#I’m just so tired of this and other fucking stupid/smart/retarded universe and the others and lackthereof and etc!!!!! I hate it so fucking

[hightress]

The Grumpy Cat And The Barista

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

AO3 Link

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Pairing: Kiribaku, Bakushima

Characters: Kirishima, Bakugou, Todoroki, Jirou 

Additional Tags:  Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, writer Bakugou, Barista Kirishima Eijirou, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Crack, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Cat Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia)                    

Chapters: 1/1

Word count: 5,796

Summary: In which Bakugou needs a place to write and learns that a Kitty Café is definitely not the best place to do it.

OK, so here's the deal. Bakugou didn't enjoy writing - not the act of it anyway. It took too much time and the rewards were too little to satisfy him. His back ached after a day in front of his computer and his eyes stung because of the screen. He hated it. If he could, he would've thrown the laptop out the window without any regrets. The only reason why he didn't was that, despite all pain and wasted time, it helped him.

He's never been a patient person and he just couldn't suffer to see or hear certain things sometimes and do nothing. It was so easy to get angry just by walking down the street. Just having someone bump into him and say nothing or hearing the screams of the still hangover students that lived close to him was more than enough to make him want to act, either by shouting back at them or punching something, even someone's face. And, apparently, that wasn't a normal reaction to have.

It wasn't Bakugou's problem that most people were too terrified to have an opinion.

So, if he couldn't react in real life as he wanted because, c'mon, being arrested for something as petty as a shouting contest or light punch was the furthest thing he needed in his life, he was going to do it somewhere else. In a place that he could control and punish people that annoyed him as he liked.

Of course, writing hadn't been his first choice. Or his tenth one. But it worked better than any sport ever could.

The paper listened and never judged. Never tried to fix him or nagged him to be a better person. Just took his anger, his harsh words and turned them into something.

"Die!" shouted Bakugou, using the pen in his hand like some sort of knife, leaving messy marks all over paper as he finished another paragraph. Alternating the computer with the old-school approach was a new thing, but it worked nevertheless.

A sigh could be heard from the other side of the room.

"Did you just kill me? Again?" asked Todoroki, voice full of exasperation. He was lying in his bed, messy hair coloring his light blue sheets and eyes closed. Exhausted was the best way to describe him at that moment, clearly stated by the dark circles under his eyes. Having an exam at 7 in the morning was tough and a small break after was understandable, but to someone like Bakugou, it felt like a complete waste of time.

Bakugou's only answer had been a snort. He's spent enough months with Todoroki since they've both moved in the flat at the beginning of the year to understand him properly and hate his guts.

(Not that it would've been difficult to get Bakugou to hate something.)

Whenever he looked at Todoroki, all he could think about was 'wasted potential'. Extremely smart, with enough family connections to make the university's attempts of getting the students decent placements seem like a joke, he had everything he needed to be the best in their year. He was close to the top, but for Bakugou the word 'close' ruined everything. Why be 'good' or 'decent' when you can be the best? The second place wasn't good enough. And would never be for Bakugou.

Bakugou could only dream about such connections and, for an aspiring lawyer, they were everything.

The saddest part was that Todoroki had so much more than that. Bakugou had seen him in action - defending a case, building it up. He was good. More than that, he was impressive, but only when he was serious about it.

So, yeah, Bakugou hated him and, since he couldn't punch Todoroki, killing him was a great alternative. After all, even his breathing pattern annoyed Bakugou sometimes - he wrote about it. And took it to the extreme.

"It's the third time in four chapters, isn't it? If you ever hope to publish that, don't you think your readers will complain?" asked Todoroki, not impressed by the act itself. He got used to Bakugou's antics after the first two months. Getting murdered in a fictional story wasn't that fascinating.

Bakugou answered immediately in the only way he knew how to communicate - loudly.

"They'd rather thank me for getting rid of your stupid ass," he shouted. "Now shut up, you piece of shit. I need to focus on this."

Todoroki opened one eye to look at him.

"Do you even want it to be published? Is there some action besides the random killing?" Both were legit questions. And Bakugou had no idea how to answer either of them.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Say one more word and I'll make it four times. Don't test me," he threatened, fingers tightly clenched around the pen, ready to keep his word.

Todoroki didn't say anything after that, just closed his eyes and rolled over, his back facing Bakugou.

For a good full minute, Bakugou really believed he fell asleep.

"You know," he suddenly spoke again, startling Bakugou and breaking the illusion, not moving an inch. "If you really  want to write, maybe you can do it in a place where it'll be easier for you to concentrate."

Which could've translated as 'I want to sleep and you're screaming too much'. Or not. It didn't matter.

Despite what a huge part of him wanted - which was to shout some more at Todoroki or even throw some ink in his face - Bakugou considered his proposal. It didn't sound that bad.

"Like where?"

He didn't know what he expected, but having Todoroki deep in thought for a period of time too long to be socially acceptable only to blurt out a weak  "A park...?" definitely wasn't it.

"A park?" repeated Bakugou. "Are you dumb, assface?" When Todoroki said nothing in his defence, Bakugou explained "There are hundreds of kids in there. Hundreds of loud, bitchy little shits. Fuck no, I'm not going there."

Why did he even try to ask someone like Todoroki in the first place? His social skills were disastrous and that, coming from Bakugou, meant something. He still found himself asking further.

"Any other ideas, genius?"

After another short pause, Todoroki answered, even though his confidence in his own words was just as absent as the previous time.

"Maybe... Maybe a coffee shop?" he said, clearly aware of how unhelpful the suggestion was for someone like Bakugou. For any other person, a place like that might've worked, but surrounding Bakugou with gossiping teenagers and filling him with caffeine? Bad combination.

"Like every single loser? Classic. You're so fucking useless," said Bakugou as he sat up. He grabbed all his papers and his laptop, shoving them all a bit too aggressively in a backpack.

None of them doubted the state of the papers inside - horribly folded and almost ripped in two or three places. Another thing that made the bag heavier than necessary was a law textbook that Bakugou intended to finish by the end of the week. End of exams be damned, he refused to fall behind. That way, if he didn't feel like writing, he was sure as hell not going to waste time like a fucking wimp.

Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, he looked one last time at Todoroki's back and shouted for good measure, just to be an asshole.

"Enjoy your damn nap!"

He closed the door with a loud 'bang' and left the building one minute after that, still undecided about where he was headed. He contemplated going to the library - it would've been quieter at least - but, at the same time, since it was part of the university, he knew the chances of meeting someone that knew him were pretty high. And he definitely didn't feel like dealing with any of them, especially when he was working on something so personal.

