#i tried to be artsy with a new writing style sigh

[spockfallsinlove]

simple harmonies

prompt from @sierra198466​: After Beyond, Spock dumps Uhura and he realizes he loves Jim. He then finds out Jim has loved him since Into Darkness. word count: 2.2k ao3 link.

Spock has never known himself to do what humans refer to as “space out”. On the contrary, he does mental exercises daily to make sure his mind remains sharp. When there is a moment that he finds his thoughts floating from the current situation, he is normally able to bring himself back to reality.

However, during the whole conversation he and Nyota have, all he can seem to truly focus on are the wind chimes that are outside the coffee house door.

His mother had them, at their house. She used to say that it was the last non-electronic object that humans had to play music for them. The wind rarely gusted enough on Vulcan to make them sing; but whenever it did, she would look out the window and have one of her mysterious smiles that Spock never quite did figure out.

Like mother, like son. It is he who is transfixed, looking out the window, unable to look away as the chimes gently bump each other in the wind.

“We should end our romantic involvement with each other,” he says as Nyota takes a breath, ready to launch into the next part of her argument with him.

She stops. Blinks at him. “What did you say?”

The wind picks up again, knocking the littlest chime into the largest. A melodically odd tone results. “We should end our romantic relationship,” he repeats.

Nyota, for the first time since he’s known her, is speechless.

“Do you think that if we flew far enough in space, we could find the end of time?” Jim asks. He’s propped against the railing, staring out into the San Francisco bay.

Spock stops his vegetable gyro’s trajectory toward his mouth (it’s from a food truck that Jim insisted on them eating at; “the best in the galaxy” were his words). He frowns at his friend. “Modern physics suggests that a concept such as the ‘end of time’ is—”

Jim waves his hand, cutting Spock off. “I don’t want the science crap, any theorized evidence. What do you think?”

“Why do you wish to find the end of time?”

Jim shrugs. His hair is being lightly brushed by the wind and there’s a melancholic smile on his face that Spock cannot understand.  “If you can find the end, maybe you can trace it back. To where you want to go.”

Spock takes a thoughtful bite of his dinner and swallows before saying, “Even the ocean has an end. Technically.”

“It does, Spock,” Jim says, looking as if he’s seeing Spock for the first time, “it sure does.”

An hour after Spock leaves Nyota at the coffee shop, he receives an angry call from Doctor McCoy. He lets his phone ring itself to voicemail. The message is about as emotional as he expected.

“Listen you crazy hobgoblin—Nyota just told us what the hell you did. Just breaking up with her like that, no explanation, then walking out? Where the hell do you get off? You better believe that I’m going to kick that green ass of yours into the sky, and make sure you don’t get on the ship for that 5-year-mission—”

Spock deletes the message.

He stops at a crosswalk. People jostle his shoulder as they walk by. As is typical in the crowded streets of San Francisco, he feels fleeting snatches of their emotions and thoughts as they touch him: grocery lists running through people’s heads, worrying about who will pick up the kids at daycare, annoyance at how hot and sticky it is for a day in December.

Spock remains standing there. Staring into space, once again. The sound of windchimes stuck in his ears.

Spock tries to forget the day Jim got injured and almost died in his arms.

Peace talks with the people indigenous to Echo IV had not gone as expected. After refusing relations with the Federation, things had become tense. Jim, trying to calm down the situation, had gotten caught in the crossfire.

Spock’s hands were uncharacteristically shaking when he tore Jim’s shirt open to apply medical attention. McCoy was on the ship, since there was no anticipated danger at this meeting. Around the corner, the security team tried to manage the situation. Any requests for beam-ups were greeted with static.

“Spock.” Jim’s hand, stained with blood, caught Spock’s. “Leave it, find a way to get to the ship, just—”

“Cease talking.” Spock applied pressure to Jim’s wound. His mind was spinning. He could feel Jim’s agony through his skin.

“Get to the ship. Just be safe,” Jim choked out as he slipped from consciousness.

Spock tried to hail the Enterprise countless times. He helplessly watched as Jim’s face grew paler. Most of the security team had died, and Spock knew that soon it’d be him and Jim left. That Jim would die, either by someone else’s weapon or from his own wounds.

And all Spock could do is watch.

By the time the ship was finally hailed, and they were finally beamed aboard, McCoy had to stick a hypo into Spock’s neck to stop his body’s shaking.

It took five crew members to pull him off the unconscious captain.

It was standing over Jim’s sickbed, with Jim patched up and well and sipping water from a straw, that he finally relaxed. Breathed. He didn’t listen to the words that Jim said. He only watched his face, alive with emotions, and his lungs, expanding with breath.

It takes the whole afternoon before Nyota finally answers her comm. Spock is walking on the Starfleet Academy campus, which is empty due to the holidays, when his pocket buzzes.

“I wish to say I’m sorry,” Spock says, in a rush, before she can hang up.

She sighs angrily on the line. “I knew you weren’t a smooth talker, Spock, but, this... this takes the fucking cake.”

“I realize that I was … too forward.”

“Too forward?” she yells. “You didn’t even give me warning! One minute we’re arguing about me spending time on Vulcan with you, the next you’re dumping me in broad daylight! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I do not know.”

“Well…” She sighs again. “It’s not like I didn’t see it coming. But the way you did it, it just—” There’s a silence. “I’m pissed at you, Spock. And I will be for a long time. Don’t call me again, okay?”

“Underst—” The comm link cuts out. He pockets the device, and stands by a large oak tree.

A cadet walks by in his uniform and shouldering a backpack. He looks surprised that someone else is on campus before giving Spock a wry, understanding smile.

“What was your mother like?”

Jim is lying on the floor of Spock’s living room apartment, wine glass clutched in his hand. He stares up at Spock innocently.

“Why are you asking such a question?” is Spock’s reply.

“Tell me about your mom, and I’ll tell you about my dad.”

“You never knew your father.”

Jim lets loose a laugh. “Low blow, Spock. I know enough, okay? Now, tell me.” He sits up, legs crossed. “Just one thing.”

Spock doesn’t think about his mother often. It threatens his control.

But it’s Jim who’s asking.

“She loved nature,” Spock says. “She always tended faithfully to a garden in the backyard, and would cry if a plant died.”

“A happy thing about her, Spock.”

“I did not know these facts had to be so specific in nature.”

Jim raises his eyebrows, stares at Spock expectantly. Spock relents. “Very well, she... “ He pauses. “I never understood her. She seemed to have many secrets.”

Jim rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “I’ll never get anything out of you, will I?”

“Perhaps give me an example of what your father was like, so that I may see what you mean.”

Jim grins. “All right. Mom said that he used to sing to her all the time. He was really good at it.”

“You did not inherit this talent,” Spock observes.

“What? I’m awesome!”

“I have heard you in our adjoining bathroom on the ship.”

Jim laughs, a full-bodied one where his head is tilted back and his golden hair catches the light of the setting sun. “You’re such a jerk, you know that?”

Spock lets a small smile tug his lips.

Jim’s laughter dies down, and he takes a sip of wine. In the silence, Spock offers, “My mother loved music. Her favorite object in the house was the wind chimes that hung just outside our kitchen window.”

There’s a sad way about Jim’s eyes when he says, “I wish I could have met her.”

Spock feels something fissure his heart. “As do I.”

On his birthday a few weeks later, Jim showed up at his apartment with a small, blue windchime. Spock stared at it for approximately 9.78 seconds before accepting the gift.

Spock finds a bench to sit on the harbor boardwalk. The sun is dipping low in the horizon, making the ocean seem to glow.

He does not want to return home, just yet.

Since the coffee shop, his mind has been restless. Unordered. Jumping between memories and realities as if he were a living television set.

He remembers the last time he was on this boardwalk. The image of Jim is in his mind, face happy and open, eyes discerning the sea in front of him. Spock has no doubt that he could take the world by storm if he wished; the galaxy included.

Jim could have anything if he set his mind to it. Could have anyone. It’s illogical; if these are the facts, then what does Jim need with an awkwardly socialized half-Vulcan?

Spock frowns at his shoes. The idea of Jim not needing him… is frightening. When Spock himself needs Jim so.

Spock’s gaze snaps to the ocean. The pieces in his mind burst together in a colorful, clarifying light.

Jim is at his apartment door when Spock returns, sitting against the door. He quickly scrambles to his feet when he sees Spock.

“Where the hell were you?” Jim asks angrily. “I’ve been calling and looking everywhere!”

“I have just been to your apartment,” Spock explains, unsteadily. “You were not there.”

“Because I’ve been waiting for you, you idiot! I’ve gotten hundreds of messages from Bones, Uhura, even Chekov has heard about it and is upset—”

“I regret worrying you,” Spock supplies, lamely, as he takes out his keys. He walks into his living room as Jim follows him through the door.

“What, you just break Uhura’s heart and then take off? And don’t even tell anyone where you were? You’ve been M.I.A all day!”

Spock places his keys on the coffee table. “I am aware.”

Jim puts both hands on his hips, glaring at him. “So, what, no explanation? You’re just gonna stand there?”

“I was attempting to find you. I need to—”

“Then why didn’t you call me? Why did I have to—”

“I am in love with you.”

Jim stares at him. His mouth remains slack, his eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

“It’s why I was attempting to find you.” Spock sits on his couch, hands on his knees to stop them from shaking. “I have come to this realization 3.57 hours ago. I regret not realizing and telling you sooner. And I regret not knowing this as I was ending my relationship with Uhura. But I assure you, I will give her an explanation.”

Jim stares at him. “You’re kidding me.”

“I assure you, I am not.”

“How can you just—sit there and deliver that news like it’s the fucking weather?”

“It is a fact. I thought it best for you to know.”

Jim puts a hand on his forehead, shaking his head. “Uhura’s gonna kill me.”

“I understand that the likelihood of you reciprocating my feelings is 5.456%,” Spock says, almost too quickly, “due to the fact that you have not shown amorous feelings for me in the past. I understand if you were to open my position to applicants, as working with me may now seem impossible. If you were to—”

“Spock.” Jim walks to the couch and stands close enough so that their knees touch. He stares down at him. “Shut up.”

Spock obeys. Jim kneels down to Spock’s eye level.

“Do you remember when I died?”

Spock goes tense. “I do not see what that has to do with—”

“Spock. Just answer the question.”

“Of course I remember. It is a stupid question.”

Jim closes his eyes in frustration. “God, you’re making this difficult.” He takes a breath and opens his eyes. “When I died, I couldn’t really get words out. And there was that… damn glass between us. So I couldn’t tell you what was really in my head.”

“Tell me what?”

Spock’s breath hitches when Jim is suddenly taking his hand, holding it between his. “I’ve loved you for years, you stupid Vulcan.”

Spock’s heart feels to have stopped. He takes time to illogically memorize the moment; the shadows casting on Jim’s face, the complete stillness in his normally animated expression. But only a moment, because Spock cannot stay still any longer and is framing Jim’s face with his hands, bringing him forward in a very human, very emotional kiss.

“Finally,” Jim breathes on Spock’s lips between kisses, moving to bracket Spock’s legs with his. They fit together flawlessly; effortlessly. As if the small moments between them were meant to lead to this.

In the distance, on the flight of the wind, Spock can hear the chimes.

[jyvurentropyblog]

How To Choose a POV?

One of my writer friends asked me to write something about POV. She didn’t have a specific question, but basically asked if I might cover the different types of POVs and which ones work better in certain circumstances. 

Well, like I told her, this is going to be a VERY biased post. I am incredibly partial to third limited. I choose third limited almost every story I write. 

Let me start by explaining the different POVs. 

First Person: Uses the pronoun I 

“I went to the store.”

Second Person: Uses the pronoun You

“First you need to go to the store, get some eggs and vanilla extract.”

Second person is rare in fiction. It is most often used in non-fiction books that include instructions, or recipes, or other how-to guides. 

Every once in awhile, a writer will be really artsy-fartsy and use second person in fiction. 

Second person in fiction would look like this:

“You go to the store. You see a long line of people. You sigh and shuffle down the aisle.”

One notable example of second person in non-artsy-fartsy fiction would be the choose your own adventure books. 

Third Person: Uses third-person pronouns such as “She/He/They/Ze/etc

“Ze went to the store.”

But within third-person you have two options:

Third Limited or Third Omniscient

With third limited, readers are privy to the thoughts and feelings of only one character per chapter or scene. A story can still have multiple POVs, but within a scene or chapter, the POV remains only with one character. 

In my novel ‘Desire and Destruction’, I alternate POVs every other chapter. So it goes one chapter in Cole’s POV and one chapter in Ingrid’s POV. When we’re in a Cole chapter, we can see what Ingrid does, but not what she thinks or feels. We can not see into her head. And the reverse is true when we’re in an Ingrid chapter. 

With third omniscient, there is a god-like narrator who is looking into the minds of ALL the characters. This narrator is often somewhat detached and may look down on certain characters and praise other characters. Basically, it isn’t that deep-third that we get with third-limited. The narrator often has their own personality and way of viewing the characters. Within any scene, the narrator can relate the thoughts, feelings, or backstory of any character. 

I do not recommend third omniscient. As I covered in my last post, very few people have the skill to know when to use it AND how to pull it off effectively. Most stories are not enhanced by third omniscient. I’m not saying you should never use it, but don’t jump in and give it a whirl just because a lot of the old classics use this style. 

Remember the time period that was hard AF for third-limited also experimented with narrative style to the point that Frankenstein is told via letters by someone who has nothing to do with the story and just happened to meet Dr. Frankenstein out in the wilderness. It’s a summary of a summary. Wuthering Heights is told exclusively in conversations between the housekeeper and a tenant, neither of whom are main characters. Look.....the classics of the Romantic and Victorian era were....on some real other shit. Writing like the classics isn’t always a solid plan. 

So that’s my extreme cautioning against third omniscient. I just don’t think it adds anything to most stories and is far too likely to jar or confuse readers and come across as head-hopping. 

But third-limited on the other hand....

I ADORE third-limited. Let me explain why I like it. 

You get all the perks of first person AND all the perks of third-person. You can be somewhat detached, but you still get a front row seat to the thoughts and feelings of one character at a time. When you really pull off a nice deep-third, you’re fully immersed in the character’s inner world, but there’s still a bit of a buffer. You still aren’t writing AS the character. 

Here is a section of my book ‘Combustion’ in third-limited where I was going for deep-third. 

~The flame birthed itself at the end of the match. It danced, red and orange, against the backdrop of the still night. Rachel opened her mouth as wide as she could, until the corners of her lips were stretched as far as they would go. She made sure that her mouth was a wide, round circle. Just like the man on fire. Probably just like Mary Reeser had done. She was going to spontaneously combust. She would do it now.

And she could stop waiting for it to happen. She was never going to have to be afraid of it happening again. It was all about to be over. Rachel watched the flame slide down lower, burning away at the wood of the match. It was going to reach her hand soon, so she had to do this fast. Spontaneous Human Combustion started inside the body.

Rachel understood why the man on fire had his mouth wide open.

There wasn't any time left.

Rachel took the match and placed it into her open mouth.~

It’s in third-person, but it’s still written in a way where we can feel her fear, her confusion, her dissociation. We can see her reasoning. Of course, her reasoning is flawed. She should not be trying to make herself spontaneously combust JUST so that she can stop being afraid of it happening. 

So how do you know if you should choose third-limited or first? (because third omniscient and second person should rarely be used). Well, I’m biased, and I believe third-limited works well for most stories. 

That being said, I have chosen first person for two of my stories. One is my now shelved manuscript ‘Femcel’ which I will eventually be rewriting and it will be retitled ‘Pick Me.’ The other is my collab story with Emily Hurricane ‘When The Darkness Takes Us.’

For ‘When The Darkness Takes Us’ I had a very specific reason for choosing first person. This character is a self-insert. It’s a fictionalized account of something very difficult I went through semi-recently. 

So I suppose I’d say, when it’s a really emotional story with strong voice, first person may be a better choice. When it’s a very personal story, first person may be a better choice. When you’re writing a character who rants and raves and switches gears mid-thought-stream so quickly that a third-person narrator wouldn’t do it justice-it would only slow the stream-of-consiousness down. 

I also chose first person for my book ‘Femcel’ which is not currently online, because I need to make some changes to it. 

Here is an excerpt from ‘Femcel.’ 

~If every single day was a day off from work with Sailor Moon dvds and an entire pickle pizza all to myself, well, then I think life would be a-okay. Today has been great. I cleaned my room and then I pulled out my trusty Sailor Moon box set. Auntie and Mom-mom are both at work, so nobody to bug me about what I'm eating. I ordered a large pizza and I got the owner on the phone when the new guy didn't understand that they can put pickles on a pizza. It isn't on the menu, but they do it for me all the time.

I told him, "You charge me for a pepperoni pizza and tell the guy cooking it to put on pickles. Ask Jim. He always does it." But the guy still thought I was full of it.

Eventually they sorted it out though. And yeah, I know it's bad to eat an entire large pizza myself. Don't go thinking I'm a total pig. I only eat like this when I watch anime.

Usually I don't eat enough. Mom-mom says I'm too thin and she isn't wrong. If I lay on my stomach too long at night, my ribs start to hurt. I'm the only woman in my family with a stick body. Everybody else has nice curves. I barely have boobs and my butt is flat. I tried doing squats for awhile, but when nothing much happened, I figured it was probably all nonsense. You know? A placebo.

It's only four in the afternoon, but already it's getting dark. I hate winter. Especially once Christmas is over. I feel so upset and anxious every day in that long dead span of winter, January through March, when there's nothing to look forward to and it feels like the world just dead ass stopped. Sludge in every parking lot. Everything is cold and wet. Kek. And it's the middle of January. Top kek. (I mean that sarcastically. Obviously).~

I chose first for Ana’s story, because I imagined her as this very voicey character with this sweet and sarcastic personality. She’s also incredibly immature (which does make sense since she’s in her very early 20s) and I felt that youth and naiveté would across more strongly in first person. 

So....what’s the hard and fast rule for deciding between third-limited and first?

I....uh.... 

 I wish I could tell you lol

Like my last post about balancing dialogue with other storytelling elements, I have to say, I just play it by ear. 

I will say, I think every writer should figure out early on which POV they prefer to write in. Try them all out. Try writing the same scenes in first and third and see which one you like better. 

I did this while I was getting my B.A in Creative Writing and after several rounds of playing with third-limited and first, I discovered I’m incredibly partial to third-limited. 

That doesn’t mean there isn’t any room for first. Like I said, I realized first was the better choice for two of my WIPs. But knowing that third-limited is my default style, I always have a starting point. I start most stories in third-limited and it’s only when third-limited starts to feel....well...limiting that I give first a whirl. 

In the end, it’s about what YOU as the writer are most comfortable with. Some people say it depends on the story you want to tell, and I agree to an extent, but at the same time, if you hate writing in first person and you try to force it, the story may suffer for it. For years, I wrote exclusively in third-limited before I was comfortable enough to test out first person. 

Third-limited and first both accomplish different things. First person has more voice and immediacy, while third-person allows a writer to be more poetic and detached. 

Which POV do you like best? When you experiment with both POVs, which allows your story to come to life more?

