#instead of the dipshit baby that cause the issue in the first place being at fault?????????????????????

[meatheadmutt]

why am i having to hold a gun to googles head to show me articles on the long term effects of hormonal birth control on the endocrine system in adult patients who began usage as a teenager

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Did I tell you about the -first- time I broke into a house?

Because I have done that a lot, but only with the owner/tenants permission and usually because they locked themselves out... 100% legal break ins.

But the first time I was like 7 ish?

One of the guys mom was dating and grandma -who lived with us at the time... or was about to- both decided we were someone else's problem at the same time on the same day when we were getting home from school and my mom was at work.

Maybe they told my mom they didn't want to show and maybe they didn't but she was at work and couldn't leave, and if she told one of them to stick around for a few hours, they didn't.

So we get off the school bus and get to the door and no one is home. We're locked out. It's sunny as shit and I can't see, because I've never been able to see outside very well, but it might have also been cold, I think I remember winter clothes and personally being too hot in them, and my sister was crying that she was hungry or something, otherwise panicking, she used to freak out kind of easily. And I was a skinny little kid... But I 100% kicked in the door. Kicked where the lock was stupidly hard and slammed my whole little body into the thing at a run. First I think I snapped the cheap metal latch on the screen door on the outside of that and I am not sure it ever latched again. It's the metal composite stuff you aren't even sure is entirely metal because it's like too bendy and grainy?

No recollection of the second door, as getting that far only got us into the sun room, but my mom came home to find the door broken in... And my sister and I calmly sitting at the dining table with toast or something.

And I do very much understand my mom being emotional and angry about that one. Imagine you get a call from this guy you have been seeing and he tells you basically "I know I've been getting some fuck out of this but I did not sign up to watch your kids, see ya lady" and you tell that dipshit "Tough luck, you are going to stay there until I can get back"... And then you get back, and your kids aren't outside, but there's 2-3 busted in doors between you and the inside of what was a secure house. You are calling out for the dipshit and he's not answering because he isn't there, your kids aren't answering because well, you aren't calling out to them... You get in through the busted doors and look around not knowing what to find or where your fucking kids are and... They are sitting at the table eating toast [the one thing your eldest is allowed to make on their own, after a fun conversation]. No one else is there or ever was there. [Do you want some toast too mom?]

It was one of those times my mom was pissed and I expected it to be directed at us, at me, but instead she was -mostly- pissed at whoever backed out of watching us at the last second... I think.

Unexpectedly what I got was a pat on the head for making sure my sister got inside, even though she was super pissed about needing to replace the lock on the door and maybe wasn't careful about making sure it didn't sound like she was pissed at me for it, and then a lot of side-eyeing. I think there were a lot of things my mother was counting on us being too weak to get into when her mom was "watching" us [watching tv in the living room, smoking, and painting her nails]. And -a lot like the baby gates and locks when I was a toddler- my mom was freshly realizing that it wasn't that I couldn't get into it, it was that I was taking the precautions as a polite request not to.

I can't help but feel like if I had been a boy as a child none of this would have been a surprise or an issue. I'm pretty sure that it would have been expected I'd be that strong and that it wouldn't have caused any alarm or any need for adjustment, new rules, hiding things in new places or like, getting my grandmother to move in with us as child care in exchange for cheap rent. I'm pretty sure that was the first major hint to my mother that if I wanted to do damage to something or someone I very much could, and was very obviously choosing not to. [And maybe my sister too? She used to punch me for fun for like an hour and then start screaming like I was hitting her -while still punching me- until she could hear my mom approaching, then she'd punch me a few times really hard so i would get up to try to stop her just as my mom was walking in, and it was always "if you weren't hitting your sister why is she the one screaming?" And a lot of acting like it was -us- "fighting" like "two sided" thing... And never questioning why I was always the one coated in bruises? And my sister generally didn't have a mark on her? That stopped at some point around that age.]

After that it was all "I locked myself out of my apartment and I can't get back in, you look like you know how to break into a house/ you look like you can fit in that window" [thanks?] and "I'm out of town for another week but the guy who was supposed to feed our cats bailed, can you break in and feed them for the week until we get back?" with a side of implied "I am assuming you know how to break and enter"... When like... I have never illegally entered a home guys. I learned to pick locks a little bit for when my sisters stole my keys to -my- stuff. I happen to fit in through windows that most people don't, and the only time I actually *broke* anything to get into a house I was a panicking child... But thanks [this is what happens when you wear a leather jacket, fr].

[nhlandotherimagines]

Everything About You- Mitch Marner

@natbarzal @anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya @jonnytoews19 

And they blurbs continue! Here is number 10 of the Up All Night series, with the one and only Mitch Marnie ❤️

I had a lot of fun writing this one, but just a heads up it contains a lot of crying, infidelity (not by Mitch or Y/n but still), anxiety/panic attacks, loss of a loved one, and of course some friends to lovers fluff in there too! I hope you all enjoy it ❤️❤️❤️

You know I've always got your back, girl, so let me be the one you come running to, running to, running

Today has not been your day at all. Work totally kicked your ass, and now this! “Isaac what the hell?” Your voice cracks a little, but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed. All you feel at this moment is rage, because your boyfriend of two years is sitting in your shared living room with some other girls’ tongue down his throat.

“Y/n! You’re home early!” He practically pushes the girl to the floor in an attempt to look innocent.

“Oh I’m sorry! Was that inconvenient for you? Please ignore me and go back to business, I’ll just be in OUR bedroom!” You’re yelling now, moving with purpose towards your bedroom. Slamming the door behind you, you pull your phone out of your pocket. Eyes filling with tears, you press on his contact as fast as you can trying to keep your composure.

“Hey Y/n! What’s up?” Mitch’s voice is sing-songy like it always is, but today it does little to make you feel better.

“I need you to come get me...” your voice trails off as your whole body begins trembling. “Isaac c-cheated and I just, I need to go. Please.” You’re crying now. So much so that you don’t register much of Mitch’s response, aside from him promising he’d be there soon.

———

“Where is she?” Mitch is angry, you can hear it from down the hall. Mitch doesn’t get angry though, and you quickly realize this might become a much bigger problem very quickly.

“Get lost Mitch.” Isaac spits at him, and your breath hitches in your throat. You don’t make out the words that leave Mitch’s mouth next, but you do hear a crash as your feet carry you towards the front door as fast as they can move.

“Mitch don’t!” The words leave your mouth faster than you have time to take in the scene before you. Mitch is gripping the collar of Isaac’s hoodie, and has him pushed up against the wall. Both men turn to you when they hear your voice, and you’re thankful, because it looked as though Mitch was ready to swing. “Please let’s just go.” Your voice and eyes plead with Mitch, and it has his heart breaking. He lets go of Isaac, but not without giving him a shove first.

“You’re not going with him.” Isaac announces, sending Mitch a dirty look.

“Watch me,” you shoot back at him before turning to Mitch. “Can you come help grab my bags please?”

And he does. The whole while Isaac cursing and swearing under his breath, and you easily ignore him. That is until you’re slipping your jacket and shoes on. “I don’t see what your fucking problem is! You’re the one whoring around with the entire leafs roster.” His words have you seeing red, and thankfully Mitch can read you like a book. He wraps a hand gently around your bicep, but hard enough that in your attempt to lunge at Isaac he holds you back.

“For the record asshole, Y/n hasn’t so much as looked at anyone on the team in a suggestive way. So some time in between being a dipshit, get your facts straight.” Mitch’s voice is cool and collected, and it eases your mind as he pulls you and your bags out of the apartment.

As you make your way to Mitch’s car, you feel numb. The whole situation runs through your brain over and over, but somehow you remain emotionless. Slipping into the front seat, you wait as Mitch loads your things into the back. You’re so in your head, you barely notice him get in and start the car.

“I’m sorry I called you, but I didn’t know what else to do.” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, but Mitch hears you loud and clear. He immediately pulls the car back into the spot he just pulled out of, slamming the car right back into park causing your body to jerk forward slightly.

“Do not apologize to me, are you serious?” You turn to him, and he sends you a sad smile taking your hands in his. “I am so happy you called me! I want to be the person you call when you need something. Anything! I will come running anytime anywhere if you need me! Do you understand?”

The emotions that you hadn’t been able to find just moments ago find you now in full force. Tears steadily stream down your face, and all you can do is nod as Mitch pulls you awkwardly into his chest. The centre console digs into your ribs, but the pain doesn’t compare to the ache in your heart. Besides, in the comfort of your best friend’s arms, you’ve never felt more safe.

I see it's just a matter of fact, girl. You just call my name, I'll be coming through, coming through, I'll keep coming.

Living with Mitch was the easiest, yet hardest, thing you’ve ever done. Your plan was to move back home to your parents place, but Mitch pouted and complained about not being able to see you. So after hours of lighthearted arguments, you decided to stay. You fit well with Mitch, but there is one thing that is starting to become an issue. His teammates.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Will chirps the moment Mitch and a few of his teammates arrive to pregame before going out for drinks. Somehow Mitch’s place always gets offered up as a place to host these get togethers. Sure, you love all the guys, and they are your friends too, but the whole ‘girlfriend’ chirp was getting old fast.

“Still not his girlfriend!” You call out, peaking around the corner to let the boys know you’re in the kitchen. You got a head start on the drinking, and are currently pouring yourself a hefty glass of wine.

“Great, so you’re free to go on a date with me then.” Will winks at you as he leans against the counter beside you.

“Absolutely not!” Mitch pipes in before you even can formulate a response. Everyone’s head snaps towards Mitch, and his cheeks seem to turn a shade darker. “I’m not letting her date any of you, she could do a million times better! No offence Willy.”

“Oh none taken.” Will manages to get out while stifling a laugh.

———

The bar was packed, you knew it would be. You had insisted you would just stay home, because it was the boys night to celebrate their win, but Mitch wasn’t having it. So here you were trying to find your way to the bar for another drink. Bodies all around you, bumping into you, spilling drinks, and it felt hard to breath.

As your hands start to shake, you abandon the idea of another drink and instead turn to head back towards the group. Your breath hitches in your throat as you turn to see a sea of people. You try and push your way through, but with every step you begin to feel smaller. Your entire body begins to shake, every small brush of a limb against you has your head spinning. Panic sets into your bones, as your heart begins to race. Your eyes frantically scan the crowd looking for Mitch, as you begin wringing your hands together anxiously.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Where is Mitch?” You begin muttering to yourself. Obsessively repeating his name to yourself as if you’d forget who it was you were looking for if you stop. Of course you had to ask him to hold onto your cellphone for you!

Tears sting your eyes, and the anxiety wracking your body manifests itself into fear now. It feels as though everyone is staring at you like you’re crazy, and you don’t feel safe here. Unable to find your bearings in a room that seems to be spinning around you, you do the only thing you know how to. You call out for Mitch.

His name falls from your lips, and you know how pathetic it sounds, but you don’t care. You’re just praying that he hears you, so you call out for him again. “Mitch! Where are you?!” People are definitely staring now, but you feel like you’re moments away from passing out.

A hand grips your shoulder causing you to jump back. As you whip your head around to see who grabbed you, your eyes are met by a very concerned Mitch. You fall against his chest, and he holds you close as you try to not fall apart.