Todoroki finding out had been an accident, to begin with. He didn't want to share his written work with anyone. It was his business, ok? If he felt like murdering people, it was his fucking decision. The last thing he wanted was some moron's opinion about how he should be doing things.

So, yeah, he had no idea where to go, but that's what Google Maps was for, right? He'd only need to type 'café' once and decide on one close enough.

(Todoroki's idea still sucked. But Bakugou couldn't think of anything more decent and he didn't have time to waste on something so stupid.)

The maps would've been a wonderful option. Incredible even. Sadly, because Bakugou had to be Bakugou, he forgot to charge his phone the day before.

"Of-fucking-course," he muttered under his breath shoving the phone in one of his pockets. He had no other choice but to walk around like a freaking tourist hoping to find something where he could work in peace.

Surprisingly enough, after fifteen minutes of searching like a retard, all he managed to find was a bakery (which was a huge no) and a place that only sold bagels. Again, a huge no.

It took him ten more minutes to reach a building that had 'Café' written in huge, bold letters above the door and when he saw it, he didn't bother to read what was placed before or after any other shit. He was thirsty and annoyed and tired and even if he hadn't actually wanted a drink before, he sure as hell wanted one then.

The second he stepped inside, he realized he made a mistake.

There was purple - everywhere. Purple cushions, purple pillows, purple uniforms, purple toys. Yes, fucking toys, for cats because - guess what - there were cats all over the damn place.

Did Bakugou mention that he couldn't stand cats? They were whiny and needy and lame and he couldn't care less. How people managed to live with them and not murder them in the middle of the goddamn night was a fucking miracle.

He was already turning around, ready to leave the place and go write on the bus or some other shit like that, when one of the people working there had the audacity to talk to him. And Bukugou, being his usual self, didn't listen to any word the person said. However, as soon as the other finished the sentence or question or whatever, because Bakugou had been raised to be polite enough, he moved his head to the side to shout his usual 'Fuck off' before exiting the building, only to swallow his words when his eyes met the person that addressed him.

And what left his mouth had been a non-contained shout of "What the hell is that?", followed by an awkward silence.

Everyone stared at him, unmoving. Funny how the entire atmosphere of the shop changed in a millisecond because of something he did. He didn't give a fuck.

The person that got that reaction out of him didn't frown, didn't complain about the volume or anything like that. He just sat next to the desk at the entrance, looking at Bakugou with confusion.

"That wasn't very specific, man." said the guy, tilting his head to the side. Not that Bakugou followed the movement, still too intrigued (and disgusted) by the top of the other's head, unable to tear his eyes away from the weird shape found there.

"Do you call that hair?" asked Bakugou, his volume high and words unfiltered. But how could he do anything but that when that haircut (did he really pay for that shit?) was such a disgrace to human nature?

It was red, but not any kind of red, that type that literally jumped in your face and attacked you with the intensity of the colour. The worst part, however, was its entire form. Hair wasn't supposed to work like that - spikes of different sizes defying gravity and looking like an absolute mistake.

Why were they all staring at him like he just killed Jesus when his question was so fucking valid? They couldn't have not thought about it at least once in their sorry lives. If they thought he was rude, they were either used to lying to themselves or plain stupid.

Judging from the place they were at, either working or fucking around, it could've been both.

Only one person in the entire damn shop didn't seem to take it to heart. The single damn guy that had the right to actually feel attacked.

"Yeah. Isn't it cool?" he asked, smiling brightly and genuinely, as of Bakugou had just complimented, not only his hair, but every single thing about him. His eyes (also red because of course they had to be) were sparkling, for fuck's sake.

How the hell was Bakugou supposed to react to this? He couldn't scream 'I just insulted you, moron. Why the fuck are you so happy about it?'. Actually, he could, but he didn't want or need to make conversation or some shit like that.

So he settled for the better alternative. A growled, "It looks like something died in there."

Not even that kind of comment wiped the smile from the bastard's face. "Never thought of it that way. But it's a good thing, right?" It was unnerving.

Definitely not, thought Bakugou, gritting his teeth.

Was the guy on drugs? Before Bakugou could think this through, the other's grin only widened, if that was even possible. He scanned Bakugou from head to toe and exclaimed "Love your shirt, man. Is it from Forbidden Planet?"

Bakugou instinctively looked down at himself. To be honest, he had forgotten what he had thrown on himself in the morning. It was a normal occurrence - it was black and loose, that's all he needed to know. There was a skull on the front, contrasting heavily with the dark background. It was sick. Bakugou loved it, but that didn't explain this stranger's enthusiasm regarding it. Or what that Forbidden Planet place was.

He hated not understanding things.

"Huh?" he asked, or, more exactly, emitted with confusion. The sound was loud enough to make the person next to him cringe at the volume, but, somehow, it got covered completely by another voice, this time from one of the losers working there.

"Kirishima!" shouted a girl, her headphones hanging around her neck. The guy turned towards her instantly. "Are you going to do your job or not?"

He didn't grimace, didn't show any specific remorse. Just stayed as a sunny beam of bullshit.

"Yeah, sorry. In a second," the guy promised and looked at Bakugou once again. "It's an awesome shop two streets away from here. Definitely worth checking out," he explained before quickly adding: "By the way, I'm supposed to ask - do you have a reservation?"

"Was I supposed to?" Reservations were stupid and why the hell would he even make one? He didn't intend to stay anyway, not with all that purple and the constant meowing of hundreds (more like fifteen, but who was he to count) of cats.

Kirishima - the red tornado guy of sunshine - didn't seem to get the memo. "It's kind of a rule. Don't worry though, we have enough space at the moment. Just wait for a second and I'll fetch you a table."

"I don't need a damn table," mumbled Bakugou, his words muffled by the cries of three or four cats that decided to open their goddamn mouths in that exact same moment. It wasn't surprising at all that Kirishima didn't hear anything from him with all that noise.

He simply grabbed Bakugou's elbow (who the hell did that to a stranger, what the fuck?) as gently as possible, while still having a pretty strong hold on him and manoeuvring him around the café as if he was a bag of chips. Which, he, obviously, wasn't. It wasn't that big of a shop anyway and, in the 20-30 seconds it took them to move around it, Bakugou realized a couple things.

First of all, the guy needed to fucking let go of him or he was going to end up dead for real, not just on paper. Or cremated or some other shit. Second of all, having 'enough space' was a freaking lie. They barely had a chair to spare and the ones that were available had at least one cat acting like a complete brat on top of them. There was even a table where a guy had been forced to sit on the stairs next to his friends in order to let one of those furred fuckers to keep his seat. Such a wimp. If he allowed an animal to order him around and control his life, he definitely deserved to be called a loser.

And, lastly, why did these people have a perfectly fine table for two in the far corner of the shop unoccupied when it was so clear that they were overcrowded? Because that's exactly where Kirishima took him.

