#these trains often just randomly cancel without notice

[bertievi]

Okay! So!

I’ve will be back from a six day, 1044 mile journey tomorrow evening, I will be exhausted because no it was not in any sensical straight line and was a total indulgence trip 👀 more of that to come later.

But I will be catching up and posting opens and starters as soon as I am up for it, very likely on Friday because the muses are quite loud after their own holiday from the dash. Just letting you all know that I will be back and I can only apologise for that!

[river-bottom-nightmare]

the justice league often mentioned how close the titans were . they, and later other heroes as well, mused about how no matter who was on the team or which members kept cycling through or whatever horrors and betrayals they’d faced, the five of them stayed remarkably inseparable.

but it had honestly become dick, roy, donna, wally, and garth’s way of life, so they shrugged and moved on with their lives.

even so, with and casual touches commonplace and with each other’s secrets tangling in the air between them, there were some things they don’t talk about. things that would be a little odd, things that don’t need to be brought up again, things that would cause hurt feelings, things that would be funny but awkward. they don’t talk about the time they walked in on garth stapling a bunch of stuffed animals to the ceiling while naked (donna just blinked, then closed the door and walked out). they don’t talk about donna and roy’s relationship, or how roy and dick used to fuck, and how lian had brought out a side to roy that the entire team almost preferred to who he was before (donna and dick had discovered that they liked roy’s protective, sweeping hugs more than his deep kisses anyway). they don’t talk about the veritable mountain of scented creams and massage oils that dick just keeps on buying but never using (garth tried to use them once and dick hissed and threw a spatula at him so the rest of them stay away). and they don’t talk about dick and wally.

roy doesn’t mention the get together that dick likes to call a “meeting” because he wants to keep the team on track, when in reality they’re sitting around eating pizza and watching movies like they used to do years ago, nostalgia heavy and sweet around them. the actor on the tv says a quip paired with a smirk, dick responds with a muttered dirty joke because he’s been spending entirely too much time with red hood, wally snorts and says, “liar, you loved it last night when i–” and dick slams his hand over wally’s mouth. roy just shrugs amidst wally’s muffled laughter, grinning about winning a bet with himself on when dick would finally sleep with the last of his redhead friends.

donna doesn’t say anything when she crashes at dick’s apartment one night, making a pit stop in the rather obnoxiously large new york penthouse while on her way to gateway. she notes all of the photographs dick has randomly framed throughout the rooms with a sense of satisfaction, delight maybe. except she forgot that wally lives with dick now, a temporary arrangement that helps the both of them while wally gets his phd and dick comes to terms with the fact that he’s happy going part time at a liberal arts college and teaching on the side. donna doesn’t really know what wally contributes other than maybe the memorization of dick’s orders at all takeout restaurants in a five-mile radius. still, she doesn’t say anything when she walks past the master bedroom on the way to the guest room and hears relaxed, content laughter through the crack in the door, and she doesn’t say anything when that laughter turns into not-so-relaxed but definitely content moans floating down the hallway. she just snorts and slides her headphones: the big, noise-cancelling kind.

garth doesn’t tease them when wally’s large nyu sweatshirts find themselves wrapped around dick’s frame, the acrobat sighing into the comfort of them. he makes note of the deep black lace from dick’s combat boots threading through the loops of wally’s worn nikes. he laughs a little at the flash keychain dangling from dick’s keyring, one he keeps specifically to irritate bruce. instead, garth tosses some wally’s sweatshirts on dick’s bed when he’s on laundry duty in the tower, and gives wally a couple of dick’s own. he buys them both gag gifts of the others’ symbol on their birthday (and how convenient, read: adorable, is it that the two of them share a birthday?) and makes sure donna snaps a picture of the delighted looks on their faces. the two of them are so goddamn pleased at each one of these instances, so happy, that garth can’t even find it in himself to make fun of them.

roy keeps it to himself when he notices dick and wally sliding into the same side of a booth together at restaurants. usually, donna will sit with them, across from roy and garth, since donna and dick are the physically smallest people on the team, and like any pair of best friends, she’ll sling her arm around his shoulder and he’ll poke her when he’s bored. but lately, there’s always been a little bit of space between the two of them. in contrast, dick’s practically plastered to wally’s side, and wally’s leaning against dick just as much. roy hides his indulgent little smile when the two of them pick food off of each other’s plates, wally sliding his pickles to dick in a smooth movement and dick handing over most of his fries almost instinctually. dick plucks the lemon from his water in an unconscious movement, giving it to wally to suck on, and wally passes dick the hot sauce without dick even opening his mouth. their hands disappear under the table, and roy would bet donna’s swanky-professional-camera that they’re holding hands. he lets them teeter on the edge of they-know-they-don’t-know when the titans are together, because he can’t really stop himself from being the asshole best friend after years of it becoming second nature. but when it’s just the three of them plus lian eating out, he’ll order an extra dessert whenever lian asks, just so the two of them can sit a little longer.

and donna doesn’t say a word when dick starts wearing a ring when he’s in civvies, a priceless looking replica of the flash ring that speedsters keep their suit in. it’s hidden in one of the many secret pockets in dick’s suit when he’s nightwing, but when he’s just dick grayson, he fiddles with it constantly, turning it and roughly tracing over the emblem and switching it between his fingers. donna even keeps quiet when dick shows up at titans tower for a training session with the newer kids with the ring firmly on his fourth finger for the first time. she just heads over to the kitchen, where wally’s making a veritable mountain of scrambled eggs, and wraps him in a hug. wally, in a move odd for the speedster, doesn’t speak in response. he just flushes as red as his hair and hugged donna back, squeezing her hand when she pulls away.

and that gesture is enough. there may some things they don’t talk about because it’s strange or troublesome, but there are also a host of things they don’t talk about because they don’t need to. they’re close enough to understand the significance of what it means anyway. 

real talk i have no idea what the fuck this was. i just felt like writing. so. uh. yea.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bonkybearjpeg @bikoncon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge

[icequeenbae]

Dior Vernis | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Domestic au, husband!Baekhyun, pregnant!Reader, established relationship (obviously), slight angst, fluff, bits of humor (it’s Baek, y’all)

Rated: G

Warnings: husband!Baek’s so sweet you may need to visit your dentist after this

Word Count: ~1.5k finally

Summary: Baekhyun came home to find his pregnant wife crying. He’s ready to do what it takes to make her happy again. And it’s probably not what you think.

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Author’s Note: This is just a cute little something while I work on bigger stories – those are taking forever to get edited… :( Feel free to DM me in case you want to help out with some of it (check out my beta reader post). I was trying something new in terms of structuring this, I hope it’s not too confusing. Anyways, please enjoy and let me know if you’d like more of these!! Thanks baekshoney for taking a quick look!

Baekhyun was incredibly focused.

The task at hand was not something he was used to undertaking, neither had he expected to be in this position tonight, crouched uncomfortably on the living room floor in front of you. He was pretty tired after work, and the stoop was making both his knee and his neck hurt. Not that he was going to say anything about the inconvenience anyway.

It was strangely quiet, seeing that this was your home, always boisterous. Loud with your laughter, your endless chattering, your purposefully bad singing, or even your arguments. But right now, the only sounds reverberating around the room were your residual sniffling and his concentrated breathing. You tried to take a closer look at his hands, quite unsuccessfully since your massive seven-months pregnant belly was in the way.

‘Don’t move,’ he asked, when you shifted slightly.

You nodded, effectively doing that again, so he shot you a dirty look and held you in place by the ankle, to which you muttered something apologetic.

‘Are you trying to make me mess up?’

‘Sorry,’ you mumbled, chewing on your lip to control your impatience.

You better let your husband do this – he definitely took his mission seriously. Of course, there was no way he’d mess up and make you cry the way you were when he came through the door. Simply no way.

Even if he had to crouch and do this for the next hour.

~

It couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes since he arrived home. At the time, Baekhyun expected you to be happy that he came early to spend some more time together, but instead found you sitting at the edge of the couch, bawling your eyes out.

At the sight of this he felt his heart skip a beat in fear. He very rarely got like this, usually the one to take a step back and look at any issue calmly and with a bit of humor. But now was a special time – you were getting ready to become parents for the very first time – which made him overly cautious and uncharacteristically fussy around you. Hence, while he stood frozen in the doorway, a million scary thoughts went through his panicked mind. His eyes searched your body frantically: there were no visible injuries, no blood, the bump was intact…

‘What’s going on? Y/N?’ He was trying so hard to cover up his terror that he instantly gave himself away by using your name like this. Too serious. ‘Are you hurt?’

He reached you in a second, kneeling in front of you and touching your wrists as you covered your face while crying.

‘Baby, tell me what’s wrong,’ he almost pleaded.

He wanted to help but had no idea what was happening. You looked fine from what he could tell and the TV was off, so it definitely wasn’t due to any tragic plot twist in your favorite series. Your shoulders shook with more sobs and he shifted his palms to rub them in calming motions. There was an unusual lump in his throat. He could barely stand seeing you, his partner and future mother of his child, like this. Sure, these past few months of your regular hormonal crying taught him some resolve, but that dreadful time was over weeks ago. He’d never even seen you this discomposed before, so the reasoning behind your state was to be determined as soon as possible.

‘Hey,’ he tried again, putting his gentle palm on your belly absentmindedly. ‘I need to know if you’re hurt, babe, so that I can help. Do you need me to call someone?’

You shook your head no, and he nodded to himself.

‘Okay. Why don’t you breathe with me for a second?’

With you getting upset during a good portion of your early pregnancy, Baekhyun had to train himself at the art of figuring out the reason and calming you down to talk about it. Breathing exercises seemed quite helpful whenever he could get through to you, and this was one of those cases. You must’ve been crying for a bit, since before he arrived even. That thought made his heart clench.

‘Breathe in with me, like this,’ he took a deep breath through his nose, ‘And exhale from your mouth.’

He guided you by example, and you subconsciously followed the suggested pattern.

A couple minutes later, your sobs were reduced to sniffling, and you lowered your palms enough for Baekhyun to see your red, watery eyes.

‘Aw sweetheart,’ he bemoaned, carefully investigating your blotched face.

He took his time wiping the tears off your cheeks while you sat there with your sweater paw pressed to your runny nose.

His touch was always so comforting in times like this. There was nothing like it. And everything about your husband gave you a sense of tranquility and security when he was near. Even Baekhyun’s breathing was doing its part in relaxing you.

