#he deadpans a lot but he otherwise has SO much emotion sometimes

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Heroes was never really enough to go by, but Greg just reaaally isn't doing it for me with Ike with how monotone and lifeless he sounds. ;~;

[sillyshipping]

HII... looks at you gently..... could i request headcanons about sasha nein please 🥺 (romantic edition)

yeah yeah of course!! ty for the request ^^ romantic hcs for sasha coming right up :-] sorry if some of these aren't fully accurate lol, i made a lot of assumptions about his character but that's basically what headcanons are hehe.. these were so fun, i look forward to doing more of this kind of stuff in the future :D

🧠Romantic headcanons for Sasha Nein🚬

i imagine he would get flustered really easily, especially through physical touch. he probably isn't used to much physical affection, so once he gets it, it hits him harder than it would otherwise. it might take him a moment to process it, but once he does, it hits him like a truck. it would affect him a great deal, he'd think about those moments for a long time.

he would express his love through how he generally acts around you and doing things for you. i think he'd struggle with showing affection physically and with words, so he would do other subtle things to show that he loves you! maybe he puts something important on hold because he cares about you, or maybe he goes out of his way to remember tiny details about you, maybe he gives you something that reminds him of you! he would also help you do things that you might struggle with, whether it's a heavy amount of work or simply cleaning ur room :-] he wouldn't be judgemental at all either way, he'd be more than happy to help you.

he would have a much easier time opening up and being more vulnerable around you. he trusts you a lot! he isn't scared of showing his emotions around you :-] and on the other hand, if you opened up to him, he would do his best to help you and give you advice on whatever it is you need help with. he would be very patient and understanding with you, especially with his background knowledge on mental health!

there would be moments he'd ramble about what he likes about you. maybe he says something and worries if he came off as blunt or hurtful, so he'd try making up for it by complimenting you! then he would snowball into thoughtlessly talking about why and how he likes you and would get very embarrassed once he realizes what he's doing. oopsies !

he doesn't laugh or smile a whole lot, but when he's around you, it's hard for him not to. everything you say echoes in his mind and he can't help but smile or chuckle about it. he would cherish the moments that he spends with you, reminiscing over it and feeling so lucky that he gets to be with you.

quite a hopeless romantic! he's a sucker for traditionally romantic things, like dates at fancy restaurants, slow dancing to love songs, gifting bouquets and heart chocolate boxes, kissing the front of ur hand while holding it in his (what a gentleman), etc etc. he'd probably be pretty nervous or shy to initiate these though! if you were to invite him to go somewhere romantic or give him a particularly romantic gift, his heart would flutter with joy.

if he was feeling extra confident, he'd give pecks on your cheek and hold your hand :-] he'd get soo shy about it though and would try to act as casual as possible, but you'd be able to tell how flustered he is. he'd be blushing hard under his glasses and would be stumbling over his words.

if you're a psychic u bet he would telepathically talk to you, like all the time. he would give you little secret messages and send you comments that only You are allowed to hear. like whispering but to the max. he might poke fun at what's going on sometimes when he doesn't want anyone else to hear, too. i think he actually has a pretty good sense of humor and likes to joke around! he just has a deadpan delivery and others might not get his jokes at times. but yes he's silly and will be silly around you

overall he would deeply care about you and your well-being and would want the best for you. he would go out of his way to make life easier for you. he has so much love to share and to give 😁💚

[vega-482]

My Stanley and Narrator refs (plus more info)

Stanley:

Probably born in america but has latine parents (don't ask me which country(ies), i couldn't decide)

He's latino mestizo/mixed race, but doesn't know much else besides that

He can physically speak but he stutters a lot, he's slightly more fluent in spanish than english but still stutters, which caused him to get bullied as a kid, which then gave him severe anxiety, therefore making him develop selective mutism. It became so severe that he had to learn ASL to communicate a bit better, but still has some problems when speaking to strangers 

Not sure if he has ADHD, is autistic, or both, but when he gets sensory overload gets very stressed, he freezes completely and cannot even sign to communicate u_u

Knows english, spanish and ASL

When he gets to know someone better, he speaks more to them and sometimes even without stuttering

Stims by pressing buttons and other similar stuff, he likes the clicking noises :y

Only expressive when he has strong emotions, otherwise his face is very deadpan

Knows he is sexually and aesthetically attracted to men and other genders, but has only had romantic feelings for men

Used to have piercings on his face but had to take em off bc of the dress code, still has some hidden ones tho

The Narrator

Because he's an immortal entity he doesn't care about gender, but in human terms he'd be a man, that's what feels right to him

He didn't know that he was trans (well he didn't ever consider that he was trans or cis) in his human form until he somehow accidentally transformed into human and found out

Doesn't need glasses to see, he just likes the aesthetic :y

Human form is weak (as much as an old man is lol) and can only make? some apendages that look like the adventure line(tm), kinda like weird tentacles, and phase through walls, but that transforms him back into his light form

Light form can be 2d, projected kinda like a shadow, or 3d, it can float and change size, he can be tinyy or big, but only in light form

Light form can grab objects and is usually solid unless he wants to phase thru walls, he cannot phase through organic stuff/bodies

He cannot alter his shape either, just size

His hands feet and head aren't attached to the rest of the body in light form

His glasses do the -anime glowy glasses- thing 🤔

Unsure about sexuality but is gay 4 stanley ahah

Can only shift to human <-> light  by phasing objects

When changing to light form and back, that resets his human body (can cure injuries, hunger, etc)

He's neurodivergent as a human, idk how it works as a god-like entity tho 

Can only read Stanley's thoughts in his light form, in human form he can't 

idk I’ll add more stuff when I remember

[elysiuminfra]

This is your excuse to talk about Utterson. I agree, he deserves more content. 😌

YES YIPPEE THANK YOU

i think when you look into his character he makes a perfect foil to jekyll. he has a strong will, he's resourceful, and moreso, he's active. he's the kind of man to indulge himself within moderation, and not regret it afterwards. he also plays an active role in the story, while jekyll simply lets things happen to him throughout.

i portray him as a direct foil bc i find it particularly interesting. my take on gabriel is that he's gay, DOES have relationships but keeps them relatively quiet (as its frowned upon in victorian society) while jekyll is ashamed of his homosexuality. and him being a lawyer, he has a drive to "win" or "solve" cases, which is sort of how he navigates his relationships as well. gabriel isnt perfect- he cares too much, puts too much of himself into others, and doesn't know when to let go- that's why his relationship with jekyll is so complex, and at the end, it leaves him deeply broken. he feels as if he's "failed." he couldn't save him from himself. he can be overly ruthless when it comes to solving other people's problems- comes with the profession. he can cross boundaries sometimes, and will do anything to "help" jekyll, even if it means digging into things that otherwise shouldn't be dug into (hyde's activities, for example, which i personally like elaborating on)

i think he's also deadpan but funny. the kind of guy to deliver jokes in such a flat tone that it makes you cackle. quiet, reserved, but a good conversationalist. ppl think he's boring but i think he's just like.... not that emotive. he just has a hard time expressing his feelings beyond words. he just grew up in a household where feelings weren't expressed, and in his professional life it only reinforced it. you're supposed to be objective!

i also hc him to be mixed chinese/white which i think im like one of the only ppl that portray him as mixed chinese. i like other ppl's headcanons but im like all alone over here...... also i associate a lot of symbolism with him, jekyll, and hyde. they represent different body parts. jekyll is the brain (thinking, the conscious self) hyde is the hands (active, kinetic, manipulating) and utterson is the eyes (observant, reflective). the color i associate with him the most is blue and grey :) like a pigeon

i think he's an overlooked and underappreciated character because when you really read into it he can be quite interesting. you think about the circumstances that shaped him into the person he is. like him being a lawyer, him being reserved and quiet but amicable- what shaped him to become that? what led him to this point? what is his history with jekyll- beyond just being his lawyer, but being personally invested in his wellbeing? theres so many things you can extrapolate on :)! which is what i like to do. but i mean my personal interpretations are not the same as everyone else's. i just have a lot of personal thoughts about this character and what i enjoy focusing on.

long story short is i like him he's more interesting than ppl think he is and i think more ppl should like him :)

[guardianofthedesertsandtrees]

//HC: Cyno doesn't remember how to process things properly, nor what appropriate actions and reactions are. He just learns as he goes, and it sometimes causes issues (more under the cut, and mild cw fpr spoilers for his story quest and the new archon quest)

It's something you learn as a child, and since all his memories are, well, gone, he had to relearn everything about emotions. Sure he knows what he's feeling at this point, and he knows certain things like funny=laugh or sad=cry and such, but he has to actively think about what the correct reaction is, so his reactions may be delayed or non-existent. (Case in point: he's completely deadpan telling a joke even when he thinks it's funny, and he doesn't understand humor quite well.)

He understands the basics, but anything past that is not clear to him. He doesn't know how to act when in love, or in a relationship, doesn't quite know how to cope with despair or grief, isn't sure how he's supposed to react to pain, and such.

To him, most anything someone does in a relationship with him is normal. He has no knowledge to compare it to, for him to be able to say it's not. He knows the basics of 'it's not normal to hit someone you care for or force them into something', but, outside of that, everything seems normal to him until he's actively told otherwise. For pain, he will just ignore it, it's just an obstacle. He doesn't know that he's supposed to care a whole lot, especially when injured. He knows he needs to wrap and clean his injuries, but even that he had to be taught by the matra and Tighnari, because he'd literally be running around doing work with a straight up hole in his shoulder like it's nothing, and end up with something much worse. He does the same for any complex emotion, or for anything that he'd seen people not care about, so things like grief or sympathy are pushed away until they eventually catch up.

Now don't get me wrong, he is incredibly empathetic (promising to help the little daughter of one of the smugglers, and to find the people that were lost), he just doesn't understand how he's supposed to act or feel, only that he wants to help.

Same goes for fear, which results in him jumping headfirst into dangerous situations. (Like taking down 300 armed and skilled people within four nights).

He will either learn or remember as time goes on, but, until then, not all his reactions will be what one would expect.

[spaceorphanssecondbreakfastclub]

SO's US Book Tour : Arkansas

True Grit

By Charles Portis

I have never read a Western.  I haven’t ever wanted to read a Western.  But when flipping through the list of books for Arkansas - I tripped over True Grit and thought, why not, I’m branching out.  After struggling to get through The Monkey Wrench Gang, I worried that I was going to find it difficult to get through.  Turns out that was not the case! I was pleasantly surprised at the ease in which I got through this one.  It is a good story.  It’s not my favorite, nor will I probably ever pick up another Western, but I enjoyed it much more than I thought I’d might.  

This might be the simplest book I’ve read so far, which is fine.  A book doesn’t need to be overly complicated to be enjoyable, and I think it works in the book’s favor to be a straightforward adventure-slash-revenge story.  

Written in the late 1960s but set in the 1870s, the narrative is that of an older Mattie Ross recalling about how when she was 14-years-old her father was murdered by a hired hand - Tom Chaney - and how she set about bringing him to justice by hiring a US Marshall by the name of Rooster Cogburn.  And that’s really it - the book, like the narrator, is pretty focused on that plot.  

Honestly, when I first started reading, I was a little skeptical of a grown man writing from the perspective of a fourteen year old girl.  And, admittedly, Mattie Ross doesn’t really sound like a girl her age - 19th century or otherwise.  But I think it actually works in the novel’s favor.  I really appreciated Mattie’s focused drive and her shrewd observations.  She isn’t one to mess around.  She isn’t one to get caught up in overly emotional sentimentality.  Her world is harsh - but she still tells it like it is.  Sometimes, it is to comic effect - having deadpan reflection of rather obscene human nature is pretty funny at times.  But the ‘true grit’ the novel’s title refers to is really Mattie - and her unwavering pursuit to bring justice to her father’s murderer.  

It’s funny - all through the novel, Mattie tells everyone she meets that her one goal is to take down Tom Chaney for the murder of her father.  It becomes a mantra, and becomes strikingly similar to Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride, who repeats his revenge mantra to anyone he meets.  In fact, the characters are similar in design when you bring them down to a base level.  

Anyway -- while I doubt it’s that realistic that a fourteen year old during the 1870s would get away with as much as Mattie does, I like her as a character -- much more than I thought I’d might. 

The other major character is Rooster Cogburn, a washed out, gritty old US Marshal - who has a lot of baggage carried around from his colorful past.  Part of the charm of the novel comes from the unlikely pairing between Cogburn and Mattie, which never really dissolves into a found father/daughter trope, which again, is a nice change of pace.  Cogburn, begrudgingly, ends up respecting Mattie in the end, and they bond in the way people on adventure do, but it always is billed as a temporary alliance -- one that Mattie appreciates from the lens of an adult, but never grows beyond the mission they set out to accomplish.  

The first half of the book details Mattie searching out Cogburn.  I never really thought of Arkansas as being a part of the old west, but the backdrop works really well -- Arkansas being on the edge of the frontier.  It kind of reminded me (due to my limited engagement with the time period and location) of those frontier towns you start in at the beginning of the old computer game Oregon Trail - where you get your goods and stuff before setting out across the west to get to the Pacific coast.  The second half of the book details going out into ‘Indian Territory’ - the unclaimed wilderness on the Arkansas/Oklahoma border - where, really, there are no laws and anything can happen.  

They’re joined by a Texas Ranger named LaBoeuf, who is out to get Chaney for killing a Texas senator.  Of course, LaBoeuf and Cogborn don’t get along - and LaBoeuf isn’t really thrilled that Mattie is tagging along to bring Chaney down.  But he becomes instrumental in tracking down the gang of thieves Chaney is hanging out with.  

Tom Chaney, himself, isn’t really in the novel that much - and to be honest, he’s kind of flatly dumb and villianous.  There are much livelier characters even within the gang of ‘bad guys’ that Chaney is hanging around, that the confrontation seems, well, a little anticlimactic if I’m being honest.  But the purpose of the novel is less about the destination and more about the journey into the wilderness, and the resolve of Mattie, Cogburn, and LaBoeuf at bringing the outlaw in.  

One of the aspects of the novel that I did find fascinating is the detail of the worldbuilding.  The novel makes reference to the American Civil War, and to the politics of the 1870s.  There are references to how life is different in Arkansas, to Texas, to the East Coast.  I don’t know much about Charles Portis - but I have to believe he’s fairly knowledgeable about the time period he’s writing about.  Not only is he able to drop these references to the time authentically, the novel itself feels like it was written back in the 19th century.  In some ways - it reminds me of all those classic stories we had to read in school that documented and showcased life during a specific era.  

