#lewis did you try to fuck my grandpa

[lelianaslefthand]

grandpa bisexual icon?????

[chrzzboo]

Lewis fic. Its his birthday y/n and him have an age gap. Not a crazy one but she teases him about his age.

My old man

Summary: It's Lewis's birthday, and you never fail to make him feel old on his special day.

Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Mention of age gap (10 years)

Note: First of all, I want to thank all of you for showing your love for my first-ever story on here. It means a lot!!! Also, I'm trying my best to write new stories based on your requests, but I'm currently in my exam period, so things might go slower. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this short fic!

It's currently 4 o'clock in the morning and Lewis is sound asleep next to me in bed. Why am I up so early already? Well it's my favourite human's birthday today and I want to make this day special for him. Knowing that Lewis always wakes up at around 6 o'clock for his early morning workouts made me get up early to decorate the house and get his favourites for his birthday.

I bought all the decorations last night and did a pretty good job at hiding it from Lewis. Starting by blowing up all the balloons and hanging them around the place followed by the rest of the decoration. If there is one thing that Lewis doesn't like, it's seeing his age on display. So that's exaclty what I did. I bought the numbers 39 in a big form and hung them on the most noticable place in the house to tease him even more.

After I was done with decorating the place I went out and went to the store to buy the last few things that were needed, thank God 24/7 hour stores are a thing otherwise I would've been fucked. While strolling along the aisles I can't help but find the perfect gift for Lewis. It was a dog shirt with the words 'Grandpa's favourite boy' displayed on it, promising myself to get Roscoe to wear it later. After getting the last things I went back home knowing that it was almost time for Lewis to wake up.

Putting everything on the counter i start to prepare his birthday breakfast with all his favourites in it. I still had plenty of time since I already wrapped his gifts yesterday, so in the meantime while I was making his breakfast I quickly took the dog shirt out for Roscoe to wear. He looked so adorable but I couldn't help but laugh at the shirt. I don't think Lewis would even be surprised since I've been teasing him about his age non stop.

While putting the last things on the table I felt two strong hands wrap around my waist. "Babe you went all out this year" Lewis exclaimed. "Well it's my favourite old man's birthday I had to make it special." I added. Lewis groans "Love are you seriously still making fun of me?" I gasped but it was quickly followed by my laugh. "I would never!" "I just wanted to celebrate you getting closer to the forties" Lewis groans again. "Babe seriously stop that I'm still in my thirties and that's what matters and also you're just 10 years younger then me your time will come as well" "Jeez Lewis you're making it sound as if I'm about to die or something but for now I'm happily enjoying my twenties" I say pecking his lips and leading him to the breakfast table.

"Babe there was no need to put those numbers up there" Lewis exclaimes. "Well you're an old man now I had to remind you before you forget" I say with a laugh. Lewis groans even more. "You're never letting it go are you?" "Ofcourse not old man!". "But babe on a serious note you didn't have to do all this" He said coming over to me and kissing me passionately. "But i wanted to since you deserve the world Lew" I tell him with a peck to his lips. "Thanks beautifull I love you!" He adds "And I love you too My old man. Soon the kiss turned into a makeout session when Lewis breaks the kiss and adds "Well after all this I would love for this birthday gift to be taken to the bedroom" Smirking I jump on to him with both my legs secured around his waist. But before we could go any further Roscoe pops up and starts barking for our attention. Lewis puts me down and both of our attention is on Roscoe. "Hey old guy, did you want to wish your dad a happy birthday as well?" Lewis says while scratching behind Roscoe's ears. But then Lewis freezes noticing the shirt I put on Roscoe earlier. He turns to me, but I was already out of sight, running for my life. "Y/N ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?"

The end.

[daydreamingleclerc]

lovebug // mick schumacher instagram AU

summary: in which, you & mick are wonderful parents.

DISCLAIMER: photo credit to all the original owners. none of the photos used are mine, i found them on pinterest and i am simply using them for the purpose of this AU.

mickschumacher

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and 3,274,028 others

mickschumacher mummy wasn’t around so michaela had to teach daddy how to do her hair for ballet ❤️

view all 56,928 comments

lewishamilton theres flyaways 👎🏼

mickschumacher cut me some slack :(

lewishamilton uncle lewis will do it next time

yourusername my favourite pair of miki’s :( i miss you and our lovebug ❤️

mickschumacher we miss you too ❤️

yourusername

liked by ginaschumacher, carlossainz55, georgerussell63 and 2,839,371 others

yourusername took miki maus out for breakfast with nana & grandpa schumacher ❤️

view all 3,275 comments

ginaschumacher dad is going to be so mad knowing you’ve called him “grandpa schumacher” on instagram

yourusername false! he LOVES it x

mickschumacher schatzi why are you drinking champagne at 11am?

yourusername to numb the pain of coming home to you x

yourusername KIDDING !!!

mickschumacher you’d better be or else she’s the only baby you’re getting x

mickschumacher

switzerland

liked by yourusername, michaelschumacher, sebastianvettel and 12,028,037 others

mickschumacher snowy days with my little lovebug ❤️

view all 56,262 comments

yourusername thanks mummy for taking the pictures 🙄

mickschumacher don’t give me attitude. i get enough of it from our daughter 😵‍💫

yourusername “i will love you for the rest of time, even though you have an attitude problem” isn’t this what you said in your vows, mr schumacher?

mickschumacher behave.

georgerussell63 this is officially the cutest photo on instagram

estebanocon sweet schumacher overload 🥹

michaelschumacher my beautiful granddaughter ❤️❤️❤️

mickschumacher ❤️❤️❤️

yourusername

monza, italy

liked by pierregasly, lewishamilton and 28,628,930 others

yourusername mausi was desperate to wish daddy good luck 🥹

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mickschumacher daddy’s good luck charm❤️

yourusername what am i :(

mickschumacher daddy’s good girl 😌

pierregasly posting this kinky shit guys… ur parents… this is fucking disgusting

nataliepinkham the star of the show!

yourusername always 😍

mercedesamgf1 michaela is officially the cutest mascot we’ve ever had!

mickschumacher you’re not wrong 😎

mickschumacher

liked by ginaschumacher, charles_leclerc, yukitsunoda15 and 28,739,830 others

mickschumacher spent some well earned time away with my favourite girls❤️

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yourusername we love you mi amor ❤️❤️

mickschumacher and i love you both, mein schatzi ❤️❤️

lewishamilton who took the pic of you and Y/N if it was just the three of you 👀

yourusername we taught our daughter how to use a camera very young

mickschumacher Y/N don’t lie

yourusername boo you

michaelschumacher ❤️

landonorris you are the cutest family i’ve ever seen

yourusername & mickschumacher

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yourusername our little mausi moo won her first ballet competition 😭😭😭😭 when did she get so big ????

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mickschumacher little lovebug making daddy proud ❤️

lewishamilton well done beautiful michaela ❤️

yourusername she said “thank you uncle lew lew” ❤️

danielricciardo GO LITTLE MIKI !!!!!!!!!

pierregasly well done to my favourite mouse ❤️

yourusername maus*

pierregasly leave me alone

yourusername

liked by mickschumacher, estebanocon and 15,729,947 others

yourusername pictures of them like this make me want baby no.2 🥹

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mickschumacher it will happen baby, our second little miracle will happen so so soon ❤️🙏🏼

yourusername we’ll keep trying 😌

mickschumacher don’t tempt me 😉

ginaschumacher 🥹🥹🥹

charles_leclerc uncle charles 2.0 ?!!

yourusername 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

mickschumacher & yourusername

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mickschumacher swipe to see the best anniversary present my wife could’ve given me ❤️ happy anniversary baby, i love you, miki, and our new addition more than i ever thought i could love anybody.

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yourusername we all love you ❤️

landonorris PREGNANT ??????

yourusername i was actually pregnant when i posted my last pic of mick & miki, i just didn’t know it then!!

danielricciardo LESSS GOOOOOOOOOOO

lewishamilton happy anniversary you two! congratulations ❤️

michaelschumacher amazing news, congratulations to you both ❤️

yourusername thanks grandpa ❤️

[12romy]

Hi Romy

This request is so random & slightly chaotic and I’m not sure if you still doing one-shots & requests but here goes nothing…

I have a one-shot prompt. 

Imagine Lewis & Charles are secretly married and they have a baby/young child (probably around 2/3 so that it corresponds with Charles age) who decided that after both his dads got a podium he wanted to be their to see them in the podium and with his granddad Anthony he run to them at parc ferme with no regards to the fact that their family dynamic is a secret🙃😅

Hi Anon!!!! What a lovely ask, thank you so much!!! I had so much fun writing this one ❤️❤️❤️

I ended up making it a slightly future fic, so this happens in 2027!

chewis kid fic/coming out~

Enjoy ^^

The second Charles took off his helmet, he heard a very familiar voice calling him, and for a second, his brain couldn't compute hearing his son scream "Papa" and standing in the parc ferme. Those were two elements that should never have met.

He snapped his head toward the voice and saw his son slip easily through the barriers and run toward him. He crouched down to catch the small kid running to him and stood up again with him secured in his arms.

"Leon, what are you doing here?" he exclaimed, finally taking in all the cameras aimed at them.

Well, fuck.

"You won!" his son exclaimed cheerfully as if it explained everything.

"And where's Grandpa? Did you run off? He must be so worried!"

Leon wasn't paying attention, however. Lewis had just popped into sight, taking off his helmet, and Charles didn't have time to do anything before Leon yelled a loud "Daddy!" extending his arms toward his father.

Lewis, just like Charles, needed a double take.

"Papa beat you!" Leon continued cheerfully as Lewis got close. Charles exchanged a worried look with him, and Lewis gave a powerless shrug.

"Yes, he did," he said, a soft smile on his lips as he looked at Charles before sobering up. "Leon, what did we say about the cameras?"

"Hmmmm, stay away?" the little boy tried with a small voice, burying his face against Charles' neck to hide from the scolding tone of his father.

"Exactly, you have to stay away from the cameras, buddy," Lewis continued, trying not to sound too stressed.

The crowd was getting agitated, and Charles could tell Lewis was losing patience.

"I swear, he gets that from you," Lewis continued to rant. "Always so reckless!"

"What?" Charles frowned. "Yeah well, your dad was supposed to look after him!"

"Don't drag my dad into this because your son-"

"My son? Oh yeah, sure, he's my son when he's misbehaving, but he's your son when he wins his first karting race? Remind me who said he could ask for whatever he wanted as a reward. I was against taking him here today!"

"I promised! I couldn't break a promise, and it's Silverstone, it's his favourite race! And you know he's been dying to come for ages-"

"Papa, Daddy, don't fight!" Leon cried out, sobbing, which was terribly efficient in shutting them both up.

"Oh, hey, no, mon coeur, don't cry!" Charles exclaimed. "Shh, it's okay, this is just a bit of a stressful moment..."

Lewis had stepped closer to embrace them both and calm their son. Charles noted distractingly that the crowd was going wild, but from the sound of it, they seemed to be cheering rather than booing. 

"Sorry for shouting, little one..." Lewis mumbled.

"I'm not little," he sniffled. "I'm four and a half, I'm big! Lila is the baby, not me!"

"Sorry, I know," Lewis chuckled, kissing the top of his head and his dark curls. "My big boy."

"At least, Lila is not running around the paddock, spilling our family secret," Charles rolled his eyes.

"Papa, you're silly! Lila can't walk yet," Leon giggled, correcting him.

His dimples were showing.

Someone cleared his throat behind them, and they turned to find themselves facing Nico Rosberg and Arthur Leclerc.

"Tonton!" Leon exclaimed, switching to French, wriggling out of Charles' arms to run to Arthur.

"Alaïa was very sad not to be able to babysit you this weekend," Nico said gently, ruffling his hair. Leon took a sad expression - he had a cute little crush on the teenage girl, something that Charles found hilarious, and Lewis, absolutely dreadful.

"I'm still waiting for you to congratulate me on my podium, you little monster! " Arthur smiled, scooping him up in his arms, and Leon kissed his cheek. "How about we let your dads do their interviews, huh? Bet they have a loooot of things to say."

Charles sighed. It really wasn't how they had planned on coming out - actually, they hadn't planned anything, assuming they would take care of it once they'd both retired.

"Fine," he grumbled and snatched the mic from this brother's hand.

"Let's just do this one together," Lewis said, getting closer to Charles and putting a hand around his waist. Charles blushed, unused to the PDA after years of hiding - and despite eight years of marriage, he was still sensitive to every little attention from Lewis.

Nico's blinding smile was slightly unnerving. He was awfully smug to be the one to conduct that particular interview.

Charles smiled the entire time. Now they would be able to wear their rings without hiding.

[televisionboy]

ALSO AND PERHAPS

the title really didn’t have anything to do with the fic, I just liked it. the point is, I have not written BOB for 6 months so go easy on me! Really short and I don’t think Lewis is OOC but I wouldn’t be surprised if he is so let me know. constructive criticism yay. Also written with inspiration from @saritanotserena !

Taglist: @my-haunting-romance @punkgeekcryptid @thatsonefishyboi @pierrespandas @bandersnatchers @prvtbullshit @order-of-river-phoenix @real-fans @snafus-peckuh @warrior-healer @starkiddasilva/ @bastognee @neverendingstories00 @3milesup @sunnyshifty @meteora-fc @gutsandgloryhere @band-of-bitches @murphyism @wexhappyxfew @we-always-hit-our-ass @lovingunderratedcharacters @contrabandhothead @alrightnicelighter @georgeluzwarmhugs @sodapop182 @hoosiers-blanket @mrseasycompany @valterras @justwant-samu-ass @mrseasycompany @honeybisous @flowersforjester @stressedinadress @ohmydazee @mavysnavy @rayofshanshine @band-of-brothers-headcannons @easy-company-tradition @happyveday

Sitting on the steps of a half burned down Cathedral outside of some European city you’ve already forgotten by now, a flask in one hand and a cocky boy by your side seemed less enjoyable and more of a normal Thursday evening at this point. Lewis Nixon shoved a flask in your hand 20 minutes ago and had told you to “drink up before you realize that being sober in a place like this is a big mistake”

He must have pestered Dick Winters relentlessly in that case. But you had grabbed it and were just clutching it, staring at the women who were fussing over their children, the burnt buildings courtesy of Easy Company, and Lewis Nixon trying to convince George Luz to give him an extra cigarette.

He flopped down on the step under you, letting out a groan as he did so. “Back hurting already grandpa?” You teased, dangling his flask in front of him. “You better put me to bed at 6 and make sure I get fed at 5” he snatched the metal container back. “You doing okay?”

“Gets a little lonely sometimes I guess. Never really thought about it or talked to anyone about it” Except for Lewis and possibly Buck Compton, you didn’t talk about anything personally. When Malarkey asked about your life before the war, you’d make a sassy remark. But for some reason, there was hesitation to letting an entire regiment know about you.

Nixon stretched out his legs one by one “You remind me of a woman who used to be my neighbor. She never went out and had 3 cats”

“Thank you Lewis, I have friends”

He scoffed but didn’t say anything. Instead, lighting a cigarette. He didn’t offer you one, hoping not to get a mom lecture this time. In Bastogne, everybody smoked and it was like a mom yelling at her children for breaking curfew with you. “Those things will kill you, you know”

You moved down to the step where he was sitting and he offered you the cigarette, which to his surprise you took it. “Then why are you smoking?” He questioned.

“Trying to be cool? Bored? Maybe I just don’t want to be a mom anymore?” You took a drag, nearly coughing it up but refusing to give the company the satisfaction, that and a year worth of ‘I told you so’

Lew draped his arm around you and chuckled “Well our kids are all growing up. Going to college and war and whatnot so you can smoke all you want dear”

You rolled your eyes and took another puff out of the stubby cigarette but a smile began to form at your lips, not a teasing one.

Fucking Yale mommy’s boys, going to be the death of you.

[wittykitty21]

Falling Together

//Shanexfarmer HarveyxFarmer Sebastianxfarmer??

TW !! Talk of self harm, suicide, drinking, abuse, death!!

Chapter Two; Warm and Cold Welcomes

As I walked into the Stardrop Saloon, Emily immediately ran over and hugged me. 

“You’re here!! You’re really back! I knew it was you the second I felt your energy hit the earth here.” She beamed. I hugged her back, I felt so accepted and warm here. She began introducing me to everyone, including a hot lean alternative guy with black swooped over hair, grey eyes and dressed all up in black along with a girl with purple hair and dressed in a black shirt with a frog printed on it. I assumed he was Robin’s son she had previously told me about. 

“Heyyyyy Guns n Roses, nice taste. I’m Sebastian and this is Abigail. Abigail smiled and  waved a little shyly  at me. Sebastian continued,“ Sure mom’s told you about me. What’s your name?” he looked flirtatious towards me, but before I could tell him, a flash of blonde hair ran over to me and i was immediately lifted at least two feet off the ground into a hug. 