He allowed you to bask in his affection, stroking your arm lingeringly and tracing the remaining wet trails on your cheeks with his fingertips. As your breathing slowly came back to normal, he could finally pay attention to the surroundings. There was a small colorful item on the floor that he’d noticed only now. Curious, he picked it up and read the label.

‘Dior Ver- vernis? Is this nail polish?’ He asked in confusion and received a feeble nod from you.

Baekhyun could barely place this item in ‘the big picture’, so he tried asking you again.

‘So… Can you tell me what happened?’

You looked away, avoiding his eyes. He examined your face and was mystified by the embarrassed look that appeared on it out of the blue.

‘Y/N?’

‘It’s- I think it’s hormones again,’ you croaked and looked away.

While this was an excellent excuse, he’d known you well enough to understand that it was one.

‘Tell me everything, honey. What got you upset?’

His palm went back to caressing your baby bump, and you instantly felt loved and cherished from the simple action. Your fidgety fingers lowered to play with his.

‘It’s- nothing serious,’ you confessed. ‘I just- my feet got hideously swollen today… And I had a pedicure appointment. Had to cancel.’

Baekhyun nodded, still unsure of what exactly caused this outburst. Your feet tended to get swollen often these days, this wasn’t news to either one of you, and it was fine, your doctor had said. It couldn’t have been some randomly cancelled appointment that got you in tears, right? Or could it?

‘I- tried doing it myself,’ you continued reluctantly, noticing his puzzlement. ‘But it’s impossible. I can’t even see anything because- because I’m so huge,’ you stifled a sob. ‘And swollen, and clumsy, and-’

‘And beautiful,’ Baekhyun interrupted your rant that was headed the wrong way already.

He could see it now. This was definitely hormone infused but there was also something else underneath. Your husband hummed, a playful expression creeping up his face.

‘Why would this upset you though? You’re only ‘huge’ because you’re carrying our healthy boy,’ Baekhyun’s tone was thick with fondness as he said that. ‘He’s going to be a big one. At this rate I’m willing to bet that he’s going to be taller than Chanyeol. All thanks to his miracle mother.’

You snorted a laugh at his non-scientific statement, finding his warm palm on your stomach. He just loved touching it at all times.

‘What if it’s a girl?’ You whispered, and your husband gasped, now pressing both hands to your belly protectively.

‘Why would you say that! She’d be a model then, and I don’t want my little girl to be one. She’s mine to look at and cherish,’ he pretend grumbled before adding a softer, ‘Just like you.’

Nudging his shoulder timidly, you giggled and bit your lip to contain your bashful smile.

‘Hm, you know what?’ He clicked his tongue, looking like he’d had a revelation. ‘I’m sure pedicure isn’t rocket science; I can do it.’

You barely reacted as he swiftly took the fluffy slipper off your right foot and rested it over his knee.

‘No!’ You tried to retract the limb but he held you by the ankle. In any case, you were way too lumpish to do it gracefully.

‘Oh, come on! You think this can scare me? Those are just feet, Y/N,’ he scolded and looked down, almost jumping. ‘Holy mother of-!’

You squirmed and hid your eyes in your sleeve as he proceeded to laugh at your reaction.

‘I’m kidding, I’m kidding!’ He said in an amicable tone before continuing, ‘I’m sure I can find your toenails in there, somewhere.’

You whined at this and shoved your mischievous husband in the side with the ball of your foot.

‘Alright, alright, calm down. I’m going to put this exquisite shade of pink onto them as neatly as I can. But you have to promise me that you won’t cry if I mess up!’

‘Don’t you dare mess up. Or else you’ll have to make it up to me with three hundred foot rubs,’ you groused, sniffing again to keep your nose from running.

‘Got it. Phew, glad you won’t be able to see it up close anyways,’ he smirked, expertly shaking the nail polish in preparation.

‘Baekhyun!’ You reproached for his shamelessness.

Your husband let out a cheeky laugh and announced:

‘My foot’s falling asleep, so let’s do this!’

He was fully concentrated on your pedicure after that.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I was blown away by the feedback I received for the Duality of Baekhyunie, so I wanted to keep you entertained while I’m working on the sequel and other stuff. I hope you weren’t disappointed ❤

P.S. Tell me in the comments how fast you realized that it’s all about nail polish 😂

[hichi842]

May I please has Todoroki, Bakugo, and maybe Iida with an S/O who's a well known vigilante and they (the boys) are just now finding out that this vigilante and their s/o are the same person? bonus points if it gets angsty. thank you bb Ily ~💕

(A/n): I’m not good at writing angst, but I tried to sprinkle some in there for you darling. Hope you enjoy!💚

Pairings: Todoroki, Bakugo, Iida x reader

Warnings⚠️: Slight angst

Finding Out Their S/o is a Vigilante

Shoto Todoroki

Shoto heard about the famous vigilante from his father, since he was trying to track the person down.

Apparently the vigilante were pretty well known around the hero community for taking care of quite a few villains, but they were still using their quirk illegally so the heroes had to get whoever it may be.

Honestly Shoto didn’t really mind vigilantes. He knew what they were doing was illegal, but weren’t they just doing the same things as heroes.

Though as day by day went by, the vigilante continued to slip from heroes grasp and Shoto’s father grew more frustrated.

The man started ranting at the dinner table about the culprit. Shoto barely listened until he heard his father say something.

Endevour began to explain the person’s quirk and oh boy did it sound all too familiar to Shoto.

His S/o. The love of his life, had the same exact quirk that his father was describing.

At that moment, everything came back the boy. You’re struggle of not being able to get into UA. Trying your best to improve in hopes of becoming a hero, but ultimately giving up.

Was this what you have been doing all this time? Fighting villains illegally because you couldn’t get into a hero school.

He stood up abruptly and made his way to the door, earning a few protests from his father, but he was already out the door.

Shoto immediately went to your place. He needed to know if this unknown person was you.

As soon as he arrived, he knocked on the door and you answered quickly.

“Hey Sho. What’s up?”

“What do you do when I’m not with you?” Was all he asked.

You seemed pretty weirded out by the question and just told him that you do normal things like studying and whatnot.

Shoto shook his head. “No. Why are you out fighting dangerous villains with no lisense?” He got straight to the point.

You looked shocked. How did he figure it out?

Shoto could immediately tell the answer by your expression. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He said.

That’s when you teared up and soon they pooled over and down your cheeks. Shoto did not expect that, so he ushered you into the place, sat you down on the couch, and wrapped his arms around you.

You started apologizing, telling him that you just felt so insignificant to him and that you wanted desperately to be a hero.

He ran you fingers through your hair as you continued to explain. “(Y/n) I’m not mad. I just wish you told me. What you’re doing is so dangerous and I just want you to be safe.”

He continued. “Listen, I don’t want to stop you, but let’s figure out a way we can do this without putting your life in danger, okay?”

You nodded your head and gave him a loving kiss. “Okay.”

Katsuki Bakugo

It wasn’t hard for him to connect the peices together.

You would randomly disappear on him and wouldn’t come back for hours. And when you did come back, there were sudden wounds all over your body and you refused to answer any of his questions.

Katsuki had also noted the fact that you seemed to get physically stronger. Were you training or something?

He was starting to get frustrated on what you were keeping to yourself and more importantly, he was a bit worried.

He would never admit it, but whatever you were doing was hurting you and he didn’t like it at all.

Then one night, he was watching TV and a news station started talking of an unknown vilgilante.

They named places they have been fighting at and other things about those cases and immediately Bakugo noticed that these are similar to your weird disappearances.

So he started tracking when you would leave mysteriously and what time you came back, as well as any injuries you obtain. Then he compared them to the vigilantes movements.

And wouldn’t you beleive it, Everyhting matched up perfectly. Every single time you left, another villain was tooken down, and every injury you got matched up to the fight that would be described on the news.

He was furious, he didn’t give a shit about the fact that you fighting villains, but he hated that you hid this the entire time from him.

He waited for you to get back and then confronted you on the issue, raising his voice immediately.

“What the fuck have you been doing on these stupid trips (Y/n)?!” He already knew the answer though.

You tried stuttered out a random excuse, but he’s taking none of it.

He smacked the note book with all the tracking he did in your hands. “Oh yeah? Then what’s this, did you think it was a good idea to go out and fight villains on your own like some idiot!”

Youtried to answer but couldn’t even get a word in as he continued yelling about how idiotic this is and how you should have told him.

You weren’t one to get angry too often, but this was pissing you off, he wasn’t even letting you explain yourself.

“God Katsuki, can you shut up! Yes, I’ve been doing this and I’m sorry, but I needed to! What do you want from me?!” It was turning into a full blown fight at this point.

“I want you to tell me when you’re going out and putting your dumbass in danger! Goddamit, I was worried!!!” He yelled, before pulling you into his embrace. He seemed on the verge of tears, which silenced you since Katsuki never really cried.

“Just stop fucking hiding things from me.”

Tenya Iida

It was supposed to be a date night, but you ended up cancelling on your boyfriend.

He was definitely not happy about it since he expected you to be able to go. He was asking what you were doing, but you just said that your parents needed you help with something, so he let it go quickly.

Even if you weren’t able to go, Tenya still decided to at least go to a park nearby to take a walk by himself.

It was pretty peaceful and he was enjoying himself until he heard commotion about a block away.

He rushed there immediately to see a villain in the street. There was a person fighting it as well and at first, he thought it was a pro hero and was about to leave it to them.

Though for a spilt second, he got a closer look at the face of the fighter and recognized it immediately. It was you, his S/o.

What were you doing? You didn’t have a basic education in being a hero, so why were you fighting? And how were you doing so well?

Tenya was about to run and get you away from the danger, he was extremely worried about you getting injured, but before he could even move, you had knocked out the villain.

You sprinted to an alleyway to hide for when the actual heroes came. You didn’t want to be caught after all.

Tenya of course, followed you into the alleyway and called out to you. You froze and turned around.

“O-oh, hey. W-what are you doing here?” You asked awkwardly.

“What were you just doing (Y/n)? You know that fighting villains is the pro heroes job, so why were you fighting them?” He was trying to get straight to the point.

You tried to come up with an excuse. You couldn’t tell him that you have been doing this for awhile.

“Have you done this before? I demand you explain to me what has been happening.” He said in his stern voice.

You knew you weren’t going to be able to get out of this, so you just fessed up. Telling the boy about your need to fight villains and save people and how you became a vigilante.

He seemed to get frustrated with you. He lectured you about how dangerous this is and that you shouldn’t have been doing this since you’re not a hero. “This is illegal, do you understand that.”

