#writing someone taking on their childhood bullies is like going into the attic

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Queen of Underland: Izzy

CW: Panic attack, child of recovering adult whumpee, anger as trauma response, referenced noncon kissing and touching (nonsexual), childhood bullying, referenced past domestic and child abuse, some gendered and ableist insults (kid to kid and nothing too intense - just fair warning)

Izzy, at nine years old, has been free with her family for almost five years now, and her mother has been in prison on a life sentence for two. With attention, affection, and therapy, she has blossomed into a quiet kid who nearly always has her nose in a book.

When two classmates try to put her in the center of a storm, Izzy finds something inside herself that she has pushed down for so long she had nearly forgotten she ever had it.

Izzy finds her father’s anger.

Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission.

---

Izzy sits at her desk, perfectly still, reading a book while the teacher’s out of the room speaking with another teacher in low voices, just in the hallway. The sun shines in the windows that line the wall, lighting the pages of her book, and one of Izzy’s hands rubs repeatedly over the seam down the side of her uniform skirt, the only movement she makes beyond her eyes.

Around her, the others are whispering, passing notes and giggling (except for Noah, who has his own book open, and Jack, who is drawing his story about giant killer robots in a notebook, and Sarah, Jack’s twin sister who is trying to build a tower of pencils and paper), but Izzy barely notices them.

When the teacher comes back in, Izzy will not be whispering, or giggling, or doing anything that might bother her. When the teacher comes back, Izzy will be quiet, and good, and put her book back into her desk and look up with her hands in her lap. She’s the quietest kid in class, she heard the teacher say so.

At home, she’s not always quiet anymore, but at school she still holds a balance, protecting herself and keeping herself safe in the best and truest way she knows - by simply being exactly what the adults need her to be, and keeping all her real feelings and thoughts inside her head.

Still, while the teacher’s out of the room, she takes a few minutes to read while she has the chance. Her heart beats cold and heavy in her chest as she scans over the words on the page, biting down on her lower lip, worrying at a bit of chapped skin. Her left hand settles over the soft texture of pages nearly yellowed with time spent in the school library being held by hundreds of small hands. The fingers on her right hand feel over the seam of her skirt, right along the outside of her leg, again and again.

Fierce anxiety, and a little fear, swirl inside her for the characters that exist only in ink and her imagination.

Two Earthmen entered, but instead of advancing into the room, they placed themselves one on each side of the door, and bowed deeply. They were followed immediately by the last person whom anyone had expected or wished to see: the Lady of the Green Kirtle, the Queen of Underland. She stood dead still in the doorway, and they could see her eyes moving as she took in the whole situation—the three strangers, the silver chair destroyed, and the Prince free, with his sword in his hand.

“I think I like Karissa,” Henry Fitzgerald, who sits at her left, says to his best friend Kevin Magden - not to be confused with Kevin Michaelson, and didn’t the teacher sigh over that sometimes. He has to speak over and around Izzy’s head. 

“Like, like like her?” Kevin Magden asks, sounding half-horrified, half-fascinated. Izzy fights not to roll her eyes, and tries to focus back on her book, on the entrance of the Queen, on the Prince freed but faced with great danger.

The Queen of the Underland, the lady who held the Prince in the dark for ten whole years, that’s older than Izzy even is. Coming into the room to find the children and the Prince, and her having no control any longer. 

She turned very white; but Jill thought it was the sort of whiteness that comes over some people's faces not when they are frightened but when they are angry. For a moment the Witch fixed her eyes on the Prince, and there was murder in them. Then she seemed to change her mind.

“Run,” Izzy whispers, to the children, to Puddleglum the strange marsh creature, to the freed Prince. “Don’t talk to her, just run. Don’t listen to whatever she says, don’t.”

“What are you even saying, Izzy?” Kevin Magden says.

“She’s all in her book like always,” Henry Fitzgerald says, shrugging. He makes some sort of gesture - Izzy doesn’t look up to see it - and the two of them laugh. She doesn’t care about that. The story is far, far more important than they are anyway. “Anyway, Kev, I like-... yeah, I think I like like her. I’m gonna tell her at break.”

“Gross,” Kevin says, but he sounds fascinated. “What if she says she doesn’t like-like you back?”

Henry shrugs again - Izzy can see the movement from the corner of her eye. “Dunno. Maybe kiss her.”

“Gross,” Kevin repeats, much more emphatically. 

Izzy tries to keep her mind on the page, but shifts uncomfortably in her chair. She closes her eyes briefly, thinking of the Queen of the Underland, standing in the doorway. She imagines her with very white skin and dark, long fingernails, wearing a long dress that brushes the earthen floor, making a soft swish-swish sound as she walks. In her mind, the Queen of the Underland has very bright blue eyes and lots of curly, dark brown hair that is threaded with silver down her back, wild and uncontrolled, like it can reach out and grab you and drag you into the dark with her.

She feels like the Queen is not a stranger to her, and not hard to picture at all. Try as she might, she can’t make the Queen in her imagination look like the description of the Queen in the book. She only ever looks one way - beautiful and wicked, deceptively soft, eyes brilliant and shining too bright when the Prince is in pain.

Will she hurt him, while the children have to stand and watch and can’t save him at all?

"Leave us," she said to the two Earthmen. "And let none disturb us till I call, on pain of death." The gnomes padded away obediently, and the Witch-queen shut and locked the door.

"How now, my lord Prince," she said. "Has your nightly fit not yet come upon you, or is it over so soon? Why stand you here unbound? Who are these aliens? And is it they who have destroyed the chair which was your only safety?"

Izzy can hear the Queen’s voice, musical lilt, simpering sweet and dangerous. Why are you leaving me? How dare you. Come back here, Jax, you can’t leave, you’re mine. 

Kevin and Henry are still talking, but Izzy doesn’t hear them any longer. She’s lost in the panic rising inside of her. Run, she thinks, in a scream, a shout in her mind. It isn’t that she doesn’t understand it’s just a book, but that she is still scared, frightened for the prince whose father had grown older while he was gone, whose family must have missed him so much. She is frightened for the children who do not understand the witch or how to fight her. She’s frightened even for Puddleglum, who only wants to help, to do the right thing. Don’t talk to her, don’t give her the chance, just run. She’ll make you hers again. She swallows - it feels like her heart beats itself right up into her throat, like she is swallowing around it - and keeps reading.

Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke to him. And no wonder: it is not easy to throw off in half an hour an enchantment which has made one a slave for ten years. Then, speaking with a great effort, he said:

“I’ll kiss her even if she doesn’t like me back, anyway.”

Izzy’s breath catches, and she blinks, feeling like she has been pulled out of a spell herself. She looks up, glancing sidelong at Henry, who isn’t looking at her at all, just talking to Kevin. “Hen-... Henry-... what did you say?”

“None of your business,” Henry replies, voice harsh and loud enough to get some of the others to look over at them, and Izzy’s shoulders creep up towards her chin, face burning red. She hates when everyone looks at her, hates it more than anything. Henry looks back at Kevin. “At break, I will. I’ll tell her, and I’ll kiss her, whether she wants to or not.”

Izzy looks back down, but the words on the page run together, she can’t see them any longer, they’re just squiggles, meaningless little lines. What I want just matters more, whispers a nightmare she can never quite feel woken up from. She tries, she really does, to focus again on the book but she sees secondly, she took out a musical instrument- 

Izzy slams the little paperback shut, sticks it back in her desk, and says in a thin voice, “You can’t do that if someone doesn’t want you to, it’s wrong.”

“It’s not a big deal, Izzy, geez.” Kevin on her other side speaks up now, and between them she feels like she’s being battered, tossed on a sea, shoved down, locked in the dark. Izzy stares down at her desk, then, letting her eyes lose focus on the wavy colors in the polished wood. Light brown, almost auburn, and darker brown, almost a chocolate color, very like the hair on Izzy’s own head, clipped short and spiky.

Very very like the wavy, thick curls that ran down her mother’s back, that smothered Izzy in the smell of her shampoo and perfume. 

“It is a big deal,” Izzy whispers. “It’s wrong, to make someone kiss you. It’s wrong. It-... it hurts them. It matters what they want, too.”

