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jetzelda · 4 years ago

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How Deku Became Something to be Feared

A Crossover between the Magnus Archives and My Hero Academia Centered Mostly around The Distortion Michael and Midoriya Izuku May possibly continue spoilers for anyone not through we Season 3 of the Magnus Archives or not to the Hosu Incident in My Hero Academia. Also filled with some World Building Liberties/Headcanons. Apologies for any and all grammar mistakes and and spelling errors, this ended being a binge write. There is some swearing towards the end.

Midoriya Izuku was not a stupid child by any means. Nearly every adult he had ever interacted with would agree with that assessment. But every account by any adult was always followed by an annoying add on. “For a quirkless child.” “But he’s quirkless.” “If he wasn’t quirkless.”

Midoriya Izuku learned very early on in life that “quirkless” was a label; a diagnosis that would follow him his whole life, and define every aspect of it, whether he liked it or not.

It was the label that would keep him from his dream of being a hero that saved everyone with a smile. It was a label that would ultimately lead him to the end of his life as Midoriya Izuku.

Despite his general understanding of his situation, he could not understand the Why. He fundamentally understood that anything with a description had a Who, a What, a When, a Where, and a Why. And perhaps sometimes even a How. The Who was Midoriya Izuku. The What, a Quirkless little boy. The When and Where was six years old and Musutafu respectively. The How was a little more fluid, but probably the easiest answer was born to Midoriya Inko, or one could look up a book on human reproduction if they were feeling particularly scientific or randy. But the Why was the question that haunted Izuku’s life. Why was he a quirkless little boy? Why him? WhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWHY?

It echoed in his head like a song with no melody. Growing in frequency every waking day. Every hit he endured, every well meaning but ill worded question or comment, Every step he took, Every breathe he took. It got to the point teachers reprimanded him for his lack of attention. He was so bothered by this why he could think of nothing but WHY? Clearly this question needed an answer, lest it utterly consumed him. So he began to research.

He started philosophically. Izuku would argue he was a good little boy. He did everything his mother and teachers told him too. He even did everything Kaachan told him too (Walk behind me!), well, unless it involved bullying other children. If Izuku was a good boy, this couldn’t be punishment, right? But why?

Then he shifted to biology. Genetically speaking, both his mother and father had a quirk, a minor telekinesis and fire breathing quirk respectively. Both sets of grandparents, may they rest in peace, had variations of these quirks, also minor in nature. He had a healthy genetic tree of quirks. But he did not have a quirk. Science would argue the answer was mutation. He was a mutation. But then why was he a mutation? Not a single book would answer Why?

Research of a more unorthodox nature would led him towards the origin of quirks, genetic mutations, even mutations via external sources, such as radiation. When he was getting desperate, he stretched his research into religion, past lives, sins. Not a one satisfactorily answered. WHY?

Izuku was so single-mindedly focused on his research, he was unaware of the dominoes falling around him. Bakugou Katsuki immediately noticed the boy he had proclaimed his quirkless nerd drifting away. It was subtle at first, merely Deku sitting out of their games, face obscured by textbooks nearly larger than his head. On principle alone, Katsuki would never be the one to invite him to play. It was the nerd’s job to ask Katsuki if he could join, not the other way around. So Katsuki never asked, but he did keep an eye on the nerd, because he was a quirkless nerd who would always need Katsuki to look out for him. Katsuki was reassured that the nerd was fine, though he was drifting, because Deku continued to smile. He smiled when he read, when he walked, when he talked to, well, anyone really. That stupid, bright (possibly somewhat adorable) smile. To another six-year-old that had trouble articulating his own feelings, it looked normal. Katsuki didn’t realize at the time that it was that disarming smile that made him turn his back and allowed Deku to drift away.

Midoriya Inko was a loving mother. She loved her son, Midoriya Izuku, very much. He was an absolute angel, always on his best behavior. The only thing she didn’t know how to do, was take care of her brilliant child who was deemed born with a handicap. Fundamentally she knew being quirkless was not actually a handicap. There were plenty of quirkless jobs in the world, or rather, jobs that didn’t require a quirk in any capacity to complete them. But to society, quirkless was somehow a devastating handicap. She was next to Izuku nearly every time someone spoke one of those well meaning, but ill worded comments. “For a quirkless child.” “But he’s quirkless.” “If he wasn’t quirkless.” For what was essentially a single mother raising a handicapped child in a bigoted society, she was doing what she believed was her best. And perhaps in another universe, it would be her best, with the best possible outcomes. In this universe, she read all the signs wrong. When Izuku started spending less and less time at home, she assumed he was spending it with friends. When he continued to bring home large books from the library, she thought he must be a clever boy, trying to make up for his lack of quirk. She believed her baby was adapting to his situation better than she was. So, she threw herself into her work, ensuring she would have the money to support them, and anything he could possibly need. She of course, made time for him for dinner every weekend night, a ritual he took part of with a smile. She never realized this was not the kind of support he needed. So further he drifted.

As for his school, well, the less said about them the better. The students were young and ignorant, and the staff wholly unhelpful towards a child different from all the others.

So further did the little quirkless boy drift from everything that could define his life. And the further he did drift, the more attention he did draw, but not from any mortal eyes.

The little, lonely, clever quirkless child had potential. So much potential. Surely he would transition quite nicely. However, as time went on, a few slid their interest off him. The boy seemed to have no interest is enclosed spaces, any kind of filth, or meat. And the other child drove him far from chasing, destruction, or flame. The other interested parties maintained a continued surveillance, before slowly peeling off one by one. The boy’s continued fixation twisted into a hungry desire to Know marked where he belonged quite clearly.

Midoriya Izuku never found his Why. It was confounding and disappointing and utterly frustrating. It left him feeling hollow. Like all his will and drive had been depleted in his search and without the answer he could not recharge. It was noticeable enough to his Mother that she took a couple days off work spend time with him. It was on one of these days with his mother, out on a shopping trip, he happened to pass a television with a commercial of All Might. It was a rerunning the scene he played on repeat when he first learned he was quirkless. A hero, shouldering the weight of the world with a smile. It gave Izuku pause. He may never truly know Why. But watching All Might flaunt his quirk with a smile, sparked a new desire in Izuku. Did he need to have a quirk, if he Knew everything there was about quirks?

Thus, started Izuku’s chronicling of quirks.

It was simple at first. Quite easy to mistake for hero fanboying. Notebooks neatly lined a shelf in his room, each meticulously labelled. His handwriting improved far beyond that of a six-year-old with his constant writing. It became the new normal to see Midoriya Izuku with a notebook or two tucked under his arm and an equal number of writing utensils tucked behind his ears. If there was a Hero fight within a reasonable amount of distance for a small child to travel, he would be there. He wrote, and recorded, and theorized and discerned. He filled that hollow feeling with as much knowledge of quirks he could funnel into himself.

But somehow, it wasn’t quite enough. He couldn’t put his finger on his, but it just wasn’t what he sought. Somehow, just observing, and recording, and connecting the dots in his own head, which were all skills he became quite good at, were not enough. That hollow feeling remained. And for every bit of knowledge he attempted to fill it with, it continued to grow.

It was a mundane Saturday evening, at his place of quiet for his scribbling among the towers of garbage on Dagobah Beach, when he realized that his was not just hollowness. He had visited a hero fight every day that week, with little satisfaction. Class dragged on each day like drying paint, with him opting to make notes and theories instead of listening. He sat alone in class. He left class alone. He did everything alone these days. It was that Saturday, during one of these lonely walks, that he passed the playground. It was during his passing that he overheard a conversation from two children. They were likely preschool age given that their topic of discussion was their quirks. Both had just recently manifested their quirk. One had the ability to change the color of their body’s cells, and demonstrated it by vividly cycling through the color wheel. The other had a quirk that allowed them to grow their teeth at a rapid pace, forcing each to sharpen and enlarge, until finally falling out of the child’s head, only to be quickly replaced, much like a shark. Izuku remembered all those details quite precisely, and only those details because the conversation quite suddenly stopped. It took Izuku moments to realize it had ceased because they were staring at him. He had no memory of crossing the playground to the children, but there he was, hovering behind them and fixated quite attentively on the children, or more accurately their subject of conversation. When he actually focused on them, he observed that their wide eyes were locked on his form, slightly larger than theirs, with what he easily recognized as fear. And while he logically knew he should feel guilty or concerned in some manner, he merely felt satisfied.