You were increasingly getting irritated as well. “Stop talking to me like I’m a child Tenya. Of course I know, but I need to do this. Plus you’re not one to talk, you literally tried to kill someone in revenge for your brother!”

You knew you hit a rough spot for him, but you were just so angry that he wasn’t understanding you. He was trying to say something, but you knew he was just going to scold you like a toddler again.

“You know what, never mind, I’ll talk to you about this later.” You continued to walk past him and run to your house, leaving the boy behind.

[haifengg]

A = Affection (How do they show their affection?)  Ten would tease a lot. A lot. Also he would take a bunch of pictures of his s/o every time they go out or on dates.

B = Bad Day (What could ruin their mood? How are they when they don’t feel overall positive?)  Ten having a stressful day at work is literally every other day in his life. But the days he comes home or shows up for dates in the most terrible mood are the days something was off during dance practice. And doesn’t really has to be his fault to begin with. Just training sessions that felt odd or maybe the group didn’t work as well together.   On those days he just wants to go home. If he was supposed to meet his s/o on a date he would still show up but ask them if he could take a rain check. Ten would not postpone by text or anything but he would ask to reschedule.

C = Crush(What’s he like when he’s simpin’? Why do I use words like simpin’?) “Teasing is a sign of affection.”  He really isn’t hiding it in any way. If his s/o doesn’t see it they are truly blind. Someone please tell them.

D = Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)  His dream would probably be something rather grown up, like being able to spend time with his s/o and on projects he loves doing equally. Maybe even his s/o participating. If he can’t make that happen he would pay a lot of attention and put in a lot of effort for his s/o not feeling neglected in any way because he loves his work but he loves his s/o as well.

E = Experience (How experienced are they in terms of relationships?)  I always kind of assumed that he might not be the most experienced person when it comes to relationships but I can reassure that would be able to adapt to quickly. He is a very easygoing character and following the case his s/o is as well - it’s really a no-brainer.

F = Fights (What is it like to fight with them?)  Ten strikes me as a stoic but peace loving person. What that means is that he would rarely fight. He would try to avoid confrontations because he knows he is not good at it and tends to say hurtful things to get his point across. Even if he doesn’t mean them. He would always go and a apologise immediately after but things have been said.   If there is a disagreement he and his s/o would probably end up googling whatever the fight was about to check who is right.  If he was wrong, he will admit it bitterly and move past that topic or avoid it in the future. G = Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o?)  Lots and loads of self-made crafted gifts. Art. Sneakers he scribbled on. Self-made jewellery. A collage phone case with the theatre tickets of the movies you went together or the first concert ticket he gave his s/o so they could see him perform. (With loads of memories of that very secretive high-touch event)

H = Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?)  I don’t think he is a big hugger? But that might only be my opinion.

I = Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)  Ten’s problem might be that he is way too confident. To the point where he suggests a couple of things without thinking about what his s/o might feel about it, because he doesn’t see how anyone could have a problem with it. Though once he noticed that he didn’t take their thoughts into consideration he would retreat quickly and apologise, asking for their opinion.  This would only happen very rarely. Ten still is a very supportive and caring person.

J = Jealous (Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?)  Oh boy does he get jealous. And he will let them know. It will turn into that sort of situation or maybe even a fight, where he wants his s/o to apologise to him but his s/o says they don’t have to apologise for having other friends besides him. K = Kiss (Are they a good kisser? What’s their kind of kiss?)  If he is a good kisser ... I am not able to tell. But in my opinion his favorite type of kiss would be a playful interruption when he has his s/o in his arms and they are telling him a story and he randomly interrupts them. All the time.

L = Love (When do they say they love you? How often do they say it? Do they prefer to say or show it?)  In the beginning Ten said it very seldomly and even as the relationship deepens and they grow fonder of each other he will find different ways of letting them know. Maybe there is this one Sticker he always send which eventually has the same meaning and weight as those three words. Just way more intimate and private since it has this lovely definition only for those lovebirds.

M = Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so, what kind of ceremony?)  In my opinion Ten doesn’t really has an urge to get married. If his s/o wants to he’s cool with it and as far as a ceremony goes I think he would prefer something unconventional and simple. Like a ceremony at a temple(?) or a field wedding maybe?

N = Night out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to go on them?) Random dates.  Nights out with Ten could end up in a dreadful hangover the next morning or hours of stargazing. One never knows what they got themselves into.

O = Out of the ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do with/for their s/o?)  He rarely fights. Disagree? Yes. Agree to disagree? Mostly. But rarely fight. P = Place (Where he first met them.)  At a gallery. They were looking at the same installation and at one point his s/o said something to themselves which randomly cracked him up. Just by then they noticed Ten and got into a conversation with him, that would last for the next 4 hours. Q = Questions (Do they ask their s/o their opinion on things? Do they share theirs?)  Doesn’t ask opinions. Kind of this If-you-don’t-like-it-don’t-buy-it Kind of person. the choices he males for himself are the ones has to deal with and if his s/o isn’t cool with it - they might not be the right match for him.  Don’t get me wrong. I am not saying he doesn’t care at all. He just thinks that his s/o should love them the way he is. Regardless of what tattoo he is getting or what horrible shorts he’s wearing.

R = Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on the spot or plan ahead?)  Ten strikes me as a very spontaneous person. Even if it’s his s/o’s Plan he will go with them and do what they’re up to. If this spontaneous idea should suddenly get canceled maybe due to weather or national holidays the two of them forgot about Ten will quickly find something else to do. S = Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?)  He Will. Steal. Blankets. T = Turn-Ons (What attracts him to people !NOT SEXUAL!)  The spark between him and his s/o. Understanding each other non verbally and maybe even laughing in sync. Watching a show and reacting the same way? He’s all in.

U = Unique (What makes them unique as a s/o?)  His shameless honesty. V = Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?)  If Ten can’t be vulnerable around their s/o they wouldn’t be his s/o and there wouldn’t be a relationship to begin with. Being able to let his guard down is the foundation he is building every close relationship on. W = Weather (What would he do during a cloudy and rainy day?)  Lots of books. We all know he is an educated man. So if the weather is locking him inside his house, keeping him from going out - he will welcome this opportunity with open arms and read or maybe FaceTime his family? X = Xylophon (What does he think about their s/o’s taste in music? Is it different?)  He is, like Johnny, very open in terms of music. He would try everything once and maybe even include into his playlist what he likes.

Y = Yuck (Is there anything that might bother their s/o about him? Any flaws?)  Maybe he tends to be a horrible perfectionist from time to time, with a few things. Maybe he gets to tied up in work. Ten once said he needs a lot of work to function but I can see that his work-life-balance sometimes just isn’t as much in balance as one would assume.

Z = Zoo (Pets they would have)

Definitely a cat. Or 2. He would train them like dogs tho.

Taglist

@kpopsnowball​ @starrdustville @jeonghanmoon​

@himitsu-luna​ @pocky-otp​

Masterlist

[masked-buffoon]

Chapter 4: To exist (Part 6)

Warnings: mention of drugs

Author notes: debate about how I depicted Yōko’s condition in the 4th part is opened! More seriously, this is one long part, but I hope you’ll like it. To be honest, that part was the one which made me so nervous about the chapter... Don’t hesitate to give me your opinion! Also, I realised I liked reblogs too! ^^

It was night when I woke up. The first thing I noticed in the darkness was the thing pressed onto my face. An oxygen mask. It was not there before. Had my body tried to give up on me again? After all, I was not supposed to be alive... And Lord was I thirsty. The tips of my fingers moved and I looked for the pager to call the nurse, who fortunately was never far from the infirmary. She turned on a small light and came to the side of my bed. I pointed to the breathing machine.

"Your oxygen saturation suddenly dropped while you were sleeping… Your body still needs to recover from the overdose, after all... Not to mention that nasty pneumonia… Hopefully, you are fine." She explained.

"I..." My voice was husky, but I could talk "What…?"

Morphine overdose…? Pneumonia…? What about my ability…?

"I'll bring you some water." She smiled "You are recovering just fine. Your body is trying to hold on."

I requested to sit up by myself, and slowly raised my back from the mattress to take the cup of water in my shaking hands. Feebly, I brought it to my mouth, and drank, absolutely relishing in the sensation of hydration.

"That's good." She complimented me "You should have some rest now."

"Wait…" I still had some trouble breathing "What exactly… What exactly killed me…?"

"Although it is clear your ability made you suffer, Ogawa-san, the thing that almost took your life today was morphine…" She sighed "And I even told you to be careful…"

"I don't understand…"

"It caused a severe respiratory depression." She explained "It means you could not breathe anymore, which made your oxygen saturation drop tremendously…"

"But… My headache… My fatigue… The pain… The coughing, even…!"

"Muscle pains and intracranial hypertension — your headache — are after effects of morphine. The fact you could not sleep first caused your headache, of course, but also made you weak, which is why you somehow caught pneumonia. That explains the coughing. As I said, we can't deny your ability was highly involved, but all that pain was increased by the drug." She explained "Only, you were never diagnosed because… You would never come for anything other than being stitched up like a ragged cloth…"

"... I see…" I looked down "I see…"

"Ogawa-san…" She took my hand into her "It isn't your fault…"

"No, indeed… I… I was just stupid… I caused this… I'm such a fool…"

Tears fell onto the sheets but I did not mind. All that pain… I had inflicted it myself.

"And… Dazai-san..." I exhaled "Is he... Is he alright...?"

The few words and reactions I could have witnessed when being awake had clearly indicated he did feel some guilt, inside. I did not want him to think it was his fault I was dying; it was all just a mistake I had committed.

"That stubborn child refused to leave..." She sighed "He constantly kept an eye on you and was the first one to notice the drop of your saturation. I... Think this accident made him reflect on himself."

"I don't know..." I looked down, only to finally notice he was still there, asleep with his head on the bed.

"That's only my opinion..." The nurse shrugged "He never let go of you, fearing you would wake up if his ability did not cancel yours."

"It's untrue..." I refused to believe it "He... He doesn't care... He is just putting on an act... As soon as I get better, he will... Again..."

Just imagining him beating me up again was enough to stress me out, and the monitor's rhythm increased with my heartbeat. Waking him up.

"Nurse, there is a —"

He saw me, and did not finish his sentence.

"You must calm down..." The nurse advised, laying me back "We will talk it out after your recovery. For now, you must not be anxious about anything."

"What's the point in recovering if I have to come back after...?" I murmured.

"What's going on...?" My superior looked at the nurse.