“Ugh. It's just a kiss. You’re bonkers, you know that?" Henry leans over, almost in her space, and Izzy sits back as far as she can until she presses her back hard into her chair, enough to hurt. “Absolutely mad.” 

“No, I’m not,” Izzy mumbles, but panic twists even worse inside her. Is she? Her mom is. Isn’t she? Don’t you have to be, to be evil? Dr. Marty says no, that those two things are totally separate and people are just bad at understanding that people can be really, really, really bad and still be sane - that bad people almost always are - and Dr. Marty knows everything about crazy and not-crazy, that’s his whole job, and she’s not like her mother anyway, she’s not. 

“Are so,” Henry taunts, falling easily into the familiar cadence of mockery, and Izzy’s face burns brighter and hotter as the room begins to fall quiet, other conversations falling away as the others realize there might be some entertainment now. Her breath comes faster, and she closes her hands into fists at her side, fighting to control the way the fear and a new rise of anger start to twist around inside her stomach, making it flip, making her feel sick. “You’re bonkers for sure, Izzy Gallagher.”

“I-I’m not. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not! It’s not right to kiss people who you don’t know if they want to or not! It’s not!”

The room feels suddenly too small, and too big - she can’t escape Henry’s bean-breath and she can’t run far enough to get to the door, she can’t run at all. Some small voice inside her demands she stay still, shut her mouth, never talk again. She should have just finished her book, seen how the Prince would escape the Queen of the Underland, seen if the children help him or just weigh him down, one more bit of stone tying him to Underland and maybe he wishes he could just leave them behind, if they bother him, if they’re no good-

“Ewwwww, who would want to kiss Izzy?” A girl near her wrinkles her nose - Lindsey Smith, Izzy’s brain supplies, in an airless dizzy spin of details that aren’t important but she can’t stop circling around. “She looks like a boy.”

“Hey, back off.” Izzy, surprised, glances over her shoulder to find Noah Hawkins looking up from his own book, eyes narrowed. “Izzy’s hair is cool, and it’s cooler than yours anyway, Lindsey-kins. You just wish you looked as good as she does.”

“Shut up! You just say that because you’re a boy, of course you think boy hair looks cool.” Lindsey sticks her tongue out, crossing her arms in front of herself. She has big poofy hair like Izzy’s would be if she didn’t have her dad cut it so short, held back with a clip. Hers is red, though.

“There’s no such thing,” Sarah says from over by the window. “As boy or girl hair, I mean. There’s no such thing. It’s all just hair. Izzy’s hair does look cool. You all should leave it alone, Mrs. Brent is going to be back inside any second and we’ll all get in trouble if there’s fighting.”

“Yeah, Izzy,” Henry hisses at her, leaning in close. Too close. She forgets how to breathe. “Stop causing trouble, Izzy.”

“I’m not,” Izzy whispers. Her face feels like it might light on fire. Her fingernails dig into her palms, until she feels flashes of pain, creating crescents that could take hours to fully fade if she did it hard enough. “I was-... I was just-”

“Just butting in where you don’t belong,” Henry finishes for her. “It’s not your business.”

“It’s-... but, but I just-” Her voice is fading fast, airy and breathless, barely a whisper. Quiet little Izzy Gallagher, who never stands up for herself, who lets everyone talk to her like this, who never says a word she isn’t asked to say. Her fear batters her with wings inside her chest, but beneath it is something else entirely, trying to rise up and take over her mind and mouth. Anger. She and Dr. Marty had talked about it, about how it was a normal feeling to feel, but every swell of it within her was met by the rising tide of fear in response.

She never lets herself be angry. That would make her like her mother, who was angry so much, and she’s not like that, she’s not. 

She doesn’t think, in the moment, that her mother isn’t the only parent who knows how to be angry.

The thoughts are not conscious. They aren’t driven by any kind of logic, they loop and swirl around each other. They flash bright like light in the back of her mind. She thinks about the story, the book inside her desk, the way the Prince fell upon the silver chair, how he swung his sword in dim light. 

She thinks about the prince walking out the hotel doors with a baby in one arm and a little girl on his hip, a backpack heavy against his back, into the sunlight outside. She can remember the way he breathed quick and shallow against her hair, the racing of his heart as he asked her to be very quiet, and very brave. She didn’t know he was scared, he didn’t say it, he was just the Prince, shining in the sunlight, asking for directions to the train station and going in a suit to court later and the silver gave way before the sword’s edge like string, and in a moment a few twisted fragments, shining on the floor, were all that was left of the chair. 

“But-but-but-but, I just-” Henry is still going, and Izzy’s eyes burn as hot as her face, lips pulling back from her teeth in a grimace like a snarl. “Just shut up, Izzy Gallagher, nobody cares what you think.”

“Don’t be a dick, I care,” Noah says, from the back of the room, his voice getting louder, now. Other students whoop and go ooooh, Noah likes Izzy, but Noah ignores them, and he doesn’t turn even a little bit red. “Izzy hasn’t done anything wrong to you.” She barely knows Noah, he’s in her class but they don’t talk or anything. This is the first time he’s done more than help her with a math problem, this is the first time she’s heard him even talk in class without the teacher calling on him.

But it feels good to have somebody else stand up for her. 

“She’s butting in!” Henry protests, hands up like he’s the innocent one. “Kevin and I were just talking-”

“About kissing Karissa Bellweather!” Izzy half-shouts. “From the other class! You were talking about kissing someone even if she doesn’t want to! You said you would even if she said no! That’s not right!”

“Ew,” Someone says, Izzy doesn’t know who. Her blood is rushing in her ears almost too loud to hear. “Do you like-like Karissa Bellweather, Henry?”

“No! I don’t!” Henry looks stricken. He hadn’t expected her to just say it out loud like that to everybody. “Gallagher’s lying! She’s a liar!”

“I’m not! I’m not a fucking liar!” Her voice is too loud and she claps her hands over her mouth. Don’t cry, she thinks to herself, and her own thought-voice twists into her mother’s sharper edges. Her palms ache and she wonders if her nails have broken skin, but the wonder is faint, and faded. She feels a hand pressed against the back of her neck, the Queen of the Underland’s voice beside her ear. Don’t cry, Bella. You’re so ugly when you cry. Jax, get her out of my sight. 

“Fuck off,” Izzy says, voice trembling. She isn’t really talking to Henry, not anymore. “Leave-... leave me alone.”

“Oooh, what’re you gonna do, huh? Gonna throw some punches?” Kevin is too close on the other side, now. They’re both too close. Izzy’s heart beats all out of time, and when she goes to breathe, it… it doesn’t work. Her breath is stuck in her throat, halfway down. The air just… sits there, and she can’t hitch it in or exhale it. It feels like her throat is closing up, she’ll choke on nothing, black out and fall down. “Bonkers Izzy Gallagher, gonna fight us, are you?”

“I-I could-” Her voice is a whimper, and Izzy closes her eyes. 

“Could not,” Henry mocks, from his side of her. “You’re weak as a puppy. What are you gonna do?”

“Stop-... stop you from talking anymore,” Izzy says, and pushes her chair back with a loud scrape, getting to her feet. She should tell Dr. Marty about the book, she thinks, about the Queen of the Underland. She should tell her father about the Prince tied to the chair, and how he chopped the chair to bits, and she should tell them all about it, nice and safe and quiet at home, and not do what she’s afraid she’s going to do instead.

“How, gonna use something you learned from your mam in prison?” Henry asks, and Izzy remembers, all at once, how to breathe - but it’s all poison. She gulps in air, fear sparking up, her nerves feel like a hundred thousand tiny lightning strikes. She wants to run but she’s at school and there isn’t anywhere to go. 

“Wh-what?”

“My dad says your mam’s famous in the States for being in prison,” Henry says, leaping on this new tactic as the blood drains from Izzy’s face. He’s like animals on the nature shows that James likes to watch at home with their snack, circling a calf all alone. She’s a wounded baby calf, she’s weighing the herd down, she’s not strong or brave enough, she never was. “Did she teach you how to prison-fight? Ooooh, did she show you how to make a-” He jabs at the air, fist closed empty around an imaginary knife. “A prison-blade?”