I believe this is one of those novels that is considered a modern classic - and I can see why.  I liked it well enough for what it was (though I doubt I’ll ever feel like going back to this world) and can understand its popularity - especially to those who enjoy stories set during this time period.  While it may not be for everyone, it very clearly is a Western, I’d definitely recommend it - and am glad I picked it up. 

[yegas]

oh believe me, he does HAHAHAHA

lol same I swear, goldfish brain over here 🙃 he's actually the main character!!! his name's robota hatohara and he's so much like kuroko in a sense that he's always got this deadpan expression on hahahaha I haven't read so much of it though to get more into character development omg yes pleaseee it took me so long to get into it (blue lock) but no regrets (only the fact that I'm waiting for a second season for forever) UGHHHHG JJK!!!! ughhh I SWEARRRRRRR I saw your reblogs of some art!! you've started watching right? UGHHHHHHGHHHHHHGGGHGG I CANNOT EVEN just..don't get attached to the characters and be ready to get enraged (if you haven't finished the anime yet) I'm one of the angrier fans tbh hahahhahahaha and I'm trying not to be too... emotional about it (hard af if you've already started having a ship) ugghHGGHhGGgGGGG

otherwise for other anime recs.. hm.. tbh I haven't been watching a lot of the newer ones.. I've only been up to date with older anime that have new seasons (like bleach tybw) there's bsd, it's pretty old but one of my faves if you haven't seen and yes, jjk hahahahhaha recently a lot of my anime watching time has been dedicated to one piece. it's been a year since then and I STILL haven't reached the latest episode 🤧

IT DOES!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA his hair looks so misplaced I'm crying

I SAW THE PICS!!!! they're gorgeous but you passed out?? holy crap tg you were okay and you weren't crushed in the mosh pit??? were people doing that? and you were so young too!! yes this is definitely a valuable lesson for future concerts hahahaha tbh I was 15 too when I went to my first concert and didn't know "pre-concert preps" but these days people actually have tips about this now! esp in the k-fandom hahhahahahaha it really helps 😂 I'm sure it was amazing!! I'm from south east asia but am residing abroad for work. yeah I saw their tour dates. the thing is, I COULD go somewhere in europe to watch them BUT my passport is too weak to enter any of them AND it's a bit of work to get a visa.. then there's indonesia which I can enter BUT tix are sold out :') so I guess I'll have to wait till the next tour cycle and when /if I've secured a visa 🤧

KINGSLAYER IS DOPE one of my faves indeed. you should check out that's the spirit and amo! oli has a lot of vocals in those and it's really refreshing! OMG YESSSS HAYLEY WILLIAMS!!! her hair was GOALS I was in highschool when I discovered paramore and I swear I VOWED to dye my hair red once I was out of hs. I finally did when I hit college and basically kept the red hair (sometimes copper) for the entire duration. people in my department knew me as the 'girl with red hair' hahahahaha (unfortunately due to my work, I can't do any crazy hair colours anymore, but I'd love to do it once again when I'm outta here hahahaha)

I GAVE DEG A LISTEN!! and the devil in me really grew on me! I'm also listening to the albums you mentioned..I probably need a couple more listens to find my fave, hut so far so good! OH that one by gazette is also fire! I wanna recommend GODDESS by gazette as well, I feel like you'll like it!

yes plsss you won't regret! oh ateez I def know of them! but as for kpop groups.. well I used to be an ARMY and I was really into BTS but apart from them and the kbands I mentioned, I'm just a casual listener too (oh I had an EXO ohase as well hahaha) hahahaha omg the first time I saw helena was on you guessed it, mtv 😂 and I was in the 5th grade!!

yeah I've only ever kept it to connect with my friends..I was never a public profile anyway. holy crap so since I'm not on ig rn I've found myself on yt as well 😂 these reels are everywhere it's a pandemic hahahaha (ughhh yessss the dessert videos 😩 I used to watch mukabangs just to satisfy my food cravings bc I never keep a stock of guilty pleasures at my place to discipline myself hahaha) OMG DID YOU SEE WHAT WENT ON WHEN YOU GOOGLED? if you didn't that's fine too, you're saving yourself from major cringe

thank you :')

(btw I am so sorry for the late reply!! I went on a holiday and afterwards was thrown into work! honestly I don't even know how many days pass when I'm working! I was actually pre-typing this reoly many days ago, insert hectic schedule here, and am continuing now and by this time, the a7x concert in indonesia is done, just the other day 🥲)

he looks like a combo of kuroko and akashi im loving it! and yea i literally finished both seasons of jjk and the movie within like 4 days :'D i haven't started the manga but i've read summaries and spoilers and stuff and now that u say it IM SO GLAD I DIDNT GET SUPER EMOTIONALLY ATTACHED TO ANYONE at this point im just expecting everyone to die and be revived and die again lmaoo like nothing is surprising in this series!

can u believe i've never seen a single episode of one piece (am i even an anime fan lol) i've just never been fully ready to commit to 1k+ episodes hahah but is it worth it ??

yea lmao such a wild experience! i'm sure there was a pit at some point but it was way behind me cos i was in the 2nd row so i didn't get caught up in it, and the ppl around me were cool, i didn't get pushed around or anything. what was your first concert?? and ah i get you with the passport stuff, mine is among the weakest european passports (we're not in the eu or anything). it's fine for most countries in europe, but i need visas for pretty much everywhere else and it's so annoying... always dreamed about getting a strong passport but i don't think it's gonna happen hahah

definitely will listen to those! and omg red hair was a vibe!! i had it all throughout high school (it was dark red, not like hayley's fiery orange-red) and then i dyed it black in college, and i've kept it black since then. kinda bored of it sometimes but im too lazy to change it hahah

yay im so glad you like the devil in me!! you might like their newer albums then, phalaris and the insulated world, it's more similar to those rather than the older ones i mentioned (they've gone through sooo many phases in their discography). GODDESS IS AWESOME tysm for recommending! totally my vibe!

oh i loved a lot of bts too, mostly their earlier stuff. i watched a bunch of their interviews back in the day, but i wasn't active in any online bts communities or anything, so idk if i was technically ARMY hahah

lmao i get you, i can't have guilty pleasures at home either, like there's no way i can know there's a box of cookies at home, if it's there i HAVE to eat the entire box!! it's been such a problem hahah working on learning balance and self control w/ food right now but it's sooo freaking hard D:

and abt tumblr live i didnt really do a deep dive but should i now ?? haha i do love me some drama :')

nooo don't worry abt it! i'm sorry myself that it's taking me so long!! how was your holiday??? i went on a lil trip too, it was overall pretty great but with a few unfortunate situations aka my friend that went with me had her backpack stolen on a train :( and don't worry abt the concert you'll totally get to see them next time, i'm sure it won't be long til then! they won't be retiring anytime soon anyway i'm giving them at least 30 more years of touring lmaooo

[liibrii]

fem!Miya!reader x Suna Rintarou || mostly platonic || part of the Third Miya series

Synopsis: A glimpse into your friendship with Suna during your 1st year at Inarizaki High school.

Warnings: barely proofread, general stupidity, there's a serial killer joke, reader is a lil shit

wc: 1.6k

a/n: naming chapters is hard 😭 as always feedback is greatly appreciated and if you wanna be tagged in future chapters let me know!

Friendship with Suna is one of those where you can't quite remember how or when it started. One week he was just that lanky guy sitting at a desk to the right of you, the next week you walked home together and you told him your brothers' embarrassing childhood stories in exchange for chemistry homework. In a way it's an echo of all your childhood friendships forged on the beach with other kids you only knew for a week but during that week you'd take over the world for them if they asked. But the one week friendship with Suna became two weeks, three weeks, and after the fourth you stopped counting.

Suna Rintarou is a funny guy. Not funny as in telling jokes or spouting quips and smirks. He's funny in a way that even now you can't really tell who he is. He's quiet. But not shy in the slightest. He moved over from Aichi and you cringe at the memory of saying: “Oh so that's why ya talk funny. I thought yer just pretentious,“ when he told you. Your ears catch on fire by just thinking about it. So embarrassing. But he must have pretty low standards for his friends because at the time he didn't really seem bothered by your slip of the tongue. The next day he offered you a chuupet and that was enough to buy your undying loyalty.

Suna's a funny guy. You don't know how he became your friend, you don't know what he sees in you that makes him put up with you. But you're glad to have an inside man on the volleyball team.

Years of living together with the same person makes one develop the ability of sniffing out trouble before they even start to happen. In this case it's four empty pudding packages in the trash bin that make you decide to nope right out of there before Tsumu tries to blame you for their mysterious disappearance. Again.

You put on music and walk aimlessly through the streets, one of those walks where it doesn't matter if you get lost because you have no clue where you're headed anyway. Everyone needs a stroll like that from time to time. Often they lead to situations that would otherwise probably never happen. Like running into a serial killer, but luck is on your side today so the only person you run into is a familiar lanky figure stretching by the side of the road. “Sunarin! Didn't expect to meet ya here!“

He looks up and his blushed sweaty face wears the same expression as ever. In the last months you've learned Suna has two expressions, the deadpan one, and the deadpan one with furrowed brows. “O, Miya. Well, I live nearby.“ Oh right, you did pass the bus station where he exits just a song ago. “Taking a stroll, are you?“

“Samu and Tsumu are having a screamin' match right now so I decided to get myself out of there before they'd drag me into it.“

“Tragic. Where are you headed?“

Your destination is 'who cares' so you join Suna on a walk. It's good he already ran his evening route because you're not in the mood to reenact a wanna be healthy person's only free time activity.

Just a short walk between the apartment buildings by the side of the road you reach a path of cobble stones that leads further between trees.  

“What? You didn't know there's a park here?“ Suna smirks and you're surprised his face muscles are even capable of stretching so far.

You shake your head, slightly embarrassed. “No, I really didn't. To be fair this neighbourhood used to be ruled by another clan so we never played around here,“ you quickly add as if children clan wars from years ago are a better excuse than simply being unfamiliar with this part of the town.

Suna doesn't comment but the corners of his mouth keep tugging up even after you walk through the park. Or maybe that's because you tripped over nothing while watching a cat cross your path.

“We have a cat back home,“ he tells you and shows you the picture of his little sister with a big fluffy orange cat on her lap.

“So cute,“ you coo, “looks just like ya.“

“Oh yeah, lots of people say she looks just like me. I think I'm more handsome though.“

“No, I meant the cat.“

This time you're the one prepared to jump away form a well aimed kick but Suna only gives you a disappointed glare. “I thought you were the nice Miya.“

You sympathetically pat his shoulder. “Sorry. My sincere condolences. Shall I send some flowers for the funeral of yer last brain cell? Samu always wanted a cat but dad wouldn't let him.“

“Really? Why not?“

“Oh he made the mistake of asking just after the mango incident.“

“The-“

“Only Miyas are allowed to know about it,“ you say, snickering at Suna's furrowed brows. You know curiosity is going to eat at him for weeks to come. Maybe you should come up with a cover story, just in case. “Do ya miss yer friends? Ones from Aichi I mean?“

Suna thinks for a moment, maybe still trying to figure out what a mango incident could possibly be. “Sometimes,“ he says after a while and a poke to his side, “but I met a lot of new people at the dorms. Inarizaki isn't that bad either. There's you and Ginjima, and your brothers sometimes, and ehm,“ he mumbles as he tries to remember whom else he could call a friend.

“If Tsumu or Samu bring this topic up just let them know ya were my friend first,“ you pout. That's the problem with having had siblings in the same class for the entire grade and middle school; all your friends were also their friends. “It can't be easy,“ you say, half trying to make him feel better, and half just changing the topic that's starting to turn his ears red, “movin' over here I mean. Ya really left all ya knew behind for volleyball. That's pretty admirable. Ya just might be as crazy as Samu and Tsumu.“

“Please don't compare me to your brothers,“ says Suna.

“That bad, eh? So what's it like? Livin' in a dorm?“

“Oh. Well. We're four in a room-“

“Yikes. And I thought havin' two other people in your room is a lot.“

Suna laughs. Oh, so he can do that. It suits him, you decide after a moment. “Now take into account that two of those keep leaving dirty socks around.“

“Oh I know what that's like,“ you nod, all too familiar with dirty socks under table, under bed and other parts of bed you'd rather not think about.

“I doubt you'd get in trouble for punching them though.“

“Oh I would.“ You look him over. “Ya don't really look like a punchin' type to me. More a very petty guy. Soy sauce in mornin' tea kind of guy.“

“You're giving me ideas.“

“Thanks, that will be one kit-kat. Or none if ya put some in Samu's water bottle.“

“All in all dorm isn't that bad,“ Suna tells you once you both stop laughing over the prospect of putting soy sauce into Osamu's drink. “Wish I could sleep a bit longer in the morning but what can you do? And I miss mom's cooking. We cook ourselves and the food is good. Usually. It's just not the same, you know? Want a chuupet?“

“Ya brought a chuupet to an evenin' run?“

You still gladly take the fruit stick. It's a rare occasion in which it isn't in danger of being snatched away by one of your co-spawns. You don't comment but the next day a neatly wrapped bento box waits on Suna's table.

Suna doesn't quite remember when you became friends. One day you were a girl from his class that looked suspiciously similar to those loud Twins on the volleyball team (the moment he realised your last name is in fact Miya too he felt incredibly stupid for not noticing sooner), the next day you're hanging with him during breaks and sending him messages along the lines of 'I'll buy you as many chuupets as ya want if ya tell me what happened at practice yesterday, I need to let Tsumu know who's the boss' that usually arrive in the middle of the night. Even if they wake him up your name popping on his screen still makes him smile.

Really it takes impossibly long for Suna to realise he doesn't enjoy being in your presence only because being friends with you is as easy as getting the ball around a block or because you're the one Miya to voluntarily share your food with him.

The moment the cogs finally fell in their place and began to spin, making the little 'there might be something more' thought appear is one he'll remember for the rest of his life, and will quite probably haunt his nightmares too.