There’s no real rule of thumb. 

Like everything with writing, it’s all a matter of intuition; following your gut and looking at every story as a unique experience. 

I know that was wishy-washy, but it’s the best I can do while still being honest!

There just aren’t any true absolutes with writing. 

Good luck fellow writers <3

[judehvyward]

lady gaga vc: i’m still in love w judas Babey..... helo. nai again. i cnt rly write lana atm so! switched her out fr jude. some of u might kno him already bt if nt then here is his pinterest board to kind of get a feel fr his aesthetic or whtever n then u can find out mre abt him beneath the cut. like this or hmu fr plots!!

( cis-male ) haven’t seen JUDE HAYWARD around in a while. the DOUGLAS BOOTH lookalike has been known to be (+) WITTY & (+) PROTECTIVE, but HE can also be (-) SARCASTIC & (-) DETACHED. The 23 year old is a JUNIOR majoring in FINE ART. I believe they’re living in AUDAX but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nai. 22. gmt. she/ha. )

born in sheffield in england, bt they went back and forth between there n san fran a lot

jude was an unhappy accident. his parents never rly used protection bc they were super liberal n au naturel n believed in the pull out method bc… they were maniacs. bt then the one time they used a condom in an effort to b safety conscious it broke n hence…. jude was born

they just kind of ran w it bc they had such a passionate relationship tht they were like what the hell…. may as well! itll be fine we’ll learn to be good parents n love him like normal ppl do

spoiler alert: tht didn’t work out

they were ok to him like they weren’t super abusive or anything like that bt they just found him to be a massive burden n hindrance to their plans

they literally….. had sex all day every day n acted like a pair of teenagers. it ws a super weird/unhealthy environment for a kid to grow up in bc he literally had no role models or… guidance or…. anything rly. occasionally they’d joke around w him or pretend they even knew what grade he was going into but for the most part they just didn’t care one bit

they were both suuuuper into the arts. they’re both rly good sculptors bt they paint too n they actually own a successful gallery in san fran

as a result he grew up around a lot of creative n sometimes pretentious ppl. the friends of his parents were more present in his life than his actual parents bc they were always jetting off to diff countries to scout out new pieces fr their galleries n just have a gd time in beautiful places without…. the annoyance tht ws their son forcing them to b responsible n look after someone else. tbh some of his parents friends tht stayed w him while they were away were rly damaging too bt….i won’t go into that just yet. it doesn’t rly…need properly explaining bc jude never talks abt it anyway n it….is rather triggering so i’ll jst….leav it for now tbh fgkhdfgh. basically they just were not nice n jude had a lot of bad memories he keeps repressed

bc of how he ws raised he has a p cultured taste. he luvs classic lit n film n p much anything artsy. he can play piano 2 n sometimes gets rly high n thinks he’s mozart level gd at composing. i mean he’s gd bt… chill

personality wise he acts out sometimes bc he’s so frustrated. he tried rly hard to be someone his parents wld care abt by doing wild or stupid things so he’d hav funny stories to tell them n tbh sometimes it works n he gets them to laugh w him but it isn’t a parent/son bond n it never rly wil b. he’s rly sarcastic, sleeps around a lot bt isn’t particularly fond of actual dates except in rare cases, has an overflowing secret sketchbook n if he cares abt someone he’ll probably draw them n get rly defensive if they find out abt it fkjgdhfkj bcos he’s an independent boy without a sentimental bone in his body! or so he tries to pretend. pretty deadpan humour most of the time. luvs strange ppl tht keep him on his toes

he has rly bad insomnia so he like never sleeps fgjkhfgjkf he always has rly sleepy eyes n rubs them tiredly mid conversation. he smokes a lot of weed to try n compensate fr this n make him tired bt he still struggles a lot. he also… smokes a lot fr the sake of his depression bc hoo boy does he hav it bad! he’s tried a bunch of medications n none have rly worked bt u kno. he’s surviving

wld die to protect tha Wamen. once punched a guy fr bein disrespectful to queen n living legend frankie vigo. rly jst… does his best to b a gd guy bt sometimes fucks up mostly frm jst. thoughtless errors

king of bein an lgbt ally. experimented once n ws like :/ when guys jst… weren’t fr him. he genuinely ws disappointed over it n hs sighed at least seven times over the matter. when blake came out as gay he wore this shirt 2 support him. truly jst a strange little man w positive intentions

ummmmmmmm honestly idk i’m blankin on what else to say. ull find him smoking weed reading an american classic or gnawing at his thumbnail n getting charcoal smudges along tht dramatic model jawline. he’s p broody n scruffy n he’s mostly here fr a good time. o and he’s that guy that would die fr morrissey (in terms of…. his style bt he acknowledges tht he ws/is a pretentious twat) and all that stone roses the smiths the cure etc stuff music wise. hmu fr plots!!!!!! i’m down fr anything

[ohmytheon]

Karma in Retrograde (20)

title: Karma in Retrograde

summary: When Dabi is hit by a de-aging quirk, he’s turned back to a 16 year-old U.A. Gen Studies student with self-esteem and parent issues, a destructive quirk, and no memory of the last five years. To help the Dabi of the past, present, and future, he is placed with Class 1-A. There, they must all face the question of whether he can change or if his destiny is already set in stone.

– Chapter 20: Class 1-A decies to tackle the Aizawa Clothes problem with Ryouta.

Lanni notes: This is a long af post and I’m sorry to everyone on mobile! This chapter did not go through Misty's usual super heavy beta'ing, but she decided that my writing was "postable". lmao You all deserve a break from the angst. Seriously, you really do. I mean, there's never a full break from angst because Todorokis gonna Todoroki, but this is definitely one of the crackier chapters. Also it's ridiculously long, but there wasn't a good place to cut it in half. I wrote the first three-fourths and, judging by how much I wrote, you can tell that I had a blast. It honestly didn't feel like 12k. There was just something really great about writing Ryouta in this scenario and, while it seems really silly, I think it pushed his character forward a lot - both with himself and the class. Also, there is a scene at the end that might come off as particularly cracky, but, well, it's based off experiences that both Misty and I have done. I will say that my family made a night out of it. Maybe I loved this chapter so much because I related to it a lot. I don't know. I just hope you all enjoy reading it. Oh, one more thing: Uraraka is a goddamn hero.

We've also got some new art for the fic! (Bless ya'll!) mucha.rt somehow pulled an image of Ryouta and Dabi right out of my head. Here's an insanely awesome depiction of a scene from chapter two where Aizawa shows Ryouta a picture of Dabi by @wellthengetouttathesoupaisle, a hilarious pink-haired Bakugou from @calys-artsy-side, and the squad (aka Ryouta, Mina, and Kaminari) by @feferisushi! The song for this chapter - which is absolutely perfect and I demanded we use it when Misty brought it up as a joke - is "Thrift Shop" by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. If that gives you a hint about what this chapter is about.

Savin' my money and I'm hella happy that's a bargain, bitch I'm a take your grandpa's style, I'm a take your grandpa's style, No, for real. Ask your grandpa. Can I have his hand-me-downs? Thank you

To be honest, Ryouta didn’t having been cooped up in UA since being struck by the quirk. It didn’t feel like much of a prison sentence when he never really went out before. Staying in Heights Alliance or studying in the library was normal for him. Everything he could possibly need was on campus. Why bother going out? It wasn’t like he’d had close friends to do things with. He didn’t go hang out in the city on weekends. If asked, he couldn’t tell anyone the last time he’d gone to the mall or the movies. Those things didn’t matter. He hadn’t even done them often before high school.

As far as his memories were concerned, the only times he had left campus were to buy groceries and visit his siblings. Both trips were brief and done out of a sense of necessity. He didn’t have a ton of money since he refused to ask his father for more help and he couldn’t handle being at the Todoroki house for long. UA might not have been the best of places, but it wasn’t home and that had to count for something.

He did miss Fuyumi. He missed the way she would lecture him on his homework and help him tend to his burns as their mom had before. He missed Natsuo’s persistently bright nature and the way he would tease him and Fuyumi even if it wasn’t appropriate. He missed Shouto, who looked at him like he was good for something.

It still wasn’t enough to make him visit home more. He might’ve missed his siblings, but he was wary of crossing paths with his father more.

Five years and one de-aging quirk later, Ryouta didn’t have to worry about that. Not only was he in constant contact with Shouto, but Fuyumi and Natsuo had sought him out. He wasn’t alone anymore. Besides the confines of his dorm room, which he wouldn’t be surprised to find out was bugged, he couldn’t hide from people. It left him feeling entirely exposed. He didn’t like it, but he also knew it was what his family wanted. One fact stood between him and his ultimate prize: he was a villain.

Ryouta sighed as his thoughts once again distracted him from his notes. Maybe getting so worked up over the notes on the hero course was stupid (after all, it wasn’t like he was going to become a hero), but he had spent years trying to get here. Now that he was in it, he found himself floundering. He knew the most important basics of being a hero, but there was so much more than that. He had some training experience under his belt, but all the theoretical stuff was mind-numbing. There was so much to consider. He knew that being a hero wasn’t just fighting blindly, but working through multiple scenarios made him realize how much could go wrong.

“I think my brain is melting,” Ryouta grumbled. He set his pen down and rubbed his face tiredly. Everyone was so focused on the physical aspect of being a hero that they didn’t stop to consider how much thinking went into it as well. He had spent the better part of his morning reading and flipping through a booklet filled with different scenarios. It made him feel like he was doing a reading comprehension study guide. He was not a fan.

“You doing alright over there?” Midoriya asked from the other side of the table.

Ryouta dropped his forehead onto the booklet. “I think I’d rather fight Bakugou than do this.”

Midoriya smiled understandingly. “It’s a lot of tedious work.”

After lifting his head enough to fold his arms under him, Ryouta dropped his chin on his arms. “It wouldn’t be so difficult if there was one right answer, but there isn’t. There’s just so much to consider. You do one little thing and everything can go to hell.” Not to mention all the reading of old cases and villain takedowns, ones that ended well and ones that didn’t. “Makes me wonder if things ever end okay.”

“They do,” Midoriya insisted, “but it takes a lot of determination and effort.”

“And brains and muscle,” Ryouta added.

Midoriya chuckled. “That too.”

“I didn’t know pros had to do so much homework,” Ryouta said. “Like I don’t mind the extra work - not really. This is what I wanted to do. I wanted to be in the hero course. I wanted…”

He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to be the best. He wanted to be like his father.

(“He’s becoming more like Enji every day,” his mom cried on the phone one night when she thought he was in bed. “I don’t know what to do. He used to be so gentle.”)

When Ryouta realized that he’d drifted off mid-thought, he sat up and took a deep breath. No more slacking. It was time to get back to work. As long as he kept working, he couldn’t dwell on anything. Midoriya must have either been used to Shouto ending conversations abruptly or he was polite enough not to call him out on it.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Midoriya asked carefully, “why were you in General Studies?” Ryouta tried not to react, but he kept his gaze on the notes even though he wasn’t reading. “Not counting your fight against Bakugou, I’ve seen your quirk, uh, up close.” He really didn’t want to read into that, but he knew that meant Dabi had attacked him. “It’s definitely strong enough to warrant a position in the Hero Course. Did you not pass the exam?”

Ryouta twirled the pencil between his fingers as he thought about what to say. He had already explained to Shouto why he hadn’t been in it, but no one else in the class knew. He didn’t think it was any of their business. He knew he could tell Midoriya that he didn’t want to talk about it and the other boy wouldn’t push the matter any further. He was polite. Ryouta didn’t always trust people like that, thinking they were trying to get something from him, but Midoriya was genuinely kind.

It made it much more difficult to lie to him.

“I didn’t take it,” Ryouta answered. “I applied for General Studies, took the test, and got in.”

Midoriya shot up in surprise. “Why not? Your flames are hotter than your brother’s. With the right training, they probably would’ve been stronger than Endeavor’s.”

They were. That was the shameful part. His father had been ecstatic to find out that his oldest son’s fire quirk was even hotter and more powerful than his. Of course, he was stronger because of all the training, experience, and hard work that he’d put into controlling his quirk, but he had been so sure he’d be able to mold his son into a great successor. Ryouta could still remember how excited and happy he had felt upon making his father proud. It embarrassed him to think of it now.

“I had to prove I was worthy of it,” Ryouta explained. He knew he was being evasive, making Midoriya work for the truth, but this was hard for him. He had been sort of open with him before though. He could do it again. It was a process. He was learning.

“That’s what the exam is for,” Midoriya pointed out.

Ryouta shrugged his shoulders. “That wasn’t enough proof.”

His tone ended the conversation, but he had a feeling Midoriya didn’t need him to elaborate. He knew exactly who he was talking about. Shouto had a lot to prove with their father too, but while he was already halfway to the top of the mountain, Ryouta felt like he was stuck at the bottom with only a rope and no other climbing equipment. It wasn’t fair in the slightest and it didn’t matter. He’d fucked off elsewhere instead of conquering the mountain.

Couldn’t he have chosen something besides becoming a villain? It made him feel like his entire life was tied to Endeavor, like no matter what he did or where he went or who he became, his decisions would always go back to him. It was incredibly frustrating.

Shoving the papers away, Ryouta stood up. “I’m gonna take a break. Go for a walk or something. If I don’t, my head might actually explode without Bakugou’s help.”

“Probably a good idea.” Midoriya gave him a quick look over and bit his lip. Ryouta furrowed his brow. What the hell was that look for? “You, uh, gonna change or anything?”

“Why would I do that?” Ryouta asked. He looked down at himself and rolled his eyes. Midoriya was too polite. “Is it the outfit again?”

“No, no!” Midoriya was quick to reassure, waving his hands in front of himself. His pink cheeks betrayed his thoughts though. He could be nice and still lie if he thought it would make someone feel better. By now, Ryouta had learned that the three most honest people here were Iida, Asui, and Bakugou. At times, it was easier to deal with them than someone who was nice to the point of lying. Midoriya meant well though. “It’s a bit nippy out today, is all. You might want a jacket or hoodie. Did Aizawa give you any?”

“I’ll be fine.” A washed out old anime merch t-shirt and bright teal sweatpants with some slip-on shoes were good enough. Even if it was cold outside, it would help soothe the headache that had been building up over the past thirty minutes. Maybe he was allergic to honesty. That could explain why he always felt so sick when he opened up further.

“Of course.” The smile on Midoriya’s face was too tight to be honest. He wasn’t going to say outright he thought Ryouta’s outfit was butt ugly, but he didn’t have to. It mattered very little to Ryouta. He was going out for a walk around campus, not to a fancy restaurant. “Do you want any company?”

Ryouta’s first thought was that Midoriya wanted to keep an eye on him in case he did anything suspicious, but he struck that down almost immediately. No, he was genuinely asking if he wanted someone with him. Most people liked it when other people were there for them. Not Ryouta though. He wanted to be alone. There would probably be a teacher or someone hanging around to make sure everything was safe, but he could at least pretend. With his head hurting, he felt too close to saying something he’d regret.

“Nah, I’m good,” Ryouta told him.

Instead of asking again, Midoriya nodded. Yeah, he was definitely used to Shouto, although his brother was still more social than him at this point. Gathering his things into a neat stack, he went to pick them up, but Midoriya waved at him to leave his stuff there. He wasn’t going anywhere so his things would be safe. Not that anyone in Class 1-A would mess with it. He doubted even Bakugou would, although Kaminari might think it a fun prank to hide it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to be on the receiving end of one soon now that he had gotten involved in the prank circle.

Upon walking out of the dorms, a cool wind blew over him. It was indeed chilly as Midoriya had said, but that didn’t bother Ryouta. Being early spring, the days could still get cold. No doubt Iida would scold him if he caught him out here without a coat on so he didn’t stop walking. Fuyumi used to do the same thing, always reminding him to wear his jacket so he wouldn’t set a bad example for Shouto.

The cold wind reminded him of his mom’s quirk. Being a civilian, she couldn’t use it as freely as his dad, but she had used it at home. In the face of his father’s sheer power, it was easy to forget that her quirk was actually pretty strong. She didn’t use it for fighting like Shouto used the ice half of his quirk. Ryouta had always found it soothing and kind. When he had been younger and lacked any control over his quirk, it could burn right through him. She would hold him against her, using her quirk to cool him down or put her hands on his face whenever he struggled with a fever. That was what the wind made him think of now.

Ryouta was about halfway through his mindless walk around campus when he decided he wanted something to eat. It was close enough to lunchtime that he could probably get something from the Mess Hall. It wasn’t likely to be busy either, so he could grab a quick snack and go to a spot in the trees where no one would bother him.

However, his plan to eat was cut short when he opened the door and nearly walked right into one of his teachers. It was always strange to see his teachers outside of their hero costumes. Aizawa’s was so understated that it could pass off as his regular clothes. He slept in it enough. Besides finding out All Might’s true form, seeing Present Mic in civilian clothes with his hair down always threw Ryouta off guard. It was so weird.

Present Mic looked just as surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m hungry,” Ryouta immediately answered.

“Oh.” Present Mic scratched his chin. “That makes sense.” His eyes dropped from Ryouta’s face down to his feet, slowly widening as he did. The suspicion morphed into horror and his hand covered his mouth. “My god, what did Shouta do to you?”

“Um…” Ryouta wasn’t sure how to answer that since he didn’t know what Present Mic was talking about. At first, he had thought Present Mic had said his brother’s name, but then he realized that he’d misheard him. He had said “Shouta,” not “Shouto,” which then begged the question who that was. It clicked a few seconds later when he realized his teacher was gawking at his outfit. “You mean Aizawa?”

“Yes, I mean Aizawa!” Present Mic waved a hand at him. “That outfit has him written all over it!”

Ryouta sighed. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s a bright ass outfit that still somehow manages to convey ‘depression’,” Present Mic countered. The remark made Ryouta raise his eyebrows. Besides Bakugou, that was definitely the most forward someone had been about their thoughts concerning what he wore outside of class. The two teachers had known each other for a while though, hadn’t they? Both of them had been teaching at UA when he was here five years ago. Aizawa’s lack of a fashion sense must have been a problem for a while. “And you’re okay wearing that?”

“I mean, it’s not like I have anything else to wear besides my brother’s clothes,” Ryouta pointed out, frustration evident in his voice. It wasn’t like everyone else was the pinnacle of fashion. Most heroes’ costumes were tacky as hell, but he didn’t hear anyone commenting about that. “Plus, I don’t have any money to buy my own clothes. All I have are the funds the school set up for me so I can eat.”

Present Mic gave him a weird look. “The funds…” Realization dawned on his face, which confused Ryouta, but he didn’t question it. “Ah, of course, the funds - I remember now.” He put his hands on his hips and gave him a cheerful grin. It looked normal on him, but Ryouta wasn’t used to seeing that friendliness directed towards him. He was pretty sure that Present Mic neither liked nor trusted him. “Well, you’re in luck, kid, because I think they added more to it recently so you can buy some of your own things.”

“Really? I checked it this morning and I didn’t see anything added.” Ryouta knew that he wasn’t a careful person, but he ran a tight budget. Maybe he wasn’t that great in Present Mic’s English Lit class, but he was damn good at math. He had to be. Accepting any money from his father had been irritating enough, so he had to make sure it stretched for as long as possible and then some in between working odd jobs. He hadn’t known any other UA students that worked on the weekends, but he’d needed to pay for necessities somehow.

