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#like i understand bugs are needed for the environment and in theory i like them but in practice i see an ant and i start fucking sobbing
threadsun · 1 year
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Anonymous Asks: "What do you think are Joseph's, Jack's, Shaun's, Ian's, and Nick's pet-peeves?"
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Joseph:
There are certain nicknames that rub him the wrong way. Champ, sport, bud… anything a father in the 80s would’ve called his son. They’re guaranteed to get his hackles up
People who talk while they’re chewing gum. It really grosses him out and he finds it annoying
Paper straws. Sure, they’re better for the environment, but they’re shit at being straws. They disintegrate halfway through the drink and they leave a gross aftertaste
Passive aggression will make him roll his eyes and scowl every time. He doesn’t have time to play games, say what you mean or don’t say anything
There’s something about the way people pronounce data like “da-tuh” that just makes him so irrationally annoyed. He can’t explain it but he can’t stand it
Jack:
Swearing. Hands down, his biggest pet-peeve is when people swear. Mostly in anger, he thinks it’s foolish to use such strong language when you’re already not making good decisions. He can let it slide if it’s not for a negative reason (especially if it’s while he’s fucking you, that’s a huge turn on for him) but swearing in anger will make him very disappointed in you
It seems such a silly thing, but people being confidently wrong about things. Once again, he believes everyone should think about the impact of their words before they speak
The entire concept of pranks just seems so meanspirited to him, he doesn’t like it at all!
Unnecessarily aggressive knocking. There’s no need to pound the door down before he’s even been given the chance to open it!
When people mix all the food on their plate together. Something about it just feels… wrong.
Shaun:
Oh god he cannot stand eating sounds. The sounds of chewing or slurping or any other mouth sounds just grates on his nerves
Amateur film bros who criticise movies when they don’t even know half of what goes into making a movie. They learn what a MacGuffin is and suddenly think they know everything there is to know about film theory
Philosophers. Ooooh he hates philosophers, what a stupid waste of time. And all that “if you hate philosophy that makes you a philosopher” bullshit? No.
People who sleep with socks on. If your feet are cold, get better blankets, like what’s wrong with you?? Socks are not for sleeping in! No socks in the bed in his house
He likes to listen to asmr to fall asleep sometimes and it really bugs him when an asmr video has a plot. He’s trying to sleep, but now he needs to stay awake to know what happens next!
Ian:
When people put dishes in the sink to “wash up later”. Are you actually going to do it later? Or will you end up with a sink full of dirty dishes for days that you have to work around? He doesn’t trust like that
Unread emails! Why do so many people have so many unread emails?! How does it not drive them insane?! It certainly drives him insane!
He doesn’t understand the point of jockstraps as underwear. Underwear should cover your ass, that’s the whole point of it! They should only be used for sports
Baseball. This one he can’t explain at all, just something about the entire concept of baseball and the sight of people playing baseball or in baseball uniforms is insufferable to him
Men who he considers more attractive than himself (unless they’re dating him please he wants to kiss hot guys)
Nick:
Bullshit fake “daddy doms” who don’t understand RACK or safety in kink and think that the perfect submissive has no limits. He has strong opinions about bdsm
People who get weirdly territorial over aesthetics. They’re just words, chill out. Who cares if that kid on tiktok is calling herself cottagecore but doesn’t own a flowy white dress? She’s having fun, leave her alone
Flimsy phone cases. What’s the point of a phone case if it doesn’t stop your phone from breaking when it falls? Now you’ve just got two broken things to deal with
Rom-coms. They’re always vaguely offensive to at least one group of people, bad about consent, and often involve some level of cheating. And they’re not usually funny either
The entire concept of music genres. At a certain point they get so niche, you might as well just talk about individual songs
Jean:
People who correct him when he’s wrong. Especially if it’s in the middle of talking, don’t interrupt him when he says something stupid or wrong
Candy and fruit mixed together. Why would you ruin something delicious with something healthy? Come on, just eat them separately. What are you, a baby?
Bad drivers. Listen, this man gets road rage, especially when he’s in a rush. If you’re driving under the speed limit or not turning right on red when you’re allowed to, he is laying it on the horn
When there’s a crying baby in a nice restaurant or other place that you really shouldn’t be bringing a baby. Why does your baby need to be at this five star restaurant? It’s unhappy, he’s unhappy, just go home!
Wrapping paper. It’s such a pain in the ass to open, just stick it in a nice bag and call it a day
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lilgynt · 3 years
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i can’t LIVE like this i can’t kill and throw out bugs i CANNOT be living like this will sell my soul for someone to do this for me
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grimmradiance · 3 years
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Close to Me: How the Hollow Knight's Fighting Style Reflects Their Trauma (and the Radiance's as well)
So I've been trying to actually beat the Radiance, which means I've been fighting the Hollow Knight. A lot, as a matter of fact, since I'm beans at this game sometimes. I've also been thinking about @lost-kinn's meta about how fighting styles are how Vessels, especially the Little Knight, communicate.
In trying to apply this to the Hollow Knight, I've been coming to some very interesting conclusions, especially taken in context of...Everything Else in the lore, and Everything Else implicated in this by the psychology of it.
There's a lot to cover here, and it tracks through a LOT of different places, including trauma psychology, the relationship between chronic stress and lifespan health, and shape symbolism. Two warnings first:
One: this essay is gonna get heavy. It includes fine-grained discussion of the Hollow Knight's trauma, including discussions of the real-life machanics of psychological abuse, as well as the Extremely Concerning Implications of them harming themself during their boss fight. please read with caution and when you're in a safe emotional place to do so.
Two: This post is not a place for justifying the Pale King. If you read this essay in its entirety and still want to do that, please make your own post; my relationship to the Hollow Knight themself is deeply rooted in my own experiences, so in the context of this discussion I can't promise I won't take it personally.
With that out of the way, let's talk trauma and fighting styles:
We know that the Hollow Knight is trained to be a paragon of fighting skill, through the Pure Vessel fight, and this gives us a fantastic way to compare what they were like before they were made Government Assigned Radiance Jail, and after. Or, in other words, we're given the perfect opportunity to see what the Radiance is doing (i.e. context effects), and what Hollow is (i.e. what we can conclude is reliably consistent as a part of them). Listed here, for reference:
Hollow's attacks:
Three slashes
A dash slash
A Radiant Shade Soul, which launches a volley of Infection blobs in arcs
A Radiant Desolate Dive, which produces pillars of entwined Void and Light at random intervals
The Infection bursting out of them in random arcs, covering a significant amount of the aerial space of the arena
The Radiance ragdolling their body around trying to hit the Knight
Contact damage from them stabbing themself and falling over atop you
The Pure Vessel's attacks:
Three slashes
A dash slash
A Pure Shade Soul, which launches a volley of nails in straight lines
A Pure Desolate Dive, which produces nails at specific intervals
A Pure Focus, which causes circular explosions across most of the aerial space in the arena
Lashing out with a Void Arm (word choice intentional)
I've highlighted attacks from each battle that are different, since those are our points of interest here. In addition, both the Pure Vessel and Hollow are exceedingly fond of teleport-spamming in a way that is usually reserved for a specific group of bosses.
Another very important distinction between these two fights: the Pure Vessel doesn't scream. Well, they certainly try to, but no sound comes out. No voice to cry suffering, after all. All of these points have a lot to go into, so let's address them one at a time.
All That Remains: Theoretical Background On The Significance Of Constants
Making comparisons across time is important specifically because humans (and human-like bugs) change. Most personality traits aren't set in stone--they exist as an interaction of someone's internal tendencies, their experiences, and their environment. Speaking of those last two points, not all experiences and environments are created equally. Adverse childhood experiences (ACEs for short) are known to have lifelong implications for a child's health, both physically and mentally. These are events that are so stressful or stressful for so long that they exceed a child's ability to cope and become toxic stress (yes, that's the term in the literature, because it actively damages your organs). They compound, as well--the stress of one ACE makes it harder for a child to cope with another, especially if they overlap.
Some examples of ACEs? Being exposed to physical danger or the threat of physical danger, deprivation of normal social relationships with peers of a similar age, being forcibly seperated from family members, witnessing a loved one being hurt or killed, chronic illness in oneself or a family member, neglect of a child's emotional needs....
Poor fucking Holly. It's a miracle they didn't disintegrate under the pressure. The only other option is that they bent and adapted under that much stress--in other words, most of their personality has been forcibly reshaped by what they've gone through. Anyone who has up-close experience with parentification or complex child abuse already knows: this was by design. I'm not saying the intent was to traumatize the Pure Vessel past several points of no return, but the intent definitely was to reshape their personality for the purpose of being The Vessel. We only see them (the Pure Vessel) in battle after this process is mostly or entirely complete, but we do see them a few times beforehand. I'd like to draw attention to the Path of Pain cutscene right now.
I've seen people talking about the look the Vessel and the King share as a sign that TPK really does love his child. That might be true, but it's definitely not relevant when it comes to how abuse works. This is, in fact, exactly how the cycle of abuse uses affection as a tool. Long periods of abuse or neglect, smoothed over by small periods of affection that placate the survivor? That's textbook love bombing, the kind that forms stubborn trauma bonds and facilitates unhealthy dependency. Forgive me for not giving the Higher Being of knowledge and prescience the benefit of the doubt on that one. (/s)
Team Cherry knows about the importance of parallels and dissonance. There's a reason the music in the second phase of the Hollow Knight fight plays in the Path of Pain. There's a reason it cuts out the moment the battle with the Kingsmoulds is over, instead of at the room transition. There's a reason it doesn't cut out in the Black Egg. Actually, there's two potential reasons, which could also coexist: either little Hollow trusts the Pale King to keep them safe, even after the borderline torture that they were just subjected to, or big Hollow is so hypervigilant that they're in full functioning-through-trauma mode even while they're at death's door.
If you don't see how much the Pale King scarred his child at this point, I'm not sure we were playing the same game.
Walking the Straight Line: How the Pale King's Teachings Show In the Pure Vessel
The Pale King loves order and control. Everything about the White Palace and every decision we see him make implies this. Everything is spotless white walls and well-maintained gardens; the only signs of disorder are hidden away, either in his workshop or in The Pit™. This also reflects in the Pure Vessel's title--pure as in holy, but also pure as in without flaw. Considering the Nailsmith's emotional state after completing the Pure Nail, TPK's fate with his Perfect Controlled Kingdom, and the Godmaster ending as a whole, attaining perfection is not a good thing in any sense.
We know the Hollow Knight isn't perfect--that's the whole catalyst for the plot. But considering their upbringing and their fighting style as the Pure Vessel, their imperfections absolutely kill them emotionally. I'll spare the lecture on how perfectionism affects neurodivergent kids even more severely than neurotypical kids, if only to keep this post to a reasonable length (look up "twice-exceptional children" if you'd like to know the theory I'm glossing over in more depth). But, in essence, the deck is doubly stacked against them--they have a higher goal to reach, and far more obsctacles in their path, including their own emotional scars.
I've already discussed how Hollow isn't meant for this kind of stress in a physical sense in other posts. They're not prepared for it emotionally, either--the Pale King wants perfection, and they can't even stand up straight (every spoonie in the audience already knows how exhausting people's obsession with Standing Up Straight is). There's another page on their stack of emotional baggage, even BEFORE you consider that the Pure Vessel knows their perfection is what bought them a ticket out of the Abyss.
Bringing Teleportation To A Sword Fight: Where The Pure Vessel Reveals Their Fears
How else are they going to cope with that need for perfection, that need to prove themselves worthy of the reason their life was spared, by being flawless in any way they can? Being a mechanical, flawless fighter puts so much pressure on them, both literally (repetitive strain injuries fucking HURT) and figuratively--if you're predictable, the only sure way to win is to mop the floor with your opponents before they figure you out. Hell, that's the way most people play their first run of Hollow Knight, by throwing themselves at the bosses over and over until they figure out the patterns. That strategy is inherently going to fail against an opponent that's, say, an immortal higher being.
There's no way that the Vessel didn't figure this out, and yet none of their TPV specific attacks are positioned randomly--the nails are always evenly spaced, and the Focus explosions are always in a specific height region of the screen. That's clinging to survival strategies even when they become maladaptive in its purest form.
Another dip into psychological theory: let's talk about disorganized attachment. Attachment styles describe how someone's relationships to their main caregiver(s) influence their understanding on relationships in general. Disorganized attachment is a result of an upbringing of inherently unstable parent-child relationships, where there's no way of a child predicting whether an adult is going to be delighted to see them, ambivalent, upset, or otherwise. If my parent woke up some days saying "all right my child, time for the Infinite Buzzsaws Obstacle Course," I'd be the same way. In adulthood this manifests as an inability to form a stable sense of self-concept as well as concepts of others. Mission accomplished, TPK, there's no will to break if you broke it yourself.
This is where the fighting styles as communication comes in--Hollow needs to keep Ghost at a distance to fight, but also wants to be closer to their sibling (the only being who has a chance of understanding what they've been through), BUT also has a trauma-rooted fear of attaching to people, as their experiences with attachment are inherently unpredictable and dangerous. Hence, both the teleportation that doesn't seem to match their fighting style any more reliably than "aim at the thing attacking you" and the second attack unique to the Pure Vessel--they're quite literally lashing out in pain to push people away. There's a reason that attack is so reminiscent of the Thorns of Agony.
Of note is that Holly does seem to teleport like the bugs of the Soul Sanctum do (favoring the edges of a screen, rather than going wherever like Dream Warriors do), which makes sense--they're the most obvious answer to the question "how did they learn how to teleport, anyways?" However, Sanctum bugs have abilities designed to capitalize on this, like homing spells and slashes from above. I can only assume this means that someone saw Holly's proficiency with the nail and assumed it translated to other forms of combat, and didn't feel the need to give them at least a bit of a primer on how to make the best use of it. There's another tally for the Hollow Knight as an autism metaphor.
Trauma Bonds: How the Radiance Speaks Through Hollow
Now, we're back to the Black Egg, and two people stuck in the same sinking ship. The thing that makes this hurt so badly is that Holly and the Radiance are at complete cross purposes here, and yet they both want the same thing:
They both want out, no matter the cost. For the Radiance, this means forsaking the pacifistic nature of the moths and nuking Ghost personally.
For Hollow, this means forsaking the way they were raised and everything that was bludgeoned into their personality: the only way out is to fail, give up control, and trust that Ghost will do what needs to be done.
Imagine how much pain they're in to actually go for it. Going against a literal lifetime of conditioning is something that takes the average person years to even consider, let alone go through with. It's a form of learned helplessness--if you try to break free and fall, again and again, it actively discourages further attempts. Breaking through learned helplessness is an interesting process, because it generally involves re-establishing a sense of control by recalling previous events where the person was able to change their situation.
Which, as far as we know of, are nothing but traumatic memories for Hollow. It's very unlikely that they'd break through it on their own, but we know they have by the time we see the second phase of their fight. This is them at their most desperate: the same music as the Path of Pain, the way they let, or can't stop, the Radiance throw their body around, the way they actively try to let the Radiance out by stabbing themself.
You'd think that giving up and learned helplessness are inherently compatible, but when giving up both goes against your core personality, and involves your active participation, they're in direct opposition. So either Holly was able to process all their trauma by themself (which I doubt, judging by how much effort the player has to go through to even see Ghost's and Hollow's traumatic memories), or someone gave them a nudge or three in that direction.
Considering that there's been someone living in Holly's head who has a vested interest in them Not Doing Their Duty, I think we know who. And the thing is, I think we watch Hollow have this breakthrough during their battle. Imagine for the first time in decades, at least, you can move. You're in pain from being in the same position, probably hallucinating from sensory deprivation, with an infection sucking at what strength your body has left. And there's this little creature who looks ready to fight you, who seems to have let you go for that exact purpose.
And you look down, and both you and the Radiance recognize them from a place rooted deeper than consciousness, in the murky depths of trauma. You see the other Vessel who just as easily could have been you, and who looks so much stronger for not being you, for being an imperfect, willful creature. And the Radiance sees history threatening to repeat itself, another one of the Wyrm's cursed children seeking to lock her away once more.
What else do you do when you're triggered? You scream, and you go on instinct, and you retreat into your head. Those first blows, with the epic music? That's the Vessel the Pale King forged, the fighting machine that will endure unimaginable stress because it knows no other way. What snaps you back out of dissociation? Usually, either the passage of the triggering stimulus, or an even more relevant stimulus (severe pain from getting beaten up by a nail, for example).
The tragedy is this: we know this isn't a triumph. I think most of us went into that fight the first time, knowing we'd be putting the Hollow Knight out of their misery. The music turns tragic, Hollow screams, and then we see the Radiance and Hollow themself break through: the Radiance trying to fight Ghost directly with the resources she has, and Hollow trying to help her along.
For what it's worth, Hollow even had the right idea, when it came to letting themself rest while helping Ghost stop the madness their father started--they were just digging for the Radiance in the wrong place. The dynamic between the Radiance and the Hollow Knight is something I could write on for pages and pages, but this has gone on for long enough. Tune in next time, where I'll presumably talk about this same topic but in reverse with regards to the Radiance.
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wisteria-lodge · 2 years
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exploded bird + lion secondary (badger model)
Good afternoon Wisteria! I was hoping for your input with my sorting. This MAY become a novel, and i apologize ahead of time for that. Hopefully its interesting, if nothing else.
I am having trouble with both my primary and secondary. Ive thought i had it figured out so many times and then i would reanalyze myself and get confused. So i guess ill start with primaries. I can tell you for sure that i am not a snake primary. I just cant love another person quite like that. I grew up in a very snake primary environment and never felt i really fit in. I really appreciate snakes and i understand them, but i dont think i am one. I also very much pride myself on my individuality and dont bond to groups so i believe that may rule out badger. I think ive narrowed it down to exploded bird or really confused lion.
Interesting. So far so good. Let’s hear what you’ve got.
Right now in life, with all the information coming at me, all the data, all of the twists and turns, media bias, conspiracy theories, rabbit holes and objective realities, i cant figure out the truth.
… sounds like an Exploded Bird to me.
I think all theories are worth investigating and rabbit holes are fun. But i hate hypocrisy. And its everywhere.
I mean, everyone hates hypocrisy… but I think Birds find it *unforgivable.*
I cant organize all of this information.
Exploded Bird.
Dude. Whats gonna happen if deep fake becomes the norm?
eh, Photoshop has been the norm for a long time and we do okay. Some fakes have always been better than others, and there have always been fakes.
I feel like the safest thing to do is to fully understand myself. Then i can analyze and understand the world.
I would agree with that.
I would say that hands down i was an exploded bird, but i feel very strongly about things right away. But then i learn about them more and if my feelings were wrong, ok. Whatever.
This is still Bird. It’s not that Birds can’t feel strongly about things right away. They do, they just don’t feel safe TRUSTING those feelings. Instead they do… exactly what you’re describing here. Learn more, and then if it turns out their initial feelings were wrong… that’s fine, actually. The feelings are of secondary importance.
BUT i also WANT black and white. I want right and wrong. Grey, though necessary and true, bugs me.
… there’s a reason why I call young Birds Black-and-White Birds.
Deep down i crave to just understand something as it is. But one persons truth is not anothers. I get that. But it still bothers me in my bones.
That’s a very Bird primary angst. Birds can have this *fantasy* that if only everyone had all the information and thought it though properly, that everyone would come to the same (correct) conclusion. And then have to grapple with the fallout when they realize things don’t work that way. As a Lion… I’ve never had to fight that particular monster.
I can also seem like i make snap decisions based on feelings to others, but i just know what i want. If something sounds good, i want to do it. At that moment. No hesitation… i think im meshing into secondary territory here
I agree. Improvisational secondary, sounds like.
so ill just go with it. So my bedroom walls are lilac purple and my kitchen is BRIGHT yellow, because those colors sounded interesting. At that moment. I tend to jump into a project having no idea what im doing. I just thought it sounded like fun.
Comfortable making decisions on a whim, just jumping in. Very improvisational.
But thats not really a way to problem solve. When i start said project and then run into a problem, usually ill read about it, or ask someone who knows more than me. The “i know a guy” bird kind of applies here. I know how to make connections within my community and i plan for that. I think about who would be useful to know, based on my goals.
You know, this could be Bird. But I’m kind of skewing more Badger because of the emphasis on community and asking for help. And keeping an eye on ‘who is powerful, who is useful to know’ is a pretty common Badger secondary model manifestation.
But i dont think i build tools like a bird. In fact, binge watching videos on how to do something annoys me. Takes all the fun out of it.
I still think you’re an Improvisational secondary - and a Badger secondary model is *more* likely than a Bird secondary model.
I am always honest with people and i like that about me, but its not out of some need to stay true to myself. Its just because i have learned that honesty works the best most of the time.
So not Lion *primary* then. This is all about method. You don’t lie, because you don’t find it to be a very practical problem-solving method. Being very direct does work, so at this point… Lion is more likely than snake.
Now, dont get me wrong, i am an excellent liar. But only if its on the fly.
Hmm. Maybe a Snake who’s in neutral all the time?
This conflicts big time with my primary, however, so i rarely ever do.
Interesting. Lying conflicts with your (hypocrisy hating) Bird primary, so you don’t do it. Instead you are very direct, and that works well for you. You *can* lie (on the fly) but you generally don’t. Neutral Snake? Snake secondary model? Depending on how you define lying, could even be Courtier Badger. (I am ruling out constructed Actor Bird.)
