#the animosity between these two is so palpable it’s suffocating. of course i think they should make out sloppy style

[thetrinitytest]

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

The violent snap of a vine around Tintin's neck took him out of the moment like ice cold water was to the entire human body. He was yanked backwards, head jerking back in the process as a gasp was torn from his lungs. The sharpness and speed with which this was done meant he couldn't perceive whoever had done it or even free his neck before he felt the back of his head collide with a violent thud on a broken, burnt out pillar of the house.

The familiarity of the concussion radiated through his head like a lit torch on a pyre and an audible low pitched cry of pain escaped from his lungs, before the vine uncurled from his neck only to press heavily against it, peeling around the structure at a far more suffocating angle in the process.

His eyes were wide, his vision double from the shock and the pain besides the fresh panic that tightened his chest and tried to force itself out of his mouth, his attempt to breathe manifesting in a choked whine and a scramble for the vine around his neck. The action was rapidly thwarted, though, as he felt new vines rip his hands from this need for air, throwing his arms backwards around the wood as they wound their way up them from his wrists. He made an almost silent wince and plea for help, mainly stuck inside his throat as his mouth remained open from the pain of his arms twisted backwards and forced to an unnatural distance.

He had reflexively kicked his feet out before two vines swept out to wind around his ankles, pulling them tightly against the wood, his choked cries barely above a whisper.

A shadowed, red-suited figure that had blended in with the desolate, blood-red landscape and horizon and the looming shadows of the mountainous north had become visible, even with his dazed, delirious vision. Of course it was no one good, not like this, with the very obvious threat that was posed here, but he didn't think this would've happened so soon with the entity in front of him. He wasn't sure what the most dominating emotion was, with anger, fear, panic, disgust and distress crossing his face within a matter of seconds.

Sakharine had to have been about 25ft from his immobilised position. That beard and moustache alongside that eerily shiny pair of spectacles his green eyes often looked over in contempt could not be recognisable anywhere else. Especially with a grin that could bear a resemblance to a shark's mouth full of teeth with those sinister, insincere eyes, or a grotesque open wound that split his face apart far too smugly. He tilted his head at the boy like a scientist at a specimen, his new prey that he had long been fascinated with ever since they had met.

"Oh, it's so nice to see you again, Tintin. It's a shame you left me so quickly," Sakharine said, a constant creepiness underlining his mocking conversationalist tone, "but I'm afraid this new look suits you better, because we do rather need to catch up, don't you think?"

He paced up towards him, never taking his eyes off of him. Slow measured footsteps. Tintin could feel his heart thudding agonisingly against his chest, a claustrophobic feeling creeping up his body as the vines incrementally forced all of it back at any sign of movement whatsoever.

Sakharine was now face-to-face with him, barely any space between them to be far beyond acceptable distance. He felt that same look as he did when he was first kidnapped, a sinking feeling in his chest and stomach that he hadn't been able to escape that for good.

The grin remained, even with a hand reaching out to put his hand around the reporter's jawline, tilting his gaze down that was not only filled with animosity, but also palpable fear. There was that low laugh that Tintin could physically feel running through his body against his face before he spoke.

"I mean, you don't need to hide from me, I can see it in your head. And even in your eyes," he whispered with a clear patronising tone, the way his eyes looking down over his spectacles demonstrated such arrogance and pity at his prey's situation, "but I think an appropriate question to ask regardless is: from where in our meetings would you like us to start?"

[kewltie]

Bakugou Tatsuya was born three minutes earlier than his twin and Katsuki had never let that go. They'd competed over everything – their parents’ attention, in sport and the school rankings. It was but a simple sibling rivalry, until it isn't anymore. Not when the heart is out on the frontline and neither of them is known for their mercy.

"Four hundred and eighty-eighty, huh," Tatsuya muses, looking at the scoreboard that was just posted for the first term finals. "We tied up." Not a first for either of them, but considering the prize of their wager. The results are startlingly revealing. "I thought you didn't care."

The weeks leading up to the finals, he'd locked himself in his room and crammed harder than he even did for the entrance exam for U.A., while Katsuki was out with his friends nearly everyday. To play, Tatsuya had thought, but clearly that wasn't the case at all.