That's the thing about emotions (truly the revelations of that day are almost too much for his volleyball focused teenage brain), they take over neurones in charge of sending information around the brain, bribing the ones running toward mouth to run faster than the ones heading towards the comprehension centre, and then you find yourself in awkward situations such as saying your name out loud in the packed locker room followed by: “She's really funny and amazing. I like her a lot.“

But the situation being awkward is the least of Suna's problems as two pairs of almost identical brown eyes stare him down.

Oh, shit.

tag list: @espressons @trashy-simp @nachotrash @megumiisee @foxxtrot-116 @e-wwis​

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Nobody asked for this but I'm gonna do it anyways...

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Fluff Alphabet: Takeru/Aguni Edition

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

A = Attractive what do they find attractive about the other?

Takeru: only reason he let Aguni wear regular clothes and not swimwear is because he saw ARM in that tank top and was like "oh damn okay 😳." So, y'know, that. (And he'll never admit it but he kinda likes how Aguni is a little bit taller than he is....) Also likes that Aguni has a really dry, deadpan sense of humor—he ways finds a way to make Takeru laugh, even when he's not really trying.

Aguni: I think the physical aspect of things wasn't really a make-or-break for him at first—like, yeah, Takeru's a good-looking guy, but that's secondary. He liked how Takeru is such a live-wire, very loud and colorful and seemingly fearless, no matter what kind of trouble they got into. (But also...he likes the hair. That's a thing for him.)

B = Baby do they want a family? why/why not?

Takeru: If they end up with one somehow, then, sure. But, like. He's not going out of his was to make it a thing. (But also, he has his cat, Ziggy, who he calls his baby, so...)

Aguni: Would secretly love to be a dad but is too worried he might mess the kid up or something. Is more than happy to be 'unofficial parent' to the neighborhood kids, though. Handing out ice pops to the kids that show up at the shop, keeping an eye out and telling them to get home before dark, maybe even showing one or two of them how to throw a better curveball...you know. Real Hallmark channel shit. (And yes, for those who were wondering: Ziggy the cat loves him and often curls up on his lap while he watches TV)

C = Cuddle how do they cuddle?

They don't really "cuddle" outside of bed. Just kinda sit next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, no big deal. But in bed, Aguni lies on his back with his arm sorta outstretched while Takeru...well, my man is worm on a string but OFF the string, he just flops all sorts of ways and a lot of them don't look comfortable but he falls asleep in minutes so whatever.

D = Dates what are dates with them like?

I don't think they do "dates"—they've got a long-term thing going on, so they often end up on the couch eating takeout and watching movies. I think they'd go to the movie theater sometimes (and talk shit for the entire film lol) and every once in a while grab dinner somewhere nice...but, usually because they have some cool limited-time-only dessert item that Takeru insists they try. (And Aguni pretends to be upset about having to get dressed up and go out, but is actually rather pleased to have a little romance...and get something to satisfy his sweet tooth.)

E = Everything you are my ____ (e.g my life, my world…)

Aguni: Emergency Medical Contact

Takeru: Co-Signer On The Apartment Lease

F = Feelings when did they know they were falling in love?

Takeru: About a week after Aguni (drunkenly) confessed his crush. Literally spent a whole week like, "Wow, it's a shame I don't love him back. He's so kind and handsome and smart and funny...too bad, I guess..." until one night he sat up straight in bed and said "Hold up." He then immediately called Aguni and began demanding why Aguni didn't tell him he was in love with him this whole time.

Aguni: They had been friends since they were kids, so it's hard to say when his feelings went from "you're my best friend" to something different. But, once he figured it out, he swore never to mention it because that could complicate their friendship.

G = Gentle are they gentle? If so, how?

Takeru: Yes and no. He's got a bad case of "grabby hands" and often yanks Aguni to and fro to look at something or whatever. Just zero respect for the man's personal space. But otherwise...I imagine he's not particularly rough or gentle, just kind of normal. EXCEPT when it comes to the emotional stuff—like, the real heavy things. I think he's very gentle with that, not asking too many questions and just sort of taking care of him where he can.

Aguni: Generally gentle—physically, emotionally, whatever. But I do think that he's confrontational, like when there's an issue, he comes straight out and asks Takeru what's going on. Even corners him, sometimes. He seems like a "no bullshit" guy, and since Takeru is "Mr. 99% Bullshit" he's gotta deal with it as best he can.

H = Hand/Hold how do they like to hold hands?

The only time they "hold hands" is when Takeru is grabbing Aguni's wrist to drag him somewhere (or run away lol) and when Aguni is pulling Takeru's hand back to stop him from touching something...

I = Impression first impression/s

I headcanon that they met very young, like grade school age. After school, in the park, where Takeru was chilling in a tree and Aguni walked by and he was like "Hey, there's a spider up here, wanna see?" and Aguni is like "Not really, I don't like bugs..." Now, Takeru, being "weird bug kid extraordinaire" can't believe his strange little ears and hops down from the tree and starts explaining why bugs are so cool and that Aguni is wrong...and Aguni listens as this funky, tiny firecracker just talks his damn ear off. Aguni liked how excited Takeru got about things, and Takeru liked how Aguni actually listened to him. And they were fast friends after that!

J = Joker are they into pulling pranks?

Takeru fucks around all the time...and doesn't often find out, because Aguni tolerates all his antics. (To a certain point, but still.) Every once in a while, Aguni will tell some harmless little lie just to watch Takeru freak out—he told him once that Lady Gaga was leaving the music scene forever, and Takeru screamed so loud the neighbors filed a noise complaint.

K = Kisses how do they kiss?

I think they most often do quick pecks—at the breakfast table, when they get home from work. You know. Domestic stuff. But when it's not like that...I think 9/10 times it's Takeru initiating, and Aguni reciprocates by wrapping his arms around him in a big hug (because he likes it but also to keep that skinny little weirdo from wiggling so damn much, he's always moving, he can't just be still—)

L = Love who says I love you first?

Neither! I don't think they really say it at all! Why say something that doesn't need to be said? (At least, that's how they see it...)

M = Memory their favorite moment together

Aguni: It's not really a memory, but...just how they have breakfast together some mornings. Sipping coffee, discussing whatever's going on in the world, the general "togetherness" that comes with it is one of his favorite feelings.

Takeru: The time they spent a full 24 hours in a karaoke booth singing 80's hits and knocking back tequila shots and ordering way too much food.

N = Nickel do they spoil? do they buy the person they love everything?

Takeru: Absolutely buys stuff for Aguni all the time. Mostly random snacks, or little knick-knacks that catch his eye. And also clothes, but...Aguni doesn't always approve.

Aguni: Doesn't buy Takeru stuff BUT leaves vases of flowers he grew on the table for Takeru to find.

O = Orange what color reminds them of their other half

Anything bright and obnoxious reminds Aguni of Takeru—red in particular, which also happens to be Takeru's favorite. And Takeru thinks Aguni has calm and soothing blue-green vibes. Like the ocean, beautiful and serene, but also dark and capable of incredible destruction.

P = Petnames what pet names do they use?

Takeru: All of them. Darling, babe, sweetheart (but he calls everyone those lol). Aguni-specific ones are always over-the-top and ridiculous like "brightest star in all of the heavens..." and he always gets an eye-roll for his efforts.

Aguni: Absolutely does not use pet names. Just says "hey you" or something. Once called Takeru "babe" and Takeru had to stop washing dishes and sit down because he was laughing so hard.

Q = Quaint what is their favorite non-modern thing?

Takeru: I feel like he would collect a ton of vintage stuff—clothes, records, just random little bits and bobs he comes across. But his favorite is definitely his record player—it belonged to his dad, and he keeps it in a place of honor in the hat shop.

Aguni: A set of very old and well-cared-for gardening tools. Takeru got them for him for his birthday, and he legit treasures them.

R = Rainy Day what do they like to do on a rainy day?

Lay on the couch and do literally nothing. Takeru gets the left end, Aguni takes the right, and they binge trash TV shows all day. (And also they make box-mix brownies and eat them straight out of the pan. It's "their thing.")

S = Sad how do they cheer themselves/each other up

Takeru: Aside from all his self-destrictive behaviors (binge-drinking, dangerous situations, etc.) he just really needs a good laugh. And Aguni somehow always manages to make him laugh with an unexpected, deadpan comment. Also, he makes Takeru actually talk through his problems instead of ignoring them...

Aguni: if he's in a bad mood, you just need to let him work through it on his own. He hates being "talked down to" and feels that most attempts at cheering up are cheap, so most people don't attempt. Buf...Takeru is not "most people" and breaks out his most ridiculous jokes to try to get Aguni to crack a smile.

T = Talking what do they love to talk about?

Other people! You know Takeru is the "XOXO Gossip Girl" of the neighborhood, but Aguni...he's like a little old church lady and ADORES hearing all the latest drama.

U = Unencumbered What helps them relax?

Both of them have the same method of relaxation and it's...bubble baths! Aguni does a basic, skin soothing soak and just hangs out in the warm water with a book or maybe just his thoughts to keep him company. But Takeru? He's got some fancy bath soaps, and he takes in a glass of wine and lights a few candles and does a face mask and it's a whole EVENT.

V - Very thoughts about each other

Takeru: Thinks Aguni needs to loosen up and take more risks...but also just loves the guy to pieces.

Aguni: Kinda wishes Takeru would calm tf down sometimes...but also knows that it's just how the guy is and wouldn't dare change him.

W = Wedding when, how, where do they propose?

They're not really the marrying type! They just have a mutual understanding of commitment and that's that.

(But if they did have a wedding... I think it would be a relatively small affair with all their closest friends and family. Like a dinner party, but somewhere extra nice and with lots of good food and alcohol. Intimate and meaningful, with just enough "extra" to satisfy Takeru.)

X = Xylophone What’s their song?

"Total Eclipse of the Heart" because they hid out in a karaoke booth (different from the 24-hour event that Takeru cherishes so much) to es ape the Yakuza and Takeru sang it over and over to pass the time.

Y = You the ___ to my ___ (e.g the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese)

"Breaking" to my "Entering." The "Assault" to my "Battery." (They both hate this sort of thing and try to come up with the worst answers possible lol)

Z = Zebra if they wanted a pet, what pet would they get?

They already have the cat, Ziggy, who is their perfect little angel.

[kiruuuuu]

Protection Mountain: The Finale⛰️

Yes. It is here.

Montagne/Bandit conquered my heart so quickly with what was meant to be a oneshot, then turned into a small series of oneshots, and ended up as my longest series in Siege. And now their main story is coming to an end. I would like to thank absolutely everyone who participated in this journey, be it through direct messages, magnificent art, shared ideas, comments, reblogs, likes, the simple act of reading and enjoying - you helped make this happen, you motivated and encouraged me. Thank you for falling into this bottomless hole with me 💖

A special thank you goes out to @ekhap, who commissioned this piece in the first place - without you, it’s likely I never would’ve written it. I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and I hope all of you who stuck around long enough to read this will too.

I have actually managed to post the entire series on AO3 as well, so you can comfortably read (or re-read) it here!! And without further ado, here is the final chapter of Protection Mountain. (Rating T/M, hurt/comfort + a ridiculous amount of fluff, ~8.5k words)

.

“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

.

~*~

.

There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

.

He needs to recover.

.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

.

~*~

.

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne��s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

.

~*~

.

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out”, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

.

~*~

.

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out  E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.

[tywrites]

reaction to s/o being flirted with | headcannons

request: can I get an imagine on how bokuto and ushijima would react if they turned a corner and suddenly saw there fem!s/o getting cornered against a wall by a random 3rd year that has been recently flirting with her. And s/o is small 152cm/5'0 please make them seperate scenarios :)

a/n: ahh i'm really trying to get the hang of characterisation rn so i'm sorry if they're a lil ooc :( but please leave me any feedback, it'd honestly be really helpful! hope you enjoy anon <3

warnings: hmm, some swearing but that's all :))

pairings: ushijima wakatoshi x fem!reader

BOKUTO

After winning a match, Bokuto's first instinct is to run to you and allow you to shower him in the praise. Especially if it had been a particularly hard match with strong opponents.  He'd run to you and scoop you up into his arms, not caring about the deadpan looks he'd get from his team mates, holding you close as you told him how well he'd done. Knowing how proud of him you were just made him so incredibly happy and to see you waiting for him at the entrance to the auditorium was the thing he looked forward to most during matches.

However, on this particular day, you were nowhere to be found.

He looked high and low when the match had finished, but he just could not seem to find you. You weren't waiting by the entrance like you usually were, nor were you by the vending machines getting him a post-game snack like you would occasionally do. You also weren't answering any of his excited texts. Due to this, Bokuto simply became more and more dejected as he and the rest of his team mates walked towards the receptionists area, his emo-mode settling into place.

"Bokuto-san, she's probably just in the bathroom," Akaashi reminded him, sighing quietly to himself as Bokuto looked to him with sorrow in his eyes.

"But... but Akaashi, she always waits for me after games. She wouldn't let her BLADDER stop her! And I saw her in the crowd! So she's here somewhere, maybe she just didn't wanna see me..." he cried dramatically, allowing his arms to drag by his sides.

Rolling his eyes, Akaashi rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Immediately, he put one hand on Bokuto's shoulder to gain his attention and pointed down the hallway. There you were. In quite the predicament. Caged between a tall third year's arms, the discomfort was incredibly clear on your face, even from the distance Bokuto and Akaashi were standing. The boy was talking animatedly to you while you smiled politely up at him, though anyone would have been able to tell the smile was really forced.

Bokuto knew this boy. He'd seen him talking to you when he'd come to pick you up after classes, sliding his arm around your shoulders and getting far too close for comfort. Of course, Bokuto wasn't the type to immediately assume the worst. He trusted you and knew you wouldn't do anything to prove him otherwise. However, it was the third year he didn't trust.

The aura radiating off Bokuto switched quickly, going from downcast to fiery.

What the fuck did this dude think he was doing?

In a few quick steps, he was standing right behind the perpetrator and (more aggressively than he'd intended to) pulled him back from you by his shoulder. Frustrated at the interruption, the boy flew around to face him and was met with 6'1 of pure muscle, this clearly intimidating him quite a lot. This boy may have been tall, but compared to Bokuto, he stood no chance.

Shrinking back, the boy spoke timidly. "What do you w-"

"Y/N, I found you!" Bokuto let out a happy cry and pushed the guy aside while wrapping his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly to him as the third year watched on awkwardly. Keeping one arm around your waist, Bokuto then turned to the cowering boy. "Is this what was keeping you?" He asked you, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked him up and down.