I feel like ive gone all over the place in a highly disorganized way, so i will state that now i am going to give some anecdotal data. One time, as an adult, i was hanging out with a bunch of kids on a hayride. A little boy killed a butterfly. I was outraged. I called him out. I told him that he just took away the only life that creature would ever have and that was cruel.
Very loud Idealist primary.
This somehow turned into a question and answer school session about human biology, mammals and why on earth is water in a cup clear, but when you dive into the ocean, its blue?
Some kind of social secondary… and I know the obvious thing is to say 'trotting out a lot of facts, that’s bird.’ But I’m seeing you defuse a situation by leveraging your immediate community (Q&A session)? Badger.
I like being the person that gets the scary bugs out of the house because i feel brave when i do.
Sounds pretty Lion secondary.
When in an emergency situation i completely disconnect and become a calm, knowledgeable person.
This is actually a pretty common just, human thing. When things get bad enough, your lizard brain takes over, and everything is very calm and dreamlike.
I suddenly magically know what needs to be done and work with my environment.
Improvisational secondary.
Im also very aware of how everyone else is doing in that situation and i have an innate need to make people feel better so im usually the first to lighten the mood. Ill focus on others before myself if im hurt. Im more aware of how they are doing than how i am doing and i will make an effort to help them first.
Ah yes, the 'tend and befriend’ threat response. Very familiar. And yeah, going from this description I’m going to say very social badger.
In video games… skyrim is best here i think. I want to be a sneaky mage thief. But when something attacks me, without thinking i run right up to it and hit it with my fists without armor.
lol lion. (The classic Badger secondary strategy is BUFF ARMOR. I always play tanks.)
But i get really sad if its an animal.Those wolf whimpers get to me every time.
No one likes the wolf whimpers.
Ok. Ok. Ive rambled enough. Thank you for reading! Any input is greatly appreciated! Thank you!
Exploded Bird, easy. And probably a Lion secondary with a very social Badger secondary model that’s working well for you.
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Disclaimer tho, all my knowledge of the fandom is strictly from fanfic and google. I don't read the comic or watch the anime. I only have some vague knowledge of what's canon or not and making this fanfic has been somewhat of a fever dream.
Tags: Fluff and angst. Attempt at humor. Crying. Probably ooc. No smut, just holding hands and some hugging and some kissing. Shouto smokes, and probably incorrect depictions of smoking. Implied child abuse (you know who). Lowkey Fuyumi bashing.
Warning: In character cussing from explodo boy. 
Summary:
They found each other in coinciding vulnerability. Shouto was smoking, Katsuki was crying. Miraculously, no one died. It seems that vulnerability is exactly what they need to get through their respective problems, because vulnerability makes them do the one thing the two boys are allergic to do, opening up.
Or, Shouto and Katsuki cope with each other. It miraculously didn't end in explosions, just a lot of physical affections and crying.
Words: 10.9 k
 You don’t have to take life so seriously Shouto! It can be whatever you want to be, it’s yours!
Shouto knocks his head back and parts his lips. White ribbons bleed to the orange sky. The clouds are pretty pink instead of white. The smoke doesn’t blend in with the white clouds anymore like a few hours ago. He taps the amber ash on the portable coffin-shaped ashtray. More than a dozen filter buds crammed there.
He should go back to his room. Any darker then it would be noticeable when goes back to his room. But there’s always that small whisper at the back of his head: Maybe after one more. This spot has been his salvation from overstimulation. It’s the highest building in UA, the rooftop of the dorm. He’s been here for two years and has always been alone.
The door slammed open.
High on nicotine, Shouto passes through shock to immediate acceptance that he’s busted.
Only, he’s not busted. The next sound that came is sobbing. The first thing he sees is awry blond hair and a tear-streaked red face. Soon came the already red blood-shot eyes, staring at him with a sadness that not even in Shouto’s wildest imagination can imagine on Bakugou’s face. It takes a few seconds too long for the default glare and anger to return.
“The fuck are you doing here!” He yells, his voice croaks in a not angry way. Wet and breaking at the pitch.
Shouto, still a bit floaty and relaxed from the nicotine in his system, nor is he yet to register the shock from seeing Bakugou’s tears, just points down towards his fingers.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” his voice is scratchy, a tad bit deeper. He never smoked so many that that happened. Then again, today is a special day.
Seemingly just as shocked, Bakugou seems to still. Shouto expects crackling hands, bared teeth, or maybe a ‘TELL ANYONE AND DIE’, but never that he strides his way and sits on the floor beside Shouto.
“Still have one of those?” Bakugou leans back.
Wordlessly, Shouto digs the last pack from his pocket. There are six left. Bakugou takes one, and Shouto lit a fire on the tip of his thumb towards Bakugou.
“How do you do this?” Bakugou says, eyeing the fire.
“You’ve never done this before?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I have Icyhot! Now fucking tell me already.”
“You put it between your lips, and inhales a bit as you put this corner on the fire.” Shouto crowds him cupping the end of the smoke with his palm and keep the fire controllably small. It feels like Deja Vu, but this time, Shouto is showing someone how to smoke instead.
Bakugou tries, and before Shouto can say to take it slow, Bakugou already choked and doubled over coughing. Shouto pats his back.
“What the fuck was that!” Bakugou roars and grimaces when he sees the stacks of cigarette buds on his ashtray. “How the fuck do you smoke that many!”
Shouto shrugged, “I’m used to it.” He puts out his bud on top of the pile and picks up the mostly one-piece cigarette that Bakugou chucked to the floor and lights it up. He feels eyes on him as he put the filter on his lips and lit it up in one smooth move.
With the cigarette properly lit, he offered, “Wanna try again?”
“No! That shit’s nasty.” Bakugou snarled at the hand holding the smoking cig.
“Suit yourself,” Shouto takes a deep drag and sighs. Surprisingly, Bakugou doesn’t up and leave, and more so that Shouto doesn’t mind the silence.
Alas, it only lasted exactly 33 seconds.
“How the fuck did you get in here!” Bakugou grumbles, “The door was locked.”
“I made ice stairs from my balcony.”
“Like how Elsa did?”
“Exactly like Elsa did, she was my inspiration.”
Bakugou snorts. No sadness left, just a condescending smile, which is better than the ghostly tears in his eyes.
“How did you get in through the locked door?”
“How else would you think?” Bakugou lifts his hand, cradling a small cluster of explosions.
Shouto face palmed, dragging it down.
“What?” Bakugou barks.
“Well when they figured out the door broke then they gonna figure out that someone’s been here, don’t they?”
“That nicotine is already killing your fucking brain cells.”
“That’s not how it’s-”
“Let’s get the fuck outta here before anyone finds us you loon.”
“But I-”
“You’ve burned through enough death sticks, let’s go!” Bakugou grabs his hand and pulls him up.
“Fine fine, let me tidy up.” Shouto could barely close his ashtray with all the buds in it, and he dusted the ashes that drops to the floor.
Shouto already makes the stairs down to his room before looking back at Bakugou, “Want me to drop you to your balcony?”
“I don’t know,” Bakugou narrows his eyes dangerously, “Will it suddenly melts away as I walk on it?”
Shouto huffs, “You have no faith in your favorite sparring partner?”
“The only thing I learned these past couple of years with you being shoved at my face as my sparring partner is that you’re a little shithead.”
Shouto makes the stairs towards Bakugou’s room first, reveling in how badly Bakugou tried to cover his amazement at the stairs.
“Just like Elsa’s, right?”
“You want me to give you Elsa’s number 1 simp trophy?”
Shouto melts Bakugou’s step and lets him fall blond head first into his balcony.
“YOU’LL FUCKING PAY FOR THAT, COCA-COLA SHITHEAD!”
Bakugou roars, and Shouto giggles as he jumps upstairs to his room with explosions fading behind him.
Not until he’s laying in bed that night that he thinks about Bakugou’s tears again. Rest assured, his imagination spiraled to ‘what could it be’ until 4 am.
  ++++
 I don’t understand why your dad wants you to be number one when he should’ve want you to just be happy. Nothing in life really matters unless you’re happy.
Shouto loves everything about living in the dorm, but it has one and only one weakness. He can’t smoke as freely.
His dad knows and just rant about how it’ll affect his performance.
Now, Aizawa knows, and he’s at the principal’s office.
Shouto instantly knows how. Bakugou broke the rooftop door. Iida must’ve found it, reported it to Aizawa-sensei. Maybe his homeroom teacher has magnifying vision too because Shouto could’ve sworn he left no trace.
Yet Shouto can’t find it in him to blame anyone. He knows as an aspiring hero he shouldn’t smoke, those reasons never matter at those desperate times he needed to smoke.
“Tea?” Nezu raises his pot of pink teapot, Shouto narrows his eyes at the paw (how did that paw hold the teacup?)
“Yes, thank you.” The cup is equally pink, with two cheerful yellow flowers on each side. This looks like a tea set Eri had.
Shouto sips the possibly herbal tea, trying to ignore the glare Aizawa-sensei is sending his way from beside Nezu.
“Todoroki, how long have you been smoking?” His sensei’s voice gravels, like he just woke up from bed, his bed hair supports the theory.
Apparently  a little mental, Shouto said, “Overall or in school?”
“Both.”
“Started when I was in first-grade junior high school.” As soon as he has any time away from home. “In UA, as soon as I stayed at the dorm.”
“Now, Todoroki,” Nezu put his paws together, “You know someone as young as you shouldn’t smoke. You’re underage, and an aspiring hero on top of that...”
Nezu then continues his PSA on smoking. Nothing Shouto hasn’t heard. Every word goes in the left ear and came out the right. He also isn’t surprised that Aizawa will be taking his stash of cigarettes. It doesn’t suck as much because Shouto doesn’t have a lot left anyway, nor is he been regularly smoking. He smokes when he’s stressed and nothing else could calm him down. He never reached out to the cigs first. The coffin-shaped portable ashtray reminded him that.
As soon as he’s back at the dorm, he’s greeted with a cheerful environment. Half his classmates are hanging in the living room. There’s a group playing Mario Party, a group that’s putting on nail art, and a group that seems to cook something ambitious. Shouto usually joins the group, but not today.
“Todoroki!” Iida comes from the hall, “Aizawa-Sensei came earlier and ran through your room! He seems to confiscate a pack of cigarettes. I’ve tried to tell him that it’s all a misunderstanding-”
“No, it’s mine.”
“Todoroki! At our young age as aspiring heroes we sho-”
“Nope, sorry not today Iida. Good night.”
Todoroki feels a few eyes on his back, but he walks on. With him naturally keeping things to himself, his friends tend to worry but they trust him to reach out to them in his own time. When it gets too long they usually check up on him. Shouto wished they never will.
 +++++ 
 You have the power to be whatever you want, but why are you following the wishes of someone you hate? I know he’s your dad, but your life is yours, Shouto.
Shouto’s wish didn’t come true when Bakugou bugs him on the rooftop again two days after he was raided.
It’s Deja Vu, but fewer tears from Bakugou and Shouto isn't a pack and a half deep in cigarettes.
“I fucking know you’d be at my spot again!” Bakugou spat scathingly.
“Excuse you,” Shouto scowls, “I’ve been smoking at this spot since the dorm opens. This is my spot.”
“Well, I’ve been- I’ve been-” Shouto should’ve known that Bakugou would turn red and explodes instead of admitting he’d been caught emoting, “What the fuck are you doing here anyway! You’re doing nothing!”
“No thanks to someone.”
Bakugou narrows his eyes, confused at the implication, but his exploding friend is smart, so he figured it out, and isn’t happy with what he figures out. “The fuck, get your accusing eyes away from me discount Sans, I don’t tattle.”
“No, but you exploded the door which leads to Iida reporting it, which leads to Aizawa inspecting the premises, and him figuring it out that smoked here.”
“That’s just your fucking fault for not covering your trace clean!”
Shouto inhaled indignantly, but then too tired to justify himself. There’s no ending of arguing with Bakugou, and Shouto had learned to choose his battles.
“How about you? How did you get in here?”
“Stole a key from Iida.”
“Are you here to cry again?”
Bakugou’s palms explode, his face an embarrassed flush and teeth bared in anger, “WHOS FUCKING CRYING!!?”
“I have eyes.”
“You’ve been sucking on those death sticks way too much.”
“I wasn’t smoking that type of substance.”
“Whatever, I’m not dealing with this,” Bakugou turns to step away.
“I don’t get it, it’s not a big deal!” Shouto raises his voice a bit, for some reason his heart rate picks up when Bakugou starts leaving. “So what if you sweat through your eyes? Midoriya does it almost every day, sometimes twice a day...”
“Don’t fucking compare me to fucking Deku you fucking fried ice cream!”
“...And Midoriya beat you at this year’s Sports Festival,” Shouto dismissed.
Bakugou grits his teeth, but his eyes watch over Shouto. “Stop stalling and tell me what you want from me,” Bakugou growls.
Shouto’s eyes widen at the sudden honesty, he nibbles on his bottom lips, “Stay here?”
For a second, Bakugou glares at him, but after two years of being his classmate, Shouto can confidently say that they’re friends. He knows Bakugou isn’t angry at him. As to prove his point, Bakugou sits beside him, a bit closer than Shouto expects him to, though still with that permanent scowl. Shouto moves his palms from his pocket, letting go of the aluminum ashtray. Shouto tests the waters and moves closer so their shoulder bumps. No explosions, no snarl, success.
Instantly, Shouto relaxes. Focusing on the pressure of their shoulders, the light shifts Bakugou does (because he can never fully stay still), and the clouds moving. No thought, just being alive.
Alas, no quiet ever lasted long with Bakugou, he expected it though.
“No wonder Aizawa figured it out, this place still stinks of tobacco.”
“It does?” Shouto takes a deep sniff, all he smells is Bakugou’s sweat that always smells sweet because of his quirk. “I didn’t smell anything.”
“Yeah no shit scar head, your nose is probably numb at this point.”
“I don’t smoke that much.”
“Said someone who smoked more than a dozen in one sitting,” Bakugou’s nags turns to worry, “Damn, was it really in one sitting?”
“Is that worry I detected?” Shouto deflects.
Bakugou grits his teeth, “I’m not worried! Go die off lung cancer I don’t fucking care!”
“Good, then, because yes it was, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Fucking hell it’s not! What the actual fuck are your lungs made of? I barely suck it past my throat and I almost coughed out my insides.”
“I missed your dramatics,” Shouto says genuinely, and he waits for an explosion to come. Bakugou doesn’t do well with praises thinly veiled with snark.
It never came, Bakugou watches him closely instead, ��Yeah? And who’s fault is that?”
Shouto dared to glare back, but it didn’t last long, he knows the answer. Shouto had come out of his shell nicely, as Momo had put it. He’s still awkward, can’t really quite grasp ‘pop culture’ and how to correctly implied it, but he regularly hangs out with his friends. As of late, he’s noticeably withdrawn. Going straight to his room after class, and opting out of game nights, nail nights, and even soba nights.
They had been giving him space, which he finds endearing. Of course, Bakugou isn’t one to give anything liberally.
“Mine...” Shouto admits, and Bakugou looks surprised.
The fun part of befriending Bakugou is that Shouto could be a bit of a bitch and Bakugou would be a bitch back, and it wouldn’t matter. No one’s feelings were hurt, and Shouto can let go of steam without guilt. Shouto could’ve been in denial, said that Bakugou should step off his dick and no feelings would be hurt.
But he had enough of space, though admittedly, he should’ve confessed that with someone that wants to be in his space.
“Finally, you’re done moping around, everyone’s been on my ass worrying about you.”
“Why would they be on your ass?”
“Hell would I know.”
“Was that the reason you cried?” Shouto is just teasing, but the grim in Bakugou’s face isn’t a familiar one.
“I told you that didn’t happen!” he growls lowly.
Shouto considers, clueless yet curious. “I’ll tell you about me if you told me about you.”
“Just because you’re vomiting your crisis that I didn’t ask for, doesn’t mean I’m obligated to do the same!”
“Okay, that’s fine too.”
“No, shut-”
“My mom and dad are getting back together.”
Bakugou’s expression mellows to confusion, “That sounds convoluted as hell. Didn’t they just got a divorce or something?”
“They never got a divorce. She’s just sent to a mental hospital and never came home, doesn’t mean the marriage is legally broken.”
The fact seems to sink slow with his explosive friend, “What the fuck.”
Shouto sighs, looking down his jittery hands, his mouth dries. “Last year when I visited my mom, we were talking about the future. She said she’d filed for a divorce, and I’d live with her.” Shouto feels oddly numb, but there’s this dull ache deep in his chest that’s constant. “I should’ve known. She said that before he ‘tried to change’... she said that when everything was still bad, she thought it still happened.”
“What still happened?” Bakugou sounds angry, but he always does.
“I got hurt a lot when I was a kid, because of training. She thought he still hurts me.”
He felt the shoulder beside him tensed. Beside Shouto’s jittery hands is Bakugou’s clenched shaking fist. Shouto looks up from their laps and finds that Bakugou’s face... an eerie stoic.
“Hmmm,” Bakugou hums, and a chill runs down his spine. “When did you start training by the way?” not even a curse in that sentence.
Shouto realizes then, this is Bakugou truly angry, even though Shouto can’t figure out why on earth would he be.
“The day after my quirk manifested.”
His childhood is unforgettable. The day his training starts with fear and pain, then ends with exhaustion and anger. The day Touya never came back, the day his mom left, the longing stare towards the backyard wanting to play with his brother and sister. He remembers it all, like a tattoo in his memory.
“We been knew that Endeavor was an ass but I didn’t know he’s a fucking child abuser.”
The words snap him away from his musing. This time, Bakugou looks angry angry. Teeth-gritting, scowling, boiling anger.
Oh, that’s why he’s angry.
“It was training.”
“Not at five fucking years old you e-boy himbo!” Bakugou barks.
“That’s new, what’s a himbo?”
“Not the fucking point!” Bakugou takes his shoulder away, and suddenly Shouto feels cold. Then he’s held by his shoulders, pinned by sharp maroon eyes, and the lack of warmth turns cold when a growl says, “You’re telling me that your dad’s been abusing you, and no one stopped him? And he’s fucking getting away with it??”
There are so many things wrong with that question and implied statement. One is that it was not abuse. Two is that no one could’ve stopped the then number two hero. Three is that Shouto didn’t tell him any of that but Bakugou assumed anyway.
Shouto doesn’t get to say all of it as Bakugou lets go of him and takes deep breaths. Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly displeased at what he’s thinking.
“Why did you think your mom wants to get back together with your dad?”
Shouto feels relieved now they’re back on topic, “I don’t know. It feels like one moment she’s afraid of him, and now she wants to be with him again. I guess... he did ‘try to be better’. Everyone else seems to forgive him, but I can’t.”
Then Bakugou does something that he didn’t expect, he defends them, “I mean... He’s not that much of a dick now, right? He’s a dick but he was pretty alright when we have a work-study at his agency. And your mom’s better, so maybe they could make it work?”
Shouto knows it’s technically true, but displeasure clawed him still, his blood boiling.
“I don’t care whether it works! I hated that she forgives him so easily!” Shouto shouts.
“Well, that’s selfish of you, isn’t it! It’s her decision, not yours!” Bakugou barks back.
“What the fuck do you know about it?” Shouto spats, he stands up, “They’re going to destroy each other, and what then? Do they want me to just look at their trainwreck while they insist everything is okay? No! I’m not going through that again!”
“You’re just not trusting your mom! Things changed!” Bakugou stands up too, he looks exceptionally angrier than ever.
“No, I don’t. Especially after she said she wanted to get a divorce with him then changing her mind only a year later. Of course, I don’t trust her!”
“But isn’t it better to have both your parents together?”
“No, it doesn’t especially when she’s not happy!”
Bakugou doesn’t bark back, and Shouto only realized how Bakugou’s question was laced with a cracked voice. Shouto looks, only partially surprised that the eyes that look back thinly veiled with tears. The heat in his bloodstream wanes out, more worried/horrified that Bakugou is now openly crying.
This is the worst. Both of them are socially awkward lone wolves that have no idea how and what to do with emotions. So, Shouto does his #best.
“You can tell me.”
Bakugouu glares. Okay, so maybe Shouto’s #best isn’t what he needs.
“Only if you want, if you don’t then it’s okay too.”
“Shut the fuck up, thermostat.”
What else do you do when someone cried? Shouto racks his memories of times when he was crying a lot when he was little, trying to find examples he could follow. He remembers his mom.
“Come here.”
“The fuck are you trying to-”
Shouto cuts him off with a hug. It’s as awkward as it comes. Shouto has his arms around the broad shoulders, his chin hooked on the right side. Shouto doesn’t know how tight he should hug, but it’s enough to press their chest together. Then one of his arms, the left one, rubs Bakugou’s back, emitting a slight warmth. In two languid swipes, Bakugou’s tenseness bleeds slowly.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Shouto says, mimicking what his mom had said once upon a time when he’s upset. “But it’ll be okay. Maybe it’ll take a long time, or it’ll be really hard, but you...” have me, you don’t have to deal with everything alone, was what his mom finished with. He doesn’t know if Bakugou would see him as reliable, but Fuyumi had said that intentions are the most important. “You have your friends, and you have me. I don’t know what will help, but I’ll do it if you asked.”