You barely register the fact that Mitch is leading you through the crowd, aside from the fact your feet are moving. You still have your face pressed into his chest as the two of you step out of the bar.

“Hey what’s wrong?” His voice is soft as he runs a hand through your hair softly. You can’t respond with words. Instead you squeeze your fists tighter in his shirt, as your body begins to tremble against him. The tears, mixed with your makeup, will surely stain his shirt, but you can’t stop. “Woah! Shh don’t cry, it’s okay I’m here.” Mitch rubs your back in slow circles as you desperately cling to him. You stay like that for awhile, but soon enough you come to your senses and feel like a total idiot. You pull away from Mitch abruptly, and turn away from him aggressively wiping at your face. “God I’m sorry Mitch! I’m such a baby!” You groan. You’re angry at yourself, and super embarrassed. So much so, that if it weren’t for the fact your phone was still in Mitch’s pocket, you would have just ran away.

“Y/n?” His voice sounds so unsure, yet so soft. You can’t bring yourself to look at him just yet, but you do turn back towards him. “I shouldn’t have let you go to the bar alone, I’m sorry. Did someone hurt you? Because I swear to god I will go in there and fight for you no questions asked.” He adds a little chuckle at the end, but his tone gives away the fact he’s telling the truth. You have no doubts Mitch would fight for you, it’s why you love him.

Holy shit. You love Mitch!

“N-no one hurt me Mitch I just, I don’t know. I got overwhelmed, and scared. I didn’t have my phone, and I couldn’t find you a-and I just shut down. God I’m so stupid! I’m an adult and I can’t even get a drink for myself.” You stare at your feet, willing the tears away that once again threaten to fall down your cheeks. In a moment, Mitch has your face in his hands tilting your head up, forcing you to look in his eyes.

“Stop that.” His eyes are looking into yours like he’s trying to read your mind. “You are so far from stupid! I’m sorry I didn’t find you faster, I’m sorry I let you go alone. You’re okay now though alright? Let’s go home yeah?” You nod, but neither of you dare to move. His face is only inches from yours, and you use this moment to just take him in. He’s absolutely beautiful. His hair falling over his forehead, his perfect skin, his blue eyes, his lips. He’s perfect. You realize you’ve been staring at his lips a beat too long when he licks his lip. The action pulls you from your daze, and you let your eyes wander back up to his, which are focused on your own lips. Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes meet yours again.

“We should go.” You awkwardly clear your throat, completely ruining whatever that was. Mitch slowly drops his hands back to his sides, shaking his head lightly.

“Yeah let’s go.”

On the other side of the world, it don't matter, I'll be there in two, I'll be there in two, I'll be there in two

Loss is something that everyone will experience at least once in their life. You have had your fair share, but none to date hurt quite like this one. Losing someone so close to your heart, and being completely alone. Your family all in a completely different province, your best friend is in a completely different country playing hockey, and you are laying completely still. Unable to move from the spot you collapsed into after the conversation with your mom.

Death wasn’t new to you, but being alone certainly was. So all you could do was cry.

You only lift your head from the pillow when your phone rings. A picture of you and Mitch flashes on the screen, letting you know he wants to FaceTime.

“Hey Mitch, how was the game?” You ask after accepting the call, but keeping your camera off.

“The game was good... did you not watch it?” He asks, rightfully confused, because you had told him you’d watch it.

“Oh well uh- something came up I’m sorry.” Your excuse is poor, but not entirely untrue. Mitch might have even let you away with it, if it weren’t for the small sniffle you let out at the end.

“Y/n are you crying?” You see the concern written on his face, as a fresh batch of tears start falling. “Please turn the camera on.”

You listen to him, no energy left in you to argue. As you see your face pop up on the screen you immediately regret it. You look awful, and Mitch’s eyes soften when he sees you. “I’m fine Mitch I just- Mom called me, and I’m just having a rough night. It just sucks being alone.”

“Is everything okay?” He questions, but you can tell he’s trying not to be pushy. All you can do is shake your head, more tears falling down your face. Mitch feels his heart break in two as he watches you fall apart on his phone screen. “I’m coming home.”

“I know you’ll be home tomorrow night, I’ll be okay. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” You aren’t sure how you manage to string coherent sentences together, but you do. You feel silly telling Mitch you don’t like being alone, it’s not his fault he has to travel so much for work.

“No I’m coming home now. I’ll be there in 4 hours okay? Just hang in there for me alright?” You look at the screen and realize Mitch is frantically throwing things into his suitcase. After he manages to stuff everything into the suitcase he zips it up and looks back at his screen. You still haven’t responded, so he speaks again. “4 hours, and I’ll be there. I promise.”

And he kept his promise. 3 hours and 56 minutes later he crawls into your bed and holds you until you fell asleep.

I still feel it every time, it's just something that you do. Now ask me why I want to.

“Wow he’s really smitten with you isn’t he?” Audrey, Justin Holl’s wife gushes. You had just filled her and the other WAGs in on why Mitch had flown home for you just over a month ago.

“He’s a really great friend.” You smile shyly, eyes searching for the topic of conversation himself. When you find him, he’s smiling at you, him and Justin leaning against a wall both sipping beers. You send him a small wave, and he winks back at you.

“Oh come on! A ‘really good friend’ doesn’t pack up a work trip on a moments notice and fly home to you like that. This boy is totally gone for you! Honestly I assumed you two would have gotten together by now.” Audrey gestures between the two of you dramatically, and your cheeks heat up.

“He doesn’t like me like that.” You insist. If they could feel how fast your heart is racing though, they’d know just how badly you wanted what they were saying to be true.

———

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Mitch asks as he closes the apartment door behind him. You have just gotten back from Justin and Audrey’s and you’ve hardly spoken a word to him.

“Just thinking.” You mutter, hanging up your jacket and throwing your keys on the desk.

“Care to share with the class?” He chirps, smiling widely as he hangs his coat on the hook next to yours. The moment is so incredibly domestic, and your stomach is doing somersaults at the thought of it.

“Just something Audrey said.” You pause for a moment unsure if you really want to tell Mitch what’s really going through your head. “Can I ask you something?” You flop down onto the couch, watching him over the back of the couch as he grabs you both a beer from the fridge.

“Shoot!” He grins, handing you a beer and taking a seat right next to you. He pops open his beer, and leans back against the couch throwing an arm around your shoulders. He looks at you expectantly as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Why are you so nice to me?” His brows knit together in confusion, so you choose to elaborate. “Like I get that we are friends, best friends even, but you go out of your way to always be there for me. Stepping out on work to fly home to me because I’m sad, isn’t really something a best friend does. So why are you so nice? I don’t need you to take pity on me if that’s what this is. I don’t want to be a charity case.”

Mitch sits forward on the couch now. His arm no longer around you, instead both elbows are planted on his knees. He’s picking at the label on his beer like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. This isn’t a side of him you see often. Mitch Marner is nervous.

“It’s not like that at all! You aren’t a charity case!” He still hasn’t looked at you, and the distance he’s putting between you has you panicking.

“So tell me what it’s like. Come on Mitch, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You tease, bumping his shoulder playfully with your own. Your attempt to lighten the mood even just a little works momentarily, as a small smile breaks out on Mitch’s face.

“You really want to know why I do all of that stuff for you?” His eyes search yours now, hoping he finds the answer he’s looking for. He’s hoping that you are ready to hear what he has to say, and when you place your hand on his arm with a smile he knows it’s going to be okay. “It’s because I love you.”

It's everything about you, everything that you do. From the way that we touch, baby, to the way that you kiss on me. It's everything about you, the way you make it feel, new. Like every party is just us two, and there's nothin' I could point to. It's everything about you.

“Mitch-“ your voice is a warning. Or maybe it’s a plea. Even you aren’t sure, because your heart is in your throat right now.

“I’m serious. I love you. I think I always have, I mean what isn’t there to love? You always make me feel important, like no one else matters and I’ve been trying so hard to make you feel the same way. To make you feel like you’re worth it, because you are so worth it. I love everything about you. I love how funny, sweet, strong, and caring you are. I love how you are just so you. There is not one single thing that made me love you, it was everything. I’m sorry if this is weird for you, but I’m just being honest.” His whole body seems to relax a bit after he finishes speaking. It is almost as if you can see the weight lifting from his shoulders. A weight you hadn’t realized he carried with him, and you want so badly to apologize to him. Tell him you’re sorry for not realizing sooner, and that you wish he hadn’t carried that weight for you. You want to tell him you’re not perfect, and that he has you all wrong. Mostly though, you just want to tell him you love him too.

The only way you know how to tell Mitch exactly how you feel about him isn’t by telling him all of those things with simple words, you have to show him. So, taking a deep breath, you lift your hand from Mitch’s arm, and place gently on the back of his neck. You gently dance your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and you feel a shiver pass through him. He slowly lifts his eyes to yours again, and without another second of hesitation you’re pulling him into you.

When his lips reach yours, you kiss him with all you have. You pour yourself into him in hopes of showing him how grateful you are for him, and how much you love him. He smiles against your lips, as he pulls you into his lap. He hugs your body to his own, and you grip his hair like you’re scared to let go.

After kissing for what feels like forever, but also not nearly long enough, you pull away to catch your breath. Your foreheads are pressed together, both of you breathing heavily, and both sporting mile wide grin.

“Wow.” Mitch breathes out, causing you to giggle. “Add that to the list.”

“List?” You ask curiously, sitting back in his lap to get a better look at him. His hair is messy, lips swollen and red, and his eyes have never looked more blue.

“The list of things I love about you. The way you kiss me, I can add that to the list of everything.” The happiness you feel in this moment has you feeling warm. Sure, maybe the way you found Mitch wasn’t conventional, but there was a reason you called him all those months ago. However it happened, you’ve never been more happy to call someone yours.

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Gormless Ch. 4 - Dab on them Pineapples

A well-meaning friend gave me a book series that is hilariously bad. The first book was Souless and my riffs were entitled brainless. This second book is entitled Changless and these riff are then gormless.

I mean to say I have entitled them gormless! Not that my riffs are dumb, and the effort I spend on them stupid since I’m the only one who enjoys them. HAHA!

The story is SUPPOSED TO be about how a badass lady wearing a rad-looking carriage dress hits baddies with her umbrella and bangs her hot werewolf husband.  In reality it’s mostly poor attempts at being witty, flirty, and superior.

For the last book check out the brainless tag.

If you want the TL;DR version but want to read these new riffs anyway?

This story is set in supernatural Victorian steampunk England.  Alexia is our NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS protag.  She is a soulless, which means she’s able to negate the abilities of vampires and werewolves by touching them. She’s recently married a big oaf, named Lord Connel Maccon.  He’s the manchild in charge of the supernatural police with a zillion dollars and he’s totes super hot too ok.  Their relationship is mostly arguments about how Maccon can’t tell her fucking anything.  Alexia has also recently become head of ~Soulless affairs~ in Queen Victoria’s government.  She has a dumb friend named Ivy, a gay vampire friend named Akeldama, a family who’s evil because they do the same shit as her but while being blonde, and most importantly Alexia is better than everyone cause…cause.

Last time on Gormless:

There’s some mysterious force that’s turning the Vampires and werewolves into humans. Alexia is in charge of figuring out that deal, and she is doing a bad job at it.  Her husband is in charge of the Supernatrual Police (BUR) so he’s going to Scotland about it.

