#… why did my phone try correcting gloating to floating.

[raitrolling]

“my, iSSn’t it quite FFantaSStic when the traSSh decideSS to take itSSelFF out?”

“truly, it could not have happened to a better perSSon!”

=> Had you had known about the trial, you may have considered your own plot to bring down Goh Tat perhaps a little bit overkill.

=> But then again, you never do settle for anything less than excess.

[plusreaderswhenever]

Another Taranza + Reader

It was almost evening on a Friday. You were at home, bored out of your mind. Then, you got a pretty good idea! You found your phone after digging through your messy room for an embarrassingly long time, then you texted your best friend, Taranza, who you had saved as a funny name.

You: hey

Spidersarenerdsallofthem: What is it?

You: wanna have a movie night?

Spidersarenerdsallofthem: What are we watching?

You: *insert your favorite movies*

Spidersarenerdsallofthem: Never heard of those before, are they good?

You: yeah, they’re my favorites!

Spidersarenerdsallofthem: That doesn’t tell me a lot, but sure! I am on my way!

Taranza uses correct spelling and punctuation when he texts. When he TEXTS. What a nerd. You think affectionately, setting up the living room.

Just as you finished, you heard a knock at the door. You speed-walked over there and opened it, finding the spider you were waiting for on the other side. “Welcome!” You exclaimed as you let him in.

He took some time to look around the place, then shrugged and smugly said “Okay place, but my house is way better than this.” He looked up at you with his chest puffed out, knowing you wouldn’t mind him gloating a bit.

Ah, Taranza, ever the pretentious little bowl-cut intellectual. You loved him so much.

Crossing your arms, you smirked down at him. “Sure, but unlike you I have 30 copies of Kung Fu Panda.” Taranza gave you a weird look, but then sighed and muttered, “Fair enough.”

So, you put some bags of popcorn in the microwave. You warned Taranza not to put multiple in at once, but he did it anyway and almost burned the house down. (Friendship at its finest tbh) (Don’t try this at home)

After you somehow made popcorn that wasn’t burned, the two of you sat on the couch and started the movie.

At the end of the movie, you turned to ask him if he liked it, but to your surprise, squeeness, and slight annoyance, you found he had fallen asleep. He was squished against the arm of the couch looking like a cat from a meme. You wondered how long he had been asleep for. How much of that masterpiece of film did he miss? You didn’t want to be rude and wake him up, so you draped a blanket over him, patted his head, and then left for your messy room to sleep because it was nighttime.

The next morning, you went to the living room to check on your friend, who had fallen off the couch but was still asleep. You left him there to rest and went to the kitchen. You made two servings of scrambled eggs and went back to the living room to set Taranza’s plate next to him for when he woke up. He was already awake!

And he looked like he hadn’t slept in 3 days. Gosh that bed-head was awful. Poor guy had eyebags for days and a grumpy, tired expression.

“Wow, you look awful. Think scrambled eggs will fix it?”

“Yeah, sure…” he floated over to you, still wrapped in the blanket you put on him last night, which was now dragging across the floor. Poor baby still looked sleepy. You held out his plate and he took it. “Thanks.” He mumbled.

You ate together on the couch. 

When you were done eating, there was an unnecessary silence. You noticed he was quieter than usual. Usually, he would fill any empty silences by boasting about new magic he learned and stuff like that, but there was an empty silence right then! You thought back to how you found him on the floor looking all worn out and got an idea of what may have happened.

“Did you have a nightmare or something? It’s okay If you don’t wanna talk about it.” He looked up. “No.” “Okay.” You turned away and acted like you didn’t ask him anything.

5 seconds later, he muttered “I had a dream about Queen Sectonia blasting me into the sky with her laser again.” This was a shock! He usually didn’t bring up stuff like this, so you had to listen. “I don’t really know what to say there, but it must suck so I’m here for ya, you hear?” 

He sighed and leaned into you. You wrapped an arm around him. 

“Why do you have so many copies of Kung Fu Panda anyway?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 5 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

The next few weeks were a blur of activity.

When he wasn’t off on patrol or a mission, Mina and Kaminari kept Bakugou busy with dozens of team exercises, all of which needed your analysis. They ran him through any and every scenario that entered their brains, and after the first few rounds, Bakugou seemed to resign himself to their ministrations, his explosions no longer rattling the windows of the training room in displeasure. You’d reviewed footage of the first couple of rounds all together, the trio of heroes jammed into the tiny surveillance room with you, grimy with the ashy residue of Bakugou’s explosions, someone or another’s shirt partly melted off, and all of them looking exhausted but pleased.

Eventually, though, it became difficult for you to spare time in between your meetings with the other agency heroes. Bakugou was not helping matters by kicking the door down in the middle of your meetings and attempting to bodily remove anyone you were in conversation with whenever he wanted an update. You were dedicating almost as much time to breaking up fights and rescheduling appointments as you were to having the actual meetings themselves.

In the interest of maintaining the peace--and health and safety the Miruko agency employees--you wrote a quick script that monitored the training room footage and automatically ran your analysis program any time it keyed in on Bakugou, Mina, and Kaminari together on screen. It forwarded the results to their phones so that Bakugou wouldn’t come stalking in and making any more enemies than he already had.

That seemed to pacify him for a couple of days, and you managed almost twenty blissful meetings uninterrupted, until a Friday morning when no sooner had you flipped the lights on in the surveillance room than Bakugou was ripping the door open after you.

“Enough slacking off, nerd,” he growled, stalking over to loom over you in a vaguely menacing manner. It was early but he looked wide awake, maybe a little mussed like he'd already been training, the same combination of annoyingly handsome and intimidating as always. He was also dressed in some variation of his usual training set, dark fabric clinging to his chest, arms bare. The sight was really way too much for this early in the morning.

His sudden entrance startled you out of a yawn, and you just barely managed to catch your laptop before it slipped through your fingers.

“Good morning?” you hedged, looking up at him in apprehension.

He made an angry, dismissive noise. Before you could dredge up enough energy for a proper eye roll, something small and warm was thrust unceremoniously into your chest, briefly winding you.

You looked down at the item he was attempting to fracture your sternum with and found yourself staring at a white takeout cup.

You looked up at him in confusion but he just glared passively until you looked down again.

“....what is this?” you asked. Your hands raised automatically to take the cup from him.

“Battery acid,” Bakugou said.

You stopped, gaping at him, and he rolled his eyes. “The fuck do you think it is, idiot?” he demanded, gesturing at it forcefully.

You looked down at the cup again, a soft swirl of steam issuing from the opening in the cap. You brought it hesitantly to your face. A cursory sniff revealed very little in the way of poison--not that you had much expertise on the subject--but it did smell suspiciously like the house blend from the nice bakery down the street.

You stared at Bakugou with misgiving. “What is this, actually?”

He made a disbelieving noise. “You spend all this time acting like such a smartass and you don’t even know what a fucking coffee is? The fuck do you think you drink every morning?”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. There was absolutely no way Bakugou Katsuki was bringing you coffee. This had to be some kind of trick.

His threats from a few weeks ago floated to the forefront of your mind. I’m going to win the bet, he’d said, and then you’re in for it. Was this part of "in for it"? What was “it”, exactly, and was it likely that “it” entailed poisoning you in broad daylight in the middle of a hero agency?

The offing you in broad daylight seemed very much his style, but poison seemed a roundabout way to do it. No, if he was going to settle a score with you, it was going to be something much more immediate, and probably obnoxiously flashy.

You brought the cup to your mouth, taking a tentative sip. No acid tang of poison met your tongue, only the rich, buttery taste of the coffee. Though arsenic was said to be flavorless... Damn that was good, though.

Bakugou hovered impatiently, like he was waiting for something, wearing a strangely blank expression. You watched him nervously. Was the poison slow acting or something?