Shouto surprised himself that he means it. When he encounters an emotionally fragile situation, he usually gets Midoriya, or Urakara, or Momo to handle the situation. With Bakugou however...seeing that his usually prickly friend tipping at the edge like this, Shouto felt like he wants to help. Perhaps it was the camaraderie of the S.S. Emotional Constipation that makes him reach out his personal hand towards Bakugou.
Shouto found another surprise when Bakugou hugs him back, his spiky blond head tucked at the crook of his neck. Shouto also didn’t expect the reflex tears pooling in his eyes at the feeling of tightening arms around his torso. He’s being held, tight and needy. When was the last time he’s held like this? Tears pours without his will when he realized the last time someone hugged him was Touya as Dabi when he was about to burn himself along with Shouto.
They stay there on the rooftop just holding each other as if they’ll fall apart if they don't. When Bakugou lets go, his eyes are even redder than it already is. When those red eyes look up, he noticed the tear streak down Shouto’s face and doesn’t comment about it.
Instead, Bakugou says, “My parents are splitting up.”
Shouto says nothing, only to pull him in his arms again.
They say nothing else as they sit at the same spot on the concrete floor leaning on each other, hand in hand. Shouto instinctually teared up again when he remembered the last time someone holds his hand was his mom as she walked him to a park, all those years ago. Other than that, it was for survival and fighting.
Bakugou leans his head on Shouto’s shoulder first, Shouto says nothing about it. He then leans his face on top of Bakugou’s hair, it feels like a bed of grass, Bakugou says nothing about it too. Shouto realizes that Bakugou can be vulnerable as long as no one points it out. Being untalkative, Shouto can do just that.
The future is scary, especially when their supposed foundation is changing. Bakugou’s foundations are breaking apart, while Shouto had grown accustomed to the torn apart pieces now move together crossing fingers that they fit.
But the future is for tomorrow. The changes are not theirs to make. All they can do now is hold themselves together as everything changes, hoping they don’t break in the process.
Eventually, nightfalls, but none of them moved. Shouto suspects that Bakugou might be sleeping on him.
It’s a suspicion no more when Aizawa found them there, and Bakugou doesn’t stir from being found. Those tired eyes already look exasperated as he finds Shouto’s tear-streaked eyes looking back.
Aizawa sighs, “Is it life-threatening ?”
Shouto knows that the teacher is prone to worries despite his appearance. Their stumble at first year seems to scar him and made him extra vigilant with his students ever since.
“There’s nothing we could do about it,” Shouto says, which is true, but seemingly a wrong thing to say.
“That doesn’t answer my question, trouble child.” Aizawa scowls, which means his worry cranked up to max. “Are the both of you facing a problem that harms you, or threatening your life?”
“It’s nothing like that,” says the bundle of blond in his shoulder. Bakugou sits up and stretches, yawning so big his jaw seems to unhinge a bit. He doesn’t look angry, just tired. “It’s family drama, you know how it is.”
“Is it really just drama?” Aizawa squints at Bakugou, too knowing for someone without a mind-reading quirk.
Bakugou looks at Shouto, searching and prodding. Shouto doesn’t understand what he could be looking for, or what he wants. Bakugou just sighs, “Yeah, just drama.”
Aizawa looks at Shouto too and softens. “If you two need to cuddle you can just do it in your respective room.”
“Nah, too many nosy people.” Bakugou starts to leave.
Shouto follows with a “Good night Sensei.”
Aizawa grunts.
“We can use my Elsa stairs,” Shouto pipes in as he walks alongside him.
Bakugou looks at him and huffs, “Turns out you’re not a himbo after all.”
Since Bakugou won't tell him, Shouto looks up ‘himbo’ himself. This raises a lot of questions about how Bakugou has been seeing him, but Shouto decides that he’d be offended by it.
  ++++++
 You could still be lonely even though you have tons of sibling, or even when they really love you. I guess they just don’t know how to show us they love us.
He really should’ve known. He really should’ve fucking known.
The thought spins in his head as he smoked the last cigarette on his freshly bought pack. No one to catch him this time. It’s the weekend and he’s supposed to be at home, but it’s unbearable to be in the same room with his family. Usually, he could just slurp his soba in feigning ignorance but not now.
He’s sitting by the bench of a lonely park. He’s been sitting here since sun down. He has no idea what time it is. His phone in his pocket is on silent, he hasn’t checked on it since he walked out.
He should’ve stayed at the dorms, fuck the family dinner.
It’s not that Shouto wants things to end up badly. It’s not like he doesn’t want to be home, especially since his mom finally comes home after so many years. Everyone is happy that she’s back, even Natsuo, even his dad. Everyone except her. It looks so hard for her to be there. Shouto can see in her face that some places still hold strong bad memories for her.
His mother is strong because she pulls through. She holds herself through it all even though it seems only barely.
Yet why is he still so angry at her? Maybe not angry, frustrated. Shouto wants to ask her clarity. Why is she doing this? Why did she change her mind? Why come back here? Why not grasp the independence she had been telling Shouto she strived for? Was she coaxed to be here? Was she feeling some kind of responsibility to go back here? To salvage that sham of a marriage she had with Endeavor?
Shouto wants to ask, wants to understand. He crowded her with questions that moment when they said they’d be getting back together, only for his mom to wince, eyes widen, and quickened breath. For the second time in his life, his mom had looked at him with fear. Today, Shouto could barely meet her eyes again.
Is he really such a monster in her eyes just because he’s half his father? Then why go back to his father at all?
Shouto bought half a dozen packs as per tradition. Also because of his self implied tradition, he puts all the ashes in the coffin-shaped ashtray, even though there’s a park ashtray right beside him.
“You carry that everywhere,” Says a groveling voice that Shouto would notice anywhere.
Bakugou is in casuals. Black jeans and a grey hoodie seem like he’s out in a hurry. Just like Shouto.
“You’ve got to stop stalking me,” Shouto inhales deep, watching red amber burns till the filter and sighs.
“Who fucking stalking you Zuko.”
“Zuko doesn’t have-”
“Shut up,” Bakugou plop his ass beside Shouto, sitting waaay too close. He snatched the coffin tin, inspecting it. “Even when you didn’t smoke you carried this.”
“How did you know?”
“It shows your pocket, not big enough for a phone.”
Shouto knows he can’t get away once Bakugou began prying. “My first friend gave it to me.”
“That fucking Deku???”
“No,” Shouto chuckles at the image of Midoriya taking the role of what his first friend did. “It’s someone I met first-year junior high. She gave me this after introducing me to cigarettes.”
“That’s so fucking passive-aggressive I would’ve punched her in her teeth,” Bakugou grumbles, putting the ashtray to Shouto’s lap. “And why the fuck would anyone smoke at thirteen anyway!”
“Exactly because we’re thirteen, Katsuki, just because,” Shouto chuckles again at the memory. Seemingly too carefree from the nicotine, Bakugou had become Katsuki in his tongue. Katsuki bristles at his given name, but says nothing about it. It mysteriously made Shouto very happy.
“Among everything though, she was my first best friend, she teaches me a lot of things that make me who I am. She made me realize that I didn’t have to follow my dad’s wishes. That I can be what I want to be instead of what I was born for. That it’s valid to be lonely even though I technically have a big family. That it’s okay to not strive to be the best and just to be... happy.”
Shouto closes his eyes, remembering her lessons always fell bitter-sweet. But he’ll hold it in his heart forever.
“What you’re born for?” Katsuki says scathingly.
“Yeah, you know about this.” Shouto was told that Katsuki had eavesdropped on his conversation with Midoriya. Shouto was born to fulfill another man’s vendetta. A purpose first, and a son last.
“Seem like a wise person for a thirteen-year-old,” Katsuki sneers.
“She was, I loved her,” Shouto’s confession brings Katsuki’s face to a red grimace.
“Shit, I didn’t ask you to tell me your fucking secrets.”
“It’s not a secret.”
“Oh, really?” Katsuki spat bitterly, “Then why are you hiding your girlfriend from us?”
So many things wrong with that question. Shouto raises his eyebrows in surprise, “She’s not my girlfriend, and I’m not hiding her. She’s dead.”
The grimace fell like a hot potato, it would’ve been fun watching how Katsuki splutters if he didn’t look like he’s legit choking. “Holy fuck, that's... fuck, then why the shit you’re so stoic talking about it,” Katsuki seems appalled.
“It happens a long time ago. She seems accepting of her death that I... well I want to respect her decision.” Shouto knows it’s weird to not feel mournful of the departure of your closest friend. He still misses her, but she had been so positive until the very moment she left. Shouto was sure that she’s happy, so Shouto wants to be happy for her.
Katsuki paled, horrified, seemingly to misunderstand again.
“She had a terminal illness. Very likely no chance of survival. She chose to live her remaining time normally instead of undergoing treatment.”
“There’s... There’s no way her parents let her do that.”
“They’re economically challenged. They tried though, just too late in the end.”
“Fuck...” Katsuki cursed, running through his hair roughly. “Never thought you’d be the type of person to have life-changing moments like that.”
“A lot of people have proven to me that everyone has potential to be unexpected, and that’s just how it is.” Shouto looks pointedly at Katsuki, who glares at him in retaliation. “There’s a reason why we’re both here instead of home.”
“Yeah?” Katsuki mumbles, clearly not wanting to talk.
Shouto doesn’t too, to be honest, and yet keeping it in feels more exhausting, “My mom’s home.”
“No shit?” Katsuki was mildly surprised, “So it’s really happening huh.”
“It’s like walking on eggshells with her. I wanted to ask, but last time I did she flinched at me. I couldn’t look at her today.”
Katsuki sighs. This time, Katsuki is the one that scoots over till their shoulders touched all the way to their thighs. The contact makes Shouto breathes easier, he’s drawn to it like moths to a flame. His body goes limp as if it’s been too tense too long from holding itself together, and he drapes himself on top of Katsuki. Shoulder pressed together, his head heavily falls on Katsuki’s shoulder. Instinctually, his hand looks for another hand. Katsuki snakes around his hand and clasps it with his. It’s uncharacteristic, but Shouto finds himself grateful for it.
It’s warm, it’s damp, it’s grounding. Like lying on even earth after running away for so long.
“I don’t want her to be with him under the obligation that parents are supposed to be together for the kids. She’s been through so much, I would’ve understood, but I didn’t know how to say it without triggering her.” Silence follows, and Shouto realized what he said. “Sorry, uh, I’m not insinuating-”
“Shut up candy cane, I know.” Katsuki leans closer, his head on top of Shouto’s.
It’s warm, just what he needs in the middle of an emotional crisis at the beginning of November. It’s a bit out of character for Katsuki to do this, nor Shouto, neither of them are known for physical contact or talking about their personal lives. Yet here they are.
And Katsuki speaks anyway, “They’re fighting.”
Shouto, contrary to what Katsuki called him, isn’t a himbo. He knows who they are and he knows what a fight could entail.
“Did they hurt each other when they fight?” Shouto asks, then mused even if they did, could Katsuki do anything about it? Shouto couldn’t back then.
“No!” Katsuki says, indignant, “Of course not, they’re just bitching at each other about... about... I don’t know, it’s fucking stupid.”
“Hm, that’s good.”
“Fucking hell it’s good, they’re being idiotic!”
“They’re not hurting each other.”
Katsuki paused, his hands clenched tighter, “Did he hurt your mom when they fight?”
Shouto takes a deep inhale at the surge of memory. The fear that settles is old, he knows. Just leftover trauma that never went away, still, it bubbled to the surface, makes his skin cold.
Not trusting his voice, Shouto nods.
“They were fighting about me,” Katsuki says after a while, his voice a bit shaky, and Shouto knows better than to point it out. He keeps his head on the shaking shoulder and listens. “They didn’t know I was listening, they never did. They never... Turn-Turns out they didn’t even plan on having me.”
Katsuki holds his hand tighter and trembling.
“I’m a fucking accident,” Katsuki spat, venom dripping in every word. “Then they had a shotgun wedding, they didn’t even love each other at all.”
Shouto hears one escape of a sniff and lets himself relax, feigning clueless that Katsuki must’ve been crying. He lets the silence stretches until the hand holding his relaxed and the shaking subsides. Shouto had the same breakdown before. It downs to him that they’re not so different after all, children of a loveless relationship. Though he wonders if that instantly means he’s unloved. It had felt that way, but now... now it feels so much complicated than yes or no.
“Does it matter why we’re born?” Shouto hears a deep inhale of an incoming rant but he cuts it off with, “We’re our own person, with our own lives, and our own dreams. No one can tell us otherwise. Not even the one who makes us.” Shouto pauses and listens, what came to his ears is soft breathing, so he continues. “So what you’re not planned? That doesn’t mean you’re unwanted,” Shouto rubs his thumb over the damp knuckles, “You’re not unloved.”
Because Shouto had been to the Bakugo residence. Bakugou Mitsuki is as explosive as he is, but he can see her adoring stare at her son even when she’s scolding him. Bakugou Masaru is softer, always trying to calm both of them and giving small smiles when Shouto tells him stories about his son at school.
“What the fuck do you know, water dispenser?” Katsuki lowly growls, but it doesn’t have that biting hate, he doesn’t move away from Shouto.
So Shouto only hums and lets the silence stretch. He grabs the ashtray with his other hand, rubbing the plain surface with his thumb, remembering her, thanking her.
“What’s her name?” Katsuki says after minutes of silence, his voice with less snarl.
“Arisu.”
“... I’m sorry you lost her.”
And that’s what happened, isn’t it? Shouto may be able to let her go, but she’s still lost to him. Still hurts, Shouto still mises her. “Thank you.”
They didn’t let go of each other until Shouto’s phone rings. It’s Natsuo. His brother is just as unhappy about their parents' reunion, though for him it’s more about hating their dad and less about questioning their mother as Shouto did. Natsuo called to offer to spend the rest of the weekend at his place. Shouto immediately agrees, then he remembers Katsuki.
“Is it okay if I bring one of my friends?”
Katsuki instantly glowers at him.
“Who?”
“Katsuki.”
“Who??”
“Bakugou.”
“Oh, yeah sure. Buy some dinner on the way, I didn’t get to eat much.”
“Okay, me too.”
As soon as they hang up, Katsuki bares his teeth.
“Who says I’ll go with you, Pokeball?” His voice raised a bit, his arms crossing defensively.
“I’m not, I said if. You don’t have to, but if you want, you can.”
“No one fucking asked you for shelter,” Katsuki scoffs, facing away.
“I know...” Shouto knows Katsuki would rather leave than accept help. The only way he accepts it is that if no one acknowledges it. He knows Katsuki can take care of himself, but Shouto is the one that doesn’t want him to leave just yet. Shouto knows he’ll go back to Natsuo’s place only to hear him bitch about Endeavor when the real problem is with their mom and her odd decision.
“Can’t you just stay for dinner?” The desperation in his voice is real, Katsuki seems to notice it and is bewildered by it. “Please?”
Katsuki’s eyes widen at the magic word because no, Shouto doesn’t say it often, much less towards Katsuki, he had enough ego already.
Nose flared and fist clenched, Katsuki finally barks, “Fine! But we’re cooking instead of ordering take-out, I fucking know what you’re gonna get you soba simp. Your brother better has a kitchen.”
“He does,” Shouto replies, the upbeat tone in his voice is rare. Can you blame him? He’s excited that he’s not coming home, and Katsuki goes with him with his admittedly superior cooking.
At Natsuo’s apartment, Shouto helped Katsuki cook, nothing more than chopping stuff. Natsuo gave him a brief summary of what happened at home after Shouto left, but thankfully, he’s not saying too much because Katsuki is there. Once Natsuo finished talking and left to get beers, Shouto gives Katsuki an arm squeeze of thanks. Katsuki only grunts.
Dinner is ‘simple’ in Katsuki’s opinion. Stir-fried vegetables, miso soup, and hamburg steak. As always, it’s delicious, and Natsuo who’s none the wiser to Katsuki’s God-like cooking skill is blown away.
They’re in the living area on the sofa watching TV when Shouto scoots closer again. Natsuo is in his room studying.
“You can stay here for the rest of the weekend if you want,” Shouto says, bumping shoulders.
Katsuki frowns, eyes on the screen. “I don’t have my change of clothes with me.”
“You can borrow mine, I have some here.”
“Ran away a lot don’t you?” Katsuki sneers.
“You have no idea,” Shouto admits.
The sneer falls, “Why?”
“Just because I finally can.”
“You couldn’t before?”
Shouto shakes his head, finding his head heavy, so he lays his head on Katsuki’s shoulder again. “Before he was number one, he insists on using all my free time on training. If I didn’t, he’d take my phone, or the internet, or my manga, even burned them on some occasion. He even flushed my pet fish, rest in peace Kiya. Then he’s number one, and the dorms are established... so...”
Shout shrugs. He doesn’t reach for Katsuki’s hand this time, just pressed against him, afraid if he pushed then Katsuki would retract. Shouto doesn’t want to stop his newfound comfort just yet.
Then his hand is grasped by a firm clammy hand. Shouto keeps thinking of how Katsuki’s sweaty hands must be because of the nitroglycerin of his quirk. If he’s not thinking about Katsuki’s quirk then he’d think about how it makes his heart skipped a beat that Katsuki initiates the touch again. So yeah, clammy hands that hold him tight.
“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” Katsuki says, weaker than he’s accustomed to. It makes Shouto wary.
“I don’t know what is there to tell.”
A groan stretches, “What do I do with you?”
“Hey...” Shouto mock complains “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Does he still train you like that?”
Shouto feels a bit of whiplash with all these questions. Katsuki has been asking personal questions left and right, and Shouto doesn’t understand why answering it doesn’t feel as hard as usual.
“No, not since he became number 1.”
Katsuki scoffs, “Got what he wanted didn’t he?”
“Sometimes I wonder if that’s the case. When he got it, he didn’t seem happy, just angry. Then he started wanting the family he broke to get that number one spot.”
That renders Katsuki to another bout of silence. He knows Katsuki strives to be number one too, and at first, Shouto had ridiculed him about it. Why does a superficial title mean so much anyway? Katsuki changed over the years though, with Midoriya being the main cause of it.
Heart on his throat, Shouto dare asks, “Hey, Katsuki? Why do you want to be a hero?”
Katsuki tensed, but Shouto holds him tighter, “Why are you getting nosy all of the sudden?”
Shouto knows he’s not getting things easy, “I just wanna know.”
“Yeah, that’s nosy.”
“No, I just want to get to know you.” Shouto bites his lips as soon as the words left, was that too forward?
They’re not looking at each other, but Shouto can feel the glare directed at him. “Why?”
“We’ve been friends for a while...”
“We’re not fucking friends-!”
“...But I feel like I’m taking you for granted. I didn’t even know you’re going through something so big.” Some friend I am, Shouto broods.
It takes a few seconds, but Katsuki defeatedly sighs, and Shouto smiles in victory, “At first, I just want to be the best.”
“Best at what?”
“Everything...” Katsuki muses, his head knocked back, “Then I realized that it was an impossible goal... Did a lot of thinking, did a lot of uh, self-reflecting. Started talking to Ito-san too. I realized that I just want to be needed.”
It makes sense why Katsuki is here then. Shouto wished he could outright say that he needs him so Katsuki would stay longer, but just imagining him doing so already makes him pink in embarrassment.
Ito-san is the school counselor, her doors are open for every UA student. Shouto had half the mind to go to her, but there’s always this weight of silence from being a son of a high-profile hero. Endeavor always drilled him about secrecy and how he shouldn’t say anything about his family to anyone or it’ll ruin everything. It’s the reason why Arisu was his only friend, she was dying, and she did take his secret to her grave. Shouto still feels guilty about that.
“Have you ever talked to Ito-san?” Katsuki asked as if reading his mind.
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Everything that comes out of my mouth is tabloid-worthy. Endeavor had drilled me from way young that I can’t run my mouth about our lives. He’s right about that at least, I didn’t want paparazzi swarming us demanding half-assed rumors if I can help it. It had happened before, someone even sneaked into my mom’s hospital to reach her. I guess... that’s also why I never told anyone at all about anything.”
“You told Arisu didn’t you?”
Shouto bites his lip, guilt gnaws at him, “Because I know she won't carry my secrets long enough.” Please don’t hate me. Shouto’s grip on Katsuki tighten.
“But you told Deku, you told me.”
“Well, I trust you,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing. “You sure you don’t want to stay over?”
Katsuki leans away, and the cold strikes immediately. Shouto leans back, pointedly not looking at red irises.
“Fine.”
Shouto quickly looks up, then he finds Katsuki’s face odd. There’s something familiar with it. He’s... smiling, only slightly, but it’s a smile, and his eyes aren’t furrowed or angry or glaring. His eyebrows relaxed and he looks.... soft. Maybe Shouto fell asleep and currently dreaming.
“I’ll need to call my parents first,” Katsuki says after clearing his throat, looking away a bit flushed.
“Sure, I’ll get you settled.”
Shouto is half excited half worried. He told Natsuo that Katsuki will be borrowing the couch, which only replied with a hum while his eyes doesn’t leave the book. His brother is not unfamiliar with runaways. Shouto isn’t the only one seeking shelter at his place.
Shouto passes the balcony where Katsuki is screaming at his phone. Shouto can only hear muffles, but he gives Katsuki some privacy and gets some spare clothes. When Shouto sees that Katsuki is still on the phone even after ten minutes have passed, he takes the liberty of taking a shower first.