Izuku apologized, and left the children on the playground. Which brings us to the beach. His notebook lay at his side with his pencil neatly on top. He was mentally sorting through this new information. The beach was not as silent as it usually was. He could hear teenagers practicing quirks on the piles of garbage in the distance. He paid them no true mind though. They were irrelevant when compared to his thoughts. Somehow that verbal communication had filled his hollow feeling more than his quirk observations and notes ever had. Yet, as he also contemplated it, he felt a deeper pang in that hollowness. Something that wasn’t just hollow, but also aching, with want, with need. Something only verbal information directly from the source satisfied.

And, as Izuku’s head turned to track the sound of a teenager stumbling into his solitude, laughing up until the moment he spotted Izuku, the feeling identified itself. Izuku slowly rose to his feet with a grace he never had before. He could feel the smile curling upon his lips as he approached the teenager with feral, instinctive purpose. A sickly green light began to cast over the garbage around him, and upon the face of the teenager, replacing the color that face was rapidly losing. The wide eyes, the slight tremble of limbs, and the cold sweat on his brow was a sweet taste, but Izuku wanted to satisfy the Hunger.

His many Eyes were fixed upon his prey, and that cherub smile of his spoke. “Tell me about your quirk.”

The first was an appetizer.

The second was satisfying.

The other three? They were a scientific method.

The last one was interrupted. “A Baby.”

Time is both a simple, linear concept while also an infuriating mystery that confounds the mind. Humanity tacks as many number and concepts and labels upon what they perceive time to be to soothe their need to harness and understand it. But it never brings them any closer to understanding time. Why time feels longer to children than adults, or why doing nothing drags on but doing everything speeds up. For all they attempt, they always, in the end, admit defeat by tacking on the white flag of ‘It’s all in your head’. Which always and inevitably brings it into the domain of the Spiral and its Avatars.

The purpose of that blurb about time, is to bring some understanding to the Spiral and its Avatars’ abilities to manipulate, confound, and utterly ignore human concepts of time. It is why one Avatar of the Spiral, who was once known as Michael Shelly but continues to be known as Michael for the ease of explanation upon inferior minds, could be over one hundred years in the future slinking through the streets of Japan when merely yesterday he had been threatening the life of the Archivist. If he so desired, he could at this moment go back to yesterday and follow through with his threat a mere hour after making it, or perhaps even minutes prior to making it. But he did not desire to do either of those things.

Even if he was an avatar of insanity, insane weaving of his thread through his own timeline would likely have consequences upon his own existence. Nor did he desire to kill the Archivist, currently. Plus, the Spiral seems to desires the continued existence of the Archivist, enough to punt this particular Avatar of its out of the limelight and replace him with the Avatar formerly known as Helen Richardson.

If there were any human emotions left in this being that wears the name Michael, it may have been offended by the conclusion that it was distracted (ARCHIVISTGERTRDEJONLOOKATME). But fine. It would do as expected. It would continue on as it once had, luring prey through its doors to feed, while what wore the name of Helen got to play with the Institute.

Which explained why the Avatar wearing the name Michael stalked through this future of human evolution, in a small country foreign to what was once Michael, and hunted, for lack of a word not associated with another Entity, seeking to satiate its hunger. And also where it discovered, well, something new.

It very nearly passed the beach, dismissing it as Filth’s territory, when it felt something most decidedly not Filth. It made a hum, of what could be considered interest. A step through the yellow door, opening out of a mound of trash brought it closer. There was quite literally a trail of bodies. Adolescent human males, pale, wide eyed, and gazeless. The only sign of life was their quivering. It followed the trail to just around another pile of garbage, where he found “A Baby.”

The head of green haired whipped its direction so fast, if it were another the head may have snapped right off. Luminescent green Eyes covered the skin like glowing freckles, each fixated upon the Avatar of the Spiral. The Baby dropped its prey, another human adolescent, in the same state of the one Michael walked over. A smile was fixed upon its face, similar in nature to the Distortion’s, but obviously less unnatural on a human face. But that was all that was on the face, the smile and the eyes. It (or perhaps it was still currently a he?) very slowly tilted its head to the side, reminding the Spiral’s Avatar of a curious animal. A cat, or perhaps a puppy.

The Spiral didn’t particularly like the Eye, what with its interfering Avatars. Yet nor did it hate it though, for hating what one is connected to usually proves fruitless in the end. What was once Michael, if it still had human emotions, perhaps would admit to a fondness to the Eye’s previous Avatars, perhaps like a dog being fond of its toy, or a human infant pulling another’s hair.

But this was a new Avatar. A brand new, hardly marked Avatar that seemed to skip the indecisive, “should I human or should I become?” stage straight into Becoming. A Baby Avatar that was utterly unafraid of the Avatar of the Spiral before it.

The smile upon the distortion’s face twisted and curled. “HoW InTErestING.”

The interruption distortion was frankly hard to describe. Izuku? could both see exactly what it was, yet could not see it beyond its human suit, for if heit attempted to focus, it would shift and twitch before hisits eyes, as if heit was looking at a glitched program, or perhaps a fuzzy video that attempted to rewind and fast-forward simultaneously. It was painful, both on hisits eyes trying to perceive it, and hisits mind trying to comprehend it. What heit could make out of its human suit was what appeared to be a very tall man, towering over him, with long hair that looped and curled like spirals. The body was too thin though, too angular, with too many joints and too many bones, especially in the hands; Long, thin hands that were almost the same length of his torso, but ended in points. At least, that’s how it looked when heit looked at it when heit focused. When heit didn’t it looked quite normal.

Hisits hands released the face it was cradlinggripping holding. The teenager foodpreyknowledge collapsed to the ground. Heit tilted its head in an unconscious human motion as it analyzed the not human before himit. Heit Knew it to not be human, in the same way heit knew that heit was also not human. Not anymore. Which probably explain why hisits mind was still trying differentiate correct perceptions.

The other’s face, which was a perfectly mundane face, though perhaps with a smile that didn’t fit it when heit didn’t focused upon it, seemed to blur and morph. The eyes were sickening colors that clashed and seemed to swirl into an endless spiral. The mouth twisted and cracked and curved into a jagged, dangerous looking shape, that heit recognized to also be a smile. “HoW InTErestING.”

Even the voice grated on hisits ears and mind, somehow sounding wrong or false, yet clearly being heard and processed.

Hisits smile never faltered. “How so?”

Laughter that sounded less real than the voice echoed in and out of hisits head. “i HaVe NOt beeN prESenT foR tHe bIRth of a BABY AVATAR beForE. MereLY PerIpheRAllY pReSent DurING theiR BeCoMINg. BuT YOu Are quiTE pOsSiBLY the mOSt BABY i HavE EVer WiTnEssED.”

The way it called himit a baby was neither seductive nor condescending. It was factual. Whatever Heit was now, was in fact, the most juvenile form. A baby.

“An Avatar.” Hisits attention drifted to the many glowing green eyes upon hisits arms, and chest. Heit could perceive more than see that every inch of hisits uncovered skin was covered in the eyes, like glowing, swarming freckles. Or possibly more like Fireflies swarming under his skin. Except that would be the wrong domain, wouldn’t it? “An Avatar of the Eye.” HEIT KNEW. He tilted his head the other way, allowing his smile to stretch. “An Eye to your Spiral, yes?” Heit offered with a bit of cheek.

The air around himit shrieked and screamed with that distorted laughter. The smile upon hisits face was a near match to the one on the Distortion’s face.

“i AM quiTE cErTain I wiLL lIKe YOU.”