"Uh, look man, I'm sorry. We were just talking, I swear," the boy babbled, holding up his hands in defense, not wanting to provoke Bokuto even more. Bokuto frowned at him and looked down at you for confirmation. Playing with the sleeves of your boyfriend's jersey that was wrapped around you, you avoided his gaze, not wanting to make the situation worse. Luckily for you, Akaashi decided to step in.

"I'm glad we found you, Y/N-san. Bokuto-san, let's go, we have to get to the bus," he said pointedly, taking your boyfriend's elbow and dragging him gently, but firmly, in the opposite direction. Bokuto's gaze didn't waver for a few seconds, honestly looking more comical than intimidating at this point—walking away with Akaashi pulling him, his arm wrapped around you while craning his neck to glare at the boy who'd been heavily flirting with you.

No sooner had you rounded the corner before he threw his arms around you yet again. "Y/N! I thought you were avoiding meeee," he said childishly, as he held you tightly to him. "Did you see me hit that awesome spike!!"

You giggled lightly at his antics. "I sure did! You were amazing, babe,"

Your praise made everything totally worth it.

USHIJIMA

For Ushijima, seeing you just before a match had become a routine. You'd help him stretch or simply sit in eachother's company while you did most of the talking, chatting about how excited you were for the game or about something silly you'd seen Tendou do that day. He wasn't the type to get nervous before a match, but having you there with your soft voice filling the air, set him at ease.

Which is why right now, he was beginning to get slightly worried.

Not about the match. He was incredibly confident that they'd be able to win even without your presence. But he was worried about you.

After you'd exited the bus, you'd mentioned that you needed to go to the bathroom before parting ways with the team. They'd continued onto the auditorium and hadn't really paid much attention to your absence until now. The whole team was so used to your encouraging tone and they way you'd fuss over them to make sure they had everything they need; not having you there felt strange indeed.

"Y/N-senpai sure is taking a long time..." Goshiki mentioned to Tendou as he looked around the room. "I hope nothing's happened. I want her to see me ace this match! Do you think she's okay?"

Tendou looked down at him, pondering, before turning to Ushijima and repeating the question. "Hey Wakatoshi, you worried about Y/N? She's taking a long time for just a bathroom break, dont'cha think?" he asked, tilting his head slightly while attempting to read Ushijima's current feelings.

Ushijima stayed silent; though for Tendou, the sight furrow in his forehead answered his question. Without saying a word, Ushjima rose up from his stretching position on the floor and left the room, the eyes of his team mates following him curiously.

As he wandered the halls, all the ace could think about was where you were. You were honestly one of the only things that could push the thought of volleyball out of his mind, even for just a brief moment. In the beginning of your relationship, it wasn't uncommon for Ushjima to blow off your plans to practice late or leave you waiting while going over strategies with the team. However, your patience with him and the progression in your relationship since then truly showed how much he cared for you.

Ushijima was not a very expressive man, that was for sure. He never exactly had much to say and really only spoke him mind when it was necessary. Jealousy wasn't an emotion he was accustomed to to say the least and he rarely got jealous, even when you were spending a lot of free time with a certain friend of yours. Though he was slow with social cues sometimes, Ushijima was no fool and knew when someone was flirting, and this friend of yours was certainly crossing the line with you a few weeks back.

You being one of the only people able to read him, you had understood immediately that the ace was jealous and had tried to distance yourself from this friend as politely as possible. But still, while he was looking for you, all that seemed to go through Ushijima's mind was images of you and your friend together.

And his worries were correct.

As he rounded the corner of the hallway that led to the bathrooms, Ushjima stopped in his tracks and took a second to process the situation in front of him.

He'd found you. But so had someone else. You were gingerly leaning against the wall while your friend (that seemed twice your size at this point) was cupping your face with one hand, bending down slightly to really invade into your personal zone. Ushijima honestly had never felt an emotion quite like this before. A frown on his face, he approached quickly and cleared his throat viciously once he'd gotten behind your friend.

Scoffing, the boy turned around, coming face to face with your boyfriend's intense stare. There was something in his eyes that just screamed danger—or maybe it was more accurate to say it screamed "get the fuck away from my girlfriend."

Due to the change in position, you were finally able to free yourself from in between the wall and your friend, moving to the side and awkwardly watching the staring contest that was going on between Ushijima and his fellow third year. If you didn't break this up, they'd be there forever and neither seemed to be backing down. Though you couldn't tell whether your friend was frozen in defiance or fear.

Stepping forward, you took Ushijima's arm in your hands and tugged it gently, causing him to look down at you.

"Babe, can we go? You'll miss the match," you said, trying to diffuse the situation before anything got out of hand.

At the sound of your voice and the reminder of the match, Ushijima calmed down a considerable amount. "Yes. You're right," he replied, turning his body towards you and starting to walk away. Before you turned to go around the corner, your boyfriend stopped walking and looked behind him to your friend standing alone in the middle of the corridor.

"Don't touch her again."

[mementofloreo-archived]

@sorrowmarked || if they had a kid meme || Taimi & Daikari

Taichi & Mimi

Name: Shinobu Yagami

Gender: cis f

General Appearance: skinny and pale. Her hair is mostly straight, though it gets a little wavy and wispy in wet or humid weather, and it's a dark, ashy brown color. It's about chin/neck length, and she likes to keep her bangs long so they often hang in her eyes(she'll willingly wear hair clips/bands for nicer occasions though). Her eyes are an inky black.

Personality: Shinobu is a bit on the quiet side, and somewhat introverted- but she's not shy and timid either and seems to do all right when it comes to socializing, though she's just as happy to quietly do things on her own. She enjoys plenty of things that most kids enjoy- cartoons, playing video games, etc...but she also has an extremely bizarre fixation on horror and things with macabre aesthetic. Some of her favorite dolls and plushes look like they need to be exorcised.

Special Talents: Almost nothing scares or startles her(certainly not horror films). Including bugs, spiders, poisonous reptiles...

Who they like better: If she HAD to pick she'd reluctantly go with Mimi but she honestly loves both mom and dad a lot :>

Who they take after more: She doesn't really take after either of them very much(not entirely surprising, as she's adopted) at first. As she gets older though she picks up Taichi's protective instincts and finds she enjoys soccer too. She also becomes very inquisitive and inventive, things she probably picked up from Mimi.

Personal Headcanon: Neither her face or voice are very expressive so it can be hard to get a read on her, but she's not closed off either, and she has a very quick and surprising deadpan sense of humor.

Daisuke & Hikari

Name: Youtaro Motomiya

Gender: trans m

General Appearance: Born slightly premature and a little bit small and scrawny as he's growing up- and he never does get very tall. His hair is like Daisuke's in terms of texture, a little wavy and hard to tame- he usually just sweeps it back out of his face. The color has the same deep red undertones, but it's lighter, a little less saturated- influenced by the ash brown of his mom's hair. His skin tone is also darker like Daisuke's.

Personality: Inquisitive, active, intrepid- he loves to explore, no matter where he is, and that enthusiasm is just as intense when exploring books. He's just got a highly curious mind and adventurous spirit...though as a result he tends to be a bit accident prone. He likes cooking(mostly as a social activity), and from a young age develops an interest in skateboarding- it remains a favorite hobby well into adulthood for him. In terms of disposition he's very excitable and emotive. And he loves people in general, but he can be a bit shy initially, and sometimes social situations exhaust or overwhelm him.

Special Talents: His enthusiasm for skating means that he gets pretty damn good at it pretty quickly. He's also agile as all get out and can scramble up and over and around almost any obstacle easily(daisuke jokingly calls him a ninja)

Who they like better: He adores both his parents, really, but he's definitely a bit of a mama's boy.

Who they take after more: Definitely takes after Daisuke more!

Personal Headcanon: Youtaro started expressing that he thought of himself as a boy very, very early- not long into kindergarten, in fact. And of course his parents were completely accepting and supportive- his social transition wasn't too difficult aside of his friends flubbing his name every now and again at first, but otherwise he's been happy and supported by everyone.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

if i’m not too late, maybe B5, E2, F12 & L4 for Fane? <3

Never too late for asks, my friend! >:D If anything, I tend to be the late one because, well, I think way too long about some questions. *cackles*

Anyways, for Fane? FOR FANE. >:3

B5 - Do they hold doors open for people?

*snorts* No. *snorts again*

No, no, seriously, though? Fane does hold doors open for people, but only certain ones. Solas and Mhairi are the two who get the gift of Fane being a 'gentleman'. And Cyfrin? Fane's best friend from childhood? Yeah, no. Cyfrin and Fane have a relationship of poking at each other, so if he were to see the other man coming, then Fane would act like he's going to hold the door open for him and at the last minute, let it slam shut with a deadpan expression. Cyfrin's the little bastard that holds the handle so it can't be turned or pulled, and Fane fucking loses it because he's like, 'Why won't this door open? What's the fuck is it stuck on?! Is it a pull door or a push door?! Ffff!' Once he figures out it's Cyfrin doing the sticking...well, don't poke a dragon. Especially if you don't know one's lurking about. *hums happily*

As for visiting dignitaries to Skyhold, Fane employs some tactics from both Cyfrin and Sera, much to Josephine's dismay and Solas' exasperation. The latter is because Solas knows why Fane antagonizes the nobles that visit, aware that a lot of the pomp and circumstance brings forth some bitter memories, but he would like it if he didn't have to continually try to explain to Josephine how a specific door became plastered shut. Fane likes to keep all the trash contained is all. It spoils dinner otherwise.

E2 - Which of the nine types of intelligence is your OC strongest in? Weakest? (Linguistic, existential, naturalist, et cetera)

This one took me a bit, but I think Fane would be strongest in interpersonal intelligence. This is more in regards to how his draconic nature operates, but Fane as a person is keenly aware of people's emotions and he can detect changes in the atmosphere surrounding them. Fane may reiterate constantly that he doesn't care, but he does care. So much. Too much, at times. He's very empathetic, even though he would describe himself as apathetic.

Solas sees it. Mhairi sees it. Fane, for a very long time, refuses to see it because it's too much for him to bear. His mortal form is far more susceptible to sporadic emotions, and unlike when he was a dragon, Fane can't handle too many at once. It's why in some of my stories, Fane's eyes turn completely gold. That's an indication that emotions are running high and they need to be released. It can be his own or another's spurring that influx as well. Solas gets quietly irate? Fane absorbs it and tries to pinpoint where it's coming from, but his emotions can get in the way and muddy his abilities to accurately interpret thus his mind spirals, his nature twists like a spirit twists into a demon.

All in all, Fane is somewhat a people person in the fact that he can empathize with them. He understands the emotions of people. He watched them for years upon years. Now, he's trying to integrate himself physically rather than from afar, and it's proving to be not quite what he had expected centuries before. *snorts*

Weakest? Intra-personal. Hands down. Fane can delve into other's minds, piece them together, but his own? No way. He may spend copious amounts of time thinking, echoing thoughts, or having silent conversations with himself or even other people, but it fosters no understanding as to the inner workings of his mind and why it is the way that it is. Fane views the outer world as a prison, but his own mind? It's hell, and he wishes he no longer had to listen to furious roars, or to see flickering lights of crimson upon blackened walls that have weathered many a blaze, blazes that turn his memories to ash.

F12 - Would they enjoy a theme park?

Absolutely not. Fane's a hermit. I'm serious. He doesn't like large crowds or areas with a lot of loud, disorienting sounds. The crowds make him tense up, waiting for either a remark about his appearance or for something to blow up in his face. The noise created by those people or from other sources or at the same time makes his ears ring like high pitched bells. So, Fane sticks to the forests and the mountains, and in a modern world, he would stay at home or in places where he's familiar with the atmosphere. This is actually a bit where I've really projected myself onto Fane since I don't like going to places with a lot of noise and people. Honestly, it's more of a fear than a desire to stay isolated.

It's categorized as 'agoraphobia', and it's an anxiety disorder where being in an environment that you see no way out of, or an environment you have no control in makes you panic or just constantly on edge. Basically, you have such severe anxiety around areas you feel 'trapped' in (even open spaces) that you find it hard to leave your home or a place you do feel safe. You vehemently avoid the thing that's making you anxious and scared because you know where you have control, where you're safe, and that's more or less what Fane does. He prefers nature and the quiet serenity, but he's secretly terrified of the world he has to traipse through. Fane has a lot of issues of relinquishing control because he has never had it, so the moment something does feel out of control, that's where some dark thoughts start to crop up.

Well, that got a little weighty, didn't it? *pikachu face*

L4 - Would you hang out with your OC if you could?

100% YES! >:3 Listen, as much as I rag on Fane and call him a dumb dumb dragon who loves a dumb dumb wolf, I adore him. I care for him. I understand him and why he feels he needs to do the things he does. It's no different than how I feel about Solas as a character. I look at all angles of a perspective and i try to understand the why behind it. One thing to know about me is that if I absolutely adore a character and how they think, I rag on them until the cows come home. I believe that if you truly like something or care about something then you point out its flaws, its weaknesses because then that helps you answer the question of, 'How can I make it better?'. It's not bad to be critical and hold a character accountable for their actions, but you need to be intimately aware of why that character feels how they do. What led them to that decision? What has happened in their past, their present that's made them feel this is the only way? Why do they get upset about this, but not that? That's how I think when I analyze and interpret. Obviously, I miss the nail on the head at times, but I like to try and interpret as accurately as I can. That's why I love Solas! He has so many edges, some sharp, some soft, and I adore trying to see where they line up! X3

But, in regards to why I rag, it's because I'm very much the same in my few friendships. I poke, I tease, and I playfully bully, but I know when to ease up, take a step back if I pushed too hard. And if I had Fane here with me in real life, I would do the same to him. Trust me, it would be good for him. He needs a good BONK on the noggin sometimes! ...And so do I. Ehehe~ >:3 Though, Fane would more likely shoulder check me into a wall and demand that I answer for why I do the shit that I do to him. *bats eyelashes innocently* uwu Afterwards, we would laze around and be hermits together, though! :D

Thank you so much for the ask! X3 <3

[christiantcrres]

May 25th, 2013

Walk out of this door and you’re not our son anymore. Walk out of this door and you’re not our son anymore. Walk out of this door and you’re not our son anymore.