When Shouto walks out, he finds Katsuki sitting by the sofa, his hands suspiciously inflamed. He faces the screen but looking particularly nowhere. Shouto had seen those empty looks before.
“Katsuki?”
He jerks slightly as his name is called. Katsuki schooled his expression to a careful stoic, walls up. No matter, Shouto thinks, sometimes you don’t need to tear down walls to help a person, just hold their hand through the gate.
“Go take a shower, bath’s warm.”
Katsuki nods, taking the towel Shouto offered and the spare clothes. Shouto makes tea, for him, his brother, and Katsuki. Shouto delivers the cup of tea to Natsuo’s room, seems like the books are multiplying around his brother.
“Tea,” Shouto says before putting it on a coaster.
“Thanks.” Natsuo finally looks away from the book and takes a sip. “That Bakugou, how is he?” Natsuo asks, knowing that Shouto only brings his friend here in a dire situation.
The only other person he brought was Kaminari, believe it or not. Kaminari had said he didn’t want to come home for the weekend because he was scared of facing his parents after he came out via text. From the replies, it hadn’t been good. Kaminari spent the rest of the stay switching between sobbing and full-on crying. Only God knows why Kaminari asked him instead of any of the Baku-squad, but Kaminari is still his friend too, so Shouto provides.
But today with Katsuki is different though. Shouto had to beg him to stay, whether it’s for the benefit of him or Shouto the line had blurred.
“Hopefully he will be,” Is all Shouto can offer. Natsuo nods before going back to his book.
Shouto lays out his futon in the living room adjacent to the sofa. He’s laying down, scrolling at his phone. Putting his dad on read and ignoring Fuyumi’s and mom’s chatbox. He opted to look at cat videos instead. Soon, Katsuki came out of the bathroom, drank the offered tea, and laid down on the sofa.
They spent probably an hour separately looking at their phones when Shouto finally calls it a night. He turned off the lights, and tuck himself in. Before he said goodnight, Shouto thinks and his desires take.
“Wanna hang out tomorrow?” he asked.
Blood red eyes look at him from the screen, “Where?”
Shouto shrugs, “I don’t know, just around, get my mind off things. There’s a cat cafe I’ve been wanting to see, then we’ll go from there.”
Katsuki stares, seemingly thinking it over, “Have you ever been to a rock climbing gym?”
“A what?”
Katsuki smirks, sharp-teethed and evil, “Oh you’re in for a fucking experience, red velvet oreo.”
Shouto is a bit suspicious, even so, he finds himself looking forward to tomorrow.
  +++++
 I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but you shouldn’t think that way. Of course you’ll have more friends. You’re more lovable than you think, Shouto.
Something changed between them after that weekend. Comfort grows between them. Comfort that they don’t want to let go just yet, perhaps not anytime soon.
The bad thing about it is that everyone notices. Everyone.
To their friend's credit though, they came to school together, walking very close to each other. It was fully initiated by Shouto, but Katsuki didn’t snap or push him away, so he assumed everything is okay.
Everything is absolutely not okay because the moment he walks to class everyone has eyes on them. Shouto thought it won’t matter to him, but Katsuki tends to be defensive. When Katsuki is defensive, he pushes people away. Shouto tried not to watch Katsuki for the whole class.
Momo noticed, of course, but she notices more than superficial things.
“Shouto,” Momo whispers, “Everything alright?”
Shouto gives her a smile and nods.
It’s not until they’re getting up for lunch that Shouto is tested in a form of Kirishima.
“Bakubro! How long have you been dating Todobro?”
The world screech halt, and Kirishima tensed at the sudden chill he’s feeling. When Kirishima found the source of burning in his back, he sees Shouto, glaring hard and terrifyingly at him. Face darkens, pupils small, ready to kill.
Kirishima squeaks, “He-hey, uh-”
“Back off Kiri, it’s none of your business,” is all Katsuki says. Not even a scream, just a conversational tone as if he’s bored. No defensiveness, no snarling at Shouto in retaliation. “The fuck are yall extras staring at? Move outta my way, I’m hungry!” Then he left.
No one is barging Shouto with questions instead. It’s out of character of his classmates to not poke their nose in something juicy, but as he drops his butt at his chair, he finds himself alone in class.
Shouto is left in class with a big wave of relief, so much that he couldn’t stand. Why is it that the thought of Katsuki pushing him away scares him this much?
A hand landed on his desk, he looks up to find Momo’s honest stare, “Something is not alright.”
Shouto sighs, “No.”
Unlike Katsuki, Momo never pries, only assuring that she’s there for him. Unlike Momo, Katsuki understands that some things can’t be fixed, wherein if he opens up to Momo and some others, they tried to help by fixing. The number of times his friends told him, again and again, to go to Ito-san when they found out about Dabi being his brother is an exhausting amount. Maybe that’s why Shouto has been more comfortable with laying his problems to Katsuki.
So he eats lunch with Momo in the silence of comfortable company, and there’s just that.
  +++++
 Thank you for being there for me. You’re the bestest best friend I could ever wish for. And you won’t be lonely for long, you’ll see.
Shouto has peaceful days following that first Monday. His comfort with Katsuki doesn’t change. Though they don't get together on the rooftop anymore (Iida never let go of his key since Katsuki managed to steal it), they still gravitate towards each other whenever they don’t feel particularly great.
Katsuki would approach and say things like, “They want me home this weekend.”
“You wanna stay at the dorms or my place?”
“Can’t. I know they wanted to talk to me about who I wanna stay with.”
“We can make up an excuse if you want.”
“Hm.”
Then they spent the rest of the day together, just sitting at the school’s lawn, looking at particularly nothing. And if they sit too close together and their clasped hands only partially hidden by their legs, no one pointed it out.
Shouto would approach and say things like, “Fuyumi wants to call me, I know she’s just gonna talk about how I’m tearing the family apart.”
Katsuki snaps from his bed towards the window where Shouto is stepping down from his Elsa stairs.
Katsuki’s shock then turns to fury, “Your sister, Fuyumi, THAT Fuyumi said that to you?”
“She wanted the family together. I think she’s frustrated that I keep making my parents' union difficult.”
“You know what, her spicy mapo tofu isn’t that delicious anyway!” Katsuki barks his hands clenched down mini-explosions. It’s one of Katsuki’s outbursts that Shouto doesn’t understand, nor does he understand why her mapo tofu is related in any way, so he doesn’t comment.
“I’m gonna head up to the roof, wanna come?”
“No, you’ll just smoke and you’d give me fucking cancer.”
Shouto feels cold, Katsuki had never said no from hanging out before, “Fine.”
“Who said you can leave? Come here!” Katsuki held his ankle from the balcony, gripping tight.
Shouto blinks, remembering what Aizawa-sensei had said some days ago. “Oh, are we gonna cuddle?”
Katsuki’s face set aflame, “Just fucking come in here Katy Perry, before I yank you by your stupid Poland flag hair.”
Shouto finds himself obeying at the thought of cuddling, but then confused, “Why Katy Perry?”
“Hot and cold.”
“I guess that’ll make sense if I know who Katy Perry is but.”
Katsuki spat a curse, “Alright, time for a session of pop culture.”
“But I already had them with Mina and Sero”
“And they’re doing a shit job about it if you didn’t know the person that shapes a whole ass generation.”
It started with a music video of Hot and Cold by Katy Perry and ends with a retelling biography of Lady Gaga. Who knew Katsuki is so knowledgeable about female pop stars.
“TELL ANYONE AND DIE,” He said after Shouto pointed it out.
Most important of all, they did cuddle. They were sitting on the bedside then suddenly they’re laying down side by side. They’re watching a gameplay video of a Swedish man playing a horror game, another important role in pop culture as Katsuki said. It’s an old video, and Katsuki said that the man owns some part of Antarctica, which Shouto knows it’s some kind of an inside joke.
The nights getting late, and Shouto is reminded of the text on his phone, how it vibrates occasionally. Shouto has been in Katsuki’s room for four hours, but he doesn’t want to go back to his room.
Katsuki notices him lingering, “You wanna stay here for the night?”
Shouto looks up from Katsuki’s phone with big sparkling eyes, “You sure?”
“Tch, I wouldn’t have offered if I don’t.” Katsuki looks away, exposing his neck that seems red to the tip of his ears, “It’ll be a little cramp though with my single bed.”
“I don’t mind it. Just don’t kick me out of bed.”
“No promises.”
Katsuki didn’t. He curled away from Shouto as soon as the blankets tucked.  Their backs pressed against each other because of the small space. Shouto finds it hard to fall asleep, could be the new environment or the gnawing anxiety.
He’ll admit that Fuyumi is his favorite sibling. She’s there for him when he was condemned in that lonely manor only to train and study. Fuyumi stays back for him, tend to his wounds, cook for him, keep him company. Natsuo had left and rarely come back, even though he’s there for Shouto in the end.
Then his dad had a bootleg redemption arc and Fuyumi dropped him like hot potato and shoved both of them together despite what Shouto feels about his dad. When his parents are getting back together, Fuyumi stopped consoling Shouto and started to support them blindly. So desperate to have their family together. Doesn’t she know that there’s nothing to salvage? Doesn’t she remember what he did?
“I can hear you from here, air conditioner,” Katsuki grumbles, his back vibrates, “Go to sleep.”
“I’m trying.”
Shouto can’t stop thinking, can’t stop getting angry and getting hurt. It hurts when his sister is pointing the blame at Shouto, it hurts even more when it’s kind of true. It hurts that despite his fear of facing her, he still owes her a call at least. He’ll never be ready for what she’s about to say, never be ready to be hurt by her. Shouto turns around and buries his face at Katsuki’s back, ducking under the cover.
“What is it?’ Katsuki asks, not demanding, but Shouto’s floodgates are opened.
“I don’t understand how they could forgive him. He hurts mom, he hurts Touya to a point that he left and hates us, and he... he hurts me. It’s just training but-but- fine, okay, it hurt and I was scared most of the time that he’s not gonna pull his punches. Fuyumi forgives him so easily, and mom just went back in there even though they were never in love in the first place. It’s like they’ve forgotten what he had done, how deeply he scars all of us. Like what- like what happened didn’t matter.” Shouto’s voice breaks the whole time, a sob escaped in between the jumbled words and he’s trying so hard, so hard not to cry.
Katsuki turns around, his arms wrapped around Shouto’s hunched shoulders. A burnt sweet scent hits his nostrils, his face pressed against a defined neck and collarbones. All tenseness bleeds away when Katsuki starts rubbing his back, and tears break from his eyes without his will. Shouto wraps his arms around his friend’s torso, feeling his chest constrict when Katsuki mercifully says nothing about the silent tears landing on his chest.
He shuts his lips, pressing tightly because he’s not sobbing to Katsuki’s chest. They’re comfortable with each other but not that comfortable... right? Shouto’s tolerance to breakdown cries is thanks to exposure to crying most of his childhood, the same can’t be said for Katsuki. The hug is enough, it’s everything. Shouto never realized how much he craved being touched until that day Katsuki sits way too close to him.
His lips pressed tight keeping from sobbing, but his hands tremble on Katsuki’s back instead.
“Damn, you’re touch starved aren’t you,” Katsuki sighs to his hair, his face buried there.
“I didn’t know,” Shouto’s voice shaking pathetically, breaking at the edge and Shouto is too torn to care about it.
“Me too.”
Shouto doesn’t know which one Katsuki meant, but neither let go until they sleep.
  ++++++
 I love you too, Shouto. Don’t be scared of letting people in, okay? Not all of them are gonna leave you, I promise.
Things get rough, but their comfort pushes each other through.
Katsuki chooses to stay with his dad, but he’s co-parenting with his mom. Katsuki spends his weekends at both their house, switching every weekend. There’s still tenseness between his parents, and Katsuki explodes whenever his dad or mom asks Katsuki about the other. ‘Stop fucking asking me! If you wanna know so much then you shouldn’t have gotten the divorce!’ Katsuki doesn’t want to hear their reasoning, feeling better to just accept the change and move on, but Shouto thinks he’s just not ready to hear it. Sometimes Katsuki stays at the dorms with Shouto or the Todoroki estate when he gets overwhelmed.
Shouto finally talks to his mom. At first, it didn’t go anywhere. She’s as unsure as Shouto, but her willingness to try and salvage the marriage is as honest as it comes, even though her feelings might not be there yet. It feels like hearing Fuyumi talk, hearing the same desperation and blindness in putting things together. It’s hard to understand her foolishness, but Shouto tried to trust her. Shouto’s opinion might have been persuaded a little when his father announced that they’ll be moving houses due to mom’s tense reaction to the place. It’s a plus that his dad is willing to do that for his wife, but Shouto is still keeping an eye on them.
Then things get better, but their comfort doesn’t stop. Shouto is comfortable in following his desires without questioning them, but he quizically finds that Katsuki seeks him too even though he no longer approach Shouto with that near tears scowl, and situation bomb.
“How’s your mom?” Katsuki asked out of the blue under the summer blue sky. They’re sitting by the school lawn, their backs to a tree trunk, their friends strangely been leaving them alone.
“She’s fine.”
“Then why did you want to meet here?” Katsuki murmurs, looking down at the comic book Shouto lends him but not reading it. The tips of his ears are red.
Oh, Katsuki is testing the waters, “I just want to be with you.”
Katsuki flushes, “Ew, where the fuck did you even get that cheesy line.”
Shouto pays the snark no mind. “We haven't had any excuses for being together lately, do we?”
Katsuki hums.
“Do you not like it?”
“It’s fine,” Katsuki grumbles.
“Say... If I ask you to go to a cat cafe this Saturday, will you go?”
“Satan in hell, cat cafe again? I still have fucking fur on my black jacket from the previous visit! I felt like we’ve been to all the cat cafes in the country!”
Shouto pouts, “That’s not possible.”
“Let’s go hiking instead.”
“Okay.”
Katsuki twist his head towards him, “You would?”
“Just us two right?”
“Obviously, there’s no way I’m taking those extras. Those nature documentaries made them wimps.”
Shouto only listened to the first word he uttered, “I’ll go with you.”
Then Katsuki looks him that way again. Soft eyes, relaxed eyebrows, fond stares, and the most devastating of all, a small genuine smile.
“Cool. Come to my place, we have to wake up early. I miss seeing the sunset there, it’s awesome.” There’s light in his maroon eyes, excited to go, and he’s taking Shouto with him to his hobby, his precious place.
Shouto feels warmth radiating from his chest all the way down to his toes, a smile blooms on his face. He’s been feeling this mysterious warmth pretty often lately, only now has he realized that Shouto is happy and that he hasn’t been lonely despite his current family strain.
Katsuki’s rambling about his favorite hiking spot is cut short when Shouto leans in to kiss the corner of his lips. The smile is exchanged with shocked parted lips. Shouto feels himself shrink by the silence of Katsuki’s loud mouth and the pinning stare of his sharp eyes. Blood rushed to Shouto’s cheeks, knowing that he’s blushing up a storm, suddenly nervous.
“Is that okay?” Shout asks, too cowardly to say that he wants more, closer, to continue being together for no reason at all other than just because.
“No.”
He’s grabbed by the face, and a pair of lips pressed against his. Shouto expected to be bitten, his head clawed, and his lips bruised. But the weeks he spent with Katsuki should’ve made him know better. Because the gentle hands cradling his face, the complete capture of his lips, and the soft nips are all unsurprising. Shouto melts away, leaning his whole weight so they’re chest to chest. He grabs Katsuki by the hips, pulling closer, kissing back.
Katsuki hums, and the vibration echoes on Shouto’s body deliciously. Katsuki’s lips taste sweet and hot as it moves to nibble Shouto’s bottom lip. The hands cupping his face moves past his neck. One is clutching his back and the other plays with the hair at the back of his head. Fingers card gently around his nape and Shouto has a whole body shiver.
Then the lips go missing, and Shouto goes limp in Katsuki’s arms, gasping for breath on his chest.
“And that’s how you kiss, Strawberry Shortcake,” Katsuki says smugly, patting Shouto’s back condescendingly.
Shouto scoffs and leans back. Katsuki still has that fond eyes as he looks at him, but now paired with a cheeky smirk. Shouto wants to kiss that too, and Shouto does.
From then on, it’s expected that he sometimes steps down his icy stairs just to cuddle with Katsuki, and it’s perfectly acceptable that Katsuki barges into his room and starts pulling his hand towards wherever he wants.
They’d still bicker sometimes, and sometimes Shouto unintentionally steps on some lines that set Katsuki to explode. Sometimes Katsuki is frustrated with him. Those days they fight makes him nervous.
But they always say their apologies eventually. Katsuki always comes back and tries again with him. Even when the fights are between them, they eventually get over it and get better while they’re still leaning onto each other for comfort.
Eventually, Shouto keeps the coffin ashtray in his keepsake instead of his pocket.
He’d like to think that he can finally let her go now that she’s proven right.
Shouto finds someone that loves him, someone that makes him happy, and someone that doesn’t leave.
 ++++
nicknames that didn't make it: Colgate toothpaste, hot pocket, tide pod, dry ice. nicknames that I magically forgot: Half and half.
Tag yourself as Shouto’s nickname, I’m water dispenser.
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purplerose244 · 3 years
Text
Irrational - Chapter 4: Study
Fourth day of the @spacecampweek, here I come! We’re talking ‘Freckles’! 😍
This is a short, fluffy one, with the participation of head over heels Seamus and oblivious Krel! Enjoy!! 💙💙
Summary: It had started as a random subject of a research during his free time. It had turned into a realization science could hardly explain.
Read it on the AO3
Krel was finally ready to put an end to this.
After all, at first, it had been all abound finding a way to pass time while Mrs. Janeth explained her limited understanding of math to the class. In all honesty, it could had been anyone else in that room, every single human might had caught his eyes during his desperate effort to find something interesting to do. It had turned out to be him probably because having another person besides himself appearing this bored – to the point of falling asleep, impressive – had been almost comforting. Giving a look had been normal, staring a natural consequence.
Then, he had noticed them.
Despite what absolute new environment was this planet, he had taken his time to discover a bit about this place. It had turned out that biological bodies possessed quite the variety of features, and those red dots were only a minuscule part of it. They were called ‘freckles’, defined as extra patches of coloring or pigment under the skin: a hereditary trait, typical of humans with clear skin and called ephelides by professional human healers. They apparently emerged as an over product of melanin, and they reacted to ultraviolet radiation – if their morning star was such a problem, how come they had not worked on a planetary shield yet? Ay ay ay, these humans.
Even with this knowledge and the awareness that it was nothing more than a few points, Krel hadn’t been able to look elsewhere. There was something fascinating about seeing theory applied into reality, even for a matter as simple as this – besides, anything was better than this lesson.
It had started like this.
Then, it had become a constant. A regular occurrence to hold on to.
His life was the very opposite of normal, his existence alone would have gained him that infamous ‘weirdo’ nickname even without his own apparently unnatural personality. There had been hardly a time where he had the benefit of having something to hold onto, his sister was his rock but with the arising danger the risk of losing her as well as their parents had made him grown restless. His mind was too much sometimes, highlighting every single thought. He had needed a distraction.
A study.
Of course, it was so simple! There was clearly a reason why that freckled face was so captivating to him, he needed to research, as always! When something other than fixing their ship to go back home had made its way into his mind, life had turned out to be a little less stressful.
Getting a good look at Seamus during lunch was awfully easy, the blonde himself always seemed interested in him – not sure why, perhaps Krel’s way of eating was almost too human like –, and it seemed like every time those red points doubled. He was sure of it, even during the skelteg situation, seeing him run away had been enough to notice the change – that occurrence had been particular, especially since Mary had given him such a smirk, was she aware of his experiment? –, concluding that there was definitely something going on. Between bounty hunters and school, the chances to take a look had been quite numerous, to the point he had noticed Seamus staring back sometimes, a scowl on his face – hard to tell if it was threatening or his natural expression.
Then the math duel had happened, some pleasantries had been exchanged, the subject had turned out to be someone he might had been interested even as a friend – hearing him looking at him in amazement later in Battle of the Bands had definitely helped –, yet somehow Krel had managed to forget to check on his face the entire time. Which was ridiculous, since he had been unable to think of anyone else but him, even after the delson was over.
What was worse, observation had turned out to be extremely difficult from that moment forward.
It was clear, the blonde was now aware of his study and was doing his best to prevent him from doing it. That had involved covering his face, turning away from him when he was around, and most of all activating biological defense mechanisms. Turning his face red in order to hide his pigments, a truly advanced tactic.
Luckily it worked only when Seamus noticed him staring. Seeing his freckles over his nice, relaxed, pink skin was quite the moment. Even a pleasant one.
More delsons had passed… more than they were supposed to.
Krel was still not back to Akiridion-5. They were still not home.
Not only that, but everything in his life was crumbling. Morando was still out there plotting who knew what, the Mothership was grounded with little chance to go back to fly, Varvatos was a traitor and had almost died for them and now had disappeared. It was piling all over, one brick over the other, it was getting hard to deal with everything. Aja had said it was going to be okay and that had been nice at first, but somehow infuriating later. What did she know? What if it wasn’t? what if it wasn’t going to work out, and they were only stalling the inevitable??
