic to the human condition as jealousy, greed, pick your favorite deadly sin. I used to have a lot of Catholic Guilt™ that steered me away from this belief in my upbringing, but as in the last couple of years I’ve overcome a lot, and I’ve gained perspective. I don’t think humans are inherently neutral, either, though. I think it’s entirely the individual’s personality and about their ratio of self-importance to selflessness.

What’s your signature makeup or fashion statement?

No make-up and wearing one pair of converse for years at a time until they’re falling apart. I also wear a lot of skinny jeans I guess.

Are you a books or a movie person, and what are some of your favorites?

I don’t watch as many movies as I used to but definitely movies. I have ADHD so it can be hard at times to endure either but I think the medium of film is more subtle than literature because you have to be shown visually rather than read outright. But of course certain books and film adaptations can be weighed against each other. Oh, and if we’re talking books of poetry, I’m definitely a book of poetry kind of bitch.

Do you see yourself as an outcast?

Oh definitely. I’ve always kinda had a loner aura even in circles where I’m with people I might like and trust. I didn’t really have a friend growing up who was ever just like me, especially from like, middle school and onward when everyone starts becoming their own person with their own serious hobbies and interests that aren’t forced onto them like when you’re a kid.

Are you nostalgic?

No. I had a pretty shit childhood actually. And a shit adolescence but you know, kind of less shit because I’ve *somewhat* developed a sense of self-worth. I write poetry now. What I’m saying is I know how to write poetry now.

Elastica:

What’s your dream car?

One that I don’t have to drive.

Favorite card game?

Uno I guess? I never played many card games growing up. I was kinda into Pokemon actually if that counts.

Do you consider yourself cool?

…Eh? Sort of? I’d like to think I’m unique, at the very least. My hobbies and special interests are actually a lot cooler than I am. Diana… Diana, she. Is not very smooth. But I mean, I know a lot about James Dean, Anglo-Irish poetry of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and the 50+ years of publication history of the Amazing Spider-Man, and that’s pretty swanky.

Vinyl, cassettes, CDs, or digital?

I don’t have a preference between these audially, but I’ve collected CDs for a pretty long time. A lot of which I’ve been meaning to sell because I haven’t really liked Selena Gomez & The Scene since 2010, or All Time Low since I left middle school, but, you know. I like having CDs. Also awhile ago I gave my little neighbor who’s 10 years younger than me my copy of What Are You So Scared Of? (2012) by Tonight Alive very eagerly hoping she would get as much enjoyment out of it as I did in seventh grade when I was a little repressed bi in love with Jenna McDougall.

What’s a haircut/style you’ve always wanted to get?

I’ve always kinda wanted to try out being blonde? But my sister & I are the only redheads in my generation of my very large Irish family and if I dyed it I’d be breaking my grandmother’s heart. But I’m kinda fine with the head of hair I’ve got. I’ve always been complimented for it and I really just feel kinda neutral towards it but I mean the fact that I’ve not been made to be insecure about it is definitely a plus in my book.

send me 90s band asks

#long post #thank you nancy i love you #pavlovers #dianswered

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stevedonnellyfaith-blog · 5 years

Text

The Coconut Monkey (Post 121) 12-31-15

My younger brother Sean has told my children several times that I have carted around the same odd five or six personal possessions for the last forty years. Of course that is an exaggeration, but I don’t have large collections of stamps, coins, beer cans, Star Trek figurines, or Beanie Babies that I mindlessly transport from domicile to domicile. I have some few items that remind me of Pam or my grandparents, some junior high woodworking projects, some mementos of my naval service and a coconut monkey given to me as a Christmas gift by my younger brother Dan when we were in elementary school.

We didn’t start out giving each other gifts at all, but when we got into grade school my mother set aside some money for us each to buy each other presents. The budget was small as four boys times six presents can run into a lot of time and money during a season where mom’s routinely have little of either. At the time we started the present swap, my sister Amy was still being fed Gerber products with a spoon, so she wasn’t shopping, but I’m sure managing a toddler along with four older brothers just added to the chaos.