"Nothing you should care about for the moment. But, understand her nervousness... And I share her concern. Why are you suddenly nice toward Ogawa-san?" She frowned "It is not my business, but the bruises I wrapped up for her speak for themselves."

"... My hand must have slipped while I was dozing off..." He dodged the matter "I'll cancel your ability again, Ogawa-kun."

"Why...?" I avoided his touch "Why now? Why are you even here? What are you trying to make me believe?"

"... Is that how you see me? A liar...?" He looked upset.

"Not a liar. A puppeteer." I confessed, sincerely terrified "I can't understand what you think... I can only think about your ulterior motives, always, always... I am afraid of being played with..."

"I've never tried to manipulate your feelings to gain your loyalty..." He defended.

"Stop this nonsense, please… Manipulating… You do that all too well…! You do that all the time…"

"Ogawa-kun… Not with you…"

"Why did you praise me so randomly once, just to beat the crap out of me the next day, then?" I started sobbing "I don't understand... Do you just hate me...?"

"I don't hate you...! Obviously I don't hate you..."

"Then, am I too weak...?"

"That's not it..."

The nurse had left, most certainly to let us talk alone.

"What is it, then? Are you just bipolar...?! Or am I insane...?"

"I just wanted to train you... I wanted to make you stronger so you did not die... I honestly never noticed I was the one killing you." Dazai-san lowered his head "It's embarrassing, but I did not know about your pain, about your addiction... Until yesterday. Am I not a useless executive...? Had I done something… Had I done something, perhaps you never would have ended in such a state."

"... Right now..." I gripped onto the sheets "I am not sure whether you are acting or being sincere... I'm sorry, Dazai-san..."

"I don't want you to die!" He said, more willingly "I don't want you to die... Being tough and merciless was the actual act... I wanted you to grow accustomed to the Mafia... I wanted you to cast away your emotions, not to be morally struggling with decisions... I wanted to toughen you up, so you would resist against the enemies, so you would be mentally strong... But the only thing I managed to create was a machine, expert in torture and assassination, who does the job without a glance behind, who sheds blood with no hesitation, who looks down on pain... In a way, I obtained what I wanted, but... It isn't you. It isn't the girl who cried for attention that I first met. When I look at you and see fear, hatred, disgust and resentment in your eyes, I can't help thinking I did something wrong... But I could not understand what... Until you told me you wanted me to kill you. At this moment, I knew that nothing I had attempted with you would work. I've recently come to realise I was only hurting you... Forcefully making you face such violence, trying to mould you into the perfect subordinate... I have to admit it was a mistake. I can't believe I am the one who turned off that flickering yet bright flame of life in your eyes, whereas... Whereas it shone so warmly..."

It was understandable that someone who yearned to end his life would be fascinated by someone willing to live. That I was the one he was drawn to, however, was surprising. His words made me doubt as well. Indeed, since when had I become such a cold-hearted person? Since when had I killed without even a thought for the victim? Since when had I looked so eagerly for the worst methods of torture? I suddenly remembered how reluctant I had been to join the Port Mafia, how I had pretended to prefer dying... Since when had I lost my will to stay alive?

"You always repeat that the weak must die… I am weak, then why won't you let me leave? I questioned, curtly.

"Because... Because I want you to fetch me a cup of coffee, I want you to classify the paperwork for me...!" He sounded like a child about to throw a tantrum "The office... It felt less empty with you inside..."

"Now, you're just being difficult…" I looked away "I want to believe you, Dazai-san, I really want to. However… You've so often changed your mind and I am tired. I can't afford to be deceived anymore… I don't want to be disappointed in someone anymore…"

"... I know..." Dazai-san's eyes focused on his feet "I understand... It leaves an empty hole in your chest, you don't know what to think anymore... I know that... I didn't think I would make you feel that way, nonetheless..."

"You... You understand my point...?" I frowned.

"Of course... People are never what they seem. You, for example, look strong, determined, yet you are so sick you could die at any moment. People tell sweet lies in front of you, yet curse you when you are not looking. I know that..." He chuckled bitterly "Perhaps the problem comes from me... Perhaps am I a failure of a human being, tired of living, but mostly —"

"Afraid of your fellows…" I stared at him, finally understanding "You're afraid of us… And you don't know how to behave around me… That's why you seem so lunatic…"

"Do you hate me for that...? No, such a question... It is obvious you would hate me..."

"I've already told you… There are many people who do that better than me…" I paused to catch my breath "I don't hate you, Dazai-san. In fact, I pity you… And I feel… A bit stupid…"

I had believed Dazai-san was purposely rough and contemptuous toward me, because he did not like me, because I was too weak, because I was worthless. In fact... In fact, whereas he did not like me, he did not loathe me either, and that alone was enough to appease me. There was some place for me by his side, as a subordinate. I could keep serving him, obeying his commands, and he would not mind. If only I would not die... I could have strived to understand the pain gnawing at him from the inside, I could have tried to comprehend his feelings, instead of detesting him as I had done. At the very least, toughening me up had permitted me to survive in the cruel world of darkness the Port Mafia belonged to.

"What you did was undeniably wrong… You can't teach one if you use violence… Hitting me, abusing me, harassing me… Nothing can ever erase this fact… If I cannot forget, then, at least, I can try to forgive. You are the reason I survived so far, and for that I am grateful."

"You shouldn't be grateful that I treated you so brutally..."

"To be honest…" I recalled my time by his side, not without a tinge of bitterness "I really wanted to strive, to be a proper subordinate, worthy of being the protege of the infamous Demon Prodigy's… I guess I wanted to be useful, somehow, for once in my life. I wanted to exist, to be acknowledged as a human being. You did that, though… You treated me as a human being, although it was not ideal. You did not ignore me, at least. Thank you, Dazai-san, for making me feel alive, even if it was short."

"I don't deserve your thanks… But you're welcome…" He avoided my look.

"What are you afraid of? From me, I mean?"

"Huh…?"

"What could I do to harm you? What could I say to hurt you? Scheming against you? You would find out immediately. Talking behind your back? Many people do that. Besides, I've always been honest about you; I can't stand you. Well, I couldn't…" I mumbled "So… Why?"

"Why, indeed… It's not just about you…"

"I know… I'm not asking you to trust me… I just want to know that, if you need a loyal subordinate, you have one."

"Ogawa-kun… You can't mean it, not after everything I've done…"

"Oh but I do mean it. It is my way to redeem myself, too."

"... What do you mean…?"

I avoided his eyes for a moment, strangely unable to face the inquisitive and somewhat hopeful expression he wore. Why did he have to look so childish? So harmless? Although… He had not always acted like a cold adult man… All the times he had bickered with Nakahara-san, all the times he had dropped the mask of toughness to smile at me, even faintly, and that one time he had sounded relieved when I had recovered from the wounds inflicted by Gustavo Cosola… In fact, I had never paid attention to him, despite the warning Oda-san had given me. I did not understand him, nor did I know him. Dazai-san had troubles and I had forgotten that under the armour of the Demon Prodigy was hidden a small, terrified sixteen years old child, who strangely resembled me. Behind a wall of mercilessness, we were just teenagers who had grown up too quickly and had been thrown without concern in a world of adults, forced to become adults ourselves and to carry the immense burden of death upon our shoulders.

"I was too selfish…" I muttered "Too centered on myself. I did not see that it wasn't easy for you either…"

"Ogawa-kun…" He sighed "I have to confess something, since you're honest with me; everything I did was to train you… But I would lie if I said I never took my frustration out on you. On bad days, or only to hide my weakness, I beat you up without caring about your improvement. The light that shone in your eyes… Yes, there were times I wanted to turn it off. How dared you hold onto life? How could you believe in tomorrow? Break, cry, fall into despair or die being worthless, these were my actual thoughts."

"What do you hope to achieve by telling this to me?" I asked simply.

"I wanted to see if you would loathe me, now."

"Dazai-san… I knew all that. I mean, it was obvious you had some stress to let out." I tilted my head "The only thing I really resent you for is not teaching me to control my ability properly… For the rest… Now that I am going to die, anyway, there is no point in holding a grudge against you. I'd rather leave peacefully…"

"But I don't want you to leave…" A sort of pout formed on his lips "I don't want to lose you…"

"Losing me…?" I huffed, amused "I am not a toy for you to play with… I can't be lost. Besides, you merely need me to serve as furniture for your office. I may have given you my loyalty, Dazai-san, but I haven't given up on my pride as a human being. Do remember that, please."

He sighed. Heavily. Was he annoyed? Was he tired of me?

"I am ready to take my responsibilities. Weak people die, but you don't belong to them. You are my subordinate and you know I don't allow my men to be weak." He stood up, crossing his arms "You won't die, because I decided so."

"My body is in no state to fight…" I argued "I have pneumonia and I am a morphine addict. I can't sleep and my immune system has already collapsed a long time ago. What do you expect me to do? Besides, you have another protege… From what I heard, he is much more useful than me."

"I expect you to recover." He faced me, the usual Port Mafia executive replacing the distressed child "And, about Akutagawa-kun… He has no idea what his ability is made for, don't compare the two of you. You two have different strengths."

"But he succeeds where I am powerless." I stated "He —"

"He is a blade without a sheath. I need to control him in order to make him the most powerful ability user of the Port Mafia. When that day comes, he will be, without a doubt, the organisation's greatest asset. For now, however, he is nothing but an untamed dog."

"Dazai-san… You hate dogs…" I remarked, feeling sorry for Akutagawa-kun.

"What you lack in physical strength, you compensate with that." He pressed a finger to my forehead without paying attention to my words "You learnt what I taught you, what I could never teach him. That is why you are a valuable subordinate in my squadron, because I can trust your wit, because I know that you are able to replace me."

"I could never, Dazai-san…!" I protested "I am nowhere near you…!"

"That's right. But you are above the others, and that is all that matters. You can lead in my stead if needed. Mmh, it's actually better to keep you alive." He seemed to think aloud "There are more pros than cons…"

"I am not a tool…" I reminded him, vexed.

"No, you are my subordinate." He agreed.

In his mouth, it did not sound too different…

"Oh~ It could be interesting, giving you Yamada-san's seat…~" He mumbled, walking around the bed in deep thought "But then you couldn't be on the field anymore… What to do~? I want to see that idiot's disappointed face…~"

"What does it matter, anyway? Can I even fight again with that body? Just give me paperwork if all you need is my brain…" I groaned.

"You will fight again." He declared "Why couldn't you? Just rest and take your treatment. It is a matter of time before you are physically back on your feet, anyway. And give up on morphine; I'll grant you sleep from now on."