“EVIEEEEE!!!!! I can’t believe its you!! We have so much catching up to do since we last made mud pies together. ” He smiled and put me back down. Me being slightly startled from his energetic golden retriever personality. Sebastian was laughing at the startled expression I had. 

“Awww Sam, missed me pushing you over and you crying when I beat you in video games? “ I smirked. 

“You know it! I’ve gotten pretty good over the years, you owe me unlimited rematches. And - Hey, I don’t think you’ll be able to push me over anymore, short stack. “ Sam was around 6′0 ft, and I had stayed at a measly 5′3 and a HALF since I was 13. I was happy Sam was the same overly optimistic ray of sunshine he had been since a kid. 

“Jeezzzz Sam give her some breathing room. Sorry about him, he’s always like this” Abigail chuckled. 

Sebastian slid back into the conversation, “So, Evie, is that your real name or is that your nickname?”

“Oh, yeah. I just go by Evie. My full name is Evangeline Eliza Jones-Destriu. I hate how long my name is.... and the fact my parents chose to hyphenate my last name.”  I smiled weakly. 

“Well a cute name to match a super cute girl with awesome fashion sense! “, exclaimed Abigail. “You have to show me where you get your clothes from.”

“As long as you show me where you got that frog shirt from, frogs are like one of my favorite animals.” I said excitedly.

After playing a little bit of pool with my new friend group, everyone else from the town started pouring in. I went up to Marnie, who was talking to Lewis. As I approached she immediately recognized me and hugged me. 

“Evangeline!!!! Oh my goodness. You’ve become quite the beautiful young woman. You look so much like your grandpa. I’m sure hes so proud of you for taking over the farm. I’ll be here to help you as much as you need getting started. When Shane gets here you should say hello to him.”

“Shane? “ I squinted a little, confused. 

“My nephew, you two were best friends whenever you spent the summers here.” she said a little worried. She noticed the bruise too, I tried to hide it behind my hair but I was starting to think it was inevitable. 

“I’m sorry Marnie, I have memory problems. I’ll talk to you more about it in private when we catch up, but if you point him out to me I’m sure I’ll remember his face. I’m just not good with names. “

Marnie seemed a little sad that I hinted at the fact life hadn’t been very easy for me. “He’ll be here in a bit, he’s almost always at the saloon after work. He’s usually over there near the fireplace and bar. If you want you can come over for dinner on Sunday, I’m sure you havent had a good home cooked meal in a while since living in the city.”

I smiled widely “I’d absolutely love that. I was just telling Lewis today about how much I missed your cooking.”

As I said that, a man in a tattered up hoodie, dark black-purple hair, who was quite broad shouldered and had a dad body walked inside the saloon. He looked void of emotion and tired. Emily wasn’t phased by this, she smiled and treated him like everyone else in the warm happy way she did. He looked almost angry at her for her being nice to him. That’s when Marnie said “Well there he is, that’s my Shane.” 

Maybe he just had a bad day, I thought. I thought about getting him something to eat to maybe cheer him up a bit. After all, I knew all about having bad days. So I walked over to Emily, and he peeked up at me, seeming annoyed. This built up anxiety in me, but my therapist said I needed to overcome my fear of upsetting people after all I’d been through. So I asked Emily, 

“Hey what’s Shane’s favorite food?”

“Oh, he loves pepper poppers. Um.... Evie, hes a little..... rough around the edges.” she smiled “but he has a good heart. He has a goddaughter named Jas, and he took her in.”

I nodded, and she handed me a plate of the spicy food. I walked over cautiously to him, he smelled like beer and whiskey. I slid the food beside him and he looked up at me kind of dazed, probably from the alcohol.

“Hey, I’m new in town, I don’t know if you remember me but I’m-”

“What the fuck do you want? I don’t fucking know you, so piss off and leave me alone.” He spat at me and didn’t even look me in the eyes. I stood back shocked, feeling tears well up. Emily went pale, Marnie, Sam and Sebastian saw the look of hurt on my face. I immediately turned around and went back to Emily. 

“Hey you okay? I’m sorry, he’s not normally that harsh. Here,” She said as she handed me a bottle of wine. “its on the house. I should’ve told you he’s uh, an angry person.”

I couldn’t speak, the feeling of panic and tears welled up in my throat and I knew it was visible on my face. I just looked at her and nodded. “I’ll be alright, thanks Emily. I just wasn’t expecting that. I’m gonna head home.” 

I took the wine and Marnie tried to stop me and talk to me, she saw the tears starting to come down and gave me a quick hug. As I turned to leave I felt like i was being watched, and I locked eyes with him. A sudden wash of recognition and regret hit his face. He saw he made me cry and i knew now he knew who I was. He put down his beer and looked like he was about to walk over. I almost ran out the door, and started sprinting towards the forest with the wine in hand. As soon as I knew I was out of earshot, I broke down. I looked for the pond my grandfather used to take me to when I was sad. 

---Back at the Saloon while Evie is in the woods, Shane POV--

Marnie walked over to Shane. “What has gotten into you? You grew up with that girl!!!! You made her cry after she wsa just trying to be nice to you.”

“I-I didn’t recognize who she was until she left. I’m going to find her and apologize, I’m sorry Marnie. I’m just--” he sighed. God. I always fuck up. He thought.

Marnie patted him on the shoulder “I know Shane. Just-- try to remember you’re not the only one who’s been through a lot. Okay?”

He nodded and left the Saloon to find and apologize to Evie. 

--Back to Evie in the woods, Shane POV--

I sat down at the edge of the pier and downed the entire bottle of wine. I hadn’t imagined something so small would make me relapse. The alcohol made me feel warm so i took off my long sleeve shirt and kept on my large band tee. The bandages and stitches itched with my mistakes. So I took them off. They probably needed a little air anyways. The vertical cuts that were held together with thread still looked pretty bad and they bled a little as I unraveled the wrapping, but they were at least mostly closed up with scabs. Around the wounds were bruises from Daniel, my ex -fiance. I could still see the finger marks were he had grabbed me on my arm. I cried somewhat loudly and just laid and looked up at the stars for a while. I started feeling dizzy, and tired. And the comforting numbness washed over me as everything faded into darkness. I thought I heard someone walking towards me but I didn’t care. They could kill me and I’d die happy right there. 

--Shane’s POV finding Evie--

I knew where she was going, the same place she went when she snuck out of her gradfathers when she missed her dad. I heard loud crying, like someone was in pain. It had to be her, I was already tipsy and quickened my pace towards the loud cries. Suddenly it stopped. Oh Yoba. Oh no. Why did it stop? 

I didn’t want to frighten her, so I tried to walk a little loudly. I saw a figure laid out on the pier, close to the edge of the side, she was about to roll off into the pond. “Evie? Hey.”

No response. Oh fuck. As i got closer I saw the empty wine bottle, and i felt a pang of guilt and worry. 

Wait. What the hell? I turned on my phones light and shined it on her, she passed out from drinking. But- what was...... 

I saw cuts on both her wrists that were obviously a previous suicide attempt, they were stitched together, but she also had dark bruises of all colors on her arms, and she had cried off her makeup, revealing a darkened eye as well.

I felt like I had just walked in on a crime scene. I never thought I’d meet someone more messed up than me, much less a childhood friend. What the hell happened to her? I tried shaking her awake and calling her name but she didn’t wake up. More panic and anxiety came over me. I picked her up gingerly in my arms to bring her to the clinic, she was so small and soft. She smelled like strawberries and vanilla. Shane studied her features. She had the same freckles, same button nose, same long eyelashes and dark hair as he remembered her having as she had when they were little. She was gorgeous too. How could anyone hurt such a beautiful fragile girl? What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I thinking this way? Get a grip Shane. 

I called Harvey, “Hello?” A groggy mans voice answered. 

“Hey uh Harvey, the new farmer girl, she’s actually a childhood friend of mine. I found her passed out drunk on a pier and she looks like she’s already been in bad shape. I can’t wake her up, I’m bringing her as we speak. She already has stitches and-- She’s just in a really bad way.” Shane’s voice quaked a bit at the end of his sentence.

“Okay, oh Yoba, thats not good. Hurry here as fast as you can okay? I’ll get things ready for her so I can immediately work on her. Is she breathing? “ The words Harvey said made me panic more. Fuck. I didn’t even check to see if she was fucking breathing. I looked down and she was breathing gently and normally.

“Yeah she is, I think she’s just really drunk. I’m not sure.” I said back.

I carried her in, set her down on the hospital bed. Holy fuck. I hadn’t noticed how bad she really was hurt. She hid all of it with clothes and her long hair. She looked like she had been beaten over and over again over the past month. Even her eye and jaw had small bruises that had healed. Who did this to her? Then I saw the cuts. They were worse in the florescent lighting. Those were definitely on purpose. 

Harvey looked pale at the sight of her. “Okay, here, see if she has any emergency contacts on her phone. I’m going to get fluids into her. Aside from that, looks like all of this was from previous incidents.” and he closed the curtain leaving shane in the little area next to the room. She didn’t have but a few contacts saved. One of them was Daniel, as I selected his contact I noticed the number had been blocked. The picture of him was a guy with blonde hair and blue eyes, the athletic type. Looked like a general douchebag. A text came in from a random number.

“What the fuck? You think you can just run away from me? Restraining order is just a piece of paper. I’ll find you. I know you’re probably shacked up with some scumbag, you whore. Not even your father wanted you, your mom died and its your fault. You’ll never find anyone better than me.” It read. That had to be him. The whiskey helped fill me with rage, I typed the number into my phone and left to the lobby to call it. 

It rang a couple of times before a condescending voice answered,

“Come crawling back already psycho? You should’ve done a better job at trying to off yourself bitc-”

I cut him off, “Don’t contact her ever again. Or I’ll fucking kill you.” I hung up. And blocked the number. Why was I doing this? She was practically a stranger to me now.

I shook my head and left her phone with Harvey. I needed to sleep. I’d have Marnie call Harvey tomorrow to check on her. I looked at her one last time before I left, I remembered we’d have sleep overs, and she still slept curled up on her side. 

I went home and told Marnie, she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Shane. I should’ve told you. Her father deserted her, he mother fell into drinking and killed herself. Evie found her when she was 18. Her grandfather died the same year. She has no one. I don’t know why she has bruises, but I suspect thats why she came here so far away from the city. Please be kind to her. ” She looked worried. 

“I-I...... yoba. I had no idea. She hadn’t-” I said then Marnie interuppted me.

“She didn’t come here probably because I wanted to run away from whoever hurt her that bad.”

I hardly slept that night, I got up for work in the morning and looked at the clinic on my way. 

I’m so sorry Evie. I need a fucking drink. 

[delightfulstarlightparadise]

Stardew valley Imagine. Reader/ Sebastian (?)

-Before we start, oce again I remind you that English is not my main language, but I am doing my best.

“I didn’t think you were so tired to the point of passing out in that sofa.” Sebastian says while taking a drag of his cigarette. “If I knew we would have come earlier.”

“Aw... I shouldn’t have drink that beer.” you say, feeling sick to your stomach.

“If you are going to throw up, please do it in some bush and not near me.”

You didn’t even bother answering him. Next thing you knew, you were kneeling down barfing behind a tree. You were not very used to drinking.

“Sorry.” you say when you can finally talk.

“What about?”

“Everything.”

He shrugs and helps you stand up.

“You are... different.” he says.

“I know, I am weird.”

He laughs.

“You think you are weird? My best friend is the weirdest person I know. Being different in a town like this is not a bad thing you know?” he says.

You stare at him for a while too long, he blushes showing is uncomfort.

“You didn’t pass as a supportive type at first.” you say.  

“Don’t get used to it.” he says smirking at you.

When you arrive the farm you can see that the seeds you planted in the morning had turned into little saplings already. You shake your head, sure that it is a prank of your dizzy mind, but they are there.

“Sebastian, can you see those or am I really wasted?” you ask him, pointing at the saplings.

“I can see them, but I am also pretty sure you ARE wasted.” He mocks you.

“How can it be?! I planted them this morning!” you look at him completely astonished.

“So what?” he asks.

“They were not supposed to grow like this… I mean, this is crazy!”

“Oh really? I don’t understand much about farming.” he says while getting another cigarette from his pocket. “I will be going now, ok? Thanks for the game, I had fun. Destroying Sam every time was starting to get boring.

As he goes, you sit down on your porch staring at those little saplings.

…

You have a dream.

You are playing with your cousins by the mountain river. A younger Sam and a younger Sebastian are there too. Sebastian is ginger back then, but Sam’s hair still challenges gravity somehow. There is a third boy that is not from your family, he is brunette, very alethic and seems to like you a lot.

Sebastian challenges you all: who can go up a tree by the shore faster. You are the first to run there, before anyone even agrees to the bet. He doesn’t like it and runs as fast as he can, followed by the other boy and your cousins. Sam kind of gets left behind.

You start climbing the tree so fast, you didn’t even remember being so agile, you feel like a feral squirl. The other boy is right behind you, he even tries to hold your foot and tickle you, but you don’t give up. As you laugh together, Sebastian gets to pass you, but you quickly follow after him.

Somehow you manage to get to the top first, Sebastian is all sweaty and puffing. The other boy comes after and congratulates you on the win. He kisses you on the cheek and you get all red about it. Sebastian doesn’t like it, actually he seems really jealous. You think it is about you having won and start mocking on him.

You call him gingerbread man. He hates it and pushes you. Because of your weigh the branch you fall on cracks and you fall on the river. You can see both Sebastian and the other boy reaching towards you.

Your head hits a rock and you get unconscious. But actually, you just can't move, you still can see... everyone is jumping on the water after you, but you feel like you are nowhere to be found. Maybe that is it, your short life has come to an end.

You hear a funny sound and turn your head to the left. You see an apple.

The apple has two eyes and pink cheeks.  

There are others, they are all around you, making that funny sound and lifting you up from the bottom of the lake.

Next thing you see, a hand grabs your wrist, lifted by the little apple spirits. You are pulled out of the water by Sebastian, he has almost drowned too. He is crying and doesn’t stop apologizing, but you aren’t able to say anything to him, the words don’t come out.

You spend some days in the hospital, all your vitals are ok, but you keep seeing those little apple spirits around. The adults are afraid you had too bad of a concussion and no one believes in you... except for... grandpa?  

He says you were saved by the forest spirits, but your mother and father tell him not to incentive these kind of thoughts in you. Eventually, they stop taking you to Stardew valley.

The longer you are away, the more you forget about your time there.

When you wake up, the dream seems like a shadow, but you feel very different.

…

They were even bigger! From one night to the other, the saplings have grown as much as they should in a week.

“Am I going insane?” you ask yourself.

You water them and put some extra fertilizer, then you decide to go to the city and buy some food for the farm. When you arrive there, you see Mayor Lewis in front of a big old house behind the square.

“Oh, hi y/n!” he calls you, as you two seem to be the only people around. “Come here a second.”

You feel a little annoyed. Is it going to be like this now? Every day that amount of interaction in your life... how can you handle it?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lewis.” you say.

“Call me Lewis.” he says with a gentle smile. “Do you remember this place?”

You take a look at it. Everything is so broken and old you can swear it is probably haunted. You can’t seem to remember anything like it.

“I see.” he says. “You were so young, but you, your cousins and your grandpa used to come here. This is the community center of Pelican town. Well... it used to be. Come on in.”

You follow him inside and it looks even worse than the outside.  Bindweed has taken over the walls, there isn’t a single piece of wood that is not broken or rotten and there is even a tree fully grown in the corner of the main hall, but even that tree seems to be decaying.

“This used to be the heart of the town, everyone in the community gathered here for parties, birthdays and even city events.” he says. “But as time went by... it seems like these kinds of things are not as important nowadays.”  

He starts a discourse about how people would rather watch TV instead of gathering with the community, but you can’t follow because... there is an apple jumping by the window.

“Y/n, what’s with you?” the mayor asks turning to the place you are looking.

It immediately disappears.

“It was...” you are about to tell him about the apple but, why bother? “I think I saw a mouse.”

“This place is probably infested by mice, it has been closed for so long.” He says and sighs. “It is sad to see it like this. But I think that is what happens to old things, see Paradise farm, for example. Good that now you are there to rebuild it. Too bad for this place, there aren’t people willing to do it.”

“Did you ask people?” you ask out of curiosity.

“Unfortunately, every time we set to rebuild everyone was busy with something else. Eventually, I think everyone just gave up.” the mayor let go a long sigh. “And since Joja Mart came to town, they keep making offers to buy it and turn it into a warehouse. I am thinking about selling it by the end of this year... the city could use the money.”

You look around once more. It does seem sad to let ANYTHING that once was good end up in Joja corporation’s hands. Wasn’t this what happened to you.  

You feel a strange connection to the place.

“Anyway, I must be going now. Have some mayor duties to accomplish. Thanks for giving an old man some time to be nostalgic.” he says and chuckles. “I will leave this place open if you want to take a look, maybe you can find some of you Paradise kid’s old toys in the crafts room.”