Anyway things got easier once we got old enough to have paper routes, and we had Christmas tips added to the kiddie. We could also walk around a mall by ourselves. These days, most people would probably not cut a tribe of kids that age loose in a mall by themselves, but those were different times with fewer known crazies and a gun shootout at Spenser’s Gifts, Orange Julius or Kay Bee Toys was something that no one would have considered.

Having us split up throughout the mall was never my parent’s intention to begin with. Usually our dispersal just sort of happened, although all of us boys would immediately make off and ditch the family whenever my dad headed into a book store. Our entire house was full of books and there was nothing more boring than watching our father stand in the same spot for fifteen minutes staring at a row of bindings, reaching out and selecting one, opening the book to read the jacket, closing the tome and returning it to its approximate position on the same shelf. We all knew that when Dad headed towards Walden’s, it was time to peel off the back of the formation and escape up the nearest escalator.

Because we all usually walked around the mall in one direction or the other, we would usually collect again naturally as we collided like ions attaching themselves to a larger molecules. Usually brother Dan was the last to be found. Sometimes we would have to split the main molecule back up into smaller search parties to locate him from his several peculiar haunts throughout the mall, but eventually he would be found usually by whoever was staking out Hot Sam’s in the food court. Dan loved candy bars, powdered donuts and anything available in a mall food court so he was bound to turn up there eventually.

Dan was easy to buy presents for as his taste was pretty low-brow. He liked decorated mirrors, velvet art, KISS memorabilia, and tee-shirts with bad jokes – I liked those too. Usually you could shop for Dan in Spencer’s without fail, except you had to time your stop in that shop very specifically so as not to run into Dan himself or any of the other family members shopping for Dan. It was usually OK to kind of case Spencer’s entrance from another store like Chess King and wait until Dan’s glucose dropped to an unusually low level, maybe 100, at which time Dan would book out of there in search of some cotton candy or caramel popcorn. Then it was OK to rush into Spencer’s quick and buy him a Smokey and the Bandit lager stein, tee-shirt depicting the orangutan from Every Which Way But Loose making an obscene gesture or whatever item you last saw Dan pick up and put down.

My brother spent a lot of quality time in that store, which made it very unsurprising to me when I opened up my gift from Dan one Christmas and discovered I was the proud owner of the a coconut rudely carved into the likeness of Curious George the chimpanzee of storybook fame. I was less than delighted. I was heavily into board games of all sorts: Clue, Risk, Yahtzee, Life, etc. My brother had purchased me something that he liked instead of what I liked. It represented a total failure of empathy on his part. He had in no ways paid any attention to my Christmas List. It was a bummer.

But I kept the monkey. It followed me to High School in Boston and was a decoration for my room in the family Ohio house during my four years at Annapolis. Once I graduated, the coconut monkey was packed into my little chest of eight or so most personal belongings that followed me into matrimony and life in Virginia, Kentucky, Carolina, Indiana and California. Finally, the coconut monkey has returned to Ohio with me and sits on a book case in Stephen’s room where the décor suits the much-traveled simian. When I happen in there each evening to rake up my son’s laundry, I often notice George staring down from his gargoyle perch and think of my brother Dan both as he was at ten and as he is now, a protestant minister in his late forties who I call for counsel whenever I need to make a difficult decision.

It is odd how the monkey was at one time a very imperfect gift from my brother who desired the monkey for his own; Dan collected monkeys of all sorts. But the monkey became something else for me, a touchstone that can transport me back Chutes and Ladders style passing by much pain and difficulty to my childhood where we were innocent, or as innocent as a bunch of boys could be who would ditch their family to search for the taste of illicit corn-dogs and some time to weigh the value of purchasing a second lava lamp against the marginal utility of owning yet another black light poster.