He decided, for the purpose of his current identity, that he would remain a He for the time being, and that he would also continue to wear the name Midoriya Izuku until it no longer suited him.

For the purposes of feeding though, he preferred to think of himself as Deku. The once cruel moniker felt more comfortable to him now than it did before. The Distortion, that offered him the name Michael, found it amusing.

He instinctively knew that he was juvenile and vulnerable currently, and that other Avatars might find him more akin to food or easy prey rather than another acknowledge him as Avatar. Michael, however seemed to deem Deku under his wing, so to speak. After introductions and a long talk, half of which Izuku spent Knowing (Because apparently that word had a whole new meaning) which were lies or truths, Michael seemed to find him utterly delightful, claiming him to be far more clever and aesthetically pleasing than previous Avatars of the Eye. Izuku believed that was Its roundabout way of calling him cute? They talked beyond nightfall, and it delivered him home through a twisted yellow door just as he Knew his mother was going to phone the police. It left with a promise to take him hunting again soon.

It felt far more mundane than it probably should have, all things considered.

He soothed Midoriya Inko’s concerns with an incomplete set of truths: he was at the beach, became hungry, and lost track of time. And that was that.

Life continued on in a manner similar to that of before (Was there ever a before?). He went to school and avoided everyone that was not his mother. And he smiled. He seemed to suddenly fall off everyone’s radars. No teachers called on him. No classmates bothered him. Every single one seemed to stop looking at him. Not even Bakugou Katsuki. Izuku was uncertain if this was his own abilities, or Michael’s. Either way, he didn’t really mind. It was almost a week later when he felt Hungry again. He was deciding what to do about it at the end of the school day when he spotted the twisted yellow door, sitting next to his classroom door as if it belonged there. But he Knew better. His classmates passed it as they exited the room, but not a single one of their eyes strayed to it. It made it much simpler for him to exit it through it unseen.

The hallways beyond the door were nauseating. They couldn’t decide what colors to settle on around him, nor were they sure if they should be lined with pictures of infinite images or endlessly reflecting mirrors. The hallways seemed quite confounded by him. Michael stood in the center, with a spiraling smile and giggles that sounded like glass shards rubbing.

“i Am UNcerTain iF anYonE hAs pASsEd THroUgh UnAfRAId beFOre.” It revealed like a child unveiling an important secret. It offered one of those long, spindly hands to him

Izuku hummed thoughtfully, carefully wrapping his small hand around three of Michael’s long, dangerous fingers. “That seems unlikely doesn’t it, with us being what we are. However, to say something like that is impossible seems equally as unlikely. I hardly think I’m the first other Avatar to pass through. Certainly a former Archivist has. I Know that. I Know a lot of things lately. But he wasn’t quite as finished as I am, probably he had more ties to humanity than he thought while I had less ties than I thought. Which is a tangent conversation really, what I’m trying to say-“ Izuku babbled as if his words were rushing out of a faucet. Michael smiled that spiraling smile, and listened to the fascinating new Baby as it guided him through the twisting halls through another door. Certainly an odd friendship by standards of avatars of fear, and yet one that worked.

Little 8-year-old Izuku the Baby Avatar of the eye, thrived under the twisted care and guidance, from the Avatar of the Spiral. They had a routine they both enjoyed. Whenever Izuku grew Hungry, he would allow Michael to spirit him away through a twisted yellow door. Their destination? Literally anywhere. Izuku got to see nearly every city in Japan, and at least the capital of every country in the world. Izuku could understand and replicate every known language after those visits, at least, every known language used in the cities. Izuku would draw them in with his baby face. Singles or couples, but never groups more than three anymore. Too much attention directed towards missing groups. It took several failures, to the great amusement of Michael, for him to figure out how to Feed in shorter bursts instead of completely emptying a head (Only one of those teenagers from Dagobah Beach woke up). He found that not emptying his prey was less filling and required more frequent Feedings. When Izuku was done Feeding, he would lure them into the Twisted doors for Michael. It was very effective and satisfying.

Over the years, they made more games of it. Who could usually lure someone to the door first (Usually Michael, because he’s had more experience and he cheats by moving the doors)? What secrets did that shifty woman over there hide? What would happen if these two men who hated each other were forced through the doors? Or how much chaos could this new information wreak? (The last two were usually Izuku’s favorites). Izuku knew logically that as Avatars, especially Distortion, they had little use for emotions anymore. But Izuku would observe himself and Michael to be very happy with their arrangements, and whenever Izuku suggested something particularly deranged or chaotic, he Knew Michael was proud, thought It would never identify that.

The crossed trails of other Avatars before. Izuku had never seen one in person yet, Michael got odd when they crossed the trails, spider web lined alleys, smoldering ruins of buildings. It would guide Izuku in the opposite directions. Izuku Knew It was wary of allowing Its Baby to meet another Avatar yet. Izuku felt a burst of warmth in his chest when he Knew Michael saw him as Its instead of just another Avatar.

When Izuku’s body finally reached 13 years old, Michael deemed him old enough to feed alone. Izuku might have found that disappointing, if he didn’t Know that Michael did have other interests. He Knew Michael had a connection that was not of the here and now, despite Michael never explaining it. He smiled at Michael and wished it luck on its closure. He had never seen Michael flee before, and laughed himself silly when the slam of the Yellow Twisted door nearly shook his room into ruins.

These were the events that led to Izuku wandering alone in Yokohama. More specifically, he was following a shifty looking man through the back alleys of Kamino Ward. Shifty looking humans usually held the best secrets, crimes, attempted-villainy, the like. True villains were aloof or confident, no need to fear discovery of their secrets because they were fully devoted. The shifty-looking were the best because they constantly looked over their shoulders in fear of discovery. This man was doing just that, and every time, he saw Izuku smiling at him.

Izuku Knew he was being led to a hideout. The man was planning on getting someone more important to deal with Izuku before the brat ratted them all out. He believed Izuku to have some kind of mind reading quirk. It was really very amusing. Michael would get a kick out of the paranoia too.

It was two more alleys before Izuku grew bored of the stalking. It was less fun without Michael. “Don’t you want to talk to me?” The compulsion forced the man to freeze. He stiffly turned towards the Avatar, a mingled look of comprehension and terror washing over his features as Izuku stepped closer. The many glowing Eyes opened, bathing the space in their sickly green light. At 13 he was taller now, but he still reached up to grasp the man’s face and pull the man’s eyes down to his own level. He smiled. “Don’t you want to tell me all your dirty little secrets?”

The man sobbed as he spoke, but it was still perfectly clear to Izuku. This man was the lowest of the food chain. He provided quite a lot of money to the organization claiming the name The League of Villains, and in return a great number of his business competitors dropped off the grid. The man was thoroughly boring really. However, the League sounded interesting. Perhaps a cult? Izuku Knew some other Avatars hung around cults, mostly for entertainment, but sometimes for food.

Both being quite young and the Avatar for the Eye made Izuku infinitely curious. And Michael’s continued redirection from the existence of other Avatars only served to compound that curiosity.

Izuku forced the location of the League from the driveling man, and dropped what was left in the alley, feeling full and Knowing the man was going to drive himself mad with the knowledge he spilled the League’s secrets, and take his own life before they could retaliate. Izuku’s Eyes closed and he walked away.

Izuku quite easily navigated his way to the side alley where the bar was nestled. He opened the heavy door silently. It was a bar, simple and plain. With tables, and a bar, and barstools. Izuku was somewhat disappointed at the mediocrity of the League’s supposed hideout. He stepped up to the bar and took a seat on the stool. No one was around. He hummed and knocked on the counter. “Hello?”

A portal of pure inky darkness wavered into existence behind the bar. A person stepped out, wearing a suit that seemed to imply masculine over feminine. The body though, was completely comprised of an inky, amorphous smoke with two glowing yellow slits for eyes.

Izuku was fascinated.

The smoke blinked at him. He smiled widely back. “The…ah, bar is not opened yet.” The smoke’s voice was definitely masculine. The smoke continued its billowing, with no indication of a mouth anywhere upon it. “I am also quite certain you are too young to partake in drink here.”