"Dazai-san!" I burst, unable to hold it in any longer "Did… Did you even pay attention when we were talking…? Were you even sincere…?!"

His fist hit the wall, suddenly, and I jumped in fear. I had given him my loyalty, I had been honest with him… Had he manipulated me again…? He did not move. His back was toward me. I was about to say something when a small detail caught my attention. His hand, the one that had punched the wall, was trembling. He let it fall to his side.

"You must be useful…" He hissed between his teeth "I have to find some use in you, even while you are recovering…"

The bandage covering his skin was slowly reddening as he muttered incoherent words and I sighed. I understood, although too late again.

"There is… There is a position I can occupy, even in this bed…" I spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence "If my presence serves a purpose, the Port Mafia won't need to get rid of me."

"What is it…?" He slowly turned around.

"I believe a lieutenant is still missing in your squadron, Dazai-san. Until I recover, I could lead the men from afar and take care of lower missions for you. Then, once I am better and able to fight, I can accompany them directly." I suggested "Besides, it will drastically decrease your paperwork… Which is at your advantage, isn't it?"

I cracked a small smile and waited for his response. He really did not want me to die, that I was sure of. However, the organisation did not care about damaged goods. If I did not prove myself to be more than a disposable pawn, an order to abandon me would be given, forcing my superior to either eliminate me or let me rot somewhere. In both cases, I would die.

"A lieutenant… It is true that I don't have that." He held his chin a second "Very well, I shall promote you. After all, I never got to reward you properly for your contribution to the fight against the Sicilian Mafia."

He gave me an understanding smirk, and I nodded, accepting the offer.

"Thank you, Dazai-san. I will strive not to disappoint you."

"Good. Take a week off for your initial recovery, then I will send the first piles of paperwork to you."

"Thank you for your consideration."

"Also… Odasaku may or may not visit you later… I remember he knows a cheap yet clean place not far from the headquarters." He added, heading toward the door "Ask him about it, I'm sure he'll be glad to answer you. Dust is bad for your lungs."

I chuckled once he exited the infirmary, and laid back on the bed. There I was, alive, already impatient to discover the paperwork he had promised. It was a good feeling, breathing, even if I still felt uncomfortable. I did not want to die anymore. There were still things I needed to do and a superior somehow counting on me. I could not let him down… And I wanted to see the sun set on Yokohama once again.

It was wonderful to exist again.

< Previous

Next >

[epicfales]

When I hate My Body, I Remember What It Has Given Me

It is day twenty-seven of strict social distancing. I only know this for sure because I checked my most recent Instagram post, which says that two days ago was day twenty-five. Today is Wednesday, April 8, 2020. I only know this because I checked my watch. The days feel long and short at the same time, and I’m not sure how that can be. There are many things I’m unsure of, these days; and I trust that we all feel that way to some extent. This pandemic has shattered our collective sense of normalcy and routine, as it’s disrupted weddings, graduations, proms, birthdays, and funerals—rituals that many people cannot fathom living without. I cannot go another day without confessing what I know to be true: it’s easy to live without those things when you have no choice.

At some point over the past twenty-seven days—they all blend together—I was talking to my friend, Liv, who was impacted by cancer. I hate how people use words like “fighting” or “beating” when putting verbs alongside a beast like cancer. Because no verb in any language can describe the deeply physical, emotional, and spiritual experience of being sick in that way. Sometimes when I imagine her being pulled from what was her happy and blessedly normal life, I see her being dragged into an arena, and cancer is not the lion—she is the lion—and cancer is this dark amorphous force that engulfs her body. I imagine that she roars, and her voice is so strong that I can see the sound released from every fiber of her being, and then watch as her very essence tangles with that darkness. Other times, I imagine her as she is in a photograph: dressed as Muhammad Ali, strutting down a hospital hallway, bald and in a mask, donning boxing gloves and a cape, staring down the camera. Everyone felt the need to reassure her that even without hair, she was beautiful. This pisses me off, because they all confront that photo with the unconscious premise that hair is a vital part of the human body, and my God, do they not notice the cape?

The Muhammad Ali quote that she boldly posts alongside that photo: “I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.’’

I turn to my conversations with Liv in the moments when I feel most defeated. She is one of my only friends my age who knows what it’s like to be chronically sick—sick in a way that doesn’t get better. Our diseases are extraordinarily different, but our shared experiences unite us in a unique bond. Today, I feel a humiliating level of defeat. And of course, it’s all rather absurd, because today isn’t different from any other day. The catalyst for my defeat: a bike ride to the mailbox at the end of my dirt road. I can’t put the words together to confess how difficult this exercise was for me. I’m just too disappointed in myself, and too ashamed. It’s only a mile to the mailbox and a mile back, but the road is hilly, and the terrain is rough. I’m grateful no one saw me. What had begun as a leisurely ride quickly became the most difficult exercise I’ve done in memory. I pushed myself way further than I should have, and my endurance was fueled by a profound anger towards my body’s many inadequacies. It was also fueled by the simple fact that I had no choice but to keep going; I needed to get home, and putting one foot in front of the other was the only way to get there (at that point I was walking alongside the damn bike). When I finally collapsed onto the living room floor, I Facetimed my family in Kalamazoo . . . their first reaction was to laugh. I don’t blame them for this, because I really did look pathetic, and it always takes people a minute to switch from the superficial observation, “Jess is horribly out of shape” to the more somber realization, “Jess is sick”. Nevertheless, I put on an almost childlike tantrum as I raged against my body. I said to my body, “You are weak, and pathetically inadequate. I’m ashamed to look at you in the mirror. Your scars are ugly. You are undesirable. No one likes you.” We all know the guilt and remorse felt after being mean to someone who doesn’t deserve it. My poor body. It has endured so much for me, more than most bodies endure, and I’m ashamed of it. I forget that it has made me a champion.

There was a brief period at the beginning of the pandemic when the chronically ill imagined that the rest of the world would finally understand what it’s like to be us. We saw people voice dismay over missed sports games, over canceled proms, and over abandoned vacation plans. We hoped their dismay would turn into empathy, and we waited for them to realize that the sacrifices being asked of them are sacrifices that we’ve had to make for years. It quickly became evident that such empathy could not be expected. We watched from afar as young people descended upon Florida beaches, as friends took advantage of cheap airline tickets, as communities gathered at packed bars, and as people selfishly hoarded toilet paper and hand sanitizer. They will never know what it’s like to be us.

I’ve heard all sorts of justifications for the social shenanigans plastered across our Facebook timelines and Instagram feeds. Mostly, people claim they deserve such festivity, and the use their feelings of “missing out” to rationalize having a good time. There’s the infamous youth on spring break who went viral for saying, “If I get Corona, I get Corona. I’m not going to let it interfere with me partying.” What it comes down to is this: people believe they are entitled to undisrupted lives. Our culture is based on comfort, indulgences, and personal gratification. For many, the mandated social restrictions have quickly become the worst thing to ever happen to them. If social distancing is the worst thing to happen to us by the time this is all over, we will be incredibly blessed.

I could say that I wish we lived in a world where bad things didn’t happen to good people and where life was fair. But I don’t wish that. Not even a little bit. Life is often ruthless, unpredictable, and unjust. When my complex autoimmune disease caused me to go deaf five days before starting college, I involuntarily put my life on hold to get Cochlear implants; and when I recovered from that I then faced a series of dangerous infections over the years, as all immunocompromised people are prone to do. Liv learned she had Leukemia while on a school trip and had to drop everything to return to California for life-saving treatment—a treatment that went on to cause its own disease. Years later, few of our past dreams or expectations for life turned to reality. None of this is fair. Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. And we are better for it. Having our lives spontaneously disrupted proves to us that life is hard but reminds us that we can do hard things.

When I was fifteen—before I got sick—I encountered a proverb that fundamentally challenged how I viewed the world: “Tell me what you need, and I will tell you how to live without it.” Sometimes I find myself randomly reciting those words, as a reminder to reevaluate my values and priorities. It’s amazing what we can live without. As this global health crisis unfolds, we are all forced to question what is necessary, and to make the distinction between comfort and survival. I pray that on the other side, we can all call ourselves champions.

[rainystudios]

I’ve been randomly finding that a lot of ppl on the Cancel Culture train have often been quick to turn on their allies or more frankly, people who they get along with until they have one minor disagreement or misunderstanding, and they just fucking sprint with it and decide they are A Bad Person who can’t be trusted, or suddenly think less of them as a person like “oh wow I never would have thought B would be like that, I’m so surprised and shocked”. And that’s honestly scary as hell. 

Like in turn how is anyone supposed to trust you? 

I’ve seen several times where people are getting along as a group and are on good terms. Person A misunderstands person B, without asking for clarification or giving the benefit of the doubt, A instead escalates it, A attacks B on the spot. Person B becomes upset and then either explains, leaves or bickers back. Person A then labels themselves the victim, labels B an ‘evader’ for trying to explain/defend themselves, or assumes everything is fine because person B left to go have an anxiety attack because their very character as a person is being shredded over a misunderstanding. They then repeat this pattern with other people in the group until they’ve turned on or guilt tripped everyone at least once.

And like, I notice a lot of these people (A) seem to have big issues with Cognitive Distortion, which a big part of is Black & White thinking, a very specific key part of which is, if you don’t do, believe and uphold every nuance of what A says, and react the way A thinks you should about any topic whatsoever, they will turn on you and invasively either guilt trip you, or spread misinformation among friend groups??? And this can be about basic harmless shit, like reading too far into a single statement, making up their mind regardless of what B or C tries to explain and clarify, being condescending or dismissive to a point where it seems like you can’t win unless you grovel before them and beg forgiveness for what, no one really knows. 

And it’s like, yes sometimes A can be dealing with some form of trauma, or a mental illness, but that doesn’t mean no one else in the group is either; it doesn’t excuse their invasive and aggressive tactics. Just because you’re stressed or have at some point been a target, doesn’t mean you’re incapable of ever treating anyone else that way and making them feel like absolute garbage and in turn unable to trust you because you’re ready to take out your knife at the drop of a pin.

It’s fucked up.

[cecilspeaks]

112 - Citizen Spotlight

If you see something crawling across your floor in the dark, don’t worry. It’s probably just a tarantula. Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, in this fast-paced world of community radio and local news, I think we’ve lost sight of the truly important thing: the individuals who make up our diverse community.

So today, I want to try out a new segment I've put together called Citizen Spotlight, in which we will profile a randomly selected citizen, diving deep into who they are, and maybe discovering some things about ourselves along the way.