“It just happened,” Present Mic insisted. “You need your own shampoo and razors and stuff, right?”

“Yeah,” Ryouta admitted. He’d been using other people’s things, which was humiliating. Shouto kept telling him that he didn’t mind sharing, but all he could think about when he used his brother’s shampoo was that it was the name brand kind, the stuff they used at home. It had been such a stupid shock to switch to the cheaper than store brand toiletries, but he’d done it for over a year now. “I guess I can pull some money out and give it to Shouto to buy me stuff the next time he goes off campus.”

“Huh, that’s right. You haven’t left campus since being brought here, have you?” Present Mic kept his hands on his hips and examined him carefully, like a teacher would a difficult problem. It was a bit off-putting.

Ryouta did his best not to squirm. “I didn’t think it was allowed.”

“It’s true we haven’t considered it before,” Present Mic said, half to himself. He considered Ryouta, looking like he was now trying to solve that problem. Easier said than done. Ryouta knew he was essentially made up of a series of hurdles, each one harder to jump than the previous one. “This isn’t supposed to be a prison for you though.”

“I didn’t think of it that way,” Ryouta replied honestly. Since he hadn’t gone off campus much when he had been here the first time, not leaving felt normal. Although he hadn’t liked UA at times because of how much it reminded him that he was a failure, it was nothing compared to what home felt like. He’d spent years cut off from his quirk every night with the same quirk inhibitor braces that were used on criminals, walking on eggshells and coming up with plans to escape. Now that had been a prison.

The comment didn’t seem to please Present Mic, who still looked like he was trapped in the thought process. “You’ve been on your best behavior too.” Well, that was nice to hear. He had been trying to be good - maybe too hard - but he couldn’t afford for any of the UA staff to think he was planning on acting out or was taking the situation and how much they’d done for him lightly. No one had made any negative remarks about the prank on Bakugou, so he figured he was in the clear there. “I don’t see why you can’t go off campus at least once as long as there’s proper supervision. It’s not like anyone knows who you are.”

Right. No one outside of Class 1-A, the police, and a handful of heroes knew who he was. Any enemies he had made as Dabi, even the League of Villains, wouldn’t know he was anything more than a UA student. As long as he refrained from using his quirk, he should be fine. No one would know the difference.

Even though he had thought about how much he didn’t mind being confined to campus, Ryouta latched onto the idea of being able to get out. It would mean he had built up a sense of trust between him and UA, which was very important to him. No doubt they had kept the police up to date with his progress. Something like that would be necessary in order for UA to keep him here. They had to prove that what they were doing here was right and also that Ryouta wasn’t a menace to society. He had to be twice as good as everyone else in order to get anything.

It wasn’t the idea of going off campus that was such a big deal so much as the idea that they trusted him to do it. The last people to trust him had been his siblings and he had left them behind. There was a lot of making and catching up to do.

“I’ll be good,” Ryouta swore, too eager for his liking. He had to dial it down a notch, but he was excited. Going off campus would be another mark of him acting like a teenager again. Besides going to the store with Fuyumi or taking Natsuo and Shouto to the park, he’d never gone out and done things with friends, mostly because he either didn’t have the money or the friends. “I’ll even wear the quirk inhibitor braces that Aizawa got me. I can hide them under a hoodie. Whatever it takes.”

Something of a smile appeared on Present Mic’s face, which was odd considering Ryouta had never once seen him smile in his direction besides that obviously fake grin earlier. It was always that vague, uneasy look of suspicion. “I thought you didn’t mind staying on campus.”

“Well…” Ryouta shrugged his shoulders. “It’d be nice to see if anything’s changed. Being stuck here, even though so much is different, sometimes makes it feel not real since it’s the last thing I remember.”

Since he hadn’t been able to leave UA, it was sometimes hard for him to remember that the whole world had continued to spin while he had turned into a villain. It was only when he saw how technology like phones had changed or he overheard the other kids talking about media that he realized he had missed so much more than Shouto growing up, Natsuo going to college, or Fuyumi following her dreams.

The stray thought that this must be how his mother felt in the hospital crossed Ryouta’s mind. Her world stayed the same day in and day out while everything changed around her. What would it feel like to step outside? Would it be that much different? Would it be overwhelming or anticlimactic? He wouldn’t know until he left the routine and safety that UA provided. After having experienced a taste of what a normal life could be like with friends, dumb pranks, and the hero course, he was all too eager to have more.

“Let’s see what I can do. I think it’ll be good for you to get out of here.” Present Mic snorted and shook his head. “Besides, someone needs to save you from Shouta’s horrible fashion judgement. I’ve had to deal with him for years. I’m not letting him corrupt you too. This is cruel and unusual punishment. No one should be subjected to that.”

That seemed a little harsh, but Ryouta wasn’t going to argue with his teacher. He clearly took this matter very seriously. At least Present Mic was being honest. He could appreciate that. People being nice to him was good and all, but a little brutal honesty went a long way in this messed up situation. It was probably something he remember for himself.

*

It turned out Ryouta’s first experience off campus was a trip to the mall, which put him on edge. To be honest, he wasn’t a fan of malls, but Present Mic had thought it would be the best place for him to find some clothes of his own to wear. He didn’t care for the large crowds or the store employees popping out of nowhere to ask him if he needed any help. Even if he did, he wouldn’t ask them. Thrift shops were better so he could get in and out without anyone bothering him. No one asked questions there.

The trip also meant he had to find something to wear, which somehow devolved into Uraraka and Iida sifting through the clothes Aizawa gave him until they came up with an outfit that didn’t look like he had dressed in the dark. Shouto had sat back and watched with Deku, looking more amused than he had any right to be, as Uraraka struggled to keep a straight face with every article of clothing she found. Seriously, what was so bad about how he dressed?

After finding a pair of jeans, t-shirt, and plain hoodie, Ryouta was deemed to look decent. Were they embarrassed to be seen with him in public? Whatever.  He didn’t really care either way. He was ready to go. Despite the fact finals were next week, almost everyone was excited to go off campus for a few hours. Even Iida had decided a break was necessary. Ryouta had thought Kaminari was going to cry when he found out they had been given permission to leave. According to him, studying fried his brain worse than overdoing his quirk.

Honestly, Ryouta had expected Aizawa to be one of the teachers supervising the trip, seeing as how his quirk was best suited to subduing him if need be. After all, he knew how poorly of a fighter Ryouta was, so it wouldn’t be difficult to take him down if his quirk was out of the equation. He was surprised to find it was actually Present Mic and Midnight, both of whom were wearing regular clothes as well. If it was weird to see Present Mic in civilian clothes with his long hair down, it was jarring to see Midnight wearing modest clothes. He recognized her from the foreboding smile on her face, but everything else threw him off.

“Try to ignore us and have fun,” Midnight told him as the group made their way down the stairs of the nearest subway stop.

“Right, fun.” That was difficult to do for Ryouta, who knew the teachers were only coming because of him. With her quirk, Midnight could knock him out quickly. None of the other students paid their teachers any attention, all of them wrapped up in what stores they wanted to visit or when they should eat lunch. It was like they weren’t even there. Only Shouto seemed to take note of them, but only as a precaution. He knew what they were (watch guards to keep Ryouta in check) and he didn’t look pleased. There was no way he was going to argue with them though and neither was Ryouta. This was a stretch as it was. “I can do that.”

Apparently, there was an arcade in the mall that Kaminari and Sero were eager to hit up. That was new. The last time Ryouta had gone to the mall, there hadn’t been one. He liked video games well enough, but he wasn’t that great at them. It had taken years to convince their father to let them have a gaming system since he considered them a waste of time, but he’d found out it got his other kids out of his hair. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out. He’d only been to an arcade once years ago.

“And try to get some better clothes!” Present Mic added, all but shoving Ryouta and Midoriya onto the subway after it pulled in front of them.

Shouto sighed, far too dramatically. “That will be a challenge.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Present Mic said. He stayed near the doors, watching all the kids take their seats. Almost the entire class had decided to come on the trip. The unfortunate souls already on the subway car watched in woe as a mob of teenagers piled inside. “If he willingly wore the clothes Shouta gave him without complaint, we already have a problem. I can’t let there be another one. It’s my duty as a hero and teacher to ensure he doesn’t pass on his bad habits to students. Dealing with Shouta is bad enough.”

Midnight laughed as she walked to the back of the car so there was a teacher posted at both sliding doors. It was a good tactical decision. Ryouta sat near the middle in a seat next to Shouto, who looked at ease enough. Up until applying at UA, Ryouta had never been on the subway before. He’d hated it the first time he used it and he hated it now. There were so many people on it, especially on the weekend. At least he could space out. All he planned on doing when they got to the mall was find the cheapest store, snag the plainest clothes he could find, buy some necessities, and be done with it. Then he could follow the others around and relax.

Midoriya spun around in his seat next to Uraraka to look back at them. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Ryouta said, “just kinda anxious and relieved to get off campus.”

“I’m so excited!” Uraraka exclaimed. “I haven’t been in the mall in months. Not that I’m going to buy anything, but I like to look and try on things.” She rubbed her hands together. “Plus, all the free samples at the food court.”

“And you can buy your own stuff so you don’t have to rely on Aizawa’s, um, interesting personal taste,” Midoriya added.

Again, Ryouta didn’t think Aizawa had bought the clothes personally. Even if he had, they gave off a definite thrift store vibe, which was fine by him. After moving out, that was how he’d got a lot of his clothes. The main issue with having a fire quirk and trying to improve it was that most clothes weren’t fire retardant. He couldn’t have said how many t-shirts he had destroyed over the years. Why spend decent money or find things that looked good? That was partly why he didn’t mind how bright, ugly, or boring the clothes he’d been given were. There was a possibility they’d get ruined anyway.

Kaminari clapping him on the shoulder from behind nearly made Ryouta jump, but instead, he turned around to give the other boy a semi-alarmed look. “Our boy is gonna find some clothes that’ll catch all the ladies’ eyes.” He elbowed Sero playfully in the side. “It’ll suck to have more competition, but then you’ll be a proper pretty boy like your brother.”

Shouto’s furrowed brow and slight frown made him look so confused that Ryouta snorted. Even Uraraka giggled and Midoriya grinned. The idea of his little brother being labeled a pretty boy was almost as funny as Ryouta being competition for girls. One of the very last things on his mind was dating. He was pretty damn sure he had much more important things going on in his life than that. There was no way he was going to develop a crush on anyone when he had a life sentence hanging over his head in the form of his future self.

Truth be told, it had never been a big deal before. When his father had cut off his training and sent him to school with Fuyumi and Natsuo, he’d been too wounded and too hung up to develop close bonds or friendships, choosing to stick with his sister or by himself. By the time he reached high school, he simply didn’t care. There wasn’t time for anything like that and, well, he was kind of too absorbed in his own shit to notice anyone else.

Huh, wow. That made him sound like more of a bastard than usual.

“Do you know where you want to go first?” Midoriya asked.

“Erm, not really,” Ryouta admitted.

“We should formulate a plan before splitting off,” Iida said from his seat next to Yaoyorozu on the other side of the train car, “and make sure Present Mic and Midnight are aware of it.”

Ryouta held up his hands. “I don’t care where we go. I’ll follow you all.” If he acted like he didn’t care where they went, maybe they wouldn’t realize he didn’t know where to go. How many of the stores had changed since he’d last been there? He wouldn’t even know where to even begin. Maybe he could ask Uraraka once they got there. Wherever she got clothes would probably work for him.

Everyone seemed ready to split in a mad dash the second they got to the mall, but Iida forced them all to come up with a plan once they got off at the stop. That way their teachers would know where everyone was even if they were going to stick close to whatever group Ryouta found himself in. He figured that they could go to a few stores, but since he wasn’t picky, they wouldn’t take long. Also, even though he knew this whole trip was kind of for him, he didn’t want to be the focus, so he made sure to stress that he would go anywhere they wanted.

Despite the organized plan they had decided on, the moment they stepped foot into the mall, the class split up into groups and bolted in separate directions. Kaminari waved at him as he left with Sero, Kirishima, and Bakugou to the arcade. Uraraka even left them to go with Mina, Asui, Momo, and Hagakure, giving them a helpless shrug as she was dragged off. Others began to taper off until it was just Ryouta, Shouto, Iida, and Midoriya.

It looked like it was officially a boys’ day out shopping. Well, this wasn’t weird at all.

Sighing, Ryouta started forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

“It’ll be fun!” Midoriya told him.

Ryouta looked at him sideways. “Should I put on a fashion show too of whatever clothes I pick out?”

Shouto hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe we should’ve sent him off with the girls.” Even though Ryouta shot him a glare, his younger brother looked dead serious.

Instead of being offended, Midoriya bit his lip as he tried not to smile too much. “Then they really would’ve made him try on everything they picked out so they could see what he looked like. They’d have him wearing whatever clothes they like.” He started to laugh, putting a hand over his mouth to muffle it. “Don’t be so mean, Todoroki!”

“We won’t steer you wrong,” Iida reassured him. He stopped in front of what looked like a nice store and walked inside. The other three boys followed him without complaint. “Just pick whatever you want. These are your clothes, after all.”

If given the option of what clothes he could wear, Ryouta knew it wouldn’t be as bad as what Aizawa had given him. The knowing look on Shouto’s face suggested he thought differently. It wasn’t Ryouta’s fault he couldn’t afford to be picky about what he wore. Even when he had lived at home, buying fancy clothes hadn’t made sense to him. It wasn’t like their dad took him out anywhere. He spent most of his time either at home or school, so whatever Fuyumi bought him for his birthday was what he wore.

Although Ryouta had been certain he wouldn’t be able to miss Present Mic and Midnight watching over him, once he started to wander through the store looking at all the clothes, he forgot about them. He was much more focused on trying to find something the other boys thought looked fine. However, when he did finally pick something out, he balked when he looked at the price tag. He had known this store was probably going to be out of his budget, but he hadn’t realized it was that off.

“What’s wrong?” Iida asked when Ryouta started to put clothes back.

“They, uh, aren’t my size,” Ryouta replied edgily.

“Really?” Iida glanced around. “Let me see if I can find an employee. They might have different sizes in the back. They’re very polite and helpful here whenever I shop here.”

Ah, that explained the prices. Over the past few weeks, Ryouta had become more familiar with the kids he had attacked as Dabi. One of the biggest things about Iida was that he came from a family of heroes as well. Everyone in his family shared similar speed quirks and were in the pro hero business. He was even carrying on the pro hero name Ingenium of his older brother, who could no longer be a hero. It was very inspiring and a huge contrast to what the Todoroki household had been like, except for one thing.

Iida had money. The stores he shopped in were very different from the ones Ryouta had learned to frequent in the past year.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Ryouta insisted quickly before Iida could leave. “I can just look somewhere else.”

Even though he frowned a little, Iida nodded. “If you want. I don’t have need of anything today.”

Ryouta looked around a rack of shirts to find Midoriya and Shouto looking at ties. Shouto was shaking his head, a smile on his face, as Midoriya compared two different ones. Seeing as how it was obvious to Ryouta that Midoriya didn’t know how to tie a tie, it was probably a useless thought. He might not have been able to dress stylishly, but Ryouta’s school tie was always the proper length.

“Hey, Midoriya!” Ryouta called out.

The green-haired boy turned around to face him. “Oh, hey, which one do you think looks better? I need a new tie for any formal outfits.”

“The blue one,” Ryouta told him. Shouto immediately plucked the blue tie out of Midoriya’s hand and put it back on the rack. He hesitated and then put the other one back for good measure. Well, that was rude. Ryouta narrowed his eyes briefly before getting over it. Whatever. “What stores do you usually shop in?”

“Oh, um, not this one,” Midoriya responded. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a little out of my price range.” Yes, good, now they were talking. “I get a lot of my clothes in a store further in near the food court. They’ve got pretty good deals and they’re comfortable.”

“Cool, let’s go there,” Ryouta said, already walking out of the store. “Maybe you can find something too.”

“No shirt shirts,” Shouta jumped in, a little too firmly if Ryouta was being honest. Midoriya smiled awkwardly and zipped up his jacket further to hide the evidence. Maybe the real reason why he never outright commented on Ryouta’s clothes was that he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on either. As long as the clothes were comfortable, what was the big deal clothes weren’t that great?

Just as Ryouta had hoped, the store Midoriya took them to was indeed the more or less right place. It had sale written all over it like it was going out of business. Actually, maybe it was going out of business considering how many sale signs were up. It wasn’t like March was a big time for shopping. Here at least, Ryouta could grab clothes at random without having to worry about breaking the bank. He didn’t look at anything he picked for long, just enough to decide he’d wear it without complaint. He needed clothes he could wear as it got warmer what with spring upon them.

After picking out an armful, Ryouta rechecked to make sure they were the right size and on sale. With that taken care of, he made his way to check out, but Shouto stopped him cold by laying a hand on his arm and asking, “Aren’t you going to try them on?”

“I don’t see the point,” Ryouta said. “They’ll fit.”

Shouto sighed and pulled his hand away. “Let me see them.”

Ryouta jerked his arms and the clothes back. “They’re fine, you little shit.”

“You picked them at random,” Shouto retorted. “I watched you go through the store and just grab things when you figured out they were your size.” He shook his head. “Don’t you care in the slightest?”

“Not really,” Ryouta said.

“Why?”

Ryouta opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out and he closed it. Why did he not care? Why was it such a big deal to care about something as basic as his appearance? To be honest, he’d never put much thought into it before. The clothes would get destroyed. What did it matter? When he started attending public school, Fuyumi had edited what he wore, sometimes his mother. While he didn’t understand why they were so particular about it, he didn’t fight them either. Shouldn’t he have cared at least a little? Shouldn’t it have irritated him that he either wore what other people wanted him to wear or he wore whatever he found on the ground? He remembered his mother wrestling him into nice clothes for family portraits, but besides that, he simply...didn’t care.

No, maybe that wasn’t completely it. He remembered finding some of Fuyumi’s horrified reactions funny. Ryouta hadn’t been put together at all. He was a disaster. He could also remember their father forcing him back inside to change. Usually he did, but the times he refused meant he had to stay home alone. Those had been some of the quietest days of his life once the explosive arguing was over.

No, he didn’t care what clothes he wore, but he did care what he looked like. There was a difference.

“Will you even try?” Shouto asked.

Clenching his jaw, Ryouta looked down at the bundle of clothes in his arms. He really didn’t think they looked bad, but, if he thought about it, he knew they would only be a step above what he had now. If he took the time, he could be fully aware of what he was wearing. Objectively, he knew the clothes he wore outside of his school uniform looked bad and he had a shit sense of fashion, but he didn’t care about them. He could wear anything, no matter how stupid or ridiculous as it was, as long as he didn’t look like his dad. That was fine. It was partly why he settled on wearing such plain clothes at home.

Ryouta sighed. “Okay, fine.”