Izuku hummed, drumming his fingers on the bar rapidly. His foot tapped against the bar as well. He still smiled. He Knew it was confusing and making the other uncomfortable.

Stomping flickered his attention briefly to the stairs as an older boy tromped down them. Pale hair, scars, wrinkles, cracked lips, dark clothes. Odd gloves that only covered some fingers, likely a touch-based quirk requiring full five finger contact for activation. All catalogued in seconds and pushed to the side. The smoke infinitely more fascinating currently.

Was he perhaps the Dark’s? Izuku didn’t Know immediately, which wasn’t always unusual. He had also only met Michael, so he was uncertain how another Avatar would affect his Knowing.

“The fuck is a brat doing here?” The teen grunted in a cross voice, stomping over to a barstool. “Oi kid, beat it. You don’t belong here.”

The smoke almost sighed. “Shigaraki, I was attempting-“

“You’re interesting.” Izuku interrupted them both, uninterested in their dynamic together. His Eyes opened, illuminating the bar in a sickly green glow. “What the fu-!” “Tell me about yourself mister.” Izuku smiled.

And the smoke did, his body fluctuating in a manner that portrayed discomfort. With wide, glowing yellow eyes, the smoke poured its Knowledge out to Izuku. His alias was Kurogiri, he worked for the League of Villains, serving an all-powerful man by the alias of Sensei, acting as a caretaker and mediator for Shigaraki and anyone they meet. His quirk was his ability to create portals. On and on he went about facts, none of which were what Izuku really wanted.

Izuku was visibly put-out, lips pursed. “You’re not an Avatar then?”

Kurogiri’s head shakily jerked out a ‘no.’

“Mmm.” Izuku’s Eyes closed. Kurogiri slumped, nearly falling to his knees if he hadn’t caught himself on the bar. How dull. Izuku tried not to look as disappointed as he felt. He didn’t realize he was pouting quite openly. “I’d like a soda please.”

“i…W-What..?” Kurogiri stuttered out, voice trembling.

“I would like a soda please.” Izuku enunciated, as if Kurogiri had done something wrong instead having what could be considered a traumatic event. Annoyance may have bled into his voice.

“R-Right.” Kurogiri moved quickly, clumsily knocking things together, favoring haste over composure in completing the politely worded command.

Izuku stared silently ahead at nothing. His Hunger was satiated, but not his interest. He supposed the likelihood of another Avatar so close to him was slim. Their trails had always been few and far in between. Still disappointing thought. Michael was brilliant. But Izuku craved to meet another.

The stool beside him filled with a body, drawing his gaze. “That’s a freaky quirk you got there.” The teenager commented. His red eyes were trained upon Izuku with interest.

Izuku hummed, but didn’t correct his assumption.

“My name is Shigaraki Tomura.”

“I Know.” Izuku acknowledged. He took the drink immediately after Kurogiri set it down, startling the smoke man away. He always liked the carbonation, a burning, fuzzy feeling in his mouth.

Shigaraki laughed, a wheezing twisted sound. It was easier on his ears, and yet somewhst reminded him of Michael. Izuku turned his head slightly to give Shigaraki more attention. It seemed to please the teenager. “Is that another part of your quirk? Knowing things?” He probed.

Oh, Shigaraki was clever. Possibly more interesting than Izuku’s initial assumption. “Perhaps.” He alluded. “You seem interested in quirks.”

“Clearly not as much as you.” The teen countered. “You asked a lot of questions. Half I’ve never even thought of, but I think I’ll have Kurogiri test if closing a portal on a limb will sever it.”

“Did I ask that?” Izuku tilted his head. The information was in his head, so perhaps he did. Getting the information was usually point A straight to point B for him. He never paid attention how the line between the points look. “Perhaps I should record myself sometime.” He decided.

Shigaraki just laughed again. Then he grinned, with all his teeth on display and his cracked lips and deep facial lines distorting the smile. It wasn’t quite as sharp, but it was something that would look quite at home on Michael’s face. “I like you, kid.”

Izuku smiled back. “I like you too, Shigaraki Tomura.” He raised his glass.

“Kurogiri, bring our guest some food.” The teen decided. “I think he should stay for dinner and we should chat about a business arrangement.”

“That’s polite of you, but Kurogiri already Fed me.”

Izuku found, since his sudden Becoming, he quite liked Horror films. Especially Monster Movies or Creature Features. They didn’t satiate his Hunger by any means, nor was any of the information really useful from a factual stand point. He mostly enjoyed the first half, watching the monster slowly feed or torment. His favorite point, though, was always the moment where comprehension dawned on the protagonists, when they truly realized that what they were up against.

Izuku watched that comprehension dawn upon Shigaraki and Kurogiri. And while it seemed to shake Kurogiri more, having experienced it first had, it seemed to excite Shigaraki. Which in turn, excited Izuku.

“Were you feeding on Kurogiri?” The older teen sounded giddy, like a child with a new present. “Using your quirk on him-extracting that information, was that feeding you?” Izuku could sense that while Shigaraki understood the fundamentals, he didn’t truly Know that Izuku was Feeding instead of feeding, or What he was Feeding on. But the Avatar smiled and nodded.

Shigaraki broke into hysterical laughter, the kind that had him slumped over the counter, gripping it tightly, enough to make it creak. It was maniacal and beautiful. And while Shigaraki clearly Knew nothing of what swam under the surface of reality , Izuku thought the Spiral might like Shigaraki for an Avatar one day.

Shigaraki didn’t so much as compose himself as he reeled his hysterics back into his body. But Izuku could still see the hysteria upon his face when he leaned into Izuku’s space, grinning that twisted grin with that insane cleverness glittering in those ruby eyes. “I have a proposition for you, kid.”

Deku became somewhat of an ally to the League of Villains. He allowed them the name Midoriya Izuku, but told them quite plainly that he’d rather be known as Deku, as he still had use of the home of Midoriya Inko for now, and would rather not draw attention there. He did still have leftover fondness for the woman, as he was once the Izuku Midoriya that was her son, and would rather allow her blissful ignorance for as long as he possibly could, but he did not relay that to the League. The almost clinic way he explained his position to them seemed to convince them that Inko and her apartment were a cover, not a home.

Their current arrangement was one of symbiosis. The League provided him with meals, and Izuku’s meals provided them with information. Izuku was quite fine with this set-up. He was an Avatar to the Eye after all, not the Hunt.

They would text him from a number he labeled in his phone as LV bar. Their texts were simple “we’ve got a meal for you.” They were possibly being a little over cautious, but if anyone looked through his phone, they were more likely to deduce he was meal testing for some kind of Love Bar, rather than an extracting information for the League of Villains.

Michael found it all very amusing when he popped into his room to check on him some nights later. After Izuku explained his new situation, Michael wiped a fake tear from his swirling eyes and proclaimed. “mY BABY iS gROwinG uP!” Neither commented on its use of the word My instead of The, but Izuku did press closer against Michael’s side for their trip for a meal.

The League didn’t actually call on Izuku that often. They decided he would make just as good of a ghost story as he would an extractor. They used him on the unlucky heroes they managed to capture, or on anyone they caught crossing the League. It typically ended up being 3-5 times a month, depending if they were lucky or if their victims were stupid, or even sometimes both. Kurogiri made himself as scarce as possibly during the feedings. Shigaraki watched every time.

Izuku decided to eventually introduced Michael and Shigaraki.

Izuku had yet to meet Sensei. Shigaraki explained, quite angrily, that Sensei had been severely wounded by Heroes, and kept himself remote and aloof, giving only orders and observing the Leagues proceeds from afar. Izuku would think him an Avatar of the Eye, if he did not Know that this Sensei was definitely not the Eye’s. So, he dismissed the matter of Sensei, for now.

Life carried on.