The words ring in seventeen-year-old Christian’s ears like a loud alarm.

“So that’s how it is? That’s the measure of my worth to you?” he spats. His parents' words are heartbreaking, to say the least. It’s been five days since he’s graduated spy prep and he’s now standing in the middle of the living room, a fight erupting between him and his parents. He’s finally had the courage to tell his parents he doesn’t want to continue with this life. Raúl has been trying to mediate, to calm everyone down---he’s always been the calmest in the family. But even his attempts have gone in vain. It’s too horrible.

Ricardo and Francisca Torres just stand there, expression harsh and stoic. It’s an expression Christian’s used to, but he’s this close to begging his parents to accept his wants and wishes and still want him as their son, but they say nothing. His father then points at the front door. 

“Dad, please---” his older brother, Raúl begins to plead. “Think of---”

“Not a single word, Raúl!” his mother cuts him off.

Is this really happening? He’s experienced heartbreak before, but no, this is what actual heartbreak is. Nothing lives up to this. Christian’s expression turns stone cold and he nods. “I’ll be out of here in five minutes,” is all that comes out of his lips, and goes up to his room to pack his stuff and leave.

That had been the last time he saw and talked to his parents.

April 5th, 2021

Christian’s lying down in his room, alone. He’s been trying to nap for the past hour, but sleep doesn’t come easy for him today and it frustrates him even more than he already is. The past month feels like everything has fallen apart all around him and he doesn’t know what to do anymore with anything. He’s got no way out at this point till he finishes what Mr. Stewart has asked of him. It’s his job. He has to. Sometimes he wonders why Mr. Stewart is so hellbent on this---on having the Caledonia agents in Gallagher. The more he thinks of it, the more suspicious he becomes, but he doesn’t have the luxury to do this right now. It won’t really change things, will it?

A year ago today, he was getting intensive training from Mr. Stewart in preparation for his enrollment into Gallagher. Before that, Christian had won a race against a prominent leader of a racing gang. It had cost the man a lot of money and an expensive car, and in return he had threatened Christian, telling him he’ll find him wherever he goes. He was already planning on fleeing after this and he would continue living a runaway life, which he didn’t mind. That’s when Mr. Stewart found him and had informed him the gang leader was a very powerful and influential man, with the means to get to Christian’s family too. That’s when he knew he couldn’t flee, and instead he had accepted Mr. Stewart’s offer to keep him and his family safe for a price: becoming his eyes and ears in Gallagher. 

Christian’s always hated being told what to do, only agreeing to this because his family would be safe. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his family got hurt because of him. He doesn’t care if he hasn’t talked to his parents in eight years, he doesn’t care if their relationship is now nonexistent---he wasn’t going to be the reason Raúl and his parents got hurt. 

His relationship with his parents, or lack thereof, is complex to say the least. Christian isn’t one to carry any grudges, always one to forget, to shrug off and move on with his life. But his parents remain a big exception to this. He can’t seem to move on from it because it’s a pain he hasn’t been able to deal with, being abandoned and disowned over simply not meeting their expectations and standards. But in a way, it did help him develop the ability to do whatever he pleases at all times and not live to anyone’s expectations if it’s not something he wants to do himself. He often wonders how he gave up his life to protect them when he technically owes them nothing, but for one, his brother doesn’t deserve to live with such grief and pain (if he somehow got out of everything unscathed). Knowing his brother, he’d seek his own retaliation, and that’s just not something Christian wants. He’ll be putting Raúl in additional danger. Also, the mere idea of them being hurt because of him is not something he could stand for. He doesn’t care what they do with their lives, what dangers and missions they make and put themselves through, that’s their own life, but he’ll not be the reason for putting them in harm’s way.

His phone rings and he reaches for it, seeing Raúl on the caller ID, and picks it up. “Hey, Raúl. What’s up?” 

Raúl doesn’t reply, but Christian can hear breathing on the other side of the line. Just like that, his stress levels peak and he immediately sits up, thinking the gang leader has gotten to him and he’s in danger. But it can’t be---Mr. Stewart said he’d protect them. “Raúl? Are you here? Say something if you’re okay.” His voice is practically pleading.

“Christian---” It’s not Raúl, it’s his mother. Christian goes dead silent and feels like he loses all composure. He just freezes. He hasn’t heard his mother’s voice in eight years and the first thing she says is his name. “Christian, are you here?” Now it’s his father. Jesus Christ, this is too much to handle. He still can’t find it in him to reply, it’s too overwhelming. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this overwhelmed.

“Christian?” His mother again.

And finally, after God knows how long, Christian finds his voice. “I’m here---”

“Hello,” Francisca greets. “It’s been a while.”

“You think?” Christian says sarcastically. He can’t help it. He knows from Raúl that his parents have known for a few months that he’s at Gallagher. His older brother had been trying to mend the bridge between the two, but both as obstinate as ever, had refused. He doesn’t know why they’re calling right now, he doesn’t think it’s anything good, simply because he never associates good things with Ricardo and Francisca Torres.

His parents don’t acknowledge the sarcasm. “We thought it’s time we talked,” his father broaches.

“About?” Of course Christian is difficult. He sounds like he’s confident on the phone, but his whole body is shaking. He never expected this to ever happen.

Francisca sighs. “Don’t do this.”

Walk out of this door and you’re not our son anymore. Words he’d never, ever forget till the day he dies.

“Do what? We haven’t talked in eight years.”

“It shouldn’t have gone that long.”

“That’s rich,” Christian says, holding onto the edge of his bed, a myriad of emotions flowing within him. 

“Christian, do you want to listen or not?” Ricardo’s always been a harsh, no bullshit kind of man. Even now, he’s still sporting that attitude.

“You didn’t listen to me eight years ago,” is all Christian says.

“That was eight years ago.” Francisca’s always been harsh, too, but if he were to compare his parents, his mother was always more likely to soften up, always had more composure.

“What changed?” 

“Raúl told us you’re in Gallagher Academy,” his father begins. “It surprised us, to say the least.” That makes two of us, father. I’m only here to protect you and mother and Raúl, nothing more, nothing less. He wishes he could say that, but he can’t. He hates not being able to say what he wants. It’s been the case for a month now, unable to tell people what he wants. His parents, Raúl, Emir, Stella, Tommy, nearly all the Caledonia agents…

“I’ve been away for eight years, figured it’s time.”

“You were very headstrong against continuing in the field of espionage,” his mother says.

“Things change.” 

He can hear his parents sighing on the other line. He wonders if Raúl’s listening too. “Is Raúl here?”

“No. We told him we wanted to do this in private,” his father answers.

Christian doesn’t say anything. He just wishes Raúl had warned him, he’d have at least prepared for this. He feels the heat reaching his ears, his entire being shaking.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were back? Why let Raúl inform us?” his mother asks.

“I’m not your son anymore, right? You don’t need to know about my whereabouts.” 

Walk out of this door and you’re not our son anymore.

“Don’t be difficult, Christian,” his father deadpans.

“I get to be whatever the fuck I want to be. You’re calling me after eight years of radio silence, after you told me if I walked out of the fucking door I’m no longer your son. And let’s be real here, you’re only calling because I’m in Gallagher. My worth was always going to be associated with espionage, right?” 

The words come out of him rapidly, and he moves to cover and rubber his eyes with his free hand. Fucking hell, he didn’t need this phone call right now. His parents are silent for what feels like an eternity, and he’s contemplating hanging up. 

“You never wanted us to reach out, yes?” his mother asks. Of course his parents deflect the bit about why they’re calling. Except, Christian is not going to let it drop.

“Did you want to reach out, mother? I was the disappointment, the black sheep. I never lived up to you and father’s expectations, so you decided I’m not worthy of being a part of this family. Why would I reach out, huh? Besides, don’t run away from the question: you’re only calling because I’m in Gallagher, right? You wouldn’t have bothered otherwise. And even then, it took you months.” He lets out a chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Y’all should’ve waited a few extra months.” He can’t stop the sarcasm. It’s the most Christian’s said to them yet.

Walk out of this door and you’re not our son anymore.

That’s when Christian closes his eyes, realizing they’re burning as he pushes back tears. 

“It’s wrong timing, we admit,” his mother begins quietly. “We should have done this sooner---way sooner.”

“And yet.”

“Christian.”

“Hm? Come on, you wanted to talk, talk. I’m all ears for whatever bullshit you’ve got for me,” he spats.

“You’re being difficult,” Ricardo says.

“Too bad.”

Both his parents go silent for a moment and Christian anticipates them ending the conversation, but then his father talks again.

“If we had reached out before, would you have talked to us?”

“Don’t turn this on me, father. You didn’t try. You know I tried to live up to your expectations my whole fucking life and when I realized this was practically impossible, that I was never going to be Raúl for you, I fucking gave up.” There’s no animosity towards Raúl, there never was. His brother is easily the most important person in his life, but their parents had often pinned them against each other when it came to their training---even if Raúl and Christian never saw it as such.

“Have you had a good life? After you left?” his mother asks after a few moments. He can probably count the number of times both sides went silent on this phone call.

“Yeah, it was great. I did everything I’ve always wanted to do, with zero judgment and expectations.” A tear streams down his cheek, because all he wants is to be back on the road, in this car and going from country to country, racing and doing whatever he wanted. Instead, he’s being controlled by Mr. Stewart into doing his dirty work. 

“Good,” they both say at the same time. 

For someone who agreed to be here to protect his family, Christian’s being awfully stubborn talking to his parents. But for him, even though they’re half the reason he’s here, that doesn’t mean their relationship is mended. 

“Anything else?” Christian asks, just wanting to end this call, because he’s feeling so vulnerable right now and he hates it. He can’t handle all these feelings.

“If we were to extend an olive branch, would you take it?” his mother asks.

“Are you extending one or not? Why are you waiting for my answer before you decide?” 

“Answer us, Christian,” his mother deadpans.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, has to think about how he’s certain his parents want to mend the relationship because he’s in Gallagher again, and not because they genuinely want their son back in their lives. Would they still talk to him if he ends up leaving again? Would they disown him once more? Call him a disappointment?

“You’re not doing a great job convincing me.”

“You’re not being exactly easy either---”

“Ricardo,” his mother berates his father. “Christian, listen. What happened eight years ago shouldn’t have happened. We’re not calling it a mistake, because it’s much bigger than a mistake.”

He’s surprised by the words that come out of his mother’s lips. They almost sound like an apology. Both his parents have always had an ego that’s sky high, so he doesn’t know what happened the past eight years that changed them this way. 

“We want to extend an olive branch,” Francisca adds. “We know it’ll take a lot of work and time to rebuild everything, but we would like to try.”

More tears stream down Christian cheek, and he reaches with his free hand to wipe them. He gets up to walk around the small room, as if walking will shake off some of the excess feelings.

“We understand if you don’t want to answer us right now, we’ve never been model parents to you or Raúl.” 

He wants to ask if this is really Ricardo and Francisca on the phone, but instead he asks, “Are you all safe?” 

“Of course we’re safe.”

“Okay.” At least Mr. Stewart was fulfilling his part of the deal.

There’s an awkward silence that hangs for a few moments. Christian doesn’t know what he wants, whether to accept the peace offering or be stubborn about it. He doesn’t know what’s right at this point. What he knows is that he’s tired of everything and would like a fucking break. He thinks about Raúl’s words. His brother has been trying nonstop to mend the relationship between the two sides, and he’s always been the wiser of the brothers. Maybe Christian should listen to him and take someone’s advice for once. 

“---I don’t know how you’re planning on doing this, but we can see how and where it goes,” Christian says finally. It’s Christian saying he’d like to try, but he’s not giving a definite yes or no just yet. He has little trust in his parents, and it will need a while to rebuild that. But the moment he says those words, he feels a massive boulder removed from his shoulders, and he doesn’t realize till this specific moment that he needed this. He has no idea where it’ll go, or if things will be fine, but that’s a step, right? They have to start somewhere.

“Okay, that sounds reasonable. We would both like that, as well,” Francisca replies. 

“We can meet up during the next break you have, too?” his father offers quietly. The offer scares Christian, but he knew it was coming.

“Yeah, we can meet.”

“Until then, we’ll be regularly phone calling,” Francisca decides. It’s funny to him how they’re treating this like some kind of schedule or plan, but that’s how his parents always were.

“Mhm. Take care, yeah? I have to leave in a bit for a class.” A class he’s going to be skipping, because he won’t be focusing either way.

“Of course, you take care, too. Thank you for talking to us, Christian,” his mother says.

“Yeah, uh---thanks for calling,” he says as he rubs his teary eyes. When they hang up, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and things feel a little lighter around him. With everything going to hell right now, it’s relieving to know that at least there’s something going in a positive direction (at least that’s what he hopes). With that, he gets up to go to the garage, the only place he wants to be right now.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xviii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xviii: even as a dream

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7.4k  

Rating: Mature; nothing explicit, just mentions/references.

Warnings: almost none, though some descriptions of Elliot's recent actions, as well as some colorful threats and some poor decision making on John's behalf. This whole chapter is basically Elliot suffering and that's probably why it was so hard to write.

Notes: Hello my friends! I am once again asking for your patience as I come to you with a chapter full of emotional manipulation and almost no physical plot movement! All of this felt important to dig into and though it may not be the most fast-paced (or smutty) chapter, I hope that you still enjoy it nonetheless. Drama abound as we are slowly but surely closing in on the end.

I want to give a super special thank you to @shallow-gravy​ for listening to me whine and complain about this chapter as well as lend me their eyeballs so that I didn't go just fucking nutso trying to write this thing. As well, @lilwritingraven​ has been SO sweet, cheering me on and keeping my spirits up even when I think this was one of the harder chapters for me to get through; and everyone who comments, kudos, likes/reblogs depending on what platform you're on, thank YOU so so so much. It really keeps me going!

As always, my most beloved @starcrier​ put her eyes on this and let me feel less like I was going insane. I love you so much and thank you for loving my girl Elliot as much as I do!! God knows she DESERVES it.

“We should get our story straight.”

John’s voice wrangled Elliot out of her brain. She’d been trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever mind games were about to commence, but John stepping in front of her to block her way into the chapel and speaking was enough to yank her right out of it.

“Get what story straight?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze flickered to Boomer, waiting expectantly, and she made the quiet little motion for sit ; he did, obediently.