"Is this ok with you, man?" he had asked as he positioned Bakugou right in front of the table, his hands tapping twice his shoulders before letting him go.

Bakugou, uncharacteristically, didn't comment on the gesture, too confused about being moved around and touched so familiarly to function as he normally would - with a lot of trashing around and screams and murder promises. Not that he couldn't get to that later, as soon as he snapped out of it.

"Whatever," he said instead, moving his head to the side, not wanting to stare at Kirishima more than necessary. He wanted him gone already. Having him this close made Bakugou feel like he was slightly suffocating.

And some God above must've pitied him enough to answer his wish.

"I'll take that as a yes then," said Kirishima and smiled. "Sadly, I have to go and help some other customers, but I'll be back to you shortly. Order anything you want, I promise they are all good."

After that, he left, and Bakugou found himself standing next to the table he's been led to, no knowing how to react. But it would've been weird to chose that moment to get out of that place, especially after his interaction with Kirishima. He knew that. That's why he decided to stay, nothing more, nothing less. As he lowered himself to his seat, he noted the softness of the pillow stuck to the chair. It might've been coloured like a glowing unicorn skin, but he couldn't really deny its comfiness.

The menu was placed neatly in the centre of the table and, from the looks of it, was going to stay there for the rest of the day. Call him picky or whatever, but he wasn't going to touch something that had pink lettering, badly pixelated as well, on top of a violet pattern of a cat in heat. (It had hearts instead of eyes, sue him for having an opinion. It was a horrifying image anyway.)

He took his time to lay down his things, taking in the whole atmosphere of the shop. After all, if he wanted to work there, he needed to decide if it was possible to focus with all of the continuous noise and movement involved. It wasn't as bad as he initially thought, the loudest thing to be heard were the voices of the employers and even they didn't give Bakugou an excuse to get lost. The only apparent problem remained the cats - the most volatile subject included in the equation. He didn't know what to expect, if any of them scratched or if they were going to leave hair all over his things if he turned around for merely a second. At that hour, most of them seemed to be asleep, only two or three walking around the shop with their tails high in the air like some self-declared divas. Only one cared for human touch, the others running away before they were even approached.

Bakugou didn't blame them. He would've done the same after he made them bleed if he had sharp pointy things at the end of his fingers and someone had nothing better to do than to annoy him.

Even after he had the whole table turned into his own personal desk, he didn't start, just kept looking around, not sure himself what for. All he knew was that his eyes kept looking back at the strange guy from before, either by accident or attracted by the energy in his voice.

He was entertaining to watch, to say at least. And his hair was starting to feel less and less like the worst part. As soon as he noticed the uniform, he flinched, unsure how he had missed it before. One would think that by that point Bakugou might've gotten used to the colours, but that definitely wasn't the case when he felt like tearing his own eyes out just by glancing twice at the pink and violet paw patterns placed all over their aprons. The silver glitter didn't make it any better. All of that - including the mandatory fake cat ears that everyone working there seemed to wear - had the potential to work on a girl. It was girly, it made sense, and it could be seen clearly in the shop since most of the employers were of the opposite sex, but on a male like that Kirishima? He didn't get it.

It seemed like a bad marketing strategy.

Bakugou could see muscles under that shirt, decent ones nevertheless. Why have something like that hidden just because their stupid uniform demanded it?

As soon as he remarked this, looking away became even more difficult. He had to force himself to move his attention back to his work and, even when he did, it took him a few minutes to focus properly. After that, it was easy to lose himself in his words, paragraph after paragraph lying there one after the other, bloody and way too descriptive for a simple therapeutic piece of writing.

He had little over a page finished by the time he got interrupted and a much calmer mind to deal with the rest of the world.

"Hey," said Kirishima, appearing from his left, a small notebook in his hands. Once again, too casual, too close, too soon. "Sorry, that took a while. What would you like me to bring you?"

Bakugou stared at his face, silent for a few moments, still trapped somewhere between his the place built by his words and where his body was actually placed. It was a weird feeling, not bad exactly, just difficult to describe. When he managed to answer, Kirishima was already looking at him with something close to concern in those red eyes of his.

"I don't care," he said and, despite the harsh wording, his tone was soft, as if he breathed the words out, not said them.

It was unusual, wasn't it? To answer something like that. Kirishima didn't seem to mind this either.

"Oh. Do you need more time or do you want me to recommend something?"

How could he be so patient?

"I'm not sure I trust your taste," replied Bakugou, not intending to be rude, but stating something he felt the need to let out.

"Don't worry, dude. I've got you," said Kirishima cheerily, closing the notebook and throwing it in one of his back pockets. "I'm assuming you're not into the whole extra-cream-extra-sweet thing, so maybe you'd like Jirou's orange espresso. Or her chocolate ones. Or the ones with a bit of caramel in the mix. Your call."

Who the fuck is Jirou?  

"They all sound terrible. What do you make? Or are you here just as some sort of mascot?"

"I make the tea. The manager doesn't really let me try more than that after last week's accident."

Did he even want to know about the incident? Probably not. Tea definitely didn't sound too bad compared to the other drinks.

"If I order one would you let me be?" he asked, wanting to be left alone. He had things to do and didn't have the time to chat with strangers.

And Kirishima... He... He had the fucking audacity to wink at him.

"We'll see."

Why wasn't Kirishima acting like a stranger towards him? It was weird for so many reasons. All those jokes and interest were happening too suddenly and Bakugou wasn't able to catch up with all of it. Was he acting like this with all customers or did it happen to be Bakugou's (un)lucky day?

Bakugou followed him with his eyes for a while, craving the answer to this question. Kirishima did talk a lot and whenever he approached a table, his smile grew wider and, in the back of his mind, Bakugou kind of wanted to touch his face and see if it was real or not. It looked real and, when Kirishima did it in front of him, it kind of felt real as well.

In all honesty, if Bakugou could admit something out loud, it was that he was selfish enough to want the smiles Kirishima gave him to be different than the rest. All those people, they had friends and family smiling at them like that every day. Bakugou didn't. He never thought he would want it, but he did. He really did.

People were scared of him or, at best, their smiles were mostly teasing, born out of boredom. He didn't fucking need teasing or anything as shallow as that. He wanted something truthful. Something real.

Bakugou didn't touch the paper. Didn't write a damn word. Just kept looking from the corner he was seated in, eyes widening whenever he saw Kirishima glance his way. It wasn't as rare as he would've expected but definitely not as much as his ego needed.