“Shiv,” Kevin supplies helpfully.

“Right, that. Did your mam show you how to shank someone?”

“I don’t-... I don’t talk to my mom,” Izzy says, half-strangled by her own words. Her head is spinning. Her backpack is so far away. “We don’t-... we don’t have contact-... she doesn’t talk to me, isn’t allowed-”

“Oh, ew.” Henry sits back, and his face lights up with the simple cruelty of wounding someone who looks unable to fight back, of regaining his own stability and distracting everyone from his embarrassment by bringing up Izzy’s shame instead. “Are you so awful even your mam doesn’t want to talk to you?”

No. She doesn’t. Izzy’s lip trembles. She can’t bring herself to try and respond. She doesn’t, she doesn’t want to know anything about me at all. The last thing my mom ever said to me was yelling at me not to look so scared all the time and Dad said she never asked about me when he talked to her during the trial she never asked she never-

“Hey, Henry,” Someone says. “This is super gross stuff to say, isn’t it?” Izzy can’t see anything but Henry’s face, everything else is white noise and his words ringing through her, settling too deeply inside, meeting her own thoughts that match them, sometimes, on hard days. She never asked about me, she doesn’t even care that I hate her. Your mam is supposed to care if you hate her. You’re so awful your mom doesn’t even care about you. Your mam is supposed to-

“Yeah, Henry. That’s too far, that’s really mean.”

“She can’t help who her mam is, Hen.”

“Yeah, it’s not like she went to the mam shop and picked a rubbish one.”

“My dad was away for a while, Iz, I get it. My mam says it doesn’t say anything about us. People make bad choices is all.”

“I haven’t even seen my dad since I was five, Izzy, it’s okay, don’t be sad.”

“Yeah, it’s okay, Izzy, don’t be sad, Henry’s just being awful.”

“Hey, she was awful first!”

“Go run up a pole, Henry. I like you, Izzy,” Sarah says, from the window, and moves in her direction. “Henry’s being a jerk, don’t listen to him. Don’t be sad. It’s okay.”

“I like you, too, you’re fun at break, you always have good ideas for games.” That’s Amira, using that certain kind of tone you use when you are trying to comfort an upset person, and Izzy feels some of the ice closing around her heart starting to warm up, to melt, to crack apart. 

Even Lindsey says, almost grudging, “Don’t be sad because of Henry, Izzy. He’s really mean sometimes.”

“I think you’re really cool,” Noah says, in a quieter voice. “Please don’t be sad. Want to play monsters at break?”

They don’t all hate her, they don’t. Someone puts a hand at her back, and she flinches, and they pull the hand away, but they don’t hate her for pulling away, they don’t hate her voice or her hair and they don’t hate her for speaking up, they don’t. 

Henry hasn’t given up, not yet. “Your mam’s in prison for being a shit to your dad, isn’t she?” 

Izzy doesn’t look at him, leaning down to pull the book out of her desk, trying to think. She can pull her backpack out and go the nurse, say she’s feeling sick, and maybe her dad will come get her and take her home. They can call Dr. Marty and she can tell him what happened and Dr. Marty will know what to tell her and her dad to work on for the next time. She can tell him that there were good things, too, like that Noah said he thinks she’s cool, and Amira likes her game ideas, and not everybody hates her because she has the wrong mom, and it’s going to be okay. 

It’s going to be okay.

“Henry, stop it,” She says, in a half-whisper. “Please stop.”

She can go to the nurse. Say she’s sick, it’s not a lie, her stomach is all twisted up in knots. It’ll be true, she’s not going to feel better. She has sweat on her forehead drying cold, making her shiver a little. It’s not a lie, being scared makes her sick, it’s a real sick, it’s not a lie. She gets sick a lot from being scared, Dr. Marty says it’s normal for kids who have anxiety, she has exercises to do, she can picture all her hurting thoughts and move them away, and… 

“That’s what my dad said.” Henry’s voice cuts in. “He said your mam’s a piece of fucking work and probably made your dad one, too-”

“Don’t talk about my dad!” She rounds on him, then, book clutched to her chest. “Don’t you dare, you don’t-... you don’t have any right! You don’t know what happened, you don’t know us, you don’t know anything! My dad is better than yours ever could be! And, and stronger, and braver, too!”

Izzy Gallagher, quiet as a mouse, teacher’s pet from sheer terrified inaction, who always sits still and listens carefully and takes direction so well and is just an absolute pleasure to have in class, Mr. Gallagher, an absolute pleasure, is shouting and doesn’t realize it until the words have left her mouth. 

She should stop, some part of her brain begs her to stop, but the anger is suddenly larger than the fear and she is a little girl with a sword. Where they came from, and what she and her father and her little brother have survived, is a silver chair she will hack to bits until all that’s left shines like jewelry when held up to the light.

Henry’s eyes widen, they are big saucers, and they are very bright and very blue.

“My dad is amazing.” She can’t stop shouting. She’s not even trying to stop any longer. “He lived through really bad stuff and he still got us away from it! Even though it would have been easier to go by himself and leave us, he didn’t, and my mom is evil, and I’m not, because you don’t have to be what your mom is and I’m not ever going to be like that, but you are evil, Henry Fitzgerald, and you don’t even have an excuse! You’re-... you’re mean for no reason, and I hope Karissa spits in your face and kicks you between your legs as hard as she fucking can! You are an asshole, Henry Fitzgerald, and you can go fuck yourself all the way home!”

“Isabella Gallagher!” Mrs. Brent’s voice is shocked, and the words die in Izzy’s throat, as she slowly turns to see the teacher standing in the doorway, staring at her like she’d grown three heads and all of them have fangs. 

Izzy feels like she has fangs, too. And claws, like she is a monster herself. She should be scared, or sad, or ashamed of herself, but all she feels is anger burning bright and hot and good in her veins, louder than fear. Angry feels safer than scared. She feels proud of herself, a feeling so unfamiliar it seems like it must be someone else’s. Sarah, close to her now, whispers, go Izzy, in a soft impressed voice, and Izzy feels her eyes burn again, more than before, but for a different reason. 

They don’t hate her, and Henry isn’t saying bad things about her dad any longer, because of her. They don’t hate her.

“You might be even cooler now,” Amira says, and the teacher shushes all of them and points Izzy out, telling her to go see the Head Teacher. Any other Izzy would slink out with her shoulders hunched, full of fear, but this Izzy feels the buzz of standing up for herself running through her and warming all the cold, chasing the heavy hand on her neck away. This Izzy walks with her chin up and her shoulders back.

Some of the warm feeling goes away when the Head Teacher calls her dad to come get her, and says in her stern hard voice that Izzy was yelling and cursing at another student. The Head Teacher doesn’t say that she had a reason, and makes it sound like Izzy just stood up and started cursing for no reason at all. That’s… that’s not fair. Grown-ups always do that, make it seem like kids just go off for no reason, and Izzy can’t hear what her dad says back to the Head Teacher, but a lot of the warm feeling goes away, then. Her heart feels cold and scared again.

What if he’s mad at her?

What if she can’t be sorry enough to fix it?

Izzy sits in a hard wooden chair that is shaped all wrong for kids and makes her legs hurt after a while, waiting for him to come get her with a racing heart, her book open in her lap. 

There’s some brown-y red smeared on the cover, drying. She made her palms bleed when she was scared and didn’t even notice. She’ll ask her dad to buy the school library a new one. She wants to keep this one for herself.

"I have come," said a deep voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared with him. And in less time than it takes to breathe Jill forgot about the dead King of Narnia and remembered only how she had made Eustace fall over the cliff, and how she had helped to muff nearly all the signs, and about all the snappings and quarrellings. And she wanted to say "I'm sorry" but she could not speak. Then the Lion drew them towards him with his eyes, and bent down and touched their pale faces with his tongue, and said:

"Think of that no more. I will not always be scolding. You have done the work for which I sent you into Narnia."

"Please, Aslan," said Jill, "may we go home now?"

"Yes. I have come to bring you Home," said Aslan.

A flash of gray, worn jeans in her vision brings her slowly into awareness of the world around her, but it’s the voice that breaks her completely from the story’s spell. 