He should have known. Identical twins. No matter how many people say that their similarity ended at their appearance, the level-headed Tatsuya and the firebrand that is Katsuki, they're two halves of a whole. It seems falling for the same person is written into the code of their DNA, the fabric of their very being. And neither of them is up for sharing, because for there to be a winner there must be always be a loser. It wasn't always like that though. Tatsuya would cripple his pride for Katsuki, his only and most precious brother, if it comes down to it.

He could take a loss. Or two.

But for the first time in a long time he doesn't want to let go of the hand holding his. Not even for Katsuki. And so the battle line is drawn around Izuku. He just didn't know how serious Katsuki would take it. Unlike Tatsuya, Katsuki had always kept his true feelings locked away and buried it under layers and layers of gruffness and rough exteriors.

He'd guarded it so zealously that it'd fooled Tatsuya. Once.

"I don't." Katsuki sneers beside him. "The bet was who would get a better rank in the finals and I just wanted to kick your ass. It has nothing to do with Deku.”

"Is that right?" He raises a brow.

"Yea," Katsuki says with a dismissive snort.

"So you won't mind me taking Izuku out on a date either way?" Tatsuya says, low and pointed. He'd never need to use his fist to hit where it hurt the most. His words are weapon themselves. "It doesn't bother you at all?"

At his words, Katsuki's jaw clenches as his hands balls into a fist at his side and his body tenses up like a dynamite ready to explode and all his triggers are named Deku. It's hysterically easy to read him like this.

Why couldn't Tatsuya have seen this all earlier?

Before the seed of this searing love toward Izuku took root and grew within him till it became this unmanageable thing, spilling out of him in droves. He doesn't know how Katsuki was able to hide it that long, when it's feels like an impossible millions things stuffed in him and he’s overflowing from it.

"You didn't fucking beat me," Katsuki finally answers, and his voice is unexpectedly cool against the violent storm brewing in his red eyes. "We’re tied up, so Deku isn't yours to take."

"Who you think deserve it then?" Tatsuya presses, pinning Katsuki with a glare of his own. "You, who made him cried countless times in the past?"

A thick blanket of silence falls over them, it's suffocating. Stilted against the noise of the hallway, but expected. This is a familiar battleground. Revisit a hundred times before again and again under a different kind of light and setting. In class, the field, in their home.

It's always been a contest for them. An unending series of question: who's smarter? Who's stronger? Who is the best? Who—? Who—? The answer didn't better so much as the thrill of the chase and the battle leading up to it. But then, the question became, who does Izuku loves the most?

That was when it stopped being a game between them. It’s a full blown war now.

Katsuki flexes his hand, clenching and unclenching it at his side, as though quietly mulling over it. Over the idea whether if he should answer the hit from Tatsuya's words with a physical jab of his own.

Katsuki takes a deliberate step forward toward him, but Tatsuya holds his ground. He won't be move. Not even for Katsuki. If he was a kinder person, a better older brother maybe, he would have step aside for Katsuki, but Tatsuya is tired, so very tired, of being the 'good' one, the good twin as though he only exists to be Katsuki's foil; the approachability of his image to balance out Katsuki's prickliness.

His yang to Katsuki's yin. Opposing forces working in mutual harmony, but to never stand apart.

"Tatchan is Tatchan and Kacchan is Kacchan," Izuku had once said, consoling him after another physical altercation with Katsuki. "I think it's amazing to have a twin." He'd smiled wistfully. "You guys share the same womb for ten months and that bond is stronger than anything, but you're also your own person with your own goals and desires. It doesn't always have to be an and/or thing."

While Katsuki and Tatsuya clashed over everything because they're dumb boys with an over competitive streak a mile wide, Izuku was playing the peacemaker between them. He probably doesn't expect that he would be something the twins would ferociously fight over too one day.

"Are you going to punch me now?" Tatsuya challenges.

Katsuki stops just shy of him, arms still at his side. "I should," he answers with a sharp grin of his own; the spread of his teeth is menacing and purposeful. "I really fucking should, just to shut up your arrogant mouth, but then I would be playing right into your hand."

 Tatsuya's eyes narrow minutely. It's easy to forget for all of Katsuki's violence and foul mouth, he's as keenly intelligence as Tatsuya. His score on the board speaks for itself.

"You—" he starts, but the rest of his words are swallowed by a familiar voice calling their name.