Sadly, it wasn't just Bakugou who craved his attention. Two cats were playing between his legs, purring and placing their tiny paws on his dark jeans, doing everything in their power to make Kirishima give them a few seconds of his time. He did it with the widest grin on his face, stopping mid-sentence during his conversation with a customer, and picked them up both, placing their cute fluffy heads on his chest as his arms carried them without a problem.

The contrast between the solid muscle and the gentleness of the gesture made Bakugou want to bark at the scene.

He wasn't jealous of a cat. He wasn't. That would've been idiotic.

"So..." started a feminine voice, interrupting his line of thought. "Do you want the tea now or should I come back later, once you're done trying to skin Kirishima alive with your eyes?"

It was the girl from before, the one with the short pixie-cut and headphones. Her tone had been a mix between monotonous and amused, her mouth forced into a straight line and her eyes full of mischief. Bakugou didn't know her and definitely didn't want to, but he sure as hell wasn't going to stay silent at her accusation.

"What's your problem?"

"I've been standing here for a full minute trying to figure out how to serve the tea Kirishima made for you, but you were too busy making lovey-dovey eyes at him to notice." Before he could explode, she kept talking. "Do you want it or not."

"Of course I do." he raged, taking the cup out of her hands. Which might've not been the most polite or normal move, he could give her that, but it was too late to excuse his sudden action. "And I never make that lovey-dovey shit. What the hell?"

Her nose made one of those movements - getting all wrinkly on one side in a judgemental way - and she stared at him flatly as she spoke again.

"You're quite the poet, aren't you?"

"And you're quite a bitch."

(The comeback of the century, wasn't it?)

She rolled her eyes so hard it must've hurt. "I have no idea why I expected Kirishima to be attracted to someone normal this time," she said to no-one. She threw him another short glance. "Definitely not the case."

That was the moment in which Bakugou would've probably cracked her skull open. Fictionally, obviously, he wasn't a barbarian. He didn't, however, because he kept replaying the first half of her words.

It must've shown on his face because she snorted and said: "You can't possibly be that blind."

Despite the insult, he couldn't really comment on it. Not when his brain was suddenly working like a maniac, trying to see what kind of gestures could've given the girl that impression.

Had it been the touching or the familiarity in his way of talking? Or maybe the wink, that one definitely seemed out of place, considering the fact that they've just met. It was difficult to tell.

"So, jerkface," the girl addressed him again. "Do you want his number or not?"

He could've said no without missing a single beat. His hesitation to do so was speaking volumes. He wasn't thinking about any storyline or character or action-packed scene full of blood and gore, no. Instead, he kept looking less and less discretely at Kirishima, his eyes tracing those impressive arms and back that simply seemed to jump out of that stupid shirt, only to go back to his contagious smile. If it hadn't been to that smile, Bakugou was sure he would've been outside long before the girl opened her mouth. Or he would've scoffed and mumbled a short 'fuck no', before ignoring her. But, as the situation stood, he couldn't say that he was against the idea.

Bakugou hadn't been honest with himself earlier when he insisted on being left alone. The guy intrigued him. His brightness - God, it sounded so idiotic to call it that - was something he couldn't comprehend. He wanted to know more. Wanted to understand how it worked and how he could smile so much and be so open, even to people he did not know.

The girl gave him all the time in the world to make up his mind, not rushing him in the slightest. Secretly, he was thankful for that.

He moved his head to the side, seeing another one of those furry creatures blinking repeatedly as if trying hard not accommodate their eyes to the light. Served them right for sleeping so much. Brats.

As if possessed by something, Bakugou found himself almost smiling at the image. Somehow, the stillness of the cat calmed him. It was weird, he knew.

It's just a number, anyway. It's not like I have to call the guy.  

(Yeah, he probably wouldn't call. But messaging was another thing entirely.)

He raised his chin towards the girl and, with a new and probably strangely placed determination, he said: "Give it to me."

She did. After a few threats, of course, but who was Bakugou to listen when he had so many other things to focus on? (Apparently, she also mentioned some sort of entrance fee that Kirishima forgot to tell him about or ask for, which was outrageous. Bakugou thought he heard the price and he really wished he hadn't. Thank fuck he had only ordered some pitiful tea. His wallet wouldn't have been able to cover anything else.)

The girl left his table soon after that. Bakugou didn't hesitate. He drank the tea as if it was a shot of tequila, not a mix of hot water and leaves, and threw the amount of money he owed Kirishima on the table, as he sat up. Didn't wait for Kirishima to approach him again and collected his things in silence.

He noticed those red eyes follow his movements and he stared right back at him, this time without any hesitation. His steps were loud and firmly placed on the ground as he moved towards Kirishima. When he got close enough, he stopped for a second, barely enough to say a sentence.

"You'd better check your phone, asshole." No smirk was added at the end of it. No smile or anything else. He said it bluntly, in the most serious way he could muster.

Because if he was going to do this, it had to be a serious matter. He didn't do flings. He didn't do relationships either and, if it, by any chance, was going to end up in that direction, it had to start the right way.

Kirishima's face stayed blank for a few moments, probably taken aback by Bakugou's sudden change of attitude. Or by how cryptic his words were when thrown in his face like that. It didn't take long, though, and his face erupted in one of the most blinding smiles Bakugou had ever seen. So fucking bright it could've probably made any lamp feel incredibly useless.

"Sure thing, man," he said, his voice rich and full of life. He patted Bakugou on the shoulder twice, the strength of his arm easy to remark without it being too much for Bakugou to handle. He quite liked having that kind of weight on his, pressed on his skin.

Their eyes stayed connected for a bit longer, a few seconds at most, before both of them moved away, Kirishima turning his body halfway towards the customers he's been talking to before Bakugou interrupted him, and Bakugou continuing his walk out the door.

Nothing stopped him this time.

He glanced at the door before he let go of it, seeing Kirishima's vibrant hair colour even though the dirty mirror, the sound of it closing being louder than he anticipated.

He stayed there for a bit, right in front of the coffee shop, blocking the entrance, his phone still in his hand, the contact list visible to anyone who passed by him. And there, right in the middle of the pace, two centimeters away from his thumb, stood Kirishima's name.

Well, not actually his name, but a nickname Bakugou saw fit. 'Shitty hair' - what a horrible nickname. But Bakugou liked it.

Despite everything that happened that day, the stupid nickname did it. It made him smile. Properly. So brutally genuine it should've made him sick.

As he moved his thumb across the screen, he realized something. He didn't regret going inside that coffee shop. At all. Not even 0.001% of him.

He tossed the phone back in his pocket and started to use his feet. The laptop on his back was heavy enough to be a constant reminder of the reason why he left the house, but Bakugou didn't feel like writing anymore.

He wasn't in the mood to murder anyone at that moment. Just wanted to go home, throw himself on the bed and shout at Todoroki to get the fuck out of his room so he could text Kirishima without any distractions.