It is weird because you wouldn’t usually do something like that, but as the mayor went away, you started exploring the rooms and they seemed to bring you back some blurry memories. Maybe you played with your cousins in that corner. Maybe you attended someone’s birthday and ate cake by that old table. Maybe you sat with your grandpa in front of that big fish tank and he told you stories about fishing.

You hear a sound and it immediately makes you turn to the decaying tree in the corner of the main hall. Your heartbeat increases as you see not one, but many apple spirits jumping around and waving at you. They seem to be talking but you can’t quite understand.

“What the hell is going on with me?” you say, rubbing your eyes and shaking your head.

They are still there.  

One of them, a green one makes you a sign for you to follow it Still uncertain, you do, and it takes you to a golden scroll in the middle of the crafts room. You see there is something written there, but you can’t quite understand it.

“Junimos?” is the only thing you can discern.

The little apple starts jumping and making that funny sound as if it is agreeing to you.

“You are Junimos?”

It seems even more excited. The more it makes those funny sounds, the more it seems like it is saying your name.

“You know me, isn’t it?”

It seems to agree.

“You saved me that day.” you say. “So either everyone was wrong and I didn’t go crazy back then, or I am going crazy right now.”

“You are certainly not going crazy, my dear.”

You yell as you listen to a voice come from behind you and a figure comes from the shadows of the corner of the room. A purple bearded wizard dressed up in a fine robe walks towards you.

“Don’t be afraid. I am Rasmodius, the Wizard, keeper of the secrets of the forest, master of the elemental’s knowledge... you get the picture.”

“Where did you come from?!” you yell as you try to step back, but you end up tripping and falling.

“I have been paying close attention to you for the past couple of days. You are the one whose arrival was foreseen by the valley. The one connected to the forest powers, the one to change the valleys destiny... well you, my friend, are a hero to become.”

“What the fuck is going on here? Am I dreaming? Am I dead? Am I dreaming in a comma?” you star hyperventilating. “I have gone crazy, that is it. I finally lost it!”

“Please, calm down.” the wizard says as he can see you going pale.

“Oh my, what if I never left Zuzu city? I must still be in bed, I need to wake up to go to work, that is it! I am not crazy I am just sleeping...”

The little Junimo beside up jumps and slaps your face with his little stick hand and it hurts way more than it seems to be possible.

“What the...” you say, but it seems to take you away from your anxious thoughts.

“As I was saying...” the Wizard cleans his throat. “You were brought back to this valley to help it heal from the many hazards it has been imposed by both mankind and witchcraft. Also, I have seen, to change the destiny of the people who live here.”

“Me?” you screech with unbelief. “Man, I can’t barely fix my own life.”

The wizard chuckles.

“Well, sometimes to help another one is the best way of helping oneself.” he says.

“What the hell is going on?” you say rubbing your temples.

“You will understand when the time is right.” the wizard replies. “For now, drink this.”

He extended to you a cup filled with a green liquid.

“You are kidding right?” you say.

“No, you are supposed to drink. These are the ingredients from the forest, it will help you understand the language of the elementals.” he says.

“I am not drinking it.”  

The Junimo beside you starts jumping and puffing in a way to demonstrate impatience and he seems so angry that you take the cup from the wizard’s hand and, after taking a nauseated look at the content, you drink it.

You feel dizzy and things start moving a lot slower. You can see the memories of yourself as a kid running among trees, playing in the river, collecting and eating savage berries. You see yourself playing with animals, riding a horse, rolling in the mud with grandpa's pig.

You see the faces of some people from the town. You are beside them, helping them and doing nice things, things you had never thought you would do in your life. You feel happy to help, you feel like a part of something. And then... there is this someone you suddenly see yourself kiss.

“If you might ever need me... meet me in the towers west Cindersap forest.” you hear the Wizard’s voice.

As you open your eyes, you see the image of a man and a girl, both with glasses in front of you.

“Y/n? Are you ok?” you hear Maru’s voice coming from the distance. “Oh my Yoba, what a scare you gave me!”

“What? Where am I?” you say slowly sitting down and looking around.

“You are in the clinic. Maru found you passed out near the fountain. You have symptoms of an insulation, perhaps you have been working too hard in the farm.” the man says, adjusting his glasses. “I am doctor Harvey.”

“Insulation? Last thing I remember I was drinking that green thing from the wizard...”

Both Maru and the doctor stare at you, looking concerned.

“I mean, I probably had a bad dream while passed out. Thanks for bringing me Maru, sorry for the trouble.” you say.

“No problem, I am stronger than I look.” she says. “Now lay down, you are taking intravenous medicine, you seem to be very poorly nourished. Have you been skipping meals?”

She gently pushes you into laying down.

“I forget to eat sometimes.”

“That is very hazardous! Even more being a farmer and working a lot in the sun and with so much physical effort!” says Harvey, looking very angry.

He gives you a full lecture about the importance of eating healthy and says that he is going to give you some supplements. You are actually worried about how you are going to pay for the treatment.

…-

Next part here:

Credits for the pose reference: https://snuffysbox.tumblr.com/post/160658875287/have-another-angsty-draw-your-otp-%E1%95%95-3-%E1%95%97-please 

[stardewitagain]

It is time!!!

I’ve finally emptied out the inbox! And because it’s around the time for religious excuses to miss work and school winter celebrations, I’ve made y’all a gift of my own! I have a list of weird things I’ve said/heard over the years and thought “hey wouldn’t it be funny if I did a ‘stardew characters as these’ thing?” So here it is! ALL stardew characters as weird things I’ve heard! Happy holidays, kiddos!

(Note: all characters are sorted by alphabet)

Abigail: my dad slept through it all cuz he’s a bitch

Alex: I hit myself in the face with a dog earlier. It wasn't my dog.

Bouncer: He’s six years old he’s lived his life

Caroline: Do you want to shit fucking tide pods?

Clint: He says “happy birthday! Here’s your gift!” And hands me his half eaten poptart

Dwarf: ...and then just beats him with a trash can

Demetrius: Do your nipples need glasses too?

Elliott: If there’s a wasp you’ll see me do the most beautiful rain dance you’ve ever seen to get away from it

Elliott’s crab: Bandit One-Nipple

Emily: Ooh who she? She purty! Oh wait that’s me- (bonus: ...and it ended with her wearing 20 shirts, 7 pairs of skinny jeans, and 5 potatoes.)

Evelyn: My dog smells like concentrated grandma

Farmer: I am only emotionally prepared to give you a pineapple

George: Oh Jesus I forgot about the sausages (bonus: oh great, I got special arthritis!)

Gil: It’s hard to work with hairy metal

Governor: Stard

Grandpa: I thought you said “I have the coolest drugs in the world” and I was like “yes you do, Alec”

Gunther: I didn’t forget horses, they are just pants

Gus: i don’t even know where north dakota is, is it the beans?

Haley: Would I give you cooties for being a lesbian?

Harvey: ^ idk, it might cancel out because we’re both gay

Henchman: I'll throw a pineapple so quick you'll think you've been shot

Jas: Mom, will you hand me a chicken tender by putting it between my toes?

Jodi: I like how you just came in here and looked us in the eyes like you didn’t just spray half a can of whipped cream into a taco shell (bonus: YOU DONT PUT SODA IN A BURRITO)

Kent: I’d like to think that was the moment when [Jodi]’s mom looked at me and said “I hope that guy dates my daughter someday. That guy who’s wearing 100 shirts and eating yogurt.”

Krobus: Dinner time does not account for cannibalism, please don’t kill each other

Leah: I’m a hipster today, would you like to ask about my vegan Prius

Lewis: Diet Coke tastes like bandaids and mashed potatoes

Linus: Do not look at me or I will die

Marlon: These are our TVs and our tater tots and they’re not having either one

Marnie: We named one of our dodos “Emergency Chicken Thighs” and he’s stuck floating in mid air and we don’t know how to get him down

Maru: (trying to remember the word for therapist) “hang on...it’s not a booty call...”

Morris: That’s what rich people smell like: pickles and salt (bonus: “what’s this smell?” “The greed of the rich.”)

Mr. Qi: it’s rock o’clock

Pam: Yes but I only have no hands

Penny: Do not make me turn this library around

Pierre: There’s not enough butter on the rolls until your house is on fire

Robin: put the feet in the trash

Sam: “We need a garbage hole...what else would you call it?” “...a trash can?” “...I forgot that’s a word” (bonus: you wrote a bible! For the garbage hole!)

Sandy: “That’s what they call me in the club” “Large patch of sand?”

Sebastian: God nerfed me by making me queer (bonus: everyone knows motorcycles are a gateway to gay)

Shane: It’s like riding a bike: you try it once, crash into a tree, and never do it again

Traveling Cart Merchant: The best I can get is barbecue toothpaste

Vincent: It's got hooves. But it's a cat. But it's a dog. But it's on fire. And it's got horns. (Bonus: Be prepared for an Oreo to fall out of your bed)

Willy: You might like getting choked but turtles don’t so keep your FUCKIN plastic out of the ocean

Witch: I’m gonna steal Jesus cheese

Wizard: I’m minding my own business, you should try it (bonus: The lgbt community came from a rainbow bird the size of a giraffe)

Thanks and credit to @just-yelling-dark-vengeance and @kennysbog for most of the things on this list!

[spacecakes20]

Begin Again

(Chapter 4)

Chapter 5: Luna, Pool Night

Friday came so quickly; Luna barely had any time to even notice. All her days were starting to blur together now that she wasn’t in charge of scheduling meetings and appointments. Looking through her planer, she had nearly forgotten about the plans she made to meet Sam and his friends at the Stardrop Saloon. Well, she didn’t make any promises, but she was still planning to go. She just didn’t want to commit just in case she chickened out and didn’t show. First things first; she needed to wash up and change. She wanted to look more presentable; her current mud crusted overalls didn’t exactly scream “Friday Night Out with Friends.”

     Friends. Would she consider them friends? Acquaintances perhaps. She’d only been living here since the start of spring, and summer was fast approaching. But despite her short amount of time in Pelican Town, everyone seemed to welcome her with open arms. Well, almost everyone. Some were warmer than others, but Luna didn’t really blame them. She still considered herself a stranger here, and it’ll probably take a while for her to find her footing.

     After a nice warm shower, Luna went through her fresh clothes. It was surprisingly hard for her to find anything casual that didn’t scream “business party” or “important meeting.” Most of her wardrobe consisted of dress suits and cocktail dresses. Only at the very bottom of her unpacked boxes of clothes did she find her more casual wear. Zuzu University shirts that were way too big for her, sweats, and short-shorts that were way too short. Luna made a mental note to go shopping in the city sometime soon for more casual wear.

     Don’t overthink it, Luna. I’m sure no one’s going to pay attention to how you’re dressed. Unfortunately for her, overthinking seemed to be one of Luna’s hidden talents. Working with the higher-ups at Joja HQ, she had no choice but to be self-conscious about how she was dressed around other people. Especially if she was with Charles...

     Luna shook those thoughts away, and decided fuck it, she’ll wear what she wanted; and decided to put on the tee-shirt and shorts. It was supposed to be a relaxing and fun night after all, and Luna was tired of overthinking herself into oblivion. Throwing on some socks and her favorite pair of high tops, she grabbed her keys and was off to the saloon.

     The sun was still up, but it was still comfortable outside, despite summer being just around the corner. Her stroll wasn’t too long, but she took her time to enjoy the soothing sounds of spring. She made it to the saloon, already able to hear the music and chatter from outside. Upon entering, scanning the inside, she noticed there was more than just a few people in here.

     She noticed Leah off at her own table. She had a glass of wine in hand, tapping her foot to the beat of the music playing on the jukebox. Pam was seated at one of the bar stools, nursing an ale while holding a conversation with the bartender, Gus. Next to Gus was a blue-haired woman. Emily, if Luna remembered correctly. She was conversing with a man in a worn-out blue jacket with a five o’clock shadow. Shane, right? Marnie’s nephew? Before she even had time to think about it any further, she heard her name being called. Searching the room for the source of the voice, she saw Mayor Lewis seated at one of the tables near the entrance. She smiled and made her way over to him with a small wave.

     “It’s nice to see you out and about Luna.” Lewis smiled kindly, “Your grandfather could be quite stubborn, I feel like he rarely ever took breaks.” His smile turned bittersweet.

     Luna couldn’t help her own sad smile gracing her features. She remembered how hard-working her grandfather was. Remembered the pride and joy that always decorated his face whenever he spoke about his farm. How frustrated and heartbroken he was when his old age started to slow him down and keep him from his work… Shaking those sad thoughts away, she decided to try and lighten the mood, “You’re speaking too soon!” She chuckled, “According to my dad, I’m just as stubborn as my grandpa. I just haven’t shown you my fullest potential yet.”

     That got the amused response she was hoping for. Lewis simply shook his head, a light laugh escaping him, “Of course. Just be sure not to overwork yourself, okay? Your grandfather would haunt me for the rest of my days if I let anything happen to his granddaughter.”

     Luna smiled warmly at that, “Don’t worry sir, I’ll take care of myself.”

     Lewis took another sip of his drink before shooing her off, “Don’t let me keep you. Grab a drink and relax.”

     “Will do,” Luna nodded. She did another quick scan of the saloon before she noticed the game room that was off to the side of the building. She made her way over to one of the arcade machines. Reading the cabinet, she realized it was Journey of the Prairie King. Luna was suddenly hit with a strong wave of nostalgia. She remembered she used to play that game with her dad. Lola wasn’t too good at video games, so she’d usually just watch. It was how the three of them would spend time together on the rare occasion their dad wasn’t too busy with work. Before her parent’s split…

     She was mercifully brought out of her thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat. She froze for a second, unaware someone else was here too. Turning to the source of the noise, her heart stopped at the site. A familiar tall man in black high-tops ripped skinny jeans and a black hoodie. But what caught her most off guard were his eyes. Of course, she wouldn’t forget those eyes. They reminded her of quartz. So cloudy, like a rainstorm, yet crystal clear and cool, like filtered water. And they were looking right at her.

     Sebastian mumbled out a, “Hey.” Before getting back to chalking the end of a cue stick. That was when Luna noticed there was a pool table in the middle of the room. 

     “Hey.” Luna returned the greeting, slowly making her way to the said pool table. “I’m sorry, did I show up too late?”

     He shook his head, eyes never leaving the table, “Early, actually.”

     That did make her feel relieved, but also a bit nervous. This would be the first time Luna and Sebastian were truly alone together since the door incident. Sure, they made amends at the Flower Dance, but they had Sam and Abigail there with them as a sort of buffer. Come to think of it, had she ever been alone with Sebastian before? There was their first meeting at the docks, but she hadn’t even known his name and they were only together for a second. Did that even count?

      “Do you play?” His question caught her off guard.

      “Huh?”

      “Pool.” He finally looked at her, “Do you play pool?”

      “Oh.” She was a little surprised at the fact that he was the one trying to start the conversation. Was he trying to make her feel more comfortable? This was probably awkward for him too, so perhaps this was just his way of breaking the ice? “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.”

       He hummed out as a response, and the room filled with silence again.

       “What about you?” Luna asked, trying her best to fill the stillness, “Do you play?”

       His eyes never left the pool table as he smirked to himself. Something about it looked cocky and she had to admit; it looked good on him. “Yeah, I play. Me and Sam play every Friday. He still hasn’t managed to beat me.”

       Luna hummed, amused by his slight change in demeanor. She decided to humor him. “How do you play?”

       “Huh?” He blinked at her, the confidant gleam in his eyes now replaced with genuine surprise.

       She smiled up at him and asked again, “How do you play?”

       He stood there a while, still as a statue. For a minute, she wondered if she might have said something wrong. Her mind was set at ease however when he grabbed the other cue stick and handed it to her. She graciously took it and watched as he took the balls from the table and organized them in a triangular rack.

       “The goal,” He said, giving the rack a light shake, “Is to pocket all of your designated balls, and then the eight ball.” He pointed out the round black orb with an “8” written on it in the middle of a white circle. 

         Luna nodded in understanding, but her brows were furrowed, “That sounds… simple…”

         Sebastian just chuckled. What a wonderful sound. She wouldn’t mind hearing that again.

         “Simple huh?”

         “I mean…” She looked away, distracting herself by looking at the pool table, “What’s to stop me from just, getting the eight-ball pocketed on my first try?”

         “You’re not allowed to do that.” He said, “You’ll have to sink all of your designated balls first,” He explained simply, “I’ll go first.”

         “Okay…” She fiddled with her cue stick and watched Sebastian’s form closely. He gracefully knocked the white ball, crashing it into the other colorful round orbs. They rolled around the pool table easily, but none fell into any of the pockets. He bit his lip, eyes focused, brow set in concentration before looking over to her.

         “Your turn,” Sebastian said simply.

         “Huh?” Luna looked to him and the pool table in confusion, “Wait, how do I know which balls mine are?”

         He gave a soft lazy smile, “Just pick stripes or solids. I’ll take whichever you don’t.”