Oh, here’s an intro I’m working on for it.

[very deep, menacing voice] Spotlights, roving in the night. Hunting. Closing in. But everything is backwards. The night is hot and bright. The spotlights are deep and black. Everything they touch turns to darkness. They are searching for the light. They consume it.

[chipper voice] That’s a rough draft. I’m open to notes. Anyway, today’s inaugural spotlight was curated by closing my eyes and pointing in the phone book. And so today, we will talk about Sigrid Borg. She’s a brand new citizen who has just arrived in Night Vale. I have hear this classified dossier, we had a team of heist experts – thanks, Janice – steal from the Hall of Public Records. The dossier says that Sigrid was relocated to Night Vale as part of a witness protection program, and that Sigrid is not her real name. Nor is she of the Scandinavian origin her name might suggest. Thus all of the information we managed to obtain on Sigrid for this segment is fictional, created by a government software program to ensure her total anonymity, and in no way represents who she really is as a person. In all probability, it is in most ways the opposite of her true identity, but for safety, it’s important that we all believe this made-up biography is absolute fact. It is extremely, extremely important. She would be in great danger if anyone from the outside world started to doubt who she claimed to be.

We’ll get to our Citizen Spotlight momentarily, but first, as a way to make Sigrid feel more at home, I’ve asked other Night Vale citizens to reveal a dark secret that they’ve never shared. I will be reading those throughout today’s broadcast. The first comes from Susan Escobar, second grade teacher at Night Vale elementary school. She writes: “One night, I was at school late grading homework, and I heard strange sounds coming from the cafeteria. When I looked inside, I saw a giant mandala on the floor made entirely of frozen fish sticks. It seemed to be undulating and alive. When I blinked, it vanished. But every night I dream of flying toward a cloudless sky, and in the center of that sky is that fish stick mandala. And I wake before I reach it, but each dream a little closer. And the night that I reach that mandala in my dream is the night I will die.” Thanks Susan! Sounds fun.

Now let’s talk about Sigrid. Though new to town, Sigrid Borg was born in Night Vale and has lived here her entire life. Her parents were immigrants from the picturesque Swedish port city of Halmstad. She tries to go back at least once a year to visit her grandparents, a retired grade school teacher and a retired timber farmer, who have a lovely cottage overlooking at the mouth of the Nissan river, where it meets the North Sea. Sigrid has always been close with her grandparents, though in recent visits, has become distressed at her grandmother’s increased mental confusion and grandfather’s drinking habits. She doesn’t call them as often she used to and feels guilty about that. She’s torn between the desire to take more responsibility for their health and well being and the desire to block the situation out of her mind completely, as it has become a signifier of the irrevocable loss of her own childhood, and a direct confrontation with morality itself.  

Sigrid’s favorite food is smorgåstårta, a Scandinavian layer cake that is made of sandwiches and fish paste. Ask her to make it for your next big event. She’s been carefully drilled by her witness protection handlers on the foods of her childhood, and has almost got the hang of making them, although she has failed to acquire a taste for fish paste.

Some fun facts that you may not know about Sigrid, despite having lived in the same town with her all your lives. She has a degree in marine hauntology from an online university. She has a disorder that makes it impossible for her to sweat or cry. She has served on the board of the Sand Wastes Conservation Fund for six and a half years. She is deeply embedded into our community and way of life.

And now, another confession from a local resident about a dark secret. This one from my dear friend Earl Harlan. It reads: “On a Boy Scout training maneuver near the old dirt road, I witnessed the apparition of my 10-year-old self wearing the scout uniform of my youth. He trained with us all afternoon, and I tried not to give him any preferential treatment. As the afternoon passed, new memories appeared in my mind of training at 10 years old with a group of strangers, one of whom seemed familiar and stared at me constantly in horror.” That’s adorable! Thanks, Earl!

Back to Citizen Spotlight. Sigrid spent her childhood in the Hefty Sycamore Trailer Park near downtown. She didn’t have many friends; she was shy in school. One year, she tried out for a solo in the school holiday pageant. For the audition, she sang a Flakey-O’s jingle that was very popular at the time, but no one took her seriously. They all thought she was making a joke. She apologized and faded back into the bleachers. She truly loved that jingle. It spoke to her soul, it made her feel something. She recorded it off the radio and listened to it often, rewinding and replaying it out at the picnic table on summer nights, when the rest of her family was asleep. But she never listened to it again after the solo tryouts, because it only brought back the sound of the other kids laughing, of her teacher’s scolding voice lecturing the class to take themselves seriously, or no one else would. And it made her feel ashamed. She eventually recorded over the tape with audio from a TV special about orphaned lion cubs. But sometimes, under the hungry sucking sounds of giant kittens drinking from baby bottles, she thought she could still hear the song.

In 7th grade, she finally made some friends during the unknown creature dissection unit in science class. She wasn’t squeamish, and her ability to identify and extract misshapen internal organs without flinching made her an attractive lab partner. Everyone thought she was new in town because they had never noticed her before. She still has that effect on people. In the spring of that year, someone asked her to to the junior high dance. The team was “heat death of the universe”. The boys spent a lot of time licking the crepe paper decorations to dye their tongues bright colors and impress the girls. The girls were not impressed, but laughed anyway. Sigrid’s date tried to lick her hand to see if the dye would come off on her skin. This caused Sigrid to feel a surge of strange tingling panic, and she fled to the bathroom for 30 minutes. Her friends eventually found her and dragged her back into the gym. She danced with them for the rest of the night, hiding from the boys with the blue tongues.

There were bountiful crops that year. Some say this was not a coincidence. Some say the junior high dance is a secret crop fertility ritual outlined in the town charter, but kept secret from the children who participate. When the dance was cancelled in the following years, due to the crepe paper dye related poisoning incident, Night Vale experienced extreme drought and locust plagues. Some say this, too, was not a coincidence.

A quick bulletin board reminder: the reinstated junior high dance is coming up! May all you young citizen make lush and plentiful memories, and have a cornucopia of fun.

More Citizen Spotlight soon, but first, The weather. 

["Try Try Try" by Rachael Sage]

Another secret confession. Ah, what a treat! This one comes from iconic local celebrity and recent donut food truck entrepreneur, Lee Marvin. It says: “There is a void. Within that void a light. Within that light, a hand. Within that hand, a movement. Within that movement, a potential. Within that potential, everything that ever was.” Thank you Lee, and of course, a happy 30th birthday to you today!

Citizen Spotlight time. In high school, Sigrid’s left hand started to itch below the pinky finger. A small lump appeared which grew slowly over time. She became self-conscious about this and wore bulky sweatshirts with long sleeves pulled over her hands, which was luckily a fashionable look then. The nurse at the health clinic assured her that it was nothing to be concerned about, but it kept growing. Eventually, it took the shape of what appeared to be a second, smaller pinky finger. She was even able to wiggle it if she concentrated very hard. As you may know, the Hefty Sycamore Trailer Park was built on the dried-up shores of the old pesticide waste river, and Sigrid’s father felt there might be some connection between this and the extra finger. They decided to relocate.

They moved into a two-story house by the train tracks, a fixer-upper that shook on its foundation twice a day when the train came through, and once or twice erratically every night when the secret night trains passed, with their nameless and unspeakable cargos. Sigrid’s parents began to fight often, never having the money to fix up the fixer-upper, and they both spent as much time as possible away from home. Sigrid had a complicated relationship with her extra finger at this point, partially blaming it for the rift in her parents’ relationship. Once, when Sigrid was alone in the house, she heard something creeping up the stairs. She hummed the Flakey-O’s jingle til she couldn’t hear it anymore, and then she started spending a lot more time away from home also.

There was a small group of kids who hung out around the train tracks at night, so she started hanging out with them to avoid going home. They liked to smoke cigarettes and light off fireworks and dare each other to look at the secret night trains, although none of them ever did, as they all knew that to look at one of those trains meant an instant and painful death. They would talk and gossip about kids and teachers she’d never heard of before, and she began to wonder if they even went to her school. When she was hanging out with them, she would often glance up at the dark windows of her own empty house just down the tracks and see movement behind the glass. Or soft white eyes staring out.

During one of these movements, while she looked at the house, all her friends disappeared and she found herself alone on the tracks. No sign of the teenagers that had been there mere seconds before. She never saw those kids again, but she often heard their voices in portable radios on the wind, and she spent her evenings wandering up and down the tracks, looking for them.

At the end of senior year, the high school yearbook featured fun awards for each student, voted on by the class. Smartest girl and tallest boy and most likely to survive a mass extinction event, and best smile. Every single student received a commemorative award, except for Sigrid. It wasn’t intentional or out of spite. Everyone forgot that she existed. She was inexplicably absent during every school picture day throughout the years. Never participated in any extracurricular activities, didn’t speak up in class, got average grades, and ate lunch alone. Which some say contributed to her lack of memorability. But she was there, and is here, and always has been. She belongs here. It’s totally normal to forget someone you know, but you do in fact know her. Some of you know her very well.

One time you went thrift store shopping together, and she picked out a jacket for you that was too big, but she said it looked great on you. It was fuzzy and resembled furniture upholstery. Royal blue with gold stripes. The lining was ripped. She bought it for you. You found that old jacket recently, royal blue with gold stripes, you put it on. It almost fits now. You felt something that you hadn’t felt before, sticking against your ribs, tucked into the ripped lining. You reached inside and you pulled out a piece of notebook paper, folded into a hard little square. It was from Sigrid. It described a thing that she shouldn’t have seen, and couldn’t speak about. It instructed you to burn the note immediately, and you did. It instructed you to never acknowledge to her that you even received it. You can never tell anyone what the note said.

If you do run into Sigrid, remember that she is a real person filled with blood and misshapen internal organs, just like you and me. Everything I have told you about her is completely true. Well, none of it is technically true, but it was crafted by state of the art technology to evoke a range of 1-4 feelings in the listener. And as we all know, feelings are real, and truth is in the mind of the beholder. And the beholder lives out in the scorched orchard under the floorboards of the old cherry-picking stack.

Stay tuned next for a mysterious distress signal that requires urgent action, but is impossible to locate.

On behalf of everyone here at Night Vale Community Radio, welcome to your new town, Sigrid – the town where you have lived your entire life.

And to everyone else: Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Be yourself. As if you had any choice in the matter.

[mustdang-100]

Shifting Perspectives - Ch. 2

Everything is not fine. 

Summary: How many espers does it take to rescue one abducted conman?