"Tatchan, Kacchan!" They both turn toward the noise and catches sight of Izuku running up to them with a breathless joy. "I heard!" He draws to a stop in front of them, breathing heavily and a face flushed with delight. "Congratulation for making it to the top ten out of our entire grade! You guys are amazing to tie for 2nd place." His grin is infectious and exuberance, dolling out affections and admirations like he got an untapped well of it.

Katsuki's face twists in annoyance. "Fuck 2nd place and the rest of the plebs. Should have taken first instead."

Tatsuya hums in agreement. They really should have.

Izuku pouts. "Hey, I got eight place and I'm happy."

"Because you're dumb and don't know how to not settle for what you rightfully deserve," Katsuki snaps, looking pointedly at him. Not that Izuku even catch any of his underlining meaning as he only looks sheepish in answer.

"You did great too, Izuku. I know how hard you study for that," Tatsuya says instead, much to the resentful glare of Katsuki aiming toward the side of his head. Not his fault that Katsuki's clumsy and inefficient way with words get his foot stuck in his mouth often.

His ineptitude is Tatsuya's advantage.

Izuku perks up with a shy and sweet smile. "T-Thank you, Tatchan!" he says. "It's all due to our study sessions. You’d helped a lot!"

Katsuki's miffed scoff can be heard loud and clear, but Tatsuya wisely ignore it to push for his end goal. "Then how about we go out this Saturday to celebrate finishing our finals and making it to the top ten?" he asks with careful deliberateness as he avoids meeting inevitable explosion beside him. He knows what to come after, but Katsuki only goes deathly still and quiet against his provocation.

Izuku's audible gasp is the only thing that can be heard. "Oh," he breathes, eyes widen in surprise. "Um," he scratches his cheek, looking anywhere but at them, "the three of us then?"

Tatsuya shakes his head. "No, just you and me." He pauses. "Will that be a problem?"

Green eyes flash toward him. "N-No, of course not!" he insists, an attractive blush rises to his cheeks. "I would love to join you on Saturday!" He casts a furtive glance at Katsuki. "But, um—"

"We have a track meet this Saturday," Katsuki cuts in, severe and low. The fact that he has been quiet all this time and hasn’t raise his voice since Izuku had joined them is startlingly enough; it's the calm before the storm. Katsuki's ire had been simmering under the surface; Tatsuya doesn't have to see it. He can feel the animosity seeping out in waves.

Izuku scrunches up nose in realization. "Oh, yes I forgot about that. Sorry!"

"It's a practice game against Tohei High, right?" Tatsuya counters, not even considering for a moment to give Katsuki an inch. "Izuku doesn't have to be there. And he's not even an official manager of the club so why do you drag him to these things?"

Katsuki bristles, anger finally getting the better of him. "The little shit begged to join us! I didn't fucking invite his ass," he hisses. "He's such a pest—" his brain catches up to his thoughtless mouth at last and the rest of his sentence died an awful, regretful death.

Izuku flushes, gaze dropping to the floor as his shoulders droop. "I see," he says quietly. "Then it wouldn't be a problem if I go with Tatchan instead."

With only Tatsuya's eyes on him, Katsuki's face goes through a gauntlet self-hatred, guilt and hurt before settling for resentment. "Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want," he snarls, voice twisted in such open derision and disgust that it's a marred of feelings. At himself, Izuku, or Tatsuya, nobody knows, but his anger is palpable enough that Izuku jerks his head up to look at him.

But Katsuki already has his back to them and is making his way out of the quagmire of a situation before anyone can get another word in.

Concern and anxiety etches across Izuku's face as he stares hauntingly at Katsuki's retreating back. It's wrought with worry over Katsuki.

Tatsuya desperately wants to reach out and ease his anxiety, but Izuku made the decision for him. "Kacchan, wait!" he cries out, running after him. He stops momentarily to look back apologetically at Tatsuya. "Sorry, I'll see you this Saturday then!"

And then he's gone. Just like that. After Katsuki.

While Tatsuya is left alone all by himself when there used to be three. He got a date out of Izuku. It's a victory in the most basic definition of it, but it feels hollow. Why is it that Katsuki is the one who ran away, but all Tatsuya sees is defeat in the vacant spaces they had left?

Because, he knows, it's an empty victory. He may have won this battle, but the war isn’t over. Far from it. Izuku has yet to choose his side and Katsuki may have retreated right now, but he hasn't thrown in his towel yet. After all, the best things are always worth the fight.