There’s a dude named Channing who wants to punch and have sex with Alexia, and Ivy is getting married to some rich slub, even though she’s in wub with Maccon’s servant Tunstell.

Alexia’s hubby told her to go to a hat store for mysterious plot reasons, she brings her dopey friend Ivy.  The hat store is run by a hot lesbian and as they’re chatting BOOM an explosion! GOLLY WHAT’S NEXT!?

Chapter 4 - Dab on them Pineapples

This chapter starts off totally under described.  Basically the explosion shook the hats on their nice dangling hooks, and turned out the lights.  They don’t even describe it as unbalancing Alexia.  So the whole next bit makes so little sense.  She first reacts by feeling around for Ivy.  She finds Ivy has fainted…cause okay? Ivy is whispering about Tunstell though so she’s like, “YEAH MY FRIEND UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR AFTER AN EXPLOSION IS FINE! BYE LOSER!”

She immediately starts scurrying around for that secret passage she thought she saw earlier. Finds it, goes in, and down an elevator. I just…I was so flummoxed that this was her first response?  All it would take for this to make more sense is to write, “It sounded as if the explosion happened below them, and Alexia would bet you 100 pounds that this secret passage would lead her straight to it. And what if someone was hurt down there?”

It seemed so bizarre for her to go, “EXPLOSION? I’M GOING TO MAKE A BEELINE FOR THE SECRET PASSAGE! MY FRIEND OUT COLD? WHATEVER!”

When she gets down there she finds a messy workshop, where a small explosion clearly took place.  She finds LeFoux yelling at a child and there’s a ghost lady just chilling there.  The gist of the conversation is that the child threw a rag soaked in ETHER into a huge furnace which caused the explosion.  The boy is just like, “lol it went bang.”  And Alexia thinks that’s hilarious and reintroduces herself. LeFoux has to remark that WOW ISN’T LADY MACCON SMART FOR FINDING OUT THE SECRET PASSAGEWAY? GOSH I KNOW I CONFIRMED IT TO HER MINUTES AGO! BUT SHE’S SO SMART!  The ghost is LeFoux’s aunt Beatrice, and the boy is introduced as LeFoux’s son Quesnel even though the two do not look related.

I also find it odd that LeFoux, the owner of this establishment, with a shop full of customers, just slips into the passage and doesn’t give a token, “DO NOT PANIC CUSTOMERS I’M GOING TO FIGURE OUT THE ISSUE, PLEASE STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”

Alexia praises the child for the explosion.  I can’t help but feel a bit exasperated by the book’s tone for this.  This child could have not only killed himself on a flight of fancy but perhaps a block worth of buildings full of humans in a crowded city, and the story treats it like he stole a pudding out of the fridge he wasn’t supposed to have.  But I mean, my job is to worry for the well-being of children and I have a habit of overthinking this shit so take that paragraph with as much or as little care as you see fit.

LeFoux punishes Quesnel and tells her aunt to take him away so she can have sexual tension with Alexia.  Alexia, you do not deserve the sexual attention of anybody except your dipshit husband. Leave the MacDougalls and LeFouxs for the more-deserving slutty, bisexual hate-readers okay.

Faps you realize you will never be able to have sex with a fictional character right?

Faps why would you want to bang a fictional character in a story you don’t even like?

I HAVE TO FIND SOMETHING TO ENJOY HERE OKAY!?

During some mild flirtation where Alexia first realizes women are hot, LeFoux explains that Maccon commissioned a gift that is ready for her.

It’s a huge ugly umbrella that takes a page to describe just its physical appearance, which was hard to follow.  My favorite detail is,

“The handle looked like something that might top an ancient Egyptian column, carved with lotus flowers---or a very enthusiastic pineapple.”

I don’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean but with that line I have decided that the handle of her umbrella looks like this:

(Picture of a pineapple dabbing, while wearing bright red shoes.)

And you cannot convince me otherwise.

We spend a few more pages explaining what her James Bond styled umbrella can do. Which includes:

Shoots poison darts.

Can switch between a silver and wooden tip depending on if you’re stabbing vampires or werewolves.

Can emit a magnetic field which can disrupt steam engines temporarily.

Can spray different kinds of toxic mists which can kill humans, and severely injure werewolves and vampires.  

Okay sure, she gets a proper weapon with a lot of weird uses. Sure good!

So now it’s time for me to complain about some writing choices!

Much to my annoyance, every time LeFoux smiles at all (which is a fucking lot) instead of using multiple verbs and descriptors such as, “She smiles, grins, smirks, beams, looks amused/smug/delighted/etc.” She says LeFoux ~dimples~ 100% of the time. And I’m like nobody verbs dimples that way you fucking weirdo who writes like they’re 12.

There’s also this really clumsy pointless exchange where it’s revealed that LeFoux has made special equipment for Prof. Lyall, and she remarks that he’s a curious man. Alexia says he’s not a man at all (cause he’s a werewolf) and LeFoux remarks, “I, too, am not a man. I simply enjoy dressing like one.”

….This is like super clumsy and not how humans talk at all. And there’s no reason why you need to bring that up AGAIN at all? We can tell she enjoys masculine dress because…she’s described as dressing masculine. Like….why? 

Like I know this isn’t meant to be a complex novel, but like I feel condescended to how often unimportant shit needs to be brought up again and again. UGH!

So they head back upstairs, Tunstell shows up so he and Ivy can stare longingly at each other, and OH YEAH tell Alexia Lyall wants to speak with her.

You gotta do more for me to ship Tunstell/Ivy then like show them cozy with one another and shouting in my ear about how they pine for one another.  Like maybe some dialog besides, “How are you?” “Oh I’m fine”?

So Alexia goes to see Lyall. She struts in swinging her new umbrella like HEY! HEY! ASK ABOUT MY NEW TOY!  Lyall does not.  Lyall has his issues don’t get me wrong.  But I find it so refreshing that he refuses to feed Maccon and Alexia’s shitty little egos.

Lyall says the humanization phenomenon has been ~spotted~ again and it’s moving toward Scotland, a bit ahead of Maccon, who is also heading that way.  Maccon doesn’t know he’ll be meeting the mysterious soul-sucking power soon, which could be a problem since he’s only useful in the sense that he has powers.

Alexia takes note of this, and decides she wants to have Lord Akeldama and LeFoux meet cause that would be cool I guess.  That’s where we leave off.  I’m not sure if the two are going to get along immediately upon meeting or hate each other’s guts. I hope they hate the other’s guts cause I think that would be more entertaining.

Say something nice Faps:

These chapters don’t always end and start on similar notes. So it doesn’t feel repetitive.

Lyall, while not totally free from this writing’s bullshit, helps ground this material by being a voice of sanity. A lot of authors can get caught up in HOW FUCKING COOL THEIR PERFECT FUN CHARACTERS ARE and it’s just kinda refreshing that this author has enough self-awareness to realize how exhausting and irritating their antics/personalities can sometimes be. Or in the very least enough awareness of writing to know when to slow it done and take a breather.

 LeFoux is hot.

Since I have identified her new murder parasol as having a dabbing pineapple handle, all mentions of it conjure hilarious mental images for me.  She was described as cradling it like a baby, and swinging it wildly in order for it to fail to catch Lyall’s attention.

 I also kinda like how despite getting a badass weapon crafted for her, it’s hideous.  Like perhaps it’s for the humor sake, but I appreciate we’re not just going to steamroll how cool and great Alexia is. Even though she got this super rad weapon with all these functions without having to earn it. The item does have the downside of being tacky and heavy. You know?

[ifridiot]

Honey, Don’t Feed It

Sometimes you can’t help people, even when they’re the ones you most want to.

Naia meets a young Stryfe. 

Naia is not a babysitter.

Fact of the matter is, Naia doesn’t like kids that much. Didn’t like kids when they were a kid, and now that that tenuous connection to that subset of humanity is gone, they would rather avoid them as much as possible, thank you so much for asking.

Okay, maybe that’s not fair. Naia might suck with babies (they’re too loud and the fact that they cry but can’t explain why they’re crying gives them anxiety) but once kids are old enough to communicate they can handle them pretty well for small doses. Little kids could even be endearing, once they got over their fear of Naia’s extra limbs and intimidating size. Kids usually did better than adults when it came to Spider-man rescuing them; they held on and stared in awe and then they ran back to their parents or to their siblings or to whoever came to collect them.

“I’m not a child.”

It’s teenagers Naia really can’t stand.

“Kid, you’re like twelve, hush.”

Standing between the kid and the cops, Naia has their arms spread in the traditional peacekeeping posture, one set of palms spread toward the boys in blue, one toward the telepathic kid on the edge of murdering a pair of bigots. Honestly, even if the kid wasn’t a kid, Naia knows who’s side they’d be on.

Cops are always wrong, and bigots belonged in the ground, but the issue here was more that it was seven in the morning and the kid is obviously strong enough to kill the assholes he’s got caught in some kind of telekinetic death grip but isn’t. Which means he’s not the bad guy.

Now to get the cops to put their guns down.

The crowd that has gathered around the scene is doing that collective silence thing that always makes Naia a little nervous. There are a lot of witnesses -- and potential victims, if the kid decides to go off. Judging by the fierceness on his face and the creep laying on the cement with blood trickling from his mouth, eyes, ears, and nose, the kid has a lot of power. Thus far he’s managed to reel it in -- the pavement-creep is breathing like it hurts, and from what Naia has gathered, he deserves it -- but if people start shooting, Naia doesn’t think self-control is going to be the first thing on the kid’s mind.

Ugh, telepaths. Kids and telepaths. This is gonna be the death of them, this exact bullshit. Kids and telepaths, they both want to get inside your head and then get mad when your thoughts aren’t the ones they wanted to hear.

Kid, they project, trying to remember how Mom taught them to do this. Shielding and trying to hold a private conversation is difficult and weirdly exhausting. You promise not to kill anybody and I’ll get you out of here. Take you somewhere safe, help you out as best I can. But you gotta put those guys down and come with me.

They wince, almost lose their shields, at the force of emotion -- rage and contempt and a sort of pain threaded through it that Naia is pretty sure they’re not supposed to pick up on -- that is slammed back at them. They insulted me! They deserve to die!

Someone makes a helpless noise of agony, and blood starts gushing from one of the asshole’s nose. The kid has them suspended in air and, as far as Naia can tell, the two humans can’t move at all. Now one of them has a broken nose. That’s pretty fantastic control for a kid.

Dangerous, too.

Kill ‘em and the cops start shooting. You’re gonna have the whole damn city after your ass, even if you can wipe all of us out. Public enemy number one.

Why shouldn’t I? The kid’s telepathic voice is cold, dripping with condescension, but the emotions that twist through the telepathy are laced with uncertainty. The kid is lost, obviously. Naia doesn’t know the whole story, is pretty sure they don’t want to know, but they do feel a sort of vague sympathy for the kid.

Whatever pain he’s working through, being insulted by a group of anti-mutant bigots was probably the least of it. He’s a very powerful kid, but he’s just a kid, one who’s been hurt bad by someone he probably trusted.

Naia sighs.

C’mon, kid. Don’t make me side with cops.