At the end, behind all of these problems, all uncertainties about the future, everything came down to this stupid, insignificant thought into his mind, the one that kept making him inevitably interested into that guy. His own most serious issues weren’t going to be solved anytime soon. If he could at least stop stressing over one thing, it was going to be for the best. It had started as a way to spend free time, but now… he was afraid of what it implied.
Steve had been useful for once, explaining to him where to find Seamus – “Good luck lovebird!”, he did not need that name after the birdie encounter. The theatre was not very crowded for now, he had been able to lean against the wall to wait without being bothered by humans. Today it felt like he could had lost his patience very easily.
At some point a group of guys exited the building, blues eyes crossed his.
There they were, those freckles. They were more than ever. He truly didn’t understand what was happening, why couldn’t he give it a rest and- ah, there it was again, that defense ability of his. Biological beings were such a mystery.
“Tarron?” Seamus blinked at him, confused. “Huh, uhm, hi, what are you doing here?” His friends waved at him with little grins, leaving them alone.
Krel breathed out, feeling the weight of everything ease a little from his shoulders. Huh.
“I am here for an experiment. I have been conducting it for some time now, I am sure you have noticed.” Judging from his confusion it seemed not, which made no sense considering his responding attention to his movements. “I have a certain fascination towards an aspect on you, and I would like to conduct one last test before leaving out the question once and for all. I am dealing with a difficult situation, I do not want any other problems getting in the way.”
“Problems…? Wait, f-fascination?” Oh, apparently there was no limit on how red this human could get. If only he wasn’t there to end his research he would have gladly tried to pick on this new topic. “F-for me? Huh, I mean… what experiment?”
“I will need you to stay still for me. I promise I will not harm you.”
“Whatever you wa- I mean, uhm, s-sure no problem!” Seamus was still staring, a little red, nodding his head. He looked in a way Krel couldn’t described. Not bad. Very nod bad.
“Very good. With your permission.”
It was only a study. He had weirder stuff in the past, especially during his skelteg interest phase – he had enough of those bugs for now –, this was nothing. Observation had brought him nothing, there was a chance tact was going to be useful and lips were the most sensible part of the human body. It only made sense, so he held Seamus’ cheeks and pressed his mouth over his freckles, between his eyes and his nose. Nothing. No difference in texture, nothing he could reasonably conclude. There really was no point into his tests. Despite the feeling of failure, there was something pleasant into touching warm human skin like this.
When he pulled away, a wave of shame hit him, as this problem wasn’t going to be solved and was going to be add to all the others. Then he looked up, seeing the freckles disappear once again, and the largest grin he had ever seen appear.
Seamus was giggling, eyes glimmering.
“That… that was… eheh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “… nice.”
“Nice? Really?” Krel was confused. Was his failure a joy for others? This human couldn’t be that cruel. “It is good to know I guess, because my study was a complete failure.”
“Your what now?”
“It does not matter… I should go.”
“What?! No, wait!” Humans could be quite swift. Even strong, at least judging from the way Seamus had clawed his shoulders. “You didn’t! I mean, I have no idea what this is about, but it wasn’t a failure, I promise!” There was still no trace of the freckles. It felt like this entire experience was place outside his comfort zone, Krel was starting to shake. Curiously… he didn’t hate it. “I liked that, I swear, I’ve been thinking about doing stuff like that with you for a while now!”
Krel widened his eyes. Stuff like that? Stuff like what? Checking the subject of his study? Allowing others to perform tests on him? Why was this confusing, he was never confused!
“I don’t understand…”
“You kissed me, you do understand! And it felt good, and I would like to do it more!”
Kissed?… wait.
“It felt good? Really?” Seamus nodded vividly, looking like he was dying to be understood. But… but that was ridiculous, it was only a brush between human skins. How could it be something pleasant to experience? “Does it truly feel this nice?
Seamus widened his eyes. He swallowed, stepping closer.
The prince felt a sudden wave of tension hit him.
“Yeah, it does. It’s like, well…” The blonde swallowed again, slowly holding up his chin. “It’s… it’s probably clearer through practice than theory.” His finger was shaking. Krel was also shaking. His blue eyes were getting closer and closer, bigger and deeper, something he had always known from the very beginning. Huh. Perhaps he didn’t notice his freckles alone. A sekton later they were closed, and the prince felt a pressure over his cheek. His entire body was enveloped by flames. His mind was emptied, finally free from pressure and pain. “… s-so?” Seamus was looking again, still with those enormous eyes, expecting a conclusion.
Krel was frozen. Oh. Huh. That was new. Feeling stupid. That was very new.
Those freckles were never multiplying, nor they were particularly engaging on a scientific level. They were Seamus’, he was getting closer. That had always made the difference.
A little smile arrived, because at last, he did have one answer.
“You’re right, it does feel nice.”
Seamus breathed out, looking relieved and so, so happy. So very endearing.
“Good. Great, awesome, I mean…” He reached out for him again, embracing him, close to his chest. Krel could hear his human heart. It was beating. What a very fascinating topic again. “D-does this mean the experiment is still on? Are you still gonna watch me during math class and all those times?” He did notice. He really was smart. Perhaps he wasn’t completely accurate at determining exactly the topic of the research, but he was close enough. Krel really liked that aspect of him. “Because, well, in case you want to go beyond observation and deepening the study, we could, I don’t know…” He laughed nervously, his hold tightening. “Uhm, deepening the research? Maybe d-during lunch or something?”
It felt like reaching a very high point in science. It felt like at least one thing was going right into his life. He was right, the research was still very much open and able to develop, it only had a wider subject now: the entirety of the Seamus Johnson.
The prince slowly smiled, welcoming the feeling of warmth over his face.
“I’d like that.”
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painted-crow · 3 years
Text
Secondary Toast Revolving Door, Part 1
I guess I should start with a little about me, since that’s easier than making you pick through previous asks for information and some of you guys are new here. This one’s going to be heavily personal, so you can skip it if you want.
I’m a double Bird. My Bird primary system is heavily Badger influenced, and I also use Lion to support it by telling me when I should investigate something more closely. If we can dip into primary territory for a moment, I guess you can say I understand the world through systems that model things around me. But not all of those systems are things I’ve consciously examined, or fully investigated.
My understanding of how historical people dressed is pretty limited, for example, because I haven’t studied it in depth to get all the information—but I consciously understand what I do know about it. You could say this system piece is tiny but clear; I could expand it if I chose to find out more.
My understanding of how someone I’m not close to thinks might have more data to work with, but I haven’t consciously processed it; that’s the kind of thing where my Lion primary model will tell me to look closer if that person starts acting weird. This system piece might be described as huge but fuzzy; I could clarify it if I sat down and thought about it. I probably have more of these than I realize, but Lion basically takes care of monitoring those. I don’t have to investigate everything.
But some of my systems are both large and fairly clear, because I’ve taken the time both to gather data on them and to examine it. My understanding of myself is… well, I won’t say it’s terribly clear, because I’m in my early twenties and I’m still constantly getting new information, plus someone keeps changing the environment and mucking with my data (that would be me). But I have to examine it, because my brain is like a notoriously buggy piece of software and I’m the poor schmuck saddled with tech support duties.
Basically, the reason I’m good at playing therapist with other people is that I’m constantly doing exactly that thing with myself. (This probably makes me a very annoying patient for actual therapists.)
About that buggy brain, then.
I have major depression. That was professionally diagnosed when I was a teenager and it’s probably genetic. I take medication for it, when I remember to. It especially flares up in the winter or when I’m under stress. I probably have some kind of anxiety disorder too.
I’m almost certainly autistic, which I’ve never brought up with a professional—the first person to figure it out was the system I’m now best friends with, because they’re autistic and they knew I was within two weeks of talking to me. It took me two years to catch up with them and figure it out myself.
In my defense, I thought executive dysfunction, sensory overwhelm, dissociation, and hyperempathy were like… secret menu items for depression, because those only really bug me during depressive episodes. My current theory is that they’re related to autistic burnout instead.
I mask a lot, subconsciously—it’s actually really hard to turn that off normally—and I just can’t do that as much when depressed. If I do, my tolerance for everything else goes way down and I’ll go into overwhelm and start having shutdowns and dissociating. I recover pretty quickly (hours, not days), but if you’ve never spent 15 minutes standing in a Walmart aisle trying to decide whether you want a jar of peanut butter, but you can’t make decisions because you can’t access your emotions and you don’t really feel like you’re “here” but you kind of just want to go home… well, be glad I guess.
Of course, I have other autistic traits that show up when I’m not under stress, but they’re seldom associated with autism because most people don’t know what autis are like when we’re actually happy. Like, hyperlexia? That’s not even an “official” word, the auti community just uses it because “official” literature hasn’t caught up. I taught myself to read at age three (according to my mom; she says I was reading news headlines and stuff, not just books I’d memorized) and wrote a 35k word novella when I was ten, with no external prompting. My audio processing used to be terrible, but I routinely tested at college age reading levels as a kid.
I also might have ADHD? If so, it’s also mostly just noticeable if I’m under stress, and then it’s hard to tell if that’s the issue or if it’s just autism/depression again.
You might be getting a clearer picture of how my secondary and its model end up burnt so often!
(Resisting a very strong urge to cut stuff from this post.)
In short, I was a Gifted Kid. I spent a lot of my teen years biting off more than I could chew, honestly. I felt that I should be able to do more, and I wanted to be taken seriously, but I had basically no idea how to take care of myself because my needs are different from everyone else’s. I’m still figuring those out.
I’m kind of like an orchid plant: incredibly picky about conditions, wants a different “soil” and watering schedule, gets stressed if stuff changes too quickly, but when everything is just right and it does bloom, it goes all out.
I’m not kidding when I say that I have odd needs. One of them is the need for creative work, which seems to be hardwired into me. When I say that art or writing keeps me sane, I often hear back “oh yeah! I’ve heard that can be very therapeutic,” which is an innocuous reply, but it’s always bugged me, and I think I’ve figured out why.
First, because that’s not the reason I make things… I just… have to. Second, I can’t “make up” not doing creative work with some other kind of therapy. Third and most importantly, I’d much rather think of “artist” as my ground state, and depression as a condition that happens when my needs aren’t being met, rather than thinking of depression as the default that I’m just using art to escape from. That seems to me a healthier way of thinking, and probably a more accurate one, but I’m probably the only one who can see that distinction.
If life gets in the way and I can’t make space for creative work, it will actively make my depression worse. I know this because, multiple times, I’ve been unable to pinpoint why I’m feeling shitty, and then I go back to my easel or my writing or (ukulele, cooking, even just taking care of houseplants) and realize I haven’t done anything creative in like a month and thaaaat’s the problem.
I crack open a bottle of gesso to prep some canvases and it smells like… well, I don’t think you can get high off gesso? But it’s not like when you’re out of it on painkillers or cold medicine or whatever. It’s incredibly grounding, like the world snaps back into focus but it’s also oddly euphoric. Or I write ten thousand words in a couple days and it just… I don’t know what that does. I’ve never run across a word for it.
The writer of Smile at Strangers (a really good memoir centered around women, anxiety, and karate) describes a similar feeling in relation to her martial arts practice.
It’s also a bit like when all the snow melts after winter and you step outside and there’s the smell of wet soil under sunlight and I’m not sure if this fully translates for people who don’t have seasonal depression. Sorry.
Dammit, I want to paint… I haven’t had space to set up for like eight months. I’ve been nose-deep in writing projects since last summer for a reason, but right now my friggin Ravenclaw secondary is off angsting about something because of Life Stress Bullshit, and I don’t have the focus to work on any of my writing projects. Apart from this one. But it’s not really what I want in terms of creative work.
*velociraptor screech*
Oh, yeah. I guess I could mention this is why my nickname is Paint. Not sure if that was obvious before. The header image (which is more visible in the app for some reason) is one of my paintings. It’s a tiny one and it’s not one of my favorites, but I had the photo on my phone and the colors work well enough for what I needed.
(restrains self from negging my own painting ability)
This is starting to get into spoiler territory for what burned Ravenclaw secondary looks like, huh? It’s peaced out for a couple weeks at this point. I’m trying to write about what made it take off, but my ability to think of words and form a coherent sentence kinda flew out the window when I approached it directly.
Let’s just say that around the start of the month, someone I was talking to online (if you’re reading this, it’s definitely not you) kindaaaa hit a nasty depression trigger of mine. Not their fault—it’s very specific to me, and I struggle to explain why I can’t really talk about it. Basically, I spent years studying programming and web design, and due to several different but related issues during that experience, it’s now a trigger for me. I very much want it not to be, but trying to train that out of myself has induced more than one panic attack and I’m stuck between giving up on it or figuring out a way to go back to it that doesn’t totally shut my brain down.
That paragraph took forever to write, by the way.
I think I have to end this here. I… am going to go take out the trash, and water my plants, and make my bed, and file some paperwork, and maybe I’ll even mix up some bread dough or do some laundry. Spoiler alert for what it looks like when my Hufflepuff model takes over, I guess.
Oh. And I should maybe probably eat something. I almost forgot about that... again.
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adultingautistic · 3 years
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Heyyy! So, when I was a kid, I was able to do a lot of things - I was on the gifted list for english lessons and in a seperate class, I was p decent at math, and science was easy peasy. Now, I'm much older and heading into higher education,, but It seems my needs have changed. My sensory issues are a lot worse, but the thing that strikes me the most is how my needs for support have changed. I now need help reading questions so I don't miss out on important information, and I need extra- (1/2)
(2/2) time to process things in order to be able to answer things or give a coherent reply. Bombarding me with questions verbally causes me to go nonverbal. I have meltdowns a LOT. Is this a common occurance in autistic people? When I was small I didn't show as many traits, but as the world has changed around me, I've begun to show more traits, and been in need of far more support. Should I be worried? Does this happen a lot? How can I deal with it? Thank you for your time. -🦈
Ask Date: September 10th
Hi, are you me?  Did I secretly write this ask?  
Because you are describing my life exactly.
I was also very bright in gradeschool/highschool and flew through the lessons with one eye closed because they were so easy for me.  Forget needing extra help, I was giving it!  I tutored a whole bunch of my friends and helped other countless kids understand the assignments.
Then my first year of college, I failed out.  My grades for my first semester in college were F, D, F, I, and P. (Fail, Fail, Incomplete, and “Pass” which is code for “your grade was extremely low”). Basically, you can’t do worse.
Now I was also going through some incredible emotional trauma at the time involving my family that I won’t go into here...but had I been in high school at the time, I know my grades wouldn’t have suffered as much as they did.
So what happened?
This is only a theory, because I can only base this on my own experience as an autistic student.  But I think what happened was it was too much change, too fast, with a sudden lack of support that was once there.
So here’s the thing.  Autistics struggle in huge ways to learn social rules.  This makes it really hard for us to make friends, gets us bullied, gets us called “weird”, etc.  We need things explicitly spelled out for us, we need to be told what the rules are But school, as it is for a kid, is the MOST structured environment most of us will ever be in (the only thing I can think of that’s even more structured than school is the military).  And this enables autistics to thrive!
School is all about routine!  It’s about doing the same things and going the same places every day.  The rules are explicitly explained, and they are clear, and we can understand them and follow them!  Raise your hand if you want to speak!  Don’t talk during a test!  These rules are concrete and we can understand them, and follow them.
So then you spend 12 years learning the ins and outs of “School social”.  By the time you get to the end of high school, you’ve got it down.  You’ve spent your whole life at this and you’re pretty good at it.  You know what to expect, you know what to do.
And then it’s gone.
Boom.  Nothing.
College is nothing like grade school was.  Your day isn’t pre-determined for you by others, you determine your schedule.  If you forget a homework, no teacher is going to remind you the next day or ask you again.  You just get a 0, nobody says anything, and life goes on.  If you missed how the professor was informing students of what the assignments were, then well- you just don’t know what they are.  Nobody’s going to check up on you.  Nobody’s going to care that you’re failing.  The professor is not there to support you.
In fact, you suddenly have NO support, at ALL.  It’s hard to see when you’re IN gradeschool how much support you’re really getting, but it’s a lot.  Teachers guide you.  They explain things many times.  They bug you when you forgot an assignment.  They let you complete things late.  There is so much help that you’re used to, and it’s enough support that you’re able to actually use your brain for what it’s supposed to be used for - learning.
When I first got to college, I had a bunch of zeros for my grades, and I didn’t even know where they came from.  Apparently, the professors had been giving out assignments- but I missed that social cue, and I was unaware there were assignments.  And it was different in every class.  Some of them just quietly wrote it on the board, never said a word, and dear God you hoped you noticed it.  Some of them just sent an email.  If you didn’t know to read your email, welp.  Some of them just handed out the syllabus with due dates and that was that.
It was impossible for me.  My communication struggles suddenly hit me head-on like a brick to the face.  
On top of that, the precious, precious routine from grade school was gone.  Suddenly I was supposed to plan my day, and decide what to do with my time- when I had spent exactly 0 minutes learning how to do that or building those kinds of skills in gradeschool.  
This was beyond stressful.  And what happens when I’m stressed?  My ability to handle sensory input crashes.  Normally, I can handle a Bad Input or two for awhile, but if I’m already stressed, I can’t handle anything.  So that yucky smell coming from that person next to you?  What was before a little annoying is now “I have to leave the room” levels of intolerable.  
Forget trying to be social, or to communicate.  You mentioned being asked questions as sending you into near overload territory to the point that you go nonverbal- and this can absolutely happen if you’re stressed.  
Autistics struggle hugely with change.  Change is very, very difficult for us.  And going from high school to college is one of the biggest changes there is in a person’s life.  It’s a huge thing to handle.  It’s going to cause stress.  Which is going to lower your ability to process verbal questions, and all other sensory input.
So basically, yes, this is absolutely normal for an autistic person who is facing such a huge change.  When we are stressed, all our autistic traits “show more”.  That’s because we have less energy to mask.  We can’t compensate.  
But what you are doing is exactly the right thing.  You’re using the supports that are given to you, and bravo to you for doing that!  Rather than needlessly struggling, you’re making use of the accommodations that are available, so that you can still succeed!  This is wonderful, and excellent self-care.
It took you 12 years to learn how to do grade school correctly.  Learning how to do college is much harder and a huge change from that.  It’s like you’re starting the game over from level 1- all the skills, items, and experience you earned is gone, because it’s a totally new level and the rules are so very different.
You do not have to be worried about yourself.  It’s not really you that has changed, it’s your environment.  The support system of routine, familiarity, and consistency that you had relied on for all your life are now gone, which is making your autistic traits “show” more, but they were always there.  You were just compensating for them without realizing it.
Now you’re realizing you’re compensating for them, by using accommodations, but that’s okay.  That’s exactly what you SHOULD be doing.  The point isn’t what accommodations you needed- the point is to get the degree.  And once you get it, it will be just as valid and count for just as much as anyone else’s, and you will have earned it, and you deserve it. 
 You’re doing amazing and I’m super proud of you.  Keep going!
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picklesmin · 3 years
Text
Soap Bubbles and Memories
They were allies, they were friends, but sometimes they were even more than that to Olimar. And under the soap and grime that coated them now they were a needed blessing, and a haunting curse to a mournful father’s heart.
So I decided to make “Outside A Galaxy Of My Own” a series instead of a multi chaptered fic (though some arcs may have multiple parts)!
Thought of this when I was bathing my little brothers, and it started out intending to just be cute but devolved into sadness. Oh Olimar, why can’t you just stay happy for me?
-
This planet was host to so many different terrains that Olimar never quite knew what environmental hurdle would be thrown at him, and as such he wasn’t always quite prepared either to face it. No, too many times had him stumble into a pool, scaling rocks, and even frozen snow.
It never seemed to matter what mess the pikmin found clinging to them at the end of the day either. When they slid down the tentacle like appendages of their onions the next day they were always sparkling. As the onion was a nest, he supposed that meant it was equipped to groom them as well.
That wasn’t always the case however.
“Damn,” the father cursed to himself in a panic as he barely managed to cling to the bark of the rotting log that had snapped under their careful feet. One hand was barely grasping Louie by the pants as they dangled precariously over a strange pit.
“The pikmin!” Olimar shouted in alarm as he stared down at a small group of wailing little pikmin desperately trying to keep themselves afloat in a tarry substance. Even the blues were sinking.
Instinctively Olimar blew harshly on his whistle with several sharp breaths, but while his little comrades desperately tried to reach towards him, they couldn’t free themselves. Even their little arms could barely wave in distress. A winged pikmin attempted to flutter over to its siblings, but after pulling uselessly the poor thing was only suctioned into the chaos of black taffy.
“No good.” Louie shook his head and let his whistle dangle again. “It’s tar, they can’t get out.”
Olimar turned desperately to his partner and then back to the drowning and sinking squad. The mere thought of attempting to turn his back on their faithful companions struggling to live and begging him was utterly inconceivable.
“I can't just not try.”
Puffing his cheeks in frustration at the rather expected answer, Louie nodded curtly and without a word, stretched his hand down to let the captain slowly lower into the pit.
Olimar could feel the disgusting, congealed substance begin to sink against his thighs but regardless, using a few rocks sticking up, he maneuvered over to the struggling pikmin.
Exhausted and slowly being consumed in the mass, the poor creatures couldn’t even reach out to him. Gritting his teeth as he strained against the pressure of the pit, Olimar extended his arm out and tried to scoop the pikmin into him. After several tugs, he managed to loosen them, and the terrified, filthy creatures took refuge on his helmet.