He liked this plan. He really, really liked this plan

[dass-ist-egal]

there are many reasons why I hate my life.

Today I talked to my mother and we had a nice conversation, she was tired and I understand that, she would ask me when was I going to finish and I guess that it was ok, it still was a nice conversation.

we didn’t insult eachother or anything like that.

after that my idiotic grandfather began to talk to me and I decided to talk to him.

I talked to him about something that he had told me, he told me that he was going to give me something on december and I know that we are far from december but I just wanted him to tell me that he was going to give it to me.

I’ve tried to get that answer many times but he does NOTHING but to get upset and act as if he was about to die or something.

he began to yell and I wanted to ask him. Are you going to try to hit me?

he didn’t but still I was treated like crap.

before that he asked me why would he buy me that if I wasn’t studying and said that he had told me that he would give it to me before I leave.

the point is IDK when am I going to travel and that’s IF I travel.

one of the reasons I’m still alive is because I like technology and I always find it intresting when tere is something new, I don’t really like to read but I do read a lot of articles about technology n stuff.

he asked me why would he buy me that if it wasn’t going to help me study but OBVIOUSLY IT CAN’T.

It was never meant to do that.

He had an accident some time ago and my mother says that he is dumber than before and I understand that but he has always been dumb and it’s bloody awful not to be able to speak with a person you have to live with.

he acts as if he was going to die and everyone buys that but to be honest I wouldn’t be so sad if he died.

He is stupid and my grandmother would still get his pension.

I’m not emotionally attached to anyone, the people that I want to talk to are too far away and I’m too much of a dork to be able to have a nice online conversation plus the most important person in my life won’t talk to me.

I think that she is the most importan person in my life because I think of her every day.

he promised me something and therefore he should do it, he had told me many times that he would even though I can’t think of a way in which he could do it, he will no longer answer my question and that bother me a lot, he begins yelling and just saying that I’m treating him badly even though I’m just asking.

he said that “there are always problems in the night, in the night there are problems”

that’s his stupid way of speaking and I can’t stand it.

after he said that I told him “that’s incorrect we also have arguments in the morning so you’re wrong” 

it seems as if he thought of the night as some evil thing that only attracts bad stuff but I’m not willing to “let go” or just ignore and accept is dumbness, every time he says something I feel like dying.

the news of this country suck and whenever they say something (which mostly is something overexaggerated and stupid) he believes on that and tries to talk to me in an even more stupid manner because obviously he didn’t memorize the whole article.

he says that I have to speak to “someone who is at my level” or to a psychologyst, I don’t think that that is true, I’d like to have some smart chat with someone but most people here are idiots though that is not a rule.

there are plenty of smart people that I could talk to but he lives with me and he CANNOT understand that.

it’s so stupid that it’s impossible for me to think that he can’t really understand that, I can only think that he doesn’t want to.

I think that I could understand if he was mentally retarded or had some sort of sickness but he doesn’t try and that’s what matters the most.

if he did he would listen to me and he would probably try to learn more and to try to overcome anything that is holding him back but instead he keeps thinking that he knows something just because he is old and that I know nothing because I’m young...

I think that I’m going to keep studying english because I could use some certification and I could try to look for a job or something.

I know that I should use more periods instead of comas but it’s a little difficult for me to do that. I guess that if I changed all of the comas for periods it would be allright but I just wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that though it has worked for me in a couple of tests in which I decided to use periods instead of comas in every single place and I got a 10 or whatever the maximum grade was.

other than continuing to study other languages which I may or may not do in this country I WON’T study anything else. I’m not willing to go to an institute nor I am willing to go to an university, I’d have to take a test for which I’m not prepared and I’d have to study in a shitty university with a shitty campus and shitty stuff inside not to mention that it would probably be in a non so safe zone since I live far away from the “safe” zone of the city plus I’d have to use public transportation which sucks in this country.

and once again my grandmother told me that if I was threated badly I can go away and that the doors are open but everything is awful and I can at least sleep here.

she also told me that if I keep getting him upset he could get his pistol and shot me or something.

if he tried to do that I’d hide and maybe punch him if I had the chance, he is too old and I don’t think that he could resist a single punch but god this is awful.

she told me that she would tell the police that I’ve caused all of that and that I deserve to go to jail or something but they are the ones that threat me badly.

I have food internet and a place to sleep but that is not enough for me and having just that makes me feel bad.

I am going to talk to the police about this because I can’t take it anymore, I’m going to ask them if I can send them some things that they have done to me just to make clear who is the bad guy.

Yesterday I asked my uncle what was he cooking and he told me why the fuck wasn’t I asking how was he and that I always asked what was he cooking, I almost always say hello and then I ask but this time I just wanted to ask, I answered him by telling him why do you think I didn’t ask you?

He answered because you care about no-one but yourself.

I told him that he was right and I went back to sleep.

I know that I didn’t use caps properly but I’m not feeling like it at this moment.

[rpjohnston]