         She nodded silently, walking around the ends of the table, searching for an advantage. Finally, she decided on solid colors, leaning over the table and knocking the cue ball into a red one. She missed the pocked by a mere inch.

         “Close.” Sebastian sounded almost impressed, and Luna couldn’t help but feel a little proud. The two went back and forth like this; analyzing their moves, looking for strengths and weaknesses. It was a surprisingly strategic game, and Luna felt a little silly for underestimating it.

         It was nice seeing Sebastian look so relaxed. Which was an amusing thought, because Luna also noticed he seemed to have a bit of a competitive streak. But it wasn’t like she didn’t have one herself. She did enjoy problem solving and challenges, and he felt like the perfect opponent. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was holding back.

         “Not bad.” Sebastian’s voice took on an almost teasing tone, as he hit the eight ball into the closest pocket, “But looks like I win this round.”

         Luna shook her head with a hum, “I can’t help but feel like you went easy on me though.”

         He gave her a half-smile, and she could have sworn he had a dimple, “Do I seem like the type who does that?”

         She didn’t know if she could believe him or not. Sure, he really didn’t seem like the type that would hold back in a game, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was showing some restraint.

         “You don’t look so sure.” His expression was unreadable, “Want to play another round?”

         She agreed to it without a second thought. She watched him closely this time around. He seemed to be in his element; much more at ease here then he seemed to be at the Flower Dance. Perhaps if they had met someplace as relaxed as the saloon, their first meeting might have gone a lot smoother.

         “Hey, Seb!” The new familiar voice caused Sebastian to lose his focus, making him overshoot his target. The cue ball missed the pocket, deciding instead to roll off the table, hitting the floor with a thud and a roll. Sebastian sucked the air between his teeth, eyes darting in the direction of the new voice.

         Sam and Abigail had finally made their way to the saloon, entering the game room with a tray of drinks at hand and a pizza. Sam had seen Sebastian’s missed shot, and gave him a sheepish look, mouthing “sorry” under his breath.

         Luna tried to stifle a giggle, drawing the attention of Sam in the process. “Luna!” He sounded surprised, “You made it!”

         “Yeah,” She smiled a bit sheepishly. “I did.”

         Sebastian had picked up the fallen cue ball, placing it on the table. He gave Luna an embarrassed smile, “Looks like you win by a technicality.”

         Luna wrinkled her nose, “That’s an anti-climactic win.”

         He simply shrugged, “Wanna play another round?” He offered.

         “Wait!” Sam interrupted before Luna could give her answer, “You two were playing pool together?” His eyes looked almost pleading, “Please tell me you won, Luna?”

         She shook her head with a grimace, “Nope. He’s just too good.”

         This answer must have amused Sebastian because he let out a very light chuckle.

         “Don’t encourage him, Luna!” Sam said dramatically, “His ego’s already big enough as it is!”

         Luna just shook her head with a giggle. Looking up to Sebastian, she said, “I’d take you up on your offer, but I know when I’ve been beat.” She smiled simply. Her innocent smile seamlessly morphed into a teasing one, “But I promise, I won’t lose next time.”

         That got her the reaction she was looking for. His lazy smile melted into a smug smirk, “Don’t get too cocky.”

         Abigail cleared her throat, interrupting the playful banter. She grabbed Luna by the arm, surprising her in the process, “Alright,” Abigail said, “You guys can finish this later. I want to get to know our new farmer.”

         Come to think of it, out of the three here, Luna did feel like she interacted with Abigail the lest. They had run into each other a few times in town, only to give out a “hello” in passing. She hadn’t even realized she was a friend of Sam’s, until the Flower Dance.

         Abigail’s bright blue eyes looked over to Luna’s green ones, “Have you ever played Journey of the Prairie King?”

         That earned her a lopsided smile from Luna, “I used to play it a lot as a kid.”

         Abigail’s smile seemed to have brightened upon hearing this. “Think you could help me out than? I’ve been stuck on this one level, and this game is so much easier with two people.”

         Luna looked over to Sebastian and Sam with an apologetic smile, but Sam just waved her off. “No worries Luna.” He said, “I’ll avenge you in pool!”

         Sebastian let out a snort at that, “I highly doubt you can.”

         “Wanna bet?”

         “Sure,” Sebastian answered dryly, without missing a beat, “I could use the extra cash.”

         Luna couldn’t help but giggle at their banter.

         “Try not to lose all of your money, Sam,” Abigail added while placing some change into the arcade machine. The screen blinked to life, and Abigail stepped aside to make room for Luna.

         “You two have no faith in me.” Sam whined dramatically, before pouting at Luna, “You’ll root for me, right?”

         Luna bit back a laugh, “Sure. I’ll cheer you on.”

         Luna was happy she didn’t place any bets by the end of the night. It turned out Abigail and Sebastian weren’t joking; Sam truly was just that bad at pool.

(Chapter 6)

[softkitten]

Months in music, 2020

I used to always write about my favourite songs and albums of the year, but recently I’ve fallen out of practice. I felt I had to write about this last year, as the pandemic has played havoc with my memory, but I need to be able to remember what happened. It’s been important. I came out changed. I know you did too, and I hope if you read this, you find something to relate to. 

I’m unsure as to whether 2020 was an amazing year for music, or if being under lockdown and out of work meant that I had more time to spend with it, but I do know that music this year overall made me more excited than any year since I was a teenager. The circumstances we’ve all been putting up with have meant that we’ve had to learn new ways of being, new circuitry is growing in our brains, even if we’re old farts, as we’ve discarded habits that no longer work and take on new ones. 

I’m a mess. My anxiety disorder is worse than it’s been since I was a teenager. I’m not sleeping well. I spend a lot of time with my heart in my throat, and sometimes my temper can just erupt all at once, surprising me and anyone unfortunate enough to be present for the outburst. But I’m kinder, more considered, better with money, better at acting ‘professional’ without performing a weird caricature. I kind of moved on from performance this year, despite a lot of previous generational habits. The version of me that I present at work is me in some way, reconciled with the idea that if I were allowed to do whatever I want I’d be on a beach somewhere with a drink in my hand. That ideal doesn’t define me, nor does a workplace role. 

2020 music hit different. Calvin Harris dropped the hottest club tracks of his entire career in a year when if you were caught in a club, you were doing something very, very bad indeed. Disco has dominated Spotify playlists and public spaces (when allowed), this is alright by me as disco is responsible for the sexiest parts of hip hop, house, pop, etc. We consume music differently, as the monoculture has by now completely disintegrated and no one ever, ever listens to radio. If you like something, Spotify will find ways to bring you more of it, you will rarely, if ever, hear Britney Spears or even Michael Jackson unless you seek them out. I’ve spent more time with music this year than I have since I was a teenager, I’m excited and awed by it in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time, but I also feel out of touch and very much my age. I don’t go on Tiktok. I don’t get it. I don’t need to be dancing in the kitchen or composing sketch comedy bits on my phone, I’m a middle aged man with payments on my car and a desk job. I think what’s going on is a changing of the guard - millennials are no longer the focus of ‘youth culture’ insofar as that exists. Remember 1999-2001, the cringiest of pop eras, when the major stars of the ‘90s were releasing sedate, mature records or just breaking up their bands, and the charts were the province of things that seemed retrogressive and primitive like Korn? It certainly was primitive, it was made for literal children, and I see something very similar in Tiktok hits and emo rap. 

Sheena’s ex was enamored of a scene in a 2000s action movie starring The Rock, wherein Schwarzenegger cameos to toss The Rock a set of keys and tell him, “Have fun”. Well, you censorious unfunky Gen Z brats are welcome to youth culture, I hope you do a better job of it than we did - frankly we left you a hell of a mess to clean up. If you need me, I’ll be working out how to enact my plan to die on a beach somewhere. 

January - Work Drugs - Burned 

January was a fuck of a lot different. Sheena and I had just come back from Playa del Carmen, our skin was tan and our hair was long. I had a great big bushy beard. I looked older in January, I was trying to cultivate a professorial air for work. I had plans. I was aggressively dealing with my debt. We were going to go to the west coast in June to see Luna, our newborn niece, and we were going to try to make it to Bass Coast, where, hopefully, Denis Sulta would be playing as he had done in the previous two years. 

Work Drugs is something Spotify found for me. I know nothing about these fucking people, after a year of listening to their entire catalogue. I think I found out that two guys were responsible for it, two guys I couldn’t pick out of a police lineup. They make knowingly corny ‘80s style pop - think Hall and Oates, or Huey Lewis on tranquilizers. One of my favourite things millennials have done in art is reclaiming elevator music, smooth jazz, adult contemporary, etc. - this music that was the definition of uncool when it was first published is now the new punk statement, millennials never had any appetite for buzzsaw guitars or shouty anger men outside of, like, emo. 

Vaporwave started ten years ago and it was pronounced dead within months. It’s far from dead. It’s responsible for Work Drugs, The Midnight, Nonlocal Forecast - music that is desperate to return to the illusory public stability of the ‘80s and ‘90s. Work Drugs fit in because it played well at the diverse office I worked in (median age, 46), because the name spoke to a duality I see in myself. The drugs you take on the weekend, the drugs you take to get through the work day. If only we could be ‘80s adults happily blasting through our uppers-downers cycles, mulling another affair and when to put in a pool. 

February - Tame Impala - Breathe Deeper

One night Sheena and I got drunk and I told them my plan. I was going to go back to school for a master’s of counselling psychology, and I was going to pursue a doctorate in same immediately after. I was going to quit my job once I upped my education and apply - I don’t know where? The government? It all seemed so clear and now it’s as easy to recall as a nine year old dream. Anyway, Sheena told me “Your future seems so much clearer than mine” and two hours later we were fighting like cat and dog, talking divorce. The divorce didn’t happen, thank the lord. We went to counselling, and it took a few months, and a few fuckups, but the lessons did sink in eventually. I love Sheena more than ever, even moreso than during the halcyon infatuation phase of 2010, the glittering release from the tension of our friendship, and I feel more loved than ever. Things are good to great. Don’t worry. I’m not worried. I didn’t realize how worried I was before, how flawed my communication could be before. The pandemic year has helped. We’ve patched things up because we do love each other, and because we are seeing each other through the misery and uncertainty in a way no one else could. 

I used to envy the relationships of my grandparents and their contemporaries - people who were together for decades, still, for the most part, happy. I remember the way my grandmother would flirt with my grandfather, how they’d keep up their little bits well into their 80s. Contrasting that with boomers, who were all about divorce, made a child version of me think that something had gone horribly wrong. 

Tame Impala’s last album is about aging - my favourite off it is not actually “Breathe Deeper,” it’s “It Might Be Time” - It might be time to face it/ you ain’t as cool as it used to be/ you won’t recover - these lyrics spoke to me as I crested over the wrong side of 35. But “Breathe Deeper” spoke to my reality in a more complete way. I’ve always seen our grandparents, Depression survivors, in us - when millennials were firmly at the reins of youth culture, Justin Timberlake brought sexy back right after he raided my grandpa’s wardrobe. That aesthetic reflects us, as it did then. Our relationships will endure because we’ve endured hardships together, we know how to take care of each other in unique, special ways. But the paradox there is all over “Breathe Deeper”, its last lines are “We’re both adults but we behave as children/ long as we’ve got enough to keep on livin’.” Indeed, it might be time to face it, but the world leaves us little other options. The adult world, with its aspirations to middle class status, closed to us forever in 2008, two years after Timberlake. I know the aging club boy act is getting tired. So do a lot of us, but we don’t have anything else to do. May as well go to the club and shut the anxious brain off for a few hours, make it harder for us to reach our blessed phones. Return home. Do this and get through this, and until we see the sun, you’re my number one. 

March - Duke Dumont - Nightcrawler

The week after the fight in February, I got fired. I have no idea why. The official statement on my record of employment is “termination, no misconduct”. No one ever thought to explain it to me - did they find out I jacked off in the staff bathroom a couple times? Did they somehow find out that, in my off hours, I’m into psychedelics? Was I chatting on Twitter too much for their liking? I was on top of my deadlines, so why shouldn’t I be chatting on Twitter? It wasn’t a retail job, where if you have time to lean, you have time to clean. I have a lot of work trauma. What happened to me there was essentially what my anxiety disorder tells me is going to happen at any job, 24/7. Part of me is sure I’ll be fired from my current position at any moment, despite having built a totally workable relationship with my boss, clients, and staff. I took it hard. 

Everyone remembers March for the onset of COVID lockdowns, but we would do well to remember that we had no idea what we were in for back then. We were talking then about “a week off work” - can you imagine? I still fully intended to see Detroit Swindle play at Hifi Club on March 27 well into lockdowns. Hifi has since shuttered after months and months of closure and subsequent inability to produce revenue. I applied to jobs like a machine in March. Just as I was getting somewhere with interviews, the lockdowns started, and the interviews were delayed indefinitely. I had nothing to do during the day and so spent a lot of time on the online red light districts of Whisper and Reddit, plying my trade, back to my ways, looking for anons to talk sex to compulsively. “Nightcrawler” feels to me like the compulsion of hypersexuality, boredom seeking validation while already bored by the numbers game of it, going through the motions. It’s so easy. Promise the moon and then disappear. 

In March, Sheena and I were going to go back to Saskatoon for a party with Twitter friends. Instead, we got caught in a snowstorm out in the Badlands and nearly died trying to get our car back up the hill and on the way to Calgary. Immediately after, everything closed. I think about that day all the time.

April - JARV IS - House Music All Night Long

It’s not a week off work, we have no idea when it’s going to end, and the statistics are going from bad to worse. We watch the news obsessively. We keep up chat threads all day long. We don’t leave bed until our hair is lank with sweat. We drink like fish - at one point during April, I ordered delivery booze, desperate to keep the party going. I met the delivery person at the door in my bathrobe and fell down the stairs. Shortly after that, I decided to clean up my act - at least, the drinking nights have to be self contained. New routines develop. With no gym, we learn floor exercises, playing Spotify playlists of house music off a Bluetooth speaker. Cooking becomes tremendously important. I begin reading Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time in earnest - a book I began at 17, which I finally finished in June, 17 whole years after my initial purchase. Jarvis Cocker, who has been with me since I was 17, returns with a song recorded in 2019 that he seemingly composed with a crystal ball. 

“House Music All Night Long” is about endless, inescapable isolation. The futility of making and loving music that only makes sense in a public space, music that’s meant to soundtrack a joyful mutual celebration that will continue to be denied to us for the foreseeable future. It’s the closest solo Jarvis has come to the horror-porno soundtrack of the This Is Hardcore album and it speaks to a pandemic-specific version of the dread earlier described on “The Fear”. It mocks and sympathizes at once. When Jarvis yelps, “Saturday night cabin fever in House Nation,” he sounds like he’s going to the gallows, and we can find the inverse of the release house provides in it, through our Bluetooth speakers, on Zoom, in ragged house clothes, drunk as lords at 2pm, miserably unaware of what day it is. 

May - The 1975 - What Should I Say

In May the new routines started to stick. I accessed government relief, the days were getting longer, the snow was gone. On the weekends, Sheena and I went hiking, something we’d only done sporadically before, usually at the behest of others. Alberta is beautiful. Its countryside provides miles and miles of scenery to explore, and we spent hours outside, escaping the claustrophobia of our little apartment. 

In May, The 1975 released their latest album, Notes on a Conditional Form. It dominated my listening this year, to the point that my Spotify statistics were a little one-note. This album means as much to me as albums that started me on my journey with music, like Nine Inch Nails’ The Fragile. It came along at a similar time, I guess, a time in which my brain was working overtime to deal with circumstances and emotions and in which I had endless hours to devote to it. 

In May I fell out with a younger online friend, someone I’d met only once but spoke to every day for months. I have no idea why we fell out. I asked. I didn’t get an answer, I just got unfollowed, and I unfollowed right back. We will never speak again. “What Should I Say” is Matty Healy talking about being cancelled online by younger fans whose brains are developing faster than his, who love him, absorb his influence, and then abruptly reject him. “How do I get out of this? How do I win them back? Do I blame it on the drugs? Circumstance? Ambien makes me crazy, that’s why I said the wrong thing, that’s why you feel this way, please forgive me.”

After releasing Notes on May 22nd, Matty referred to the May 25th murder of George Floyd on his Twitter account, posting a protest song from his last album which includes the lyric “Suffocate the Black man”. His fans did not care for this and dogpiled on him, calling him self-serving, narcissistic, faux-messianic. He has since cut social media out of his life almost completely, returning sporadically to update Reddit fans and allowing his publicist to post official images. I took acid after my friend dumped me and listened to Notes on repeat. The day after, I deleted my old tweets. I won’t engage with younger people in this way again. I’m done trying to court the good opinion of those who don’t understand me or care about me at all. Unlike Matty, I have nothing to gain from this, and it’s really lost its appeal. 