Louie grunted as he felt Olimar’s weight become even heavier. “This was a stupid idea.” But he knew his fatherly boss and he knew he never let anyone struggle without trying to save them.
Olimar was much more difficult to lift thanks to the extra weight on his head, but after a few complicated attempts the group was catching its breath back on shore.
“That’s my exercise for the day,” Olimar joked, gazing skyward and still feeling his head heavy with pikmin. “But it’ll be dark soon anyways.” The pikmin were practically glued to his head.
Louie fiddled the dial on the onion and their squad began climbing up the legs, sliding into the opening of their vessel. He peeled the five pikmin on his captain’s helmet and threw them at the onion’s legs.
Like one of those ‘splat’ toys Olimar’s son had at home, the poor creatures merely made a wet sounding splat as they hung there like velcro, bewildered. Neither explorer could resist a snort.
“This is a bit of an issue,” Olimar hummed as he watched the blinking, chattering little pikmin. Were it not for their unique shape, you’d hardly be able to tell which type was which, sullied under all the black goo. “The onion has to groom them. It can’t take them like this.”
Louie stared at the dirty pikmin and shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t do much…”
Olimar’s thoughts were already winding as he surveyed their environment carefully. The only thing nearby was a small pond, and that was useless...unless…
“What are you doing?” Louie’s eyes widened slightly as he watched Olimar pick up the messy pikmin and head towards the water. Judging by the way the critter’s eyes absolutely bugged out, the poor pikmin were wondering the same thing.
“Testing a theory…” Holding a confused yellow pikmin, Olimar sat down in the shallows of the pond. He had the creature propped up on his shoulder, its eyes staring the water down with trepidation. Olimar held it out and his soft smile gazed into its terrified expression.
“It’s alright.” He cursed the ever present language barrier between them, because being able to speak their dialect was exactly what Olimar needed right now. “You won’t get hurt, I promise you.” The yellow pikmin’s chest rose and fell quickly, ears pinned back with pupils the size of a full moon.
As he moved to lower the pikmin into the water, it squealed in fear and folded its tiny legs up like a frog. When Olimar tried again, the frightened thing broke free of his hold and clawed up his arm to take refuge on his helmet.
“Meeeep! Meeeeef!”
“That went well.” Louie’s normal monotone held a slight teasing to it and Olimar glared half heartedly back at his young charge.
The captain craned his neck to try and look up at the pikmin and smiled sadly when he saw it was shaking. “You’re alright, I promise.” He picked up the chittering leaf again and immediately it began squealing and scratching the air. “Hey-hey!”
Olimar lifted the slightly wet creature from the water with one hand supporting its back and with his other hand he cupped the pikmin’s tiny, delicate face with the care and experience of a patient father. “It’s me! It’s me…” Teary eyes gazed up at him earnestly and Olimar held the pikmin at eye level, hoping his tone at the very least could soothe where words could not. Although the pikmin was still visibly panicked, it appeared to be listening.
“It’s me,” Olimar repeated, his tone akin to the gentle fatherly one he used with his children (and sometimes Louie) when they were upset. “Come on, you know I won’t let you drown.”
But did they? Did they really? So much about the symbiotic relationship they shared was such an enigma. To this day Olimar still didn’t know why the pikmin followed him, served him, and especially laid down their own lives willingly, even knowing how many perished in his leadership. For all he knew the little thing in his arms was thinking he was planning on executing it!
Olimar moved his thumb over the yellow pikmin’s cheek, brushing away the tear that was there. The gesture seemed to be calming the little leaf’s shakes slightly and he smiled. “You willing to try?”
Although the pikmin remained understandably nervous, gradually its little muscles relaxed and eventually its tiny legs hung down. Olimar shifted the pikmin in his arm and held it in a partially cradled position in his lap. The moment blackened toes touched the water, the yellow pikmin squeaked, but a few gentle shushes from the Hocotation and it went quiet.
Olimar allowed the pikmin to sink down a little further, until the water line was just under the creature’s chest. Its eyes widened as it instinctively raised its head, visibly trying to keep its stem as far from the water as possible. Olimar cupped his glove carefully over the delicate leaf, leaving ample room for it to breathe, while being shielded.
The gesture was like magic, relaxing the pikmin almost instantly. Its ears flicked inquisitively and Olimar nodded. “It’s the stem,” he informed Louie. “That’s what happens, that makes sense. These creatures are sentient plants, and any plant can be drowned if it’s exposed to too much moisture.”
Louie walked out of the ship with scrub brushes and watched a dirty blue pikmin happily fling itself into the pond. “And the blue ones?”
Olimar waved a hand dismissively. “Well there’s always exceptions for every part of nature.” He was glad he didn’t have to fight with the blue ones. Although for the most part now the yellow pikmin was utterly compliant and even interested in the strange environment it was never safely able to be in.
Olimar smiled encouragingly over his shoulder at the tiny group of pikmin watching nervously from land. “Any of you comfortable being next?” Propping his pikmin on his knee he was able to reach a hand out to the small group.
A winged pikmin, grounded from the tar, stared at its siblings and back at the Hocotations. After a moment it came closer with an affirming chirp.
“Well, they’re certainly getting braver!” He rubbed his yellow pikmin’s cheek softly and felt something tug inside him when a soft purr was the response. “Louie, they like baths,” he practically gushed, trying to keep his smile from splitting his face. It was just so unexpected, so adorable.
Louie merely sighed and took a hold of the winged pikmin. “You’re gonna bathe them from now on.” It was a statement, not a question and that’s what made Olimar’s cheeks bloom a dark red of embarrassment.
“Of course not!” he barked with an affronted scoff, nearly jostling the little pikmin in his lap. “Don’t be ridiculous, Louie. We’re here on a mission, which I’m well aware of and what’s required of me. But, well, you know the scientist in me—I’m just excited with this new discovery!”
“Hmm.”
The derisive hum only served to make Olimar redder and he instead turned his gaze to the yellow pikmin. Its chitters were that of amusement and curiosity and Olimar watched a tiny claw flick the surface and watch the water droplets. The Hocotation smiled and exhaled after a moment. “Well, time’s ticking away. We should probably clean them.” As tempting as it was to just sit there and watch their adorable antics.
“Guess so. Got the stuff.” Louie had a bucket in his hand with various sizes and textures of brushes. He also had a liquidized soap. He flopped down into the water and squirted some soap out onto one of the brushes.
“Louie wait, we don’t know if their skin can tolerate that!” Olimar exclaimed and winced as the sanitized sponge slapped lightly down onto the yellow pikmin’s tiny arm. He anticipated a pained cry, but while there was a surprised squeak, the little creature was only confused. Its small claws rubbed along the peculiar, slimy substance with a croon.
“Well, it doesn’t seem to be burning this one.” Olimar chuckled as he watched the chittering little thing play with the soap on its hands. The goopy substance mingled with the surface of the water, creating foam. Olimar had to bite back a laugh as he watched the yellow pikmin’s eyes dilate as wide as a cat’s upon seeing the first of the soap bubbles float upwards.
The little yellow pikmin’s chatters became far more excited after a series of entranced noises. It was now standing in his lap and attempting to reach up and catch one. The slowly setting sun reflected on the kaleidoscopic surface, and the array of colors encased inside made the pikmin want it more.
“This isn’t playtime, you know!” Olimar told the pikmin, but by now he couldn’t help but laugh. Even the winged pikmin sitting in Louie’s palm was making grabbing hand motions.
Perched on his knee with surprising bravery, the yellow pikmin jumped up and clapped the bubble. It naturally popped and the soul shattered expression on the poor little thing’s face could have made Olimar cry.
“They don’t work like that,” he informed the nearly tearful little leaf. “I know, my children made the same tragic discovery… You won’t be able to hoard these in a treasure pile I’m afraid.” But with the copious amount of soap now in the water, the bubbles were doing a swell job at hoarding themselves into a pile!
By now this unexpected development and a sight that none of the other pikmin had ever seen was beginning to attract the three dirty pikmin standing on land. They made impatient little hops and noises until a grumbling Louie walked over and tucked them under his arm.
“Whoa!” Olimar was almost too late to snatch a brave little red pikmin that literally leaped off Louie towards the bubbles—and subsequently—the water. “I think we’ve transitioned from being fearful of baths to being fearless of baths a little too quickly!”
“Your idea,” Louie reminded him as he sat in the shallows and began to carefully scrub a rock pikmin in his hand. It cooed and its eyes followed a trail of bubbles that floated upward.
“And your fault for bringing in the bubbles!” Although he knew soap was more than a necessity for this type of filth. “But at least they’re enjoying it.”
The original yellow one still in his lap strained its tiny arms to grab at the foam, and chuckling, Olimar scooped a mound towards the creature. “Oh fine, I’ll indulge you. You want to see something funny?” Abruptly and carefully, he shoved a handful into the little thing’s face. It squeaked and twitched around its cheeks, staring up at their leader.
“It’s a bubble beard!”
The yellow pikmin was only confused for a moment before its eyes narrowed with a mischievous sounding chitter. And before Olimar realized it, a sizable splash of water had slapped into his helmet, making him flinch. Louie snickered and the red pikmin on the Hocotation’s other knee repeated the motion its sibling had done.
“Ack!” He could hear what sounded like the pikmin giggling at him and suddenly Olimar found himself transported back to warm memories. Memories of a heated bathroom and far too many plastic and rubber toys. Their musical giggles, the gap between his son’s teeth, his daughter’s pruny, pink hands as she touched his face with soapy fingers...
“Captain?”
Louie’s uncharacteristically soft and concerned voice broke Olimar out of his reminiscing, and that’s when he realized his young underling was a blur in his vision. Wiping his helmet from the water, Olimar felt a wetness spilling down his cheeks. That wasn’t from the pond, nor was the clench in his chest.
“Olimar?” Louie’s voice was even softer and Olimar felt the small creatures in his lap lean against his slightly shaking chest. Louie stood up and walked over to the captain’s side. Completely out of his comfort zone, he didn’t know what to do, but he still felt himself laying a hand on Olimar’s shoulder and squeezing it. It was usually the fatherly captain doing such for him.
Olimar gave a slight sniffle and was vaguely certain he felt tiny hands rub his arm through his suit.
His hand lingering on his captain’s shoulder for a moment, Louie awkwardly stood back on his feet. “The sun is going down more.”
Somewhat embarrassed, the older Hocotation cleared his throat and stood, picking up the soaked and clean pikmin. “They’re practically shining now, we should hurry up and dry them.”
Louie merely nodded in agreement and shook off his boots as he fetched a large towel that was draped over the bucket of cleaning supplies. Olimar didn’t say much as he wrapped up the group, but Louie didn’t miss the way he swaddled the pikmin and held them much closer than necessary.
“I wish we had more moments like these.” Olimar’s almost...solemn confession broke the silent tranquility. Louie blinked slightly and looked to his boss, whose gaze was on the bundle of content and slightly purring creatures in his arms. The aching gnawing at his heart was barely lessened by the creatures cradled against him, but he was desperate to try and fill any part of the void that he could.
“Moments where we could just relax…” the captain clarified, watching the yellow pikmin as it played with some moisture on its fingers. “Where we can just sit here with them, get to know them. Maybe not have that sidetracked by instantly losing them to the jaws of any of this planet’s voracious predators.”
Louie’s lips pursed quietly and even his shoulders seemed to sag in agreement. He wasn’t sure if he’d bonded as strongly as his boss had to their squad, or even this planet, but he couldn’t deny he wanted a break. “More time to cook...sleep... Yeah….the pikmin.”
As Olimar’s hands massaged the tiny backs and shoulders of their pikmin through the fabric, Louie gazed through the trees to where some stars were already beginning to peek through the setting sky. “You know...I bet they’d like them.”
Olimar looked at him. “Wh-who?”
“Your family,” Louie said quietly as he looked over at the now sleeping pikmin. “Your kids. I...I bet they’d like them.”
Olimar’s mouth creased and he could barely hold back another round of tears. “Yeah...I think so too.”
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aspenflower17 · 3 years
Text
Finding You (Part Four of ??)
Hewwo! I am back with another update on my Finding You fic! If you didn’t catch my last mini update (link here), I was having some trouble getting what I wanted onto the page. BUT, I have now figured it out (and have even made the barebone plans for the other brother’s version of this story!).
If you’re just joining us, here is the link for Part One. I would recommend starting there if you want to read this fic (which I would like very much).
Anywho, this update is of a normal length (for me). We’re also jumping forward in time. I realized the first line of this update might seem like a continuation of the scene we had had last with Mc, but it’s not :)
Tag for the peeps: @simpingforsatan and @naimena. (If you want to be on this list, just ask in a comment below!)
F!Mc / Satan
Word Count: 2284 (story under the cut)
Trigger Warnings: None that I can think of
Mc closed the letter, trying to contain her excitement.
“Well, what does it say?”
“Lord Diavolo is specifically asking if I’d consider bringing my show to the Devildom. He has offered the castle as free lodging for as long as I am in the Devildom, which has no expiration!”
“That’s incredible Mc! You’ve never shown in the Devildom have you?”
“Not yet. I went when I was a child, and I really enjoyed it there. After MoMA I was thinking of reaching out to ask if they’d be interested, but then they put the exchange program on hold due to Gabriel’s behavior down there…”
“I still can’t believe he’d act that way.”
“Oh I can. He’s so radicalized I’m surprised he was allowed down there at all.”
“Still…”
“We all know how you feel about Gabriel, Abihail,” Mc teased.
“No! I don’t… I… No!”
Mc raised her eyebrows, but let the topic drop, “The question now is if they’ll let me go down.”
“I’m sure Simeon would be more than happy to let you go down. Luke may not be as… enthusiastic, but he should be proud his little sister was invited to show in the Devildom.”
“They’re not who I’m worried about. I have to go through Michael.”
“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem. He knows how responsible you are. Consider how many times he’s allowed you down to the human realm for a show.”
Mc tried to match Abihail’s excitement, but Michael had gotten weird after Gabriel’s behavior in the Devildom. She reasoned it must have been because he had been the one to send him to the Devildom for the exchange program, though he had acted differently ever since she had gotten back to the Celestial Realm from that trip as a child.
She started reading the books he had recommended, very grateful he had included notes on what he called “trigger warnings” explaining that he knew angels were more sensitive to certain subjects. The books inspired her to become a polymath, though she didn’t learn the term until she was older. Her real expertise was in the arts, painting, drawing, photography, sculpting, poetry, and music among her most recognized accomplishments. She was also skilled in conversation and had at least a basic understanding of most academic subjects, excelling in some.
It was Simeon who suggested she hold her first art show. The show was such a success, Mc found herself inundated with offers from various other angels to showcase her work, some offering to bring her art to the human realm. Such was the environment Mc grew up in, and grow up fast she did. An angel’s physical and mental age were dependent on the angel’s understanding of various things, their age not getting much past what would be considered a human’s prime. Mc was voracious in her learning, and as such, she found herself quickly reaching the maturity she would stay at for the rest of her existence. Luke, not to be shown up by his little sister, also started growing at a crazy rate. In the end, they both ended up reaching maturity at the same time. Once she reached it, she started having shows in the human realm, finding the understanding of humans to be better than a lot of angels at times. Her fellow brothers and sisters were certainly great, but many of them didn’t seem to try to better themselves, and so she found herself drowning in their mundane chatter much of the time. It actually spurred most of the art they loved so much. She had found herself researching the Devildom more and more, wondering what S would think about certain subjects, or how he would react to her art. He had suggested many art books for her to look through, most of them showing he had a great understanding of art; what would he think of her new piece? Did he like classical music? What kind of poetry did he prefer to read? She came back to the list he’d written her many times, trying her best to understand the man who had believed in her enough as a child to expand her world. It made her feel less lonely, a problem that seemed was always going to plague her. It was nice to have another supporter, as she wasn’t getting much support from Michael, though she wasn’t dependent on it.
Though he never outwardly said it, she almost felt like Michael had never approved of her art, unless it was of a landscape or something else just as tame. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand art either, having gone with her to many other art shows and was able to intelligently speak on the art he saw there. It wouldn’t have bugged her as much as it did had he not interjected himself into her life after that trip as much as he had. She’d read many books as she could find trying to understand what was going on with him, causing her to research many different psychological phenomena, but none of it seemed correct. The closest she could find was a very mild form of Mother Hen Syndrome, though even that didn’t seem to accurately describe what was going on. She had never tried to breach the subject of going to the Devildom with Michael, even after he was put in charge of travel between Realms.
When she’d found out about Gabriel’s stunt in the Devildom, she’d figured her chance of going to the Devildom was gone. The exchange program being put on hold confirmed her theory, and even her shows in the human realm were greatly reduced. Though it had been awhile, she had never tried to push to get her shows back, as she knew pushing with Michael rarely worked out the way she wanted it to. Now that she’d been invited down there however, it would be rude to refuse wouldn’t it?
“Why don’t we go and ask him right now? He may have even received a letter from Lord Diavolo himself.” Abihail’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.
“That might make it so he has to warm up to the idea. Let him come to the conclusion himself…”
“I don’t know. I think it’ll be harder for him to say no if he knows that you want to go.”
“I want ideas on bargaining should he say no though. Never go into battle unprepared.”
“You really feel like this is going to be a battle?” Abihail asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes. You also should stop questioning me all the time.:
“Well, I think the best idea to counter if he says no is inviting him to come with you. That way he can make sure the “reputation of the Celestial Realm remains untainted” or at least helps repair any damage that’s been done.”
“Hmmm… That’s the final bargaining chip then.”
”Honestly, I think it’s the only one you’ll need.”
“Oh no, I’ll need more. Let’s see, why would I want to go?”
“Just be honest. You need more material for inspiration. That’s why you want to go right?”
“Oh, that’s true… Good idea,” Mc complimented, hoping it wasn’t obvious that wasn’t exactly why she wanted to go. It was her cover story when anyone caught her researching the Devildom. It definitely wasn’t for a change of pace or a certain blonde demon who had given her the best life advice she’d ever received. Who had taught her mediocrity wasn’t the only way to live. Nope. Definitely not that.
“Well, there we go. I think you’re set.”
“Nope. I need at least one more bargaining chip.”
“Ugh, what about that Luke goes with you?”
“That’s… Not a terrible idea.”
“Of course it’s not. Will you go talk with Michael now?”
“How serendipitous. I was looking to speak with you Mc,” Michael’s voice came from behind the conversing angels.
“You really need to stop sneaking up on me like that,” Mc exclaimed, her hand over her heart.
“Ah, but it’s so entertaining. Oh, don't look at me like that Mc. Anyways, I do need to talk to you if you’re available.”
“I am,” Mc said, getting up and dusting off her skirt. Abihail gave her a huge thumbs up when Michael’s back was turned.
When the pair was far enough from other people, Michael began speaking without ceremony, “I don’t approve of you going to the Devildom.”
“I figured you wouldn’t. I do want to go though. I need fresh inspiration for my art, and I would like to experience the culture of the Devildom.”
“Why would you want to go down there though?”
“Besides the reasons I already listed? I would like to see where Simeon and Luke spent time through the eyes of an adult. I did enjoy my time there as a child, and I would like to return.”
“Do I need to remind you of the danger you were in last time?”
“I would like to counter that point by reminding you I am an adult now. My powers have fully manifested at this point, and I can fly just as well as anyone else. I have studied multiple different cultures, including the Devildom, which is more than Luke did when he first went down.”
“You allowed a demon to guide you to who knows where.”
“As a child. If you don’t trust me, I am not opposed to Luke joining me down there.”
“I’m still not convinced. I’m just trying to help you make the best decision.”
“I feel, in light of whatever problems Gabriel caused down there, this might help international relations. It seems rude to decline the ruler of the Devildom when I’ve had so many shows in the Human Realm and none in the Devildom, partially because I wasn’t sure if they wanted my work to be shown down there. Now that I have an express invitation to showcase my work, I feel I should take it,” Mc glanced over to Michael’s face and saw it start to harden, and sensing a no on his lips, she pulled out her trump card, “If it makes you feel better, you can definitely come too. That way, you can rest assured that the Celestial Realm is being represented in a positive light.”
The abrupt change in Michael’s face almost made Mc start celebrating. She had him with that last part, she knew she did.
“You wouldn’t be opposed to me joining you?”
“Not if relations between the Devildom are as strained as I’ve been led to believe.”
“Hmmm.. I will need to discuss it with Father, considering my many duties, but… that could work.”
Mc allowed herself a smile, though she really wanted to shout in triumph, “Thank you Michael. I think this will be the next step in my artistic journey.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Why do I always end up back here?” Luke whined, as he watched out the window.
Mc didn’t give him a response. His denial of how much he actually enjoyed the Devildom was always entertaining to her. She knew he was in almost consistent contact with Barbatos, who she had found out was Diavolo’s butler.
She herself was too excited to talk much in case she let slip just how much she wanted to be down here. Lord Diavolo had been more than welcoming when she had explained she’d have to bring two more in her entourage, allowing them to join her in the castle.
The Devildom seemed much as she remembered it. The neon of all the signs, glowing in the eternal dusk sent her hands into a sketching frenzy, poetry filling the next page or two only to find more sketches further down.