“Talk to me, kiddo.”

Izzy looks up to meet her father’s eyes, surprised - she hadn’t even heard him come up. But they’re quiet movers, the Gallaghers - except for Jamie, who never had to learn to move so quiet she couldn’t hear him, who never had to push down all his sounds so deep inside himself he could go whole days without making any at all. 

Her dad drops into a crouch in front of her, and his knees crack a little, but if it bothers him he doesn’t show it. He looks up at her, from this angle, and he doesn’t look mad.

He almost never looks mad at her.

“I got a call that you were fighting in class.” He looks like he’s trying not to twitch a smile at the corner of his mouth. “And using some pretty creative language.”

“Can’t imagine where I learned to curse,” Izzy says gravely, and there - that was definitely a smile on his face that he has to hide as fast as it shows. She lives for her father’s smile. Still, she closes her book, and folds her hands on top of the stain on the cover so he won’t see it. “I only yelled a little. Henry Fitzgerald was mean to me, and he was going to-... he was going to kiss a girl who didn’t want him to kiss her, even if she didn’t want him to. He said it didn’t matter if she wanted to or not.”

“Ah.” It’s all he says, at first. His face doesn’t show much, now. Her nervous heart starts to beat fast again.

“It’s, that was, um, that was before he got mean. He got mean when I told him that it’s wrong to do that and… I kind of… told everybody in class he was going to.”

Her father’s eyebrows raise, a little. “You did, did you?”

“Yes. Then he said his dad told him my mom’s in prison and that-” She stops herself, closing her hands tightly over the book, before her voice can start to shake again. She takes deep breaths, strong ones, fills her whole lungs up. Her dad waits for her, he always waits for Izzy when she needs him to. “He said, it was just, it was a stupid thing, but it made me really angry.”

Her dad’s face hasn’t changed, but Izzy knows when emotions change in a room, even without anyone’s face moving at all. She can feel that something has shifted inside him, something he’s not showing her. “What did he say?” 

“That I must be awful if my mom doesn’t even want to talk to me.” She says it flat, like it doesn’t bother her at all to hear it. No big deal, it’s normal to have a mother who hates you for stealing your father even though it didn’t happen that way. “Then he said mean stuff about you, and… I was already upset, so… I kind of went off on him. I’m sorry you got called and had to come get me.”

“But you’re not sorry you did it,” He says, and it’s not a question.

She presses her lips tightly together, and shakes her head. “I’m… I’m not. He needed to be yelled at. I’m not sorry, Dad. I mean, I am sorry that you have to do anything, but, I’m not-... sorry for calling him all those names and I will put my money from my birthday in the swear jar if you want, I’ll skip tea for a week and put all my chocolates in there, but I still won’t be sorry for yelling when he was mean about you.”

He huffs a sound like quiet laughter and offers her his hands. “Izzy… I don’t care what a year three kid - or his dad - says about me. But clearly it was important to you. Let me go in there and talk to the Head Teacher about it, and we’ll talk out what happens next on our way home. Okay?”

No anger, or threatening punishments, no mention of discipline ever leaves his slightly smiling lips. Izzy is never taught through making her afraid, not anymore. But he waits, seriously, for her to acknowledge what he’s said. 

“Okay, Dad. We’ll talk about what I need to do. And-... can we call Dr. Marty when we get home? I-... want to talk to Dr. Marty about what happened.”

He looks surprised, but not unhappy about it, and nods. “Yeah, kiddo. Good plan. I’ll be back out in just a bit.” When he turns to walk into the Head Teacher’s office, she thinks that even with everything, he looks very like a grown-up prince, and the rings in his ears look like shredded silver. 

She lifts a hand to touch the shell of her own ear, on her left side. 

Izzy opens her book, to the murmur of their voices as they talk about her. She decides to finish it later, and instead she flips back to read again the bit where the prince takes his sword to the chair that kept him under the spell and tells the evil Queen of Underland that he isn’t hers any longer. 

He will go home, to his family, to be freed of her entirely, even if she still shows up in bad dreams… bad dreams are the only place she can come to, now. He’ll wake up and someone will tell him that she’s gone and she can’t come back, and it will be true. They’ll tell him, again and again, until he believes it. 

Izzy will tell her dad, until he believes it.

Jax will tell her, until she believes it, too.

But first… 

Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke to him. And no wonder: it is not easy to throw off in half an hour an enchantment which has made one a slave for ten years. Then, speaking with a great effort, he said:

"Madam, there will be no more need of that chair. And you, who have told me a hundred times how deeply you pitied me for the sorceries by which I was bound, will doubtless hear with joy that they are now ended for ever. There was, it seems, some small error in your Ladyship's way of treating them. These, my true friends, have delivered me. I am now in my right mind, and there are two things I will say to you…”

“Go fuck yourself,” Izzy whispers with a smile on her face and the thrill of forbidden words up her spine. She isn’t talking to Henry Fitzgerald this time, either. She never really was. “And I’m not sorry you’re not Queen anymore at all.”

---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

[imaginaenespanol]

Childhood Kid!Michael Myers x Kid!Latin!reader

Plot: You and your family are immigrants from a Latin American country. Thanks to your dad's opportunity at his job, they come to Hanonfield USA, you meet the kid Michael Myers and they become friends because of your strange way of speaking Other idiom and persistence in wanting to be his friend, they spend 4 years together in various situations, while he falls in love with you, you are his only happiness. What happened in those years before that fateful Halloween?

Words: 3,343

Warning: some violence from Michael and Bullies bothering them both

Notes: Long chapter! I was excited to write it, it seems that you and Michael are getting to know each other better, he is still a bit distant with you but don't worry! it will open up to you

chapters: (1), (x),(3)

Chapter 2: I want to know you better

Sunday January 6 , 2002

It was 09:00 am and you got up quickly from your bed because thunder had fallen nearby, you remember that before sleeping it started to rain lightly and now it was stronger, it wouldn't stop soon, it's exciting in a way but you knew you wouldn't they would let out hell you wanted to see if you could play with that kid Michael again even though he said you were just neighbors nothing more you had a good time and you wanted him to be your friend you could wait till the rain stopped. Well, nothing like exploring a new house can't satiate your curiosity for several hours.

After your Mom will help you choose your clothes and get decent for breakfast, you had nothing to do, so you decided with your older brothers to explore the attic of the new house and see if they find any "hidden treasure", your parents let do what they want since they were more busy looking at legal paperwork you don't understand and talking to someone on the phone.

When your brothers finally managed to open the attic stairs and go up with a flashlight that they found in one of the boxes that had not yet been put in its place, you heard a female voice that you recognized as your Mom talking to someone on the phone, you paid attention to see what he said —Yes, there is no problem that the child can stay for the day , yesterday (Y/N) did not stop talking about him before going to sleep— he said in a carefree and understanding way —I understand then your daughter The older one has a friend at home and he has nowhere to leave him, don't worry...— It was Michael who came to your house! Well, then his mother trusts your family enough to bring him home during the day. You decided to climb down from the Attic carefully so you could go meet him, though you almost slipped in the process.

Arriving where your parents were, Michael and his mother had already arrived. The boy was bundled up and taking off a scarf, while Deborah held a wet umbrella trying to comfort the boy, he looked extremely grumpy —You told me we would spend the day together watching a movie, I don't want to be here— The blond boy claimed his mother — For the last time, I can't be with you today, it's an emergency, besides, your little friend from yesterday will play with you today." Deborah said pointing at you, her voice had a hint of frustration. "She's not my friend." He muttered annoyed, his mother sighed at such a comment —Don't be like that honey, you'll have a good time, be good for me, okay? Take care of yourself— Michael nodded slightly, still in a bad mood.

You decided to act after seeing that mini-argument to lift his spirits, you approached him —Hi Michael, come play with me up there— you said enthusiastically taking his hand, uh, it was a mistake —I don't want to, don't touch me— he said, abruptly removing your hand on his, that alerted his mother who was already coming out the front door, saying goodbye to your parents.—What did I tell you about being good? Honey, I'll be back before dinner— she warned in a stern tone and he muttered a little “okay” before she left.