Izuku decided, for dramatic irony and why not, to apply to UA’s General Education course. He got in with no problems. He did, however, get a bit of entertainment when his homeroom teacher observed aloud with some befuddlement, that both Bakugou Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku were vying for UA, for the Hero and General Education courses respectively. The entirety of the class, the teacher, and even Bakugou looked at Izuku, as if noticing him for the first time. Izuku almost laughed, but managed to just smile instead.

His graduation from middle school went almost exactly the same. The teacher read through the names, and seemed surprised to read Midoriya Izuku, as if forgetting he was also in the class. The only person unsurprised was Midoriya Inko, of course. Call it sentiment, but he could never find it in himself to abandon her. He did replace her son (Or was he what was left of him? He wasn’t sure). He continued to fill the role with a smile, and subtly shielded her from the part of reality he now existed in. He told her exactly as much as she needed to, to continue her belief that she had a perfectly functioning quirkless son. It was a little sad, but that wasn’t his problem.

And life carried on, only slightly more interesting than before.

He supposed the next truly interesting milestone, for him really, wasn’t until the Hero Course’s internships. The League attacking USJ was amusing, but unrelated to him as he had yet to inform the League which Highschool he chose. The Sports Festival was too loud for his tastes, and not nearly as interesting televised. No, for him, it wasn’t until the day he dropped in on the League unannounced, secretly hoping to unnerve Kurogiri. Tormenting the bartender may have become somewhat of a new game for him.

The day he entered the bar, it was empty, save for Kurogiri and Shigaraki. This was not an unusual occurrence, seeing as how it was a front for their hideout. Their reactions weren’t unusual either. Kurogiri shifted to the furthest end of the bar from Izuku. Shigraki’s face split into that manic grin, though hidden today by that severed hand he did enjoy wearing.

“Ahhh, Deku. Is this good timing? Or bad timing?” Shigaraki mused aloud.

Izuku tilted his head slightly while the rhetorical query processed. “You are expecting other company.” He Knew, as he took his usual place at the bar. Kurogiri was quick to serve him a soda before retreating once more.

Shigaraki laughed. “That never gets old. Yeah, we got company. Sensei wants us to invite Hero Killer to the League.”

Izuku absorbed the information with a detached interest. He never found serial murderers all that interesting. Maybe because they didn’t make very good meals. Too confident or psychotic for real fear. He sipped his soda and stared at Kurogiri, his more recent method of torment. Shigaraki snorted, but had learned this to be one of Deku’s signs that wasn’t interested in chatting. The elder teen left him be.

Exactly 20 minute later the door opened and shut once more. Izuku politely turned his attention away from Kurogiri and to the wall, to allow the League to Conduct his business. He was not at all interested in the Hero Killer.

However, no one in the bar spoke a word. Minutes passed, far longer than needed for people to size each other up. Izuku might have chalked it up to them all being over dramatic, if he hadn’t recognized the very distinct feeling of being stared at.

“Do you-“ Shigaraki tried to break the silence, but was interrupted with- “A Baby.”

Izuku’s entire body spun to face the other, not unlike the reaction he had to Michael many years ago. Izuku drank in the sight of the other man and instantly Knew. He was skinny but muscled. Black clothes that were well layered, yet still greatly exposed his arms and face with meager bandages for coverage. Izuku counted five visible blades, but Knew more hid on his person, in his clothes, his boots. The red scarfe and headband offset the ensemble ominously. He had mangled dark hair that was pushed far out of his face. So many features to catalogue, But all were irrelevant when compared to the crimson eyes fixed acutely upon Izuku in curiosity.

Izuku’s Eyes opened. He leaned forward with that wide smile upon his face. “Hello!” He chirped. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve only met one other before! I hope you don’t kill me immediately; I’d like to get to know you.”

The last thing the man known as Chizome Akaguro, or the Hero Killer Stain, expected during this meeting with the League was to run across another Avatar. Much less a literal freaking BABY AVATAR.

And the Baby, like some kind of demented puppy, gave itself away by opening its fucking thousands of eyes(real mystery what fucking Entity this belonged to) like it was wagging its goddamn tail, and actually fucking smiled at him, like he wasn’t the Avatar of Hunt. Which he clearly fucking Knew, seeing as how he asked Stain to not immediately kill him.

The Hunt had no fucking lost love for most other Entities. In fact, it took pride in being the only Entity with having Avatars adept in the killing of other Entities Avatars. It was twisted. It was fucked up. And Stain was a part of it.

That said, Stain hadn’t actually killed any other Avatars yet. He was relatively young, by Avatar standards. Japan had nothing big brewing besides Heroes and Villains. At least, nothing Stain was aware of it.

He would, however, like to have been aware of the fucking Baby Avatar that sprouted somewhere in his fucking lawn.

Said Baby Avatar was fucking rocking on his stool, with the full attention of his wide glowing eyes on Stain. Eager like the goddamn puppy he resembled. Stain was proud to say he didn’t sigh. Or glare. Or anything outright rude. Stain crossed his arms. “How old are you?

The Baby Avatar hummed and cocked his head. “Midoriya Izuku is currently 15 years old, with his date of birth in two months.” He cocked his head to the other side. “I myself am approximately 7 years old, but all things considered that may be rather skewed.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Stain groused. “Aren’t you supposed to be exact with that fancy Knowledge and all knowing schtick?”

The Baby fucking giggled at him, like some kind of sneezing kitten. “I’m still rather new to this. I haven’t reached any kind of omniscience yet.” He reassured, as if his Eyes couldn’t fucking see his thoughts right now. “Annnnnnd, well, time through the Doors doesn’t really follow the rules, so who knows how many minutes could have been days for me?”

Wait. “Fucking doors?” Stain growled. “You’ve met a fucking spiral?” He was not jealous he wasn’t the Baby’s first meeting. Not. At. All.

The Baby’s fucking head bobbed. “Yeah, the Distortion, well, A Distortion found me, exactly 17 minutes after my Becoming.” His brow furrowed, somehow a little ‘v’ crease between those infinite eyes on his face. And somehow it was still fucking cute. “Well, maybe not exactly. I end up losing time when I’m feeding.”

There was so much he could unpack there. But he was mainly interested in- “Wait, so you’re fully realized?” He asked. He’d admit his tone was eager. It’s not everyday an Avatar skips the annoying toddler stage (The whiny am I human or monster stage) straight into the fully realized stage.

The Baby giggled again. “Not sure if I ever wasn’t. Or maybe Izuku spent his whole life Becoming. But regardless of befores of afters, I most certainly AM now.”

There was almost a vindictive certainty to the final bit that had Stain grinning now. He’d heard most the other of the Eye’s avatars were weak willed, dithering between Feeding, or other entities, or just down right annoying. This Baby was Feeding and reaching out to his betters. Who was he to deny a Baby that wanted to know better.

“You Hungry kid?”

The baby giggled “I could Feed.” He said, finally closing his Eyes. That smile stayed still. Stain wasn’t sure if that was a quirk from being Midoriya, or if the Spiral’s Avatar rubbed off on the kid. Either way, Stain didn’t mind much. It suited the demented baby puppy.

“C’mon, I’ve been itching for a Hunt.” The Baby hopped off the stool eagerly, and allowed Stain to loop an arm around his shoulders and guide him towards the door.

“Uhhh..” The brat with the hand on his face ruined his fucking moment with the Baby. “What about our meeting?”

“We’ll fucking meet after We fucking Feed.” Stain shot back on their way out. The villain brat wisely chose not to argue. Ta Daaaaaa. Might add to this prompt if my brain doesn’t shut up about it.

#Jzprompts #the magnus archives #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #tma #CrossOver #midoriya izuku #deku midoriya #michael the distortion #shigaraki #hero killer stain

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necropsittacus · 5 years ago

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1, 3, 7, 8, 25, 28, 35, 40, 43, 50? for the ask game. feel free to ignore some of these bc i kind of just went "oh look how many interesting questions" lol

1. Do you prefer writing with black or blue pen?

black; i kind of accumulate “weird” ink colors though. i took most of my notes last semester in gold glitter gel pen.