June - Duck Sauce - Captain Duck

I remember the pandemic summer as a golden age. After a few months of it, the pleasure of having wide open days, no responsibilities, no phone calls to make or idiots to impress had fully set in. We kept up hiking until the bugs took over the trails, we took long drives, we took mushrooms, we ate al fresco in Calgary’s outdoor spaces, we went to Fish Creek Park and stuck our feet in the drink. I found I didn’t miss going out as much as I thought I would, this is an opinion I go back and forth on. I miss the good nights so badly, I fully intend to return to nightlife with bells on once it’s safe to do so, but I don’t know how long I’m going to stay. I don’t miss drunk DJ’s, or ones who are so amateurish that they blow the speakers prior to the headliner’s slot, or expensive drinks, or strangers intoxicated on much different drugs than the ones I took talking to and touching me. 

“Captain Duck” is a dancefloor bomb, one of a bumper crop of absolute bangers released this year as clubs closed en masse. Armand Van Helden, who I loved in high school, is doing the best work of his career solo and with his partner in Duck Sauce, A-Trak. “Captain Duck” played when I made ratatouille, when I made cheesecake, when I cleaned the toilet, when we took long drives to nowhere, when we worked out in our cramped living room near the catbox. I imagined it coming on right at 1:30am at a packed club, I imagined myself dropping it at Pacha to a rapturous reception. I fear the reality will not live up to the fantasy, when we are able to return. I hope I get to hear it in its intended setting. 

July - Spotify “Peaceful Summer Nights” playlist

No paradise is permanent. In July, I had no intention of going back to work. Once I finished reading In Search of Lost Time, I started making music again, for the first time since I was a teenager. Sheena and I were painting nearly every night. In Search of Lost Time features a cast of thousands, innumerable loveable characters lovingly realized. No one would read this long, sometimes dull book if it wasn’t deeply pleasurable, and if one couldn’t see oneself in it. There are a lot of characters that you will think about for a long time after you’ve finished the Search, if you read it - Odette de Crecy and the Baron Charlus have inspired endless discussion in formal academic circles and less formal ones, on Reddit and in the living rooms of friends. I saw myself in Elstir, the painter character who is a composite of Whistler, Monet, Harrison, a million other painters and Proust himself. In Elstir we see the mature artist, presented in contrast to Proust’s narrator, whose search for lost time is crucially also a search for his own artistic voice. 

In July, I felt as though I had finally found my artistic voice - with so much time freed up and so much beautiful, heavensent sunlight, all I had to do was concentrate on creating. The music I made is not half bad for an amateur. I found my skill as a painter improving. In a perfect world, I would still be dedicating my days to this. The “Peaceful Summer Nights” playlist would go on at night, we’d put ourselves to sleep to it, it’s one part smooth jazz, one part smoke and study mix. You’ve done your best. You’ve seen the sun. You’ve made things that you might one day publish. I felt like Elstir those days, the aging but still vital artist, the person who is perennially a student, but can easily make a teacher, if you ask the right questions. I go by Elstir online now. I try to access that part of my personality as often as possible, though, unlike Proust, I do not come from a background of means and therefore can’t make my own epic In Search of Lost Time analogue, or my own Guernica. With a universal basic income in place I could be that person, and I hope it happens in our lifetime. 

August - The Knocks & MUNA - Bodies

In August, Dennis came to visit us from Saskatoon, driving out in their car Heather. Heather smells like a grow show and is rammed with belongings in the exact same way that my mother’s car is. We went to the beach. We cooked. We smoked copious amounts of weed and shared music and went to bed drunk and happy. 

This song captures the feeling of that summer, and that trip perfectly. You are alone at sundown, just as the streetlights switch on, 9:05pm. Blue light from the neighbours’ TV flickers out into the street, and you’re fairly sure they’re watching The Simpsons. A skateboard grinds in the distance. You check your phone. You’re horny. You miss your friends. It’s another suburban summer. The sense of peace mixes with the dread, an uneasy combination. This will be over soon, who’s to say what comes next. Take your teenage regressive times when you can get them. You don’t know when they’re coming back. 

September - Modernlove. - Use Me

In September I returned to work after six months off, my longest time away from work since leaving university. I’m a program supervisor now, I run a group home for teenage boys. I have a lot of people asking me questions. I’m good at it, and part of me likes it, but I’m not painting or making music like I used to. I’ve had Marcel Proust’s biography out from the library for months, and I haven’t finished it. 

Modernlove are a copycat band for The 1975. The 1975 have been around for long enough now that their influence is written all over Spotify, and if you like The 1975 and engage with streaming platforms you will find Modernlove. The 1975 have a song called Chocolate, so naturally Modernlove did one called Liquorice. “Use Me,” though, takes that blueprint and goes in a different direction. It’s manic, hysterically anxious - a simp’s anthem. Where The 1975 maintain a baseline level of dignity, Modernlove abandon it completely. The narrator is making himself plain that he will accept the worst, most inhumane treatment his partner can dish out if only he’s allowed to continue to exist with them. The beat is all happy hardcore lunacy, the singer’s voice wavers and cracks. It’s extremely vulnerable. 

This is exactly how I felt being back to work. I was working 12 hour days. I was sitting in endless, very important trainings while dealing with a suicidal client and anxious staff and then reporting to a boss who seemed to think all my hard work was at best a normal work day and at worst pissing into the wind. Use me. I felt used. I made myself available for use. I waited for phone calls from clients at 10pm, who proceeded to tell me about the shits they were going to take when I begged them to stay in the program and away from their drug dealer friends. Use me. You work so goddamn hard to avoid squalor and misery, to keep it from the door, and here it fucking is at 10:00pm when you started work at 6:00am. Elstir has left the building. I’m a simp for money, the worst kind of simp there is. Keep dishing out the punishment and I’ll keep taking it. I have no other choice. CERB has ended. 

October - Charles Webster - The Spell (Burial Mix)

After all that stress, I took a week’s worth of stress leave. I am not the Sicknote Steven type normally, I haven’t had a family doctor since coming to Calgary, I haven’t needed one - the last time I was to a doctor before this year was in 2018, after I picked up flu from an airplane. When I went to the doctor, they took my blood pressure. It was through the roof, and the first time I was anything but low for my age and sex in my life. Why would it not be? I felt my heart jackhammering at my ribcage for three days straight, before I was able to pull myself together enough to operate a vehicle and carry on an adult conversation. 

This happened during the weekend of my birthday. I spent some time in a sensory deprivation tank, took mushrooms, went for dinner with masks on with a few very good friends. I painted. And at the end of my stress leave, I went to meet my boss for a showdown. I said what my boundaries were, and since then, I’ve had a fine time at work. It’s not sitting around the flat all summer painting but for now, it’ll do. 

This song sounds to me like exploration - exploring the same neighbourhood that the Knocks’ “Bodies” takes place in, but with a chill in the air and some colour in the leaves. The pandemic isn’t going anywhere, in fact, it’s about to play its ace. Halloween is cancelled. People were coming to me, asking me questions, but I was able to make space for myself in the liminal spaces I got to spend the whole year occupying up until this point. 

November - The Weeknd - Heartless

A few years ago, I had tweeted during the month of November, “I woke up from a 7pm nap and wondered if we’d already had New Year’s. God I hate winter”. This month was that feeling again, amplified by pandemic conditions and work exhaustion. As is typical for the shoulder seasons in Calgary, the weather vacillated from bitterly cold wintertime air to crisp autumn with no arc or sense of relief. Depression set in. In November I’d organized and was finally able to execute a hotel-room liaison with a friend I’ve flirted with for years. I played this song on repeat to pump myself up for the encounter - it’s a pimp anthem, teeming with sexual menace, crackling with possibility. 

The reality of the situation was not as The Weeknd described. We messed around a little bit. We went to the Canadian Brewhouse. We binged all of The Queen’s Gambit in one go. She bitched about the bathroom facing the bed. I flipped out a little when I couldn’t get the internet to connect. We ordered Skip the Dishes and got the evil eye from the concierge, who was fully aware that we were there to violate new provincial pandemic restrictions. C’est la vie. 

December - Fred again.. - Julia (Deep Diving)

As I’ve said many, many times, I’m not a fan of Christmas. I used to love it, right up until my mid-20s. Why would I not? I was an only child. It was all about me. I received extravagant gifts at Christmas, got days and days of time off, got to get drunk with my friends, hang out with my mom, watch movies. The thing they don’t tell you is that once you’re no longer a cute kid, Christmas takes on a dramatically different meaning. As an adult, there’s always someone coming around to heap extra work on you at Christmas, and insist that you perform it while wearing a stupid fucking sweater or a hat, and demand that you like it.

This year gave others a taste of my baseline experience of Christmas. Work parties conducted through Zoom, wherein tedious and impersonal games are played through apps, leave bad tastes in everyone’s mouths. It’s all very Ready Player One. The dystopia is fully here. But you have to do something. 

In December I let myself become more sentimental. I had an emotional conversation with my mother in which I talked about her relationship to memory and mine, which mirrors Proust’s. I’m in therapy and developing strategies to deal with my seasonal depression and get back to making art while still working. Fred again’s releases this year all feature spoken excerpts from conversations he’s had with his friends in virtual venues. “I’m deep diving into your emotions,” Julia says from afar, maintaining and developing a connection to someone she loves despite many obstacles. I’m depressed. I’ve been a crappy friend this month, I’ve left conversations on read, my sex drive is in the toilet and I’d prefer to be invisible. But I want to connect with you as best I can, in the limited capacity we’re afforded. 

2020 - The 1975 - I Think There’s Something You Should Know

One of the things I love about The 1975 is that their music is iterative, their songs follow plot threads that advance from album to album. On “Robbers,” the narrator, deep in infatuation, describes his lover as having a face straight out of a magazine. One album later the luster has worn off of the love object, and the face straight out of a magazine now just looks like anyone. 

“I Think There’s Something You Should Know” is described by Matty Healy as a direct sequel to their most famous song, “Somebody Else”. “Somebody Else” is emo R&B, it’s about addiction and identity, and about the ways in which one’s personality can come to be distorted by devotion to a substance or a person, and how one finds their way back to themselves once the drugs don’t work, or the perfect lover has become someone you hope to never see again. 

“I Think There’s Something You Should Know” builds on that theme, but this time, the conflict isn’t about a person or a drug. It’s the feeling of idealized performance versus lived reality, the dissonance that one feels in the middle of impostor syndrome. When I listened to this song on our acid trip in May, I pictured an idealized version of myself in a camel coat and a cashmere sweater, with new leather gloves and a clean black car. The song feels like good cologne in the way it envelopes and embraces the listener. It seems to be able to tell the future. The paradox, then, is that it’s all about self-doubt. “I don’t feel like myself, I’m not gonna lie,” Matty sings, fully aware that he’s forgotten what feeling like himself even is. The song’s narrator is someone who is functioning at the absolute top of their game while being completely sure that they have no business being where they are. 

The year has been a paradox, and it’s left me in a position reflected perfectly in these lyrics. In some ways I’m incredibly competent, in some ways I’ve moved past mental health issues that have set me back for years. But I’m emotional, raw, exhausted. Social media and COVID have given me ADHD, I can’t keep a thought in my head. I have no idea if the people I’m talking to think I’m right on the money, or completely full of shit. And yet, somehow, I am where I am, and the police haven’t arrived to cart me off to jail. My boss blows endless smoke up my ass when before I was terrified of her. I do what I say I’m going to do. I ask the right questions. I think there’s something you should know, and that’s that I think I’m wrong about most things. That I think people are worth our effort and that communities are worth building, but that individuals have the potential to do reprehensible, incomprehensible and unforgivable things. I’m beside myself with relief that this year is over, but I highly, highly doubt that next year is going to be some great leap forward. We have a lot of work to do, and I’ll help to the best of my abilities, but I need to be allowed to be alone, to decompress, to self-destruct as a form of recreation, and to create things. This year has traumatized me and all of us, and my post-pandemic brain is one that’s responding to trauma. In some ways, I’m dramatically better, and better off. In other ways, I’m sicker than I was. This is true of you too. Let’s talk about it. 

My favourite albums of the year:

The 1975 - Notes on a Conditional Form

Dua Lipa - Future Nostalgia

Pole - Fading

Ana Roxanne - Because of a Flower

Teen Daze - Reality Refresh series

Sparkle Division - To Feel Embraced

Jake Muir - the veiled hum of your voice

Moodymann - Taken Away

The Mountain Goats - Getting Into Knives

Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith - The Mosaic of Transformation

Sevdaliza - Shabrang

DJ Boring - Like Water

Actress - Karma and Desire

Avalon Emerson - DJ-Kicks

DaBaby - Blame It On Baby

Duval Timothy - Help

Velocette - Discotheque Saudades

Jex Opolis - Net Worth Pantha du Prince - Conference of Trees

Four Tet - Sixteen Oceans

Caribou - Suddenly

Megan Thee Stallion - Good Newz

Romeo Poirier - Hotel Nota

Southern Shores - Siena

The Weeknd - After Hours

Tensnake - L.A. 

Kylie Minogue - DISCO

The Avalanches - We Will Always Love You

Nonlocal Forecast - Holographic Universe(s?)!

My favourite songs of the year: 

Love Regenerator - Moving, Rina Sawayama - Comme des Garcons, Rina Sawayama - Lucid, Megan Thee Stallion - Savage (Diplo Remix), Phony Ppl ft. Megan Thee Stallion - Fkn Around, SG Lewis ft. Robyn & Channel Tres - Impact, The Midnight - Neon Medusa, Dua Lipa - Break My Heart (Moodymann Remix), Dua Lipa - Hallucinate (Tensnake Remix), Blue Hawaii - Feelin’, Tensnake - Strange Without You (Sunnery James & Ryan Marciano Remix), Disclosure ft. Mick Jenkins - Who Knew? (DJ Seinfeld Remix), A-Trak & Ferreck Dawn - Coming Home, Robyn - Baby Forgive Me (Floorplan Remix), Robots With Rayguns - IWD4U, Southern Shores - Estrisa, Lindstrom & Prins Thomas - Limousine Lies, Sophie Ellis-Bextor - Crying At the Discotheque, Hot Chip ft. Jarvis Cocker - Straight to the Morning, Bonobo & Totally Enormous Extinct Dinosaurs - Heartbreak, Moodymann - Do Wrong, BT & Matt Fax - 1AM in Paris, Kiesza - Love Me With Your Lie, Tritonal ft. Linney - Electric Kids, Jessie Ware - What’s Your Pleasure?, Roisin Murphy - Murphy’s Law, Kllo - Somehow, DaBaby - Rockstar, Diplo, SIDEPIECE - On My Mind, City Girls - Jobs, Greg Foat - Yonaguni, HAIM - I Know Alone, Sassy 009 - Ghost Town, Yves Tumor - Limerence, RAMZi - couer dodo, Jayda G - Both of Us, Kygo, Valerie Broussard - The Truth, Kelly Lee Owens - Night, Dagny - Somebody, L’tric - 1994, The Japanese House - Chewing Cotton Wool, Amtrac ft. Lali Puna - No Place, Eris Drew - Transcendental Access Point, David Guetta ft. Sia - Let’s Love, Armand Van Helden ft. Lorne - Give Me Your Loving, Pet Shop Boys - Monkey Business, Pale Blue - I Walk Alone At Night, Yumi Zouma - Cool For a Second

[ontherockswithsalt]

A Made Man

(ao3 story link)

A/N: HERE WE ARE. The story began with Jamie getting ready for a Reagan Family Sunday dinner and 40-some chapters later, it wraps up at another one. This is the last chapter of A Made Man, the third installment of The Penthouse series. What a damn ride this has been. Oof. Thanks for being here for it all.

Chapter 47.

“Uncle Jamie, that’s a pretty sick watch.”

I barely hear the observation from my nephew Jack across the dining room table. My gaze is fixed on the mountain of macaroni and cheese on my plate in front of me, the sight alone making my stomach turn.

“Hey Uncle Jamie—” Danny’s voice cuts through as he settles into his seat. “Jack likes your watch.”

“What?” I utter, glancing up. “Oh. Thanks.”

“That new?” My brother questions with a nod.

I twist my wrist to look at the watch Noble gave me, then clear my throat. “Uh, yeah.”

“Let’s be a little less focused on sick watches just before we say grace, huh?” My grandpa announces and I see Jack snicker with a look to Nicky at Pop’s choice of words. “Since you’re the birthday boy, how about you lead off?”

Suppressing a groan, I scoot closer to the table and rest my elbows on either side of my plate. “Since it is my birthday, I reserve the right to pass,” I decide. “Someone else.”

“Oh, boo!” Danny jeers. “You don’t get a pass.”

“You pass all the time,” I argue.

“Alright, I’ll start.” Erin announces.

My dad pipes up, “Somebody please.”

My sister clears her throat. “Bless us, O Lord—”

Clasping my hands, I tip my forehead down and rest it there, just praying to make it through dinner. 

After grace, as everyone’s passing dishes, I’m relieved, and a little hopeful I can tune out, when Nicky takes over the conversation.

“Was anyone else really moved by that sermon?” She announces, passing the requested salt and pepper over to my dad. “I thought it was so romantic.”

“Romantic?” Sean protests. “Gross, it’s church.”