Your parents also tried to cheer him up with some candies that they had brought from your home country, although he accepted the candies for some reason, his bad mood didn't go down a bit, you weren't discouraged by his behavior, you would be the same in a strange house, it's more, you would be scared and crying in no time, why not find your brother's console in his room and play for a while? I'm sure it would cheer him up, you offered to play the console and he shrugged his shoulders without speaking, don't you want to? then you force him to go to your room, you don't want long faces —Come with me to my room, I have toys— and you took his hand again to guide him, you did it without sincerely thinking, which of course he disliked and he took his hand off again. hand over yours, but this time he followed you silently.

In Michael's mind he just wanted to make you angry and cry, he enjoyed hurting others for some reason, but why were you still being nice to him? You just met him yesterday and you had already shown him toys in your room that you probably never would have and even sometimes your brothers came to play with Michael and you in a very kind way. Why can't it be the same with Judith? or with Mom even, somehow he was despised by his older sister, he could never play with his sister like you do with them so happily, he wishes he had a sister or brother who didn't despise him, he resigned himself to being in a bad mood and not cooperating With you at your insistence, he wanted to enjoy the rest of the day when you mentioned that you like martial arts and horror movies, he doesn't know exactly what the former was, but the latter was something he also liked to watch.

—Do you like the movie “ It '?'— he nodded, he likes it because of the clown that kills children and the blood there is— my Dad bought it on the way to this city, I've never seen it— You mentioned while rummaging through a box with a lot of movies looking for the one you wanted —I already saw it, there's a lot of blood, if you're scared you won't sleep tonight— she mentioned bothering you —Of course not!, I'm someone very brave, I've already seen movies so — you mentioned annoyed, you would not give in to his comments —Yes? so let's watch the movie, big girl— I wasn't going to leave you alone with that nickname, you asked your sister to put that movie on anyway, without first warning you that it might give you nightmares, which caused Michael to make fun of you —Don't give yourself nightmares, big girl!— he mockingly mentioned —Callate— you told him in Spanish, “another strange word” Michael thought —Let's watch the movie and I'll show you that I'm brave— you said decisively and they did, you tried to stay brave and enjoy the movie which you genuinely did in a lot of parts but definitely that clown is scary and you screeched when it was scariest causing the blonde kid to make fun of you more or push you off the side of the big chair, rude. [N/A: shut up]

Almost at the end of the movie, you wanted to take revenge for all the teasing that the blond boy made you when you were scared by the clown, you saw nothing better than throwing a pillow at him causing him to throw another one back at you with great force and you complained — Ouch , that hurts Mikey— .

—You threw the pillow at me first! I just replied—the claim without realizing what you just called it—Well, it's my revenge for making fun of me , get ready!—the two grabbed the pillows next to each other and a war began between you two, they hit each other with the pillows incessantly, when they stood in front of the television, your brothers who were also there watching the movie, complained that they were not allowed to see and joined the battle, there were two sides initially, but later they all hit each other and threw pillows at each other .

When they were running around the TV Michael caught you off guard and got on top of you, he started hitting you with the pillow while you hit him back between giggles, but he started to get more violent, he grabbed his pillow with both hands and started to choke you with said pillow, at first you laughed and fought playfully, but you began to lose your breath — Mikey , I c-can't breathe, p-please stop— you begged desperately, he continued , you told him Mikey and he felt something strange in his chest so he pressed more —P-please, s-stop —they kept asking even with less air and he pressed the pillow more on your face, you began to move less and lose strength, you were drowning, when an angry voice interrupted them.

—MICHAEL AUDREY MYERS— said his mother as he was grabbed from behind and coming out on top of you, you can finally breathe, you breathed deeply and repeatedly trying to fill the air in your lungs —I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WERE DOING THAT!— she said still very angry —We were just playing! It wasn't bad at all— He defended himself, she shook her head and took his arm with one hand, with the other she had her umbrella and the scarf that Michael had taken off when he came to your house, with the other hand —You were smothering her with the pillow! That's not playing with her, how many times have I told you to be kind to other children— she said, still annoyed, Deborah apologized and forced Michael to do the same, although he only said a weak "sorry" before he was taken away from your house still scolding the boy, you can't get out of your daze, so your parents helped you the rest of the afternoon and night to calm down, they mentioned that you would start to go to school tomorrow and you cheered up, tomorrow is a new day along with a new opportunity.

The question that was going around in your head is why did he suddenly behave like this with you? you would know tomorrow, or so you thought.

Monday January 7 , 2002

You were in the principal's office with your mom at your new school your dad had to work so he couldn't come which was disappointing and whiny all the way you stopped crying when you saw some kids come in laughing you hated that you look like this, you were a big girl after all, your brothers were already in their classes, the only thing missing was you.

—Then Lady, you say you want (Y/N) to attend first grade even though he is 5 years old, right? — The principal briefly mentioned trying to understand the situation, Your mother nodded —Exactly, I have all the documents that prove that it is perfectly achievable. She even understands what we speak in English right now, isn't that right, honey?— The principal looked at you with a raised eyebrow —Yes, mommy, Mr. Principal, I know many things— you said obediently, however The principal sighed —Because of his age She should be in preschool, even though the state of Illinois says otherwise, I consider that at this point...— Your mother interrupted the principal, annoyed —Honey, can you wait outside for a moment?— uh oh, she was annoyed, but he didn't He was going to let himself be won over by an “Annoying Woman” — Principal , I suggest you listen to Mom, it's scary when she gets angry— You warned his, as you left the office, even though that man didn't take you seriously.

You sat near an armchair while you heard your mother's voice arguing with that man, you covered your ears because you hated listening to arguments, especially if they involved your mother with your dad or with another person, whoever it was, she always won, she was stubborn and now was no exception, after a while the door opened and you saw the smile triumphant of her with a director somewhat annoyed and with a frown —¿Que paso mami?— You said in Spanish asking what had happened [N/A: What happened mommy?]

—(Y/N) mi niña linda — She answered you also in Spanish, while she hugged you —Today you will have your first day of elementary school, I hope you behave well and have many little friends— Your smile was indelible. She won! [N/A: My beautiful girl]

—Now I have to go because they won't let me in, but he will guide you to the classroom, okay?— You nodded —I love you mom— you gave her a kiss on the cheek —Me too my girl, take care — And so she left leaving an uncomfortable Principal standing, you smiled at him as he walked towards the door to leave you in the classroom, you didn't know beyond the Principal's office and if he left you to your fate you would get lost —I told him to pay attention to him to her, she never loses— he snorted amused— yeah , mothers, they are always right…well, I hope your behavior is the right one, Miss (Y/N), I don't want to see you in my office for some bad behavior— You weren't that kind of people, or so you thought now — No sir, I'll show him— you said, they arrived at the door of a classroom, you stood awkwardly aside while he knocked on the door to get the teacher's attention , she went out to the corridor where they were while the director explained the situation, she a nodded and the director left the place.

—My name is April and I will be your teacher this year, a pleasure (Y/N)— she said kindly —A pleasure miss April, I hope to get along with you— it is now where your nerves react and your shyness increases, you felt a lump in your stomach upset from nerves, too much stress —Let your new classmates know so you can introduce yourself properly, okay?— you nodded —Yes, Miss April— She told you to stay there while she went back to the classroom.

On Michael's side, it wasn't that different from other days, restless classmates who reject him, annoying bullies who harass him before entering classes forever and a teacher who feigns kindness but really can't stand him, nothing new for him. So he entered his class 5 minutes late and teacher April didn't even notice, at least it wasn't longer than other times. Everything was normal in the Mathematics class until there was a knock on the door and the teacher left for a few minutes, his other classmates began to murmur although he couldn't care less, his mind was on the scolding and punishment that his teacher gave him. mother last night at her house for trying to suffocate you with the pillow, you were annoying, although you wouldn't see it here, oh how wrong that blue-eyed boy was.