The first thing they did was go through everything he’d picked out before even trying them out. While Iida and Midoriya walked through the store in an attempt to find some formal wear the latter could afford, Shouto tore through Ryouta’s selection without any forgiveness. He frowned, furrowed his brow, and almost cringed with every article of clothing he produced until finally the only clothes that were left was a button up shirt, a dark pair of jeans, and a jacket.

“Seriously?” Ryouta scoffed. “Nothing else was good?” Shouto gave him a judgemental look that said he wasn’t even going to grace him with a response. “Can I be honest?”

“Yes, please,” Shouto said.

Waving a hand at the three articles of clothing left, Ryouta admitted, “I don’t even like these.”

“Then why did you pick them out?” Shouto demanded, the first hints of frustration evident in his voice.

“Because they were super cheap when combined with other clothes for the store deals,” Ryouta shot back, also frustrated. Shouto gawked at him. There might not have been much of a change in his facial expression, but he could tell just how much in shock his brother was right now.

It was understandable. Ryouta had seen his dorm room, after all. As much as he’d gone through with their father, Shouto wasn’t above spending Endeavor’s money either. That was fine. If Ryouta had access to his dad’s credit card right now, he’d probably go wild after the past few weeks had been dumped on him, but it had become important to him not to rely on his help. His pity. He’d given Ryouta the bare amount of funds to take care of himself, just enough that didn’t make him look bad, and that was that. Ryouta had found out the hard way that, despite how much his home life had sucked at times, he’d had it made too. It was a mortifying realization.

“I don’t see why you won’t let me buy this stuff for you,” Shouto finally said.

“Because it’s not your money!” Ryouta exclaimed. He cringed at the volume of his voice, hunkering his shoulders so he could hide behind a coat rack, and then rubbed his temple. “I appreciate the gesture - I do - but I did everything I could to not rely on our dad. I went by a different name. I never mentioned him at school. I didn’t ask for help. It was… It is important to me that I still don’t.”

The shock on Shouto’s face was gone, replaced by something softer that looked more like understanding. There was a moment where they stared at each other and it felt like another piece of the puzzle had fallen in between them. So much of living with Shouto now and going to school with him meant figuring each other out all over again. Luckily he’d had practice doing that with Fuyumi after their father had decided to end his training, but it didn’t make it fun or less painful, just easier.

“Find anything?” Midoriya asked, a bag filled with purchased items in one hand. Iida looked...tired. Apparently, his attempts at convincing his friend out of his poor taste in fashion hadn’t gone as well as Shouto’s.

Ryouta shook his head. “Nope, I’m still a hopeless cause.”

Iida picked at the clothes that Shouto had discarded. “Why?”

“Look, I just don’t care, alright?” Ryouta sighed. “I never have. Whatever is given to me, whatever fits, whatever doesn’t have too many burn holes in it, I’ll wear it. Seriously, it’s that simple.”

“Surely you have a preference though, right?” Iida queried.

“I-” Ryouta’s shoulders dropped. If he had to choose something - if he had to pick a style - he knew what he would wear, but he didn’t want to wear that right now. Looking at these clothes now and thinking about the obnoxiously bright-colored clothes that Aizawa had given him, it had been an easy choice to make when the other option made him think of the person staring him in the face. His future.

“He looks like the walking dead.” Yeah, but he’d liked that jacket a lot. Ryouta had spent too many nights thinking about that stupid photo of Dabi that had thrown his world upside down not to face that errant thought. It was frustrating. As if his quirk wasn’t a bad enough reminder or his mere presence. He didn’t need to do anything else that would make them compare him to Dabi.

Before Ryouta could finish that thought or anyone prompt him to continue, Midoriya perked up and waved at someone coming up behind them. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“It’s close to when Iida proposed we meet up at the food court.”

Ryouta turned around, spotting Tokoyami and Shoji stopping in front of them. They had gone off separately with Jirou, who turned out to be behind Shoji. He was large enough to block her from sight before she stepped around him to look at the clothes Ryouta was no longer buying. With one earbud plugged into her ear, she could bop her head to the loud music and still listen in on the conversation. She had the right idea. When she looked at the clothes and raised her eyebrow, he fought the urge to throw his hands up and walk out of the store. Granted, out of everyone here, she did have the best style.

“Ah, you’re right,” Iida said when he looked at his watch. “I suppose we should head that way.”

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” Tokoyami asked, his sharp eyes moving from Midoriya holding his purchases to Ryouta holding nothing.

“Uh, not exactly…” Ryouta gave a sheepish smile. “Maybe another time, yeah?”

The three newcomers looked at each other, a moment of silent communication passing between them that could only come from having been around each other nearly every day for a full year. While Jirou typically wore a near constant bored expression that made her hard to read, it was even more difficult with Tokoyami, who had an actual bird’s head, and Shoji, who wore a mask over half his face.

The first one to break was Jirou, who huffed and said, “We’ve gotta do it.”

“It is not our job,” Tokoyami responded.

“Yeah, but…” Jirou waved a hand at Ryouta, which made him stiffen. “Dude, come on. You know it too.”

“She has a point,” Shoji added.

Tokoyami closed his eyes, folded his arms, and sighed deeply. It was incredibly dramatic, which made Ryouta unsure of how to react, leaving him to stand mutely and eye them all. They were communicating on a level he wasn’t privy to, even though he knew he was somehow a part of their conversation.

“Listen, not to interrupt you all or anything, but what the hell are you talking about?” Ryouta blurted.

When Tokoyami opened his eyes, he turned his focus onto Ryouta and said in a voice that was both very serious and mysterious, “This is not your store.”

Ryouta looked around like the store might actually provide him with an answer to that statement, but no help came. He had no fucking clue what Tokoyami was talking about right now. This was one of the first times he’d been involved with any of these three. How could they possibly know anything about him? They had friends in the class, but he’d noticed they either stuck with themselves or flittered between groups. Not everyone had a set core of friends like Midoriya or Bakugou.

“Just follow us,” Jirou told him.

He knew they were being helpful, but it sounded kind of ominous. His feet didn’t move. “Why?”

“Do you actually like any of the clothes here or are you just grabbing whatever?” Shoji asked, his voice somewhat muffled behind his face mask. Having been called out by someone that barely knew him and had maybe said all of three words to him was unsettling. His face must have given them the answer because he nodded his head. Even Tokoyami and Jirou looked like they’d had their suspicions confirmed.

“I thought this might be the case,” Tokoyami said in a tone that was much too solemn for the situation.

“Seriously,” Ryouta demanded, “what are you talking about?”

Jirou playfully punched him in the shoulder. “You’re one of us, man.” She turned to Shouto. “Mind if we take him for a bit? You all can go on to the food court. I think we know somewhere he can find some clothes he likes and won’t look like he dressed in the dark.” She smirked. “On second thought…”

Shouto turned to face him, an almost defeated expression on his face. “Are you okay going with them?”

“Going where?” Ryouta questioned. “No offense, but you all are being stupidly cryptic.”

“A place where you belong,” Tokoyami said dramatically.

“Somewhere you’ll fit in,” Jirou added cheekily.

“We’re just helping you get clothes you’ll actually like,” Shoji finished. When he rolled his eyes, it was so emphatic Ryouta couldn’t help but nod. It was the most emotion he’d seen from him so far. He had thought that Jirou was pretty level-headed, but considering she hung out with Bakugou’s group half the time, he should’ve known better.

When Ryouta glanced at his brother, Shouto only sighed. “Just go with them.”

“You sure?” Ryouta asked.

“They’re better equipped to help you,” Shouto told him.

What the hell did that mean? Ryouta let Jirou throw an arm over his shoulders and guide him out of the store. It was an intimate move, but somehow gave off the vibe they weren’t that close. He wasn’t sure how she did it, but it was impressive. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly at his brother before they made a left turn and was out of each other’s sight.

“So, uh, where are we going?” Ryouta asked in his best good-natured voice. He sounded like a boy scout. It was terrible.

Jirou grinned up at him. “You’ll see.”

This time, Ryouta was the one to roll his eyes. “You don’t have to be so-”

“Here!”

He rolled his eyes right onto the store. “Oh.”

Even though it was dumb, his cheeks turned red. This was the one place in the mall he’d been avoiding. He knew it would still be here as this style never died. Looking at the three Class 1-A kids with him now, he should have immediately known where they were taking him. There was too much black clothing between the three for any one of them to not shop at a store like this. He could point out the cool band t-shirts or nerd merch all he wanted to justify coming here. It would only make the fact he’d shopped at this place that more obvious.

“How did you know?” Ryouta asked quietly.

Tokoyami was almost scathing in his honesty when he said, “I remember your clothes from the Training Camp.”

It was a blow to the ego, although Ryouta knew he hadn’t meant it that way. Five years was a long time, but at the same time, it wasn’t. His style probably hadn’t changed that much in between him dropping out of UA and him joining the League. It hadn’t gotten much better, but it hadn’t gotten worse either. That jacket had been cool, along with the boots. As much as he hated it, he could stand here right now and admit that to himself. He’d worn a lot of dark, drab colors growing up. They fit him well.

But he hadn’t wanted to do that now. He didn’t want anyone at UA to look at him and see Dabi, which he knew those clothes would do. Maybe the bright colors had been a shield.

“It’s okay,” Shoji told him.

Jirou pulled her arm away. “Yeah, you’re in good company.”

“I just…” Ryouta sighed. “I don’t want you to think I’m him.”

Tokoyami shook his head. “The clothes don’t make the person. They don’t make the villain or the hero either.”

Ryouta ran his fingers through his hair, stopping to rest his hand on the back of his head. “I guess I was being kind of stupid. I know I don’t dress for shit, but it was always easier sticking to black or neutral colors.” Plus, burns and soot were harder to spot on black clothes. “You’re still probably gonna have to help me.”

“Finally,” Jirou said smugly, “a makeover I can get behind.”

It wasn’t any less weird picking out clothes and having people edit him, but he was definitely more comfortable in this store. The prices were a little higher than he would’ve liked, but that was a price he would have to pay if he wanted to wear clothes that ticked every box. Just going for comfort and a low price wasn’t always a good thing, if only because they weren’t a decent quality either. Caring about his appearance wouldn’t make him a bad person. Neither would dressing in the same colors and style as Dabi. It annoyed him, but if they didn’t think it was awful, then maybe he was overthinking things.

For some reason, it made him think of the horrific scars on Dabi’s body. He must have cared an awful lot about what (and who) he looked like to let himself get that damaged. What had he been thinking? Had he wanted to erase every last remnant of who he was - or where he came from? He’d inherited his mother’s build, but he’d grown up looking like his father, the only child born with both his signature red hair and eyes. He’d dyed his hair and either burned himself or let his quirk burn him beyond recognition - and then continued to wear either shitty or neutral black clothes.

With their assistance, combined with Ryouta’s need to get this over with, they gathered an armful of clothes he could try on. He was content with trusting their gut and simply buying it, but Jirou had insisted he try them just in case to check the fit and if he liked them on him.

“Remember,” Jirou said on the other side of the changing room door, “it’s okay to be picky sometimes.”

“Yeah, but what’s the point?” Ryouta asked as he tugged a t-shirt over his head. “If it fits, is comfortable, and doesn’t look like shit, then it should be fine.”

“It’s a confidence thing,” Jirou told him. “When you look good and actually like what you’re wearing, you’ll feel better. Trust me, there’s something awesome about putting on the right pair of boots.”

Was he that obvious about his fluctuating confidence issues? Ryouta couldn’t deny he had them in spades - after what he’d gone through with his father, there was no sense in it - but he also knew he was clever and strong. As much as he hated his quirk and the way it took control, he liked it at the same time too. It was hard to explain. He’d made it and continued to do so despite everything thrown at him. Of course, that didn’t mean he was handling things well. Maybe she had a point though. He’d never really thought of his appearance that way.

“So?” Shoji prompted.

“I…” Ryouta stared at his reflection. “I don’t really care for this one?”

“Toss it over, man, and try on the next one,” Jirou immediately replied. She didn’t sound offended at all that he didn’t like a shirt she’d picked out. He pulled it over his head and did as he was told, throwing it over the door and then grabbing the next shirt.

After that, it went by a lot faster. In the end, only that shirt and a pair of jeans that were far too skinny for his comfort were put back on the racks. Everything else fit perfectly, was affordable, and, as Jirou had suggested, he did like them and felt a little more confident.

Before he could go up to pay, Jirou rushed back with a black leather jacket in her hands. “You have to get this.”

Ryouta immediately reached out for it, already liking the look of it, but then hesitated. “Uh, isn’t it a little…too on the nose?” It wasn’t a long jacket like the one he’d seen Dabi wearing in that picture and lacked the stitching and metal braces, but it did make him think of it, which meant others would think the same.

“We can match,” Jirou said in an attempt to make him feel better. “Besides, it’s cold outside. You need one jacket.”

When Ryouta took the jacket from her, Jirou smiled in triumph and Tokoyami nodded his head like some wise sage. Hell, maybe he was. Over half the clothes Ryouta ended up buying had been picked by him. He had planned on putting them up when they got back to the dorms, but Shoji suggested he go ahead and change into some of his new clothes in the bathroom. It was a little awkward, especially with a random stranger complaining that he was taking too long, but once he stepped out, a funny thing happened. The guy took one look at him and shut up.

It was ridiculous how much a simple change of clothes could, well, change things.

The moment he walked out of the bathroom, Jirou high-fived both Tokoyami and Shoji. “Success!”

“Much better,” Shoji told him.

At first, Ryouta thought Tokoyomi would say something cryptic like, “You are now one with the darkness,” or equally strange that he seemed fond to do, but he didn’t say anything. However, he looked like he approved. Again, it was hard to tell with his bird features, but he didn’t look horrified.

“Thanks,” Ryouta said. “Shouto will probably still think I look ridiculous, but…”

“He’s got that rich kid pretty boy style going for him,” Jirou said, rolling her eyes. That made Ryouta grin. Yeah, he kind of did now that he thought about it. Natsuo had more of a jock style too while Fuyumi had always gone for modest and slightly girly. “You’ve got this.”

Shoji waved for them to follow him to the food court where everyone else would no doubt be waiting for them. Now that the shopping was out of the way, Ryouta felt a lot more eager about being off campus. Hopefully, they’d have some time left over to go to the arcade later. He wanted to do something fun. Shopping certainly didn’t count. It had been easier with these three, but he was glad it was over. He’d never liked shopping before and he didn’t now.

As soon as they entered the food court, Ryouta’s first thought was that it was large and then it was overwhelming. The number of choices didn’t bother him so much as the number of people. If he wasn’t picky about what he wore, he was even less picky about what he ate. Growing up, half the time anything he ate came up anyway, so it didn’t matter if he ate something heavy, light, delicious, crappy, sweet, or salty. It had always been more about quantity over quality for him. If the training wasn’t enough, his quirk alone burned through him quick, leaving him skinny no matter how much food he shoveled in his mouth.

Spotting the Class 1-A group was easy. They were all crowded in a handful of tables in the middle of the food court with Iida seemingly herding them. Uraraka caught sight of them first, waving to catch their attention. A huge smile lit up her face when she spotted Ryouta, which put him at ease. Okay, so it wasn’t just these three. He had done a good job. Well, they had done a good job and he’d rolled with it. Before getting in line for food, Ryouta made his way over there so he could drop his bags off.

“Oh, you look so good!” Uraraka burst when he set the bags in the chair next to her. “So edgy and cool.”

Ryouta snorted. “Stop.”

Shouto eyed him for a moment before deciding, “It’s better than I remembered. There’s actual style.”

“Glad to receive your approval,” Ryouta retorted dryly.

Iida finally took his seat at the table. “I understand your hesitance about your choice in clothing, but you should have said something earlier.” He didn’t have to be straightforward for Ryouta to hear the implication: We’re not going to think you’re a villain because you want to wear a black leather jacket.

Thinking back on it now made him feel foolish, but he was doing so much to distance himself from Dabi, especially in their eyes. Anything that came off as threatening was something he did not do. It was why he’d been so passive over the past few weeks. While he wasn’t confident like Shouto or arrogant like Bakugou, he wasn’t a doormat either. He’d struggled and fought too much to be one. After that confrontation with Monoma, talking with all three of his siblings, and the prank on Bakugou, he didn’t feel like acting like one either. It wasn’t him.

“I’ll be right back,” Ryouta told them. He walked in the direction of the nearest food station, weaving his way through the crowd. He didn’t even know what it was until he got in line and looked at the sign. Jirou’s voice piped up in his head reminding him he could be picky about some things, but he shook it away. This was fine.

“Oh my god, I love your jacket!” a girl exclaimed. Ryouta blinked and turned to the side, only to lean back when he realized how close she was. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh, um, the store by the coffee shop,” Ryouta answered, pointing vaguely in that direction. It was the first time he’d spoken with a civilian after being de-aged since the others had dealt with any employees. It shouldn’t have made his heart race, but it did. This person not only had no idea who he was, but she wasn’t even involved in heroics. She would take his answer and run with it, not thinking anything of it or him.

“It looks really cool,” the girl told him, a bright smile on her face. “You look great in it.”

He’d beat himself over the head for it later, but Ryouta actually blushed. “Um, thanks?”

It was like dealing with Mina’s forwardness all over again when she’d told him to call him by her given name. This girl looked to be around his age with long black hair and dark brown eyes. She was pretty, but things like that had always been objective, errant thoughts he didn’t have time for. He definitely didn’t have time for them now.

“I’ll have to check out that store,” the girl replied teasingly. “Ta ta!”

And then she was gone, all but disappearing in the crowd. Had that just happened? Ryouta stood there awkwardly until he heard the food employee behind the counter call for him a second time. Oh, it was his turn. He hastily ordered his food and handed over the cash. Still somewhat dazed, he carried his food back to the table where he’d put his clothes, not really paying attention to where he was going.

“It’s happening already!” Kaminari wailed dramatically from the table next to them.

“What’s happening?” Mina asked as she munched on her meal.

Kaminari pointed an accusing finger at Ryouta. “The girls are already going after him. Did you see that hot chick walk up and hit on him? You know the hottest girls hang out in malls.” Mina shrugged her shoulders as if to say he wasn’t wrong. “I knew this was going to happen. Our chances with girls decrease with every Todoroki apparently.”

“Don’t worry,” Ryouta told him, his cheeks still warm with embarrassment. “I’m not going to steal girls from you.”

“You don’t have to,” Kaminari sighed, plopping onto the bench. “They’ll come flocking to you, leaving the rest of us poor souls behind.”

“Because girls like edgy bastards?” Bakugou drawled.

Kaminari knowingly pointed a chopstick at him. “Just because you’re too much of a hothead for girls to like you-”

“Would you shut up?” Bakugou snapped.

A grin found its way onto Kaminari’s face, one that Ryouta immediately recognized as a bad idea. “I thought for sure the hair change would mellow you out in girls’ eyes.”

The mini-explosions that rattled from Bakugou’s palms made the couple next to them jump and their table shake, but Kaminari only laughed and leaned out of his reach. It didn’t even make Mina, Kirishima, or Sero blink. They all kept eating and watching with amusement on their faces. They weren’t scared of him at all. Granted, the hot pink hair did do wonders for making him look less threatening. He seemed to know it too, which made him simmer even more.