Michael seemed nervous however. Once they had stepped from the portal into the twilight, he had been on edge. Seeing the Nightmare’s that were pulling the carriage that had been sent to deliver them to the castle had certainly frightened him. Mc had only pulled out her camera and started taking photos of them, hoping she had figured out her settings properly. He had been fidgeting the whole carriage ride, the view of the castle only making things worse.
Finally, Mc couldn’t take it anymore, “Michael, are you alright?”
“Heh, of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Simeon was kind of like this when we first came down to the Devildom for the exchange program,” Luke offered.
“He was?” Michael asked, a tad desperately.
“Yeah. He kept muttering about seeing Lucifer and the others again.”
Michael seemed to take comfort in the knowledge and the rest of the trip up to the castle gates was fairly quiet. Mc really couldn’t understand the fervor that seemed to grip some of the angels when they talked about Lucifer, “Maybe I’ll understand after this trip,” she thought idly, another strain of poetry coming to mind.
“Mc, we’re almost there. You should probably put your notebook and pencils away,” Luke offered.
The first mote of apprehension pricked Mc, her notebook quickly put in her pack, “Does my hair look okay?”
“Yes.”
“Does mine?”
“Yes Michael.”
“You didn’t even look.”
Luke raised his head to look at Michael, “Like I thought. Impeccable.”
“He’s not in a very good mood is he?” Michael whispered to Mc, causing her to giggle.
The carriage came to a stop, and the door opened, revealing an imposing figure in red and a shorter figure in black with green accents. Michael let out an audible breath, and got up from his seat to head towards the door.
“I was right. He’s worried about seeing Lucifer again.”
Mc decided to leave the discussion for a later time, as she wanted her head clear for this meeting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 5
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funkymbtifiction · 3 years
Note
Hey Charity! I didn’t know you typed “You’ve got mail!”. That movie is quite fun, I even ended up watching it after I saw your post (Thank you Amazon prime for always having very old titles in Latin America). You know, I was always a bit doubtful when I’ve been typed with a TiFe axis, and especially ESTP due to the stereotypes, I thought to myself “god I must be the lamest one” since I’ve fallen asleep at parties due to work exhaustion, only being able to stay awake engaging in conversation. Nevertheless, while watching Kathleen (sensor) and Joe (thinker), I could relate to both as they use Fe and Ti. I’ve been told I can be pretty charming and persuasive when I want, and that scene with the cashier was incredibly relatable. I’ve done what Joe did a thousand of times to get the other person to help me out. Once a INFP colleague watched me do this and said “oh my god you’re so creepy! You were flirting with them! Didn’t you see you were making them very uncomfortable? God, how embarrassing.” To my confusion, of course, as I thought I was pretty nice and I got what I wanted (people don’t normally do stuff for strangers they don’t like... well, unless in danger but that’s another subject). It was hard for me to tell if she actually liked me (for years I thought she didn’t and kind of disliked her too, you see she can be a bit rude). Now, after reading your reasoning for Frank as an INFP (especially the low si eccentricity) I realized she could be one too (she got that result from a mbti test as well, and while tests aren’t reliable maybe she got it right as I learnt Fi doms know themselves pretty well). I have a tendency to talk about what I feel in order to understand it, whereas she is very private about her feelings and often seems bugged by me when I do it. (I know this is a major Fi flag, but I seriously considered her one of those Fe types that dislike emotional stuff and yet cries easily... ayyy lmao) In fact, a couple of months after I met her I realized that she sort of had a bad image of me at work by how she complained about my personality in a passive way... straight to my face lol! (Not behind my back like most people do) so I had to approach her in a vulnerable way and share some “dark events” in my life that would explain the parts she disliked about me. And believe me, it worked a bit. So yeah, thank you. I’m learning to see my sensor-thinker approach to life. Could explain as well why most of my like-minded friends are thinking types and why I have feeler friends for unconditional love (to a degree). And I have always identified with ESTP characters and other rational types, but my impulsiveness when pissed off often made other thinkers see me as sensitive and irrational, and feelers see me too rational and harsh. (Sometimes I feel I don’t belong anywhere and I don’t want to be the wolf dressed as a sheep of the group). Besides they are often depicted as party animals and energizing people, and I don’t see myself as that either. Next to my ESFP sister, I’ve always been seen as the introverted one, but people don’t think I’m THAT introverted either, just a bit. And if that was the case, according to theory I don’t see myself as a Ti-dom either. I’ve always asked knowledgeable people for help and I’ve been typed as ESTP, INFJ, and TP-FJ. All of them have the TiFe axis in common. So thanks for giving me your time!
So I’m not sure what you want of me (if anything) from this post, but I would say if you can casually get people to like you in order to give you something, ETP is likely. And for what it’s worth, since you gave no evidence for sensing in your stack, usually an uninterrupted wall of text with caveats and explanations that does not reach a clear point (what is it you want me to tell you?) is often an indication of Ne/Si ‘flowing’ from one thought into the next, so I might consider ENTP, especially if you’re not especially extroverted or engaged in a highly sensory environment like a party. An ENTP needs mental stimulation or they lose interest. That might be why you can identify with some ESTP characters but aren’t that engaged or extroverted.
You’ve Got Mail is a great movie. I’ve seen it probably 20 times and can quote most of it from heart. It’s the source of many of our family ‘running gags’ in which someone will randomly start quoting from it to fill in an awkward pause. Heh.
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thecrimsonacademic · 3 years
Note
2, 24, 30, 36 for the study asks!
Aw, thanks for asking back, that was sweet of you @mymessystudyblr! I have to put my answers under a "Keep Reading" because I talk too much and this'll get long.
Studyblr Asks
2. What's your major/what do you think you want to major in?
Well, what I wanted to major in is not an option. The program is for a Bachelor's of Liberal Arts, that's literally the only degree option. However, they do allow for some major and minor concentrations from a somewhat small but comprehensive list. Despite this, my original desire is still not offered. I wanted classics but that isn't an option so I will be pursuing a major concentration in literature instead, with a double minor concentration in creative writing & latin. That's the plan for undergrad, it changes for grad school, and again for doctorate school.
24. Describe your perfect study environment.
Ooh, that's a toughy. I don't think I've ever genuinely given this any sort of thought! A room all to myself first and foremost, other people in the room distract me in the worst ways. A good sized whiteboard, decent sized table, comfy chair—but not too comfy! I don't want it to entice me to nap you know?
A nice window for natural light during the day but with shades for privacy and good lighting in the room for night studying. Books lining at least one wall. I just realized I am literally describing my bedroom. I study in my room because it's comfortable, it's private, and everything is mine. I don't have to bug out for anyone else to study in there, I can organize it any way I want and my bed is opposite my desk, so when I run out of desk space I can use my bed as a second. It would be great however, if my family would stop thinking I'm available simply by being in the house, because that's disruptive and also prevents me from being able to put music in my ears.
30. What are you the proudest of out of all the assignments you've ever had?
I truly cannot narrow this down to one. I can give a half dozen that are equally tied and that's going to have to be okay.
I. In a rudimentary science course back in community college days, we had to do a project that involved posterboard and we could pick anything we wanted so long as we related it to science. I chose to show how science influenced the English language when it came to fictional sciences in media. I had to draw the periodic table of fictional elements by hand and that was pain to do. I still have that posterboard.
II. In a math class I did a project on the Fibonacci Sequence (I hate math but love number theory, figure that one out) and I tracked down a fun problem that demonstrates the sequence. If you have a pair of rabbits, and the female gestates for one month and then gives birth to a pair of rabbits, one female and one male, every month, and every female does this, how many pairs of rabbits will you have at the end of a single year?
I solved it two different ways: one using a mathematical proof (I skipped over the entire golden ratio aspect, that was beyond my comprehension at the time and probably still is) which guarantees the correct answer and the second way was solving it entirely by hand. I had the proof in the main part of the posterboard and my sheets of paper done by hand on the sides. It took me like 4 or six pages, several hours and erasings, and by the end of it all—I was off by one measly pair of rabbits. I am very proud of that project. I still have that posterboard as well.
III. In a survey course of the ancient Greeks our professor literally yelled at the entire class (freshman level mind you, give me a break) to "go deeper into the material." He didn't teach anyone on how to write a powerful paper in fewer words; he asked for 5 pages, double spaced and nothing more. We did the best we could with the instructions allotted us. So, after he yelled at a bunch of kids (I was the oldest and already had a degree—2-year degree), I gave him EXACTLY what he wanted:
A five page paper, double spaced, digging very deep into the material, with direct quotes from the Euripidean tragedy (the tragedy was Hecuba—highly recommend). I took screenshots of his essay instructions to back up what I did, and I was 100% prepared to go above his head to the Dean if need be. Not once, not once, did he say what sized font to use. I typed the entire thing in size 8 font. He accepted it and I got an A on the paper. He never yelled at the class again. FYI, he was the head of the department and my advisor. He could have squashed me like a bug.
IV. COVID-19 lockdowns hit spring semester, the last semester I had with my favorite professor in the entire school (same school as Mr. McYelly) before I withdrew permanently. This was a junior level (I was not a junior) Greek Civilization course for history and classics majors. It is still the hardest class I have taken to date. Harder than math even. I loved it, I truly did, but that research paper had me worried. I had not written a research paper in years (I'm older than typical college age) and I really wanted to do it on the parthenon. Before I could send in a request for my topic, she assigned the entire class the same topic to take stress off of us, due to the lockdowns: the parthenon.
I lucked out! I think my paper was over 10 pages but I'm not sure, however, it was the first time I had ever done a cover page or used footnotes. Furthermore, after my works cited page (which was like 3 pages on its own) I had an appendix for images—one of which I had to redraw by hand because it was impossible to scan it into the computer without breaking my antique book. I had to learn how to cite myself and the book at the same time. I got an A on that paper as well. It's uploaded on academia.net.
V. This summer (2021) I took a mandatory academic writing and critical reading course—it's part of the application process. The course had a theme, climate change. I went into the course not caring at all about climate change or even knowing anything about it. I walked out of that class with clearly defined opinions about climate change. My research paper was on the Paris Agreement and I tore that MFer to shreds. 9 pages of actual paper, 17 pages total. I had a very lengthy works cited page and two appendices: one for tables and one for math. It is not on academia.net as of yet, but it will be before the year is out.
VI. This past fall (fall 2020), I took an ancient Greek literature course that nearly ate me alive. It was so hardcore. We had an essay a week, but we're only allowed 500 words and are required to include a quote from the text we're working with, that supported our thesis—and it counted as part of our 500 words. On the one hand, it helped get you closer to 500 words, on the other hand, it meant you had even fewer words for the actual argument itself. O_O We were also required to rewrite at least two of these essays. <- That's an important tidbit for this story.
Our essay question was about Patroklus as therapon (substitute) for Achilles & one of the wedding poems of Sappho (I forget which one specifically). The groom is isos daimon (equal to a god) to Ares and as Achilles' therapon, Patroklos is isos daimon to Ares & Apollo. We had to discuss how the poem affected our understanding of Patroklos' role in the Iliad. I understood none of this in time for the essay. I had about two hours before the submission deadline and I decided, I cannot rewrite a paper that does not exist—I must turn in something, no matter how bad it is.
So, I invented my own essay question and spent 500 words answering that. I used the texts we all had been assigned that week, it was still about Patroklus, but the essay was based on a question that came out of my head and not from the Professor. I turned it in with a note promising that I'd use one of my rewrites on this paper (which I did—the end of the semester I finally understood what he had asked and redid the paper).
He accepted the paper as is, provided feedback on the paper I invented, tried to explain what he meant with the question, and gave me a freaking B on the paper...that I invented. When I rewrote it I got an A, so I did fix it. But still. I got a B on a paper that answered a question my professor didn't ask. That was freaking awesome.
36. Best feedback you've ever gotten on something academic.
Two, this past summer semester my professor stated more than once that my essays were "eloquent" and that is the highest praise I have ever gotten about my writing and it validated the many years of struggle it took to get my Associate's in creative writing.
The other was when my ancient Greek language professor hadn't finished grading everyone's Exam 2 but said, "I've graded a few and given a precursory look over the rest." Then she said, to the whole class that I was the ONLY one who got the A. I shouted for literal joy in the class and nearly gave a heart attack to the girl who sat behind me (who was always on her phone). Our professor then turned to the class (she had been writing on the chalkboard this whole time) and told them all this, "you know why she got the only A? Because she did every single thing on the exam. She did all of the extra credit but she did all of the exam work too. Section 1 I asked for you to translate 7 our of 20 words, she did all 20. She did every single thing, and got very few answers wrong. That is how you get an A in college."
I was stunned. I have never in my entire life been used as an example of how to do something. I have always been used as the example of what not to do. On a separate occasion she announced that I was the top student in the class, not to be mean, but more to put a fire under their butts to work hard and to encourage me. And it did. I've never been first, I've always been last.
I will carry all three of these instances with me for the rest of my life. I won't always be the top student, in fact, that was the only time I was the top student. But, I know if I work hard, I will do well. And my essays are eloquent, and my two year degree was not a waste.
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lucidpantone · 3 years
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In my opinion the season will start with Sander moving out and talk about Robbe joining him once he graduates. It is pretty common for students to move out one their first year of university. I moved out when I was a student and I was 17 and 10 months since my birthday was in December and I started university in September that year. In Europe it is viewed as a normal independence move as long as you pay for the accommodation and not your parents. I think at this point Sander will probably move with Adi (who might know the balloon squad) and will start working as well in order to be able to afford the apartment temporarily for few months until Robbe graduates, starts working as well and they move in together. By September when Robbe will go to university he will be 18 and they would be almost two years together with Sander which will make so much sense. Now regarding the drama between them I think it will have nothing to do with the apartment and Sander’s living condition. I think it will be purely about Sander’s reaction when he will first see the Balloon Squad again and Robbe making theories and thinking that Sander might have a romantic history with one of them when the reaction was probably because of an issue that was created between Sander and the Balloon Squad in the past due to his MI. Just imagine Sander and Adi moving in together. Then they have a party at their apartment Sander invites the Broeers and the girls squad since he is friends with them, Adi invites his friends aka Balloon Squad and also some of their common art school friends. And that’s how the balloon squad comes back to Sander’s life. Another theory that I haven’t seen floating around yet.
Disclaimer its long, thoughts after the cut
similar anon: Let’s not forget Robbe is graduating this year as well and he is going to uni. It is pretty common that uni students move out and live on their own here in Europe. So they might be looking for a place to live with Sander after he graduates. Which will be very true to the European student life and will make sense. Also it actually might be some members of the balloon squad living together since we have established that they are in their 20’s. I don’t think Sander will get a place with someone else at the end of the year when he very well knows that Robbe is about to graduate. Knowing his love struck ass I am pretty sure he will chose his boyfried for a housemate.
similar anon: i understand this idea that it’s a show for teenagers and should be realistic but still, teenagers already know that moving in at 17/18 with your s/o wouldn’t be convenient and it’s not like their views are gonna change bc of sobbe doing that haha. like we wanna see them move in together bc at the end of the day we know it’s a show and we just wanna see sobbe in that environment but its not like everyone’s gonna think that’s normal and we should all do it just bc we saw it on a show imo so i don’t see it as that big of a problem
Ok am putting my tinfoil hat on to headcanon. I can very well see Sander moving out to get his own place I actually think this is pretty on point with canon since we see Sander complained about not being able to take Robbe to his place after the 1st date(or he at least implied it asking to go to Robbe’s instead) so we know canonically he probably wants a bit of freedom. We also know its canon these two always do that “thing” before going to bed. So I imagine being at your parents you gotta keep it down. Like said Sander moving out with his friend which I imagine is Adi makes sense. Now Robbe getting a lil jelly that Sander is having fun at his own place seems a little immature but baby koala is only 17 so I’ll give him a break. I guess they could set it up that Robbe pops over one night unannounced and maybe Sander has been smoking and it just bothers Robbe. Something has to ignite the jealousy thing. Unless Adi is bel!mikael and Sander tells Robbe after the fact like yea we hooked up once but  idk seems to OOC for Sander so I just think its Robbe being unnecessarily jelly and I really think bel!mikael and Adi are not the same person. If sander does get his own place and let say its during quarantine they could do a storyline like Sander and his roomies have to many people over and it just bugs Robbe or something like that. Concerning Robbe moving in with Sander before legal age. Firstly I know its common for 1st yr Uni students to move into halls this is not unique to the EU happens here too. Also I literally have multiple degrees from European universities I think I know how they operate. Been around that block. Anyways moving into halls or dorms is not the same as moving in with your SO and living one on one. Halls are tailored to transition young adults into adulthood. With schedules, agendas and events. They are literally created as a transition point for college students. So Its not the same. I am never gonna sign on to Robbe moving in b4 he turns 18. However since some of you really want the danielle steel ending here is a cute head canon to make this work. Maybe Sander takes Robbe to a shitty run down apartment somewhere in antwerp at the end of s5. This place is rough. The electrics are a mess, the faucet in the bathroom is cracked, the carpet needs to be ripped out, water isnt running and everything needs to be clean and painted. He tells Robbe this is their summer project since they cant do a ton till the vaccines is out they may as well work on making this apartment livable. Robbe gets a bit hurt because he assumes its for Sander and his friends. But its not, he explains his aunt or whoever told him if they can fix all the shit that is wrong with it they can live there for pennies. Its gonna take a few months since both of them have jobs now but Sander estimates if all goes well they can host Robbe’s 18th birthday/their housewarming there and s5 closes on that note. Then there is no weird legality undertones and it head canons this cute end. If something like this happens then I could get on board with them moving in together........maybe
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notjanine · 3 years
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2020 in books!
the only kind of new year’s resolution i made as a naive baby last january was to try to read 40 books for the year. (i read 37 in 2019, for context.) well, with all of my commuting time eliminated and an increased need for immersive escapism, i ended up surpassing that goal three times over lmao (thanks library ebooks!)
idk how to summarize my year in books in a way that makes sense but
(f) = fiction, (nf) = nonfiction, (p) = poetry.
books that rewired my fucking brain:
braiding sweetgrass by robin wall kimmerer (nf)- GOD?!?!?! good. dr. k is right. ostensibly a book about plants, but actually a book about shut up and go outside. consumerism and capitalism are doing their damnedest to fuck you up, but you can just choose to value different things. take care of yourself by taking care of your environment. etc etc.
wasp by richard jones (nf)- lissen. when i got this book, my wasp-phobia was so severe that i had to put it away face down on a high shelf because there are wasps on the cover and i couldn’t bear to RISK even GLIMPSING them. now i am like... a wasp evangelist. (also due to the bugs 101 course on coursera it’s so good.)
wag by zazie todd (nf)- i have a dog, but i am NOT a Dog Person (i.e. i love my dog, but please keep yours away from me, thanks.) this book helped me understand my little guy better, plus it gives actionable tasks and activities to do with and for your pup! plus, y’know, learning about things you’re scared of helps to lessen that fear. i’d recommend this to anyone who has, wants, or regularly interacts with a dog.
a closed and common orbit by becky chambers (f)- is this series complete fluff? absolutely. am i fundamentally different after reading this one? maybe.
the best we could do by thi bui (nf)- this is so far outside of my personal experience but somehow still made me come to peace with my relationship with my mom?? and it’s barely even about that?? idk. this is probably objectively the best book i’ve read this year.
books that were just fun as hell:
mexican gothic by silvia moreno-garcia (f)- this book made me YELL out loud
death on the nile by agatha christie (f)- i grew up on agatha christie shows, but never actually read her before this year! she really was That Bitch. read this before the movie comes out
cosmoknights by hannah templer (f)- i read this in one sitting through the worst headache i’ve had in years. it is a goddamn DELIGHT. this book has everything: spaceships. mech suits. fighting the patriarchy. a perfect otp. fun art in bright colors with clean lines. onomatopoetic WAPs from before the song gave that hilarious context. 800 lesbians. this is an antidepressant in graphic novel form.
stiff by mary roach (nf)- ms. roach is like the 4th most represented author on my bookshelf because she 1. stays writing about shit i’m interested in and 2. manages to talk about gross and ridiculous things without resorting to sensationalism. it takes skill to write a hilarious book about corpses.
black sun by rebecca roanhorse (f)- excellent sexual tension between a horny siren pirate and a hot doomed... monk, kinda? set in the pre-columbian gulf of mexico with magic and shit.
cuisine chinoise by zao dao (? n/f)- this graphic novel about chinese food history/mythology is BEAUTIFUL.
the color of magic by terry pratchett (f)- you’d think a hardcore douglas adams stan would have gotten to this sooner, but no, i had to date a nerdy white boy to get here. it’s fun though! i’m not gonna read them all, but this one was good. bonus: contains one (1) great himbo.
gideon the ninth by tamsyn muir (f)- like 500 pages of action and mystery and jokes and space necromancy. harrow the ninth gets a special mention bc it has a meme reference that took me out so hard i had to close the book, lie down, and groan for an entire minute before continuing.
other minds by peter godfrey-smith (nf)- i love octopuses. on one tma bonus ep, jonny sims says that if a creature can choose to do evil, then it’s a Person. octopuses are People. but anyway frfr this has an explanation of the evolution of consciousness that is cool af. (this one is much better than the other recent popsci octo book which i will not name out of politeness.)
the perfect predator by steffanie strathdee and thomas patterson (nf)- i read this bc my microbiology prof recommended it and it’s cool as heck! it’s got adventure, drama, mystery, Science-with-a-capital-S. i’m biased bc i’m a bit of a microbes nerd, but i had a blast with this. (but only bc we know going in that everything works out okay; if i hadn’t known that, i would have been TOO stressed!)