When the teacher returned to the classroom, she called everyone's attention —Children, I want you to welcome a new classmate— Oh no, isn't it?... —She comes from ( Your Latin Country) A country in South America and I want them to be kind— it can't be, it's sure to be that “big girl” as he nicknames her, the teacher looked towards the exit wanting you to come in, you timidly entered the room, looking at the floor, your cheeks were burning with embarrassment and your trembling hands were tightly gripping your backpack, yes, it was you, Michael sighed annoyed. —Do you want to introduce yourself honey?—

—Yes, my name is (Y/N) (L/N) and I hope to make friends— you said while some reacted with interest, others with giggles and weird comments —Very good (Y/N), choose a seat so we can continue with the class— Miss April said, you looked around as Michael sank in his seat wanting you not to choose him, better yet, not to recognize him but that's exactly what you did, you recognized him and your face lit up It was him!, you pointed to the seat next to him in the background and she nodded somewhat bewildered while there were annoying mutters like “he will sit next to the weird kid” “why did she choose it ? him ?” and things like that, you didn't pay attention to them.

When you sat next to him, he didn't look at you —Hey Michael , we'll be classmates— you told him in a low voice touching his shoulder so he would look at you —aha— that's all he said. Is he still like this from yesterday? —Hey, if you're like this because of yesterday, don't worry, I'm not mad at you, I still want us to be friends— that softened Michael's features, although it wasn't enough —I don't think so— you tilted your head in confusion —Why right?— you asked —you'll see them at recess and you won't want to hang out with me, big girl— he whisper still without looking at you, it was always like that and he had accepted his destiny, he didn't want to get excited about having a friend and then having him he betrayed by going with other bad boys, it would break his heart , but you were so insistent that a tiny part of him wanted to give in and be your friend, he had to stay strong.

During the entire math class he tried to ignore your attempts at conversation, they called their attention a few times to shut up, well for you to shut up, he didn't talk much and that's how the whole class went until recess, all your classmates went out to play and you went to the bathroom because you couldn't take it anymore, Michael went to the playground alone as always looking for some insect to squash, he didn't count on his Bullies finding him alone in a perfect position to kick him, they did it and He got upset , here we go again , there were 4.

—What are you doing loser?— said one

—Surely he's playing with the mud, that's what he always does,— another said. —Get lost, it's none of your business.— Michael said, trying to stand up. — Who told you that you could stand up? Damn useless .— They grabbed him by the collar of his clothes to be able to annoy him as always, when they heard a moan from the Bullies , they hit him in the head with a stone —Who was the idiot who threw that stone at me?— Said one furious looking for the person responsible.

—I went!, Leave it Calm down!— You said upset, it turns out that after going to the bathroom you looked for him everywhere until you found him hunched over with several boys, your grandmother always said to defend yourself with blows when they bother you and your friends, your mom said what himself while recounting his school experiences, so why not? sure it was the right thing, they were taller than you, so you had to be clever —Who are you?" His new girlfriend?— Said one making fun of you —I'm (Y/N) and I'm going to be friends with him, don't bother him— they laughed at the same time —Oww , how cute for a rat like you is to be expected— "Damn idiots" you thought as they were starting to surround you —You're dead, I don't care if you're a brat— Michael saw the situation and acted quickly, he kicked the butt of whoever had his back to him and you kicked another in the crotch leaving him kneeling and ran back to the building while running away from the screaming of those boys, they caused quite a commotion.

—Why did you help me ?— he said confused —These idiots were going to hit you— The blue-eyed boy sighed —I'm used to it, you didn't have to do that— You frowned annoyed —I don't care, if we're going to be friends I must do it, they are bad— I definitely didn't want those guys to bother you too , it was hard to be bullied every day and you looked like someone cheerful.

Should I accept his friendship? Michael was already starting to give in.

[wilwheaton]

The Purge.

Earlier this year, I made some significant and substantial changes to my life, continuing the process of growth and reflection that I started when I quit drinking almost four years ago. (Sidebar: it's remarkable how much clarity I got, and shocking how much pain I was self medicating for so much of my life. I'm so grateful for the love and support of my friends, my wife, and my kids, who supported me when it was clear that I needed to get alcohol out of my life. Be honest with yourself: if you're self medicating emotional pain and/or childhood trauma like I was, give some serious consideration to working on the root issues you're using booze to avoid. I'm so much happier and healthier since I quit, and that's almost entirely because I was able to confront, head on, why I was so sad and hurting so much of the time. I'm not the boss of you, but if you need a gentle nudge to ask for help, here it is: nudge.)

Anyway.

As I was cleaning up my emotional baggage, working on strategies to protect myself from my abusers, and practicing mindfulness daily, I realized that I had a ton of STUFF just sitting around my house, cluttering up my physical living space the way my emotional trauma and pain was cluttering up my emotional space. So I made a call, and hired a professional organizer to come to my house, go through all my bullshit with me, and help me get rid of all the things I didn't need any more.

This process was, in many ways, a metaphor.

We spent several days going through my closets, my game room, my storage spaces in my attic and shed, and eventually ended up with FIVE TRUCKLOADS of stuff I didn't need. Most of it was clothes and books and things that we donated to shelters, which was really easy to unload. I acquire T-shirts so much, I regularly go through my wardrobe and unload half of what I have, so it's easy to get rid of stuff without any emotional attachments.

But there were some things that were more difficult to get rid of, things that represented opportunities I once had but didn't pursue, things that represented ideas that I was really into for a minute, but didn't see through to completion, things that seemed like a good idea at the time but didn't really fit into my life, etc.

I clearly recall giving away a TON of electronic project kits to my friend's son, because he's 11, he loves building things, and he'll actually USE the stuff I bought to amuse myself while I tried to make a meaningful connection to my own 11 year-old self, who loved those things back then too. When I looked at all of these things, I had to accept and admit that 47 year-old me isn't going to make that connection through building a small robot, or writing a little bit of code to make a camera take pictures. I can still connect to that version of myself, but I do it now through therapy, through my own writing, my own meditation. For the longest time, I didn't want to let these things go, because I felt like I was giving up on finding that connection I was seeking, but what I didn't realize (and didn't know until I made the decision to let it go) was that I didn't need STUFF to recover something I'd lost and wanted to revisit.

I think that, by holding on to these kits and similar things, I was trying to give myself the opportunity to explore science and engineering and robotics in a way that young me was never given. Just about everything I wanted to do, that I was interested in when I was 11, was pushed aside, minimized, and sort of taken away from me by my parents. My dad made fun of everything I liked, and my mom made me feel like the only thing I should care about was the pursuit of fame and celebrity. Without parental support and encouragement, I never got the chance to find out if any of these other things would be interesting enough to me to think about pursuing them in higher education. Yes, for some reason, even when I was a really small kid, I was already thinking about where and when I would go to college. I never took even a single class, because I was so afraid of so many things when I was college age, but that's its own story, for another time.

As we went through just piles and piles of bullshit, it got easier and easier to just mark stuff for donation. That drone I used to fly for fun, that I kinda sorta told myself would eventually be used to film something I wrote? Get rid of it, that's never gonna happen. The guitar I kinda played a little bit when I was a teenager, but never really learned how to play properly? Give it to someone who is going to love it and play it so much, it lets them express their creativity in ways I was never able to. All those books I bought to make me a better poker player? Gone. All the books I bought to learn how to program in Python, Perl, Java, and even that old, used, BASIC book I picked up because I thought it would be fun to finally write that game I always dreamed about when I was ten? Give them all to someone who is actually going to *do* that, instead of just think about it.

It was, at first, really hard to get rid of this stuff, because I felt like I was admitting to myself that, even though I *could* paint all these minis (like I did when I was a teenager), even though I *could* study all of these books on Python and Arduino hacking, and probably make something kind of cool with that knowledge, I was never going to. I came to realize that having these things was more about holding on to the *possibility* that they represented. It was more about maintaining a connection to some things that once made me really happy. When I was a kid, I LOVED copying Atari BASIC programs out of a magazine and playing the games that resulted, because it was an escape from my father's bullying and my mother's neediness. When I was a teenager, I LOVED the time I spent (badly) painting Space Marines and Chaos Marines, because it gave me an escape from everything that was so hard about being me when I was 14. When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I spent hundreds of hours trying to learn the same five songs on the guitar, never mastering a single one of them. My time would have been much more wisely invested in learning the scales and chords that I declared were more boring than picking my way through the tablature for Goodbye Blue Sky.