I believe that we are all imperfect gift givers of various sorts. We give each other love … well sort of anyway. We buy each other gifts and hope that the return gift is that secret thing that we have had our eye on. We buy our spouse the thing that she has been hinting at, but botch the brand or color. Sick of missing the mark with the kids, we get a gift card to a place where they can pick out their own electronics, clothing or music. Sometimes we hit the mark and there is joy; other times we get a shake of the head and toleration. Infrequently, there are tears of a good kind or the other.

We are also gift givers to Jesus, and the Son of Man truly does have everything. We offer Him our prayers, our gold, our frankincense and our myrrh. Our gifts to Him please Him although He wants for nothing. He does desire our love, which our sacrificial gifts demonstrate. Our special gifts to our spouses, children and family members are really just another aspect of our practice in love which brings us closer to Him. Sometimes we give an imperfect gift like the coconut monkey that I received so many years ago, but with Christ even a gift that is imperfect is transformed.

#God #Jesus #The Holy Spirit #Teh Virgin Mary #grace #hope #faith #life #gifts #memories #family #childhood #joy #Christmas #Son of Man #sacrifice

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tarantula-hawk-wasp · 7 years

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Bat Paladin Chapter 3

Voltron / batfam /dc comics crossover

chapter 1

chapter 2 Shiro is Bruce Wayne’s adopted son and part of the batfam AU created by me (I was the anon) and @newtsckamander Chapter 3/ ~10 Word count 3.8k I’m sorry formatting is messy, I posted from mobile

******* In general, things get easier with repetition. Stage actors recite lines over and over until they’re engrained in memory. Athletes develop muscles through use. Accuracy is learned by doing the same shot a thousand times.

Bruce wished grief and loss operated by this principle.

He was no stranger to death. From that fateful night in his childhood when he lost his parents, to friends and young partners, he had buried many people. He had mourned and struggled to move on and coped with so much loss.

And yet, a vast majority of those people he had grieved for had come back. Jason had come back. Stephanie had actually survived. Clark and perhaps half the league had been considered dead at some point. Statistically, Bruce should be skeptical of the validity of any presumed death.

Experience now left him in a rather precarious position. A bit like schrodinger’s cat, Shiro was presumed dead but had a chance of being alive. The question now was which did Bruce focus on. Mourning him under the assumption he was dead like his parents and most of the population, while harbouring the slight and fated-to-be-slowly-crushed hope that presumptions were wrong and he was alive? Or to expect him to be alive and have reality wear down on him with each day of uncertain absence? Either one could destroy him in the long run.

And how long did he search? How far into space until Shiro was truly beyond any hope of finding? Did he continue like a one-track record while his friends agreed to search to his face and then plotted interventions behind his back? And what approach did he take with the rest of the family? Would it be healthier for them to mourn without doubt? Or to harbour hope that he would be found?

Instead of lessening his conundrum, investigation only exacerbated it.

A Justice League investigation of the icy moon had found no evidence of the spaceship crashing. In fact, the vehicle was completely intact. Shiro and the Holts had made it safely to Kerberos and had left their ship in their excursion suits with all the planned equipment.

The first experiment site however, told a darker tale.

Every part of the Kerberos mission was expertly planned. GPS and previous probes had plotted down to the meter where the work was to be conducted.

That exact location was decimated. Something powerful had wrought a swath of destruction that had shredded the ice and rock surface and left only mangled fragments of the metal drill tripod.

The part that left the most questions was the lack of evidence of the crew. No fragments of spacesuits. No helmet shards. No fabric fibers. No bodies. No charred carbon. They were simply gone.

The worst case scenario was that they were dead in some way that left no evidence, but no other matter was missing from the area. Re-arranged, yes, but unaccounted for? No.

Until the Green Lanterns returned from meeting with the Guardians, there was no way to identify any residual alien energy or microparticles they might have found.

Bruce’s desperate hope for his son was alien abduction.