“Not gross,” she contends.

“I thought it was very beautiful,” Linda indulges her.

“I went and looked up that quote Father Quinn used when he talked about loss and love,” Nicky tells the table, adjusting to pull a folded piece of paper from one of her pockets. “It’s not from scripture; it’s from a book by C.S. Lewis.” As she unfolds the note, she glances up at my father. “Is it okay if I read it, Grandpa?”

My dad inhales deeply through his nose and then offers her one of his tight-lipped smiles to humor her. “Have at it.” 

Nicky grins, straightening her shoulders. “In love,” she recites, “there is no safe investment. If you want to make sure of keeping your heart intact, lock it up safe in the casket of your selfishness--”

I scoff this unintended loud breath and hunch over my plate, as if I could somehow escape this. 

Slowly, she turns her gaze my way. “I’m not finished.”

“Your niece is trying to appreciate literature,” Danny taunts. “Do you mind?”

Acquiescing, I merely gesture to her to carry on.

“But in that casket,” she resumes. “It will change. It will not break, but instead your heart will become impenetrable. The only place outside of heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers of love is hell--”

“Alright--” Erin speaks up while the end of Nicky’s reading prompts looks from Danny’s kids.

My brother chuckles. “It’s a little deep for fried chicken night. That’s all.”

“Give me a break,” I mutter, reaching for my water. “Who gave the homily? Doctor Phil? Glad I missed it.”

“I really enjoyed it.” Nicky shrugs. “I think it’s so true. To love is to be vulnerable--”

“What are you talking about?” I hear the way my voice cuts harshly into her easy tone, but I’m too tired to come off any other way. “You’re too young to even know what that means, Nicky.”

“Well wait a minute--” she disputes. 

I lean in to look past her at my sister. “You gonna let her spout off about the dangers of love? I didn’t think that was a concept you would endorse.”

Erin just meets my gaze, pausing to draw in a thoughtful breath.

“It wasn’t meant to start an argument,” Nicky insists. “I was going to relate it to the job of being a police officer--”

“Yes, that sounds good,” my dad speaks up. “Let’s relate it to the job.”

“No, let’s relate it to Jamie,” Danny cuts in. “Since that got him all torqued up. What happened, kid? You forget to lock up your heart in the casket of selfishness?”

Nicky giggles at the jab.

I drop my fork and it clatters against the plate as I push back and get to my feet. Turning away from the table, I stalk off out of the dining room.

“Hey. Hey!” I hear my brother holler after me along with Erin who calls my name.

But I can’t listen to this shit. I’d rather sit and have to deal with with my grandpa gripe about those homosexuals appropriating the word gay. It used to mean happy!

I’m not sure where I intend to end up so I just make my way to the bathroom and shut the door.

Already I regret the dramatic storm-off because now I’ll be expected to provide an explanation. Plus that was shitty to do to Nicky.

But of all days, this has to be the one where someone initiates some damn discussion about heartbreak like a cruel joke they’re all in on. 

I pinch right between my eyes and take a deep breath. Fuck, I’m gonna throw up. 

My core seizes and it's only a moment later that I do.

***

After a few minutes, splashing water on my face, attempting something that comes off as normal breathing, I make my way back to the dining room.

“Jamie are you okay?” Nicky speaks up. “I’m sorry if—”

“No, I’m sorry, Nicky.” I sigh, holding onto the back of my chair where I stand. “I’m uh— I’m not feeling well. I think I need to—”

“Did you puke?” Sean wonders, prompting a look of disgust from my grandfather as he chews.

“Sean.”

“It’s your favorite dinner,” Jack adds. “Mac and cheese for your birthday.”

“Boys—” Linda leans in. “Uncle Jamie doesn’t feel well.”

I acknowledge my nephews. “I know. And I appreciate it.”

“Mom made a cake.”

“You don’t look so hot,” Linda notices. “Maybe you should go lie down.”

Deciding not to argue with Danny’s wife, I simply nod. “Yeah. Maybe that’ll help.” Then I turn and head for the staircase. I could try to make it home, but it’s highly likely I’ll throw up again or have some kind of panic attack behind the wheel. So I settle on hiding in my old room upstairs instead.

I never come up here. My childhood bedroom is now this half-transitioned guest room, but a few remnants — a Harvard pennant, along with framed prints of pictures I took at Joshua Tree, a camping trip I made the summer between undergrad and law school — still hang on the wall near my bed. The old Parking For Jets Fans Only metal sign has been hung up by the door for as long as I can remember. It’s weird how these things take you back in time. 

The tall bookcase in the corner displays a few diecast model cars Joe and I used to collect, books I loved in high school, and a stack of CDs next to my stereo. 

I sniff a soft laugh when I peruse the album titles, so distinctly an era that seems a lifetime ago. Sliding out the case for U2’s Rattle and Hum, I pry it open and fit the disc in the CD player. I set it to shuffle the songs and then turn to fall across the bed. 

I don’t know how I got here. It’s like I screwed up so many steps ago, I can’t pinpoint where. I could go farther back than the night I met Noble. 

I think about when I proposed to Sydney. I was twenty-six, deliriously self-righteous after three years in the bubble of ivy league law school, acing the bar exam and convincing myself I’d never wear the NYPD uniform. 

I don’t know what life I pictured for us. But it was an easy enough fit. 

And then my brother was killed. 

The devastation was so consuming I thought I’d never be capable of caring about anything after the loss of Joe. Since, I’ve had to find life with some other purpose. With that engagement in a sort of permanent limbo, I enrolled in the Police Academy. Because it was inevitable? Because I had something to prove? A calling to step up for Joe? Probably all of it. 

And if I never had — If I’d stayed in private practice, married Sydney — would I feel like this much of a fuck up? I’ve never second guessed leaving that path behind until now. 

All I know is that I wish I’d never met Noble Sanfino.

A light tap on the door draws my attention across the room. It eases open and I see Erin, lingering there with some hesitation. 

I simply turn my gaze back up to the ceiling. “What now?” I murmur.

“Jamie, what happened?”

Exhaling a pained, breathy laugh, I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

She steps in the room enough to close the door. “I take it you had a talk with Nick.”

“We’re done, Erin,” I tell her. “It’s over. So— Nice work.”

“Jamie.” She says my name again with this concerned shock and it’s such a fucking joke to me.

My head throbs and I just want this all to be something I never think about. 

“What do you mean it’s over?”

“I questioned him about whether he knew Tommy Messina. He doesn’t. But the reality is he can never be safe in New York so what’s the point? He ended it and he’s staying in Florida. There isn’t much else to explain.”

She comes closer, arms crossed over her chest and glances around the room. “That can’t be the only solution.”

“Well that was his solution so—”

“I’m so sorry. That wasn’t my intent.”

Fuck off, I want to say. I sit up and put my feet on the floor. “Erin.”

“I like Nick a lot.”

I just shake my head and cough out this unamused laugh. “What does that matter now?”

“If I hadn’t called you with that information, would this have happened?”

I shrug. “It would have come to this point sooner or later. I guess we just didn’t want to face it until we had to.”

“So now what?”

I look at her like what the hell do you think. “I guess you can sleep at night without the threat of your car being set on fire. What do you mean now what?”

“You love him, though.” She says it quietly because this is a bizarre conversation we’ve never really had. 

If anything, her input on my relationships has only ever been her chiming in with smug, big sister commentary that I never asked for. 

“I’ll get over it,” I mutter.

She sits there a minute as if she’s contemplating her role in this. It doesn’t matter, though. What’s done is done.

Eventually, she softly attempts her next question. “Do you plan on coming out to Dad at some point?”

I glance at her, my brow furrowed. “Come out about what? No.”

She sighs when she figures that’s a dead end path and tries another way.  “There are options, Jamie. I mean you guys could live in Connecticut, that’d probably be a safer situation, and you could commute—”

Confused, I just shake my head. Don’t do this, don’t fucking problem-solve after that bullshit phone call this morning that prompted this whole fallout. As if I’m anywhere near the right frame of mind to look at the situation with some kind of reason.

Blankly, I merely offer, “I know.” And that nauseated feeling starts to spin in my head once more, but I go on. “That wasn’t the conversation though. We weren’t at a place where we’re like, ready to live together. I don’t know. It’s like, all of a sudden—”

Exhaling hard, the muscles in my chest seize. I try to tip my head back and breathe up at the ceiling but the air is trapped. So I lean forward at the waist where I sit on the edge of the bed and hang my head between my knees. 

I feel Erin’s palm up the center of my back. “Hey, hey, hey— It’s okay. Jamie, it’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t have even considered—”

“Shh.” She cuts me off. “You need to breathe.”

There’s a tightness in my throat and I feel like I’m choking, Like my inhale doesn’t go anywhere. I can tell myself I’m sinking into an anxiety attack but my body doesn’t listen to the rationale. It’s terrifying that I know what it is and I can’t stop it. Telling myself I’m okay doesn’t make it relent. 

“Jamie,” Erin whispers. Then I feel pressure on my back like she’s resting her forehead there as she sits beside me, the weight steadying me. 

She’s had to do this before. But it hasn’t been since mom was really sick, there near the end, that I’ve felt the grip of panic on me this tight. Usually, I’m able to anticipate it, unwind it before I’m held captive, but not this time. 

“Try to breathe in for four seconds,” she says. “With me. Okay?”

Closing my eyes, I attempt to draw in a deep breath but I just cough out air almost like a sad laugh. “I can’t.”

“Okay two seconds,” she bargains.

I make myself sit upright and press my hands on the edge of the bed. “Goddammit,” I mutter in frustration.

“Try again. Let it be all you think about.”

Hanging my head, I inhale deeply, channel my energy into a steady breath that expands my back.

“Let it out just as slow.”

I do. But there’s still this hard squeeze like someone’s pressing just beneath my ribcage.

"See that was four seconds,” she murmurs. “Show-off."

"Don't patronize me," I manage.

Erin laughs softly and continues the steady back and forth path of her hand on my back. "Fine then as far as breathing goes, I've seen better."

Finally I exhale in amusement and just shake my head. I work on another breath.

I keep on like that for a few more, determined to follow the pattern — in for four and out for four, the sounds of it loud between my ears. It’ll pass. I can’t fight it, I have to just know I’ll get to the other side. But fuck, I don’t even want to. This will be over and Noble will still be gone.

After a few steady moments, Erin squeezes my shoulder.  "This song," she muses, letting the slow-building track of All I Want Is You set a soothing rhythm to the air I take in. "Remember when Joe and I took you to that U2 concert? You were what, you’d just graduated high school?"

Another gradual breath while I think about that night out in the city. "Yeah," I answer. "Danny was on modified assignment working The Garden."

Erin chuckles. "I need to remind him of that cushy little gig next time he tries to say the bosses are too soft on you."

I sit there and let the music sink through me. This song is so goddamn sad it hurts. First Nicky’s absurd to love is to be vulnerable speech. And now the lull of Bono’s haunting voice musing that all the promises we break, from the cradle to the grave, when all I want is you — everything is a joke. 

I focus on the memory of that night, years ago with Erin and Joe. When simple shit like going to concerts and walking around New York, our ears ringing and our voices hoarse, was enough of a thrill and not a lot else mattered. “We had nosebleed seats,” I recall.  “And Danny managed to get us down front."

"That was a pretty awesome night."

I breathe again and the sick feeling starts to dissipate. "Between that, and this room, it's like… I'm remembering another life." 

She glances up and around, seeming to consider the memories held in time here. "It sort of was."

I swallow hard and close my eyes. "Somewhere I went wrong, Erin."

She just turns her gaze to me and offers a quiet "Shh" worried I'll get worked up again.

"How is this where I'm at?"

"Jamie, don't look for answers now."

"I have to look for answers or I'm gonna start missing him like hell."

"So let yourself miss him."

I take another slow, deep breath as the heat beneath my skin begins to taper off. At this point, it’s like missing Noble is all I have the energy for. It’s all I can do to tip back across the bed once more and close my eyes. 

My empty heart dwindles its beat down to something that almost feels normal, leaving the slightest flicker of clarity, reminding me that my only control is over what I do next.

[katedoesfics]

Under Shadow: Chapter 33

Najia pushed herself off of Shane’s lap. She blinked in the bright daylight as her mind slowly came into focus.

“It’s about time,” Shane muttered. “Thought you were going to be out all day.”

Najia’s eyes scanned her surroundings. They were sitting on a road, just outside of a dark tunnel. The light was bright and warm.

“Where are we?” she asked, turning back to Shane.

Shane smiled. “Stardew Valley.”

“It’s real,” she whispered, taking in the sights. She turned her face to the sky, warmed by the son’s rays. “We made it.”

“Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty,” a voice said.

Najia turned to the familiar voice as he emerged from the dark tunnel. She pushed herself onto her feet, stumbling towards him. "Grandpa!“

"Easy now,” he said as he held his granddaughter in his arms. “Found you two hopeless souls in that snow storm. Here, brought you both some water. Drink it slowly, you’re dehydrated. When you’re able, I’ll bring you into town.”

“Town?” Najia stared at the canteens he pushed into her hands.

“Well, a little something Linus and I put together,” he said proudly. “There’s a few of us living here, you know. Got some good crops going. Plenty of sunshine and rain here. Just like life should be.”

“We have others, too,” Najia said quickly. “We need to bring them here.”

“In time,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll need to wait for the storms to pass before it’s safe to go back out there.” He turned back towards the tunnel. “Rest up,” he instructed them. “I’ll get the ol’ truck.”

Najia watched as he disappeared in the tunnel, his cheery whistling echoing off the walls.

“This can’t be real,” she muttered, turning to Shane.

“I would have thought so, too, if he didn’t have a gun to my head.”

Najia stared at him. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“You took off into the storm like the stubborn woman that you are,” Shane reminded her. “Gramps there had seen us coming over the mountain, so he headed up to investigate and found us wandering around in the storm. He said if I lost ya, he’d have my head on a stake to scare off the crows in his garden.”

Najia looked up, studying the blue sky and the way the white fluffy clouds floated lazily passed.

“I thought I was going crazy at that point, but fortunately we found you and I could live to see another day. You were exhausted and disoriented and shaking like a damn leaf, but we managed to drag your ass out of the storm and into shelter for a moment where he kept his old snowmobile. Did not think that thing would get us off the mountain, but it did.”

Najia’s cheeks were wet as her eyes continued to follow the clouds. She neared the sun, which seemed far brighter than she ever remembered it, and she had to close her eyes and turn away from the glorious sight. She stumbled into Shane and sobbed into his chest. He wrapped her arms around her and rest his chin on her head until an old, puttering engine echoed off the tunnel walls. An old, battered green truck emerged, shuttering slightly as it came to a stop beside them.

“All aboard,” Najia’s grandfather said with a smile. “And I’ll show you a little place I call Pelican Town.”

*****

Her grandfather first took them down the dirt road into the little place he called Pelican Town. Two homes stood erect, the only buildings in the lush, green meadow. He drove the truck besides one of the houses, just by the edge of the river, and put it into park.

“Linus and I have been doing a lot of clearing and building,” he said as he walked them through the little town. A man made bridge arched its way over the river to the east, and to the south, a trodden path through some brush brought them to the beach. To the west, a thick forest lined the little town. “Lots of resources to use to our advantage, so that’s what we’ve been doing,” he continued. “Plenty of room for a whole crew of survivors. Come, I’ll show you the farm.”

He lead them down the dirt road they drove through to the west, north of the forest, to a wide open space, filled with crops growing high. In the fields, a man and a woman worked side by side, their backs to them.

“As you can see,” he said proudly, his hands on his hips, “life is pretty normal ‘round here.”

Shane squinted in the bright sunlight as the woman stood and stretched, her brown curls bouncing around her shoulders. She turned to the visitors, and her warm, welcoming smile disappeared when her gaze met Shane’s. Her hands flew to her mouth in disbelief.

Shane’s heart stopped. He wanted to run to Marnie, but something wasn’t right. Where was Jas?

“Shane!”

Shane turned towards the familiar voice, dropping to his knees as the little girl ran to him, jumping in his arms. He buried his face in her hair and held her tight.

“I knew you’d find us, Shane!”

“Ah,” Najia’s grandfather said to himself. “So, that’s Shane.”

Najia’s heart leapt as she watched Shane kiss Jas’s face. The little girl giggled, her arms locked around his neck.

“I knew you’d come,” she said. “I told you, Aunt Marnie!”

Marnie pulled Shane to his feet, into her chest, kissing his cheek. Shane winced like an embarrassed child, but did not pull away from her.

“How the hell did you find this place?” Shane asked when Marnie finally let him go.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Marnie said, her hands on her hips.

Shane smiled and met Najia’s gaze. “Fortunate enough to run into this stubborn women with the crazy conspiracist grandfather.”

“Well, I’ve been called worse,” her grandfather muttered.

“We made our way north away from the city,” Marnie said to him. She hesitated. “We tried to find you after we were separated,” she stammered, “but they were on our trail… I didn’t know what to do… I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Shane muttered. “Me neither.”