And that all brings me to the thing that was simultaneously the hardest and most obvious thing to donate: all my Rock Band gear.

Did you know that the first Rock Band, which I and my kids and my friends played for literally a thousand hours, came out twelve years ago? Beatles Rock Band is a decade old this year. Rock Band 3 is ten years old, too.

I hadn't played Rock Band in almost five years when my friend asked me what I wanted to do with all these plastic guitars, both sets of pretend drums, and all the accessories that were stacked up neatly in the corner of my gameroom.

But a decade ago, Anne and I would send the kids off to their biodad's house, or to their friends' for a sleepover, have some beers, and play the FUCK out of Rock Band, almost every Saturday night. My god, it was so much fun for us to pretend that we were rocking all over the world, me on the drums, Anne on the vocals. Frequently, we'd get the whole family together to play, and we'd spend an entire evening pretending to be on tour together, blasting and rocking our way through the Who, Boston, Green Day, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, Dead Kennedys, and others. It brought us all closer together, and was incredibly valuable for our bonding, at a time when we really needed that.

And I was holding onto all these things, these fake plastic guitars and who even knows how many gigs of DLC, because I didn't want to lose my connection to those days. Part of me hoped that we'd all get together and play again, like we did when my kids were in their teens, like I would when I hosted epic Rock Band parties at Phoenix Comicon, or PAX, back before the world was on fire.

But when I looked at those things, neatly stacked up and untouched except by dust for years, I knew that we weren't going to play again, and that I didn't need these things in my house to validate the memories.

Back in those days, when Ryan and I would spend an entire Saturday afternoon and evening trying to complete the Endless Setlist on Expert (we never did, but we got to Green Grass and High Tides more than once), real musicians would smugly tell us that we were having fun the wrong way, that we should be learning REAL instruments instead of pretending to have already mastered them. I would always argue that the whole POINT of Rock Band was the fantasy. Can you imagine telling a 100 pound kid that he should be playing real football instead of Madden? Of course not, and yet.

But it kinda turns out that some of those smug musicians were right. As I packed up those plastic fake guitars and drum kits, put them into the truck with my real guitar, I had a small twinge of regret, that I had been focused on the fantasy, instead of developing a skill that I could still use today (the last time I attempted Rock Band, maybe four years ago, I couldn't get through a single song on Hard, much less Expert. My skills had faded, and it wasn't worth the effort to restore them). And then I stopped myself, because that's EXACTLY the kind of thinking that stopped me from following my dreams when I was a kid. What was important to me ten years ago, what's still important to me today, was the time I spent with my wife, with my kids, with our family, with my friends, pretending that we were something we weren't. We were doing something together, and that is what matters. Today, I can't recall anything specific about all the nights Anne and I played, though I know we worked our way through hundreds of songs together. But I can clearly recall how much fun it was.

Ryan and I still talk about the time I accidentally turned the Xbox off, when I meant to just power down my toy guitar, after we'd been trying to play the Endless Setlist on Expert for five hours.

Over the years, I had accumulated all this stuff that I was unwilling to let go of, because I felt like that would also mean letting go of the memories that were associated with those things. I felt like getting rid of things without following through on their intended use was admitting defeat, or being a quitter.

But after a year or so of daily, intense, therapy and reflection, after ending contact with toxic and abusive people who were exerting tremendous control over me, these things stopped being the keys to unopened doors, and they just became THINGS that I had to constantly move around to get them out of my way. Because I didn't need them anymore. I didn't need to pain minis like I did when I was 15, because I'm not 15. I'm not living with an abuser and his enabler. I'm not working for a producer who makes it clear to me at every opportunity that he owns me and has complete control over whether or not I'll have a film career.

I didn't need ANY of these things, and once I realized that, unloading them and getting them to people who DO need them felt as freeing and empowering as writing a goodbye letter.

I kept a few things that were still useful, or brought me joy. Books, mostly, and of course all my dice and games. It felt GOOD to admit that I'm never going to learn guitar, or build an Arduino-controlled anything. It felt GOOD and empowering to know that I'm a writer. I get my joy and explore my possibilities through storytelling and character development. THAT is what I love, and by getting rid of all this old stuff (and its emotional baggage) I created space in my life to be the person I am now, a person I love, in a life that is amazing.

I still have some emotional clutter, which is to be expected and isn't a big deal. The really cool thing is that I have physical and emotional space, now, to deal with it.

[phantoms-lair]

MSAxBNHA AU

After stopping the slime monster All Might doesn't go after Izuku. The kid has the heart and the mindset, but All Might was the strongest hero in the world and now he's condemned a to slow painful death as his body deteriorates. Being a hero is a dance with death and he wasn't to see that brave and kind soul snuffed out so young.

 What he doesn't realize is his words about Izuku not being able to be a hero without a quirk did what over a decade of bullying failed to. He broke Izuku's spirit. And Inko doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know how to help her son, feels like she never knew how to help him, so she tried for a Hail Mary. There’s a trinket said to belong to a great spirit that once swore to help her family. A small metal tag with a hole on the top and a stylized question mark. She lights incense and prays for the spirit to help her son. The lights flicker and she sees the silhouette of a massive nine tailed form that vanishes, leaving behind a small white dog where yellow tinted pince-nez. "Hello Inko,  daughter of Vivi, daughter of Mushi. What can I do for you?"

The logical part of her brain wants to deny whats in front of her is a spirit. Animals with quirks were rare but not unheard of. But this is the only thing she can think of, her last hope, so she forges ahead. She tells the dog about her son's love of heroes. Of how 80% or the worlds population, almost 100% of the younger generation has some kind of superpower. Of how her son doesn't. How he strived to be a hero, studied every hero no matter how big or small. How he was bulled for not having a quirk and the teachers would look the other way. How he never gave up until the man he looked up to above all others told him he couldn't be a hero, confirmed in his mind the years of being told he was worthless. And she begged this being that looked like a dog but wasn't to help her son, that's she'd pay any cost- 

"Never say that," The creature said sharply. "There are those who would take you up on it." 

Inko frowned stubbornly So much like Vivi "For my son, I'd give anything." 

 "And if they asked for his life or soul? You'd already said anything, you'd have to comply." 

Inko's hands flew to her mouth as the color drained from her skin. 

"I would never ask that of you," The creature said, a warm kindness in his voice, though his tone was still firm. "But others would. I merely want you to not make such risky statements where another might take advantage. Tell me Inko, do you have a box that's been passed down from your family? A metal box with English writing a little over a meter in length?" 

Inko knew the box he meant. She had inherited along with the tag that summoned him. "It's in the attic." 

"Let's get it then. What's in the box should help your son more than I could.". 

Inko shakily gets to her feet and leads the way. She dusts the box off so the letters are visible. 'Yukino' is written in kanji on the top.  There's two words in English too, she'd translated them on a lark while she was studying for her degree in library science. Pepper on the right and Kingsmen of the left.  What 'From Snow' had to do with a fruit or a King's guard she didn't know; no one had ever been able to open the box. 

The thing that certainly wasn't a dog lightly touched it with his paw and it sprang open. Inside was what seemed to be an old metal baseball bat covered in ofuda. Beneath it was a star pin, a set of violet tinted glasses, and a golden heart shaped locket. The beast blew lightly on the three objects on the bottom. "Vivi, Lewis, Arthur. It's time to wake up, Your great-great granddaughter and great-great-great grandson need you."

At first it seems nothing happens. Then the items being to spark. The golden locket is the first to rise in the air, purple fire forming a massive skeletal figure. Then a powder of delicate blue ice pushes up the glasses and form a more petite one. The star takes a few tries, false starts before the electricity forms into a much more lanky skeleton, one arm glowing unnaturally. And for the first time Inko fears she's made a mistake. She doesn't know what these powers she's courted are. What if they're dangerous? What if they hurt her Izuku? 

"Look at you!" The blue themed skeleton hovered over her in glee. "You have to tell me about yourself. What's your favorite color? Is it green? What do you do for fun? Wait, Mystery implied you had a son? What's he like? Do you have a husband? A Wife? Both?" 