His scarlet gaze locked onto yours, and it suddenly hit you what he must be doing. You almost dropped the coffee. Was he...waiting for a thank you? As in, he was aware of and actively acknowledging that he’d just done something for you?

You decided to test the waters. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

He made an impatient clicking noise. “Fucking took you long enough.”

You frantically schooled your features into a mask that betrayed nothing of your shock. Christ, he was serious. He’d actually brought you a coffee, and he knew it was a nice thing to do? There was no way he was doing this just to do this. He had to want something from you.

“...So, what is it that you’re bribing me for?” you asked.

Bakugou’s face went dark, the tips of his ears strangely pink. “Fuck you. I don’t need to fucking bribe you for shit, with your obvious little crush on me.” He took a threatening step closer, and that familiar scent of gunpowder and caramel filled your nose.

You felt your face heat, your heart jumping into your mouth. Not this shit again.

So, it was absolutely true that you had a lot of trouble detaching your eyes from the width of his biceps, and that your brain ran wild loops every time he was close. But just because you had difficulty looking anywhere else when he was in a room, didn't mean you had a crush on him. He was way too much of a brat and it was exhausting trying to keep up with his weirdly intense personality. Just because he was pretty did not mean you had a thing for him...

“Why are you like this?” you complained, edging away from him as he moved nearer.

He smirked knowingly, taking another step closer. A small, traitorous shiver went up your spine at the thrill of a man so close. To your eternal embarrassment, Bakugou’s keen gaze seemed to catch it, a darker smile curling his mouth.

You opened your mouth to make some kind of excuse--though what you would have come up with was completely beyond you--when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through the door.

The intruder let out a quiet gasp, but that was enough to break the moment. Bakugou whirled on her, red eyes glaring.

“Raccoon, do you ever mind your own fucking business?” he demanded, in the tones of someone interrogating a war criminal.

Mina’s dark eyes widened innocently. “What? How was I supposed to know this is where you’d gone?” she asked. There was note of something gloating in her voice, however, and you got the feeling that she’d been hoping to catch you in some kind of act.

Your face went hotter. Why did everyone think there was a thing with you and Bakugou, including, apparently, Bakugou?

“Anyway, I’m not here for you,” Mina informed him briskly, derailing your wandering train of thought. “I was gonna ask stats girl to give us a hand this morning.”

She turned to you, her smile slightly predatory. “Blasty’s better at sticking close now, so we started focusing team exercises on victim evaluation. Any chance you can play civilian? Denki was for a bit but he started getting too into it.” A grimace flitted over her pretty features. “I almost lost an arm trying to stop Katsuki from blasting him clear into the stratosphere.”

You looked at Bakugou, but an irritated twitch of a blonde eyebrow was all you got by way of an explanation.

Your thoughts turned inward, wondering if this was a good idea. You’d been hoping to use the morning to get a little work done on a prototype of a productionized model, seeing as you had fewer meetings than usual today. And you hadn’t really come prepared for a potential roll around in the dirt and dust of the city simulation training spaces.

As if sensing your hesitation, Mina chirped, “I’ll let you a spare set of my training clothes so yours don’t get dirty! And you would probably be saving Denki’s life here--don’t you owe him one from the Hero Awards?”

Your gaze cut back to Bakugou without any direction from your brain. Bakugou appeared to be making no attempt to look apologetic about the incident at the Awards. He raised an eyebrow in challenge when your look lingered too long for his liking, red eyes narrowing in on you with a sudden heat. “The fuck are you looking at, nerd?”

“He means please,” Mina said, her voice going honeyed and wheedling. “Plus, it will be fun! I promise you I won’t melt any of your body parts off. Just Blasty’s, I swear.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes stayed firmly attached to Bakugou’s face. His mouth twitched in obvious irritation at the implication that he would ever say please, but he made no move to correct Mina, limbs drawn in tight, defensive.

You looked down at the cup in your hand, sighing. He’d brought you a coffee and was doing minimal yelling. He appeared to be making some kind of effort here--though to what end you weren’t sure--and you supposed contributing to his training was ultimately your goal here, anyway. You could reward him for behaving himself as well as he knew how, and work towards your promotion at the same time.

“Fine,” you allowed, watching as Mina startled wiggling in obvious delight. “Let me finish this coffee and then I’ll help out.”

Mina clapped her rosy palms together. “Ahh! This is going to be so fun! You’ll see.”

Mina’s definition of fun was any civilian’s definition of fucking terrifying.

It was one thing to see the three heroes using their powers on screen, or safely tucked away behind a meter of quirk-enforced glass. It was another thing entirely to be in the center of the action, acid sizzling mere inches from your feet.

“You said you wouldn’t melt anything off!” you shouted, stumbling away from Mina.

She’d accused Kaminari of getting too into playing civilian--whatever that meant--but you thought she was way too into playing villain herself. A hard look passed over her pretty features, sending a chill down your spine. With that dark look, those unusual eyes and twisted horns took on a more sinister nuance. She looked almost like an alien, and moved like one too, stalking you through the twisting alleys of the training cityscape.

“Accidents happen,” she cooed, almost happily. She threw up a twisting fistful of acid that hardened into a warped wall in front of you. You skidded wildly on the gravel to avoid it. “Now stay still, you’re supposed to be a hostage.”

A choked little noise escaped you. Honestly, thank god this woman was a hero. You might have trouble sleeping at night if you knew a villain like this was stalking the streets, unchecked and unbound by social mores. You’d probably still have trouble getting to sleep tonight, even after she went back to smiling and bouncing all over the place.

“Actually, maybe Kaminari should take over again,” you managed, stepping back from her. “Not really sure if I’m cut out for this.”

A loud boom drowned out her reply, an office front a few blocks away crumbling under the force of the blast. You gaped at the force that shook the street, even blocks away.

Mina used your distraction to her advantage, grabbing the back of your shirt to haul you towards her. “He’s so obvious, my god--how he got to be number eight is beyond me. Now come over here and do your best to look injured. He needs practice evacuating people instead of coming in blasting.”

She fumbled with something on her belt, pulling out several bright red bands that proclaimed various types of injuries in blocky white font. Then she leaned over you, shoving a band up your arm that announced SEVERE BURNS, and another on your left ankle, proclaiming a DISLOCATION.

She clicked her tongue, looking you over. “Would more be overkill? This is enough that he should at least hesitate before trying to blow me sky high…” She seemed to decide against more, shoving the rest back into her belt. Then she gently pressed you down to the ground at her feet.

“This is the part where I get to monologue,” she said, winking down at you. “Do your best to look helpless and make sure your severe burns thing is showing. I wanna see if he can prioritize rescuing you over my trash talk.”

A soft groan escaped you. Fat chance. Bakugou was the most foul tempered little shit you had ever met, and while it was true that his single-minded focus on winning the bet meant he was tolerant enough to be doing this exercise in the first place, you highly doubted he was going to hesitate if Mina was pushing his buttons as expertly as she usually did.

The chance to find out came soon enough. There was a strangled kind of yelp and a crackle of lightning followed a thunderous boom a few blocks away as Bakugou presumably rendered Kaminari’s perimeter defense useless. Then with another screaming explosion, he was rocketing over the buildings separating you, barrelling straight down on Mina.

Mina threw up another acid shield that hardened into a defensive wall. Bakugou’s first attack cracked it but didn’t manage to penetrate. There was barely a breath between the cracking and another explosion, however, and then the wall exploded inwards in a crackling shower of fizzing pieces. Mina crouched over you, breathing excitedly, “This is the fun part!”