As usual, Ryouta took lunch as an opportunity to keep to himself while everyone else conversed. They were happy about getting the chance to take a break from studying for finals. It wasn’t until they were finished that he noticed Midoriya looking at him in thought.

“Uh, something wrong?” Ryouta prompted.

“Oh, I was just wondering…” Midoriya said, sounding like he might be talking to himself. “You aren’t familiar with any of the stores at the mall. If you didn’t come here to shop, where did you get clothes and stuff?”

“Ah, right.” Ryouta no longer felt hungry, despite the few bites left on his plate. He pushed them aside with his chopsticks until he finally set them down. Shouto was watching him too. He must have been thinking the same thing. Ryouta tried not to sigh. He would’ve had to face this truth eventually. Their curiosity would’ve grown too much eventually, particularly Uraraka’s, who he could tell was trying her best to act like she wasn’t listening. Well, he had to own up to his methods at some point. “I usually go to a thrift shop around the corner.”

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Iida asked, sounding genuinely distraught.

“I didn’t think you all would want to go there,” Ryouta replied. It was the truth, but it wasn’t the entire truth. No, there was something far more embarrassing than a thrift shop. Shouto looked troubled. He’d probably never been to a thrift shop before, seeing as how Ryouta had never been to one until he moved out. When he had stressed about how little money he had, his brother hadn’t realized how bad it was.

He had no idea.

“Why don’t we go there?” Iida suggested. “You can probably get cheaper things like pajamas and such there.”

“Oh, no, we don’t have to do that,” Ryouta said quickly. “That stuff can wait.”

“I’d like to go,” Shouto cut in.

Ryouta tried not to wince. Out of everyone to speak, he knew he would cave immediately if Shouto wanted to go. When he looked around, he realized everyone at the table looked done eating and interested in leaving. Well, it was now or never. The moment he stood up, a handful of others did as well, taking it as a signal. At least most of the class was staying behind. He’d only have to suffer humiliation from a few people then.

When he glanced around, he caught sight of Present Mic and Midnight for the first time since walking into the mall. They’d done an amazing job blending in. He could tell they were curious about what was going on. Ryouta kind of hoped they would put a stop to this - maybe say they had to stay at the mall or go back to UA - but no, they stood up and threw away their trash too.

This was happening. They were really doing this. He thought he might puke as they walked out of the mall in the direction of the thrift shop. That pretty girl from the food court wouldn’t think he looked so cool if she saw where he was going now. How embarrassing.

Ryouta tried to ignore the feeling of self-consciousness prickling at his skin. Unfortunately, it only seemed to increase with every step he took. I could have lied, he errantly thought. Guilt immediately welled up inside him. It wasn’t enough to make the notion any less painfully tempting. He could have just taken them to the thrift store. Instead, they were about to learn the truth of how he lived.

He had to hold back a grimace as he glanced over his shoulder. Shouto was quietly discussing something with Yaoyorozu, whose caution and excitement seemed to be growing in equal parts, while Uraraka was happily chattering with Midoriya and Iida, as they moved deeper into the “shady” part of the shopping district.

They were all going to think he was a fucking garbage person.

There was only one more corner to turn before they reached their destination. Shoving his feelings down, Ryouta forced himself to quicken his pace, only to falter once the store was actually in plain view. His last step before coming to a halt hit the pavement a little harder than usual, generating an echo. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look at the expressions of his companions. Instead, his gaze was locked on the large, glittering thrift shop, promising to provide cheap goods and ask no questions.

Confusion flickered in the undercurrents of Shouto’s voice. “Is this it…?”

Before Ryouta could feel too much like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole, Uraraka happily exclaimed, “I’ve come here before!”

The statement prompted Ryouta to risk a cautious glance over his shoulder. None of the others were actually looking at him. Uraraka was staring intensely at the store, rocking forward onto the balls of her feet and counting something off on her fingers. Meanwhile, Shouto, Midoriya, and Iida had all turned their attention to Yaoyorozu, who was starting to speak. “It’s kind of like that store we went to, isn’t it?” Her lips were pressed in a small smile while her eyes glimmered with excitement. It looked like there might have been something else there as well, maybe nostalgia, or maybe something rawer, but this wasn’t the time to try to look into it.

For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a reason why Yaoyorozu Momo would go to a thrift shop (or his brother for that matter), but the knowledge that she had done so was something of a relief. It didn’t put him completely at ease by any means, but some of the tension drained out of his shoulders and allowed him to start moving again. “Not quite. Actually… “ Actually, as much as he wanted to say something that would immediately make them understand that he wasn’t some sort of disgusting freak, such a thing was impossible. Ryouta signed in resignation. “Just follow me.”

So much for overcoming his shame. Not only was it back, but he could feel it intensifying with every step he took. It was only sheer willpower and the knowledge that turning back would make him look suspicious that made him keep moving. As promised, he didn’t lead them inside the store. Instead, he began to walk around it into the alley leading to the area behind the store. Murmurs just a little too quiet to make out emitted from the group behind him as they went further into the darkness.

Forget being gross. I’ll be lucky if they don’t think I’m going to murder them. A corner of his lips twitched in dark, unhappy amusement.

A de-aged villain leads a group of naive students into a dark alleyway. It didn’t take a comedy genius to figure out how that joke ended.

After a walk that felt much longer than it really was, Ryouta came to a stop. The others falling silent didn’t come as much of a relief, as he had lead them directly over to a trio of dumpsters. He pursed his lips and lifted his chin a little despite the heat he could feel building in his face. “This is it,” he announced. In different circumstances, he might have been proud of himself for keeping his voice from wavering when his every nerve was on edge with anticipation for their response. Right now, telling his younger brother and his friends that he frequently did his “shopping” in other people’s trash, already well aware of what they thought of his fashion sense, he just felt uncomfortable, darkly amused, and bitterly accepting. This was it: one of the most embarrassing situations he had ever willingly walked into.

Although he couldn’t bring himself to turn around, he did plant his hands on his hips, as if he was not only unashamed, but proud of his overly thrifty ways.

He thought he heard Shouto begin to say something or, more accurately, make a surprised, confused, and probably horrified noise. Before it could form into words or grow loud enough for him to confirm that it really was his brother, Uraraka spoke up and saved his hide once again. “Oh! I’ve always wanted to try this!” She strode forward, entering Ryouta’s line of sight and stopping only inches away from the dumpsters. “Which one are we gonna climb in?”

Ryouta rubbed at his arm, more than a little dumbstruck. “Last time I was here, the one on the right was used for actual trash,” he hesitantly offered, “but the other two…”

Uraraka nodded decisively. “Right!” As if entirely without shame, she closed the distance between herself on the middle dumpster, braced her hands against the side of its open top, and vaulted in. He couldn’t help but find the sight oddly admirable. It wasn’t as hard as he had expected to push the anxiety out of his expression before turning around.

Shouto looked absolutely gobsmacked. That much he had expected. It was news to him that his brother had ever been inside a thrift shop. Dumpster diving had to be a completely alien and ridiculous notion to him. The self-conscious that it would have sent flooding through him was paused by the expressions everyone else wore. There was obvious curiosity intermingled with Iida’s confusion. Midoriya looked like he had a better idea of what was going on and was fidgeting in what might be nervousness or excitement, maybe both. The most surprising was probably Yaoyorozu, who displayed a layer of hesitance, but was clearly excited beneath it, maybe even eager. Finally, Midnight and Present Mic leaned against a wall a short distance away, engrossed in a hushed conversation. Occasionally, one of them would shoot a glance at the students, but they didn’t look like they were going to stop them.

If the students all seemed to have a hint of repressed melancholia seeping through everything else, he refused to let himself acknowledge it. For the most part, they didn’t look disgusted or upset to be there. That was good enough for him.

Ryouta took a moment to make sure he wasn’t fidgeting before speaking. “I know this looks weird, but they throw out a lot of-” Nice? No, it might be different if it was just Midoriya, but he couldn’t call the stuff he would get from here “nice” when he was speaking to Iida, Yaoyorozu, and Shouto as well. He didn’t need them to start wondering what “bad” was by his standards. “Usable stuff here. As long as you don’t go in the one on the right, it’s pretty clean too.”

After several long seconds in which the only sound came from Uraraka rooting around in the dumpster behind him, Midoriya asked, “What kind of stuff?”

“All sorts!” Ryouta immediately restrained a wince, caught off guard by how loud he was. Loud by his standards, at least. It wasn’t enough to qualify as a shout, but it did bring him close to sounding excited. That wasn’t quite the case. Someone starting a conversation was just such a relief. It meant that they were getting on with it, which brought him one step closer to this moment being over. That the immediate reaction wasn’t one of revulsion made it even better. Even so, he toned his voice down and fought down the warmth threatening to creep up his neck as he continued. “They’ll take pretty much anything, but they get enough donations that they throw away anything flawed. Not just broken stuff. Things with a little tear or dent get tossed as well.”

Iida began to look a little more intrigued, only for it to be overshadowed by a fresh wave of concern. He warily eyed the dumpsters for a moment before speaking up. “Ryouta, are you certain this is legal? I mean no offense by the question, of course!”

“I have it on good authority that it isn’t illegal,” Midnight chimed in. Normally, that particular teacher jumping into a conversation with a devious glimmer in her eyes would make his stomach twist in anxiety. This time, her interruption provided a welcomed distraction from the much more painful sensation of his entire being threatening to tie itself into knots over the legality of his actions being questioned.

With a stiff nod, Ryouta confirmed, “It isn’t.”

“Don’t remind me,” Present Mic grumbled. It earned him a gentle elbow from Midnight and an odd look from Ryouta, but before anyone could ask what he meant, Iida began speaking again.

“If our teachers are alright with it and you’re certain it’s safe, then so am I.” Iida pursed his lips and clasped his hands together, the innocent action managing to increase the discomfort of the situation. Maybe it was the absence of his usual arm movements that was doing it. “I would like to reiterate that I did not mean to insult, offend, or insinuate anything with my question. I understand how it may have come across, although the realization came too late, but that is no excuse!” His hands unclasped, as if it were physically impossible for them to remain still for too long when so much nervous energy was coursing through him. It didn’t bring any relief, considering what he was saying. “I assure you that I would have asked anyone else the same question and-”

Ryouta raised a hand to cut him off before the tirade could take on a life of its own and achieve sentience. “Iida, it’s fine.” He doubted that his fake smile was particularly convincing, but he had to do something. Aside from Uraraka, who may not have heard any of it because of how engrossed in the dumpster she seemed, everyone else looked at least a little, if not very, uncomfortable. Like himself, they were probably all (except Shouto, if he was being honest with himself) well aware of how asking a de-aged criminal if he was breaking the law looked without anyone pointing it out. He didn’t blame Iida anyway. Regardless of Ryouta’s status, it was a reasonable enough question and he knew that he didn’t mean anything by it. All of the stuff that came afterward was just…unnecessary.

A heavy silence fell over the group. It was broken by the dull thud of something hitting the concrete. Ryouta whirled around to see Uraraka scrambling out of the dumpster, where a large, black, malformed bag now laid in front of. “I think there’s a beanbag in there!” she cried. “It felt like everything in there’s soft, too.”

It was like a spell had been broken and everyone suddenly remembered why they were there. While Uraraka got to work opening the trash bag, Midoriya gave a decisive nod before stepping forward and declaring, “I’ll try too.”

That prompted Shouto to make a half-strangled sound before, “Midoriya.”

Midoriya shot him a sheepish grin. “It looks like fun,” he defended, “and if I find something nice…”

Despite knowing that his younger brother definitely didn’t approve of his preferred method of “shopping” method and feeling much more aware of Present Mic and Midnight’s presence than he had been only moments ago, he had to admit that there was something funny about watching the color drain out of Shouto’s face. Ryouta waved an arm at the dumpsters as Midoriya began to walk forward. “Go ahead. You don’t need to wait for my permission. I’m not the keeper of the dumpsters.” Once Midoriya had passed him, Ryouta shot Shouto a smirk that said he was absolutely the keeper of the dumpsters.

His brother looked somewhat pained. “This is…how you got your belongings?” he slowly asked.

Ryouta fought to keep his shame pushed down. It was made easier by the sound of Midoriya climbing into the dumpster and Uraraka squealing excitedly. Apparently, she had found her bean bag. “A lot of them, yes.” He shrugged in an attempt to look casual and decided not to tell him it was also how he planned to get most of his stuff going forward. “It doesn’t cost anything and, as you can see, it pays off.”

As if on cue, Midoriya gleefully exclaimed, “Posters!” His immediate silence afterward suggested that he regretted his nerdy outburst. Even so, Ryouta pointedly raised an eyebrow.

Shouto furrowed his brows. “I know why you don’t want to borrow money, but…” He glanced uncertainly between Ryouta and the dumpsters. He didn’t know if Shouto noticed him pursing his lips slightly or just decided to change tactics, but instead of continuing his previous sentence, he asked, “What if there are rats?”

“Most of them stay with the actual garbage.” Not only did his brother look unconvinced, but the faint widening of his eyes suggested that he was horrified that there might be rats at all. Ryouta snorted. “If you find one, just give it a little nudge and it’ll go away.”

A discomfort not dissimilar to Shouto’s fell over Iida’s face. However, for whatever reason, that was when Yaoyorozu decided to step forward. The nervousness in her expression was largely overpowered by resolve. “I would like to try as well.” Her statement earned her a surprised look from Iida and a partially worried, partially betrayed one from Shouto. The latter’s jaw began to loosen as if he was about to say something, only for him to firmly close it again seconds later.

“Are you sure?” Iida asked, careless or unaware of whatever had held Shouto back. Probably the latter, knowing him. “If a rat bites you, it would mandate a visit to the hospital.”

Yaoyorozu wavered, only to steel herself with a sharp nod. “I’m wearing tall boots. I’ll be fine.”

Ryouta grinned for real. That wasn’t something he had expected, but it was definitely a pleasant surprise. Yaoyorozu returned his expression as she walked past him. Her smile was small and hesitant, but warm and encouraging in a way that didn’t feel condescending. It made him think he was silly to worry about what Shouto would think of his dumpster-diving. He was a rich boy who, although his childhood was incredibly flawed, had never lived anything other than an expensive lifestyle and, from what he remembered, wasn’t the sort of child to be drawn in by “gross” things. Of course he would be put off by dumpster diving. He also knew next to nothing about practical living. If he had never lived with the sort of circumstances that would drive someone to consider it, he would probably think it was gross as well.

That meant that Shouto’s squeamishness was relevant in regards to one thing and one thing alone: mockery.

Ryouta turned on his heels to stride over to the dumpsters. Since Yaoyorozu and Midoriya were both already in the middle dumpster, Midoriya carefully placing what looked like All Might posters in a pile on top of a relatively flat garbage bag while Yaoyorozu poked at something, he moved toward the one on the left. As he walked past her, Uraraka stopped sorting through the pile of tattered Beanie Babies that had been in the bag alongside a sickly-green beanbag chair to shoot him a smile and wink. It almost made him pause. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that she took that bag out when she did.

He quickly brushed that thought aside. There was every chance that he was just overthinking things again.

It was just as easy to climb into the dumpster as he remembered. Once he found his footing atop the pile of bags within, he looked over his shoulder and, in a somewhat stiff and haughty voice, called, “A hero can’t be scared of rats. They’re just a part of life.”

Shouto wrinkled his nose. Victory.

Meanwhile, Iida frowned and, apparently failing to get the joke, said, “There’s a difference between being too scared to do something and not wanting to take an unnecessary risk. You may do as you wish, but we will content ourselves with watching.”

When his classmate finished speaking, Shouto simply said, “Not the life I choose to live.”

Ryouta narrowed his eyes. “The prissy life,” he teased.

Getting an accurate read of Shouto was still a difficult task, but as he watched, he was pretty sure he saw a myriad of subtle changes flicker across his expression. First was amusement, then seriousness, something that could have been uncertainty or worry, and finally, that neutral mask snapped back into position. It remained as Shouto shook his head slowly. “I’m not going to respond to that.”

All thoughts related to whatever his brother might be thinking were forcibly pushed to the back of his mind. Instead, Ryouta not only gave in to but embraced the impulsive urge to say, “You just did.”

Wisely, Shouto didn’t say anything this time.

Spirit bolstered, Ryouta moved to give Iida an amused smirk before finally turning his attention to the contents of the dumpster. He wasn’t even able to finish the first task before the sound of crinkling plastic distracted him. His gaze moved from the class president to Midnight and Present Mic. While the former was still leaning against the wall, an amused look on her face, the latter was kneeling down and rifling through one of the shopping bags. The remainder of how they had essentially foisted their shopping upon the teachers during the walk over made him feel a twinge of guilt, which was promptly overshadowed by confusion when the teacher retrieved what looked like a wad of clothing and stood back up with a triumphant sound.

By that point, everyone else had noticed he was doing something and watched with keen eyes. It also looked like Present Mic couldn’t care less. He strode confidently over to the dumpsters, seemingly unbothered by the curious stares and the gentle thwack Midnight gave his arm as he passed her. As he got closer, Ryouta squinted at the mass he was carrying, only to squint a little harder when he was able to make out what it was.

“Are those…the clothes I wore here?” he asked.

Present Mic didn’t answer at first. He stopped in front of the dumpster on the right, made a face at what Ryouta assumed was the scent of garbage, and dropped the clothes in the dumpster in a motion that managed to feel careless and ceremonial at the same time. Solemnly, he said, “It’s where they belong.” The effect was ruined by him promptly scrambling away from the dumpster and the odor surrounding it. “Let’s just hope Shouta doesn’t find them again.”

Ryouta blinked slowly. Was he really implying what he thought he was implying? With what he knew of Aizawa, it would make sense, yet the prospect that it might be true felt entirely alien. It was enough to make him disregard the waste of clothes for the time being. He cast a searching look at Shouto and Iida, who, much like him, looked like they were cautiously dancing on the brink of a revelation.

There was a faint rustling from the dumpster next to him as Midoriya, who had practically disappeared inside of it in his search for nerd memorabilia and other items of interest, resurfaced. Slowly, he asked, “Are you saying that Mr. Aizawa also…?”

Midnight’s laughter cut through the conversation. “He used to bring us here when we were your age,” she gleefully confirmed.

Present Mic let out an agitated huff. “Don’t remind me.” He pointed a finger at Ryouta and cried out, “Now you know what I’m trying to protect you from! He’s trying to make a miniature version of himself!”

Shouto’s gaze drifted over to Ryouta, thoughtful enough that he could almost feel it. “You do seem to have a lot in common,” he remarked. It didn’t sound like an insult.

Ryouta caught a glimpse of Present Mic rolling his eyes as he walked back over to Midnight. More importantly, he also heard him mutter, “Bet he won’t even turn back into Dabi. The quirk’ll wear off and he’ll just be a second Shouta.” Based off of how they tensed up, so did Shouto and Iida, an awkward tension falling over the group and stilling everyone in its wake.

He understood the concern. It probably wasn’t something Present Mic meant for anyone to overhear besides maybe Midnight - the result of a hero with a voice quirk accidentally speaking a little too loudly - and had the potential to upset him. Ryouta himself was surprised to find that he wasn’t. Maybe it left him feeling a little awkward, especially since the others were looking at him askance, but the muttered jab didn’t bother him. It’d be nice if he didn’t turn back to Dabi, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. Like everyone else, all he could do was hope he would be different when the quirk did wear off with these new and better experiences in his head.