3. If you could learn a new skill, what would it be?

hh lots of things. i’d like to learn to code if/when i get the energy+could find a class for it. also more like hands-on crafts stuff, sewing or something; that’s historically been hard to get into with my motor issues but The Concept is good

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which would you choose?

ah. lots. depends how we’re defining mythical. dragon? vampire? some sort of primordial sea monster? the usual go-to is “idk eldritch horror bird thing” but that’s not Mythical

8. Do you prefer reading paper or electronic books?

depends? i normally use ebooks at this point in my life but paper ones can be nice if i have a headache or need to save battery

25. Do you prefer to use pen or pencil?

uhh. i like pen better sensorily+aesthetically, pencil makes weird noises if it isn’t sharp enough and also ink is just Nice and Fun, but sometimes my handwriting looks better in pencil? (especially in cyrillic for some reason?) also i always draw in pencil.

28. What would you want your legacy to be?

i don’t have a good answer to this anymore; a few years ago it would have been power, glory, diplomatic success, but i’ve been so focused on like...just getting through college. that i haven’t really thought about it realistically. i do want to be remembered fondly, and to do something with my life that will make a meaningful contribution to the world (either in terms of scientific discovery or like. people’s welfare)

35. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

don’t know honestly? i might still want to stay in academia as long as possible, and just like...take it slow. if i didn’t have to worry about needing to graduate in four years. so i can have the Learning Things I Think Are Cool and Living Within Systems I Know How To Operate stuff without stressing myself to the degree i do. i really wouldn’t like actually not having work and/or school, even with financial pressures out of the picture.

also i really want to be able to just throw money at my loved ones+people who need it. like. you want to buy this thing and i care about you? whoops guess it’s yours now. you need money for a place to stay? i will deal with this. i’m aware that’s not realistic but isn’t this the point of the question? (and also the first one of those i kind of will do for people as is if it feels permitted but like. on a grander scale.)

also i’m over-fond of like. pretty clothes and like jewelry from local shops and things of that nature, and going out for tea all the time. and swords. oh and also given this question has to do with the removal of financial obstacles not social ones it feels too unrealistic to say i’d like more of a social support system and all that, which you’ve heard too many times already lmao, but i honestly would probably have paid companions if i had that kind of money to throw at things. just for the attention and social need fulfillment.

40. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

lmao i keep meaning to get a tattoo it just keeps getting put off because like picking a place to do it and all that is scary and i’m busy with school. maybe it’ll be something i actually commit to doing as a birthday present. i know i want turin turambar’s grave inscription somewhere on my meat puppet at some point; also maybe some bird and sword imagery? and if my thing about starscream continues to be Of Lasting Significance i have had “decepticon insignia tramp stamp” suggested to me before and it is Not Out of the Question.

43. What is one thing you want to overcome/conquer?

my own damn brain, mostly, tbh. also: if my mental health wasn’t a load of garbage i would be fucking unstoppable academically and i Would Like To Be Better Than My Classmates and Peers and Have Everyone Know It.

50. Invent your own word. What does it mean?

this isn’t invention so much as me sticking roots together in fairly intuitive ways but uhh i think autohybristophilia should be a concept

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titoist · 3 years ago

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remembering...: in the first few months of third grade, after i had transferred over from another class. surely no older than 8 years old, finding a letter that another student had anonymously written for me. i could not read her cursive handwriting very well, but the parts i had made out seemed to imply that she admired me. i smiled to myself and promptly, dutifully, put the letter back in its envelope - straightening out the creases that had inadvertently been formed upon my opening of it - and set it back where i found it. i don't know if the other student ever even realized i read it. first day of fifth grade, after having transferred over to a new school - a 'fresh start' sort of thing. it going so badly, so embarrassingly, so desperately horrifying, that all i could do for recess was sit behind the school and feel sick to my stomach while rubbing my eyes. later on, during the course of my tenure at that school, was the first time i ever had the distinct thought "maybe i should just kill myself". i transferred to a new school before the semester even ended. i believe it was...winter of 6th grade, after i had transferred over. it was - i think - january, so the ground was covered in thin sheets of ice, the trees in the courtyard dried out and barren where they had once held leaves. exiting out in the beginning of recess, in boots and a coat, then promptly & without much fanfare slipping as i went to dig something out of my pocket, hitting my head on the way down and slightly cracking my phone in the process. a group of girls in my class who i had never really talked to before concernedly asking me if i was alright - slowly getting up and simply giving a curt "yes." in response before limping off to sit and rub my eyes under the shade of the roof covering the alternate entrance to the stairwell. final real day of middle school, around 13 years old, if i were to guess. sitting where i usually sat during recess & free periods, on a bench under the shade alone to the right of the schools entrance - a garbage can to my left and a small collection of potted plants on the steps behind me, leading up to another door sometimes used as an entrance. hearing my classmates of...around 3 years, then, yelling in the distance while i watched the sun peer in through the leaves above me and the birds chirp in the distance. a great all-encompassing serenity as i watched the clouds part overhead and spiral away into a nothingness that stretches forever and ever. and ever. thinking to myself "i need to remember the conditions, and the atmosphere, and the appearance of this moment. i need to take a photo, or record a video, of just how it feels like to be sitting here, exactly in this spot, in this specific period of time." on some level it was about trying to capture the fleeting moments of youth within that moment, i'm sure, but i also felt a great apathy towards that prospect. i just wanted the way that the concrete shined in the light of the sun to be embedded within my cortex as much as it could. rubbing my eyes and getting up, slowly, with measured steps, walking home where i promptly drew all the curtains and slept for 13 hours. there is no purpose to this, no real lesson to be gleamed or person to blame for my antisociality. if i could go back in time i would stay the same, i would ignore the opportunities again, and again, and again. almost as if a robot, but i am very aware of what i am doing. i believe, more than most things, that this is the only way for me. among other things, i feel deeply as if my existence is really a very simple transitory affair, in which i am constantly waiting for something to... *happen*. though it never will, most likely. & i mean, there are obvious complexities, sure. a chance that i am labelling it as impossible for me because the process i would have to undergo to actually force any change is immensely & terrifyingly hard, & because i am in the possession of a deep cowardice. but, if so, well...i suppose brand me a coward for life! i do not much care.

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sathinfection · 7 years ago

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so i saw @gurguliare do this writing meme and indirectly tag whoever wanted to do it and i’ve done it before but i’m bored so here goes it’s about... stuff. anyway also consider yourself tagged if you feel like doing this meme.

1) How many works in progress do you currently have?

Normally I only have one because I’m a slow writer with tunnel vision, but right now I have four (!!!!). WHY THIS

2) Do you/would you write fanfiction?

no never???

3) Do you prefer paper books or ebooks?

Ebooks because 1) physical books take up space 2) 95% of what i read are library books because if i don’t have to finish something within 21 days i’ll probably never start it

4) When did you start writing?

I didn’t start writing actual stories as something other than the occasional school assignment until I was 21 D: D: D: It was a garbage fantasy novel.

5) Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with?

I throw things at @gileonnen constantly and xie is kind enough to support my efforts. I also cyberbully @havisham a lot

6) Where is your favourite place to write?

I always end up writing in my living room and can’t manage it until there’s either no noise or some sort of very easily ignorable background noise. I’m going to try to learn how to write in coffeeshops when I’m unemployed as of January just so I have an excuse to get out of the house.

7) Favorite childhood book?

LOTR by far. I also loved Dune and the Foundation series a bunch. Anyway I don’t think that one’s favorite childhood book is that illuminating of someone’s personality and tastes, because children read what they have access to? ASK ME MY FAVE BOOKS AS A GROWN-UP GAWD. (Tiptree’s collection of short stories)

8) Writing for fun or publication?

Ok so I’ve been writing for ‘fun’ for a while though I can’t say I’ve actually HAD fun doing it until very recently. I’m gonna try to start writing for publication in January. i’m finally coming to terms with the fact that I feel both that I am the best writer in the universe but also completely inadequate, unpublishable, a phony, an overinflated shlock. :(

9) Pen and paper or computer?