Ughhhhhh my mind’s been a complete mess recently. Like. Normally I can reel it back, yknow? dissociate my rational thoughts from my emotions. Think strategically. Plan. Not ever follow through on plans, you know, but just...be in control like that. But now it’s just...restlessness. Racing. Infinite energy to just keep bouncing around, without the physical energy to actually get up and do anything, as if just thinking about a million things uses up all the spoon s that could be used for doing even one thing, but I. just. Can’t. Stop. I’m going off after every squirrel I see on Twitter or Facebook. Kinda fun and I’ve still got my wit...well it’s never been a great wit but it’s not been any worse. I dunno. Just...something. I don’t know. Frustration. Irritation. I’m not a teenager anymore. Don’t have all my hair anymore. Not as...curvy as I used to be. Blobby now. The gross...guy, blobby. I’m not exactly decrepit. Stronger than I was then, that’s nice, pretty sure I can do anything physical still, if not as gracefully as before. Can still jump a fence, just with more grunting. Annoying. Feeling that I wasted all my good years, now it’s too late for shenanigans and now I don’t have the experience necessary to actually make something of myself. Like, always playing catchup. Always being the retard that has to try twice as hard to be half as good as anyone else. When I was little, yeah, I always got told how smart I was. Pfffft. Everybody says that about their kids, though being the intellectually-inclined aspie I suppose I did know more trivia and was prouder about it. Hah, I used to be so proud that I knew Earth was 93 million miles from the Sun, and I’d brag about knowing that in class. And then this little dipshit Carl would troll me going “no it isn’t” every time he saw me, and I’d try everything from showing my books to appeal to authority to trying to argue, but he’d just stick to smug denial, and unable to understand why I couldn’t convince him I’d fly into a rage and beat the shit out of him. Such as a 7 year old could anyway. Course then it gets to middle school and beyond and the one thing I’m good at, knowing stupid shit, don’t mean shit. Hell not even grades meant anything - not that it ever stopped my dad was acting like I was a lazy failure for not putting in an extra 15 hours of effort into assignments to go from “100″ to “100 and also the teacher thinks it’s extra special”. Nah, when it comes to anything that matter more than stupid fucking worthless trivia I’m always behind everybody else. Always seeing everybody else Do A Thing, and then I try to Do The Thing to prove I’m just as good as everybody else, then failing, and failing, and failing, and failing and then succeeding, but now it fucking means nothing because everybody else has now moved onto more advanced Things and The Thing that I finally accomplished is what everybody else who wasn’t a pathetic, useless fuckup eats for breakfast. And. I dunno. I’m tired of it. Well, been tired of it for a long time. I gave up trying to prove myself years ago. Gave up trying to measure up to anybody else’s standards. Just did good enough to get by by myself. Not like that’s hard. My standards are pretty low. But still. Still. I can’t just, like, live in my friend’s parents’ basement forever. But what can I do? Target and the like don’t pay enough to live on. I can’t do 2, 3 jobs and 80 hour workweeks. Go ahead, tell me I’m a lazy, entitled, obnoxious parasite, not like I don’t know. But I just don’t have the energy for that. If I tried I would literally go play in traffic after a month or two. Spit on me all you want, but even for me there’s a limit to how far I can push onward on willpower alone. So get a job that ain’t shitty? Like what? Virtually everything requires experience. Or at least some proof of competence, but I have literally no competence except, you guessed it, useless stupid fucking trivia. Where can I get hired that will pay me 40k+/yr to know how far it is to the Sun? So do uni, then? Sighhhhh. I have the mutual funds for it. I’ve been, what, 3 times now. Even finished the worthless associate’s degree on the second. But...argh, it ain’t that simple! Everybody else who wasn’t this bad a fuckup got their degrees years ago. I’m not 18, I don’t have grace years to just set aside to be a student, I need  the wins NOW! I just...my fucking psyche can’t handle it. Last time I dropped out was because...because it isn’t just about FACTS! It’s a whole thing, a whole PROCESS, with rules, and regulations, and methods, from the women’s studies course to the programming course, and everything is expected to be done THEIR WAY and I’m sure it works for most people but I can’t understand it, or it takes me all my energy to figure out HOW to follow along, and I have no energy left to actually DO it, and then I feel like MORE SHIT because I’m having to try so hard to do what everybody else does so much more easily, and and and What’s even the POINT, then? Even if I do rake myself over the coals and finally get to the finish, even if I do get the assignment done, even if I do understand the class process, even if I do get the grade, I STILL had to put way more effort into it so I’m STILL A FAILURE!!!!!!!!! Even if I finally get to the same place, I’m still the fucking worthless retard that isn’t as good as everybody else because they had to put more effort into achieving what’s normal for everybody else!!!!! I don’t...I don’t have the...I don’t have the mind I need. I keep dropping things because I work, and I work, and I try, and there’s no affirmation that any of it’s worth anything, and why keep trying on and on and on because in a few years someone MIGHT have an appreciation for it, or maybe not - because maybe everything I’m doing is complete worthless garbage, but I can’t tell, and maybe I’m just wasting my energy doing worthless things. Not just college. It’s been 10 years since I got flash and started working on that game, and in that time I’ve had how many projects? That I just drop once I sort of get something resembling what could potentially be a product? Because I get to the point where I’m not just messing around, but where I need actually be serious about QUALITY, but since when am I ever good enough at anything to make it QUALITY? There are better artists. There are better programmers. Nothing I do will ever stack up no matter how hard I try because that’s who I am, I’m have a shallow, trivial understanding of things but nothing deep enough to actually be worthless. I can’t be an astronomer by knowing space trivia. I can’t be an artist by shoving a stylus around. I can’t be a competent codemonkey by finishing university sample exercises. These are all things that people with actual SKILLS do, not just a fucking half-assed dabbler. a dabbler is fucking useless. I’m not good at anything except knowing shallow trivia and doing whatever unskilled shit people instruct me to do, and any time I try to invest the time in something than do more than dabble I get reminded that other people can do it better for far less effort and even if I DOOOOOO somehow get to their level it still won’t be good enough because of how much harder I had to try to be as good. Other people had lives and adventures and shenanigans and personalities and...identities, identities in general and that they figured out early enough. And what do I have, sitting around, wasting away, being a worthless, useless blob, no idea how to even find out what’s out there, let alone do any of it, because I’m damn scared to put any CARE into anything and prove that as always I’m a failure even when I try real hard, and not giving a fuck is really the only thing keeping me around. Failure doesn’t matter if you don’t care. If you’re going to fail anyway might as well not bother caring. And I’ve wasted my time for shenanigans, wasted my time for identity, failed at the stuff that everybody else succeeded at long ago, there’s no fucking point in yet again catching up to everybody else long after I could plausibly claim to be as good, and...there’s nothing in the future that doesn’t depend on having value that I just. don’t have. and. can’t. have. because. i’m. a. worthless. useless. fuckup. parasite. And all that I’ve got is yelling at people self-righteously about politics. As if actually matters. As if I influence anything. As if I’ll win something. As if I actually stand a shot at doing anything politically, professionally. As if they’d ever have my useless ass doing anything other than phonebanking. As if I could even do anything else - as if I could figure out how to do things for people other than what they order me to do. fuckin. Other people figured out how to be people. I just figured out how to be a stupid, shallow, retarded blank slate, just letting people write whatever they want on me. I wonder, really, what it’s like, to have a self to be. To actually have something that’s “you”. To be an active participant in things rather than a tool that something falls off a shelf and makes noise to remind people it’s there. But look at me, spend a few days unable to control my mind enough to PLAN my thoughts, to angle for what’s socially best, and all that I am is an obnoxious twit yelling at people on facebook and posting fucking angst on tumblr. I guess that’s the shreds of a personality that come to surface when I can’t maintain the blank slate, a whiny, obnoxious piece of shit. yay, me. I’m an asshole. finally found something. Not just a failure by lack of, but a failure by active participation. god i’m not even drunk. usually i at least get drunk before whining about shit on tumblr. now i want a drink, damnit. but i also want to try to sleep. not that i probably can. got that feeling going on of dry, squinty eyes, but a mind that won’t shut off. usually takes me like 5 hours to get to sleep like that.

whatever. gonna try to sleep. if it doesn’t work i’ll choke down some swill and try again. good whine tumblr. been months since the last time i came on here to be a little bitch. maybe i can get back to my normal, complacent, giving no fucks self. ciao.