It would be nice if he were a little better at hoping.

With everyone uncomfortably waiting for someone to break the silence, Ryouta took the opportunity to change the subject. The least he could do was put them out of their misery. Honestly, everyone acting like they were stepping on eggshells around him got a bit tiresome. “We should probably get going soon.” It was as much of a valid point as it was a distraction. The sun had already begun to set. He glanced down at the dumpster.

“I think we can afford ten more minutes,” Midnight said.

After making himself meet the hero’s eyes to give her an appreciative look, Ryouta started to sift through the dumpster. As he searched, it occurred to him that, for all of his apprehensiveness, nothing had gone wrong today. Everything had worked out alright. By the standards of people who’d had normal childhoods and to whom socialization wasn’t such a massive task, it might even be considered uneventful. It was…nice. He had enjoyed it.

It was nice to have an uneventful day for once.

*

She shook off her disguise like a long-forgotten memory. Golden eyes gleamed with excitement over what she had learned from her little outing. Even though it wasn’t what or who they were looking for, it was still exciting. Or rather, it was exciting once she got past her initial disappointment.

The odds that Dabi would actually be in the mall she had decided to search were admittedly low. She had only gone because it was better than doing nothing and, until they found a solid lead, all they could do was keep looking and hope something popped up. Her hopes hadn’t even been that especially high after days with no luck.

However, when she caught a glimpse of a black leather jacket and corresponding dark attire out of the corner of her eye, her heart leapt into her throat. For a moment, she thought she had found him. It was enough that, even after she moved to get a closer look, for a few heartbeats, she could have sworn that his face was achingly familiar. If she imagined some scars and allowed her mind to wander away from reality...but no. That boy - with his red hair, unblemished skin, wrong age, and different group of friends - couldn’t have been Dabi.

Toga did think he was cute though. Cute and important. After all, it wasn’t every day a new face suddenly manifested amongst class 1-A. That alone was enough to make it worth lingering for a little while longer. At first, she had thought he was just a cute, dark boy with befittingly bloody hair who happened to be friends with one of students, but no, no, no. The way he behaved with the rest of the little heroes, the way they danced and changed and reached out to meet his presence said that, while new and uncomfortable, he was one of them. And a very special one of them, if the complaints of the loud electric boy were anything to go by.

There was a genuine spring in Toga’s step as she headed for the change of clothes she had stored in the alley behind a run-down gas station that was wedged in front of a questionable supermarket and behind a thrift shop. She may not have found Dabi, but she had found someone of interest, not only for herself, but for the League as a whole. Tomura was bound to be interested in the new boy. Perhaps it would even help him calm down a bit, or at least give him something else to think about. The entire League had been tense and stressed since they had realized Dabi was missing. It wasn’t that she wanted them to give up on finding him and write him off as lost - not by any means - but it would be better to keep themselves occupied than dwell on…

Again. If they didn’t find him, that would mean it was happening again. They had lost people during the attack on the training camp and the following raid, but Toga didn’t know them well or care for them. Shigaraki’s Sensei though, that was a hard blow, because while he didn’t mean anything to her, his loss hurt her leader so keenly she could almost taste it. It wasn’t a good taste. Magne - that one had hurt her directly. Her friend dead because she had tried to touch some miserable, stuck-up demon of a man. Tomura’s pain hadn’t tasted good, but Overhaul’s misery, the flavor of vengeance, was absolutely wonderful. It hadn’t brought Magne back though. It had been great, but it didn’t truly fix it. Kurogiri’s arrest was a horrible mixture of both. It had to weigh on Shigaraki, even if he was trying to act strong, and there was no one who she could take vengeance on yet. And now Dabi…

Dabi, who was distant and mysterious but had been there from the beginning, was suddenly gone and they had no idea what had happened. Had whoever had taken him painted him wonderfully red? Red wasn’t his color. He wasn’t someone she loved like that - wasn’t someone she wanted to make bleed - wasn’t someone she wanted to hurt. Wasn’t someone she wanted to - no - they shouldn’t have to lose anyone anymore. When she found them, she would have to return to favor, dye them in shades of red that had nothing to do with blood, make them scream and plead like Overhaul hadn’t in the hope it would taste that much sweeter.

She would. She would. She would. And if it was too late, if they couldn’t find him, if they never knew, then she... she…

She shouldn’t be thinking about this. The “if”s would only bring her down and Spinner had told her she acted “weird” when she was angry and vengeful the other day. Toga thought that was a little hypocritical coming from someone who was weird a lot of the time, but sometimes she thought she caught Shigaraki or Twice sending a worried look her way or that Twice might be trying to calm her down like she had for him once, so she supposed it may have some merit. It felt better to cling to something happy than let herself be swept away by darker feelings anyway.

Although her steps had faltered as her mind threatened to veer toward darker places, she managed to shake it off. By the time she reached the hideout, she had returned to her full, bubbly self. She swung the door open and called out a greeting, heedless of the night that had set in. Tomura wouldn’t be asleep anyway. She wished he would. “I’m baaaack! And I found something interesting!”

As expected, the rusty voice of Shigaraki Tomura rose up to greet her. “Is it important?”

Toga’s smile was unwavering, although it felt like the reminder of exactly what “important” meant right now should make her eyes shine a little less bright. “It’s not related to Dabi,” she said as she pranced out of the entryway and toward the voice, “but it does have to do with Class 1-A.” Fearlessly, she took a seat on the couch beside her bedraggled leader. It was hard to tell with the hand on his face, but sitting there, with pictures of the outside and inside of a warehouse spread out on a table in front of him, she thought he looked more tired than usual. Older, when if she had to guess, she would pin him closer to herself and the hero students than Compress or their teachers in age. The only other person in the room was Mr. Compress, who, despite his mask, she was sure was eyeing him just as closely.

Shigaraki heaved a frustrated snarl of a sigh. “There’s nothing here. All the footage after he started fires was destroyed or…” Stolen. By the heroes. He raised a hand to scratch restlessly at his neck before turning his obscured gaze to Toga.

That was all the cue she needed to start talking. “There’s a new student! He’s definitely with them, but I didn’t hear anything about anyone being replaced. And” - she raised a finger to pause Shigaraki when she saw that he was about to interrupt - “he’s a Todoroki.”

The quiet before Shigaraki spoke was exciting. She could see the interest spark in his red eyes. That made it that much more disappointing when it faltered and faded a second before he said, “We can look into it after we find Dabi.” It seemed that distractions, no matter how promising, were doomed to be tossed aside. Toga couldn’t help but think he was going to wear himself thin at this rate. That, as much as her dismissal, made her shoulders sagged and a faint, disappointed sigh passed her lips.

“You did good finding this!” Compress piped up. “We just have to prioritize right now.”

“Right,” Shigaraki confirmed. “Besides, I need the two of you for a stealth mission. If you get the loot, it could have a much better payoff than stalking the hero wannabes.”

Toga perked up at that. Although there was a graveness to his voice, she saw Tomura’s lips twitch into small smile.”We’ve narrowed the timeframe for Dabi’s disappearance down to his raid on the quirk supplies warehouse. And we know that the heroes didn’t drag him away. So…”

His pause felt like it was purely for dramatic effect. She appreciated it.

“I want you to get me information on everyone who works in the warehouse.”

@mistystarshine notes: We have reached chapter twenty of KiR. The song is 'Thrift Shop' by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. Sometimes, that's how the Crack treated Seriously cookie crumbles. But seriously, thank you so much for all the continued support! It means the world.

For this chapter specifically, I will note that it was a lot of fun writing Toga! I tossed aside a lot if the care I usually take to better convey her mental state and I think it paid off. Also... I hope nearly 20k of fluff (+ Toga) makes up for next chapter, which will, hopefully, demolish you. It won't be the League doing the demolishing! That plot won't move that quickly. But it will be... Explosive.

[passiontaee]

I like you (a latte) | g

pairing: yoongi x jeongguk; yoonkook

genre: slice of life

ratings: g

warnings: none

word count: 1914

summary: “I think the barista might be hitting on me…they drew a heart in my latte foam and gave me a free brownie. Do you think I should give them my number?” AU

a/n: isn’t barista yoongi the best yoongi? breathe if you agree

also i’m working on rewriting this, so stay tuned for the update :)

↬ s.

Jeongguk feels that as a college student, coffee is high on his list of things that he can not live without. Coffee, banana milk, and his best friend Taehyung. In between not getting enough sleep, cramming for exams, and attempting to have a social life, he’s usually in need of caffeine on a daily basis. It’s not healthy, but it makes up for staying in the art studio for hours without taking a break, Taehyung having to bring him food.

“Guk, I’m bailing you out, come on,”

Jeongguk looks up from the piece he’s working on, eyes red and bleary. Barely even alive at this point. He turns his head over to where Taehyung is standing, bouncing a little in excitement. He wishes he had that energy. He's momentarily jealous but rethinks that when he remembers Taehyung is a Pre-Vet major, meaning that his major is far more intense and time-consuming than simply painting and drawing all day. Perhaps he should be grateful he doesn't have to take a shit ton of math and science classes. Taehyung handles it well though.

"Bailing me out?"

"Yeah, we're getting coffee come on," he moves to grab the younger’s arm, gently tugging. Causing him to grumble and whine softly, but he abandons his work reluctantly, beginning to straighten up his area and set his work somewhere safe for later. Making sure his name is at the bottom so no one tries to steal his work. It happened far too many times his freshman year and he was not about to start this entire painting all over again because some dip shit decided to be uncreative and steal his work again. Freshman Jeongguk was so naive. He can’t believe what a pussy he was two years ago. Taehyung’s familiar with the cleaning up process at this point so he helps clean up, even gathering Jeongguk’s bag for him. Taehyung is a true friend, he silently thinks to himself as they make their way out of the room. Side by side with Jeongguk rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“And so Seokjin-hyung and Namjoon-hyung said that I can get a puppy but at long as I actually take care of it,” he explains. Jeongguk’s following sort of, but has heard this conversation before. Taehyung’s older brother Seokjin and his husband Namjoon have practically raised Taehyung together since he was a little kid; Seokjin being ten years older than him and all. Jeongguk’s only known them since high school but in his mind Seokjin has always been Taehyung’s dad for as long as he himself can remember. He doesn’t even think Taehyung remembers his parents, considering they died when he was really young. It kind of makes him cherish his own parents and older brother, despite having literally been on his own since college. He barely keeps in contact with them anyways.

“They finally agreed to let you?” Jeongguk asks, shocked. Taehyung’s head bobs forward as he nods, stopping momentarily to grasp the younger’s shoulders and shake him. Jeongguk is barely bothered by this.

“Yes! You should come pick one with me! Friendly bonding and whatnot, plus you’ve become some type of zombie, Guk. It’s not healthy!” his face contorts in worry as he pouts, but Jeongguk sighs, knowing that Taehyung tells him this multiple times a day.

“I’m fine,” he insists. Is he really though? Taehyung lets him go and links their arms together, stopping in front of a door. Jeongguk looks up at the new place, allowing himself to be dragged inside by the blonde male. A bell rings as they walk inside, and Jeongguk takes a moment to look around the cozy, quaint interior. The soft sounds of indie music playing in the background. It smells like coffee beans and sweets and it’s throwing his nose in overdrive, but it’s a stark difference from smelling paint and turpentine all day. He could get used to this coffee shop’s vibes.

“Hyung’s friend works here. It’s closer to campus, so I don’t see why we’ve never bothered to come in here,” Taehyung continues, pulling Jeongguk with him to stand a little aways from the register, staring at the hand written menu on the chalkboard. Jeongguk swears he’s seen a similar style on Pinterest. (The only reason he’s on Pinterest is because Taehyung likes to harass him with artsy stuff on the regular more than he likes answering his texts. Nice to know he has his priorities together.) As he continues looking over the menu, Taehyung pulls him further, smiling at the barista. Squinting to see his name tag and gasping out loud with recognition.  “Hey! Hey you’re my hyung’s friend!” he says a little too loudly. The small barista looks up at him, confused.

“What?”

“Seokjin! You’re the friend he told me about! I’m his little brother, Taehyung!” He grins, the noise prompting Jeongguk to look down to assess the situation. His eyes landing on the barista and suddenly he’s a bit more alert. Never in his life has he seen someone so pretty; so attractive and small. There’s Jimin, his roommate, but this guy is smaller than Jimin. Not as muscled from the looks of it and very, very soft looking. Jeongguk wants to kiss his little pout away and coo at him. But instead, he stands silently beside Taehyung who’s positively ruining their chances of a you-know-my-hyung discount. He’s tempted to elbow the elder in the ribs, because the tiny pouty man looks a little weirded out.

“He never told me his brother was this loud. There’s people studying, so keep your voice down,” he murmurs. This prompts Taehyung to close his mouth, literally he closes his fucking mouth, and pulls a sigh from Jeongguk. Feeling the need to apologize for his friend’s erratic behavior. The male glances in Jeongguks’s direction, and he notes how his sharp eyes seem to discreetly eyeball him from head to—well, head to waist.

“So what do you want?” He turns his attention back to Taehyung, hands resting calmly on the counter beside the POS system. Taehyung taps at his chin with his free hand, looking up at the menu for a second time.

“I’ll have a iced raspberry tea. Oh! Large please,” he says, attempting to peer over at what Yoongi, as his name tag says, is entering onto the touch screen. The barista pays him no mind.

“And for you?” Jeongguk barely registers the male is talking to him, staring at him for about two minutes before he asks him again.

“Oh! Uh, just a latte,” his cheeks warm as he ducks his head, missing the small smirk on the barista’s lips as he types in their orders.

“He was totally checking you out,” Taehyung grins as they slide over to grab counter seats, close to where he could see Yoongi carefully preparing their drinks. The barista pays them no mind as he does his job. Jeongguk stares at him briefly, then turns his attention back to Taehyung as he scratches at his cheek.

"He probably was wondering where I got my shirt from,"

"Ha ha, no he looked like he was enjoying the sight. Maybe zombie-art-student is his ideal type or something," Taehyung teases, grinning playfully. Jeongguk grabs a straw and throws it at him, causing the older to only laugh more, harder.

“Ask for his number! If you don’t I sure will. He’s so cute, I literally almost uwu’d out loud,”

“What the fuck, never say ‘uwu’ again,” he groans, grimacing at his friend’s word choice. Taehyung feigns offence, but shoves at his arm.

“Yah, be nice to me. I paid for your drink you meanie!”

“Right, sorry. I love you, you’re the best,” This strokes Taehyung’s ego, because he sits up straighter, puffing out his chest playfully. Jeongguk groans and rests his chin on his hand, elbow on the counter. Yoongi appears moments later, sliding their drinks in front of them, along with a brownie for Jeongguk. Taehyung looks over at this, sipping from his cup with a smug look on his face.

“W-wait I didn’t order—”

“Keep it, my treat,” Yoongi insists, smiling at him. Jeongguk looks at him stupidly, preening inside the little pastry bag and seeing that the brownie was warm, gooey, and fresh.

“Oh well, thanks,” he says, a little shy. Yoongi smiles, nodding and walking back over to tend to some other guests. Jeongguk watches, ignoring Taehyung snickers.

“Let me have a piece,” the older insists when Jeongguk’s brain starts functioning properly again, only to have the younger smack his hand away, frowning.

“Nooo, this is my brownie!” He had a cute guy literally give him a free brownie and was not about to share. Taehyung huffs, through his eyes dart down to Jeongguk’s cup. He grins.

“Is that a heart?” he questions. Jeongguk is quick to look down at it and sure enough, it’s a heart. He blushes, looking up and over at Yoongi boredly taking a group order from five girls, looking absolutely miserable. Jeongguk is afraid to ruin Yoongi’s craftsmanship but he needs his caffeine intake so he reluctantly takes a sip. Enjoying the warmth that flows down his throat. He’ll save the brownie for later.

He’s reluctant to leave, really, but Taehyung’s dragging him to the pet store. Insisting they go look for a puppy now rather than later. Jeongguk’s busy trying to shyly ask for a to go order and get the barista’s number.

“Need something?” he asks, though makes no indication that he’s excited Jeongguk is here other than giving him his undivided attention. Jeongguk writes it off as him being attentive to a customer and therefore doing his job.

Yoongi looks at him, blinking slowly as Jeongguk realizes that he’d just stupidly blurted out the wrong question, and figure Yoongi would laugh at his stupidity. He can smell the rejection.

“And a refill right? You look like you’re in a hurry,” Yoongi gently reaches out and grabs the mug, placing it on the counter and turns. Jeongguk just stares a his back as the smaller barista moves to grab a larger to go cup just for him, remaking his drink from memory with care. It’s almost endearing, but then Jeongguk writes this off again as a small fact that Yoongi probably makes a lot of lattes. His is no different. A pale hand grabs a black marker, and the barista scribbles something on the portable, paper cup. Capping it again and setting the pen down, walking over to Jeongguk and handing him the cup with a small smile.

“There. I expect a text later, yeah? And you to come visit again. I guess you can bring Seokjin’s brother with you,” he glances over at Taehyung, who waves, but then looks back at a flabbergasted, pink cheeked Jeongguk who nods, staring at the warm cup in awe.

“I’ll text you,” he says, feeling Taehyung tugging again. He gets pulled outside as Yoongi smiles and offers a small wave, and as he presses his hands into his cup, pulling the cup in to warm his chest, he smiles. Smiles softly as he reads the message on the cup;

I like you (a latte) and you seem pretty cute or whatever. Here’s my number: +xx xx-xxxx-xxxxx. -Yoongi

↬  x.

[ masterlist ] | [ next chapter ]

[insanitysscribblings]

Reyna Writes: The Artist and the Athlete

@siderealsandman

*Kicks down door*

WHO HERE WANTS SOME KIMNATH FANFIC?

Have a fluff piece with ‘em~ Enjoy! <3

~Reyna

          His pencil danced across his sketchbook, but not in the usual way. Rather that creating anything, it appeared to be an unconscious thing, Nathanael’s head propped up on his fist as he stared blankly down at his sketchbook, as if waiting for an idea to form. His hair was down today, too—it was common knowledge that Nathanael liked to work with his hair up, since he needed both eyes clear to really commit to his craft.

           There was no commitment today, though—only a pinched brow and a slight pout, as if whatever he was trying to work on was being difficult, and Nathanael had no idea how to win its cooperation.

           When he jogged past the agitated artist for the third time, Kim decided to pause his training to see what was up.

           “Yo, Nath!” He called, announcing his presence with a shout and a hearty wave as he jogged towards the table Nathanael was sitting. He looked up, smiling vaguely as Kim took the seat across from him.

           “Hey, Kim.” He swept his red hair behind an ear, but the gesture was useless; his bangs fell right back into his face again, but other than a brief roll of his eyes, he let them be. “What’s up?”

           “Oh, you know—gotta keep up my speed if I wanna keep my track scholarship.” He shrugged with a grin that hovered just over the border of cheeky. “Also gotta keep my strength up since I basically carry my team.”