I’m really self-conscious of how bad my handwriting is, I hold my pen badly, I’m super slow at longhand and a really fast typist, so basically the computer or bust.

10) Have you ever taken any writing classes?

UNFORTUNATELY

11) What inspires you to write?

Writing gives me a modicum of self-worth, helps me make friends, gives me some way of participating in a community setting that I’d otherwise miss out on because I live in hellcountry. Also sometimes I have ideas I really wanna share but mostly it’s to help with my fee fees.

#sath meme #if anyone reads this: sorry about how fake i am!

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kariedo · 8 years ago

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1-68 and 99

Why are you like this?

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?I tend to put more milk in even though I don’t drink it lmao

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?No I hate the cold with a passion

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?Nothing really cause I haven’t picked up a book in god knows how long lmao

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?I don’t like either unless it has a shit tone of sugar in it

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?Yes

6: do you keep plants?No. Me and plants have some bad blood lmao

7: do you name your plants?No cause I don’t keep plants

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?Generally my tablet or paper

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?Yes

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?usually on my side, but if I’m dead tired my stomach or if I’m drunk my back even though you’re not suppose to lmao

11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends?The most recent one is “Pete would shit is pants” and “Stupid” lmao

12: what's your favorite planet?Venus lmao

13: what's something that made you smile today?My cat lmao

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?It would be covered in weeb shit let’s be honest lmao That or we would have our fav disney stuff everywhere along with our favorite colors clashing because I’m sure none of us believe in transition colors

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!Please do not. I can’t handle space. I’ll have a crisis lmao

16: what's your favorite pasta dish?All pasta dishes lmao

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?LAVENDER

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.The fucking comment about lean muscle which still haunts me to this day. I opened my stupid mouth when we were talking about body types and I said I preferred lean muscle and literally the next fucking day Joseph Joestar happened and they will never let it go.

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?No lmao

20: what's your favorite eye color?I think green eyes are really pretty lmao

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.I don’t really carry around bags. There’s my purse that I’ve had for god knows how long only cause I’m too lazy to clean it out and go look for a new oneplus I’m broke af for a new one

22: are you a morning person?Oh honey no lmao

23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?Just lay in my bed and do nothing lmao

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?Yes and sometimes I think I’ve made a mistake cause she’ll always tease me about some stuff lmao

25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into?A middle school because my friend had to use the bathroom lmao

26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit?My black knock off vans lmao

27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor?Just the original bubblegum

28: sunrise or sunset?Sunset

29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?They will make doodles or write stuff and I’m such a sucker for that stuff and I cry :’)

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?I live in a constant state of fear lmao

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.I love socks. I have them on constantly except in the summer and it’s only really so I can tan my white ass feet. My fav kind of socks are the really soft and fuzzy ones uwu

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.One time we were drinking and my now current roommate lived by a park and so we went and we were playing on the jungle gym and there was this turning wheel thing that you’d spin on. So we all went on it and I spun on it a little to fast so when I let go I kinda semi ate it but I was fine but my roommate didn’t see this green pole and he slammed right into and was on the ground laughing and crying lmao

33: what's your fave pastry?Doughnuts lmao

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?I used to have this stuffed polar bear and I would refuse to sleep without it, but I think I gave it away or it’s in a box in my stuff somewhere

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?I like pretty pens, but I don’t use them often because my handwriting is shit lmao

36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now?Tbh just play me emo band for my whole entire life lmao

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?Messy af

38: tell us about your pet peeves!I really hate having to do everything when people just don’t want to do their shit, so I have to pick up the slack.I also hate ignorant people who just refuse to listen to you.

39: what color do you wear the most?I wear a lot of black surprisingly

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you?I have a pendent of the arrow head from part 4 and it’s basically cause I’m Jojo trash lmao

41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving?I don’t think I have ever read a book that’s had a lasting impact on me. Fanfiction on the other hand BOI

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!Not really cause I don’t drink coffee

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?nnipps and she found Maui’s hook lmao

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?Never :)

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?I guess????

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.There was this quiz that I accidentally missed back in CHEM 110 and it was such an easy quiz and one of the fucking questions was a god damn pun and it was: What do you do with a dead chemist? You barium

It haunts me to this day

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?I don’t think I have a food that I hate that much

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?Failure and it’s still holds strong to this day as I am dying in college :)))))

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?I do lmao the last one that I bought myself was Death of Bachelor, but nnipps had to go and buy A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out WHEN I COULD HAV GOTTEN IT MYSELF

50: what's an odd thing you collect?I don’t think it’s odd but I have some pop vinyls and figures. Stuff like that. Then there’s blankets, but that’s mainly cause nnipps always gives me blankets for christmas lmao

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?Does it have to be an actual person lmaoI’ll just use my friend and I just associate “How Far I’ll Go” cause Moana is her fav movie and she loves that song lmao

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?Idk if it’s really a meme, but I’m in love with those bird videos with Becky and Ron lmao I could watch those for hours and quote them

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?Nope never seen any of them

54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?Oh jesus um I guess my friend

55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point?I don’t think I have done anything dramatic to prove a point

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?I really love when people just do nice stuff that other person loves for each other lmao

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?Ok I was literally singing this yesterday with my roommates and we always get into it like the drama queens we are lmao

58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?joetaroh-koohoe is definitely the vodka aunt lmao as for wine mom I’m pretty sure the rest of us fall into that category

59: what's your favorite myth?I don’t really have one

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?I do, but I don’t think I have a fav

61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received?I go all out with presents so I don’t think I’ve given a stupid one or at least I hope I haven’t and then I love all gifts so I never classify any gift as stupid lmao

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?I use to, but ain’t nobody got time for that or breakfast

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?Not really. They are just there chilling lmao

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?Grey

65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with?I just recently saw my friends for spring break and my other friend is up here so I’m good for now lmao

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?Just a shit ton of carnations lmao

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?Lazy af

68: what's winter like where you live?FUCKING FREEZING AND IT NEVER STOPS RAINING AND I HATE IT

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.Ok if anyone knows me they know that This is Gospel by Panic! at the Disco fucking cripples me. That song just destroys me and I can never listen to it without either crying or just dying.

Death of Bachelor also hits me like a fucking truck along with House of Memories (although that one is because I’m OTP garbage) then there is She Had the World. Lying is the Most Fun a Girl can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off is also a song that gets to me mainly cause that was my first Panic! song lmao Then there is Build God, Then We'll Talk like I just fucking die with that song ESPECIALLY THAT VIOLIN BIT LIKE G O DThen we have Girls/Girls/Boys that sends me into a spiral of emotions.But moving away from Panic! there’s this acoustic version of Touch it by Ariana Grande that had my soul transcend to a whole other dimension. Who was I before that song. The piano and the vocals saved me man. Then there is Knew Better Part II that gets to me like idk what it is but it speaks to me. Then we have Best Mistake that fucking wrecks me too like it speaks to my angsty soul. Then there’s Why Try, One Last Time, and My Everything that also speak to my angsty soul.

Pretty much Panic! at the Disco and Ariana Grande just tend to kill me lmao

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sundaywhiskey · 8 years ago

Text

We’ll Always Have Sunsets

It was early 2009, and I did not want to meet my father’s new girlfriend. My parents’ divorce had finalized only a few months earlier. This new woman, I thought, was at best a rebound, at worst a homewrecker. I was twenty and angry.

We shared the same favorite Beatles song, me and the new girlfriend. “Revolution.” I learned that the night we met. She treated me, my father, my sister, and a couple of our friends to see The Fab Faux, a Beatles tribute band that sounds like the real thing. We drove there in a limo. When “Revolution” started—the clanging electric guitar, the racing drum, the background yell—she tapped my shoulder. “This one’s my favorite!” She sang along, smiling, dancing with hands and hips. Dad’s new girlfriend smiled the kind of smile that made everyone around want to smile too. I’m not sure if by that point my father had nicknamed her “Sweet Thang,” but probably. By the end of the show, I knew for certain my father’s new girlfriend—Kim was her name—was impossible to dislike.