Whatever reply you might have given her was drowned out by an angry series of hissing snaps from Bakugou’s palm as he stalked closer to you. The right half of his shirt had been singed off by lightning, it looked like, and a fine veneer of dust layered in his hair and on patches of his skin. It was just a training simulation, but he looked half-wild, teeth bared and eyes bright over the ash on his face. If he looked nearly this intense in real life situations, it was a wonder that anyone would agree to be evacuated by him at all.

Maybe that’s why he sucked at rescues.

“It’s fucking over, raccoon eyes,” he said. “Hand her over.”

Mina laughed, a delicate sound like bells. “Not another step closer, hero, or I’ll melt a hole straight through her pretty neck.”

You twitched away from her minutely. God she was terrifying.

“Quit it with the fucking villain act, fuckwad, or I’ll blow you all the way to hell,” Bakugou growled.

Mina reached for your arm, pulling you up next to her. “Hmm, then I hope your aim is good. She’s already got one set of severe burns.”

Bakugou’s crimson gaze cut down to your shoulder and the displeased twist to his mouth deepened. “Fucking--of course you got yourself fucking injured. Fucking idiot.”

“Hey,” you protested, shifting against the band. “I’m not actually.”

Mina kicked you. “Moments to live, this one. Unless you can pull a healing quirk out of those glorious buttcheeks of yours.”

You choked on your own spit while Bakugou snarled. “I’m gonna fucking remember this, you strawberry fuck.”

“Maybe. But she won’t,” Mina said, and suddenly there was a rosy palm in front of your face, dripping acid. A drop landed deliberately on the fold of the training pants she’d lent you, searing straight through with a loud hiss. Your heartbeat spiked in violent alarm. You reeled back, but Mina was still crouched over you, and you banged into her collarbone.

In the next second, everything went to shit. Something searing hot blazed just over your shoulder and Mina swore, jerking back from you in the blink of an eye. There was a deafening crack and a rush of burning air over you as Bakugou let loose an explosion at the same time he seized your ankle and pulled you straight underneath where he’d aimed the blast, missing you by inches.

“What the fuck,” you gasped. Bakugou grunted, and yanked harder, pulling you straight to him.

“Quit being such a fucking princess,” he growled, shifting an arm underneath you. You froze, suddenly wishing that his explosion had managed to hit you, searing off every nerve ending.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, sputtering in alarm when he hoisted you against him. You could feel every place your body touched his, and smell the sharp gunpowder and sugar scent of his sweat. He hooked his arm firmly around your waist, glaring down at you with one baleful red eye.

“Fuckstick gave you a dislocated ankle so I would have to fight her off with one fucking arm and carry you with the other,” he bit out, whirling when a stream of acid came hissing your way.

You gripped at his shirt, swearing. “Oh my god. What the hell is she doing, aiming for me? This is a simulation! Also, I can walk.”

He grunted. “You can shut the fuck up is what you can do.”

He executed another agile dodge, pulling you with him. “Now hold on, princess, this is gonna be a rough ride with one arm.”

You didn’t have time to ask him what the hell he was on about. He aimed a shot over your shoulder, the heat simmering and boiling in the air next to your ear, and you heard the impact of Mina hitting the pavement behind you. In the next second, Bakugou tightened his arm around you, and aimed a palm for the ground.

The next thing you were aware of was a strangled screaming sound. It took a second for you to realize the mortifying noise was coming from you. But in your defense, Bakugou had literally blasted the two of you clear above the alleyway. You could see the wreckage from Bakugou’s scuffle with Kaminari, and Mina scrambling to her feet, much smaller and further away that you were comfortable with. Your hands fisted in his shirt and you nearly decapitated him with the force with which you shoved your face into his shoulder.

Even with your eyes closed, you could tell Bakugou hadn’t been kidding about the rough ride. Another blast from his palm jerked you sharply to the right, and he uttered a soft swear.

“Hold tight, nerd,” he said in your ear. There was a series of more explosions and you spun violently in the opposite direction. You went careening over a low roof top to land heavily on the pavement, Bakugou twisting at the last second to take the initial impact to his shoulder, rolling over you to distribute the momentum.

You rolled twice more, eventually stopping with his hard body under yours, your face jammed unpleasantly into his shoulder, his arms bracketing your sides. One of his hands was fisted in the back of your shirt, and a tuft of blonde hair brushed your cheek.

He let out a huff. “If you ever let her put the fucking dislocation band on you again, I’ll melt your damn laptop.”

You pulled back from him, hissing into his face. “If you dare, I'll--”

“The fuck you gonna do, nerd?” he demanded, sitting up. Straight into you.

You gripped his shirt so as not to fall right off of him, widening your knees for balance. Then you froze when you realized he was pressed against you everywhere, hard muscle and the heat of his skin bleeding through your training clothes. He was hot like a furnace, ashy and dust-streaked like one too, and his eyes glowed like banked coals. He gazed back at you, his mouth setting with some kind of a challenge.

Then those red eyes trailed slowly and deliberately down your face, stopping right on your mouth. His fingers tightened in the back of your shirt.

You couldn’t help your sharp inhale. Holy shit, was he...going to kiss you?

You sat frozen, locked in place, neither willing or able to move away, like you were being pulled towards him like some kind of magnet. Was he really going to do it? Was he really going to kiss you? Or, no...were you going to kiss him?

You could, you thought hysterically. That’s what it felt like, watching him breathe shallowly, eyes fixed on your mouth. You could kiss him and he would let you.

Had that been what all the your little crush on me shit had been about? Had he been torturing you not because he’d noted the way your eyes lingered over him, but because it was something he’d wanted to happen? Had that been what all the threats were for, what the crowding you against walls and the frigging coffee had been about? When Mina had said he’d been fixated on you, did she actually mean it less like revenge and more like actual attraction?

You let out a shaky breath. Only one way to find out, you thought wildly, leaning forward with your pulse singing in your veins.

And then an explosion rocked the foundations of the building, throwing you forward against Bakugou’s chest. You gasped, the breath knocked out of you, and whipped around to glare at his free hand in accusation. Bakugou pulled you back, however, a hard looking passing over his face.

It was only seconds before Mina and Kaminari came scrambling out of the maze of training buildings, looking worried. Kaminari was already crackling with static, agitated whips of lighting zipping across his skin. Bakugou's palm started to grow hotter against your back.

His next words threw the situation into sharp clarity.

“That wasn’t from a training room.”

[sparda3g]

My Hero Academia Chapter 209 Review

We have reached to the fifth and final battle. This arc has been…It’s time for Deku and Team A to go against Monoma and Team B along with their special guest, Shinso. It’s basically the rematch from Sports Festival Arc. Will Team A win for total victory or will Team B tie the league? This chapter is the last intermission with a few keynotes that are worth discussing.

Before the Fifth Battle begins, let’s continue to praise Bakugo for not only being the number one popular character, but also winning the battle with his team in mere 5 minutes. It’s worth burying the potential good characters from Team B, let alone a recommended student. Kohei resume the teachers sharing comments segment, which has been on and off with each battle. This time, Aizawa got nothing but praise for Bakugo, with a little mention of others. I don’t know the deal with Jiro’s line about hero and heroine though. Was this being political correct or am I supposed to think heroine is bad? Felt out of place.

The scene with Bakugo and Deku is a little iffy albeit a good atmosphere. Bakugo’s happy hour continues with All Might praising him. What about the other students? Of course, Bakugo was embarrassed and act like All Might has a cold or something. It would have been funny if he meant it. Out comes Deku to share his praise, though he should be thinking how to reclaim number one. Bakugo waste no time to stop him from saying anything. The rivalry thickens.

He gloats that he is going to go beyond and Deku thinks that’s amazing, but that won’t stop him to reach to his level or even surpass it. Their relationship is same as always, only Deku doesn’t coward away and talk back like true rivals. It’s always going to be the loud mouth guy against the calm and collective guy, and that is fine. The only part I wish it wasn’t said is All Might’s line about their friendship, calling it “good childhood friend.” That’s a stretch.