****** A telescope was added to the memorial case.

It looked as out of place as it felt - a mundane object flanked by costume-clad mannequin torsos and propped weaponry. It had been the first gift Bruce had given Shiro. A settling-in present after he’d lived with him for a month and offhandedly mentioned over dinner how many more stars he could see from the Wayne property than the city. So Bruce had bought him a telescope.

It was moderately sized, nothing huge but big enough that Shiro could see some of the fainter and more delicate nebulae.

Shiro had been enamored with it. Astronomy became his nightly activity when he wasn’t helping man the batcomputer, allowing him to be on a schedule more compatible with the family.

Bruce remembered many times when he’d come up from the batcave after patrol to find Shiro clothed but asleep in a chair with a star chart open in his lap, and when woken, he’d drag Bruce to the telescope he’d left outside to show him some Messier object.

It became accepted fact that if there was any sort of high profile event at an observatory or space exhibit, Bruce Wayne would be accompanying his middle son there.

Recently, the observatory had invited Bruce for the first use of a new lens the Wayne family had donated money for a year ago. Bruce declined to attend. The observatory said they understood and expressed their empathy. The tabloids understood his absence too.

One of the truly worst things about a civilian identity was the public relations of when things like this happened. Even if he had a search underway for what really happened to Shiro’s, he still had to deal with the civilian side of things.

When Jason had died it had been easier to keep things low key and although the family had celebrity status then, not there was a whole decade more of notoriety. Shiro had been a public figure as an adult in his own right. And the mere fact he was an adult added levels of complexity.

Like lawyers, and wills.

Shiro’s last will and testament was a harsh, physical reminder that his son was a decade older than Jason had been. Shiro had an impeccable will, drawn up by a Wayne recommended firm.

He left a few sums to various funds, plans for a new charity, and items for his brothers and sisters and for his oft-spoken-of friend Keith.

***

Shiro’s death was public knowledge and scandal, on the news for weeks and then months as the Garrison investigation into the incident continued.

There were three memorials Bruce had felt obligated to attend.

The private one that the Justice League attended, with friends whose raw glances of sympathy were the only ones Bruce found tolerable. They had known Shiro for the decade since his adoption and were also feeling his loss keenly.

There was the public memorial held in Gotham where a crowd turned out and lay flowers and ribbons for one of the city’s famous sons. Gotham had been proud to have famously from her embark on a historic space mission. Shiro’s publicity tour before the mission had been well received. Bruce hadn’t minded saying a few words to the crowd there as much as he feared he would.

Then there was the Garrison memorial attended by both those graduated and attending there.

Shiro’s training team and close friends were sitting in their own section next to the one for families of the team. There was a variety of twenty-somethings and one younger teen that Bruce recognized as Keith.

Bruce had never actually meet Keith. He had heard much about Keith. Shiro had called and told him many stories about Keith, including on the day they had met. Bruce had seen many photos and short videos of Keith. But Bruce had never met Keith in person.

And a memorial was a hard place to start.

After the Garrison speech that waxed poetic on his son’s talents and love of his job and a touching note about how his contributions to science would not be forgotten, Bruce exchanged sympathy with the Holts and intended to introduce himself to the boy. But by then Keith had left. ****** Hal Jordan was standing in his usual civilian clothes and jacket in front of the memorial case staring at the telescope with wet tracks on his face.

Bruce put his coffee mug down on the nearest flat surface.

“I just got back from Oa… Diana told me…” he didn’t turn to look at Bruce. Bruce grunted noncommittally. “I didn’t know… I waved at Pluto as I passed…”

“He would have appreciated that.” Bruce eventually said.

“I’m heading back out. I’ll scan everything. I just- I needed to come here first.” Hal finally faced Bruce, eyes searching. “I keep picturing when he was a kid and he’d follow me around the watchtower asking questions. Every flight back to Earth I’d spend preparing what stories I’d tell him. I was so proud when he aced piloting and when he was selected for this mission, but now I can’t help but fear this was all somehow because of my influence. Piloting… space…”

“Hal… Shiro loved space since long before even I knew him. As much as you’re his favorite Uncle, he was determined on this path since childhood. You can’t blame yourself any more than I can for letting him go to that school.” They were standing next to each other, shoulder to shoulder facing the case again. Hal nodded silently but grateful.