I stood on the dock, bitching. “I do not do boats.”

Ignoring me, my father loaded the boat with essentials: a cooler, life vests. I went to Key Largo thinking we’d jet ski, not boat. There’s a difference: one I’d done before and decidedly disliked, and the other I hadn’t tried, so my feelings were up in the air. I worried about seasickness. The last time I’d gone boating was a year or so prior in St. Augustine. I had deep sea fished, or rather, I spent the trip curled in a ball, trying not to throw up. But this day, the bay was smooth and notably shallow—imperative differences I chose to avoid. Kim promised I’d be fine. She talked me on board.

It turns out, I like boats.

Kim teased me for years: when I’d go tubing, when I’d kneeboard, when I learned how to drive the boat, the one afternoon I tried wakeboarding, the vacation in Hawaii I snorkeled. “I thought you didn’t do boats,” she’d say, imitating my whine. “Oh hey, Miss I-Don’t-Do-Boats.” In Canada, we sailed while the sun set—Kim’s favorite time of day. My father played guitar and we sang.

Recently Kim saw a photo of me on the same boat from that first day. My father drove, and I smiled beside him. Kim laughed looking at the photo, said Dad should have that framed and mailed to me. “Remember how Lyndsay doesn’t do boats?”

Kim didn’t know that just after that photo was taken, she was Baker Acted for threatening suicide to her daughter.

A month after I moved to New York in 2013, my father called on my lunch break. He worried Kim might have a problem with alcohol. After her father’s funeral, she’d drank so much, she passed out on the toilet, fell off, maybe got a concussion.

I’d drink at least that much after your funeral, I probably said. Or maybe I said, I don’t know—that sounds like a reasonable day to get drunk. Whatever I said that afternoon, sitting at a picnic table in front of a grocery store on Fulton St., too many miles from my family to be of any use, I needed to believe that no, no, Kim was not an alcoholic. Not our Kim.

In hindsight, there were signs. I’d lived with my father and Kim for the six months preceding my New York move, and in the mornings while drinking coffee, Kim sometimes poured herself a glass of vodka before retiring to her bedroom for the day. She worked from home. In the evenings, her words slurred, her memory like mist. I’d later learn that what I had interpreted as sometimes was frequently, and what I’d interpreted as normal wasn’t.

I returned to my office. Should I confide in someone? Alcoholism wasn’t that serious, was it? I mean, I drink. And sometimes I don’t drink. Kim could do that: control her consumption. I remember thinking, or maybe the right word is hoping: There’s nothing to worry about. But what if there was?

Kim passed away January 4, 2017, at 6:36 p.m. from complications of alcoholism, namely cirrhosis of the liver and esophageal varices. She is survived by her husband, four children, two stepdaughters; her mother, and two brothers. Her first grandson was born 36 hours later.

I’m not sure which anecdote best illustrates my stepmother’s alcoholism.

Maybe the time she flew to New York for rehab, drank during the flight, forgot why she was on a flight, and tried to check-in to a hotel at which she had no reservation. She slept in the lobby. The police came.

Maybe the time she chased my father with a garden hoe.

Maybe the rumors she circulated about my father—that he was using her for money, he was cheating. She had developed Korsakoff Syndrome (a chronic memory disorder), and in the morning she’d love him but by afternoon she’d forget, rage and call him an asshole. Could he get the fuck out of her house? More than once she demanded her assistant pack my father’s clothes in garbage bags.

Maybe that she said these things and behaved this way while my father put his life on hold to help her. He called every doctor in town. He researched every rehab center. He left her cards on the nightstand—I love you, he’d write, his all-caps handwriting in permanent ink.

Maybe the Christmas she tossed half my presents in our backyard lake. She’d thrown other things in the lake, too: her wedding ring, for one. Once she threatened to drive into the lake.

Maybe the time she lost her car at a hotel. She’d forgotten she drove, took a taxi home, and the next morning she’d forgotten to which hotel she’d gone.

Maybe the time I went to her house and she told me to fucking leave, that I’m not her fucking daughter, and why don’t I tell my father to fuck off, while I was at it. A minute later she emerged on the driveway in tears. She was sorry, she would do anything for my dad’s girls. Amy and I were like daughters to her. I couldn’t stop crying.

That was not Kim. Kim was sick.

That was not Kim.

Kim was sick.

My father proposed to Kim in bed. They were that way, without frills. The six of us kids took to calling them Tomberly, or sometimes Tim. Their love was that gross gooey shit I didn’t believe existed until it stood before me, arms wrapped around waists and shoulders, smiling and laughing as though the only ones in on a joke. They were happy. My god, they were so happy.

They married November 3, 2012, in an intimate ceremony in Key Largo, FL. My step brother walked his mother down the aisle; my sister and I walked our dad. Kim’s daughter was maid-of-honor, and my Pop Pop was the best man. They married before a dock during sunset. My father’s band played the reception. Kim wore a teal and coral dress.

This year she forgot their anniversary. She was hospitalized, throwing up blood.

Alcoholism is a disease. A disease like cancer is a disease like diabetes is a disease like HIV is a disease. Many dispute this, claim people like Kim have a choice in the matter. They’re wrong. Nobody, least of all Kim, would choose this.

The National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Addiction defines alcoholism this way: “An addict’s life is often centered around their drug of choice, which in the case of an alcoholic is alcohol. They spend much of their time figuring out how to obtain it, drinking it, and recovering from its effects. They also do this at the expense of practically everything and everyone around them. Jobs suffer, as do relationships with friends and family members, and often alcoholics are in trouble with the law.”

Alcoholism alone explains the illegal golf cart rides down busy roads to the gas station. Why she lost custody of her youngest sons. The bruised liver, the tar stool, the blown esophagus, the near-dementia. The tubes, the heart monitor, the machines that kept her alive more days than her body would have survived on its own.

I last saw Kim not connected to wires and machines in a hospital bed on Christmas Day 2015. (I first saw Kim connected to wires and machines in a hospital bed on Christmas Day 2016.) She was sober and chain-smoking on the porch beneath the tiki hut. It was later in the evening, only a few stragglers from the day remained: me, my father, Kim, and this guy who turned out to be a neighbor, but whom I’d never before met. He argued politics, something about how you just have to work hard to obtain a college education, blahblahblah.

“Look,” I said. Hard work can get you only so far: because of hard work, I honed my talent for writing and obtained a career. But I qualified for said career because of a costly master’s degree, which required a cross-country move. Kim paid for my undergraduate and graduate education. She financially supported my moves to New York and Los Angeles.

No matter how much hard work, I would not be where I am today without my stepmother’s generosity.

Kim aww’d, pulled me into her arms. She never did these things for recognition. She’s not that way, helping people to feel better about herself. She paid my tuition because she knew I wanted to be a writer, and she knew I wanted a degree that said so, and she knew she had the means to help me accomplish that.

“That’s so sweet of you to say, little love,” she said. She smiled her Kim-smile, her cheek pressed into mine.

At her celebration of life Saturday, I shared many of the above stories. The one’s about Kim. Not the one’s about her disease. No person should be defined or remembered by that which ailed them.

The first time I said aloud “Kim is dead,” it tasted badly. It was palpable, the words a weight on my tongue.

Grief is relentless.

Addiction is relentless.

My family, we’ve had practice in grief—we lost our Kim years ago. Interventions. Rehab stints. Marchman Act’s. Doctors and psychiatrists and drugs and memory loss and yelling—my god, there was so much yelling—and legal documents and lakes.

I last heard Kim’s voice on Election Day. She sounded good, sober. I could’ve recognized her voice anywhere. She joked I should run for president. We laughed, and I remembered Revolution, and boats, and the family vacation to Steamboat Springs when like dominoes we all contracted stomach viruses, and Christmas-Day-matching-pajamas and Costco-maxi-dresses, and singing B-b-b-bennie and the Jets!, and the way the sun glowed behind her on her wedding day.

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