A line like that should have been reserved for another arc as this is technically the first follow-up from where they last left off, which is the beginning of a real friendship. It’s not their first interaction after that change, but it didn’t need to try to shove the thought of great friendship. It doesn’t help that All Might doesn’t know their childhood exactly, so this felt odd. It’s like we skipped a couple of phases and declared it good. It was more believable with Naruto and Sasuke, which probably say something. It was a simple good rival moment, but the hammering-in wasn’t needed.

The biggest surprise of this chapter is Monoma, because he’s actually talking normal, not shouting. Hell, he becomes a philosopher, noting how their failures are part of the experience as they were once inexperienced. They are supporting characters to other’s life as they are the protagonist of their own. Which one of them has a tragic story? The tragedy is forever supporting character. Although he was all wisdom, the girl with the mask (don’t know her name) simply brush it off. Shame.

It goes over the planning on taking out Team A. Basically, they thought Setsuna’s plan isn’t bad to use for this battle, which essentially means that team is another one-man army. If true, well, maybe heroine is cursed. Since this Team B is a five-man team, the strategy can alternate to a different advantage. The main problem is Deku himself. Again, it tells me it’s his show time only. As for others, well, “Go! Fight! Win!”

Shinso speaks up after a long hiatus. He wants to use that rematch clause, but aware that Deku has broken free of his brainwash before. Even so, he is their main target because he’s the protagonist that’s in third place. He’s actually counting on Monoma’s quirk to help him to defeat Deku. Regardless, it’s on Shinso to make it happen. The heroes think Shinso did well in the First Battle, but here, it is hard to say. At least the focus on Shinso resumed, so it’s basically Deku and Shinso’s spotlight. Maybe a little bit of Monoma as well.

The chapter shifts focus on Team A as the supporters are worried about Shinso’s quirk. One of each has the ability to float, melt, and stick respectively, but they are still at disadvantage. That’s fine since Deku is there to use his brain and probably think of something to make them useful. The one concern I had, which channeled through his friends, is whether Deku’s quirk is normal after that random outburst in his room.

There’s nothing out of ordinary so far, which appears to be good news, though the later scene suggest otherwise. For now, Deku believes everything is back to normal; hyped for the battle. It’s too bad for Mineta to feel left out in a frightened squad, now that Deku has complete confidence. This tells me that something will happen to Deku during the battle. I predict a power-up that may be unseen, even to All Might. That or the quirk will go out of control. The Fifth Battle is about to begin, but my attention goes elsewhere. Not hard to lose interest; however, there are two pieces that are worth my attention.

Right as the battle begins, Gran Torino makes a phone call to All Might. Last time we heard about him, All Might had him assigned to learn more about any tie-in to Deku’s situation. The timing is convenient for a possible shocking revelation, but this need some energy to be thrilled. Also, we are due for some answers, even if it only leads to a theory. I just hope it’s a good explanation, theory or not. This piece could lead to something good.

The next piece does tie-in with the rest as the chapter shifts to the prison, where All for One is kept. The guards are still worried that he will break free due to his influence spreading others. If it’s not League of Villains, it’s some follower. I can’t say this means that he will break free in the next arc, but the real key outside of possible foreshadow is his reason for getting excited. He was causing the ruckus because of the thrill of a familiar sensation. He can hear his brother’s voice.

My guess is that Deku’s quirk activation is the cause. I don’t know why, but again, I expect something unusual during the battle. I also don’t know if this is “new” to All for One, like it’s been ages since he last heard his brother. That or it happens whenever One for All’s power is awakened. It certainly creates the “uniqueness” of Deku inheriting the quirk. I hope it doesn’t resort too much into the chosen one territory.

This was a good chapter due to build-up for a possible interesting development. While there was nothing wrong with the rest of the content, outside of questionable timing with that friendship line, it’s another intermission before the battle begins. The interest is all on the aftermath effect of Deku’s “dream.” Battle start!

[lawlight-week]

Lawlight Week Exchange

Title: Cavalier Youth

Name of Creator: @ruindunburnit

Created For: @abillionsecrets-literally

Prompt: L and Light try to make each other jealous by dating other people.

Characters: Light Yagami, L Lawliet

Rating: Teen and up

Warning: references to (in-story) stalking and psychological torture prior, incomplete fic - to be completed/hosted at @ruindunburnit

No. of Words: 5,851

Part 1:

The case had hit a dead end.

The Kira known as Kyosuke Higuchi had been dead for over two days. His notebook had been in their possession for exactly that long. With nothing else to do, the task force was still filling out paperwork at midday when Soichiro Yagami clasped his son’s shoulder. “I know we’re not quite done here,” he said, “but have you thought about going back to To-Oh University?”

L had been working through the glass dessert bowl of gummi bears set in front of him. Footage from Higuchi’s momentary arrest played on mute on his computer. Reviewing the tapes was his newest obsession, but he turned at the sound of the chief’s voice. Light rubbed his left wrist reflexively. “What do you mean, ‘not quite done’?” he asked, gesturing to the paperwork over on the coffee table. “We’re far from done. Kira’s still out there. All we have is his notebook and his mess to clean up.”

“The notebook is almost irrelevant unless it lives up to its reputation,” L drawled.

Matsuda and Aizawa looked up from the sofas. “Come on, Ryuuzaki,” Matsuda groaned, “not this again!”

“I agree,” Aizawa said. “There’s no point to debating this crap again. If we don’t test it, we never find out if it’s the murder weapon, we’re not doing our jobs as investigators and the notebook is just a notebook. If we test it as Ryuuzaki suggests and a criminal dies, we’re no better than Kira, and if no one dies, then Kira gets the best of us. We stand to lose either way, so unless someone finds a loophole to work out if Schrodinger’s Notebook is the murder weapon, let’s drop it and get back to work.”

Both L and the chief glared at him, and yet Aizawa stood his ground. Surviving the arrest and re-joining the task force had made him brazen. Seeing a shinigami may have made him at least a little bit mad. It did, however, save them about ten minutes of an argument they’d already had.

“As I was saying,” Soichiro said to Light, “as long as you have your freedom and we don’t have a solution concerning the notebook, there’s nothing wrong with you re-enrolling and helping out at headquarters part time. Watari and Ryuuzaki both agree there’s no risk to the investigation if you do.”

“Well, as long as Ryuuzaki thinks so,” Light said. Of course, the detective wouldn’t allow a risk no matter where he was, but it didn’t stop the bristle of irritation he felt that his father brought it up. Ever since he’d regained his memories during the arrest, it had taken a little time for his mind to recover and reintegrate. As much as he knew he was Kira now, even gloated inwardly at the brilliance of his gambit, months of constant prodding and taunting had given him a bit of a complex for proving his innocence. He still saw doubts in all their eyes and he couldn’t blame them; he was only under suspicion to begin with because L knew Kira was utilizing a leak to the NPA’s investigation. As much as he knew his father would expect him to be defensive since he’d seen the constant accusations first hand, he didn’t like how it made him feel – like a child rebuked.

“No one will doubt your innocence if you take up your studies again,” L chimed in. “You’ll need a degree if you intend to be a detective for the NPA.”

At least I only missed one semester,” Light said. He could only guess at what they’d said to excuse his absence.

“You could stay at headquarters,” his father pressed, “if it helps you balance your school work and the case.”

Light nodded and looked over to L. He was back to watching the arrest footage, the screen displaying the cockpit of the helicopter. Only Light’s face remained unblurred in the film. “Sure,” Light said, “but only if Ryuuzaki can spare an afternoon for another tennis match. Right?”

“Mm.” The detective wasn’t paying attention, apparently.

“Another tennis match?”

“Yeah, Dad. It was just a friendly game on campus in April and—” he paused, remembering what had also happened that day.