           Nathanael chuckled, sliding his sketchbook shut. Kim noticed.

           “Not feelin’ the artsy vibes today?”

           Nathanael’s brow puckered.

           “Not especially,” he confessed, running a frustrated hand through his hair with a sigh. “Not for lack of trying or anything—I guess I’ve just been uninspired lately.”

           “Aw, that sucks,” Kim said sympathetically, wiping sweat from his brow with the towel slung around his neck.

           “It does. Especially since I have a project due soon.” Nathanael folded his hands under his chin, slim fingers interlocking as he scowled down at his sketchbook. Kim grinned. If anything, the dude definitely had the ‘brooding artist’ look down pat. “I think I may need a new muse.”

           “Don’t you have to sell your soul for one of those?”

           Nathanael glanced up at Kim, something like a deadpan crossing his features. Kim raised his eyebrows.

           “What?”

           “…You’re not going to make the obligatory ‘red head, no soul’ joke here?”

           Kim blinked.

           “Huh?”

           “Never mind,” Nathanael dismissed the issue, relief taking over his expression now as he smiled. “Just…some of my American friends have imposed this, uh, ‘view’ on me.” He frowned again. “It got old real quick.”

           Kim grinned.

           “Okay, but it’s probably better than being asked if the curtains match the carpet all the time…am I right?”

           “Oh god,” Nathanael groaned, dropping his face into a hand. “Add the nickname ‘Rusty’, and you have the unholy trio of red-head jokes.”

           “Isn’t there also something from America about an orphan named Annie—”

           “Don’t,” Nathanael said, giving Kim a sharp warning glance. Kim snickered.

           “Hey, don’t get mad at me. I didn’t give you the red hair.”

           Nathanael rolled his eyes, idly tapping his pencil on his sketchbook once again, which drew Kim’s attention to it once more.

           “So what’s this project you have to do?”

           Nathanael blinked, looking like Kim had pulled him out of some other void of thought.

           “Oh…it’s an anatomy piece,” he said. “The concept isn’t difficult—I’ve done plenty of anatomy pieces before…” He frowned again, pale skin wrinkling. “But my professor says my style’s stagnating.”

           “Rude,” Kim said with a frown, which brought a slight smile to Nathanael’s face.

           “Thanks, but it’s important to be able to take criticism about things like this, even if it isn’t always something I want to hear.” Nathanael sighed, tucking his pencil behind his ear for safe keeping as he propped his head up with his elbows, frowning down at his sketchbook once more. “But I’m not sure what to do. I want to branch out and challenge myself, but how do I do that?”

           “Why don’t you just ask him exactly what he’s looking for?”

           To this, Nathanael let out a bitter laugh that had Kim cringing. Wow…in all the time he had known him, he had never heard Nathanael make a sound so dispirited…

           “It’s an art class,” he pointed out after a moment, giving Kim a dry smile. “Nothing is exact. You have to feel your way through it in order to truly create…but with this…”

           His lips twisted, and Kim was startled to find him looking so…unsure.

           “…I don’t know,” he muttered, tearing his eyes away from his sketchbook to look away, into the distance. “I’m starting to question more and more whether or not I really want this to be my career, if I get stuck on something as simple as this…”

           Kim stared, his mouth hanging open. Nathanael, the boy who never went anywhere without at least one sketchpad and a set of pencils with him since primary school…not doing art?

           The thought was so inconceivable that Kim was seized with a sudden desire to correct this problem, no matter what it took.

           “Nath…you love art,” Kim fervently reminded his friend, his hands splayed flat against the table as he leaned in, staring at his broody artist friend, who returned his gaze with some surprise. “You quitting art would be like me quitting track! It just wouldn’t be right, man! You have a gift, and it’d be stupid to throw it away! I’d hate to see you give up your passion just ‘cause you’re struggling with something so temporary.”

           Nathanael blinked, red slowly painting his cheeks as he glanced away from Kim, a little, shy smile crossing his face. The sight amused Kim—university had definitely helped Nathanael come out of his shell, but it was the tiny gestures that pleased Kim, because they reassured him that Nathanael would never change too much.

           “Uh…thanks,” he replied quietly, but all too soon, that smile turned back into a grimace. “Still…it would be nice to work through this block.”

           “Right.” Kim sat straight again and folded his arms, frowning as he put on his Mr. Fix-It cap and tried to figure out how to assist his struggling friend. Anatomy, huh… “Is this, like, one of those naked drawing classes or something?”

           Kim half-expected Nathanael to blush…but he didn’t. Instead, there was a thoughtful gleam in his eye as he gripped his chin in thought.

           “I wouldn’t classify in that way, although we do have nude models from time to time,” he admitted, and Kim raised his eyebrows. The way he said that with no trace of embarrassment…Kim wasn’t sure if he could pull off that level of professionalism. He was almost envious.

           “So, what? You need a model?”

           Nathanael shrugged.

           “Not in the way you mean. I came here to sketch people passing by, so it’s not like I need someone who’ll stay still for hours at a time…but maybe that’s my problem?” He closed his eyes and frowned, and Kim had to bite back a laugh at the way his brooding intensified with just two simple gestures. “I prefer to sketch things in motion more than stills…capturing a brief piece of someone’s life like that is fun, and still models feel more like I’m staging my art rather than creating it…but if motion sketches are all I do, I can’t really improve, can I…?”

           He was talking himself in circles, getting so quiet that he was just muttering under his breath now. Kim could do nothing but watch, frowning as he wished that there was something he could do…

           …Wait.

           There was something he could do!

           “Hey, I could be a model,” he interjected, grinning confidently, even at the startled look in Nathanael’s eyes once he opened them.

           “…I appreciate that you want to help, Kim,” Nathanael replied, tilting his head a little with that vague smile from earlier, as if he wanted to be as polite as possible in his refusal of such an idea. “But being a model is very rarely interesting for the models themselves. You’d have to stay still for very long periods of time—”

           “I can do that!” At Nathanael’s raised eyebrows, Kim pouted. “Don’t give me that look—I can stay still! …If I try…really, really hard…”

           Nathanael laughed, teal eyes sparkling with mirth.

           “Well…it’s not like I couldn’t use the practice, I guess,” he mused, “but Kim—are you sure? I don’t want to cut into your practice time—”

           “It’s totally fine,” Kim insisted with a careless wave of his hand. “Friends gotta help each other out, right? Just name a time and a place, and I’ll be there.”

           “…Okay, I’ll do that,” Nathanael agreed, smiling warmly. “Thanks, Kim.”

           Kim grinned.

           “Anytime, buddy.”

           Not fidgeting was a lot harder than Kim ever expected it to be.

           It wasn’t like he had to hold a crazy pose or anything either—though he had certainly tried, before Nathanael had instructed him to just sit down like a normal person instead of with his chest puffed out, or in a dab. Kim had complained that that wasn’t very exciting, but twenty minutes in, he was grateful for Nathanael’s foresight, for having to hold any of his previous poses right now would’ve been a bitch.

           Nathanael’s dorm room was neat and tidy, save for a corner of the room that was covered in old newspapers and riddled with art supplies and an easel, the canvas splashed with paint, though no discernible shapes stuck out to Kim. They were not over in this corner, however—instead, Kim sat on Nathanael’s bed while he was seated in the chair at his desk, the only sound in the room the light scratches of Nathanael’s pencil, or the scrape of an eraser on paper as he undid a misplaced pencil stroke. His eyes shifted back and forth between Kim and his sketchbook, the glances to both brief, as if Nathanael didn’t actually have to look at what he was doing for very long. There was an implicit trust in his artist fingers that Kim found himself relating to—he never had to think about running, except to adjust his speed and pacing from time to time. It was a natural thing, easy as breathing, when his powerful legs propelled him across the earth, as if he could outrun the speed of light and sound—

           Damn it, now he wanted to go for a jog. Running was the wrong thing to think about right now.

           Kim’s fingers twitched as he sat there, trying not to move too noticeably. Huh…he never knew silence could be awkward. It wasn’t like he didn’t like hanging out with Nathanael—he was a cool dude, and Kim had known him practically forever, even if they didn’t become close until entering university together. But the fact that Nathanael kept looking at him without saying anything stirred him, and he didn’t know why…

           The next sweep of Nathanael’s eyes stayed longer than usual, and Kim found himself tensing at the change. He didn’t know why…maybe it was because he was unused to meeting both of Nathanael’s eyes, instead of focusing on just the one that wasn’t perpetually obscured by his hair. Nathanael seemed to pause for a second…and then he lowered his sketchbook into his lap, letting his pencil rest in his hand.

           “Are you done already?” Kim asked in surprise, wondering just how amazing Nathanael’s abilities had become.

           Nathanael chuckled at the assumption.

           “No. I just feel like you’re a little too tense. Relax a bit.”

           “Oh, yeah, sure, I can do that.” Kim cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders before settling back into his slouched over position, a hand dangling in between his knees as he rested his elbow on his thigh. “Better?”

           “Better.” Nathanael raised his sketchbook again, and kept his eyes upon it as he asked, “How’s your training going?”

           Kim blinked.

           “I thought I wasn’t supposed to move?”

           “You can talk,” Nathanael allowed with a smirk that smacked of amusement. “The movement of your mouth is a minute detail…though I’m going to have to ask that you don’t talk with your hands as much right now.”

           Kim frowned.

           “I don’t talk with my hands,” he denied, waving a hand through the air to assert his point…oh, wait. Damn it.

           Nathanael laughed, the sound free and easy. Kim felt himself swallow and frowned. Hmm…looked like he hadn’t hydrated enough today…

           “And training’s fine,” Kim answered the question to move past his slip, watching as Nathanael focused on his sketchbook, pencil gliding across the page. “I think we stand a good chance of flattening our competition next month.”

           Kim followed the slight curve of Nathanael’s lips with his eyes as he glanced up again, expression knowing.

           “You’re never anything short of confident, huh?”

           “You makin’ fun of me?” Kim challenged with a grin.

           “Not at all,” answered Nathanael, and the earnestness in his voice made Kim pause. “I really admire that about you.”

           Kim blinked. Well…that was…unexpected. He was always catching heat from someone (usually his coach) about being cocky, but to hear that someone actually liked that about him…?

           Wow, it had gotten really warm in here all of a sudden. Kim cleared his throat. Jeez, how had he not had enough water today? That was a problem—if he was going to run, he had to stay hydrated. He’d ask Nathanael for a break to do so in a few minutes.

           “Well, y’know…” he mumbled before petering off lamely, because he realized he had nowhere to go with that sentence. Nathanael seemed content to let it go, and silence fell between them once more as he sketched. Kim watched as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, teal eyes focused as he worked on capturing the rare sight of Kim in stillness. He really did love his craft—it was obvious to anyone who watched him work. Idly, Kim wondered how many people had seen his focused look, and could guess from it just how deeply Nathanael felt about his work…

           Nathanael glanced up again. Abruptly, Kim realized he was staring and glanced away, at the walls. It would’ve been clear that an artist lived here from just one look at the posters on the walls, ranging from well-known works that even Kim could name, to obscure pieces he had never seen before. Kim searched, squinting at the scribbled signatures on each piece, but none of them looked familiar…

           “You don’t hang your own art up in your room?”

           Nathanael’s eyes were back on his sketchbook as Kim looked at him; there was more to the furrow of his brows now.

           “Why would I do that?” He asked idly, as if the answer didn’t matter much. “I haven’t made anything good enough to share wall space with my inspirations.”

           “Whaaaaat?” Kim exclaimed in surprise, hastily adjusting his posture afterwards, for he had straightened in alarm. “Dude, I went to the school’s art exhibit last year—your stuff is great!”

           Nathanael smiled vaguely.

           “Thanks,” he replied, but it didn’t really sound like he meant it; it sounded like he was saying it just to be polite. “But I want to be a whole lot more than ‘great’ before I think about adding my own work up on the walls. Besides,” he muttered after a moment, and Kim watched with intrigue as red invaded Nathanael’s fair skin. “It’s…kind of embarrassing, hanging my own stuff up. Doesn’t it seem a little…cocky?”

           Kim snorted.

           “Dude, if you’re gifted, you should be able to look up and remind yourself of just how talented you are without having to apologize for it.” He winked. “Take it from a guy who gets called ‘cocky’ fifty times a day.”

           Nathanael smiled again, and it was that slow, secret smile that took its time curving his lips, his eyes bright with amusement.

           “Well…it’s not like the people who call you that don’t have a point—”

           “Hey!” Kim complained with a scowl that he couldn’t hold for very long when Nathanael started laughing. It seemed like he had never done that much in collegé…Kim was glad to see that he felt comfortable enough to do so now.

           The rest of their time was passed in back and forth banter, and when Nathanael finally announced that he was done, Kim made a show of stretching and sighing in relief, falling back on Nathanael’s bed. Oddly enough, however, there was a strange sense of let-down. Kim couldn’t place why at first…maybe because he’d been having so much fun that he kind of didn’t want it to end? He had always been one to overindulge, of course…

           He opened his eyes when a shadow fell over him, to find Nathanael leaning over him with an amused look.

           “Nap time?” He asked, and Kim snorted, propping himself up on his elbows. “I didn’t realize you modeling for me took so much out of you.”

           “Psh, I’m fine,” said Kim with a wave of his hand, his eyes going to Nathanael’s sketchbook, which sat abandoned upon his desk. “So, can I see it?”

           Nathanael’s eyes lit up.

           “You want to?”

           “Hell yeah!” Kim replied, a ‘duh’ tone included in his voice, though the way Nathanael looked so pleased that he wanted to see his work was…kind of endearing…

           Kim sat up fully as Nathanael went to retrieve his sketchbook, plopping down next to him before he passed it over, his expression laced with anticipation…and trepidation. It made Kim curious—was Nathanael afraid that Kim would hate it or something?

           “So?” Nathanael asked after Kim took the sketchbook and got a good look at the sketch. “What do you think?”

           “…”

           Kim heard the question…but honestly, he was having trouble articulating exactly how he felt about something that was so damn awesome. It was him, and yet, it was a better him, something Kim had no idea was possible—somehow, Nathanael had made his slouching form look regal and careless, like a prince upon his throne with the world dancing in the palm of his hand. There wasn’t a single detail Nathanael had gotten wrong, except for maybe his face, because Kim wasn’t sure that he looked that handsome…

           The abrupt thought that this was how Nathanael saw him struck Kim, and suddenly, his face was on fire.

           “…Um…”

           Nathanael’s soft voice brought Kim back to the present, and he looked over to find Nathanael looking at him anxiously, running a hand through his tied back hair self-consciously, the movement tugging his bangs loose so that they hung in his face, as if he wanted to hide himself from view.

           “Do you, uh…not like it?”

           “Dude, I love it,” Kim assured him immediately, because he could not stand to see the self-doubt in Nathanael’s eyes, couldn’t stand to see him think that this sketch was anything less than perfect. In fact, it was so perfect— “Can I have it?”

           Nathanael stared at him. Kim’s thoughts caught up with his mouth a second later, and he grimaced.

           “Well, I mean…I don’t know if you need it for class or whatever, but if it’s just practice—”

           “You…really want it?” Nathanael asked, as if he couldn’t believe it. Kim almost scoffed, but he didn’t. Instead, he held Nathanael’s gaze, willing him with everything he had to believe it when he said:

           “I really do.”

           Ah, and there was the slow-curving smile—no, no, wait. This one bypassed a smile—it was a full-on grin, as if Kim had positively delighted Nathanael. And it was a grin so bright that Kim felt himself swallow again, and slowly, an inkling occurred to him, that he might not be that thirsty after all…at least, not in that way…

           “Sure,” Nathanael agreed, and it took Kim a second to realize he was talking about the sketch rather than confirming the swirling thoughts in his head. Hand outstretched, he grasped the sketchbook. “Just let me sign it…”

           “Okay…” Kim would’ve watched him sign it, just to see the way Nathanael’s wrist moved as his pencil flicked across the page, marking the art as his…marking the sketch of Kim as his…but his phone distracted him, ringing in the silence. Cursing under his breath, Kim dug his phone out from one of his pockets to silence his daily alarm that told him to go to practice. Damn, he hadn’t realized how much time had passed…

           “I gotta go,” he announced, getting to his feet with a sort of reluctance he dully felt as he shrugged his shoulders. “Gotta continue leaving losers in my dust.”

           “Your teammates must love you,” Nathanael joked, tearing the used page of his sketchbook out, turning with a smile to hand the sketch over. “Well, good luck with practice. And thanks for your help.”

           “Anytime,” Kim said, though it was with a little more feeling than the last time he had uttered such words. Barely able to manage a parting wave, Kim left the room, his legs automatically moving as fast as they could go, as if to outpace his suddenly racing heart. It wasn’t until he left Nathanael’s dorm building that he looked down at the sketch, wondering where Nathanael had stuck his signature.

           He found it in an instant, tucked away in the crease of Sketch Kim’s neck. Almost like a kiss.

           Kim stared.

           That…was so goddamn cute.

           “Fuck,” he mumbled to himself without any real negativity, feeling pleasantly surprised and tingly all over as his face heated, all from such a simple gesture. His next words, though he had never spoken them before, were still matter of fact: “I’m gay.”

There may be a sequel to this in the future that’s a little more...intimate, shall we say. ;)

Hope you enjoyed! <3

~Reyna

[toffyandsalt]

For the asks: Favorite place to write. Do you have writing habits or rituals? Books or authors that influenced your style the most. :3

Thank you so much for the ask, lovely

1. Favorite place to write.

Best writing position is at my desk in complete silence :D

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

I do, if one can call them such! First of all, I like keeping notes around for every story, be it a digital or physical note. Which means my desk is scattered with tiny white square paper pieces lol. If I write digitally, I like setting my document to classical Time New Roman 14. Somehow I can’t write in another font, it’s just not inspiring enough haha.

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.

Oh boiiii, I am not even sure. I try to draw inspiration from Charlotte Bronte who I admire absolutely and entirely for her way of putting words together and how she uses them to build up characters. I’m absolutely head over heels in love with Max Frei (Svetlana Martynchik) because he (she) write in such a casual and yet beautiful artsy way, you can’t help but fall in love and learn from the way the look at the world. I tried to pick up tips from Asimov’s writing, how his incredibly simple wording manages to catch on the most important features of a character and give you an idea of how the main character feels about them *sigh-in-love*

Send me a writer’s ask! :)

[rational-mastermind]

@provider-of-guardians‘s prompt for 2017

Rockelanie - First date

A/N: I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to get through these.. Writing original stories is really hard and if anyone has any questions about it, mine and Provider’s inboxes are open.

It was Valentine's Day which meant, for most kids, a day to be in love with someone special. To Rocky it only meant all the chocolate would go on crazy good sales tomorrow and today was just another dumb boring day at school. Despite his charm with the ladies, he didn't normally get Valentine cards unless they were forced-hand-outs like what the teacher makes the class do. And he was fine with that. He wasn't actively searching for a lovelife at this point. So naturally he was pretty surprised when he opened his locker to discover an envelope hiding inside. He and Skyler stared at it a moment before Rocky shrugged and opened it. Inside was a white card with red hearts decorating a corner that said in pretty, red font, "Happy Valentine's Day". Simple, but nice.