“I’m going to search Kerberos for any clues. Then I’ll go back to Oa to research. If he’s out there, I won’t give up until I’ve found him or the truth.” Hal declared, voice heavy, and then flew out the cave entrance.

* * * * * In the past decade or so, Bruce’s social persona had become more bearable. “Brucie” had transitioned from “ditzy but well-meaning playboy” to “ditzy but well-meaning playboy and father”. His public persona had to appear responsible enough for no one to question his custody of half a dozen youths.

Bruce had found the easiest way to accomplish this was to cultivate a new hobby of showing off his kids at any opportunity. He had a wallet packed with school photos, albums of pics and videos on his phone, and a wealth of stories he could share in any conversation.

Instead of having to convince people that “Brucie” had suddenly become an extremely responsible adult, he could simply start bragging.

“My Cassie is doing triple pirouettes in ballet, I have a video of it right here that you simply must see”

“Look at Damian and his science project! I don’t think our carpets will ever be the same.”

“Shiro sent me this pic from the flight simulator at his astronaut school. He’s top of his class and set a school record for highest score”

It was far more satisfying than bumbling and flirting had been in his younger years. He still winked at the ladies and broke a few wine glasses every now and then, but mostly he blathered about his brood. This had the added benefit of boring and discouraging gold-diggers and those arrogant people who disapproved of the bloodlines of most of his family. Bruce was proud that there was so much to boast about.

Of course now his public reputation as a family-man and celebrity status meant that he had to address what happened on multiple television shows, and magazine interviews, and online forums.

It was a seemingly unending slur of similar statements.

“Shiro knew the risks, it’s like I said in the Kent interview for the Daily Planet, Shiro talked it over with the family, he felt that any danger was worth it and even in his will he reminded us that this was what he wanted to dedicate his life to, however much time that would be.”

“I think - and I’d hope I’d know as his adoptive father - that what Shiro would want for the future of space exploration would be for it to continue. Learn from his mission, make it so the next one is a success. Go beyond Kerberos someday. Meet some aliens.”

“It’s hard on all of us, but we’re trying to get through it as a family, to remember the better times.”

“No, I don’t blame the Garrison, like I’ve said, Shiro accepted the risks and chose that job. Now we have to accept what Shiro wanted. I’ve always said I encourage the kids’ interests and respect their decisions, I can’t stop doing that just because I don’t like the outcome.”

“What do I have to say to the parents of kids who want to be astronauts? Encourage them. Buy them a telescope, watch their eyes light up at night. In fact, that’s why I’m creating the Shiro Space Foundation, to help fund and organize the formation of astronomy clubs in schools. Because that’s what my son would want.”

Slowly the media ran out of similar questions and sympathy statements to use the Wayne name with, but Bruce knew that each release of new info about the mission would only restart the onslaught.

***** Dick and Cass went to collect a few of Shiro’s things and some gifts and cards from the Garrison.

They also were checking in on Keith, something requested in Shiro’s will.

Dick reported back that he was seeing the facilities counselor for required visits and that a few upperclassmen who had been friends with Shiro were keeping an eye on him.

Cass told Bruce that she read the boy as taking it hard and blaming authority.

Jason came back from a second visit laughing bitterly. Apparently Keith knew of him from stories as “Jay”, Shiro’s brother who hated the media and therefore hid from it. Jason then made a bittersweet observation.

“He’s an angry at the world black haired orphan. Apparently your taste in trainee is a family trait. That’s probably why he never brought him home here, Alfred would have given him a room thinking he was one of yours.”

Bruce tried to focus on how proud he was of Shiro for taking someone under his wing. That kind of compassion was an excellent trait to have.