“Yagami-san was very stressed,” L said. “I did mention it to him, but then, he was on strict bedrest before the–”

“You said yourself,” Light said. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of his responsibility for his father’s health. “College can be fun when no one’s trying to kill you. What would you say?”

“Work comes first,” he said, “but I’ll see what I can do. We can’t all afford to take reduced hours on full time pay.”

“Funny, I wasn’t aware you were paying me anything.”

“That’s not true. We set aside a sum under your life insurance. Of course, that money is for your family, but it covers every eventuality.”

For a moment, Light blanched. “You’re lying.”

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that,” L said around another mouthful of gummi bears. “If you want, Watari can show you – it’s under the folder marked ‘Compensation’.”

“Or,” Soichiro said, shuffling the documents in his hands, “if you want, you could move in with Miss Amane. You’re eighteen years old, and your mother and sister believe we had a disagreement about your relationship with her, so it wouldn’t be unexpected. I… spared the details.”

Light looked to L, to the expression on his face. It was entirely too interested. “I couldn’t do that,” Light said. “I know I’ve said it before, but I was only pretending to go along with Misa’s delusion for the sake of Ryuuzaki’s investigation. Her feelings towards me are completely one-sided, but he suggested I get close to her anyway. Now that the suspicions have been dropped, there’s no point to continuing that charade. It would be cruel.”

“Ouch, Light,” Matsuda said. “I’m glad she’s not around to hear that.”

“Matsuda’s right,” L said, with a tone of ‘for once’, “that’s a little cold.” The others were too busy looking at Light to notice the smirk on the detective’s face.

“Those were your orders,” Light said. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the shinigami Rem floating in through an inner wall. Although everyone in the room could see her, acknowledging it didn’t exactly make them feel at ease with the situation. “Continuing any sort of relationship with her would be wrong because, to be honest, she’s a stalker.”

Within moments, the mood of the room had shifted. “What?” Matsuda stood up from the sofa. “Misa-Misa wouldn’t do that.”

Aizawa rolled his eyes. “So a pretty girl throws herself at you. That doesn’t make her a stalker.”

L considered it. “That’s why she claimed to fall in love with you the day she saw you in Aoyama. Stalkers develop intense feelings for their victims extremely fast. If that’s the case, why didn’t you call the police?”

Light exhaled. “When we first met, it was because she followed me home. I thought she was just a lost Goth Lolita until she threatened my life on the porch step, so I invited her in and told my mother and sister that she was my girlfriend. I didn’t want them to worry or feel unsafe, and Misa seemed appeased when I played along.” He paused, taking in the concern on his father’s face, wondering just for a moment if he was actually concerned or doubtful. “I thought if I kept up the act until she left again, I could phone the police later and, if necessary, keep calling whenever she came back. I didn’t know until she was in my room that she knew who my father was, or that she had anything to do with those occult tapes, and by then she was insisting on making me her boyfriend, demanding constant contact, threatening to kill any girl she saw me with…” he shuddered, appropriately. “Naturally, I feared she might be the type to turn on my sister, so I complied and got her to go home again. I thought I could wait until the morning to file for a restraining order…”

L picked a few gummi bears out of the bowl. “Which was when you found out she was an up-and-coming idol, correct?”

“Right. And whether she was physically capable of committing murder, I realised she didn’t have to. Idols like her aren’t allowed to publically have boyfriends, and if I upset her, all she would have to do is hold a conference, tell a few lies about a boyfriend and drop his distinctive name to the press. It wouldn’t matter to a girl like her if it ruined her career, because if I survived the media storm, the NPA would find it in a background check. I’d be lucky if I got away with moving to Sapporo, changing my name and joining a tech company.”

“That’s specific,” Aizawa muttered.

“So,” Light said. “I asked my mother and sister to keep her a secret from Dad, even though her involvement in the tapes could have been a lead to the real Kira. She knew I was interested in the Kira case, and if it was a lie, the last thing I wanted to do was mislead you. I would have broken it up with her, probably received a few odd parcels in the mail and requested a restraining order, but she had to find me at school and mislead the whole case as a result.” He focused his gaze just above L’s right ear, where he watched as Rem fixed him with her yellow eye, listening almost unseen.

“Light,” his father said. “Why didn’t you say anything about this before? We could have taken measures, moved house.”

“And disrupt everything for Mom and Sayu? Besides, it would have only sounded like a convenient excuse to Ryuuzaki. He doesn’t need to investigate his way out of a paper bag – he’d assign blame until it ripped itself.”

“But Light, I thought I taught you what to do in situations like these. I thought I told you to tell me if a stranger followed you home.”

Light sighed, meeting his father’s eyes. “You were already falling ill over the case. You were already stressed because of all of L’s suspects, I alone fit both Kira’s profile and his movements. If I was Ryuuzaki, and I knew my prime suspect had been spontaneously contacted by a dangerous individual who fit the Second Kira’s profile, I wouldn’t have waited on a cover story or for my prime suspect to confess; I would have brought them in for questioning immediately.”

When he looked back at the detective, he was stuffing a dainty handful of gummi bears in his mouth. He stared at him chewing. “I agree,” L finally said. “Light-kun’s involvement with Miss Amane was the piece that was always the most suspicious. If Light-kun were Kira,” if L noticed the way Soichiro stiffened, he ignored it completely, “and he decided to find an assistant, he would have also known he was being followed from class to class. He would also know that, thanks to the sheer number of young women he was seen with, his signature ‘type’ had been noted and the least suspicious option would be to choose a woman who fit the type. Maybe what they say is true about the rules of attraction being unfathomable, and maybe it’s not unusual for an attractive man like Light-kun to simply date an attractive woman like Miss Amane, but…”

“But what, Ryuuzaki?” Light asked. He picked a couple of gummi bears from the bowl; not to eat, just to let them sit in his closed hand.

“But, Light-kun,” he pushed the bowl slightly closer to himself, “there wasn’t any chemistry, was there?”

“Absolutely none.”

“If Light-kun were Kira, he would never allow himself to be saddled with such a dangerous woman, not unless the pros of keeping her around outweighed the cons and, if you don’t mind me asking, you weren’t interested in intercourse with her, were you?”

“Not even given the circumstances,” Light said. “She would be much happier with someone else.”

“As I thought,” L said. “I’m glad you could be honest with me.”

Light set the gummi bears back on the desk and wiped his hand on a tissue from a box by his computer. L’s sweet tooth had its risks, which tended to triple when handcuffs were involved. “Thank you,” he said, “but tell me – if I was still under suspicion of being Kira, would confessing this have confirmed your suspicions, or contradicted them?”

The glass bowl was still half full, but L smiled and picked up the discarded candy. Light hid his revulsion under his current expression – concerned conviction – as L proceeded to eat them. Light’s face felt warmer at the sight, waiting. “I might have reconsidered allowing her association with you to continue,” the detective said. “But it would have been a pity to lose such a lifeline.”

So it didn’t matter after all.

“If that’s how you feel,” his father said, “then you shouldn’t continue to let her think she’s dating you. You should break up with her soon, as quickly – and gently – as possible.”

“I don’t think that’s an option,” L said. “Anything too subtle and she could convince herself it never happened.” He swivelled the chair round to find Watari wheeling in a large white cake with a pile of marzipan strawberries arranged on top. He just caught the panicked expression beginning to cloud the shinigami’s eye, willing her not to act. “If I were Light-kun, I would rip the plaster off immediately.”

“That’ll work!” Aizawa scoffed, “‘I’m breaking up with you, Misa. I just need some space from you – a hundred square feet of it, to be exact, and if I never see your face again, it couldn’t be too soon.’” He huffed again. “The Chief would fit what’s left of him in a matchbox.”