"Vivi, chill. You might want to put on your face. You're scaring our granddaughter." True to his word the lanky one shimmered and suddenly seemed much more human. A Caucasian man with blonde spiked hair. 

He approached Inko much more slowly. "My name is Kingsman Arthur. You may not have heard of me, but I'm your couple of times great grandfather. This is my wife, Vivi, and our husband, Lewis." The last skeleton, who'd taken on the appearance of a dark skinned man bowed.

Inko bowed back, still a little shakily. 

"None of that." The exuberance had left Vivi's voice, instead leaving a soft gentle tone. "You're family, Inko-chan. You have nothing to fear from any of us. We're here to help, whatever you need."  

"Shouldn't you not offer open ended things?" 

 "You learn quickly." The not-dog commended. "Obviously not a trait you picked up from any of these three." 

"Shut it furball," Vivi said, albeit with a note of teasing in her voice. "And technically you're correct, but Mystery wouldn't have awoken us if you had less than pure intentions. So what do you need that he couldn't help with?" 

"My son's dream was shattered yesterday and it feels like his spirit died with it. I don't know how to help and people have a history of not taking him seriously." She'd lost track of how many times she'd been told 'quirkless people are just a little more fragile' along with a shrug when she'd brought him in with an injury.  Of being told 'he has to learn to accept facts' when she confronted the teachers over the bullying he received for being quirkless. As if to society her son was worth less for his lack of quirk when he meant the world to her. Her hands balled angrily. "Izuku is selfless, brave, and intelligent. He risked his life to save someone who had bullied him, when the authorities were frozen in fear. Only for him to be berated by the professional heroes while his childhood bully is praised for his bravery and told he had what it takes to be a professional hero when all he did was get captured and destroy half the shopping district with the same quirk he's used to hurt my boy." 

 She looked at them with fierce determination, tears streaming from her eyes.  "I want my son to be happy. I want him to thrive. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me and he deserves better than to believe not having a quirk means he has no worth." 

"Let's introduce ourselves to him then." Arthur said casually. "What? We have to talk to him if we're going to help. Remember how well not talking to each other about important things went? It went bad is how it went."

“Bad is an understatment,” Lewis agreed.

"Mom, are you okay? I thought I heard voices..." Izuku's voice trailed off as he saw two strange men in his attic along with a floaty skull lady. He felt himself tense. If these were villain trying to rob his house- 

"Oh my gosh, he's got freckles just like you did at that age Artie!" The skull lady flew over to him “Remember Lew?"

"How could I forget, he was adorable." Lewis said shaking his head. "But you really need to put on your face dear." 

"Who are you people, what do you want?" Izuku was scanning the rooms, trying to find the best way to get his Mom to safety. If only he knew their quirks. 

"They're, well, they're you grandparents Izuku.” Inko explained. “Grandmother Vivi, and Grandfathers Arthur and Lewis." 

"A few greats need to be thrown in there, but yeah." Arthur sheepishly put one hand behind his head. "I guess you can say we're family guardians. Your mother summoned us to help you." 

"Help me, with what?" 

 "That's what we were finding you to discuss." The blue skull lady now had a face. "Tell us what happened, Izuku-kun." 

Izuku looked at his Mom. "This is about yesterday isn't it. I just got a wake up call to reality, that's all." 

 "Bullshit." Vivi said brightly. "Try the whole story."

Izuku was taken aback.  "Well, I mean, we live in a superhuman society. Eighty percent or more of the world has some kind of super power." 

 "Really?" he heard who he took to be Grandfather Arthur whisper to a dog he hadn't noticed before, The dog nodded. 

"And with that came the rise of heroes on villains. And when I was a child, I wanted more than anything else to be a hero. Especially a Hero like All Might. He's amazing! His sheer power is incredible. He saves so many people and no matter hope bad the situation is, he always smiles. He brings hope to everyone. I wanted to be just like him. But...I didn't have the power. Since I was four everyone told me becoming a hero was a pipe dream, but I thought if I worked hard enough, studied hard enough, I could do it. I even sent in an application for UA, the best Hero school in the world but-" Like his mother, tears were beginning to stream down Izuku's cheeks. "Yesterday I met All Might. He saved me from a villain. And I asked him if I could be a hero how I was and he-he said no." Izuku swiped his arm across his eyes. "I shouldn't be surprised, right? It was obvious. And I caused even more trouble when I tried to save Kaachan from that villain." 

"And again I say Bullshit." Vivi cut in. "From what your mother told us, you were the only one who was willing to help while the so-called heroes sat on their collective asses. That makes you more of a hero than they'll ever be."

Izuku wasn't sure how that made him feel. The reassurance was nice, but it still felt a bit empty. So he had the spirit of a hero, but not the body? What good would that do?

"You mentioned a school. Is that the only method of becoming a hero?" Grandfather Lewis asked. 

"Well, technically you only need to pass the licensing exam, but it's almost impossible to get through on self-study. There are other schools, but UA is the best with the highest pass rate. You need to do a written and a practical to get into the hero course, and no one knows what the practical is." 

"So we need to get you into the school first. What's your power kiddo? Need to know what we're working with." 

Izuku stiffened at Grandmother Vivi's question. He'd thought they'd known.  "I don't have any power. I'm quirkless." He braced himself, Waited for the 'what are you wasting our time for' that every guidance councilor had given him. 

"Oh that's what that means." Arthur nodded. "So you're gonna Batman it."

"Batman it?" Izuku was as baffled by the phrase as the fact that hearing he was quirkless hadn't dissuaded them in the least 

"You don't know who Batman is?" Arthur sounded aghast. 

"It's been decades if not centuries, Art." Lewis reminded him 

"Batman is forever." Arthur grumbled. 

"Was that the movie with the nipples on the costume?" Vivi asked with a grin.

"Anyway"  Lewis turned the attention back to Izuku. "In our time, before superpowers were apparently a real thing, we had comic book characters and one of the most famous was a hero named Batman. There were multiple comic books, cartoon series, and movies abut him. One of the biggest debates was if Batman would win against Superman, a being so powerful he was night invulnerable and strong enough to change the planet's rotation. And do you know what Batman's superpower was?" 

Something Bat themed, huh. "Maybe echolocation? One at a frequencey that could disorient even the Superman guy?" 

"This Superman guy?!" Arthur explained in disbelief. 

 Lewis grinned. “Nope. He was, as you would put it, quirkless. Not a single superpower to him. Just cunning, creativity, a bunch of gadgets, and an indomitable will." 

"And martial arts training." Vivi reminded. 

"And a really cool car," Arthur added. 

Lewis rolled his eyes. "The point is, superpowers aren't what being a hero is really about. Batman didn't need them. Neither did Ironman, Black Widow, or Hawkeye. So if you want to be a hero, we're going to help." 

"Right." Vivi nodded. "Lewis can handle physical training, he was in the best shape of all of us in life.  I can teach you melee combat with fists or a baseball bat. I know a little sword work, but you'd probably be better off with actual lessons. Arthur can do free running and strategy.  I don't know how much we can help with the written test though, our knowledge is too out of date. Inko-chan could you help him study for that?" 

Inko was taken aback for a moment. She didn't know what she expected the spirits to do, besides possibly give her son a quirk of some kind. But they didn't need him to have a quirk to believe his dream  and supported him without questions. The way she wished she had done when he was four. "I...of course I can! I'm a librarian. I can find whatever books Izuku needs to help." 

"Speaking of books, we have another option on the table." Mystery said with a smirk. "Quirks have been all the rage for a century and a half. Magic is all but forgotten. It would be something almost no one would have access to. Between Vivi and myself there is a fair amount of occult knowledge we could impart." 

"Magic is real? You're offering to teach me magic?" This was a dream, it had to be. There was no way this was real. 

"Yes. But we have a mere ten months before your exam.  Your schedule will be packed to the gills with little time for levity. It won't be easy. I may not be able to guarantee  you'll get in on the first try. But I promise you this. With all of us helping, you will be a hero."

All his life Izuku had craved hearing that he could be a hero. The sheer assurance that he would be one was almost more than he could take. "Thank you! I won't let you guys down." 

 The three ghosts and kitsune smiled. "Of that we have no doubt."