“Our timeline,” John clarified, “for—”

“You know, for someone who insists his brother doesn’t scare him,” Elliot interrupted, “you sure act like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar every time he wants to talk to you.”

The brunette’s mouth twisted into a grimace. His arms crossed, mirroring her own.

“I don’t ,” John said, speaking slowly, “want Joseph to get the impression that because we are romantically entangled—”

“Please stop.”

“—that it somehow compromised the work I was doing with you before,” he finished.

“But it did,” Elliot pointed out mildly. “Or did you forget telling me about how long you’ve wanted to fuck me for?”

She saw, for a brief second in time, irritation spike in John’s expression. All this time it had been Elliot smothering him, stopping him from saying the words out loud—but there was something a little liberating about doing it herself, like she had discovered something sharp that had been hidden inside of her all along. It wasn’t useful enough to be used as often as she would have liked, of course; but that didn’t stop her from getting some satisfaction in seeing John’s expression clamp down because the control freak couldn’t stand the idea of her derailing his perfect plan.

(And maybe that had been what she really liked this little game they’d played, all along—the increasing frustration in his voice every time he’d cut in to her walkie talkie, like she could tell that he was losing control thread by thread.)

“I didn’t forget.” John managed to somehow sound both incredibly frustrated and nonplussed at the same time, like ambivalence was a tone of voice rather than an opinion that he could emulate. He continued, “I just think we should be clear about the timeline with each other.”

“Nothing’s unclear,” Elliot replied. “You’ve wanted to fuck me all along—”

“Well, now—”

“—and I finally let you,” she continued.

He sounded spiteful when he said, “Twice.”

“Twice,” she acquiesced, “but do we need to include details?”

John chewed on that for a minute. “Should,” he ventured, and he was clearly trying not to sound smug. “If it’s going to happen again.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think Joseph needs to know that.” And then, light-heartedly, “But if you think he does, we should include how you said please so very nicely for me—”

“Unnecessary,” the brunette interrupted. “Fine. It happened twice, the nature of our relationship is...”

“Tenuous at best.”

“... But not without hope,” John concluded. It took every ounce of her strength not to roll her eyes so fucking hard that she passed out; because yes , she did want to say, I know John was good, sometime, somewhere inside of him, and that means maybe I can bring it back, and if he said that he’d go with me I’d let him.

“Isn’t that right, El?”

Elliot sighed. She regarded him for a moment—grinning, handsome and boyish, flashing his teeth like the cat that had caught the canary. And handsome. He’s handsome, too.

“Whatever,” she relented, at last. “Is that all? Can we go in now? There are things I want to do with the day.”

As she reached around him for the door, John said, “So what are we?” and she groaned.

“ John.”

“I just think that—”

“You are ruining,” Elliot told him, poking a finger into his chest, “the mythos of whatever this is.”

John frowned. He looked like he wanted to say something; he looked like he wanted to say it and very terribly, but like he thought she might be mad if he did. Then again, Elliot had to consider that John said plenty of things that made her angry, and he did so knowing they would make her angry, and that there was no reason that he should start now.

“It shouldn’t be a mythos,” John said after a moment. “We’re… Together, you know—”

Elliot fished the carton of cigarettes out of her back pocket and tapped one out, lighting it. John had stopped himself to watch her, his gaze sweeping over her before he grinned again, wolfish and pleased.

“Does it stress you out?” he asked.

“Baby,” Elliot deadpanned, “if stressing me out was an Olympic sport, you would be a gold medalist.”

John plucked the cigarette out of her hands after she took one drag, dropped it on the ground, and stomped it out, much to her chagrin. One wasted cigarette.

“You owe me,” she said.

“I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page when we go in there,” he reiterated. “Nothing about the nature of our relationship affected the time that you spent in my custody.”

She eyed him. Out of spite, she almost wanted to agree and then say something completely different once she was inside—just to make him squirm, and all for stamping out her cigarette. 

“Fine,” she relented, at last. “But that’s all we say about it. I don’t think anything else needs to be said, do you?”

For one second, John opened his mouth again. It was all Elliot could do not to immediately groan; stupid, pretty John, who for some reason needed to constantly be talking, the same way a shark would die if it stopped moving. 

But then he said, “Sure,” and suspicion spiked high and hot in her brain. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers; the kiss was unhurried, but short, and succeeded in frying her brain pleasantly.

“Don’t try and distract me,” she snipped half-heartedly, even when she felt the blush crawling up her cheeks. He grinned as though to feign innocence, before he turned and opened the door to the chapel; when he stepped inside, it left her alone.

One blissful, serene moment alone. It felt more and more like she was running short on those. It was probably intentional. Whatever it was happening between herself and John—whatever this mythos really was—it was harder and harder to keep straight with him around her all the time, breathing her in and exhaling her out, hands and mouth and—

And if she just got one more second —

Inside, Joseph said, “You don’t have the deputy with you?” and John made a noise like he was surprised she hadn’t followed right in. Elliot motioned for Boomer to stay before she stepped inside and closed the door behind her; the movement plunged her into the dim, cool light of the chapel, illuminated only by the cut-out of the Eden’s Gate star-symbol, slanting golden light across the floor. Everything else was dark. Like a womb, living and breathing and spitting out cultists.

“I trust you’ve gotten sufficient rest?” came Joseph’s next question, and it was clearly directed at her. Elliot made her way to the front of the chapel and stifled a sigh.

“Faith said you wanted to talk with us?” she prompted, and Joseph looked like he was trying not to smile; the corners of his mouth ticked upward for a moment as he watched her. He liked to do that—let a silence linger between them, let it fester for a moment until she thought she’d rather curl up and disappear than stay there any longer.

He finally spoke and said, “It’s come to my attention, Deputy Honeysett, that your relationship with our brother John has developed.”

‘Our brother,’ he said. Joseph talking like he was the fucking Pope made her molars grind.

Before she could remark on it, Joseph continued, “It would stand to reason, then, that you are intending to enter the End with us?”

I want a home with you.

“Of course,” John said, just as Elliot said, “‘Reason’ is a funny choice of word for you,” and then their eyes met. John’s expression said we’re supposed to be on the same team, but as far as Elliot couldn’t bite back instinct so easily.

She knew John could be good. She knew it, and yet he insisted on acting otherwise, and it just made her think maybe she had been some kind of exception and he really was, all this time, just rotten.

“I know that you’ve had a lot to process these last few days,” Joseph continued lightly. “The devastating loss of Hudson, having to purge all of that old poison concerning your last boyfriend…”

Elliot felt the panic wash over her in an instant. It was the same feeling that she had gotten with Kian, but the kicker here was that she’d volunteered that information to Joseph. He’d gone digging around in her brain, but she’d given him permission to have it.

I don’t want John to know, something in her said frantically, he can’t know.

“Reconsider,” Elliot bit out venomously, “what you’re going to say next, Seed.”

A moment of silence lapsed between the three of them. John was watching her curiously, waiting, perhaps, for her to elaborate on her angry outburst. She wouldn’t. He’d be waiting until he was in his fucking grave and then some if he thought she was going to say anything about it.

“John,” Joseph said, glancing at the brunette, “I’d like a moment with our deputy.”

The brunette’s expression tightened. Something, just a tiny little something, about that statement bothered John, Elliot could tell—though he said nothing about it, and instead swallowed back whatever it was, clearing his throat.

“That’s not necessary,” she insisted, looking between the two brothers. “John, it isn’t.”

Don’t. Don’t leave me alone with him. Please. I’m so tired, I’m so tired, I don’t want to do this anymore. Not with him.

“I’ll be outside,” John said, but he said it to Elliot, not to Joseph, and it did so very little to inspire any confidence in her; that John thought he needed to explain to her that he would be close by only reminded her that there was something predatory about Joseph that John didn’t like, either. 

As he went to move past her, she grabbed his wrist out of instinct—the pads of her fingers brushed the crescent marks that she’d left on him that night in the river, and the differences in the ways that she gripped him now felt monumental.

The moment lingered, suspended, between them. John reached up with his un-gripped hand and brushed some of her hair behind her ear.

“It’s only a few minutes,” Joseph offered, as though it were supposed to comfort her. It didn’t.

She dropped her hand from his wrist, and his hand drifted from her face, and he was heading back to the door before she could figure out if she wanted to pitch more of a fit or not.

When the door closed behind them and left Joseph and herself alone, in the eerie stillness of the chapel, Elliot took in a slow breath. The last time she’d been alone with Joseph, she’d been doing what she knew he wanted her to—confessing to the things that hurt, the prickly, sharp parts of her that stung the most on their way out. She’d grappled back a thread of her control that day, but what should have been a catharsis had just felt—

Dirty.

“I know that you must be tired,” Joseph murmured, closing the distance between them. “You’ve been fighting for a long time, Elliot. Longer, I can say now with certainty, than before even us. Before this.”

Fuck you, she thought hatefully. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You took everything from me, you wretched fucking man.

“I am tired,” she relented, desperate to keep that tiny bit of Joseph’s favor if it just meant that he’d stop trying to pry her open all the time. “But that doesn’t—”

“The End is coming,” he interrupted, though with the slow, rich cadence of his voice, it often felt less like an interruption and more a gentle redirection, “whether you believe it or not. But let’s say, theoretically, that it isn’t. That I’m wrong.”

Elliot’s mouth went dry. She didn’t like hypothesizing theoretical situations, least of all with Joseph. “Okay...”

The man had closed the distance between them now; his eyes were fixed on her, the relentless, dauntless part of him that did not soften to his Fatherly persona. He lifted his hands, and it took everything in Elliot not to flinch back out of instinct—his fingers brushed where John’s had just moments ago, trailing the slope of her jaw, landing on the feverish bruise marks on her throat.

“We retrieved Kian’s body from the forest,” he murmured, his fingers not leaving her neck. He looked to be inspecting the bruises on her neck, at the corner of her mouth.

The scrutiny made her skin feel sickly-hot. “And?”

“You obliterated his face,” Joseph said plainly. “Crushed each bony structure on it, caved him in. His eyes barely stayed in his sockets by the time you were done with him.”

Do you feel guilty for what that man did to you?

Elliot felt her stomach churn, the vicious nausea rolling around inside of her head. She could still feel Kian’s bones crumbling under each impact of the shotgun cold, dark metal, taste the arterial spray in her mouth. And just like that, she could feel Joseph digging his metaphorical claws in, cracking open her rib cage so he could stick his hands right into the gore of her.

Will you feel guilty about this, too?

“It—” Elliot felt her brain swoon dizzyingly; for a second, the only thing keeping her anchored was Joseph’s feather-light touch. “It w-was—self-defense—”

“ I know that,” Joseph murmured, “and you know that, and John—even Jacob, and Faith, and the others. We all know that, Elliot. But your friends from the resistance? Mary May, Grace... Pastor Jeffries...” His voice trailed off. “Do you think they’ll understand, when they read the reports of what you did to that man? Of the trail of bodies you’ve left behind yourself?”

“H-He was going to kill me,” and the words came out barely past a whisper; anymore volume and it would have been a wail. “ They were—”

“Yes,” Joseph agreed, “and you mutilated his body well past the point of death.”

“He deserved it,” she managed out, “he deserved it, he—” He was in my home, he touched my things, he pushed his way into my head, he took my Joey from me, she was the only good thing I had left and he took her.

“I know.” Joseph’s breath fanned across her forehead. “I know, Elliot. I hope—”

He stopped himself, and then he pulled back so that their eyes could meet, his hands cradling her face. It was both an anchor and invasion, this incessant need of Joseph’s to touch her. It grounded her to reality, but it also rattled violently through her skeleton, aftershocks of an earthquake she’d been living through for the last week.

“What I mean to say is, I only hope you understand,” he continued, his voice low, “this gift that we are giving you.”

I want a home with you.

“Do you?” Joseph asked. “Understand?”

What would Pastor Jeffries think? How would Mary May look at her? Sharky, and Grace—would they still like her spark?

Or was she ruined now, too, like everything else Eden’s Gate had touched?

Are you happy, Elliot?

“Yes,” she managed out. “I do.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the chapel door opened, John had been standing around outside for about ten minutes—enough time to hate it, enough time to look at Boomer waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs and think, fucking dog has better patience than I do.

“We’re going,” Elliot said, moving down the steps. Joseph lingered in the doorway behind her.

John balked. Faith had said Joseph wanted to speak to both of them; she’d made it sound like there had been more for him to be a part of, and yet Joseph had just collected one-on-one time with Elliot for himself and that was it?

“We’re?” he asked. Her voice sounded thick. “To where? Joseph, didn’t you—”

The blonde walked past him, and with a single gesture of her hand, Boomer was trotting off after her. John watched her, and then looked back at his older brother; he was sure the confusion was written clear on his face, but true to his nature, Joseph let it linger for a moment before he said, “She requested a car to visit someplace important to her. I said it would be fine, if you went.”

“Where?”

“It didn’t feel pertinent to ask,” Joseph replied. John paused, and as soon as he turned to start walking after Elliot—and perhaps get more information than what it seemed his brother was willing to supply him with—Joseph said, “John?”

He stopped and turned to look at his brother, and said, “Yes?”

“The opportunity is slipping.” Joseph’s head cocked to the side, his gaze hardening. “Do not let your family down.”

John felt something—anxiety, perhaps, but probably more dread —creep down his spine at Joseph’s words. He swallowed and nodded once before he started heading off again, the slow IV-drip of his older brother’s casual, cloaked venom seeping straight into the marrow of his bones.

Joseph’s voice rattled in his skull. Tell me you can do this.

You can’t have both, Elliot’s mouth against his, voice teetering on something broken.

He gritted his teeth, catching up to Elliot as she pulled herself into the driver’s seat of a truck. 

I can. You’re mine, and I can have both.

“Ready?” Elliot asked, having elaborated not at all on what was going on and only expecting that he would come along blindly. Well, she was right—to some extent, anyway, because here he was, knowing only one thing more than before and that was that Joseph’s patience was enduring, but running thin.

John flashed her a smile when she glanced over his way. 

“As ever.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It didn’t get any more clear where it was Elliot was taking him. Perhaps “taking him” was a bit of a stretch—he was going along because Joseph had insisted, and even if he hadn’t insisted it probably would have been his first choice of how to spend the afternoon anyway.