Matsuda sighed. He’d looked so uncomfortable hearing all this talk about Misa, but he knew where his loyalties lay. “Sorry, Light. At least you’ll save money.  Or, you won’t, you’ll be dead, but that won’t be so bad.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Aizawa said. “This isn’t what he had in mind when he said he was willing to give his life for the case. It isn’t noble – it’s pathetic.”

“Both of you,” his father admonished, “think about what you’re saying.”

“I’m just saying,” Matsuda said, “there’s no Misa-Misa in the afterlife, right?”

Light sighed. He already knew what was in ‘the afterlife’, and by the look on Rem’s face, he was going to have it confirmed sooner than he had in mind.

Part 2:

Light had been too distracted by the gaps in his memories, by the question of why L would suspect him so strongly without evidence nor knowledge of committing murder, to notice it before. It had taken until that morning of the 31st, watching from the corner of his eye as the crouching detective replayed the footage from the helicopter cockpit, as he requested for the seventh time in two days permission to prove that the killer notebook did exactly as its rule-page suggested, for Light to realise that the way he felt towards him was a little more strong than ‘admiration’.

He told himself it only took so long because his mind was healing, in its own way. It would often throw out thoughts that would make sense once and then never again, and that was just the process. Having traumatic memories ripped from your brain and replaced months later alongside new traumas could do that to you. Which was why his brain had decided to reframe their months handcuffed to one another in such an absurd light.

Well, we were sleeping in the same bed – still sleeping in the same bed actually. We showered together sometimes, ate together always, fought each other. Accidents happened. It’s not like a conclusion like that was completely impossible.

He tried blaming his hormones at first. He was eighteen – still an adolescent. Superior intellect didn’t make things less intense, didn’t make the thoughts flitting through his head at the sight of the detective less confusing, but then it didn’t ebb once he sat down with a clear head to think it through. Even when he told himself that it was just the psychological effect of L’s brand of investigation that made him think of the detective as ‘desirable’ and himself as dependent on it (just that and his curiosity hanging onto the memory of stolen looks in the shower, accidental touches in bed, wondering with a quickened breath how it would feel to have him so close and have him wanting to be so close in turn) it didn’t change the fact that the detective was the closest thing to compatible he’d ever known in a human being.

In other words, he tried telling himself, it was just the relief of finding someone who could properly challenge him. It was an almost classical dilemma. He imagined numerous superheroes and villains had felt that for each other at one point or another. “It’s for more than the fight between good and evil that Professor X and Magneto stay in touch!” He’d laughed it off when Yamamoto exclaimed it back in high school – if Magneto got all hot and bothered for Professor X, he’d have the sense to take it in hand at the end of the day and not let it get in the way of his work – but that was before he experienced it first-hand.

It wouldn’t matter in the end, he knew, not for much longer. It would fade once the challenge was over and Kira won. His perfect victory was so close he could almost taste the soil they’d be throwing on L’s coffin.

That thought had made him shiver visibly. His father had asked him what was wrong, to which he had simply said that he was a little cold. He continued to work, as though he’d forgotten for the moment that if he wanted to go up to the bedroom and find a sweater, there was nothing to stop him. As though he didn’t actually have a hard time remembering that he was no longer limited by a six foot long chain with a human pivot on one end. This was not the moment to let him out of his sight.

It was worse than he thought. It was one thing to find someone – and a deadly opposition to all his plans at that – who was both compatible on a personal level and attractive in a way he’d never felt for anyone else. It was one thing to want someone so badly he’d found himself about to Gentle search ‘Stockholm syndrome’ before he remembered who would be looking through the browser histories, and on more than five occasions. It was quite another to react so strongly to the thought of that same deadly rival no longer being alive.

He thought he knew the risks going in. He was willing to sacrifice his soul, his sanity, even his family if there was no other option, and although he proceeded with his mission holding onto to all of those pieces so close-fisted, he accepted that accomplishing noble goals came with accepting a certain degree of self-sacrifice. He was ready to give up everything if it meant a better world for everyone else.

So it wasn’t exactly welcome news when he realised where exactly he was willing to draw the line. His conscience? His family? Yes, if it came down to the wire. Any hypothetical threat to his ability to act as Kira is a threat to the good of the world and the many come before the few. The obsessed investigator/warden who just wouldn’t get off his back no matter how little evidence he had? The actual, quantifiable threat to his ability to act as Kira? And give up the chance to fuck the world’s three greatest detectives all at once? No, that would be too much! He would lose his mind first.

He probably had. To think, after all he’d done, after everything he’d sacrificed already, he was still exactly as cowardly as he used to fear he was. That had to be why his priorities were so irrevocably screwed.

Light watched as L’s screen displayed the Kira known as Kyosuke Higuchi’s last moments. He saw the man seize up in the officers’ arms and drop, again, again, again. Light knew, ever since he held the notebook in his hands, his memories fully restored, ever since he caused the Straw Man Kira to drop that he could have turned his back on his duties as the First Kira. If he’d allowed L to take the notebook from him, allowed himself to lose his memories again without writing a single name, he could have stepped out of his responsibility as God in a flash. If he’d just done that and let L’s investigation peter out, he could have eventually returned to his normal life. He could have simply joined the NPA with an impressive ‘worked on the task force against Kira’ note on his resume and the Great Detective L’s representative acting as his reference, risen through the ranks. Knowing his own fate – and he’d learned a thing or two about fate in the last year – he would be back to working with L on another great case. (Maybe as the very head honcho of the NPA, he thought).

And there would be another great case, he countered; whenever Kira paused in his judgements, the crime rate only hesitated a moment before rising right back up again. He initially thought his judgements would only make potential criminals think twice before committing crimes, but in reality it didn’t make them think hard enough and it definitely didn’t eliminate crimes of passion. The crime rate would always lower by 70% while Kira was active, but that margin didn’t completely cover the spontaneous. The criminals that continued in Kira’s world were altogether worse than the ones he’d already judged; their lives meant nothing to them and they simply had nothing left to lose. He used to think it was the failings of the criminal justice system that rendered the threat of state-administered execution useless.

In reality, that was only a portion of the truth; capital punishment was never an effective threat to begin with. Now that Higuchi was gone and Misa still lacked her powers and memories, Light was currently the only Kira left – or would be, once he could get himself access to a notebook. Even if he could, the only thing that kept him in this holy justice business was knowing that, without Kira, the crime rate would be higher. Not ‘present’ – ‘higher’. If he stopped, everything he’d done as Kira would be pointless. If he stopped, every person he’d disposed of for the crime of posing a threat to his spotless record would have been killed for nothing. Since the actions of every dead or dormant Kira stemmed from him, that put the deaths of innocent police officers and detectives, scandalous celebrities, numerous businessmen at Light’s feet alone.

If he stopped what he was doing now, his dream of a crime-free tomorrow would not only have been inefficiently executed, it would remain incomplete and completely useless. Since he didn’t stop to take the easy way out while he could still lose his memories, he would know it for the rest of his life. It wasn’t a fate he was looking forward to.

–

He picked up the thread of this thought later. When he retired to the break room to eat a timely dinner alone at a table laden at one end with slices of Victoria sponge cake slices on bone-white china plates, the question rested on what he was going to do about it all.

It wasn’t all bad news. For the first time in almost a full year, he wasn’t under any formal investigation. He was still at the task force headquarters, this time under his volition, where he could keep an eye on the threats of L’s investigation. Now that the task force had possession of Kira’s ‘killing power’, the investigation had just hit a significant standstill caused by their own lack of conviction to ‘do what it takes’ to capture Kira. Taking into account that they’d lost the one person they had in connection to the original Kira, and this original Kira was apparently taking a break to let the heat die down, the standstill would remain as long as they remained paralysed by the thought of testing the notebook.