Months after the events of the World Domination arc, Reigen disappears sometime between leaving the office and after-work plans. Serizawa finds himself the unwilling leader of a bunch of former Claw members and a couple of stubborn teenagers, determined to get Reigen back. 

Read on AO3 Ch.2 Tumblr Ch.1|Ch.2 - below|Ch.3

Reigen wasn’t answering his phone.  

It had been two hours since Reigen should reasonably have arrived. After two unanswered text messages and one call that rang to voicemail, eliminating the possibility that Reigen’s phone had died or some other more palatable explanation, Sakurai and Tsuchiya began muttering darkly about callous, ill-mannered people and the retribution such villains deserved. Koyama began waxing enthusiastically and entirely unsubtly about a friend of his from work that he wanted to set Serizawa up with. He also kept buying Serizawa beers, but seeing that he had barely touched his first one, ended up drinking most of them himself. 

By the end of hour three and following a second unanswered call, Serizawa began to feel uneasy. His dejection at Reigen blowing them off was fading alongside a growing apprehension creeping up from somewhere deep in his gut. He took a deep breath, then looked up and fixed his gaze on his friends.  

“I’m… I’m starting to think something might have happened to Reigen.”  

Tsuchiya looked at him with kind eyes. “Serizawa,” she began, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. “Some people are just like this; they flat-out don’t bother to let you know when they cancel on you. It’s a sign of an inconsiderate friend, and frankly, it’s good that he’s shown his colors this early, before you get too invested.” 

Serizawa hesitated. His ever-present self-doubt warred with some instinct that this was something more, that something was… off. He spoke his thoughts out loud, slowly, trying to tease out the source of his growing alarm.  

“This… really isn’t like him.” He paused, then continued, “He always answers calls, or if he does miss one he calls back really soon after, no matter what time of day. Or night. I think he’s a light sleeper.” 

Serizawa realized he’d just admitted that he called Reigen during the night often enough to notice a pattern, and immediately looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. Only Minegishi seemed to have registered the slip, and he’d known already.  Serizawa considered his own words. It had been weeks since the last time he’d woken up in the middle of the night, shaking from nightmares filled with violence and murder and endless days swathed in desperate loneliness, and scrambling for a voice to center him. But the pattern still stood.  

Yes. That was it. Reigen knew and understood his vulnerabilities. If Reigen had a working phone, Serizawa was convinced he wouldn’t abandon him without notice. 

Minegishi sighed. “Katsuya, you know that you tend to overthink these things. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just forgot to tell you that he’d changed his mind and wasn’t coming.” 

Tsuchiya frowned, contemplative. “Or… maybe he accidentally fell asleep?”  

“He… does nap in the office sometimes.” Serizawa felt a flutter of hope at that, an explanation he hadn’t considered that didn’t involve either the bad or the worse possibility. 

“Maybe I’ll stop back by the office. Just to check. Just, in case.” 

“Does that seem a little… excessive?” Sakurai raised an eyebrow. 

Serizawa was already standing, but forced himself to pause. He tapped his fingers nervously on the back of the chair. The worry still roiled, the insistence that something was wrong, wrong, wrong now heightened by a sharp edge of panic that really wasn’t justified by the situation. He realized with a jolt of shame that it resembled the same mix of emotions once produced by the idea of losing his old safety blanket, the umbrella that represented freedom and safety and yet had held him as trapped as he had ever been. Maybe more so, for the lies fed to him by both himself and others. 

Serizawa’s shoulders slumped, and he realized sadly that he couldn’t think about the situation rationally. His friends were right. Reigen must have gone home, or fallen asleep, or gone off to see other friends. He had said he had other plans; he probably decided last minute that those took priority.  

It’s the logical explanation, he told himself firmly, his heart seeming to shrink in on itself. Serizawa needed to forget it, and just find out what happened when he saw Reigen tomorrow. That was the normal, well-adjusted, self-sufficient adult thing to do. 

He gripped the back of the chair firmly and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and looked up. His friends were looking at him with varying levels of concern; he gave them what was probably a very wobbly smile.  

“You’re right. I always worry too much.” He pushed in his chair. “I’m gonna go ahead and head home though. Not feeling like particularly good company anymore.” 

“Text us tomorrow and let us know what happened?” Tsuchiya asked. “If he fell asleep or something else so embarrassing, he deserves to be mocked.” 

“And if he stood you up, he deserves a… lecture,” Koyama cracked his knuckles. Serizawa threw him an exasperated glance. “I mean, uh, if he stood us up. I remember, not a date, right, right.” 

“That’s not what I was…” 

“You know he’s just teasing,” Sakurai rolled his eyes. Koyama looked like was going to disagree, and Sakurai hurriedly cut him off. “But yes, let us know.”   

Minegishi said nothing, but he nodded, his eyes concerned.  

Serizawa shook his head, determinedly ignoring everything his heart was screaming as he headed for the train that would take him back toward his apartment. 

*** 

Serizawa lay flat on his back, staring up at his bedroom ceiling. There was a water stain in one corner that kind of looked like a dog, if you blurred your eyes a little. Or maybe a cat. On windy nights, like tonight, the moonlight filtering through moving tree branches outside his window made the figure appear to be moving. Endlessly running, running, running…  

It was possible he was projecting.  

He was locked back in an old cycle: he stared at the ceiling until he forced his eyes closed, trying to ignore the nausea produced by gut-churning anxiety. Far too slowly, darkness descended. 

He was alone, huddled in the dark. He’d been alone for a long, long time. That would never change. It was the only option left to him. 

A crack in the darkness opened, filled with light. From it, a red-haired man extended his hand to help him up, and out. The man smiled, telling him that he was worth something, that he had a purpose. 

The helping hand was a lie. His promises were empty. 

His smile turned cruel. His hand was extended not to help, but raised for a killing blow; he laughed at the idea that Serizawa had ever been anything but a tool for him to use and discard. 

Serizawa knew this memory. He did have a purpose, this time. He turned, expecting to see a boy with spiky red hair and defeat in his eyes and a man who had bravely, knowingly, sauntered into a situation far over his head. He was a protector; now Serizawa would protect him.  

There was no one there. The killing blow hit, setting fire to his entire body.  

Serizawa jolted awake, flying up from the bed, heart beating fast, sheets soaked in sweat.  

He paced until his heartbeat slowed to something approaching normal.  

He forced himself back to bed.  

The cycle began again. 

Months ago, when an idle office conversation had turned personal, he’d opened up about the reason for the bags under eyes, the fifth coffee of the day. With that admittance, he’d obtained a way to finally break the cycle.  

Reigen tapped his chin thoughtfully. 

“Your past is getting mixed up with your present; I think it might help to have someone to talk to, when you wake from these nightmares. To help you sort the truth from the lies. As your boss, it’s one of my duties to make sure you get a good night’s rest so you can be productive as possible. You have my cell phone number, right?”  

But what do you do when the person you call when you can’t sleep is the reason you can’t sleep in the first place? 

Every time he jerked back awake he checked his phone again, uselessly. He had the volume turned all the way up; he’d hear the ringtone if he got a message or call.  

When the first streaks of orange sunrise painted the sky outside his window, he decided that was finally a good enough excuse to head into work. If he was going to pace, he might as well do it there.  

*** 

Reigen wasn’t in the office when Serizawa arrived.  

Given that it was about three hours before the Saturday opening time at ten o’clock, that wasn’t exactly unexpected. But now that he was here, and Reigen was not, he’d run out of options to dispel his restless energy.   

Serizawa tidied already straight stacks of paperwork. He checked his phone. He paced. He washed both his and Reigen’s mug, then dried them thoroughly. He noticed that several small objects had begun floating randomly about the room, and forced his powers back into obedience, pulling it back, sorting the various objects softly back into their rightful places.  

He checked his phone again. He checked the office phone’s messages and worked up the courage to return a call from a potential client, lying that today they were completely booked and making an appointment for the following day. He could always call the client back and tell them that time had amazingly opened up for today, if Reigen showed up. 

When Reigen showed up. When. Ten o’clock came, and went. Eleven o’clock. Twelve. Reigen did not appear.  

The seed of apprehension Serizawa had been fighting to control blossomed into true fear, reaching out another tendril to coil around his heart with every passing minute. 

This was the concrete proof he needed, that this wasn’t just his broken emotions getting snarled confusingly up into worry for no reason. He’d been right. He’d been right, damn it, and he had hesitated. Panic was buzzing through his body; pens and paperclips began to once again rise into the air, out of his control. This time, he didn’t bother to corral them.  

He pulled out his phone and opened the group chat, typing three short, terse sentences.  

It’s three hours past opening time. Reigen still isn’t here. 

I need help. 

*** 

The office seemed fuller than it should, crowded with five adult espers on edge. Their combined anxious energy was a palpable tension in the air as they stood, wracking their brains. They were going in circles, and Serizawa’s agitation was about to drive him up the wall.   

“You said that you’re sure you don’t know where else he might have gone last night? And you don’t know his address?” Minegishi asked for the third time.  

“Of course I don’t, and I only know the general area! I told you this already!” Serizawa snapped, then covered face with hands, digging his palms into his eyes.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help.”

Tsuchiya sighed, rubbing her neck. “I don't suppose you have one of those phone apps that tracks your friends’ phones, do you? Mukai and I have those for each other, for just in case.” 

Serizawa shook his head miserably. 

“But the kid does.” Sakurai spoke up suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him. “Or at least, he used to. Remember? It’s how Reigen found all of us back at the Seventh Branch; he followed Kageyama’s phone.”  

“Perfect!” Tsuchiya suddenly stood straighter, invigorated by the beginning of a plan, any plan. “Text him and ask him to check Reigen’s location. He can send it to us, whether he’s at home or elsewhere, and we’ll go find him.” 

“Uh…” 

They all looked up at Koyama, who had gone a little pale. 

“I’m not sure that’s… uh, I think we might want to avoid…” 

“Spit it out Koyama,” Tsuchya propped her fists onto her hips. 

Koyama scowled. “It’s just that, you guys didn’t see Kageyama when he thought something happened to his family. It was… a little unnerving.”  

His intonation implied something closer to, ‘pants-shittingly terrifying.’ Sakurai’s eyes widened behind his glasses. 

“Koyama’s right – Kagayama was ferociously dead-set on his goal. When we picked him up off the street, when the President was beginning his attack, he left two scar-cadre level members beaten unconscious at his feet. I don’t know if I want to be the one telling him something might have happened to his mentor.” 

Koyama seemed a little abashed at his evident fear at a child, but they all knew Shigeo. No one laughed.  