*******

Batman hesitated before emerging from the shadows on the rooftop. Around the corner of the structure housing the roof-exit access Spoiler and Red Hood were supposed to be waiting for him. But he heard a third, female voice that was not Black Bat. It was Catwoman, but her tone was serious.

“-y’know him, he’s getting a little antsy,definitely plotting, but the rest of us can keep him distracted for a few more weeks at least.”

“Even the time you’ve given us so far has helped. I don’t know if he’s noticed but-” Red Hood was the one to reply.

“-Not that we couldn’t have handled it without him, but he’d take control of everything.” Spoiler interjected with a hint of defensiveness. Batman could picture her crossed arms and cocked jaw.

“I know. And if something does happen, I’m not the only one willing to help you this time.” Catwoman reassured. “The Rogues respect Batman enough to give him time to mourn, plus, you heroes hit harder when you’re upset.”

Batman felt a cold wash percolate down his spine at the vague reminder of what had happened. He aggressively ignored that to digest the new information. Retrospectively, the past few weeks had been quiet, with no capers by the usual miscreants, only mundane petty criminal violence.

The past month had left him so busy with his civilian life that he hadn’t had time to dwell on why things had been so quiet after hours. Suddenly a number of recent events made far more sense in the lense of the Rogues knowing something.

The flowers on his patrol route being unseasonably lush with their blooms open a little longer past dusk than natural.

Harleen Quinzel saluting him with a solemn expression while walking her hyenas in pajamas at five in the morning.

Bank robbers found trying to thaw out their getaway car’s frozen engine.

Batman was brought back to the conversation by Red Hood speaking again.

“What exactly did you tell them? Because it’s not like they ever saw-… It’s not like when it was me and they noticed the lack of Robin.”

“I kept it vague,” Catwoman paused, voice tired, “Just that Batman had an adult civilian son and he…”Her voice choked off. “That was enough for them to understand. Enough of them have civilian relatives themselves.”

“Thank you.” Spoiler reiterated.

“Of course. And how are you kids handling it. I know I’m no counselor but Batman is an emotional brick. If you need to talk…” Catwoman offered.

“It’s hard but we’re all working through it together.” Spoiler answered slowly.

“Yeah, helps that there’s no hard feelings and no blame… just grief. He was… he was close to each of us in a different way and that’s something we all have in common.”

“There are a lot of good times to remember and talk about.”

“I’m rather relieved you’re coping well. I didn’t know him as well as you, but from our limited encounters, I am grateful I knew him.”

Catwoman was gone when Batman showed up on the rooftop to confer with his silently waiting partners. *****

Bruce had loved the night for years. He spent most of his time out in the dark and, in between the moments of staccato sensation of fighting, there was the peace and calm. The lights of Gotham danced in the streets below him, a distant world of nightly reverie he watched and protected.

Thirty years ago, before the ordinances and bulb replacement projects he had heavily backed, the light pollution from the street lights and skyscrapers had drowned out all but the brightest of stars from the sky. Now it was greatly lessened and entire constellations were visible in the breaks in the clouds.

Bruce could remember driving out to the countryside with his parents as a small boy, lying out on a blanket on a grassy hill, and marvelling at the constellations while his parents spun the tales of the myths that those celestial patterns told.

Now, the stars were mocking points of light - too literal spots of hope on the inky darkness of reality. The night sky held Bruce’s hopes and fears.

If he felt embittered by the sky from Gotham, it was nothing to time on the Watchtower. He did not let himself shirk monitor duties there, no matter how many offers of coverage he was given by every other member of the League. Instead he would carry out his shift, sitting in a silence more stony than previous, resolutely focusing on the computers and monitors, not the expansive viewports.

He still freshly remembered the first time Shiro had come to the watchtower. He had left Gotham to Dick, Jason, and Barbara and taken Shiro to the nearly empty space station. Shiro hadn’t asked to see the Watchtower after he had found out that the league had a headquarters in orbit, he had still been too hesitant with his role in his new family and afraid of pushing a limit to request that. He had, however, asked a slew of questions about the station and the brightness in his eyes had allayed any reservations Bruce may have had about taking a “civilian” there.