Just as Light expected, this was already driving L to boredom, and the detective had exactly two ways of dealing with boredom. If he couldn’t sate it quickly enough, he hit the ground and stayed there. If he didn’t hit the ground, he found his own fun and refused to let go. It was the detective’s worst quality, the one that could halt dangerous investigations or drive them in their own circles.

In other words, re-establishing regular judgements wasn’t at the top of Light’s to-do list. Now that it was no longer part of the plan to dispose of L either, Misa no longer had a use to him. Without her eyes, without even a notebook, she was just a walking reminder of how close L had come to winning, how close he had come to executing the both of them. She was a complete liability, and the sooner he got it squared away, the better.

It wasn’t all bad news, but the situation was a precarious one; L’s restlessness would only last so long, so if there was a time to give him something to latch onto before he found it for himself, this was it.

Light let out a deep breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and looked up to see Matsuda resetting up the coffee machine. He was filling the top with the bitter French coffee that Light knew the detective would only have immediately after waking up and never in the middle of a work day and smiled to himself. He would have thought a man whose only quantifiable job was fetching coffee would remember a little detail like that, but neither did he get up to show him the milder, inexplicably fruitier blend that could have saved his job. As much as his claims of innocence as well as the investigation were preserved by keeping L happy, as much as he actually wanted to keep the detective happy, he’d done nothing but cause the tension to rise all day.

That settled it. L’s very presence in his life was integral to Kira’s success. Whatever he did from now on, it would be in the interest of pursuing his feelings for him. As much as L would destroy Kira at the first opportunity he had, Light knew that he’d only come as far as he had because he’d had a rival in the Great Detective L. It was a fated part of his rise to Godhood – yes, fated, not conditioned, not at all humiliating – that, if it hadn’t been for those intrusive investigative methods, he wouldn’t have grown into his role as Kira quite so well. So, it wasn’t just about his stupid desires: getting rid of the detective now while he had the upper hand would only ruin him. If he wasn’t under his watch, working closely with him just as much as he was working against him, he’d grow complacent and his progress now would mean nothing. He could already see the writing on the wall: the role of Kira uninterrupted, society eventually moulding to his vision, with no one to try to stop him but a task force he could already lead by the nose… he’d make mistakes, ridiculous ones, and for those he would pay with his life.

That didn’t mean he was necessarily going to wait until they were both in the bedroom they still shared and jump him – as things stood, that would be a suicidal move. That wasn’t to say he thought L would be against his attentions if he did; the detective just needed to learn new ways of dealing with his obsession with Light first, outside of calling him Kira and slapping handcuffs on him. The way he showed affection needed a little work.

No, more finesse was required. Unless he was careful now, L could still find him out and destroy him, and that could not be allowed to happen. If he was to remain free and have L too, it was a matter of neutralising him completely. He had to make him care for Light more than he hated Kira.

It would have to be a lot. He still wondered how he managed to rationalise the same dilemma, even wishing in the back of his mind that the man he wanted was simply ‘this man Ryuuzaki’ rather than the world’s three greatest detectives who wanted him dead most of all. He even considered that it would have made these choices easier to make if he was just his father’s boss; he knew he couldn’t help that this was how he was fated to meet the only person he could ever truly stand for more than an hour, but it was still, well, scandalous. (In which case, it was a good thing this was L rather than someone with a face to show the public – at least it couldn’t reach the media).

If Light was still having these thoughts, how was L going to rationalise being with a former suspect on a major investigation? Light didn’t think he had any illusions of integrity to abandon first, but with Watari looking out for him and the task force (including his own father, of course) who would have something to say no matter how many times Light had them wrapped around his little finger, L would have to believe that Light was worth more than losing a little face with his employees.

Matsuda picked up a slice of the cake and one of the forks left on a little tray on the counter, taking the confection back to the coffee table in the main room while he waited for the coffee machine to brew. He only paused to smile at light quickly, apologetically, as if his sweet tooth was something he ought to apologise for as a man of the law. . Light refrained from rolling his eyes, for the sake of being polite; the older man’s hang ups about performing his own masculinity were not his problem.

As to his own problem, it wasn’t quite as big as he was making it out to be. He would be making his calls to To-Oh starting tomorrow morning, beginning the process of getting re-enrolled. From as soon as next week, his time at headquarters would suddenly become limited. Just as Light knew he was used to finally working alongside someone on his own level, he knew L would begin to rue his absences when he only had the task force for company in an idling investigation. Since the suspicion on him was only dropped so recently, since his innocence depended on a circumstance not a one of them had the balls to disprove, Light was about ninety percent certain he’d put a tail on him just to have something to occupy himself with. ‘It’s just to make sure Light-kun isn’t using his new freedom to set up some Kira business – it’s best to be safe than sorry’, as the detective would tell himself.

And that is when Light will use the detective’s one truly fatal flaw: L’s desire for anything positively quadrupled when he thought he might not be able to have it. It was why he took on the most challenging cases. It was why the idea that Light couldn’t be Kira only made him hold on all the harder to the conclusion. And it was why, once Light got back to university, he’d use the oldest play in the book.

Dating other people, right where L’s tail could see him do it, acting intimately, even romantically, with anyone but L himself… it would be just the right incentive to have the detective act on his feelings. And since Kira wasn’t doing anything, the question of his feelings toward his former suspect, his want for him, would consume him above even the investigation. He’d truly regret letting Light scale back his hours. He’d have no choice but to come back to university and watch him personally. Whatever plan he might have to use the notebook against the task force’s wishes would simply have to wait until Light could stop even that.

That left Misa, the Littlest Liability herself. He’d already set up the reasons with the task force why he might want to drop her in the near future – hell, he even had their permission to dump her as soon as he could. It would help, but it wouldn’t be enough. From the moment she’d found him, she’d latched on to a near abusive, definitely dangerous degree; if she wasn’t putting his life at risk with her reckless behaviour, he was risking his life just to clean up her messes. That her very proximity to him was suspicious, it was a waste of his time and effort to say the least. When he thought he could exploit her superior power to kill L, she was just worth keeping around, but now that he’d made his decision to keep him alive…

Obviously, he couldn’t kill her. Rem would never allow it. The shinigami might consider L’s existence in perpetuity to be a threat to Misa’s life, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t extricate himself from her clutches completely either. It would just require something a tad more effective than a harsh break-up: Light wasn’t fool enough to brush off her death threats, and while she knew where he went to university, where he worked, where his family lived, she was a threat to his current plans. If she found out about his plans to seduce L, the detective would definitely wind up dead.

He meant it when he told the task force that Misa would be better off with someone who could return her feelings. But as long as Rem refused to see it that way, he could complain as much as he wanted: he was going to be stuck with her regardless. Which, obviously, was a problem.

Light sighed and lifted his head to see Matsuda heading out with L’s coffee. Setting his empty plate in the sink, he followed behind the rookie with the full pot of sugar cubes he’d forgotten. He knew it was petty, but after months of being accused of murders most foul, after two days of the black cloud of rebuilding his plans and working around L’s restlessness, watching the great detective accuse the rookie of trying to poison him seemed righteous somehow.

[lolitahhhloves]

Flatitude

I’ve gotten home and taken off my silver shoes, still wearing flower-patterned leggings, I put on a shirt with a funny graphic and responded to texts.

“Why, what happened at school?”

I said my change of topic was shattered. I wanted to say I was dismissed and I felt neglected. I was told my best bet is to stick it out with this topic, that I didn’t even know how important the work I was doing really was, that this would be revolutionary, that I was doing so well, that everyone before me had done so well too.

What I wasn’t being told was that I was right, that I was allowed to do what I decided was better, that my opinion was being considered. 