There’s a startled sense of amusement, which is a hopeful sign. A question curls around their brain, wordless, just the impression of consideration and hesitation. It wouldn’t be bad, except Naia can feel the kid peeling at their telepathic shields. He’s damn powerful, but no one’s evidently taught him subtlety.

I am so subtle! The kid snarls, and Naia smiles under their mask. The anger fades a little, replaced by curiosity. You can get me away from here?

“The kid is gonna come with me,” Naia says out loud, keeping a steady gaze on the cops. Unsurprisingly, none of them lower their weapons, but everyone’s hesitant to shoot Spider-man after he’d saved so many people. He was a symbol, and most of the cops knew you couldn’t publicly execute a symbol without good cause. “He’s gonna drop the assholes and we’re gonna go. No shooting necessary. No one dies, you can take the creep on the ground to the hospital, it all works out.”

Put the idiots down, kid. Show of faith, c’mon.

And wonder upon wonders, the kid does. He doesn’t do it gently; he drops them like the sacks of shit they are -- it doesn’t take a telepath to find a Neo-Nazi when the jackasses love to advertise their nationalist bullshit on their clothes -- and in another miracle, the assholes stay down.

Glancing at each other, the cops finally lower their weapons, and Naia nods. “We’re gonna go. Make sure the guy bleeding all over public property gets to the hospital. Or better yet, give him a ticket for littering. Public indecency. Whatever.”

That said, Naia moves quickly to the kid’s side. One of the assholes cranes his head up to glare at them, and he growls, “Fuckin’ muties.” Naia wants to put a boot through his teeth, but before they can move, the asshole screams, blood pouring from his eyes and his nose, altogether too similar to the one unconscious over by the cops. He collapses face first back against the pavement, hopefully just passed out, and Naia feels the prickly tingle of the danger-sense just before the sound of a gun being cocked reaches them.

“Goddamnit, kid,” Naia snarls, and before he can protest, they’ve got their right two arms around him, holding him against their body as they leap up onto the roof of the nearest building. He shouts, and shoves away as soon as they’re both on their feet.

“You can’t do that,” he says sharply, hands balled into fists, glaring.

“What, prevent your dumb ass from getting shot?” Naia snaps back, and it’s gratifying to see his mouth fall open, shocked. “Kid, I had you out of there scot free, and now your fuckin’ face is gonna be up all over the city as a dangerous mutant wanted, consider him armed and dangerous. Half those people down there were filming that. Gonna be all fuckin’ over YouTube now.”

The danger sense prickles again, and they half expect the kid to lash out, but his head twists toward the roof access door, eyes still wide. Naia sighs.

“They’re coming after us. So let’s get the fuck outta here. I can stash you somewhere for a while. Couple hours, ‘til the heat dies down some and you can get out of town tonight.”

“I have business here, I can’t leave!”

Kids. Fuckin’ kids and telepaths, Naia could just about scream. “Rain check your business, dipshit! Now can you use the TK to float or do I need to carry you?”

They’d seen Cable do that a couple times, but he was supposed to be super powerful or something. And he was old, had a lot longer to practice.

Looking back at them, the kid scowls. “I do not need to be carried.”

“Then float. Let’s go.”

Really, with the kind of attitude this kid’s got, Naia half expects him to obstinately stay put, or maybe run off on his own. He seems the sort of kid to refuse help on principle, but he also has that wide-eyed touristy look, and his clipped, formal way of speaking reinforces the idea that he’s not from around here.

As if the metal chest plate and cape thing wasn’t communicating that clearly enough.

He at least stops trying to pry into Naia’s head as they lead him into Brooklyn, leaping from building to building until they get to a quiet, rundown neighborhood. Most of the windows on the building they lead the kid do have been boarded over, and the place sucks to be stuck in during winter, but on a nice September day it shouldn’t be too bad.

“This building is abandoned,” he says, sounding disdainful. “You expect me to stay here?”

They sigh, prying open the plywood-covered maintenance door and holding it for him to go in first. “I know it’s not the Ritz, kid, but I’ve got food and a place to relax instead of being hunted all over the fucking city and getting your ass handed to you by one of the masked guys who don’t have a soft spot for idiot tourist kids.”

He stares again, but only for a second, before glaring and scowling, stalking into the building with a swish of his cape. “I’m not a kid,” he grumbles, and Naia finds it really funny that he thinks that’s the part of their assessment that needs correcting. They drag the door shut and hurry to get in front of him, leading him through the abandoned building to the ground-floor apartment they’d appropriated as a safe house. It was one of the only ones that had a door in the front room that hadn’t been kicked down or taken off its hinges.

“I can’t believe you’re happy your room still has a door,” he says, still scathing in that snotty way kids who grew up with nice things had.

“You should be glad too,” Naia says cheerfully, closing the door carefully behind them. “Means no homeless people have broken in and pissed on the couch again.”

It’s not the nicest safe house they’ve had, but it’s not bad. No electricity, but the broken down couch was comfy and there had been a number of cats locked in the apartment when they’d found it. Most of them and left and never come back when they’d left the windows open for them to roam, but one big tom, old and possessed of a rusty, broken meow, had stayed.

Presently he was curled on the center seat of the couch, sleeping. The kid stood looking at the cat like he wasn’t certain if he should chase it away or leave it alone.

“Cat’s not gonna bite, just take a seat,” Naia says, amused. “Luce is nice, but he doesn’t usually like strangers much.”

This was a lie, but Naia told it to everyone they brought here because it made them happy when Luce wanted to get in their lap or purred for them. And it’s really not a surprise that he perks up when the kid sits next to him, shoved up into the corner of the couch closest to the door. He stares at the cat for a moment longer and then looks away, folding his arms across his chest.

“You said there was food.”

Naia snorts softly, moving into the kitchenette. There was a useless (and ancient) fridge, but since there was no electricity it was more a pantry than anything. Somewhere to store stuff they didn’t want Luce (or any other animal who slipped in through the cracked window) to chew into. They pry it open and take stock of what’s available. “Yeah kid, just gimme a sec. You a picky eater?”

“No,” he says, and somehow makes it sound like he’s being gracious by telling them. “And my name is Stryfe.”

“Strife?” Their eyebrows rise under the mask, leaning back from the fridge to look at him. He is staring down at the cat, who is now sniffing carefully at the edge of his cape. “Is that, like, a code name, or…?”

“It’s my name,” he says primly, head held up and jaw set. “It’s spelled with a ‘y’.”

“Ah, okay,” they say, sticking their head back in the fridge. “So your parents just hated you.”

It’s meant playfully, but they can feel the sharp way he stares at them, and it’s like all the breath in the room went out. A raw nerve, and one they just kicked hard. Fuck.

“Uh, sorry, kid, that wasn’t… That was a bad joke, I didn’t mean anything by it.” The kid starts breathing again, and Naia thinks that’s okay then. They grab a couple ramen packets and a can of chicken and step over the the counter. “So, what’re you in town for?”

His silence is telling, and they can feel him in their head again, pushing at the shields they have up, prying into them, looking for some ulterior motive, some hidden threat. They wish they were better at this telepathic shielding shit, because as it stands, they’re out of practice and it’s exhausting.

“Kid, I want to help. I’m not cooking for you so I can stab you in the back later. You think I’m gonna call the cops on you? I’m Spider-man, me and cops don’t exactly go hand-in-hand.”

The mental pressure eases somewhat, but doesn’t entirely disappear. For a long moment, he’s quiet, and they think he’s not going to answer. That’s fine, it’s not really their business, and they’ve already had a long night. Then, he says, “I’m from the future.”

Naia tries not to feel exasperation. Time-travel shit is always exhausting. They rarely have to deal with it, but they’ve been dropped into enough parallel universes to know that they’re lucky in that regards. They get pan-dimensional bullshit, let the X-Men and the Avengers deal with the time-travel shit.

“Oh,” they say as tactfully as possible, pouring a couple bottles of water into a pot and setting it on the camp-stove. “So what’s brought you, uh, to the past?”

“I’m cleaning up other people’s mistakes,” he says archly. “That’s as much as you need to know.”

Silence swallows them for a while, Naia focusing on cooking the ramen and draining the chicken and making the meal as palatable as possible. They’re running out of supplies in this place, so they’ll have to stock up soon, but they figure, what the hell, and dump a can of mixed vegetables into the ramen as well. Kid looks like he could use the fuel.

The kid eats with Luce curled up in his lap, eating with that careful sort of control that says he wants to wolf it but feels that sort of display would make him look bad. Measured and obviously relishing every bite. It would be flattering if Naia wasn’t busy trying to think about how much the future must suck if instant ramen with some canned goods tossed in is that good to the kid.

When they do start talking, they don’t talk about much. He seems pleased when they tell him the cape is a nice touch, almost smiling as he sits up a little straighter.

“I find it important to make a visual statement,” he says. Naia raises their water bottle to that, and tactfully doesn’t make any comments about drapery. The kid looks at them where they’re leaning against the wall and frowns to himself, dragging his fork through the broth that remains in his bowl. “Why do you keep the cat here if this is not your home?”

Naia shrugs, pushing away from the wall and coming to take his bowl. “He was here first. I figure if he wanted to go to a different home he would. He didn’t like it when I tried taking him out of here, so I brought him back. I make sure he gets fed and he has his couch. Also possibly he likes to hang out with the ghost of whatever cat-hoarder used to live here. There were a lot of cats when I took this place over.”

“That sounds stupid. Ghosts don’t hang around to watch cats.” They laugh, and he goes on a very serious diatribe about superstition being the crutch of a weak mind. Naia wonders if 4Chan is still big in the future. Kid sounds like he’d fit in real well with those sort of pretentious ‘intellectuals’.

While they wash up the dishes and put everything away, making note that they’re going to need more water here next time they stock up, too, they pull up music on their phone and play it to fill the silence. The kid makes faces, but doesn’t complain.

It’s a little past noon when they try to get the kid to open up again about what he’s trying to do, and he very clearly doesn’t want any part of it.  

“I have the matter in hand,” he says heatedly, arms crossing again, until Luce makes a plaintive sound at the sudden loss of being pet. He scratches at the cat’s neck, glaring daggers at Naia. “I don’t need help.”

“Well, you sure weren’t doing super hot on your own when I found you.”

He scowls and they soften a little.

“C’mon. You’re new in town, and this is a big place. I’ve been in the city all my life, I know where everything is. I can at least point you in the right direction.”

They have a little staring contest for a moment, and it surprises Naia that he’s the one to look away first. “I have to do this on my own.”

“Fuck, gimme a break. You were talkin’ so smart a minute ago, don’t shove your head back up your ass, c’mon. More hands makes less work.”

He huffs, glaring at them again, mouth pressed in a tight line. “I am on my own to prove a point, I do not need help.”

“Everybody needs help, kid.”

“I’ve told you, my name is Stryfe! I demand you stop calling me kid!”

The mask does little to hide Naia’s grin at that. If the kid weren’t sitting down with a lap full of contented cat, they think he’d have actually stamped his little foot. “How old are you, kid? Thirteen going on three?”

“I am sixteen, I’m not some child.”

Naia gentles again at that, at least a little. It’s all right to tease, but he’s so vehement, it’s clear enough that this is somehow important. Probably something someone’s pushed the kid into thinking. “The future must really suck if sixteen is when you have to start being an adult.”