[surpringlynotarobot-blog]

Had to delete my squarespace so putting posts here

FEAR

I once heard that suicide is the last solace. This morning, struggling to get out of bed, I held the concept in my mind's hands, played with it, but deep inside I knew that my courage was not nearly as strong to do the deed. Whenever I hear about some artist or celebrity committing suicide, instead of disdain, I feel respect. There is a part of me that believes that humans are some sort of mutation that wasn't supposed to happen. Why are we so different from other animals?

Last night, I spent hours reading about a child sexual abuse case from Belgium. The Doulleux dosier or something.

It was strange that I couldn't stop reading, even if some parts made me feel sick. I couldn't imagine being the victim or perpetrator in this case. At the same time, I was repulsed by my own desire to keep reading. It's like watching a car crash. I think people find pleasure from violence and aberration. By pleasure, I don't mean the normal sense. More like the one that keeps you watching like a horror film or the news coverage of Jon Benet Ramsey's kidnapping and murder. Deep inside there is some sort of dopamine releasing that causes the people to continue watching the car crash and the stories on the news about bombs in New York. Or maybe it's adrenaline. Who the fuck knows. All I know is that people hide the things they want to hide because they think it's wrong and they amplify the things that make them look good. Society.

Stuff like this makes me feel like I can't talk to anybody. We have all this stupid shit we keep inside. I guess certain things are known but people just don't talk about them. I've always been an open person but I feel this darkness presiding over my thoughts, mostly because there's no one I can talk to them about. Fear of being a pedophile (POCD), Fear of being gay (OCD), fear of death. Fear of people. Fear of living. I don't know if I can take much more of this. Everything is so hard. I need to stop watching porn because it gives me these fucked up perceptions about sex. Hanging out with my cousin yesterday, I had a hard time looking at her in the eye because I was thinking about all the porn I was watching the night before and how embarrassed I would be if she knew.

This then goes to my belief that everyone has to know everything about me, like I owe them that somehow. Like I need their approval over my own. Maybe this is the lesson Corey taught me. Do I approve of myself? At the moment, I don't think that I do. I feel tainted and broken. Maybe because of the HPV and my past. The broken hearts.

Maybe I should stop trying to control my fears and just embrace the fear that comes, not knowing if more fear will come, maybe it will not come, but stop trying to control it.

SNOW WHITE AND THE WICKED STEPMOTHER

I will preface this by stating that Snow White, as it was originally written, did not have an evil Stepmother, but just a regular mother. This fact brings into theme the jealousy that is often felt by mothers towards their daughters.

Ideas like this, which are universal are rarely spoken about because it makes people uncomfortable. Our very natures are often the very things that cause us discomfort. This universal truth (the denied nature) is depicted in the enduring myth referenced in Genesis where Adam and Eve consume the apple at the discretion of the Serpent, and subsequently cover themselves in order to hide their nakedness. Animals(but not humans) feel no shame for their nature (unless conditioned to). I believe that humans are also conditioned to feel shame. They are taught what is good and evil based on their own experiences with the themes. Thus, I believe that the act of original sin is not a root event happening once in humanity, but happening in every life. The capability of learning Good and Evil, an aspect of the brain, is shown through the metaphor of the forbidden fruit.

How did we disobey God? The metaphor implies that it was from the development of the modern brain. Perhaps the disobedience comes from coveting something forbidden, or coveting in general, which is perhaps the building block of civilization itself. In order to obtain many good and land and wives, one must have a well developed brain. As the brain develops so does civilization and vice versa.

Back to the whole point of this post. Today I was joking around with my dad, which is rare for us. He tends to be withdrawn unless drunk. I was picking up Peanut and using her to kick him. I'm laughing and he's not complaining, but I look at my mom and she doesn't look pleased but slightly uncomfortable. Actually this is her usual reaction when my dad and I are getting along. I don't know if it's because she feels left out or jealous but she is never happy with the pleasantries between us. I wonder if she's afraid that my dad and I would develop a sexual relationship (even typing this makes me feel weird and uncomfortable). I've heard her telling stories of how she was drugged and raped by her uncles and then even have a forced medicinally induced abortion. All of this sounds so absurd but it is real. But talking about it does help me process the situation. Humans are born through violence but touched by the idea of perfection.

Anyway yeah. Original sin. Nature versus idealization. Jealous mother.

All I want is a nice bed, home, boyfriend, and a good career. And a dog.

OCD POCD SOOD HOCD

All this time I was worried that Fred would be reading my blog and thinking about what I loser I am but it turns (through the Squarespace analytics) that he wasn't looking at my page at all. Not even once (according to the ip logs they were mostly me). Maybe it is better to be seen than be invisible.

What if I want neither?

Then maybe I belong in some sort of purgatory and not in the distinct space of [to be or not to be]. I'm not even sure if any of that remotely made sense. Hamlet asks himself, to be or not to be. Is there a third option?

The highlight of my day is going to Stew Leonards with my mom to buy bacon on sale.

On the bright side, I was watching some old videos of myself and it doesn't seem like I've gotten any dumber. Still retarded as ever!

I just wish I had the motivation and confidence to do something with my life. Instead I'm afraid of everything: having schizophrenia, being a pedophile, being gay, being incompetent, dying, living life. Smoking weed at least helped with my depression but made the anxiety and paranoia worse. Cigarettes made my depression worse. Maybe I should just stop with the substances and stick with one perspective for the time being. I think my other problem is just an addiction to outside substances. It's a psychological thing, like I can't enjoy life unless it's enhanced by a substance. Maybe it's a result of being oversaturated with consumerist ideals and having it applied to my own existence and body.

The killer for my self-esteem was having HOCD which lead to POCD, both being SOOCD. Basically fear of being a sexual orientation that is dissimilar to my own. When I was younger, it was fear of germs, then living with Erin* (who had HIV) it was the chance of getting HIV (which were extremely low but present nonetheless). It was really hard having cervical dysplasia, which lead to me being even more promiscuous for some reason (one night stands prevented having to talk about things). I think my fear of having HIV came from the guilt I felt not informing my partners of HPV.

Even with that said, I'm not going to disclose HPV status once it clears because it's just retarded because almost everyone has it, and if it's cleared then it's not possible to transmit. No more guilt!

Going back to the HOCD, POCD, and SOOCD. I think it stemmed from little comments that Erin would make regarding my sexuality. I guess the uncertainty about my sexuality hit so hard for the mere fact that I was very comfortable with it. Despite watching crazy amounts of porn, even identifying with the guy, I was still straight. I talked to Fred a little about this and he said it's common because, duh the male gaze. He's really smart. I wish he was my boyfriend.