"Huh. That's new.", Rocky noted and read the card that was written in bright red ink. "Hm. It says a secret admirer wants to meet up with me tonight."

"Seriously?", his friend asked unable to help sounding confused.

"Yeah.. Says we already know each other but they're shy?", Rocky looked confused and looked over the front and back of the valentine. "And I know everyone in school... Hm."

"Fayette's already given you her valentine."

"Yeah.. So it's obviously not your little sister's crush on me."

"Any guesses?"

"Mmm..I dunno. Could be one of those artsy students.", Rocky opened the card again.

"Hm. Maybe.", Sklyer shrugged. "Doesn't look store-bought."

"No, it's definitely hand-made."

"Yeah, you would know, since your mom's an artist."

Rocky shrugged and tucked the valentine away saying, "I guess I'll find out tonight."

"Damn.", Sklyer sighed. "We were gonna have practice tonight."

"Well if nothing ends up happening, I can still come by later.", Rocky smiled.

"Yeah alright. Sounds cool dude."

They high-fived and went back to their school life while Rocky continued to ponder who his mystery valentine could be. Either way he'd find out soon.

--

He walked down the streets that night and looked around, a little nervously.  There were already plenty of other people out with their special dates. They were all dressed up and pretty. He looked down at the rose he carried. He hadn't seen his date yet. But then again, it's a blind date. Who knew who it could've been?

Yet he turned around the corner and was shocked at what he found.

Outside the restaurant was Melanie. Skyler's trending rival. The same girl who would give him and Skyler shit for their anachronism because it was "out of style".

The funny thing is that despite such rudeness...Rocky will admit to himself, at the very least, that he has developed a small crush on her.

Probably the first thing that caught his attention about her though was last year. Back when he and Skyler signed up for the Smash Brother's tournament and everyone was getting their butts kicked by a mystery player. During one break he saw, just past the poster in the window outside, Melanie under her disguise. And for someone who was firm in turning her nose up at older games, it was a pretty big shock to him to find her there and really getting into the tournament when she played. But...he remained silent, nonetheless. To this day Skyler still never knew.

Of the few times they've interacted peacefully after that, she's come across as someone really different than the "up-to-date millennial trend-follower" persona that she likes to display in school. She was smart and admittedly funny. Even nice, seeing how she got along well with Fayette's friends that one rainy day. And personally speaking, Rocky did artistically as well as just generally find her very pretty, though he would never admit it.

Until now perhaps. Now that she was standing there, obviously dateless and looking at her phone concerned. Probably a clock telling her how late it was.

Finally she noticed him and their eyes met. She looked and was surprised. But then looked uneasy.

"Oh shit..", she muttered, just loud enough that he caught it.

‘Fuck.’, he thought but tried to put on a smile.

"Melanie! Wow. Um..", Rocky walked up to her and gave a nervous chuckle, trying to seem friendly. "Wha..um.. Wh-what are you doing here?"

Melanie quickly looked around again.

"Um.. Well.. I was kind of waiting for my date..", she said, obviously nervous.

There was a pause.

Rocky cleared his throat.

After a moment longer he finally spoke up.

"Alright, lemme guess..", he started, already getting the idea. "...you put the card in the wrong locker?"

Melanie looked back at him and actually felt bad at the look on his face. Like he was actually saddened by this.

"Um..", he pulled out the card and she couldn't help but sigh seeing it. "...yes."

Rocky looked at it a moment before clicking his tongue.

"Well... There it is.", he hesitated a moment and then held it out to her. "S-sorry.. Should I uh...give this back?"

Melanie awkwardly took it and tucked it away in her purse. Her mind was a blur. How could this have happened? She paid super close attention to make sure it was in-

It didn't even matter anymore at this point. She lost her opportunity and now there was nothing to do about it. Instead of him, she got Rocky instead. Great. Fan-freaking-tastic.

"I'm really sorry, Rocky.", she apologized. "I didn't mean to slip it into your locker. I meant it for..someone else."

Rocky shrugged. But honestly when she saw his face, she was surprised at how actually disappointed and upset he was about it. She would've thought he would feel relieved they weren't gonna date or more nonchalant like he always did but...he looked..hurt? Him? Like he had been looking forward to this? With her?? It confused her a moment.

"Shit happens.", he said, still trying to be nonchalant about it but obviously disappointed. "What can you say? I uh.. Well I guess I'll see you in school Monday. Sorry you wasted your time."

He turned to leave and before she had a time to think it just flew out of her mouth,

"Wait!"

Rocky paused and looked back, no doubt caught off guard. She thought about it a moment. Aside from just being disappointed this didn't work out..he did look nice. He was wearing a button up shirt, jeans without holes in them. His bright green Mohawk was even combed back into a ponytail. He wasn't even wearing his many earrings. She almost didn't recognize him. A small part of her didn't really wanna disappoint him, going through all the trouble and then being turned down just because she got the wrong locker.

"Well.. um... I mean, I guess..we both don't have any other plans...right?", she started to say, not really sure where this was going.

"Uh.. No, not really.", Rocky shrugged.

"And well.. we're already here and..all-all dressed up.", she shrugged. "Maybe we can just....?"

Rocky looked a little confused but he seemed to get the idea.

"You wanna...hang out?"

Surprisingly, she felt herself smile.

"..Yeah, let's just..hang out.", she agreed. "Celebrate Singles-Awareness Day."

Rocky paused a moment but then got the joke and chuckled a little.

"Yeah. Happy Singles-Awareness Day."

She grinned.

"Happy Singles-Awareness Day."

They laughed a little. He handed her the rose he had and she took it with a smile. They walked in together and got their table.

'This is just hanging out.', they told themselves.

They sat and glanced through the menu.

"...So are you paying or am I?", Rocky asked.

"Hm? Oh, well I was kind of expecting to pay really since this was my idea.", Melanie shrugged. "I've been saving up a bit."

Rocky looked up at her and smiled, curious.

"Wait, do you have a job?", he asked.

Melanie glanced back up and looked away, a little embarrassed.

"Well.. no..", she admitted. "I said I was saving up.."

"Well then how about I pay?", Rocky shrugged.

Melanie scoffed a little and smiled.

"What, do YOU have a job?", she meant this sarcastically but Rocky sat down his menu and smiled, sure of himself.

"Actually yeah.", he nodded.

Melanie's shocked face was so perfect, he had to laugh a little.

"I work part time as a tattoo artists' assistant.", he explained. "After school."

"...you know, I think I can see that.", she nodded a little, after some thought. "..Yeah you would be into tattoos."

A waiter came by and they placed their orders before returning to the conversation.

"Yeah well hopefully I'll be an artist myself. That pays a little better.", Rocky smiled. "But I could still use a little work."

"Really? But people love the artwork you did around the school. You're one of the best in class.", she asked, perplexed, earning only a shrug in response. "All that stuff you and the others did during that hailstorm last year? I dunno, I thought it was pretty cool."

"I'm good with a brush and some paint, been doing that since I was 4 with Mom for a teacher. But tattoos are different. You work with a needle rather than a brush and I have to be careful, especially about what colors I choose and who I'm doing it to."

"Huh.. I didn't really know anything about it." she shrugged. "Oh, except that I saw this cool post on Bumblr about where to get temporary tattoos."

Rocky couldn't help the scoffing laugh as she pulled out her phone.

"Temporary? Don't you get those at the little vending machines in the mall?"

"Ha ha ha ha. I didn't mean those.", she smiled, despite his teasing, while she tapped her screen. "I mean you can make custom orders and get a cool design for a temporary tattoo. Helps you decide if you like the look for a permanent deal or if you want one without wanting the pain."

She held out her phone to him and Rocky looked at the screen. He's seen kids use these touch-screens before so he carefully slid it up and down to read the whole post.

"Huh.. That's actually kind of cool.", he said quietly, surprised.

He handed the phone back to her and she put it away.

"So like..is that what you do all the time? Share things other people blog about?", he smiled, teasingly.

"No, sometimes I write my own posts.", she replied, smiling too.

"About other blogs?"

"No, actually. About all kinds of things. I like to do mood-boards though."

"The hell is a mood-board?", he asked, perplexed by what came out of his own mouth.

Melanie laughed a little at this before trying to find a way to explain. "It's like...well you find a lot of pictures, quotes, or even song lyrics that center around one thing. Like.. If I was gonna make a mood-board..about you? It would have..pictures of Mohawks, uh..Van Halen. Other...80's things.", she shook her head, trying to think of something more specific to his anachronism, but Rocky started laughing hard.

"'Other 80's things'?", he laughed. "Come ON you could've picked SOMETHING besides Mohawks, Van Halen and 'other 80's things'."

Melanie found herself laughing too and and shrugged.

"What? I dunno! Um..Starry Night?", she guessed, making them laugh more.

"Wow! Okay..you don't know me at all.", he shook his head.

"Well no, obviously. Cause we don't hang out.", she rolled her eyes.

"Alright well first tip; try Billy Joel sometime. Lyric-wise, the guy can have some awesome songs, even if it's not heavier rock like Van Halen, or even the real heavy stuff like Metallica and ACDC. Like, if you wanna go for music, you're forgetting so much! Kansas. Styx. Journey. Hall & Oats. Guns 'n Roses. Kiss? Come on!", Rocky laughed a little. "I can't believe this.. And that's not even all that I like to listen to. As far as music's concerned, I'm all over the place. Not even just in the 80's."

"Huh, that's so weird. Cause I thought you'd be all into that..I dunno, punk rock? Is that what you'd call it?"

"What you mean like British rock? Ehh..", Rocky waved his hand iffy. "I hate just picking one genre. Hell, I even listen to some stuff from the 60's and 90's."

"Whoa.. You sure about that whole anachronism thing?", Melanie teased.

"Well, as far as 80's go, the pop-culture of that time was all about different styles and trying new things. There was a lot of weird shit in the 80's too. Some works, some doesn’t, and it's all about personal preference. Though, granted there was a lot of weird stuff that became very popular for no good reason at the time. But still, I like to celebrate that in my anachroism; finding something different and trying new things. A blank canvas, willing to try whatever and find what I like."

Melanie's original smirk disappeared, and was replaced by simple curiosity and slight wonderment.

"...No, I doubt you'd try anything.", she shook her head, trying to laugh it off.

"Oh really? You wanna try me?", Rocky dared, still smiling.

There was a pause. Melanie thought about it. He looked so sure of himself. She smiled again and pulled out her mp3player.

"You're on."

Rocky looked at the earbuds she handed him and tried to figure it out.

"So I just..?"

"Just put it in your ear."

"And moms used to complain headphones would make you deaf.", he complied and put them in, surprised a little at how well they fit.

"Alright, let's see...", she scrolled through her walkman for a moment. Glanced at him and pressed a few more buttons. "Think you're more of an...Owl City kinda guy. The lyrics don't really make any sense but the sound is good. This is the first song I listened to from him, it's called Rainbow Veins."

Rocky simply shrugged and Melanie pressed play and sat back to watch the show.

Rocky closed his eyes as he listened and instinctively brought a hand up to where he felt a headphone should've been. After a moment, he tapped his other hand on the table in time to the beat and nodded his head, listening carefully. He looked a little confused, she could only assume because of the lyrics. Rocky continued to listen carefully, but then looked a little surprised. She knew the song had finally kicked in and nodded in time with him and pointed as the chorus came in, knowing the song by heart. Rocky leaned back in the chair, looking focused on the song and keeping his eyes close. Suddenly his eyes opened with alarm and jumped a little, the song must've gotten loud and surprised him. But he smiled and closed his eyes again, nodding still until the song finally ended. She looked at the mp3player and then paused when it was done. He took out the earbuds and handed them back to her.

"Okay, that was really weird. A little hard to get into, but it started getting good near the end. The chorus was pretty cool too."

Melanie chuckled.

"Wow, I'm surprised your brain didn't explode.", she grinned.

"Ha ha. No, Skyler's might have."

They laughed a little together and she handed back the earbuds.

"Here, try this one. It's Fireflies. Like, you gotta wait to hear the beat drop. It's awesome!"

"Dude, I'm a drummer. I'll decide how awesome a beat is.", he grinned and took them back.

Their food arrived shortly afterwards and they ate and Rocky tried a few more songs. They talked about music, what it means to different people. After dinner, they walked down the street to Rocky's house to listen to more music.

"...Can I ask you something kinda random?", he started.

She shrugged.

"Hasn't this whole night been random? Shoot."

"It's just...you act so mean and above everyone in school...I'm kinda surprised tonight was as good as it was.", he tried to find the right words. "I guess I just wonder why you pretend to act so harsh, when really you're not so bad to be around?"

She was a little surprised but then frowned and looked back at the sidewalk.

"I... I dunno.. I just..didn't think you and Skyler were exactly the..right kinda clique to be with, you know? The right kinda crowd to be with."

"You mean the cool kids?"

"Pretty much. I...", she sighed. How to say this? She shrugged and tried her best to explain. "Look, my family just recently moved from Electra City.. It was new, and hard, and.."

"Scary?"

Melanie glanced at him and nodded a little in agreement.

"Yeah. ...I didn't exactly fit in with my last school... I wanted to make a good impression. Tried to look like I did fit in.", she shrugged. "I was trying to be like..you know..what other cool kids in my old school were like. So I saw you and Skyler...and you guys just seemed so..."

"Out of date?"

"...Sorry about that.", she frowned, more disappointed in her own word choice back then than anything.

Rocky thought it over a moment and couldn't help what looked like a sad smile.

"Here's the worst part..", he started. "That day...the day we met you? ...Skyler was already kinda..goin' through some things. He was already having a rough time... So it's almost funny...really kinda sad..how rough you two started off."

"....was it his dad?", she asked tentatively.

"..Somethin' about that.. Yeah..", Rocky nodded. "And usually when it comes to that he can get pretty...tense. It's really something he should explain to you. Not me."

She frowned a little, hearing this.

"Oh.."

By now they've reached Rocky's house. But he paused, wanting a moment longer to talk.

"But hey.. Um.. Despite what did happen? I'm glad we got to do this.", he smiled. "I'm glad we did get to know each other a little more. You're actually pretty awesome. Once you..you know..cool it with the all the millennial trend-following stuff."

"...do you really think so?", she smiled, a little surprised.

"Oh yeah.", Rocky nodded but then added on, hopefully and slightly nervously. "Maybe after I lend you my Billy Joel CD...we could hang out again?"

Melanie thought about it a moment. She smiled. She nodded.

"Yeah.. I think I'd like that."

He grinned, eyes lighting up hopefully.

"Really? Awesome!"

"Totes."

And with that, they turned onto the yard and walked up to Rocky's house.

[morganmwritesthings]

Happy Monday, everyone. We’re having such Monday weather over here (drizzly, damp, and gray…ewwwww). Maybe my post will brighten the day a little.

This is a look at how a DIY fan styles their desk. It’s important to create a space where you can feel inspired. Going with the pink/gold/black chic look (I know it’s probably not that unique, but as long as you love it, that’s the important part), I created a place where I’d feel inspired in writing, designing, and holiday creations. And if you hold tight, I’ll even explain the ugly boxes in the corner.

First, a general look at the whole thing:

I decided, in second grade, that I wanted a HUGE desk. I regret that decision now, but I’m trying to make it work to my advantage by decorating it with quotes.

I cheated. I printed them out. But I think there are some pretty cool foil quote sheets that you can buy, so I might look into those later. Since I started getting into the bullet journal thing, the “filling out the calendar” thing kind of went down the pits. But I love a good calendar, so maybe I’ll just do monthly bullet journal spreads from now on.

Remember my Halloween pencil holders? Well, they have been swapped out for my regular mason jars as well as some Thanksgiving ones. I like my Charlie Brown cup, but if I had one complaint it’s that you can only see so much of the scene at once. When you design a scene around a cup you can’t see the whole thing.

The jar on the right also says “give thanks” in gold but sadly, it’s a little hard to read. Le sigh.

A way to make HUGE desks work for you is to use storage space, so long as it’s not cluttered. I love to make cards, so my stamp collections and cardmaking stuff goes here. Stationery goes in the big box, and the top box is home to my letters, numbers, and sentiment stamps.

Now about those ugly boxes you saw in the other corner…yeah, I’m waiting on new ones for Christmas. Shoeboxes are a good temporary storage space, but they just don’t have the same aesthetic value. They store my holiday and design collections.

Ducks! I’m trying to collect rubber ducks, and this desk is home to my small-ish collection. Each duck represents something in my life like an interest, former job, or even a favorite color. Others are gifts that I like to think represent something. I don’t really have a great place for these, so they live on the top shelf, watching me do things.

This is a glass-blown cat that I got on a high school tour many years ago. The students were participating in summer classes and a glassblowing student gave me this little figure. An ear and his tail have both fallen off after ten years of sitting around and probably laying around in my spare decorations box at some point. I recently named him Binx (after the Hocus Pocus character, of course). I have several figurines, but I don’t like to clutter my living space. All decorations I don’t use live in a box in my closet.

Drawers are good things. Recently I was on a “must not have anything out ever!” kick, so I tried to store them away in a closet drawer. Honestly though, craft stuff is much easier stored in a desk. So here is where my artsy embellishments live…basically anything that isn’t stamps. Washi tape, ribbon, paint, paintbrushes, and even some extra office supplies.

Sorry about the flash. I don’t live in a cabin in the woods, I swear.

Bottom left drawer. This one is much deeper and is perfect for storing paper. Folders hold various types of prints. Issues of Cardmaking live here, too. When one issue comes in, another gets tossed to avoid clutter. I usually end up scanning my favorite ideas into the computer so I don’t have 50 magazines to look through when I need an idea. I also keep my ink here until I get a box for it. I also keep my gel pens here (no room for them in the other drawer) and a mug for washing paintbrushes.

Bottom right drawer: the box holds my creative journals (coloring books, notebooks, scrapbooks etc) and the rest are personal journals. I have my bullet journal, questions-a-day journal, and yearbook where I write down everything that happened in the past year. The rest are old journals which are keepsakes now. Look at how thick that black composition book is…

  Top tips for #deskgoals *Stick with a color scheme. Who cares if it’s cliche, odd, or anything else? Pick a scheme that speaks to you. *Clutter clutters creativity. You may be tempted to fill the shelves on a huge desk like mine, but don’t. Freeing space gives you more space to think and create. “Minimal” is my new middle name. And keep your drawers neat, too. Not only will they look nicer, but stuff won’t be spilling out of them every time you open one (or falling back into the desk and jamming it…yeah, I’ve been there). *Less clutter also balances out your space. If you don’t have a lot of posters/decorations/whatever up, don’t make your desk look busy.  *Use nice boxes that fit with your scheme. If you don’t have them yet, buy them when you can. *If you have a choice, don’t get a gigantic desk. It makes the room look smaller and the extra wall space leaves you more room to decorate. Look at mine…do you really want a desk that almost reaches the ceiling???

  What tips do you guys live by?

  How to go from desk to #deskgoals! Happy Monday, everyone. We're having such Monday weather over here (drizzly, damp, and gray...ewwwww). Maybe my post will brighten the day a little.