“The future makes sense.” He proclaims, and Naia doesn’t know whether to laugh or just shake their head. “Once I finish what I came here to do, the future will be perfect.”

Setting their head to one side, they watch him for a minute. He’s focused on Luce, stroking over the soft fur of the cat’s head.

“If you’d tell me what you’re trying to to do,” they offer, tone as gentle as the voice modulator will allow, “I would help you.”

He looks back at them, suspicious but almost hopeful too. “You wouldn’t. And I must do it myself. That’s the whole point.”

“I’ve already been helping you. Why would I stop now?”

“You’re not unknown in the future. You wouldn’t help me.”

It’s hard to argue with an evasive time-traveler, but that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. As much as they want to help the kid, he sounds a little like a baby villain. All brooding secrets and deep hurts, ugly intentions. “You gonna kill someone?”

“I have to.” He says it flat, like it’s the obvious recourse any sixteen-year-old would come to. “He… they ruined everything. I’m going to take care of it.”

“You can’t just kill everyone who wrongs you, kid.”

His face screws up, angry, furious even. “Can’t I? That’s what you do, isn’t it? What makes Spider-man’s judgement better than mine?”

He says it like it’s a gotcha, and it’s a little surprising, how hard the words hit. Naia wants to say something about how they’re at least an adult, old enough to throw their life away crusading against actual murderous assholes. Not everyone who upset them, not even everyone who injured them. They’d had experience. This kid was just angry -- justifiably, maybe, but… he needed help. He needed patience, someone to help him unlearn this arrogant shit he used to wrap himself up and shield him from the ways he’d been hurt.

But then he smiles, sharp and cutting, and says, “Or should I just call you Naia?”

The way he pronounces their name, it sounds like a taunt, like the sound of it is something to mock. His expression does nothing to disguise the threat implied in his words.

Really, Naia’s a little sick of it. They’ve been playing nice all day despite the kid’s shitty attitude, and Naia was never a patient, kindly person. They’re not a parent, they’re not a big sibling, they’re not required to put up with this shit.

"Kid,” they say, looking down at him, scowling under the mask as they square their shoulders, “your name is Strife-with-a-Y and you ‘ported back from the oh-so-enlightened future with the manners of a four-year-old and the fashion sense to match, so just because you picked my name out of my brain, don't act like you're superior. You’re angry, and I can respect that, but you’ve done nothing to give me any reason to respect you. Bullies ain’t worth shit."

They expect anger. Yelling, maybe a punch thrown. The kid’s obviously practiced in hurting people with his TK, so maybe something like that.

Instead, the kid looks like Naia punched him. His eyes, normally narrowed and angry, are suddenly wide and open. He looks startled, like he’s grasping for his anger but so completely unused to being spoken to like that that he doesn’t know how to handle it. Naia tries to imagine that, imagine going sixteen years without anyone snapping you back in place when you were out of line, about being that secure in your right to treat anyone and everyone like shit, and finds they can’t quite do it.

“Less than a decade from now, you die a failure,” he hisses after a moment of that stunned shock. The viciousness of his tone is especially taut, the sort of tone used to mask pain with anger. He wants to lash back and hurt them. “You die ugly. Slow. And it doesn’t even matter.”

“Yeah?” Naia snaps back, nowhere near as mild as they’d like to be. “That supposed to make me, what? Stop? I might die as a loser, but I sure as shit don’t live like one.”

In a second, the kid is on his feet, Luce hitting the floor with a noise of feline offense and rushing off to the other end of the safe house. “I should kill you myself,” He says, hands balled into angry fists Naia knows he wouldn’t bother to use. He’d do for them with the TK to keep his hands clean.

“It make you feel better, threatening the only person you had on your side in this era?”

Their head bounces loudly off the wall. They hear something crack and hope to any god listening that it’s the drywall and not their skull. Collapsed on the floor, they have a hard time getting their eyes to focus through the mask, blackness lancing through their vision. They feel more than see Stryfe looming over them, and grin crookedly at him from where they sprawl.

“You’re not worth killing.” He says, savage. “Me killing you would honor you.”

They want to say something. They’re not even sure what; a dozen tones dance through their head, ways to play what just happened out to distinct, impactful ends. There’s a part of them that wants to push the kid to doing it, but they don’t know if he’s really still moral enough to get the satisfaction of his feeling bad about doing it. And thinking that makes them feel weirdly guilty. Guilty for doubting that a kid could be so devoid of humanity, for thinking he might be so far beyond help.

He makes a sharp noise at that, and they can feel it, when he finally withdraws from prying at their mind. His cape snaps at the air when he turns sharply away.

Really, a good hero would shake off the likely-concussion, get up, say something clever and thoughtful that would get him to stick around. They would try to stop him, try to save him.

Naia stays on the floor, eyes closed, and carefully shore up their telepathic shields. It’s easier to make them strong when you’re not focused on other things, like standing.

The kid’s boots click importantly against the tile, and when he shuts the front door behind him, it’s slammed sharply in place.

[bakudekuficlibrary]

Do you have any fics where BkDk have the their “first time” together?

Hiya! Here’s a mini-list of fics tagged as “First Time”!

-Ellie

40 Works.

Before Midnight by DriftingGlass ( E | 211,528 | 28/28 )

Izuku Midoriya takes the same train to and from school Monday through Friday, morning and night. His only company during these lonesome hours comes in the form of another boy his age—a teen with scarred hands and blood gem eyes, a stranger with ash-blond hair who walks in a shroud of danger and mystery.

“Would you stop with that fucking muttering, idiot?”

And before Izuku can find his footing, his life becomes a full-blown collision course thanks to walking cannonball Katsuki Bakugou.

(And along the way he may have found the missing fuel to his fire).

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Underage | Implied/Referenced Child Abuse | Emotional/Psychological Abuse | Attempted Sexual Assault]

drag me to the deeps of your heart by halcyonwhispers ( E | 5,945 | 1/1 )

Everyone presents on their 17th birthday, and while Katsuki has already (alpha, big fuckin’ shocker), he awaits his boyfriend’s presentation to finally get over the nonexistent (slight) curiosity over Izuku’s new rank.

He can’t be an alpha, not crybaby, overthinking Deku. Anyways, both his parents are betas, and all that genetic and biology shit says Deku’s bound for that road.

(he thinks)

SeriesPart 1 of The (Im)Proper Way to an Alpha-Omega Courtship

[Underage]

Honeymoon High by Butterfree ( T | 115,021 | 18/18 )

“OI, FUCKFACE! If you think you’re just going to waltz into this fancy-ass church with your fake as shit smile and your miserable bitch of a wife while my friend is sitting on the street carrying YOUR BABY, then YOU need to step right down here SO I CAN DETONATE YOUR ASS UNTIL NO ONE CAN RECOGNIZE YOUR LYING FACE, YOU DIPSHIT EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING!”

A beat of silence.

And then all hell broke loose.

It started with a ‘SLAP’ resonating from the bride who activated some quirk to maximize the pain that her ex-fiancé felt. A lady near the front fainted, knocking over the table with the wedding cake and a glass swan sculpture. The scattered remains caused the ring bearer to jump up. Her quirk accidentally activated and sent the brides’ maids into the air. A man with half white and half red hair rushed to save the statue, but ended up tripping over a power line which engulfed the room in darkness. It didn’t take long for everyone else in the building to follow.

In the midst of the glory Katsuki felt at the complete chaos, a calloused hand grabbed his sleeve. He was met with wide and curious green eyes. “Excuse me, I’m the groom. Do I know you?”

.

Fuck. He crashed the wrong wedding.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Don’t Set Your Drink Down by Crandberrycrush ( E | 79,363+ | 20/21 )

With sudden clarity Izuku realized he had broken the first rule of going out. Never leave your drink unattended.

Not-so-useless Deku by reigncloud ( E | 9,778 | 5/5 )

Katsuki just presses even closer, shoving Deku against the wall. “N-no!” Deku flails a bit, uselessly of course, and futilely tries to push Katsuki away. “Kacchan, don’t get so close!”

“Holy fuck, Deku. Is that what you’re trying to hide?” Katsuki has his thigh between Deku’s legs, and he can feel the other boy’s rock hard dick pressing against him. Deku’s hips jerk forward just a bit in response to the pressure of Katsuki’s body. “Shit, you absolute pervert. You fucking like this, don’t you?”

[Underage | Mildly Dubious Consent]

My Youth Is Yours by lalazee ( E | 2,419 | 1/1 )

“I love you.”“Gay.”“Are we really having this conversation while your dick is - oh.”

addendum: immersed by Ramabear (RyMagnatar) ( E | 2,733 | 1/1 )

After the confession on the beach, things do not cool down between Izuku and Katsuki even after they return to Izuku’s home together.

SeriesPart 4 of standing in awe of death

[Underage]

Panic by iknewaman ( E | 22,725 | 1/1 )

Katsuki’s experienced a load of ‘firsts’ in his lifetime, but his most memortable ones include the firsts he shared with Deku.

[Underage]

springtime of youth by claimedbydaryl ( E | 25,592 | 6/6 )

Now, Katsuki was capable of at least acknowledging that Izuku was his friend, but Izuku doesn’t think Katsuki knows that their rekindled relationship would entail things like talking, and almost-dates, and unsaid feelings.

(Or, the five times Izuku knew he would never forget the innocent sweetness of their childhood friendship despite all that had happened, and the one time Katsuki realised he had not forgotten it too).

addendum: connected by Ramabear (RyMagnatar) ( E | 3,699 | 1/1 )

Katsuki fulfills Izuku’s wish to become closer, become connected.

The first time sets the precedence.

SeriesPart 9 of standing in awe of death

[Underage]

Playgrounds and playing fields by Stars1Are1Metaphors ( E | 16,872 | 1/1 )

It starts as a game. Doctor and nurse, they call it. They’re childhood friends and there isn’t anyone they trust more than each other.

But somewhere down the line Bakugou and Midoriya end up in a very… complicated relationship.

[Underage]

[On Hiatus] synthesis by DriftingGlass ( M | 31,325+ | 6/? )

They didn’t know how it happened, or when a concept so fickle and ridiculous blossomed in the garden of doubts, anger, and pain in which they so frequently visited.

Between scarred hands and bloodied knuckles, unspoken thoughts stirred like petals in springtime rain.

Bakugo was not prepared for the undeniable change spurring between them.

Unfortunately, neither was Midoriya.

[Underage]

Storm Stayed by actualdevil ( E | 4,221 | 1/1 )

Inclement weather leads to finding shelter and reluctantly sharing a bed. Also, Kirishima was supposed to be here, damnit.

Took It Like a Champ by InfiniteTeal ( E | 3,238 | 1/1 )

Midoriya takes it like a champ when Bakugou forces him down to give the most miserable and rudest blow job of his life. He’s the one that leaves Bakugou speechless in the end.