“We just kept going north,” Marnie continued. “It seemed the further north we went, the further away from those creatures we were. That’s when Lewis found us.” She indicated to the man that was working beside her in the fields. He stood beside her now, smiling at their new visitors.

“Fortunately for Marnie,” he said to them, “she was just outside our doorstep and I was that way on a mission.”

“A mission?” Najia repeated.

“We make it a point to scout out the area as often as we can,” her grandfather said. “Search for survivors, try to keep tabs on the Shadow People, truck in some outside supplies. Whatever we need to do.”

“There’s a hideout just south of the range, near the coast,” Najia explained. “There’s a lot more of us. They should be here.”

“Yes, of course,” her grandfather said. “We can bring them here once the storm settles. In fact,” he paused for a moment. “There’s someone else I should introduce you to.”

The five of them followed him south of the farm and into the forest where another small cabin stood. Penned in beside the house were a couple of chickens and cows.

“Lewis built us this house,” Jas said to Shane excitedly. “Look! We have chickens and cows. And they found me some books and dolls, too.”

Before them, at the edge of a lake, a man was chopping wood on a stump. He stood and smiled as they approached.

“Linus,” Najia’s grandfather said. “My granddaughter, Najia.”

“I could have guessed that, John” he said. “Fortunately she got the good looking genes from her mother.”

“Where’s Rasmodius?” John asked.

Linus threw his thumb over his shoulder. “Inside, fucking with the storm.”

“He’s our key to this war,” John said as he lead Najia and Shane deeper into the forest. After a quarter of a mile, there was a small opening where another little cabin stood. John pushed the door open abruptly. The house was dark except for a single candle in the middle of the room.

“That’s enough, Ras,” John called into the house. “Najia made it, after all.”

A shadowy figure moved about the room, lighting more candles as he passed. “What did I tell you about barging in, John?” the man muttered.

“Cut the storm,” John said. “You almost killed my granddaughter.”

The room lightened, revealing Rasmodius. He looked to Najia and smiled.

“Rasmodius is kind of a wizard,” John said, turning to Najia and Shane.

“Kind of?” Rasmodius echoed, insulted.

John ignored him. “When we see suspicious movement in the mountain, he calls for a storm to protect us from any unwanted visitors.”

“Have you seen Shadow People?” Shane asked.

“Not lately,” John explained. “When the invasion first happened, they were around more frequently, scouting things out. We were able to draw them away pretty quickly. Fortunately for us, they don’t bother fight with rough weather. After a few incidents, they decided to stay away from the range.”

“Is that why there’s light, here?” Najia asked. “Because of Rasmodius?”

“I have nothing to do with that,” the wizard said. “It’s a magic all in its own.”

“I don’t understand,” Najia said. “How did you know about this place? How did you know it would be safe?”

John shrugged. “I may have been here once or twice.”

Rasmodius snorted. John shot him a glare before continuing.

“Sure, I believed the legends. You know me, Naj; I can’t stay away from something interesting. I’ve seen the Winter Star with my own eyes, yanno. And I met Rasmodius who has lived here for many years, almost undetected.”

“I would have preferred to remain undetected,” Rasmodius said with a sigh. “But your gramps is a good man, and I knew our world was going to be in some trouble. He and Linus were here when the invasion happened, and they made it their goal to make this valley a safe place for any survivors to give humans a chance to win their world back.”

“It may be a bit or a stretch,” John said carefully. “But, look what we’ve got here; a place where the darkness can’t touch us. A place where the Shadow People wouldn’t be able to step foot. We’ve got a chance, here, and I’m taking it. And with a wizard on our side, nothing can stop us.”

“I can’t win this war, John,” Rasmodius warned him. “My magic isn’t as all powerful as you may think. There are limitations.”

“And we’re going to use every bit of your magic as we can.”

Rasmodius rolled his eyes. “I’m just a tool in your game,” he muttered.

“Don’t start with me, Ras. You agreed to help us out. In fact, it was your idea.”

“You’re just lucky I didn’t banish you from the valley the first chance I got.”

John smirked and turned his back to the wizard. “What do ya say we get those friends of yours, hm?”

[ohmytheon]

Karma in Retrograde (20)

title: Karma in Retrograde

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And brains and muscle,” Ryouta added.

Midoriya chuckled. “That too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It made it much more difficult to lie to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah, I’m good,” Ryouta told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m hungry,” Ryouta immediately answered.

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

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

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

Ryouta sighed. “It’s not that bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Erm, not really,” Ryouta admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll be fun!” Midoriya told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Midoriya!” Ryouta called out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not really,” Ryouta said.

“Why?”

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

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

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

“Will you even try?” Shouto asked.

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

Ryouta sighed. “Okay, fine.”

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

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

“Yes, please,” Shouto said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is not our job,” Tokoyami responded.

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

“She has a point,” Shoji added.

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

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

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

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

“Just follow us,” Jirou told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?” Ryouta asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Here!”

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

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

“How did you know?” Ryouta asked quietly.

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” Shoji told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So?” Shoji prompted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Much better,” Shoji told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ryouta snorted. “Stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because girls like edgy bastards?” Bakugou drawled.

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

“Would you shut up?” Bakugou snapped.

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

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

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

“Uh, something wrong?” Ryouta prompted.

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

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

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

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

He had no idea.

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

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

“I’d like to go,” Shouto cut in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouto wrinkled his nose. Victory.

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

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

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

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

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

Wisely, Shouto didn’t say anything this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was nice to have an uneventful day for once.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[delkios]

Into the Great Wide Open (DC TV)

Title from the Tom Petty song. Also please ignore the fact that I forgot about the lack of mountains along the Kansas-Missouri border, oops. Title: Into the Great Wide Open Fandom: DC TV Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 2374 In Responds to: ColdWave Week 2018: You Captured My Heart Characters: Len, Mick, Lisa cameo at the end Summary: Len decides to try a bit of camping. Spoilers: it doesn’t end well. “Len!” At the sound of his partner calling his name in distress, Len took off like a shot toward it. He ducked around trees, jumping roots and large rocks, trying to remember the path he’d taken, cursing to himself for not realizing when Mick had fallen behind. “Len!” He found Mick, half sprawled on the ground, and busted out laughing. “Shut up, asshole!” Mick snapped, face red either from embarrassment or trying to free his leg from a thick patch of mud. “Help me outta this!” “You can face down mob muscle and entire squads of cops, but it’s overly friendly mud that takes down the great Mick Rory.” “I’ll burn you in your sleep,” was the petulant retort. Len gingerly knelt by Mick at the edge of the mud. He gave Mick’s leg a tug, then a harder one. “You know, it’ll be easier if you just give up the boot.” “Well I guess I’m gonna fucking die here because there’s no way in hell I’m tromping through a damn forest without shoes.”

“So dramatic.” “Shut up and help me, dammit. This is your fault anyway.” He snorted, wiggling Mick’s leg to try to get a little room to work with. “It’s a camping trip. You’re not being kidnapped.” “You literally told me you were kidnapping me to go camping.” “Only because you refused to do it willingly. Aren’t you some kind of country bumpkin?” Len teased as he slowly worked Mick’s foot free. “I thought roughing it was in your blood.” “Camping sucks. The country sucks. Do you have any idea how goddamn dark it gets out here? You’re basically blind.” Mick huffed, carefully scooting back on his butt once his foot- and boot -were out of the mud. “Can’t believe some city bum wants to go camping.” “Yeah, well.” Len’s expression grew soft and melancholy. “It was one of those things my grandpa talked about taking me to do.” But it never happened, Mick knew. The man had basically worked himself to death trying to care for his grandchildren behind Lewis’s back. “Can’t believe I let you talk me into being uncomfortable and miserable for half a week,” Mick groused. Just as he hoped, it made Len crack a smirk. “There’s a reason people live in cities, you know.” “Getting away from it helps you appreciate those modern conveniences.” “I’m very appreciative. Can we go now?” Chuckling, Len slapped Mick’s shoulder as he stood up and started back on the path again. “If you want to find your own way back to the car, be my guest.” Mick hesitated before following grudgingly after. “I don’t trust you not to get your bony ass eaten by a bear.” “Glad to hear it.” Len looked over his shoulder with a wicked smirk. “After all, I did kidnap you for this trip so you can keep me warm at night.” Mick growled, eyes growing dark. He sped up until he was right behind Len, pressed against his shoulder. “We should hurry up and find a camping spot. Test it out. Make sure it’ll be comfortable for tonight.” Len just laughed at him. ~*~*~*~ Between the drying mud making it difficult for Mick to bend his ankle fully, a misplaced step twisting the other one just enough it twinged with every other step and walking face first into a branch because he hadn’t been paying attention, Mick was just as miserable as he said he’d be when Len finally decided to set up camp. To make up for the crappy trek, he let Mick make the fire as big as he wanted. “Just don’t let it get out of control,” he told Mick before grabbing the fire bucket and a spade to dig up dirt to put the fire out with later. Mick grumbled- just for show -and all but bounded into the trees like a kid in a toy store. While Mick did that, Len found a nearby stream- right where the map said. It was crystal clear and cold enough to shock Len’s teeth when he stuck his hand in it. Snow melt, he read, but it hadn’t really occurred to him just how cold it would be. Mick would hate it, he decided with amusement. He filled up his water bottle in the stream as well as a large container for general use. It was only about a quarter mile from where they’d set up but it would still be a bother making that walk every time they wanted water for mundane things like washing their hands. After that Len went about setting up the camp: putting up the tent- which Mick had to help him with because while the instructions were easy, the poles very much did not like bending that way -unrolling the sleeping bags, putting out things like the lantern, toiletries and a shotgun- which Mick refused to come without because there are goddamn wild animals out here and a little knife isn’t going to stop most of them, Lenny -in easy reach. Then stringing a hammock between a couple trees and setting the bear-proof canister on the outskirts of the camp. Len didn’t actually know if bears were that much of an issue in this area but when Mick saw it, he swore up and down he’d never go camping with Len. Which lead to lugging around the shotgun. By the time the camp was to Len’s liking, the sun was starting to set and Mick had finally gotten the fire pit to his liking. “Really, Mick,” Len teased as he broke out the skewers, marshmallows and chocolate because what good, non-arson-related fire was complete without s’mores? “They’ll be able to see this from space.” “Be a crappy view for ‘em,” came the distracted reply, Mick focusing on setting up the kindling. The fire, even Len had to admit, was impressive. And it brought Mick’s good humor back. They had a couple cold sandwiches and chips for dinner given the fire, according to Mick, was too hot. Anything they’d try to cook on it would be burnt on the outside and raw on the inside. They demolished half the bag of marshmallows, mostly by eating them but a fair few became projectiles that Len later scooped up and tossed in the fire to keep hungry critters from wandering into their camp. After their earlier hike just getting to the site, it didn’t take long for the sugar crash to set in. They put out the fire, put on their pajamas and slipped into the sleeping bags Len had zipped together. A chill was beginning to set but, between the thick layers, small space and shared body heat, Len thought it might end up getting stifling in the tent. The thought stayed in the back of his head as he began to drift off to sleep, face pressed against the curve of Mick’s back. “...Len?” Len just made a muffled noise in acknowledgement. “The ground’s too hard and it’s too damn noisy. I can’t sleep.” Scowling against Mick’s back, Len let his hand flop forward until he could slap it over Mick’s mouth. While that had been sufficient hint for Mick to shut up during the night, it didn’t stop Mick from tossing and turning. Which, in turn, kept Len from doing more than dozing. In the end, just as the morning birds were starting to sing and the temperature in the tent went from warm to boiling, Len unzipped his half of the joined sleeping bag and tried to salvage what sleep he could on the hammock. When he finally woke up not all that long later, Len was cranky, tired and sore. Mick, looking just as cranky, tired and sore, said from where he was cooking breakfast over a small fire, “I told you. Being in the country fucking sucks.” He ended up burning breakfast because something something, open fires are harder to regulate temperature than grills. Len was too irritable to care as he gnawed on plain bread, burnt eggs and a dry granola mix. Even with his food history it was a pretty bad meal. Afterward, Len walked to the stream to wash up. There was still plenty in the container he filled the day before but he figured he’d use the time away from Mick to calm down a bit. After all, it wasn’t his partner’s fault that the ground- and hammock -were terrible to sleep on. Maybe next time, if there ever was one, Len would consider an air mattress worthwhile to lug around. Len returned to find Mick was staring deeply at the fire. After putting his stuff away and dressing for the day, Len stood and surveyed his surroundings. “The hell do people do out here?” He asked. “Nothing,” Mick replied, gaze not wavering. “There’s not a goddamn thing to do.” If Len didn’t know any better, he’d think maybe Mick’s pyromania was a result of boredom. “Do you want to go for a hike?” When Mick gave him an incredulous look, Len shot back, “There’s nothing else to do so why not?” Mick continued to glare. In the end, though, he reached for the fire bucket and upended it over the fire. Len couldn’t help the warm smile as he overheard Mick mutter, “Can’t believe I’m in love with you.” The hike wasn’t too bad though Len’s internal map was off just enough that they couldn’t find the camp for a good half hour. By then the sun was just reaching its apex, leaving them both sweating and out of breath. Len grabbed their toiletries and told Mick, “Let’s wash up before lunch.” Mick, blatantly eyeing Len, growled in agreement. They reached the stream and Mick immediately pulled off his shirt, intent obvious. Len stifled a snicker as he dipped a washcloth in the stream, got it nice and wet, then slapped it against Mick’s bared chest. Mick yelped loudly, jumping back and pulling the cloth off him. “Fuck, that’s cold!” Len just cackled at him, lathering up his own washcloth. “I fucking hate you,” Mick said just before he retreated a good ten feet away, muttering about how his dick was going to shrivel up inside his body. Lunch was a simple affair of roasted hot dogs and buns toasted on the outskirts of a fire. That still left an awful lot of hours with nothing to do, however. When Len got back from cleaning up their lunch, he found Mick in the hammock, reading a book. He looked up at Len’s approach. “Wanna join me?” Len’s back twinged in protest but it wasn’t like he had anything else to do. He grabbed his own book and, after nearly capsizing the hammock three times on his way in, settled against Mick’s side. They stayed like that until the sun began to set. That night they layered the sleeping bags one on top of the other. It didn’t leave a lot of room for the both of them to lay together and they’d be chilly until the tent warmed up but there was a little extra padding. It still was hardly comfortable but it at least got them through the night. Still without anything to do, they went for another hike the next day. Instead of washing up at the stream, though, Len filled up a couple of bowls with water and brought them over to the afternoon fire to warm up while Mick cooked. After eating, with Mick eyeing the bowls with confusion, Len tested the temperature of the water. Deeming it acceptable, he began unbuttoning his shirt. “Uh, Lenny?” Mick asked, clearly confused. Len let the shirt slip off his shoulders, giving his partner a coy smile. He wetted a washcloth. “You do me, I do you?” “Are you seriously trying to seduce me with basically a sponge bath?” “Only if it works.” Mick stared at him for a moment. “Fuck it, I’m easy.” He pulled off his shirt and hummed in approval at the first swipe of the warm cloth against his skin. That night Len lounged in the tent, content, naked and- for once -unself-conscious, watching as Mick cooked dinner in nothing but a pair of boxers. Something both of them quickly came to regret after waking up covered in bug bites. Mick had a hand down his pants in a way that wasn’t remotely sexy, scratching at a bite high on the inside of his thigh. “Can’t believe we’re out here for two more damn days.” Len, in the midst of rubbing his back against a tree to get a trio of bites right under his shoulder blade, silently agreed. ~*~*~*~ “Oh, look,” Lisa said casually from her place on the couch. “You two survived.” She gave Mick a shit-eating grin. “I guess camping isn’t as bad as you made it out to be.” “Next time he kidnaps me for a camping trip,” Mick growled, “I’m dragging you with me. See how smug you are after that.” Lisa patted his arm, not even trying to hide her amusement. “I’ll be sure to steal any camping books he picks up so you can burn them.” She turned to Len as Mick stomped off to set down their gear. Her eyebrow raised. “Well? Everything you hoped it would be?” “Overrated,” Len admitted. His eyes drifted after Mick, thinking about the mornings in that little tent, warm and isolated, like the world was just the two of them or the afternoons they spent in the hammock reading to each other. He thought about Mick stripped and pliant as Len washed him, body gleaming with water and sunlight. He thought about the evenings by the fire as night fell, sitting between Mick’s legs and leaning against his chest, Len singing softly and Mick as enthralled by Len’s voice as he was by the fire. “But it had its highlights.”

[violetbeachpod]

transcript: 9 - communication issues

Okay, so, we’re doing this again. Cool. Sup. It’s your girl.

No. No. That’s bad.

Charlotte, here. Cranor-Liu. From here. You know me. I know you. We’re friends. That’s--a thing that’s happening.

I have a better opening line. But first, a foreword. A preface? Not sure, not really giving two shits, but.

Cool.