Sorry getting distracted. Yeah so it started off with the fear of being gay even though I've never been sexual with a girl or wanted to be, sans the porn in the male gaze. Then because I have this age gap fetish, erroneously thought I might be a pedophile. Long story short, I am not a pedophile (this is confirmed by a mental health professional, though in the next session she suggested I go on antipsychotics). No, I just want to be fucked by an older, mature (but not too mature, like 35-50) gentleman.

Post Turned Into Erotica

I tend to get obsessed with guys because I'm lazy and don't want to get rich on my own. I'm also tired of fucking myself.

My new obsession is Fred* who I've been fantasizing about since last Friday. It never occurred to me that he was older, but alas he is about 8 years older than me (I have a thing for older men). I called him today making some excuse about getting paid for the shoot (it's going to take two months). He doesn't know that I've been internet stalking both him and his girlfriend (they are semi-famous so there's a lot).

Honestly, I think I would make a good wife, the only downside is I would probably go crazy within a few years. Just the idea of being with the same person for the rest of my life is making my eyes roll to the back of my head. But you never know until you try right?

Everything about the logistics of human life makes me laugh. Just the hypocrisy of it all is baffling,  once you get past all the neurotransmitters and hormones.

I think I'm slowly getting out of that anxiety of being afraid that I'm gay or a pedophile. It was honestly the scariest and most depressing days of my life, but a bit laughable now. The other day I was watching porn and was mesmerized by this woman's size A cups bouncing as she was getting fucked. Looking at it now, I guess there is something really mesmerizing and sensual about breasts bouncing from a dick going in and out of it. Sometimes I feel like I have the sex drive of a teenage boy, but I think it's a result of my biological clock running. I get really turned on by the idea of getting forced into sex. Not rape, per say, but like I'm cooking and Fred* without asking puts his dick inside of me.

Or like I'm at home wearing a corset and garter and he slips a finger inside of me to find that I'm soaking wet. "Go upstairs and get ready for me." As he's making himself a drink I'm in the master bathroom freshening up. My small shapely lips give a preview of what's going on downstairs. As I'm putting on lipstick he comes up behind me and starts kissing my neck. I can feel his stiff cock pressing against my ass-crack. His 6 foot 2 frame overpowers my small one and I am helpless in his arms.

Ect. Ect. Ect.

*Name has been changed to protect the innocent.

Introduction

Whenever I write something knowing it will be published, I end up sounding cheesy. There's nothing about it I can change, but I made this website in order to write anonymously and not have my writing be affected by potential readers.

[tessatechaitea]

Shade the Changing Girl #2

Whoa! Look how crazy this comic book looks! It must be super smart and insightful and full of the arts!

This comic book is take itself too literally.

In this comic book, the poetry of Shade the Changing Man, Rac Shade, appears in rainbow colored Narration Boxes. The Narration Boxes of Shade the Changing Girl, Loma, are in blue. Then there are pink Narration Boxes that belong to somebody else. They appeared last issue but I just assumed they were also Shade's. That was a bad assumption because you know what they say about assumptions? I thought I knew but I can only make the word ass and u and mptions out of that, so I guess I was wrong about what they say. Anyway, the pink Narration Boxes belong to a third person. Possibly Megan who was pushed out of her own body? Or maybe it's some aspect of Loma that's left in her Metan body still in the Area of Madness. There's a moment this issue where a pink comet is zooming past a sun and moon in space thinking, "What. Where. Why. Wow." See? It's probably Megan. Just like some aspect of Troy Grenzer remained when Shade took his body, Megan's consciousness is still out there and still somehow attached to her body. Shade walks into school for the first time since she came out of her coma and she quickly realizes everybody at the school hates or fears her. Why do I suddenly have the urge to croak "Corn Nuts?" and over enunciate the word "eskimo"? Meanwhile on Meta, Mellu is investigating the Case of the Stolen Madness Vest although it hardly matters. Whoever took it probably put it on (they did!) and their body is now slowly decomposing in the Area of Madness (it is! Probably!). Shade discovers the library at high school, much to the chagrin of a small girl. It's probably Teacup, right? It's been so long since I read Issue #1 that I don't remember if Teacup made an appearance before Megan drowned while doing a shitload of ecstasy. Anyway, it's obvious that Megan never showed an interest in the library before, and this tiny girl (Teacup, right?!) used to hide out here from the mean girls.

Ugh! Don't read Yeats! I can't bear to read a character who picks up a book of Yeats poetry and understands it without any outside sources or further reading! But if she is going to get into Yeats, please at least let her read something other than "The Second Coming"! Yeats wrote way more poems than just that one!

Heather's Numbers Two through Four come in search of Teacup in the library. But Teacup hides from them, as does Shade. But she can't help herself from engaging in a little Madness. Probably because she doesn't have any real control over it. Maybe it's her Madness Nemesis! Shade the Changing Man had the American Scream. Maybe Shade the Changing Girl has the American Teen!

I can name all of the books, plays, and poems these are from! The whale is obviously from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, the one-eyed thingy is from Lady Chatterley's Lover, the hand holding the skull is from Harry Potter and the Skull of Squicking, the letter A is from Dr. Seuss's ABC, the raven is from The Sandman, and the cat is from Garfield.

Shade thinks that maybe Teacup was her friend but Teacup is terrified of her. So she makes a big scene in the library and some guy named River is all, "I'd heard you were all about the drama. But do you mind having it somewhere else?" Right?! Libraries should totally be drama-free zones! And anybody who ever makes a scene or an uproar or a loud sneeze in a library should be banned for life. Libraries should have no tolerance policies for shenanigans! Although I did once masturbate in the stairwell of the library at Portland State University, so obviously I only mean that if the person gets caught they should be banned for life! I almost certainly, probably, never did that thing I just said I did. So gross! Besides, I was barely eighteen! Possibly even still seventeen! I was too young to cope with the freedom of college! Besides, nobody ever specifically sat me down and said, "Do not masturbate in public stairwells." Anyway, River is Shade's neighbor. He never knew Megan so Shade feels like maybe she can safely become a friend of his. He might not be thinking the same thing but I bet he gets pulled into her madness anyway. Especially because his name is River and that's got to be symbolic for something soon! Meanwhile, the pink girl in space with the pink Narration Boxes makes an appearance. So, see, that's another character or something! Shade goes home to watch old timey television and ponder how she's going to figure out who Megan was and how to make her better. Then it's time for the back-up comic! The back-up comic book isn't worth reading. It's all in-your-face about how change is a good thing and not changing is a bad thing which totally ends with a sex joke. I think. I don't know. I stopped paying attention to narratives that feel like clubs to the back of the head. The Ranking! No change! I'm not infatuated with this book but I'm still intrigued and enjoying it. So that's a review, right?