[Underage | Dubious Consent]

Mark Me. Make Me Yours. by decadentbynature ( E | 10,062 | 1/1 )

Midoriya is the only Omega at UA and he’s been hiding it well but there’s one issue that threatens to expose him: his attraction to an Alpha, Bakugo. After being told to give some paperwork to Bakugo, Midoriya lets him into his dorm room and is immediately overwhelmed by his scent. Unable to help himself, he gives in to his urges, only to be discovered by Bakugo but instead of becoming enraged, Bakugo decides to give Midoriya exactly what he wants

[Mildly Dubious Consent Becomes Consensual]

May-December by Disney_Princess_Izuku ( M | 8,291+ | 2/3 )

Midoriya Izuku is quirkless, a single father, and a Beta to boot.

If that’s so, of all the people in the world, just why did Bakugou Katsuki (alpha, a Pro Hero in Training with a great quirk, and eighteen) picked Izuku as the poor recipient for his affections? There were a lot of omegas in Katsuki’s age range that he could pick, so all this attention and attempts on seduction the blond was using on Izuku made zero sense.

He really should have cleared up that childhood crush with Katsuki when he had the chance. Flattered as he was, he really couldn’t accept Katsuki’s… proposals.

Problem was: the interested twitch in Izuku’s pants was telling a different story.

[Age Difference]

Birthday Secrets by DMMegsie ( E | 8,815 | 1/1 )

During their first year, with all the hectic events, birthday celebrations fell to the wayside. However, now in their second year, the class is trying to celebrate everyone’s special date…. except for a certain explosive temper student.

Katsuki Bakugou didn’t really celebrate his birthday through middle school and never told anyone when the date was.

It was only when some of the class realizes that Izuku Midoriya knows, that trouble starts brewing. It also brings the question to mind of: Why does Katsuki hate his birthday in the first place?

SeriesPart 1 of Only Comes Once a Year

[Underage]

Young Blood by Lilith von Beilschmidt (LilithK) ( E | 5,981 | 1/1 )

Bakugou hadn’t gone to class and his mother asks his neighbour, Izuku Midoriya to ask for his due homework. Of course, she doesn’t know about the tense relationship between those two… And neither does Midoriya know about what was Kacchan doing when he came into his room. A little one-shot fanfic, basically a pwp because I wanted them to masturbate each other. That’s it.

[Underage]

Top hero by pixiebob ( E | 2,579 | 1/1 )

He had expected Deku to be sweet and innocent.

Alright, Deku is sweet.

He always smiles at him, he loves to cuddle, and he is just so open with his feelings he can say the cutest things and make Katsuki feel like exploding from embarassement.

But fuck innocent.

Midoriya Izuku is all sloppy kisses, plush lips trailing on neck, breathy laughs, hands under shirt.

I Miss You by kayjscage ( E | 5,618 | 1/1 )

Izuku didn’t think it would be so easy to start repairing a broken friendship, but Katsuki found him very persuasive.

To Mend A Hero by BluKrown ( E | 8,665 | 2/2 )

After being attacked by Shigaraki, Midoriya has been recovering.A week has gone by and Bakugo is obviously concerned about it.

[Underage | Past Rape/Non-Con]

[On Hiatus] When It Isn’t Like It Should Be by gobeyond ( M | 2,461+ | 3/? )

Jesus, what is wrong with this world. How the fuck did Deku end up an alpha and I’m the omega?

Katsuki had always been sure he would present as an alpha and Deku would be an omega. But what happens the results are actually the last thing he was expecting?

[Underage]

you have nothing to hide from me by QueerPinoy ( E | 2,582 | 1/1 )

Midoriya Izuku is ashamed of who he is. Who… they are? Who she is? He’s still not sure but he sure as hell doesn’t want to think about it right now. He pushes his femininity away like it’s a shameful thing, something to stay hidden, keep to himself. Sometimes he slips, lets a gesture through. Once he even painted his nails and kept them on for a whole day – black, an acceptable nail color for a boy going through his teenage angst. But this, the Izuku, he saw looking at himself in the dress he had mail-ordered, is his secret. The dress doesn’t quit him quite right – it drapes where it should be tight, falls too low on his torso, but it’s still precious and he still grins a stilted smile when he looks at himself in the mirror. No one would ever know about this dress. No one would ever know how he felt.

Bakugou Katsuki is the opposite. He could probably be stealth if he wasn’t so bombastic about who he is. He doesn’t even whisper it, doesn’t just tell his friends – he yells it out. “How the fuck am I more of a fuckin’ man than you?” “I’ve got more balls than you without even fucking having any!” He never bothers hiding. He has no shame. Izuku yearns to know what that’s like.

SeriesPart 3 of bakubowl

Belatedly by beebuzz ( E | 4,911 | 1/1 )

“It wasn’t a preposterous question. They’d done Things, plenty of things after years of pining and tension abruptly vanished, but never this.”

The boys fumble through their first time together with a lot of uncertainty and a heavy amount of taunting.

SeriesPart 2 of Steadfast

Hero Pants by zubateatscakes ( T | 1,077 | 1/1 )

Rated T for the first part. Katsuki and Izuku are about to do it for the first time, but then Bakugou notices something that completely turns him off.

True Colors by creatiwriter ( E | 4,051 | 1/1 )

Katsuki Bakugo has never been good at showing his true feelings, but that doesn’t stop Izuku Midoriya from trying.

You Talk Too Much by DastardlyDaisy ( E | 3,215 | 1/1 )

Bakugou and Midoriya have a strange relationship

[Underage]

stranger things by failbender ( M | 945 | 1/1 )

They’ve been dating for two months now, but sometimes it’s still strange.

Prompt fill: “You were never just my friend.”

SeriesPart 1 of prompt drabbles!

It Started With An Apple Slice by illu_nii ( E | 8,184 | 1/1 )

Was it for better or for worse? Usually I could tell. But this time, Kacchan wasn’t giving me any hints. Of course his actions toward me lately have been rather concerning for my friends, but to me it was just how Kacchan was. It was normal…

Right?

Birthday Surprises by DMMegsie ( E | 8,946 | 1/1 )

It has been two months.

School and the end of a term has really kept both Izuku and Katsuki apart with the exception for brief moments here and there in private.With their budding relationship a secret, and Izuku’s birthday on the horizon, it is only natural they’d want to take things further.

This is a sequel to the fic Birthday Secrets.

SeriesPart 2 of Only Comes Once a Year

[Underage]

Chapter 1 of Love in a Week by anonymousCat ( E | 450 | 1 out of 4 )

A series of one shots for katsudek week.

Learning to live by Luciel (Bananenfisch) ( M | 2,890+ | 3/? )

No man was created equal. Midoriya Izuku learned this harsh reality at the age of eight. It was not the diagnosis that he was quirkless, which shook his life.

No, it was not this diagnosis that destroyed his life. It was something much more serious.

or

where All Might is Midoriyas father. All is nice and peachy until Midoriya gets sick and they have to deal with the consequences and then Bakugo fucking Katsuki steps into Izukus life and becomes Izukus own special Hero.

[Major Character Death]

Endeavors of the Mind by Kattfish ( M | 22,027+ | 3/? )

Bakugo and Midoriya both struggle with different aspects of their newfound relationship. Katsuki wants to be more open with his affections for Deku, but is hindered by his intimacy issues. Izuku covets Kacchan’s affection, but is too afraid of being overbearing.BakuDeku-centric with mentions of KiriShido and TodoMomo. Yaoi. M/MLemon flavored chapters.

same ol’ mistakes by dekuberry ( M | 483 | 1/1 )

Izuku felt reborn, under a gaze he has never seen before.

Worth the Embarrassment by Zeekcat101 ( E | 2,771 | 1/1 )

Bakugou wants Midoriya to train NOW! Midoriya doesn’t even get to use the bathroom before he’s being dragged away, which ends up being both a curse and a blessing.

Fuckin’ Cleveland Ohio by QueerPinoy ( E | 2,377+ | 1/? )

Katsuki had a stupid, wonderful idea, and, of course, Deku had to suffer through it too.

consent is sexy by The_Potatoe ( M | 300 | 1/1 )

In which Katsuki and Izuku are very in love, and value communication.

Delicate by maiume( T | 554 | 1/1 )

Izuku waited for it for so long, he couldn’t help being anxious.

All Eyes on You by ibreatheakaashi ( M | 4,254+ | 1/? )

“Bakugou!” Uraraka pulls on him, forcing him to trail behind him. He hangs back, getting a clear look of him. He looked the same, same blonde wild hair, unable to be contained- just like him. His piercing red eyes stared directly at him, they were hardening and unmerciful, just as he remembered.

His sleeveless black and grey plaid jacket, showing of his bare arms.They were still muscled, he suspected it was due to Kirishima well being. Underneath his plain white shirt nearly see through, the jeans he wore couldn’t possibly be anymore tighter, hell they looked good.

—

aspiring ballet dancer Midoriya Izuku dreams of following in his mother’s footsteps, he wants to become the best. when he gets into Julliard, his dreams become true one step at a time. he finds out that his childhood friend Bakugou Katsuki, a talented hip-hop violinst is also attending.he believes he changed. but did he really? or is he the same arrogant boy he met 5 years ago? can they work together and rebuild their friendship, and if so than will he fall to him?

Инструкция by Explodocat ( E | 5,422 | 1/1 )

Каччан не так идеален, и в первый раз у него не получается.

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I Own A Bike Instead Of A Car: 5 Reasons Everyone Hates Me

I’m one of those dipshits who never got around to getting a driver’s license. As someone who hates being the designated driver, I am truly blessed by this. However, it also means that I have to rely on public transport for most of my getting-around needs. In recent times, I’ve gotten sick of pee-smelling subway cars and delightfully cramped buses, so I’ve attempted to cheat code my way out of all of that jazz by riding a bicycle to most everywhere. And man, that has revealed a whole new, previously hidden world to me.

A whole new, hidden, terrifying world.

5

You’ll Always Reek Of Ass

Just so we’re clear, I’m not one of those spandex missiles you see Lance Armstrong-ing their way through the city at breakneck speeds. In fact, as I’ve mentioned before, I’m not an exercise kind of person at all. My workout is of the “bare minimum you need to do to keep resembling a human being” variety, and is exclusively motivated by an innate need to be able to execute a perfect dropkick at anyone or anything I feel has slighted me. At best, I’m the Super Mario of bicyclists: medium speed, medium stats, a little too chubby to pass for an athlete, and I would secretly like to swap my bike for a go-kart.

Still, bicycling is a physical activity, even for someone like me, who uses it exclusively for transportation purposes and prefers to ride at un-exhausting speeds. No matter how slowly you ride, though, you’ll strain yourself way beyond most other forms of transportation. Which means sweat. Which means swamp ass. Which obviously shouldn’t be a problem. Obviously you take a shower and/or change your clothes after you ride to, say, work. Obviously. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

For me, that mentality lasted for about a week.

Read Next

Why Hurricane Irma Has Felt Different From Most Hurricanes

I’m sure that there are people who ride a bicycle everywhere and each time dutifully spend 15 minutes showering and changing clothes at their destination, but I’ve never actually met one of these folks, and I sure as shit am not one myself. It’s not that you don’t want to keep clean; it’s just that when you spend the day zipping around on a self-powered vehicle, you’d need three changes of clothing even without the whole showering thing. No one has time for that shit, so it’s easier to just do your best to clean yourself up a bit and resign yourself to the faint waft of eau d’taint following you wherever you go. So anything under five miles tends to be “Eh, whatever,” while longer rides might warrant a quick change of underwear and a baby wipe treatment to the armpits (which technically makes my hygiene habits the same as Brad Pitt’s … ladies).