They were running out of time. That much had been made clear to him, either by Joseph or by Elliot’s itching to get out of the compound; pulled two ways, and only one of them was able to give—Elliot, with the proper amount of planting, guiding. 

John knew that he needed to stay focused. There could be no more lingering, favoring glances; she would need to be his, and he would have to make it happen. 

Fast.

The blonde turned the truck up a long, winding drive that took them further back into the wilderness of Hope County and parked in front of a house that he’d seen only once or twice before, and only in passing; he’d even considered reaping it for himself, at one point, but it was far out and small enough that it would have been more of an inconvenience than it was worth.

“So,” he said, when she put the truck in park and pulled the keys out of the ignition, “where is this?”

It was a small house, but not as small as most houses in Hope County; by all accounts, the house was probably considered upper class —the snob in him wanted to scoff audibly even as the thought considering how fucking incredible that statement alone was—but the two-story ranch house screamed Gothic South at him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure where it was where Elliot’s parents hailed from.

All of the lights in the house wereoff; the wisteria climbing the trellis that arched over the pathway had just finished blooming, and some of its perfume still lingered; ivy climbed up the elaborate railing of the top front porch, and the garden had clearly been meticulously well-kept.

“My mom’s,” she replied after a moment, sliding out of the driver’s side and closing the door. She sounded more put-together now; whatever had transpired between herself and Joseph had shaken her, but only temporarily. She’d stuffed it down, locked it away somewhere far away from him.

Oh, John thought, feeling that little thrill of delight he got every time he thought Elliot might be about to let him in and under and through. Mom’s house, hm? Interesting.

Boomer leaped from the back without waiting for the tailgate to get dropped and raced excited circles around Elliot as she made her way up the bricked path. He barked once, twice, and then Elliot lifted her hand and he quieted just before she gestured for him to go and he took off running. 

“I drove past this place when I first came back,” John said as he followed. “Your mom likes gardening, huh?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Elliot sighed, lifting one of the flower pots by the front door to fish a key out from underneath. There was something bitter and a little humorous as she added, “Scarlet Honeysett would never lift a hand to garden, except —” And here the blonde lifted a finger quite dutifully, that little Southern twang peeking through. “For her rose bushes. Nobody goes around touchin’ her rose bushes.”

John glanced around the front porch. The steps up were lined with the aforementioned bushes, tiny scalloped fencing keeping them from being in the way of foot traffic while still on perfect display. Ah, he thought absently, the neuroses.

Elliot unlocked the door, nudging the front door open with her foot and stuffing the key into her pocket. John followed her inside, glancing around in the late-afternoon light; the polished dark wood floors, the carefully placed decorations, plush foyer rug, elegant painting on the far wall leading past the stairs.

It was luxe, to say the least. A portrait hung on the wall closest to the door, a photo of a young woman and her blonde look-alike toddler. John thought that it was the kind of thing that you only saw in the home of a woman who put her daughter into pageants and drank martinis at ten in the morning. 

“Elliot Honeysett,” he began, with no shortage of needling glee, “are you rich?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “ I certainly am not,” she told him. “My mother, however, is a trust fund baby, likely has not worked a single day in her life. Papa Graves was a retired jockey—made a lot of money, real quick, invested it, retired...”

Her voice trailed off and she walked past him to the room on the right, fiddling around with something past his line of sight. He picked up a frame on one of the side tables; it was a young blonde girl, grinning ear to ear, sitting atop a buckskin horse, her fingers tangled into its dark mane,

“You like horses?” John called.

As if to clarify, she replied, “Animals.”

Something in the next room clicked. For a second, John’s brain panicked; a gun, he thought, a brief second of considering that Elliot had brought him here to—

And then the music started to play. It was older music that didn’t quite suit his picture of Elliot—the same girl that had blasted Guns’N’Roses on their way out from the ranch—but dreamy. Hazy. The perfect kind of music to suit the golden light of the late afternoon slanting through the gauzy curtains framing French windows. For a second, John thought he could forget himself: she had let him in, to the most vulnerable part of her, this place littered with photos and monuments to Elliot as a child, Elliot as a girl, Elliot before any of this.

Joseph hadn’t gotten this. Nobody had gotten this—not Joseph, and not her ex-boyfriend, and not anyone. Not anyone except for him.

See the pyramids along the Nile; watch the sun rise on a tropic isle.

Next was a gentle clink. It sounded like ice cubes in a glass. John moved down the hallway, picking up another frame—what he could only presume to be young Elliot, perched atop the shoulders of a red-haired man, grinning like a scoundrel at the camera.

He could hear the sound of liquid pouring a room over. As he walked, he realized the table—and the walls—were covered with photos of this man, this red-haired stranger, freckles covering his face. He was handsome. His eyes looked familiar, too.

Just remember, darling, all the while, you belong to me.

“John,” Elliot said from the sitting room—what an absurd thought; Elliot Honeysett, in a sitting room , and that’s what it was, a sitting room, “what are you doing?”

“Learning about you,” John replied. “Your parents left with the resistance?”

There was a pause. He thought that he knew the answer—the only pictures of the man whose eyes were mirrored by Elliot’s own were from when she was quite young. Maybe too young to even remember?

“Mama did, yeah,” Elliot replied. He heard a match striking in the room next to him. She didn’t elaborate on her father; everything in John was itching to pry, to slide just under her skin and figure out what was going on in that brain of hers. Per usual, her decision to remain tight-lipped concerning just about everything that held any emotional bearing on her proved the biggest obstacle.

I'll be so alone without you.

John rounded the corner back into the living room. Elliot had started a fire in the fireplace, kicked off her shoes, and in her hand was a drink; she looked tired , neck still mottled with bruises, but more relaxed than he thought he had seen her in a long time. Even more relaxed than when she was sleeping.

“Didn’t even make me a drink,” he tsked, walking behind the couch to the bar cart. “Just pulled me out here for a little vacation, did you? We could visit.” His gaze slid to her, still perched on the couch with her back to him. “About whatever you’d like.”

“Just wanted to get out of the compound. Felt like I couldn’t breathe in there.” She waved her empty hand in a vague gesture, as if to indicate he was welcome to help himself. “You really don’t stop talking, do you?”

“It’s my job,” John replied, “and you’ve forbidden me from using my mouth otherwise.”

“Oh,” Elliot drawled as he idled around the back of the couch, taking in every meticulous detail of her mother’s living room, “so all I had to do was forbid you and you’d stop doing shit?”

A short laugh billowed out of him. It was so strange to have Elliot like this—was this how she had been with Joey? With the other deputies, with her friends? What she was like before that pesky ex-boyfriend of hers?

Maybe you'll be lonesome too, and blue.

John walked around the side of the couch and sat next to her, regarding her amusedly. She side-eyed him like she didn’t want to exert the effort of turning her head all the way to look at him; when he reached up to brush his fingers along her jaw, she only tilted her head out of his reach for a moment before relenting.

“Might not have worked before,” he suggested. “You’ve definitely gotten more persuasive.”

“Ah.” She arched a brow at him loftily, letting him tilt her face so that she was facing him, and took a sip of her drink. “Maybe your brother is rubbing off on me. After all, romantic coercion isn’t really your style , is it, John?”

He felt his mouth sour at the words. Dropping his fingers from her chin, he instead lifted the drink from her hand; though she relinquished the glass readily, he did see her eyes narrow, just a little. “You just can’t resist, can you?”

He waited for the bite; a part of him anticipated it now, sat patiently, eagerly for the quick-strike of venom. It had become so intrinsic to their day-to-day that he couldn’t tell if he liked it more when she was prickly and headstrong or if he liked it when she was sighing his name like a prayer.

Probably the latter.

The blonde feigned innocence. “Resist what?”

John took a sip of the drink. It was a vodka soda—strong, burning on its way down. Maybe her drink of choice? Or someone else’s. “Picking a fight with me.”

“You do have an exceptionally punchable face,” Elliot acquiesced. And then, as though to soften the blow: “But you have lovely long eyelashes.” She smiled, angelic. “Like a lamb.”

“Fuck you,” John snapped.

“You can,” she replied idly, “if you beg. ”

John felt a flare of something—maybe delight, maybe shame —red-hot and searing in his chest at her nonchalant words. He wanted to stay focused; this was the perfect opportunity to pry more out of her, to really know her and figure out exactly what it was that made her tick, what got those little draconian gears in her head churning.

And they were draconian—after that little show she’d put on with Joseph, he thought maybe Elliot was just a bit more wicked than she liked to let on.

Regarding her for a moment, John set the glass back in her hand, the burn of the alcohol still lingering in the back of his throat. She looked comfortable, draped against the couch; before, being in the same room as him put her on edge, teeth grinding and eyes wild.

“Liked that?” he asked, forcing his voice to lightness, digging. “Having me beg for you?”

“Well,” Elliot said demurely, “who wouldn’t like to hear you begging for something, you smug fucker?”

He bit back his knee-jerk retort and instead willed his words out. “You really are filthy then, aren’t you, Deputy Honeysett?”

Elliot took a swallow of the drink and looked as though she were measuring something, weighing the pros and cons of it in her head. In a fluid motion that must have cost her quite a bit of labor considering the current state of her skeleton, she swung one leg over his lap and settled herself there; straddling him, one hand flattened and smooth against the fabric of his shirt, the other holding the glass and draped over the back of the couch.

“I suppose,” she said, her eyes flickering over his face, “that you’re going to offer to cleanse me of my sins?”

“You’re a quicker study than you let on,” he replied, grinning. “You’ve confessed, but you’re hardly clean. ”

“You should hear yourself.” Elliot’s voice was clipped coming out of her mouth, even as John’s hands came to her hips and tugged her down more firmly against his lap. Her fingers undid one of the buttons on his shirt. “ ‘You’re hardly clean’. You sound so fucking stupid—”

“Let me baptize you,” John insisted. He tried to stuff away his irritation at her words, but it was hard to—even when the sharpness of her words was punctuated by a kiss, her lips parting silkily against his as she sighed, the sharp bite of the vodka chasing the warmth of her mouth. Joseph’s low, murmured threat sat heavy in his chest. “Let me—”

“Drown me?” she said with no absence of venom, even when she said it against his mouth. “Or was that just a one-timer?”

“It’s different,” he snapped. His hands slid beneath the hem of her long-sleeved shirt, tracing the dips and curves of her before splaying against her spine. “It’s different when you choose .”

She sighed; for a moment, John thought she was going to slide off of him, but she stayed, shifting idly on his lap and making the temperature of his body spike. Wicked, wretched viper, he thought, but it was affection blooming in his chest. Wicked and wretched, but mine. Legally bound to me, and all mine.

Besides; where was she going to go, after all of this? She didn’t seriously think she was walking out of Hope County like nothing had happened.

“You gave Joseph what he wanted,” he continued, feeling a little spiteful even as he kept his hands in the slope of her hips. “How’s it feel, knowing that?”

Elliot’s mouth twisted in a grimace. His words had sucked the wind right out of her sails; he saw the impact on her face, meteoric in its destruction.

She said, “John, don’t—”

“I will ,” he insisted, watching her take another dutiful swallow of the alcohol in her glass, “and you did. You gave him exactly what he wanted, after spending all this time insisting you were going to kill him the second you got a chance to. You’ve had a chance. We all know what you did to Kian; all it would take is what, ten minutes alone with him? So, I’ll say it again, how—”

“Worse,” the blonde interrupted, her voice thick with an emotion that John couldn’t quite pin down, “than giving you what you want.”

Yes yes yes, the monster inside of him chanted. He could feel it writhing just beneath his proverbial fingers; so close to sticking the wings of her little butterfly, that special thing that she didn’t want him to have or know. Yes, all mine, give it to me, I deserve it.

The air felt thick, molten-hot and bubbling between them until he thought he was going to be dizzy from trying to breathe something so oxygen-thin. He could feel the flutter of Elliot’s pulse, unsteady and hammering, against his chest: not the heartbeat of an apex predator, but that of prey, snagged and caught and his.

John pressed his mouth to the slope of her neck, tightening his grip on her; his tongue traced the marks left there just below her jaw, and then he murmured, “Tell me how it feels to give me what I want, El.”

Elliot’s free hand had tangled into his hair, knotting there and gripping just a little tighter at his words.

“Good,” she managed out. Her voice barely broke the sound barrier of a whisper; that single word alone gave John a vibrant surge of triumph in his chest, billowed the breath right out of him. But when he pulled back to look at her, she finished off the rest of the vodka and set the glass on the side table before she plunged on, “I had a dream the other night.”

A brief pause dragged the silence on, with only the music playing absently in the background as she righted herself on his lap.

“It was after my walk with Faith,” Elliot continued. “You were there, and—it was just a stupid dream, but—”

“Dreams can be prophetic,” John said, because whatever she was unraveling was making her upset, and he wanted it; that little tremble in her voice, so sweet so sweet, the same kind of sweetness he’d wanted to taste that night he’d first gotten his hands on her.

When he opened his mouth to continue to encourage her, she slapped her palm over it and said, “Shut up or I’m going to lose my train of thought.”

John made a muffled noise of acquiescence. Elliot dropped her hand from his mouth and took in a short, sharp little breath.

“You were there, and you kept saying things like… That you wanted to be—mine,” she explained, and this whole time she hadn’t been looking at him, but she did now. “That you wanted a home with me, that we would—after Kian, we would leave Hope County and for a second—I fucking—everyone, and everything, it’s all gone to shit and for one fucking second when you were saying that I didn’t—I didn’t feel—”

So close, John thought, watching her try to work around the words that she wanted to say but that fought against her entire being to come out. I just need to hear it. That’s all I need.

“Alone,” Elliot finished softly.

It was the perfect opportunity; Joseph had made it clear that they weren’t going to be waiting to finish off the Family to retreat for the End, and that meant that John only had so much time to bring Elliot around. This was the moment that he had to take advantage of, to tell her about their marriage and hope for the best.

“It wasn’t,” John said after a moment. “A dream, I mean.”

The blonde stared at him for a moment. Her expression was guarded. “What wasn’t?”

“That night that you came back from your walk with Faith,” he began, “you weren’t feeling well, and I walked you back to the bunkhouse—”

“Uh-huh.”

“—and I told you that I didn’t want you to be alone anymore—”

“John.”

It’s fine, he thought, even when Elliot’s expression flattened and emptied out, it’s fine, it’s fine.