I was pepped into what was hardly a reconciliation. I was told it would all be like this. I was told that I was still who I wanted to be, I just couldn’t see it right. I was told that I was lecturing the professor and that it felt like he was my student. I was told I need to do better and be better. I was told I need to be the one to do the grunt work, but it wasn’t said in any way that would remotely make as much sense. I was told I wasn’t understanding it, I wasn’t, I wasn’t, I wasn’t. I wore a giant “no” on me.

I was not told I would fail, or I would get fired, or I would be punished. I was simply told I was wrong and needed to correct myself: be wrong less, but it stung a whole lot. Why, I cannot exactly tell. This tends to sting a lot lately, no matter how I spin it, the conviction that I am wrong.

People want to help me out, people want to give feedback so I don’t do wrong things again. They offer no punishment and no consequence. They offer what they claim is their whole self and all they can give. What I see is one big “wrong” sticker chasing after my forehead, where it will forever stay and I don’t want it.

“So, it doesn’t feel fair”, said my therapist while the sun was in my eyes through the perfectly wrongly angled blinds of her voluptuous office windows.

“I suppose so”, I said, probably only to continue to explain how “but that’s not even the worst thing”, about whatever was the topic of the conversation.

It doesn’t feel fair. The phrase is so simple and I don’t like it. It makes me feel weak. I read it and I soften. It speaks to me. It doesn’t feel fair. What doesn’t feel fair? What makes me chase after everything being fair? Am I even doing so? Am I chasing after fairness, and if so, fairness for me, or fairness for everyone? And why the word fair? It seems like a word that just slightly misses the meaning. Like it’s almost the right choice, but that still isn’t it. Like it’s...

One intuitive and omnipresent instance of unfairness hits me. The gender. Gender never felt fair. It felt like a confinement I can’t shake off, like something I am to make the most out of, in spite how bad the cards dealt seemed. It has always stung. Gender, from being pushed unto me through pictures in the Bible, before I could even read, gender made me feel lesser, feel inadequate, feel inherently wrong, feel loaded with some ancient, eternal, original sin passed only by the ever fading gendered lineage. I remember being told “simply because that’s so” after asking everyone, over and over again, why women have such an unfair disadvantage of circumstances. I got told I am lucky, that I can create life, that I can experience the joy of life coming together, but I wanted no life inside of me, I wanted to be my own, I wanted freedom and I wanted acknowledgements, and I wanted regard for all I am that is beyond what was then a pair of tits in the making, and what is now a pair of fully formed tits. I wanted out of the horrible trap I was being put in, the trap of only experiencing lineage that I create through bodily harm done unto me by merely the nature itself. I wanted the unnatural, I wanted what felt right, and what felt right was fairness, to either have everyone endure crap or have no one endure it.

It’s as if from the day I was born I was told about the pain of childbirth. It’s as if from the day I was born I wore the “wrong” label on me because I had caused that in someone. It’s as if everything I did “wrong” was corrected for my own sake, but there was thrill and delight, the perverse gloat of correction in it. It was not a loving correction. I was a thrilling correction. It was an “ah, finally your true wrong self comes out, it was apparent from the start”.

They were gentle with me too, though. They’d spend whatever money they could on toys. I guess I needed toys I never used, and I needed more and more of them. They considered me a small sadist, I suppose, begging for an expensive toy, then using it once and never again. They never considered me very simply human. But that’s all I was and all I still am: a human full of human characteristics and gifted with an extra dose of intelligence and a feel for the unusual. What one could name a “mini-sadist”, most would call human nature. My mother used to say we were all small Gods, but we are all small Devils too. We all organize into chaos from pure disorder. We all feed a side to us that thrives. I’ve been feeding the good side in me with very little. I don’t particularly know why.

Why can’t I see all that is good with me and around me? What has made me fixate on needing improvements and solutions? What has made me so sad and so negative, so exhausted, so heart-shattered, what has smashed my very core?

I know when it happened abroad for the first time. I was watching “The Little Princess” in a gorgeous 23rd floor condo of a metropolis. And I just cried like I had cried so many times before that year, and I cried for the last time. Truly, sincerely cried.

I’ve had crying outbursts. I’ve cried in anger. I’ve cried feeling helpless. I’ve cried feeling abandoned. I’ve cried over how much I had left to do. But I’ve never, after that day, cried out of sheer sadness. I just broke. 

I broke similarly once before. It was the worst fall of my life. To this day I don’t know why and I imagine it may have been a mere chemical imbalance, yet so many things feel like they were related.

What I know is that I had just finished middle school and I was 14, possibly already 15 by the time something felt wrong. Earlier that year, several things happened. I had worked really hard on being the valedictorian, but the school system had many straight A-students and so the title would be awarded relying on the popular vote of the teachers, and another student, coming from tougher circumstances, had been selected. It was Christmas-time.

I remember I had loved a blond boy the summer before. I sincerely loved him, to the best of my ability to love a person I scarcely knew beyond the brief talks and some shared activities. I’d listen to romantic songs and daydream him to poetry. The valedictorian title carried with it an award group summer vacation for valedictorians from each school in the city. I daydreamed kissing him by the coast. The trip never got announced to me. I remember texting the boy and asking if he had gotten an invite but he hadn’t either, and I remember being thrilled over the messages I would get from him. They were... faintly caring. To say the least, he didn’t hate me.

The Christmas came and the title wasn’t mine and I never got to be on a billboard downtown, with the other 10-20 top students in town. And I just crashed. Nothing felt fair. Nothing felt worth it. I felt numb. I kept going through the motions without really realizing I may had needed to process my thoughts and feelings. Instead, I created a PowerPoint about the nature of Christmas Trees and their cultural symbolism. Then slept the entire break.

The year started and I was being nudged. The teachers wanted to know how I was doing. Some wanted to tell me I was wronged, and some wanted to warn me that I was wrong to think I had deserved that title more than the other student. I just floated above the halls, stayed in classrooms on lunch breaks, looked at my phone, listened to music, stared out through the windows, bought myself those bay-blade toys because I could, took short walks to further stores and took detours walking home. I masturbated to a whole lot of porn. I won awards again, better than before. High school entrance came up and I felt exhausted. I don’t know if that was the first time I had truly felt exhausted or not. What I do know is that it may have been the first time I felt fairly helpless over an exam. I did okay. I did not try to enroll in any particularly prestigious school, just the local, standard program I had wanted. And a part of me lost self-respect not trying. I wanted to go to prom with friends, and so I didn’t take an entrance exam for a talent school in the next city over. 

Once high school started the best students, those from the big billboard downtown had nearly all left the town. I was stuck competing with kids who were in no way my competition, but there they were, competing just the same, and doing better. I wore a tracksuit and a pretty pair of sneakers. I don’t know what I wanted, but I was really, really sad. And I had the internet. The internet let me talk to people who weren’t trapped in a small town like I was, and they were addicting. I could talk to them in different languages, I could talk to them whether they be in the next town over or half a globe away. On the internet, I was powerful. On the internet, I could choose the people who would not make me feel as wrong as people in my town had. On the internet, I could learn things I couldn’t find in books. On the internet, in the end, I found how to leave.

I don’t know what to make out of this, aside the fact that my other crack and crash outburst of tears, the very first one, was to reading Oscar Wilde’s “Happy Prince”. I sat and read it in English and I understood it. And I cried how I had never cried until then.

That’s how I cried to “The Little Princess” and thought about missing my dad.

That’s how I have not cried ever since. Those are the kinds of tears I miss: pure, raw, expressive, and liberating. Those tears would make me feel a little bit more human tonight. 

Everything feels flat and I would so like to care. But I don’t. About the criticism, about the topic, about the pay, about the length of the program, about the lack or the abundance of care, about being alone, about the prospects of losing a person I felt connected to, about things to do and about the things I have not done, about the trips I can take and about the things I can see. I just see “wrong” and I am exhausted.