Still, this is not necessarily a life-ruining thing. Hell, people might not even notice your secret grossness. But it’s not like you can ask a friend for an opinion, because …

4

Cycling Can Turn You Into A Social Pariah

One of the things I was most surprised about is that social interaction and cycling don’t go too well together, regardless of how well you maintain your stench.

In tons and tons of social situations, you’ll find yourself having to explain precisely WHY you use a bike right off the bat, and it can become a big thing. Sure, your boss probably values that you try to keep in shape, but when it comes to pretty much anything else, you’re screwed. Dating? Good luck, you now rely on the other person to haul you both around, which in turn can easily make them think of you as someone who’s not financially responsible enough to own a car. Heading for a night out with your friends? They’ll take their car, or an Uber, or public transport. You’ll be the fucker who turns up on a bike and has to change clothes — or worse, won’t change them, so that everyone can have a round of beers and another round of “What’s that smell? Is that cheese? Did Pauli bring cheese?”

Then you have to deal with the fact that you have a bicycle with you … all night. So now your friends have to deal with you. “No, guys, I know we agreed to meet with the rest of the group a few blocks from here, but I just found the perfect spot to park my bike, and can’t leave it behind, and don’t feel like unpacking it from the 12,587 chains and locks I need to make sure it doesn’t get stolen.” It’ll get old after a while, and even if you don’t mean to make a huge deal about it, it tends to become one, because from the group’s point of view, you’re now the shithead who insisted on bringing a totally unnecessary and hindering large object with you. As a social faux pas, it’s like heading out for a beer with your best friend and bringing Alex Jones as a surprise avec.

So you become Bicycle Guy within your circle of friends. “We’re heading out for a drink, should I call Bicycle Guy?” “Nah, fuck him. He’ll just haul that damn bike with him all night, whining about how he can’t leave it out of his sight.” Your range of operations is also waaaay shorter than it would be for someone with a car — after a certain geographical distance, you’re going to be thinking long and hard on whether or not the strain to get there is worth it. And then there’s the fact that the carrying load of a bicycle is you and a backpack. Buy a new piece of furniture, and you’re shit out of luck unless you can bug some friend with a car to help you. Basically, you’re extra baggage to all of your acquaintances — from your point of view, everyone is that one friend with a pickup truck who people are always asking for a favor. From their point of view, you’re that fucker who keeps asking.

3

Maintenance Is Bullshit In Ways You Wouldn’t Believe

Because you don’t have to bother with gas or parking, cycling can seem like a pretty simple mode of transportation: Just hop on and pedal until you’re where you need to be. I know that’s what I thought when I first started. However, the grim reality is that you’ll be spending way more time on hands-on maintenance than with a car. 50 percent of bike ownership is shouting “What the hell is wrong with you?” at it.

For a relatively uncomplicated mechanical device, there are so, so, so many ways a bicycle can break down — which it absolutely will at the slightest provocation, unless you keep tabs on it. You have to constantly check that the nuts and bolts are tightened. Brake pads and lines need replacing. The tires will pop if you give them a sharp look, and magically keep leaking tiny amounts of air so that you have to check ’em all the time. The more often you take off the wheel and chain in order to replace tires, the more wear and tear you get on the stuff that holds it all together, so it becomes super easy to strip the bolts or make it to where they simply won’t stay tightened. Almost all bikes eventually get loose handlebars. The chain needs to be kept oiled and clean. Everything that can rust will rust super easily, so rain will wreck your shit. And that’s just the beginning. Here’s a handy list of 101 fucking things you’ll need to keep in mind unless you want to turn your bicycle into an expensive faceplant machine.

Sure, you could just take the bike to the shop every time something breaks, but lets face it, you won’t. That shit will set you back hundreds and hundreds of dollars over time just to keep the thing in working condition. You have to know how to fix all that shit, and how to recognize the various irregularities in the riding experience and minuscule noises that indicate potential problems. It’s a pain in the ass to the point where it’s easy to just end up ignoring the issues and ride on the solid principle of “Man, I really hope nothing breaks today. Better look into that strange noise tomorrow.”

This is obviously not the best move, as I once found out when one of the pedals (which had been acting a little funny for a week or two) snapped straight off mid-kick. In related news, completely and unexpectedly losing your balance while riding is a strange feeling that apparently leads into a kickass somersaults and a keen newfound interest in bicycle maintenance. In even more related news, turns out helmets are not just for decoration.

Not that maintaining your bike helps jack shit if you don’t know what you’re doing. I once accidentally tightened a nut holding the back wheel too much, so it chose to snap when I was riding down a particularly steep alley. This caused the wheel to partially jump off its fork, which also fucked up the brakes, seeing as they rely on the wheels to be where they’re supposed to. With no way to brake and the wheel stuck jumping up and down in the fork in a way that effectively turned the bike into a rodeo horse, I did the only thing I could do: I let out a passable impression of the Wilhelm Scream and rammed my feet against the asphalt, trying to ignore the fact that this also meant that my dick was slamming with equal force against the top tube. That was the longest five seconds of my life. I managed to stop roughly 15 feet before a wall. I still have the pair of Converses with the soles burned through somewhere in my attic.

2

Cyclists Are Despised By Everyone Else On The Road

The neighborhood I live in has a Facebook group, because of course it fucking does. I joined because area news and various local grievances are generally great for entertainment purposes, but I immediately found out that roughly 70 percent of all conversations in the group revolve around two subjects: the acceptable and unacceptable places where a dog can poop (nowhere and everywhere, respectively), and the way bicyclists are unrepentant assholes who endanger everyone’s lives.

This is not an isolated thing. Bikes versus cars is a famously bloody flame war, both online and in real life, and once you bring pedestrians in the mix, the shit soup is good and stirred. If you’re invested in the subject, you know the arguments: “Bicyclists are law-breaking dicks who zoom dangerously around in traffic.” “Cities are designed for cars.” “Cyclists are weenies who are trying to save the environment, or hipsters, or annoying fitness nuts.” And that shit bleeds way into real life. There are drivers who more or less deliberately hit cyclists and lose their complete and utter shit when dealing with them. There are cyclists who fatally run into pedestrians and call it “unavoidable.” I was kind of hoping I could find stories about pedestrians who eat cars or something to make this a rock-paper-scissors analogy, but it turns out pedestrians are just generally fucked.

Of course, this entire situation is because of a very specific group of people: assholes. Every mode of transport has its share, and for cyclists, it’s the jerkfaces who zip around in the traffic with nothing but an “I could squeeze through here” mindset, and often at way too high speeds. No one notices the people who ride their bikes carefully and follow the rules. It’s the assholes and their various accidents and close calls who hog the publicity, which leads to many drivers perceiving cyclists as hostile yet fragile meat missiles capable of nothing but erratic, borderline-illegal turns and twists. For pedestrians, it’s the same, but you’re a silent, fast meat missile riding on 30 pounds of cold murder steel.

But hey, let the rest of the world hate you. At least you still have your fellow bicyclists, who totally understand your thing and like you. You can always hang out with them, right? R-right?

1

Bicyclists Hate Each Other, Too

Ha! Plot twist!

Individual groups of cyclists may be tight, but even casual bike-riding will reveal that cyclists as a whole are an insanely fragmented demographic, and most of the splinter groups are wary of each other. When you buy a motorcycle, it’s like joining a club, and you happily wave your hand at passing bikers. When you buy a bike, you get passive-aggressive “11 types of cyclists we all know” lists from Cycling Weekly which make no secret about the fact that all 11 types are kind of dipshits. That article is exclusively about the spandex-clad hardcore riders, by the way — the very people who read fucking Cycling Weekly in the first place.

It’s the same all across the board. The cycling community is pretty tribal, and as befits an individual sport, most cyclists tend to be fiercely independent in their particular biking style and preferences. So even when everyone technically follows the law, the stink eyes cyclists give to everyone who differs from their preferred parameters can be something to behold. And how many stink eyes is that? Well, let’s look at some of the different types:

– The spandex-clad dudes with expensive sports bikes and a midlife crisis who hate everyone slower than them, which is everyone

– The laissez-faire people riding slow, one-gear bikes super erratically, swerving wherever the fuck they like and never letting on where they’ll turn next

– The men who can’t accept that some women have better bikes and/or pedal faster, and deliberately block their paths or attempt to overtake them regardless of what happens around them

– Drunks

– People who for some reason genuinely think laws don’t apply to them

Consciously or not, each and every one of them thinks that their brand of cycling is the right one. And whenever someone does something that differs from their narrow specifications of What’s Right, dirty looks that would make Ivan Drago take a step backwards fly through the air.

Of course, it doesn’t exactly help that every once in a while, every one of us earns those looks. It’s so fucking easy to make mistakes when you’re cycling. Know those times when you’re driving on a highway and there’s just miles and miles of open road in front of you? That chill cruise mode normally associated with driving can totally hit you when you’re cycling, too — and when it does, you’re not in a heavy, protective metal box. The monotone repetitiveness of pedaling and the sense of silently gliding over the ground can zone you out really quickly, right up until you notice that you’ve veered a little too close to the center of the road, or nearly collided with someone else, or stopped for a red light and somehow ended up at a 45-degree angle blocking pedestrians, bikes, and cars alike like a complete dipshit. It’s not something I’d call extremely common — it’s not like every cyclist out there is driving like a clown 24/7. But you see someone’s zoned-out bumblefuckery almost daily out there, and I’m not even going to pretend that I haven’t done my share of that shit as well. Hey, I just understood why drivers sometimes hate us.

In all fairness, that’s just my personal experience of bicyclists, and I’m a notoriously grumpy fucker. It’s entirely possible that to someone else, the cycling experience is way more of a “unicorns farting rainbows” thing than the Mad Max world I’ve described. Despite my tendency to give cycling a hard time, at the end of the day, I do enjoy it a lot. I enjoy it enough to write thousands of passionate words about it.

Besides, it sure as hell beats riding on a bus that someone has used as a toilet.

Pauli Poisuo is a Cracked columnist and freelance editor. Here he is on Facebook and Twitter.

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I Own A Bike Instead Of A Car: 5 Reasons Everyone Hates Me

I’m one of those dipshits who never got around to getting a driver’s license. As someone who hates being the designated driver, I am truly blessed by this. However, it also means that I have to rely on public transport for most of my getting-around needs. In recent times, I’ve gotten sick of pee-smelling subway cars and delightfully cramped buses, so I’ve attempted to cheat code my way out of all of that jazz by riding a bicycle to most everywhere. And man, that has revealed a whole new, previously hidden world to me.

A whole new, hidden, terrifying world.

5

You’ll Always Reek Of Ass

Just so we’re clear, I’m not one of those spandex missiles you see Lance Armstrong-ing their way through the city at breakneck speeds. In fact, as I’ve mentioned before, I’m not an exercise kind of person at all. My workout is of the “bare minimum you need to do to keep resembling a human being” variety, and is exclusively motivated by an innate need to be able to execute a perfect dropkick at anyone or anything I feel has slighted me. At best, I’m the Super Mario of bicyclists: medium speed, medium stats, a little too chubby to pass for an athlete, and I would secretly like to swap my bike for a go-kart.