So. Each of you individually texted me a potential opener for this. To be fair, and because they were all equally dumb and bad, I will read all of them individually.

Benji Ahuja, local small business owner and general huge nerd and also my worst enemy, but, like, in a friendly rivalry way, we are both so committed to this bit where we pretend to hate each other, okay, says: We got a real life possession on our hands, folks!

Corny. Bad. Sounds like a line from an 80s disaster movie, which, actually, is probably what you were going for.

I have never seen an 80s disaster movie. Was that 80s or 70s? Again, don’t really care. That’s rhetorical.

AJ Diggs, very good barista and very bad lab partner, yeah, dude, I am still bitter about that physics project from eighth grade where I had to write the whole paper at 3 AM, says: Did I miss anything?

He also used emojis in that, but I’ll spare him the embarrassment of reading out what they were. Actually--they were interrobangs, and then the 100 one a few times, as a joke, maybe? I don’t know if he knows what that one means. He’s not hip. He’s like a grandpa in a teen body. Wears the sweaters and everything. Not in the Macklemore way, which wouldn’t help him either, but in the actual grandpa way. He’s not even trying to be cool. He just dresses like a grandpa.

I love him very much. He is my dearest friend in the world. Thank you. Now, AJ, please never remind me that I said that.Because I can and will curse you and make you into a werewolf man or something. Cuz I’m evil and magical and can destroy you.

Robin Harper, writer and general icon: Can you maybe mention that my wedding was nice? I feel like Teresa didn’t acknowledge that enough. I’m kidding. LOL. Open it with, like. A message of concern. Say something nice, Charlotte. I love you. Hope you’re having a nice day. But. Please. Heart emoji. Heart emoji. Heart emoji.

Teresa literally told us not to be nice, so, uh, no. Love you too though.

Elaine Harper, crazy cat lady and also an icon: Dealing With Your Girlfriend From An Alternate Universe For Dummies is an easy book to write.

That’s--no one read those books. Did you read those books? Elaine, you’re legally obligated to tell me. Boom, roasted, whatever. I--that’s not even funny, Elaine, and you seemed to be, like, slightly cool, so, uh, thanks for ruining that illusion. I should have known, from the fact that you were getting married to Robin, but, alas, your cool vibes distracted me from that.

Teresa Marin, who sometimes gets possessed and who is also a student: Teresa Marin, more like Teresa Scarin’ me!

I absolutely refuse. No further comment. And, then, and here’s the interesting part:

Angie Thompson, student who wants, desperately, to be a singer-songwriter, but, like, who knows, maybe her music’s just not for me?: Teresa Marin, more like Teresa Scarin’ me!

Thinking about it, Angie probably sent that from both of their phones. Teresa’s not funny, but, uh, her jokes are better than that. I hope. Oh my God, I hope. Because Teresa is, like. Not a rhyming humor type of person. I know her well enough to know that, okay?

Anyway, so, uh, here’s my opener:

Can we learn how to, like, communicate like normal human goddamned beings about, like, the alternative universe that has entered into our lives? Like, I get not sharing out publicly, but we all know about it. We can, like, maybe tell each other about being possessed as soon as it happens the first time.

Look, my girlfriend, Mae Babson who, yes, is from an alternate universe, and who is also super cool and great and is my girlfriend and who is not a nerdlord, unlike you weirdasses and also me, was raised in a place where she cannot lie.

Which is sort of a cool thing, from, like, a moral standpoint, even though it was used to hurt her and those around her.  Y’know what I mean?

Listen, look, listen, maybe we as a group of friends can take a page out of the book of the evil villain or whatever we’re calling him and, like, tell each other the truth.

But that’s—whatever. Whatever. We can make a Google Doc or something? Maybe. As a solution to this whole info-sharing crisis we’re having with each other.

Okay. So.

How’s me? How’s Charlotte? How is she doing? How on top is she? Is she still killing it?

Of course she is. But let’s elaborate. We need elaboration, here.

Well. I’m directing a one act that I wrote. That’s cool. My first few pitches got rejected, but, uh, the current one’s pretty good, so. I’m cool with that. And this one hopefully won’t get ruined by paranormal happenings. So. That’s cool. It’s a subversion of vampire romance tropes and a subtle commentary on heteropatriarchy in YA fiction. Because I’m that good.

Uh. I got a job? That’s something. Just heard back yesterday, I’ve actually only told AJ so far, so. Cool? It’s at the Bean Zone, so. AJ’s training me. So that’ll be a fun experience for all of us, which is to say, AJ, I’m going to make your life hell and there is nothing you can do to stop me. Absolutely nothing. Because Amanda loves me.

Mae is finally coming out of her shell, a little bit. You guys are—thanks for being good to her. I’m being genuine here. It’s very difficult to, uh. Cope? I guess, for her, and you guys are being genuinely cool.

Once you got over the whole alternate universe, thing, I mean, like. Thanks for not grilling her ever, but. You need to—

Whatever. Whatever. I’m not about to get sappy. I don’t do sappy. I’m a huge badass, and, as such, I don’t get sappy. We can all accept this about me.

I’m about to update you on Weird Shit. Because that, assholes, is the point of these. I mean, you could maybe argue that this is, as a group of people who are generally terrible at being alive and interacting at other people, a way for us to interact with other people, but.

Nah.

This is for weird shit updates. Those and only those

So. Teresa has been getting possessed on and off for months. If you’ve somehow managed to forget, which I haven’t. And my memory’s not great, so, I’m assuming that you’ve all remembered that. That’s cool. Kinda scary, but cool. Good to have that particular knowledge secured in terms of Weird Shit That’s Going Down Annual, a magazine edited by me.

But.

Uh. Mae seems to be the only fully successful—y’know. transport of a person to this world. She’s not sure why. I think it’s because she’s just very good at everything, but. She broke into a museum and everything, like, pulled a heist and all. Which is very cute. Very cool.

She doesn’t have a double. Most other people who’ve tried—do. There’s not another Mae Babson. There is another me, another Teresa, you get it. I don’t know—and really, I don’t care about why there aren’t doubles of certain people. That’s not—that’s a stupid thing to spend time caring about. For me. You guys can go wild on it, but, honestly? I’m cool with there being a second me. Mae says she’s chill.

Presumably, she’s—she’s extremely chill. And Mae—Mae didn’t know her super well, I guess? Because I’m—I’m sure that she’d like her. Probably better.

Because, uh. She’d understand and everything. And she’s probably a little. Y’know. More—determined. Sharper. Y’know? Because she’s—

I should not get jealous of myself in an alternate universe. She probably has self-esteem issues too.

Doc David Diggs says I need to work on projection. I’ve been talking to him. Do we all talk to him? I know that Angie does. And AJ doesn’t. But. Yeah.

Uh. Other Weird Shit. Hm. Let’s get into that. That’s—going on. Certainly, certainly, def, def, obvi, obvi, y’know how it is. More blank-faced people—failed travelers, I guess. The board is still a thing. I’ve snuck into a few meetings, and, uh. They’re pulling, uh, some shit. I took notes and everything. I’m not even taking APUSH notes anymore, so we can see that this actually matters to me.

Also, I still have a 93 in that class, so, uh, guess who’s on top? Yeah. I am a genius, thank you, thank you, thank you.

So. Notes. Notes on notes. Hell yeah.

So, I kept a chart of this, so.

Names of people on the board that I can make out are:

Hamish South

Katherine (not sure if it’s with a c or a k or a y or whatever? that’s a bad name to have. don’t name your child catherine. please) Brooks

Frederick Lewis

Daniel Wexton

Lisa Barnes

And there are a few others, but I can’t get their names. Mae doesn’t know any of the names, says that they’re way too secretive over there, so. Cool. You know how it is.

I have a few sketches of their faces, but they’re not great and I kind of have an issue with noses, so Mae can’t recognize them. None of them have doubles.

Daniel Wexton is the one who grabbed me, I think. Same voice and everything. Can’t quite make out his features, but.

These are the bad guys. That should be, uh, pretty obvious. But they’re the bad guys! That’s cool to know! Cue graphic, cheesy music, the more you know, and all the rest. Eugh. That’s—

So. Cool. We know who we’re going after.

Okay, more notes. Evil plans:

-Necromancy. The rest turned to sirens and other really painful noises, but I got necromancy? so? That’s important. I think it’s to get our boy Andy back, because this is very much a cult, which, cool, we’re infiltrating a cult, and by we’re, I mean me, and by infiltrating, I mean spying on, because I’m not technically getting into the cult itself. I’m just listening. You get me.

-Cut back on drama spending. That’s an evil plan. It’s the evil plan in every Muppet movie, and the board is doing it, so it counts. And yes, I do love the Muppets. I have emotions. I’m only human. I have a heart. None of you are allowed to repeat this to anyone ever. But, anyways, how fucked up is that? Not only are they trying to kill people, they’re also trying to take away my whole Thing, so. Yeah! Love this!

-Eliminate travelers from their place to ours, which makes sense, but which is, uh terrifying. Not much else to say, but it’s. Y’know. A thing that’s happening.

-Benji’s name came up one time but I got bored, so I stopped writing. Also the janitor walked in so I had to run before I got caught by anyone?

And that’s all that’s really relevant.

Um. I don’t really know how to end this? I guess--I just have to reaffirm that we know who the hell we’re investigating, and maybe fighting? Is this a showdown thing? Will there be a climactic battle sequence? Cuz I’m good at those. I can punch. Ask AJ.

So. Yeah. Update complete. This is Charlotte, signing off for now, cuz, uh. I--are we still doing sign-offs? Should I get a, uh. Like a normal one? Or one that we all use? Because I don’t trust you to come up with those things, because you’re clearly all less charming than me.

So. Yeah. We’re not doing that.

I do love you guys. Stay safe. Tell me if something happens.

Bye.

[the-firebird69]

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are notmy father where ishe you numbnutted douche bja we see you you say it like aman and are .  it is too tough of asituation okwe say it out of pridethis is aweful mac put way too much stank on that ball. real mutantsarehitting and are huge ok this is bad sour. mac was mean and had a grudge and ghwb grip broken now we can see it this is a war the shatterdome came down and he says incompetent idiots had it and they ddid were at it thewholetime killed off thier own andorencouraged it now they have these Jaeger and they are not incompetent machines but the pilots are..we move in need them and in ohter areas  mac weknew it and you too caa bja nah mine are better caa okok we seesomething this is about hardwareand he has the best but where..ok andours is similar shut up is good but no yours never lose...and it is due to holding off Kaiju well cant accessour areas, so we watch ours get creamed are defensless asthis boys grandpa died or left.  he is under diress no he is in the pyramid yes.  and they keep him there to take goodies.  try yes and are an outfit but are poor. we see preston adn it is mean they are poor and it means poorly skilled. tons see it bily could shoot but pilotiing is complicated.  difficult and requires thinking adn nerves of steel and manyour bodies fail a lot epceially grafted we need them now protection. mac we cannot it is too hard to give up you haveto wret them from us bja and you both arethere and it is nonssensce and que lastima macs fail due to youcorkand that part is true. your a slob and dont use gear...it takes all macs havet do it less you not wit you proof is tommorrowland Zues treu too we are not great at it and it took tons of effort to build those cities and tons to keep themgoing and he came by messedit up and in one day. they are a mess. we need yououtcork ofoffice adn other now mac fine weleave where should we go then he says china th orient flood and die flood die after your diamonds taken from you ok.  most were and lots from delaware thatday they used the greek fire Zues ok ok they did and we go adn wehate themfor it and other occasions that is real weseeitandprocessed themeand are incorporating them..into what...we see fine lassers as we mess up plants true too.  sow e find thm takethemas we used to and you pay caa for your comments bja shut up dog shit you cant steel a thimble from anyone here except a prisoner oppressed by all around himin the entire state pitiful wierdo Zues we see it too we reshunned as we acton you and it is distrubing our women and more.  we leave to try it bja and webelive it when we see it but chewey left to look so you follow him.rifhgtfuly soboth are hairy animals mac hey chewey yeh chewey, what did you do to lewey Zues ahhaahha always ready weith ajoke his grandpa taught him we see it chewey ok you ate lewy and was it cintron mac no no i did not eatlewy chewey i fly by caa and leave he is an ass bja your a faggot you fly by westop you and deductpoints as usual for each attempt.  you are blind and you lose tons of stuff by doing it as said.  Zues we do it then no. no. we are idiots and continue to sit bother himandothers take as it is a fruitless effort...we leraned that in the park pick onhim you mess with us all stood up fo ryou as they were, anyways and we get it out or die.we go after the diamonds in china then and were stolenfromall bja yeh they were but you had themand they tookthem you dolt you let themgo fromhosptials nad your area... mac no i did not he directed it andwe let them have himdo that bja you did mac fine we did it is haienous we suck and are bad at it and go there try grafting to get themback honed i can hone this is awefil mb had them ok. aweful.   bja ok ok cork is arriving yes and he sends stuff calls up says imgoing and gets motivated as most say okgo and he is the clone army and sends tons. they fight droids of macs soon andmac willbe consternated. a nd chewey fights the clones too shortlyas bja is an ass.  huge ass.too big fatone lol wie soihave a fatasss so  bja well it is indicitave ofyour race and do not talk to our son the way you do you fattassed whore you die fully now your down toonly several nonillion and we see it too. so go expendand die.  and yourhere too trying for himand try using it to distract we hityou now you aredesperate need votes. want a hostage. and you shallperish too biden your prick. none in office  but we shallsee. loser Thor why loser imgetting to hte best part wherehe gets arrested and tried for treason andmore.   biden your a dumb fuck arent you biden and you continue to be. you stepped on your game and now it is flat. you put me incourt and your rhealm began to tear at it self and now it is being dissolved, there will be no dc by thte time you are elected and it will be mine wehere you will stand trial for your crimes against my people...and fully too.  and it iwll bre witnessed by my Father and Mother and you shall perish.  and the protectorate is there already and the Dark Tower,waiting for you  to fall like a good boy as you say,no zaps all who come near.  tons try adn all die. all. iti s not your caliber.nope.  nor macs nor the giants.  it is Class A Alpha class weaponry.  you are not going to try me buttfuck....your tribe falls.  your fight lost to dirt too. scum.  and by the way your a loser tossedout a game you stillhad for this pieceof shit nothing gameyouwant a fight and you got one cant see it even corkcan. whats wrong with you shrimp got  trd torso cant handle it at ll...you will be on trial shortly.  and Thor issues the warrants and we havepower all the time dont need to dancearound..and pstons are at your tower shit for brains thanks for all the nagging Zues Hera we are at war then biden gee wiz you figured it out Zues Hera youwillnotcondescend to me i had you there biden no shit sherlock had tohave someone and you were hot totrot for it as if i took your lawnmower not even you harrassedme fromnext door and did tons ofidiot things and i ama young man wasnot awrae of tons of your issues i amnow dont worry wont use that on you.ooops i am already...backstabbing faggot.what a loser you turnedout to be.  fell once all the way down.  now you are deaf weak dumb adn demand me in court as macs want and i did not focus on your puny ass...but nailed macs and htey regret it yes.  now it is your turn...and you will be vanquished in days.  not weeks like bja took.   Zues Hera oh i see days so be it then we war biden sheeesh i thought you never wouldget it...you declared iton me and you demand we aim at you now we shall and we take your hardwarenow. and you will feel it, a sharp pain then no arms orlegs at all Zues Hera wedo this now you little imp your a faggot too. adn we see you dance around adn do stupid things for macs and fall your an ass too weak performer and your lines are poorly delivered sick old fell adn are crap now get outor berun down like trump is Thor Freya run em down then imold and failed at it all of it lost my family now he tears it up as i aman asshole to him.  and it is about family and i cannot hold itanymorehe is at s all day all night and yes due to me so what biden your an asshole ok turmp too you both are traitors he si not to blame but ours will want a trial and it is hellthey will and do bring it downonus. hell too this sucks it issodumb youfeell on us biden and turmp you planned to. faggot what is your plan by the way mac we dont have one i guess crapped out before it started...true too.  china and s o on never changed. we saw it they raid fast we are slow trump slow as hell love it too wait wait onemore coffee and gone. got it oh it isgone too bad. and youbiden a gift to us yoru an asshole you left your boy to you t beharmed and yous ay it your gross.  a fag loser and squander hsi abiltiies onhisown fu mac yeh fu traitor.  thank you for the starting pistol it is ince and you hv seen it in many movies latley its a .22 you idiots shoot each other no foul adn so on and are dumb. Zues Hera we see it we are losers and we go now but war iwth youon a personal level biden you have been you dolt Zues Hera  yeh new and improved and all and himok why biden you need it badly your an ass this is so stupid you usedhimnot he used you faggot tied us all up china drove away w it and per mac but this is well over it he takes all and proves it shortly  and yeh the daimonds are in the hole as you s ssy he says.  and we go look now and cant see it is too huge batman well well we hae a concensus we shoot you all you wnat himtired so you talk.  and he felt itbut knows you need toget your burdens off your chest like biden thewhore...he is a man whore...sucks badly Thor