Shiro had been fourteen and a set of long, coltish limbs restraining trembles of excitement. His arms had been clinging to a stack of books - homework and an astronomy book - and his eyes had been wide behind the rudimentary domino mask Bruce had deemed necessary.

Diana had smiled at his enthusiasm on her way out.

Bruce had picked a night where the only league members present were ones who already knew his identity, Shiro’s wasn’t one he was willing to risk haphazardly. The less people who knew about his connection to Batman, the safer both the family’s identities and Shiro himself were.

He had given Shiro a tour, showing and explaining much of the systems that ran the watchtower and lingering at viewports on each side. Then they had returned to the monitors and Shiro had spent the rest of the evening staring out the windows and telling Bruce his observations.

In his early teen years Shiro became a fixture of Bruce’s shifts there. He went with him every opportunity he was allowed. Bruce also liked that it let Shiro meet his “coworkers” without having Shiro anywhere near real combat or inviting more people to the batcave.

Even as he aged, Bruce had given him clearance to come to the watchtower to visit during weekends off from the school campus.

He associated the watchtower nearly as much with Shiro as associated it with the Justice League. It was a hard place to be.

**** It was the middle of the afternoon when Bruce’s phone pinged. His personal cellphone that was linked with the bat computer.

Damian was at work with him today, rocking in a swivel chair with a textbook balanced on his knees, and he lunged for the device before Bruce could.

“I know what phone this is. Is there some attack or something happening?” He read the notification with a furrowed brow, textbook readily abandoned and shoved to the floor.

Bruce reached over and snatched the device out of his hands. It was a series of symbols and code words sent to him by an automated monitoring system linked to the batcomputer. He opened his laptop, inserted a black bat-logo’d flash drive, and interfaced with the cave computer.

“Someone’s hacking a specific part of the Garrison computer.” Bruce said to fill Damian in. His son had moved to hover around his right side to watch the screen over his shoulder.

“Why would they do that? Is someone trying to launch a rocket?”

“No, they’re accessing probe and transmission records from a secure file. What I’m trying to figure out is who’s doing it.” Bruce explained, fingers moving quickly and gaze focused.

“Is it foreign? Wasn’t Luthor mad that space exploration privatized?” Damian speculated. Bruce grunted and frowned, pausing. He was secretly keeping tabs on anything related to the Garrison Kerberos mission. He had minor alerts for new or changed information in them, copies of all deleted files, and notifications when certain people accessed them. This was the first time a compromise alert had come in.

“The hacking coming from inside an office at the Garrison headquarters. But the computer is marking it as an intrusion.”

“Maybe the guy just forgot his password.” Damian was obviously disappointed at the anticlimactic answer.

“Ah. Whomever is doing this is using outdated security passwords for minor things. Passwords that weren’t flagged immediately as incorrect.” Bruce’s brow uncreased.

“Why? Shouldn’t a facility like that have at least some cyber security?”

“They do. Their computer didn’t automatically classify this as an attack because the codes used were those of Sam Holt.”

“Oh.” Damian became quiet, almost cautious, the way that was becoming typical with anything regarding Shiro. Bruce appreciated that Damian, who often frankly expressed his opinions of people, had been keeping quiet about Shiro and what happened around his siblings. Damian was very hit or miss for his interactions with people and only then in the long run. Bruce, despite mental efforts otherwise, found himself wondering at the lost potential of what Shiro and Damian’s relationship would have been.

The results of a cursory look at the Garrison indoor security cameras proved Bruce’s hypothesis of the identity of the hacker correct. He closed his laptop. It would be hypocritical to deny access to her when she had as much right to those files and the truth as he did and for the same reasons.

#Shiro #Bruce Wayne #voltron #batfam #shiro is a batkid au

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