Still, bicycling is a physical activity, even for someone like me, who uses it exclusively for transportation purposes and prefers to ride at un-exhausting speeds. No matter how slowly you ride, though, you’ll strain yourself way beyond most other forms of transportation. Which means sweat. Which means swamp ass. Which obviously shouldn’t be a problem. Obviously you take a shower and/or change your clothes after you ride to, say, work. Obviously. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

For me, that mentality lasted for about a week.

Read Next

Why Hurricane Irma Has Felt Different From Most Hurricanes

I’m sure that there are people who ride a bicycle everywhere and each time dutifully spend 15 minutes showering and changing clothes at their destination, but I’ve never actually met one of these folks, and I sure as shit am not one myself. It’s not that you don’t want to keep clean; it’s just that when you spend the day zipping around on a self-powered vehicle, you’d need three changes of clothing even without the whole showering thing. No one has time for that shit, so it’s easier to just do your best to clean yourself up a bit and resign yourself to the faint waft of eau d’taint following you wherever you go. So anything under five miles tends to be “Eh, whatever,” while longer rides might warrant a quick change of underwear and a baby wipe treatment to the armpits (which technically makes my hygiene habits the same as Brad Pitt’s … ladies).

Still, this is not necessarily a life-ruining thing. Hell, people might not even notice your secret grossness. But it’s not like you can ask a friend for an opinion, because …

4

Cycling Can Turn You Into A Social Pariah

One of the things I was most surprised about is that social interaction and cycling don’t go too well together, regardless of how well you maintain your stench.

In tons and tons of social situations, you’ll find yourself having to explain precisely WHY you use a bike right off the bat, and it can become a big thing. Sure, your boss probably values that you try to keep in shape, but when it comes to pretty much anything else, you’re screwed. Dating? Good luck, you now rely on the other person to haul you both around, which in turn can easily make them think of you as someone who’s not financially responsible enough to own a car. Heading for a night out with your friends? They’ll take their car, or an Uber, or public transport. You’ll be the fucker who turns up on a bike and has to change clothes — or worse, won’t change them, so that everyone can have a round of beers and another round of “What’s that smell? Is that cheese? Did Pauli bring cheese?”

Then you have to deal with the fact that you have a bicycle with you … all night. So now your friends have to deal with you. “No, guys, I know we agreed to meet with the rest of the group a few blocks from here, but I just found the perfect spot to park my bike, and can’t leave it behind, and don’t feel like unpacking it from the 12,587 chains and locks I need to make sure it doesn’t get stolen.” It’ll get old after a while, and even if you don’t mean to make a huge deal about it, it tends to become one, because from the group’s point of view, you’re now the shithead who insisted on bringing a totally unnecessary and hindering large object with you. As a social faux pas, it’s like heading out for a beer with your best friend and bringing Alex Jones as a surprise avec.

So you become Bicycle Guy within your circle of friends. “We’re heading out for a drink, should I call Bicycle Guy?” “Nah, fuck him. He’ll just haul that damn bike with him all night, whining about how he can’t leave it out of his sight.” Your range of operations is also waaaay shorter than it would be for someone with a car — after a certain geographical distance, you’re going to be thinking long and hard on whether or not the strain to get there is worth it. And then there’s the fact that the carrying load of a bicycle is you and a backpack. Buy a new piece of furniture, and you’re shit out of luck unless you can bug some friend with a car to help you. Basically, you’re extra baggage to all of your acquaintances — from your point of view, everyone is that one friend with a pickup truck who people are always asking for a favor. From their point of view, you’re that fucker who keeps asking.

3

Maintenance Is Bullshit In Ways You Wouldn’t Believe

Because you don’t have to bother with gas or parking, cycling can seem like a pretty simple mode of transportation: Just hop on and pedal until you’re where you need to be. I know that’s what I thought when I first started. However, the grim reality is that you’ll be spending way more time on hands-on maintenance than with a car. 50 percent of bike ownership is shouting “What the hell is wrong with you?” at it.

For a relatively uncomplicated mechanical device, there are so, so, so many ways a bicycle can break down — which it absolutely will at the slightest provocation, unless you keep tabs on it. You have to constantly check that the nuts and bolts are tightened. Brake pads and lines need replacing. The tires will pop if you give them a sharp look, and magically keep leaking tiny amounts of air so that you have to check ’em all the time. The more often you take off the wheel and chain in order to replace tires, the more wear and tear you get on the stuff that holds it all together, so it becomes super easy to strip the bolts or make it to where they simply won’t stay tightened. Almost all bikes eventually get loose handlebars. The chain needs to be kept oiled and clean. Everything that can rust will rust super easily, so rain will wreck your shit. And that’s just the beginning. Here’s a handy list of 101 fucking things you’ll need to keep in mind unless you want to turn your bicycle into an expensive faceplant machine.

Sure, you could just take the bike to the shop every time something breaks, but lets face it, you won’t. That shit will set you back hundreds and hundreds of dollars over time just to keep the thing in working condition. You have to know how to fix all that shit, and how to recognize the various irregularities in the riding experience and minuscule noises that indicate potential problems. It’s a pain in the ass to the point where it’s easy to just end up ignoring the issues and ride on the solid principle of “Man, I really hope nothing breaks today. Better look into that strange noise tomorrow.”

This is obviously not the best move, as I once found out when one of the pedals (which had been acting a little funny for a week or two) snapped straight off mid-kick. In related news, completely and unexpectedly losing your balance while riding is a strange feeling that apparently leads into a kickass somersaults and a keen newfound interest in bicycle maintenance. In even more related news, turns out helmets are not just for decoration.

Not that maintaining your bike helps jack shit if you don’t know what you’re doing. I once accidentally tightened a nut holding the back wheel too much, so it chose to snap when I was riding down a particularly steep alley. This caused the wheel to partially jump off its fork, which also fucked up the brakes, seeing as they rely on the wheels to be where they’re supposed to. With no way to brake and the wheel stuck jumping up and down in the fork in a way that effectively turned the bike into a rodeo horse, I did the only thing I could do: I let out a passable impression of the Wilhelm Scream and rammed my feet against the asphalt, trying to ignore the fact that this also meant that my dick was slamming with equal force against the top tube. That was the longest five seconds of my life. I managed to stop roughly 15 feet before a wall. I still have the pair of Converses with the soles burned through somewhere in my attic.

2

Cyclists Are Despised By Everyone Else On The Road

The neighborhood I live in has a Facebook group, because of course it fucking does. I joined because area news and various local grievances are generally great for entertainment purposes, but I immediately found out that roughly 70 percent of all conversations in the group revolve around two subjects: the acceptable and unacceptable places where a dog can poop (nowhere and everywhere, respectively), and the way bicyclists are unrepentant assholes who endanger everyone’s lives.

This is not an isolated thing. Bikes versus cars is a famously bloody flame war, both online and in real life, and once you bring pedestrians in the mix, the shit soup is good and stirred. If you’re invested in the subject, you know the arguments: “Bicyclists are law-breaking dicks who zoom dangerously around in traffic.” “Cities are designed for cars.” “Cyclists are weenies who are trying to save the environment, or hipsters, or annoying fitness nuts.” And that shit bleeds way into real life. There are drivers who more or less deliberately hit cyclists and lose their complete and utter shit when dealing with them. There are cyclists who fatally run into pedestrians and call it “unavoidable.” I was kind of hoping I could find stories about pedestrians who eat cars or something to make this a rock-paper-scissors analogy, but it turns out pedestrians are just generally fucked.

Of course, this entire situation is because of a very specific group of people: assholes. Every mode of transport has its share, and for cyclists, it’s the jerkfaces who zip around in the traffic with nothing but an “I could squeeze through here” mindset, and often at way too high speeds. No one notices the people who ride their bikes carefully and follow the rules. It’s the assholes and their various accidents and close calls who hog the publicity, which leads to many drivers perceiving cyclists as hostile yet fragile meat missiles capable of nothing but erratic, borderline-illegal turns and twists. For pedestrians, it’s the same, but you’re a silent, fast meat missile riding on 30 pounds of cold murder steel.

But hey, let the rest of the world hate you. At least you still have your fellow bicyclists, who totally understand your thing and like you. You can always hang out with them, right? R-right?

1

Bicyclists Hate Each Other, Too

Ha! Plot twist!

Individual groups of cyclists may be tight, but even casual bike-riding will reveal that cyclists as a whole are an insanely fragmented demographic, and most of the splinter groups are wary of each other. When you buy a motorcycle, it’s like joining a club, and you happily wave your hand at passing bikers. When you buy a bike, you get passive-aggressive “11 types of cyclists we all know” lists from Cycling Weekly which make no secret about the fact that all 11 types are kind of dipshits. That article is exclusively about the spandex-clad hardcore riders, by the way — the very people who read fucking Cycling Weekly in the first place.

It’s the same all across the board. The cycling community is pretty tribal, and as befits an individual sport, most cyclists tend to be fiercely independent in their particular biking style and preferences. So even when everyone technically follows the law, the stink eyes cyclists give to everyone who differs from their preferred parameters can be something to behold. And how many stink eyes is that? Well, let’s look at some of the different types:

– The spandex-clad dudes with expensive sports bikes and a midlife crisis who hate everyone slower than them, which is everyone

– The laissez-faire people riding slow, one-gear bikes super erratically, swerving wherever the fuck they like and never letting on where they’ll turn next

– The men who can’t accept that some women have better bikes and/or pedal faster, and deliberately block their paths or attempt to overtake them regardless of what happens around them

– Drunks

– People who for some reason genuinely think laws don’t apply to them

Consciously or not, each and every one of them thinks that their brand of cycling is the right one. And whenever someone does something that differs from their narrow specifications of What’s Right, dirty looks that would make Ivan Drago take a step backwards fly through the air.

Of course, it doesn’t exactly help that every once in a while, every one of us earns those looks. It’s so fucking easy to make mistakes when you’re cycling. Know those times when you’re driving on a highway and there’s just miles and miles of open road in front of you? That chill cruise mode normally associated with driving can totally hit you when you’re cycling, too — and when it does, you’re not in a heavy, protective metal box. The monotone repetitiveness of pedaling and the sense of silently gliding over the ground can zone you out really quickly, right up until you notice that you’ve veered a little too close to the center of the road, or nearly collided with someone else, or stopped for a red light and somehow ended up at a 45-degree angle blocking pedestrians, bikes, and cars alike like a complete dipshit. It’s not something I’d call extremely common — it’s not like every cyclist out there is driving like a clown 24/7. But you see someone’s zoned-out bumblefuckery almost daily out there, and I’m not even going to pretend that I haven’t done my share of that shit as well. Hey, I just understood why drivers sometimes hate us.

In all fairness, that’s just my personal experience of bicyclists, and I’m a notoriously grumpy fucker. It’s entirely possible that to someone else, the cycling experience is way more of a “unicorns farting rainbows” thing than the Mad Max world I’ve described. Despite my tendency to give cycling a hard time, at the end of the day, I do enjoy it a lot. I enjoy it enough to write thousands of passionate words about it.

Besides, it sure as hell beats riding on a bus that someone has used as a toilet.

Pauli Poisuo is a Cracked columnist and freelance editor. Here he is on Facebook and Twitter.

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