“—and that after all this was done, I would leave with you, and I wanted a home. With you.”

Elliot blinked. A few moments passed. Surprisingly, there was no fury radiating off of her; she looked blank, like she was still processing and taking in all of this information. Like maybe it hadn’t quite hit her yet.

John opened his mouth, very deliberately, to proceed and inform her of the next part—the completely fine and totally normal agreement to get married when Elliot said, “So you lied to me?”

His mouth closed. “Sorry?”

“I asked you about it,” she began, and now she was biting the words out, “the next morning. In the chapel. Jacob was there, and I asked you if something happened—”

“—less like it happened—”

“—and you said, John, that I walked myself to the bunkhouse and went to sleep.” Her fingers had fisted into the front of his shirt now, gripping, as if she were preparing for him to try and squirm out from underneath her. “I fucking knew you weren’t telling me the truth, I fucking knew it because my gun was on the table and I’d never fucking put it there to go to sleep, you stupid fuckhead—”

“El,” John said, lifting a hand, though he didn’t know why; maybe in an effort to soothe her, maybe to block any incoming blows, but Elliot smacked his hand out of the way.

“You fucking weasel—”

“Elliot, listen to me!”

Bad, John thought, and he hadn’t even told her about the part of this that was the most legally binding, the part of this that didn’t make her a Honeysett at all anymore but a Seed. All of that softness from before had evaporated in the heat of her rage. Bad, so fucking bad, fuck I’m fucked fuck.

“I’m gonna fucking dig the decay out of your teeth with a hunting knife, you lying piece of shit,” Elliot snapped. “You saw what I did to Kian, huh? I let you fuck me, and you lied to me—”

“I was—”

“—fucking rotten through and through—”

“Elliot,” John managed out, scrambling for something as he ducked an otherwise well-timed blow; he snagged her wrists, both of them, to stop her from landing any kind of hit. “I was embarrassed, okay? When you came in the next day and you didn’t remember, I—freaked out. Jacob was there, and I thought you’d kill me if I didn’t tell you, and also that you’d kill me if I said it front of Jacob, and I didn’t want to say it in front of him anyway because it was about how I was going to leave with you rather than stay with them!”

Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. It was a lie —a big fucking lie, in a lot of ways, but most importantly a big lie-by-omission, but though he knew it John thought certainly there was no fucking way in Hell he was going to bring that part up to Elliot now, too.

She’s clearly emotionally fragile, he reasoned, I should wait until a better moment.

“Why’d you want me to get baptized then?” she snapped. “If you were planning on leaving with me?”

“Because,” John said slowly, come on come on come on, “Joseph—knows about us, and it would be suspicious. If you didn’t.”

Elliot stared at him. “And?”

“ And,” he insisted, “I planned on telling you in the car on the way out of the compound that night, and then we got hit, and we went on Kian’s fun little nightmare carnival ride, and—”

“Shut up.” Elliot yanked her wrists out of his grip and passed a hand over her face exhaustedly. John wanted to keep talking—it was instinct to want to weave the most elaborate tale that he could in the face of Elliot’s fury—but he did as she said, keeping his mouth shut as she processed whatever it was she had taken in.

Her hand dropped from her face, and she stared at a spot on the wall over his head for a minute before she sucked her teeth and said, “You don’t fucking lie to me, John.”

“I—”

“You don’t fucking lie to me,” Elliot reiterated again, “because if you do, I will find out, and I will make you fucking suffer.”

John regarded her warily. He knew that he needed to tell her. He knew that he should, because if this was any indication to how she was going to handle it, the full truth would be astronomically worse. It would be best to get it out of the way, let her process it, and maybe by the end she’d have come around to the picture he’d paint of them, together, as the End crept in; safe and in the bunker and—

“Okay,” he replied, “no lying.”

“No fucking lying.”

“Got it.”

“And if you do—”

“Skeleton pulled out of my body,” John supplied, lowering his hands hesitantly back to her hips. She eyed him through her lashes for a moment before she seemed to relax a little, sucking her teeth and crossing her arms over her chest. As each second ticked by that she didn’t make good on her violent promises of emergency tooth surgery, John felt more and more confident that he had assuaged the monster and reached up to gently unlace her arms. She balked at first, and then relented after another few heartbeats; when she allowed him to pull her arms around his neck, Elliot let out a soft little exhale, like she’d been holding her breath.

He said, trying for lightness, “I like when you get scary.”

“Did you mean it?” she asked, ignoring his little playful remark. When John looked at her expectantly, looking for some elaboration, she took in a breath and said, “About... leaving?” And then, with concerted effort: “With me?”

Soft —she was so soft, right then and there, and only for him. It was in moments like this when John wanted to drag her down into him, kiss her until his lungs ached, until their breath mixed and intermingled; to capture something like this and keep it his and his alone, forever.

He’d tell her. He’d tell her when things were better—when she wasn’t so emotionally raw, when she hadn’t lost so much so quickly, and when she’d have a more level head about it. She’d feel safer, more secure, with this little white lie; and then he’d tell her about the End again, once things had quieted down for a few days, and explain the importance of having her by his side. As his wife.

“Yeah, El,” he replied. “I meant it.” And then, because she was staring at him with those eyes—wary, cautious, guarded—he took her face in his hands and said, “I’m yours.”

“Don’t,” she managed out, and now her voice was really wobbling, “don’t fucking lie to me again, John Seed.”

She’ll see that I did this for us. 

“I won’t.” And technically, sort of, it was true—he wasn’t going to tell her another lie now that she’d just said not to do it again. Unless she asked again. But she wouldn’t. So it was sort of like he was doing exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it? 

Elliot’s forehead brushed his. She let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t have anything left,” she said after a second, “anymore.”

He pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss—luxuriated in, drenched himself in it, indulged in the feeling of her leaned into his touch.

“You have me,” he said against her mouth. “You know that.”

“Yes.” Elliot’s voice was an exhausted murmur; her eyes fluttered shut. Got you, John thought, dragging his thumb along the slope of her cheekbone, and she said, “I know.”

Got you, hellcat.

[coquelicot-blues]

don’t go at sea without your life buoy

Spoiler alert for recent chapters (320 to 323)

Rating: Gen (but can be read however you want)

Characters: Midoriya Izuku & Todoroki Shouto

Summary: How I imagine Midoriya & Todoroki's reunion would go. Spoilers alert: there are waterworks.

WC: 1.5k

A/N: I keep thinking that I'd really like the manga to address the rift in Midoriya & Todoroki's relationship after everything that happened... so that's what I cooked up. Plz note tho that this is written in Midoriya's POV, and he does have a tendency to blame himself a lot.

Also, I just wanted to jot down my ideas, so it’s written in a play script format. Enjoy :)

___________________________________________________________  

Izuku has started wandering around the UA grounds, ducking through doorways or hiding behind bushes whenever he crosses paths with civilians to avoid conflict (bc his presence is still a sore subject). The grounds have changed a lot, become a true fortress and labyrinth to walk through, but he doesn’t mind wandering too much, because he is on a mission, and he will succeed no matter what. After four days of having stayed at UA now, he's started feeling more like a human being, and no longer like smelly, hungry, and weary beast. Being reunited with his friends and Mom has also really helped. Kacchan even talked to him without screaming once!

That said, there is still one person Izuku hasn’t found yet, hasn’t spoken to since his return.

And it’s an important person too.

So Izuku wanders around, looking for his friend.

He finds him on the rooftop.

IZUKU: Todoroki-kun!

SHOUTO: (looks up, but his expression remains schooled in an impassive mask, unlike the usual soft smile he'd normally greet Izuku with)

IZUKU: (arrives beside him) Hi. Can I sit here?

SHOUTO: (without inflexion) Of course.

IZUKU: (sits, slightly uncomfortable with this unusual atmosphere) I've been looking for you! You're the only one I didn't get to greet up to now.

SHOUTO: (hums. There is silence then, but it doesn’t last long, bc he suddenly says, as deadpan as ever) You bathed.

IZUKU: (scoffs) Yeah, even Sensei insisted on it.

SHOUTO: (nods absentimindedly) Good.

And this may seem like an improvement from Todoroki’s earlier conversational skills, back when he was still the not-here-to-make-friends Earlyroki, but Izuku knows it really isn’t, knows that this Todoroki right here is not really comfortable either in this situation because he’s just... he looks like a stone statue, not even looking at Izuku or smiling warmly at him. He’s just there. Not doing much. As if he were sitting with a stranger.

IZUKU: (steels himself) Ok, I know this may seem like a stupid question but... How are you?

SHOUTO: (without missing a beat) I could ask you the same.

And really, Izuku knows what this is, knows that Todoroki is now deliberately distancing himself, avoiding the question —which Izuku can relate to, since he himself also hates this question... He decides, tho, that if he wants to hear from Todoroki on this point, he has to show his own sincerity, his own willingness to reconnect.

IZUKU: I'm fi— (stops himself: old habits die hard, huh) I mean, it's been... hard, but seeing everyone really helps. (pointedly, he looks at Todoroki, both so that he can understand that he's purposefully included in the 'everyone', but also to prompt him to talk, which doesn't work... so instead, he continues) What about you?

SHOUTO: (still stonily) Likewise.

And it's just... it's awful, this conversation. No, it's actually excruciating, to have lost so much ground with Todoroki, to now only be allowed the normal platitudes he would reserve to a pesky stranger trying to pry.

It hurts.

But Izuku has never been a quitter, has he.

IZUKU: Todoroki-kun, I get that you're... angry with me. I just... I would really like to hear about you. I'm just worried is all.

SHOUTO: (suddenly, he shows the first sign of emotion by sighing deeply, something so weary that he seems to gain thirty years, suddenly) I'll be honest, Midoriya. (finally he looks at Izuku) I'm really glad you're here, because then we can know when you are safe, and when you are not, and we can support you the way you need to be, which is frankly all I could ever want right now... (stops himself, breathes, then peers into Izuku’s eyes) But I can't... Talking is not something I can do.

And Izuku thinks then that Todoroki really, really is the kindest person he's ever met. Because Izuku has always been able to read between the lines with ease —he's honed his observational skills enough throughout the years for it to become like second nature— and he understands that what Todoroki really meant —what he didn't say to spare Izuku's feelings— is 'Talking with you'...

So he blinks, nods furiously, and buries his grief with this cold, bitter acceptance of knowing one has tarnished a friendship that was once so pure and good and easy, to make it... different.

Painful.

Corroded.

IZUKU: I— I understand. Of course I understand.

Izuku looks down, stifles his tears, and waits for the inevitable. He knows Todoroki: he's not one to remain in an uncomfortable situation when he doesn’t have to, and Izuku won’t stop him, so he will leave, and Izuku will be alone...

Except that he doesn't: doesn't leave, nor let Izuku out alone on the rooftop.

They just sit in silence, Izuku wrestling with his tears while Todoroki just looks at the view.

And Izuku's heart, even as it breaks, mends just a tiny bit, because Todoroki is a good friend, and even if Izuku's hurt him, he won't leave Izuku alone when he himself is hurting...

And that's just... too much.

IZUKU: Just so you know, though, I really never wanted any of this to happen.

SHOUTO: (looks at him, eyes sad) Yes, I know.

IZUKU: (but this doesn’t feel like enough, so Izuku continues) No, you don't, though. I never meant to hurt you, Todoroki-kun.

SHOUTO: (unwavering) It hurt you too. This is a very heavy burden that you bear.

IZUKU: I mean yeah, it is, and sometimes I feel like I'll just crumble under the whole weight of it, but that doesn't change the fact that even as I tried to do what's best for everyone because of One For All and All For One, I ended up hurting you.

And Izuku selfishly —oh so selfishly— wishes Todoroki would just shake his head then and tell him that he's wrong, that Izuku didn't hurt him.

But contrary to Izuku, Todoroki has never been one to dish out white lies to make sure not to hurt people's feelings, has never been one to tell others that he's fine when he doesn't feel fine...

So when Todoroki only stares at him, Izuku can honestly say that it hurts, and it hurts so bad.

Because he hurt his friend.

Izuku hurt his best friend.

SHOUTO: (after a long pause) You didn't mean to.

IZUKU: (just can’t stop the tears from flowing, and flow they do) But I did. And that's the point, Todoroki-kun! (hiccups, then gulps, and continues) I just... There's so many people in your life that have hurt you, and I never —never— wanted to be one of them, but I am now, and I hate that I am! And I know there's nothing I can do to make it better, to make it not hurt, and I just hate myself for it! I don’t... I don't want you to hurt anymore. (buries his face in his hands helplessly) I'm so sorry, Todoroki-kun.

And Shouto doesn't say anything then... He just clears his throat, but stays otherwise silent. It's only when furiously wiping at his eyes that Izuku catches a glimpse of him and... oh, he's crying too.

In a much more subdued way, without making a fraction of the noises and sniffles Izuku is making, but the tears are there, and they're falling steadily, like a faucet's been opened and forgotten there.

And somehow, even as he feels that he's drowning in this sea of guilt and self-hatred and regret, Izuku feels just a little better knowing that Todoroki still lets himself cry in front of Izuku.

It somehow brings him comfort.

So they cry side by side, until the faucet runs out of water and they're both nursing stinging eyes and wet cheeks and dripping chins through the silence between them.

Until that silence breaks after a few moments.

SHOUTO: Do you... I've started sparring with Bakugou, to keep working on our Quirks and techniques. (long inhale, exhale, then he's looking at Izuku once more) Do you want to spar with me?

Suddenly, it feels like Izuku's just been thrown a life buoy, been given a second chance into the kindest person's heart, as if a once closed door is now suddenly ajar, and wow, this is his chance, and he will not let it go to waste.

IZUKU: Of course Todoroki-kun! Of course, I'll spar with you!!

SHOUTO: (nods) Ok.

But he doesn't move, and Izuku waits for him to do so until he suddenly understands what this is, understands that Todoroki meant it as a promise instead of some one-time event. As a promise meant to reconnect with his friend, but also as a way to keep him close for the foreseeable future.

To make sure that Izuku won't just leave again.

And maybe it’s futile, maybe Izuku will be forced to have to leave again soon in order to protect everyone, but his heart tells him that he has every intention to keep this promise.

To be a good friend to a good friend of his.

He'll just have to make sure that Todoroki knows it too.