books that were a little less fun but still very readable:
my sister, the serial killer by oyinkan braithwaite (f)- i couldn’t find this as funny as other people bc i, too, have a beautiful sister who’s an insufferable narcissist, so it hits a little too close to home, but. it is a wild ride.
piranesi by susanna clarke (f)- idek what to say! i went into this one blind just bc it had a cool cover and title, so i guess i’d recommend that for other people too.
the sixth world series by rebecca roanhorse (f)- monster hunting! a post-apocalyptic take that doesn’t feel tired.
the shades of magic trilogy by v.e. schwab (f)- easy escapism. some ideas feel a little first draft-y, but idk, it’s also a pretty simple premise (which isn’t a bad thing). it’s a decent urban fantasy set in ~georgian?-era london. very actiony. suffers from a bit of i’m-not-like-other-girls disease, but i didn’t even notice until book two or three, so.
the only good indians by stephen graham jones (f)- starts off a little ??? (and reeks of being Written By A Man) but picks up. the pacing’s great and there’s just a super fucking cool monster.
robopocalypse by daniel h. wilson (f)- this reads like a tv miniseries so much that i can’t believe it isn’t one yet.
confessions of the fox by jordy rosenberg (f)- not my usual cup of tea, fiction-wise, but still compelling. a fresh take on the white-male-english-professor-self-insert? but not insufferable. gets weird!
spinning silver by naomi novik (f)- rumplestilstkin, but make it interesting! a great, richly-told fairy tale, but like, large scale. good to read on a cold day while you’re wrapped up in a blanket with some hot tea.
interior chinatown by charles yu (f)- compulsively readable. a couple things bugged me, but not enough to make me dislike it. a fun companion piece to how to live safely in a science fictional universe. i like this guy’s style.
cannibalism by bill schutt (nf)- COOL. mostly covers the animal kingdom (fun), spends too much time on the donner party (less fun), ends with a SPICY take on prions that i cannot get out of my head!!!
buzz, sting, bite by anne sverdrup-thygeson (nf)- BUGS! broad but not overwhelming, neither dumbed down nor overly scientific, short enough to finish in a day or two. recommend this to literally everyone.
books that made me want to read everything else in the author’s ouevre:
the time invariance of snow by e. lily yu (f)- this FUCKS but it’s too short!!!
an unkindness of ghosts by rivers solomon (f)- okay this book is SO good and so well-written and interesting and blah blah blah all the good things, but... the whole time, i was just like?? why???? why is this what you’re choosing to write about??? (i did also read the deep and blood is another word for hunger after this one, and i did like them both, especially the latter, but i think they can do better! like i think they could write a perfect book and i am gonna be *eyes emoji* until then.)
the space between worlds by micaiah johnson (f)- a fine debut novel, but i want to see her do something a little more... idk, refined? i think she overreaches here, like it’s a little... idk looper? this is how you lose the time war? there’s a better comparison, but i can’t think of it, but you get the idea. and then halfway through it shifts gears to mad max. there’s something weird about one of the central relationships, like it’s not complex enough to take as long to resolve as it does. idk idk. there are just a lot of little nitpicky things. it’s not bad! but i think she can do better and i look forward to finding out.
postcolonial love poem by natalie diaz (p)- thinky! like i tried to read this before bed, but it’s not the sort of thing to parse out while you’re falling asleep, it requires more attention than that.
books that Learned Me Somethin:
smoke gets in your eyes by caitlin doughty (nf)- i am a self-professed death obsessed weirdo, fascinated by death and mourning, but i didn’t know all that much about what happens to a body between the dying and the funeral! this book isn’t big, but it covers a lot and doughty’s writing style is engaging and honest. it’s very memorable.
queer by meg-john barker and julia scheele (nf)- i’m gonna be totally honest and say Queer Theory is above my intellectual pay grade, but this book takes you by the hand and explains the basics.
vitamania by catherine price (nf)- LMAO my fellow americans, never take a supplement. this book is great and well-researched, but normal folks don’t need to read it, just listen to season two of the dream podcast, which definitely cribbed from this.
vegetable kingdom by bryant terry (nf)- this is a fine cookbook, my favorite of his that i’ve read so far. gets a special mention bc i had a religious experience just reading one of his kohlrabi recipes. absolutely gutted that i didn’t have an opportunity to try it this year, since the pandemic put the kibosh on all family bbqs.
the best american food writing 2020 edited by j. kenji lopez-alt (nf)- this really is just a great collection.
are prisons obsolete? by angela y. davis (nf)- yes.
i moved to los angeles to work in animation by natalie nourigat (nf)- before reading this, i had basically zero knowledge of how the animation industry works. now i know like three things.
the secret lives of bats by merlin tuttle (nf)- BATS! okay this book is more about the adventures of being a bat scientist than it actually is about bats, but there are bats in there. insectivorous bats basically shit glitter, you should know this.
books from valuable perspectives:
hood feminism by mikki kendall (nf)- a breakdown of who’s getting left out of feminist spaces, why that’s happening, and why it shouldn’t be happening.
all you can ever know by nicole chung (nf)- a (transracial) adoptee’s take on adoption and learning more about her birth family. the personal storytelling of this one really stuck with me.
motherhood so white by nefertiti austin (nf)- a single-mom-by-choice’s take on the foster system/adoption process. walks you through some things i always wondered about and some things i wouldn’t even have thought about.
this place by kateri akiwenzie-damm et al (? n/f)- i, like a lot of non- native americans, only know that history in broad strokes. getting this many highly specific stories in one dense and beautiful book felt like a lucky find. and taking that perspective into the future in the context of that history is v good.
empty by susan burton (nf)- eating disorder stories are important to me bc i care about food so much. this one is so relatable- not in its specificity, but rather its generality. it’s easy to empathize with her perspective because it’s like, Oh, i don’t have that exact problem, but i struggle with different problems in a very similar way. (feels like the opposite of roxane gay’s hunger, in a way.)
obit by victoria chang (p)- this exploration of grief is... woof.
short story collections are hard to evaluate bc you’ll never read one where every single story hits but i generally enjoyed these:
a thousand beginnings and endings edited by ellen oh and elsie chapman (f)
how long til black future month? by n.k. jemisin (f)
her body and other parties by carmen maria machado (f)
books i revisited:
the broken earth trilogy by n.k. jemisin (f)- i read the series backwards this time and like... i can’t really find any faults in these books, man. they’re just the best.
everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too by jomny sun (f... but is it really?)- half of this book’s sales are from me buying it for other people bc it’s the only way i know how to say i love you. i reread it every time just to make sure it still feels right and it always does.
other honorable mentions:
white is for witching by helen oyeyemi (f)- not to pit two bad bitches against each other, but this book does what akwaeke emezi’s freshwater was trying to do. it’s a little weird, a little haunted, a little of a lot of things. read this only in the dead of winter. (and with stephen rennicks’ score for the little stranger playing in the background.)
homie by danez smith (p)- there’s a lot going on here, but this just made me crack a smile a couple times in a way that no other book of poetry has ever done.
the murder of roger ackroyd and murder in mesopotamia by agatha christie (f)- That Bitch!
blues by nikki giovanni (p)- she sure has some Things To Say
the three-body problem by cixin liu (f)- interesting concepts, but... idk something’s missing? felt weirdly soulless to me. i’m probably not gonna read the sequels. but it did make some points!
the sisters of the winter wood by rena rossner (f)- i’m a slut for shapeshifting, okay. but this is a good fairy tale, it works!
parable of the sower by octavia butler (f)- i read this in march, when the pandemic was just kicking off and boy that was not the right time. def my least favorite of hers so far, but an octavia butler i don’t love is still better than a hell of a lot of other books. no idea when or if i’ll get to a good enough headspace for the sequel.
faves:
saturnino herrán by adriana zapett tapia (nf)- i got to learn new things about my mans and see some of his paintings i’ve never even seen online! GOSH.
on food and cooking by harold mcgee (nf)- yeah yeah, i’ve already mentioned this book half a dozen times on here this year, but i don’t care. this book lives off the shelf in my home bc i reference it like every other fucking day. this book is a part of me now.
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routestosalvation · 4 years
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Chapter 1/?
Characters’ introduction here.
Word count: 2021
                                         ❅                 ❅                 ❅
As far as the eye could see, rotating lights accompanied the sound of sirens, some fading out and some become louder by the second. Incoherent voices overlapped as bodies hurried in different directions under the darkness of the night. Helicopters with the blinding flashlights hovered over the bridge while rescue operations were carried out.
 We need a crane at 31st road.
    He’s humming. He’s unconscious.
         She’s okay, Ma’am. Let’s get your wounds attended to now.
You’re strong. You’ll make it.
     Not responding!
            There’s one more body under the truck.
I’ve never seen something like this before!
 Municipalities trucks arrived as ambulances and police cars left, two hours of clearing the area under the heavy fog. Tens of vehicles were towed, resembling nothing close to what they looked like before. The capital’s central hospital had every doctor and surgeon called in. The media talked the whole night, everyone’s eyes were glued to the screens of their phones as the names of the dead were announced on official sites.
The whole city was awake.
Please let them make it!
                                       ❅                 ❅                 ❅
A jolt of painful sensation jerked his arm off the keyboard he was typing furiously on, the keys screaming not to break them, as the intern who was glued to his side liked to say every time he caught him trying his best to match the speed of his digits to that of his thoughts. Dew winced as he rubbed his arm and wrist, this had been happening more frequently lately, but he’d been too busy to get it checked.
“Again!”
The intern, Pert, blurted out as he dragged his chair to be seated at Dew’s side, disregarding the initial resistance Dew put up as Pert pulled his arm to inspect it and massage it.
“You’ve been typing since five in the morning, it’s already ten and you didn’t even eat a thing. Look at your body falling apart already! Last week your back, the week before it was your chronic headache, the week before it was your neck, and now your arm.” He paused for a moment, an unusual behavior that confused Dew momentarily, but Pert was quick to continue ranting about how he didn’t look after his body, and it finally brought a defeated smile to Dew’s face.
“Fine. We’ll go have breakfast together,” Dew gave in.
He needed the break for his hands to rest so he could be more productive later. Pert broke into the widest smile and nodded too many times, so fast it worried Dew he’d dislocate his neck.
The café Pert had been bugging him to visit was across the street from their office, located in the middle of the busiest street in the city that hosted three of the major media companies in the capital. The café occupied the whole front of the building, glass front allowing daylight into the otherwise dimly lit interior. The name of the café, The Hub, displayed in white cursive on a black marble wall above the two entrance doors.
A long marble counter faced the entrance, and one side doubled as a serving table, with black bar chairs that contrasted with the white surface of the counter. There were plants in small white marble pots hanging along the wall next to the stairs leading to the second floor where most business meetings were held in the quieter environment.
Pert started skipping as they approached the entrance and was the first to enter, jumping in his place as he turned to Dew with the brightest smile and pointed to where they should sit. “We can see outside, but you won’t be bothered by someone else sitting next to us” He explained, to which Dew smiled and raised his brows in agreement.
Dew was feeling out the leaves of the plant placed at the center of the table when Pert whispered “You look like you’ve never been out in public before. Rapunzel!” The look on Dew’s face accompanied by the soft head shake showed that he knew Pert was going to call him that.
“You’re my----”
“You’re here!” A joyful voice interrupted Pert, causing him to jump in his seat and turn abruptly to see the waitress, whom he hadn’t seen coming. The menus were placed in front of them while he tried to pretend nothing happened, but the hand that was patting his back and the apologetic smile made it clear he wasn’t good at hiding it.
“Aw Hun sorry, I got so happy to see you.”
“Why are you here?” Pert waved a fist playfully, and Min’s smile grew wider.
“They just needed help with covering the shift, so I stepped in,” She glanced at Dew then continued, “I see you brought a guest.”
“Ah this is Dew, I told you about him before. Yes, I finally managed to drag him. Maybe---“
“No Maybes, he will definitely love it here.” Min leaned closer and whispered to Pert while making sure Dew could hear her. “Bring him when we have our specialty dish,” She winked at him.
Both glanced at a confused Dew whose hands were holding the hard-cover menu as if he was trying to push it through the table. Min was quick to grab the I-pad from the table next to them where she had left it when she walked to their table.
“If you prefer to check out the pictures of all plates, I can show you.” Her gaze was on Dew who nodded to her suggestion. After showing them how to navigate it, she stepped away, letting them decide.
“How many times have you been here already?” Dew asked after Min left with their orders. “You two are friendly alre---”. Before he could finish his words, he rolled his eyes mentally and looked up to see Pert’s smile. “Of course! You befriended the whole company within a week, why am I even surprised!”
Dew snorted and smiled to himself as he recalled how Pert knew the life story of everyone in their office by his third day, or how everyone who got in the elevator on their way to another floor started talking to Pert like they had known him for ages; it was his second week at the time, and those were colleagues from other departments! Dew has been at the company for four years, and he still barely exchanged words beyond greetings to those working on the same floor.
“So are you going to stick to ignoring Tul?” Pert had his arms crossed on the table, gaze fixated on Dew with the world’s curiosity reflected in them, a look Dew had gotten too familiar with by now. He narrowed his eyes at the intern and mirrored his stance.
“I never ignored him.”
“You know what I mean,” Pert replied
“No.” Dew lifted his index, pointing to Pert. “That’s something you made up before convincing the others of your theory.”
“Dew, come on!” Pert sighed. “You are the only one turning a blind eye to this. It’s too obvious.”
“We only talk about work. It has always been like this. Why---”
Pert threw his head back, letting out another sigh, and throwing his arms dramatically in the air. He was done with the older man. He couldn’t tell if Dew was playing dumb, or if he was trying to keep whatever is going on between him and Tul a secret.
The next thing he hears is the sound of the camera, and Dew’s victorious smile before looking up from the picture on the screen to give Pert a good view of how pleased he was.  
“I swear I’ll get you good for this.”
“Mhm, of course.” Dew nodded nonchalantly, returning his camera to where it was on the chair. “How many funny pictures of me have you managed to get so far?” Dew challenged with a quirk of his brow.
“You’re always like this!” Pert whined, shoulders dropping.
Dew smiled and leaned back, allowing Min to place the plates on the table.
“Enjoy your meal” Min sang her words cheerfully and hit Pert’s shoulder lightly with the empty tray as she walked away.
Pert held onto his utensils and waited eagerly for Dew’s comment on the food, his eyes wide open like an overexcited child.
Dew shook his head at the younger boy. The first bite of food was almost at his mouth, when he saw his phone screen lit up. The name of the caller replaced his expression with a serious one, and he was quick to pick up the phone.
“At the Hub,” he replied.
“Yes, he’s with me.”
Pert saw Dew turn serious at the display of the name of the caller, and his body leaned forward once he picked on the absence of greetings. Pert raised a brow with a knowing mischievous look towards Dew, who didn’t respond.
Not even a minute of listening to the caller had passed, before Dew got up, picking up his camera and throwing a knowing glance at Pert, leaving his wallet on the table and gesturing to him that he would get the car before leaving the café
“I had a feeling this would happen.” Min and Pert mumbled at the same time as she hurried to pack their meals into boxes, as well as turning their hot beverages to go. Her coworker who seemed to have been directed by her, was already behind her with the card machine to process the payment. Min ran back to Pert with a bag and rubbed his back.
“Take care, hun.”
Pert got out of the café just as Dew pulled in front of the entrance.
Tul, who was now on speaker, informed them of the site they needed to be at.
“Anything is valuable, Dew. Anything.”
When the call ended, it took the two a few seconds to exchange looks and let out a sigh.
“He really could’ve assigned anyone,” Pert blurted out. He waited for a reaction from Dew, but his mentor loved to play the melody of silence. Pert picked Dew’s coffee from the paper bag and handed it to him. “Here.”
Dew’s shocked look was met with a small smile.
“Yeah, Min is used to me having to rush out so I guess she was expecting it,” Pert explained.
“I covered a music festival two years ago, that’s all I know about the entertainment industry. I don’t understand why he assigned this story to us,” Dew said in between sips.
“I can name at least three people who would be delighted to take on this task,” Pert added.
“It confuses me,” Dew continued as he glanced at the map on the screen to make sure he didn’t end up driving down a congested road.
“Which part of it?” Pert paused between his words, worried he would make Dew change his mind about sharing.
“All of it.”
The hint of hope Pert might’ve had was now left at the last signal, he threw his head back again, and leaned back in his seat. Shadowing Dew was not easy. While most people at the office spoke their thoughts, Dew’s words remained in his head. When he spoke, many details were left unsaid, and it was hard to follow his train of thoughts.
“It’s Grim by the way.”
“Oh.” Pert lifted both feet on the car’s seat as if he was about to hug his knees, and started searching on his phone. “Doesn’t seem like anything is going on.”
“It must be one of Tul’s sources,” Dew replied.
Dew reached in the backseat to grab his camera after parking the car in front of the biggest entertainment company in the country. “Anything?” He addressed Pert who had spent the remainder of the drive looking up Grim.
The intern squinted as he looked at the sign on the building then turned to look at Dew. “At the lion’s lair!”
Dew shrugged and got out of the car. “An adventure!”
Pert snorted and followed him to the entrance, “Nothing I didn’t know about before.”
“Well, I’ll need you desperately then.” Dew whispered as they walked in, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
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fascinatedhelix · 4 years
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Note: Might rewrite the Hollow Knight/Chaotic crossover thingy and add images. Because I mistakenly wrote it in the format of a story outline rather than a series of headcanons like I originally intended. Some actual general headcanons (don’t read if you don’t want to be spoiled for the... light novel-style fic, I guess) below:
Players can’t scan Hallownest nor its contents because Chaotic itself has the presence of a Higher Being (going along the “Chaotic is/is connected to the Cothica” theory), and Ghost, now ascended, doesn’t want to deal with yet another “dream entity” threatening their people. Even when they do learn that’s not the case, they don’t really undo it, because by then they’ve received enough tales from the Perrans that it’s a bad idea.
The leaders of the main four tribes are initially shocked to learn that the rightful King of Hallownest and Princess of Deepnest are, by their own standards, children. Children who’ve been in arrested development for centuries and only just started growing again, but children no less. Even Hornet’s so small compared to them that she has to be given a booster seat to see over the railing of the Underworld Colosseum.
Queen Aszil develops something of a fondness for the Hollow Knight, or Prinn Zilfor as she begins to call them (a gender neutral title for prince/princess and a Danian name meaning “Pure/Noble”). A battle-scarred warrior with a soul of steel and swordsmanship skills to match; what’s not to love? I HC the vessels as being unable to speak like normal - soulspeak, the “language of the gods,” functions more like telepathy than speech and when they speak it to mortals it is flat out intimidating - so they communicate via letters. “Zilfor” is much more eloquent in writing than they initially come off.
Grimm Jr quickly gains a reputation as a diplomatic tool, because his brand of cute plucks the heartstrings of members of pretty much all the tribes. The Underworlders in particular were delighted to meet the little firecracker; I imagine UW kids are about as bitey and fiery as he is.
The Danians outright avoid invading the Nests because the last time they tried, they got driven out by native forces beyond their understanding. A plague of the mind, the Radiance’s plague, almost spread into Perim through the Danians, and in response, the queen of the time shut off all contact with Hallownest and destroyed any mention of the incident, save for documents labelled “Only Open During an Emergency” for the queens after her. Illexia’s read the documents, thinking they involved the M’arrillians, but Aszil has not. I imagine Aszil would be at least moderately horrified to learn that the Hollow Knight’s wounds are not just from battle, but from acting as a living prison for a divine plague.
The Underworlders do try invading, but are quickly driven out because they accidentally dug their way into Deepnest trying to avoid the Danians. The hostile environment and swarms of man-eating monsters very quickly send them packing.
It gets pretty quickly established how little interest the Nests have in the Cothica. Much to the confusion and even bemusement of the other leaders, Hornet tells them that they have no need for such things, as Hallownest has plenty magic and godly power on its own. Godly power is a lot less tempting when you’re already something of a demigod. On the muges’ side of things, they’re relieved, but also deeply concerned, because unlike their leaders, they can actually tell that Hornet, Ghost, the Hollow Knight, and a few other entities in the Nests really are Higher than most creatures.
The humans begin losing interest in Hallownest when they realize they can’t scan anything, except for a smallish group of eager explorers who like the challenge. Like spelunking but way harder because there are giant bugs trying to chase you off and actual spike pits with acid.
Monomon is a M’arrillian, or at least “ethnically” so. Knowing her, and knowing the Deep Mines, I imagine that if she was around at that time, she’d be an exile. Though she helped with the Vessel experiments, I don’t think she’d approve of taking over the dryland and possibly destroying all the life and diversity there. She’s a scholar, a scientist, and her quotes (used and unused) all point to her being all about variety, learning, and life, so I can’t imagine she’d want anything to do with Aa’une or his megalomaniacal plans.
Designs for the illustrations/comics are going to be at a midway point between the art styles of the canon materials, with design adjustments on both sides as necessary. On the average, most bugs are about human size. Creature designs might be slightly simplified for ease of drawing to match the ease of drawing the bugs.
And that’s all I got for now. When I come back to this I’ll get to writing that crossover thing for reals.
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