Minegishi spoke up for the first time in a while.  

“There’s no need to worry Kageyama for no reason. He has a brother, right?”  

*** 

Teru was locked in a battle for his life.  

His opponent came at him head-on, electricity crackling as he launched an attack.  

Teru dodged it, then used the following pause to run in close to his foe. 

He smiled. Got you. 

The small, round, pink form of Teru’s onscreen character inhaled Pikachu, turned around, and spat him over the side of the floating virtual arena. Pikachu fell to his off-screen doom.   

“You asshole,” Shou screeched, throwing his controller down as the victory music played and the screen flashed with a jubilant Kirby and a giant ‘Number 1.’ “What the fuck kinda move was that? I couldn’t even fight back!”  

Teru threw him his brightest, cheekiest grin. “I win. Again.”  

“Guys,” Ritsu hissed from where he’d been sulking on the couch, messing with his phone. “My parents could be home at any minute, watch your fucking language.” 

Teru didn’t bother to point out the hypocrisy in Ritsu’s statement, instead glancing over at his older brother, sitting on the couch next to him. Shigeo stared pensively at the ending screen, a slight furrow between his eyebrows just visible below his bangs. Teru decided he was probably thinking through how exactly he had won that time. Shigeo was actually a fair Super Smash Bros player, as demonstrated by the hilarious fact that it was Ritsu who was frequently the first to be knocked out. But Shigeo wasn’t prepared to play the kind of tricks Teru was.  

All was fair in war and video games. 

Shou, apparently, didn’t agree; he practically had smoke coming out of his ears. 

“Let’s go again. I’ll beat you this time I swear to god-” 

“How about a snack first?” Ritsu cut in, glancing up. “Niisan? Would you mind making some popcorn or something?” 

Shigeo looked mildly confused that Ritsu wouldn't just go make it himself, but seemed perfectly amenable. He hopped off the couch and headed for the kitchen. 

Ritsu followed his progress out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Ritsu snatched Shigeo’s phone from the coffee table and began tapping buttons. Teru and Shou exchanged a bemused look, before Shou scooted over to the couch and peered at the phone screen in Ritsu’s hand.  

“Sooo. You gonna fill us in or what.” Ritsu frowned at the screen, ignoring the other two boys and muttering to himself. Teru could barely hear him over the hum from the microwave and the popping of kernels.  

“Doesn’t even have a password, figures. He should really be more cautious… ah, here we go.” Ritsu tapped an app, then looked up while it loaded. 

“I just got a text from Mr. Serizawa. Apparently Reigen didn’t show up at work today, and he’s worried. He remembered that Niisan has a tracker app for their phones.” 

“Why’d he ask you then?” 

Ritsu shrugged. “He didn’t want to upset Niisan. I don’t blame him, he would get overly upset. Reigen probably just wandered off chasing a fake spirit somewhere and his phone died, and he got lost without maps,” Ritsu said dismissively, then looked back down at the phone.  

He frowned. “Hmm, guess not – the app’s working, so his phone’s still on. And that’s definitely not the office. It’s… kinda in the middle of nowhere. Some business district.” 

Teru joined the two on the couch to peer over Ritsu’s shoulder, staring at the bright red dot denoting Reigen’s location. Shou was the first to speak up. 

“What the hell do ya think Reigen is doing there?” 

*** 

Serizawa stared silently down at the phone tucked in the corner between building and sidewalk, before leaning down, almost mechanically, to pick it up. It lay innocently in his large hand; such a small thing to be the harbinger of something so horrific.  

Something had happened to Reigen. Something had happened to Reigen. 

Now that the worst had been confirmed, it was like he was stuck, the same phrase running through his head over and over again. Panic and dread clashed within him, immobilizing him in place; he couldn’t think of what to do next.  

Something had happened something had happened and he’s gone- 

“Ummm… Serizawa?”  

He looked around, barely registering the sound of his name through the ringing in his ears. Sakurai was scrutinizing him a little warily, Koyama, Tsuchiya, and Minegishi examining the rest of the dingy alley behind him. 

“Not to make a bad situation worse, but...” Sakurai pointed hesitantly.  

A familiar small, square shape was sitting in a dirty puddle a few feet away.  

Serizawa’s fists clenched so hard when he recognized it as Reigen’s wallet that the phone in his hand creaked in protest. He dropped it into his pocket and clutched at his head, feeling like he’d just been kicked in the stomach.  

Someone had bothered to dig Reigen’s wallet out of his pocket, and tossed it away like it was nothing. Serizawa fished the wallet out of the puddle, hands shaking slightly, and opened it to reveal credit cards and a small number of bills.  

This wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t even a mugging. This was something deliberate. Someone wanted Reigen without resources, without any way to contact anyone. Someone wanted Reigen vulnerable, and alone – but alive. They wouldn't go to this amount of trouble if their aim had been to kill him. 

As if he’d heard that thought, Koyama spoke up from behind him.  

“It could be worse, we didn’t find him lying here dead in the stree-” 

Two audible slaps, a hissed “shut up” and a yelp of protest cut off the statement.  

Serizawa barely heard them, focusing too hard now on the realization that Reigen had to have been taken, and all the facts pointed to him being alive – for what purpose, he did not know.  

He realized suddenly that his hands were shaking not with panic, but with rage. 

And suddenly, his vision was swathed in red. 

Reigen had been kidnapped. He’d been gone for more than twelve hours, enough time for any number of horrific things to be done to him. Serizawa felt his aura suddenly pulse out from him, the power swelling out in a tumultuous wave. The concrete beneath his feet sprouted cracks in a perfect two-meter radius, with him at the epicenter. 

“Katsuya?” A hand was on his arm. 

Serizawa turned, slowly. Through the red haze he saw Minegishi peering up into his face, worry tracing his features. The other three had stepped back, a little nearer to each other than they’d been before, and were peering at him uneasily. They were all powerful espers, but Serizawa had been among the elite of Claw; they hadn’t seen the level of destruction Serizawa was capable of. He’d been making a conscious effort to downplay his powers in recent months, basking in the relief that came from having them so much more under control than ever before. 

But now, he reveled in the power that rippled around him like something alive. The power he would use to get Reigen back. 

“Hey,” Koyama finally said, nervously, “It’s okay, we’ll… we’re going to think of something. We’ll find him, and we’ll rescue him.” 

“Yes. We will.” Serizawa raised his head, looking at the other four. The anger had cleared some of the fuzziness from his head; he could think again.   

 “We are going to get him back. And we are going to make whoever took him regret it.”

[feedit]

The Things She Carries

How heavy is your diaper bag?

Just this summer I officially stopped carrying my Big Diaper Bag on most days. Both kids were out of diapers (!!!!) and accidents were rare (fingers crossed) and we could usually make it through most of a day out and about with water bottles, a few snacks, a lollypop or two, and some luck packed into my small mommy backpack with my keys, phone and wallet. And that FEELING of leaving the house so unencumbered (as much as one can be unencumbered with two children in tow) was incredible. 

My giant diaper bag, ready for an evening out. 

I calculated that my diaper bag, when fully loaded, weighed well over 25 lbs. Diapers (two sizes), wipes, butt cream, juice(s), travel milk cup, spare pants (and underpants), bibs, table covers, snacks, backup snacks, healthy treats, escalation treats, Lysol wipes, hand sanitizer, gigi (security blanket), spare gigi, sunscreen, water for Mom, toys for the train, book I will never read, and more were packed into my lovely diaper bag. 

I selected this bag very carefully before I was a Mom, and, with all the naiveté of someone not-yet-a-parent, I also bought a small matching handbag because, I imagined, I would simply bring *my* things for an evening out in my clutch and the baby’s things would be meticulously packed away in the diaper bag for relaxing evenings out on the town as a family. 

The reality was, is, of course, that I put that clutch away for nearly six years while I was hauling around that giant, overstuffed, diaper bag like the pack mule we all never intend to be. When we did go out, I carried that bag. Even though my husband offered, I felt lost without it. It was my self-imposed burden to bear. 

As my physical load has lightened, I noticed that my psychological load has not. I don't carry as much stuff around with me in my arms, but my brain and my time are as overstuffed with tasks as my old diaper bag configuration was. 

In her amazing article in Harper’s Bazaar, Gemma Hartley describes trying to explain the phenomenon of Emotional Labor as she urges her husband to take notice of the myriad of tasks it takes to run a household. The article is titled “Stop Calling Women Nags - How Emotional Labor is Dragging Down Gender Equality,” and it speaks to the frustration - often coming to a boiling point (and requiring, as Ms. Hartley gently describes, ‘damage control,’) once the beleaguered Mom has Simply. Had. Enough. 

Recently I vented about this with my Book Group friends and was not surprised to find myself in good company. That week, my husband asked me to find a sitter so we could go out with friends who were randomly in town. It was a short-turnaround request and a holiday, two strikes against me, but what made it more frustrating, I found myself saying, is that no matter what the outcome of my efforts, his life wouldn’t change. He could still go out - or not - because it’s assumed that I will simply stay home with the boys. Somehow that’s on me. 

Heads nodded and everyone had a story to tell about forgotten pacifiers and too much screen time. One friend sent me a message later detailing how her that very night, her husband hadn’t put their child to bed with his diaper on (as he’s supposed to) because “He didn’t want to wear one,” and so she was faced with the dilemma of either diapering him before she went to bed (as her husband assumed she would) or cleaning up a late-night mess. 

“Really?” she wrote, “Really? I have a title for your blog post... ‘Emotional Labor  vs. Dumbassery.’ “ 

It’s funny because it’s true, but it’s also a revealing element of the Parenting Culture. 

In Hillary Clinton’s raw and revealing new book, “What Happened,” she mentions how even as the first woman partner in a law firm in Arkansas, she was the one responsible for the Emotional Labor in their family. Remembering the birthdays and the spelling tests and getting the clean leotard out for ballet class, which is on for Tuesday but cancelled next week… It struck me that even as the First Lady of Arkansas, as First Lady of the Nation, she always had that role in addition to Everything Else.

Former First Lady Michelle Obama called herself the Mom-in-Chief, which polarized feminists and as mentioned in this piece from Salon, seems to degrade any experience of Motherhood that’s not 24-7. “These notions, sometimes referred to as “intensive motherhood,” leave little room for women to focus on careers, activities or commitments outside of caring for children.”

So Mrs. Obama’s attempts at so-called-balance were just as precarious and full of self-doubt as any of the rest of us.

I remember reading Arlie Hochschild’s The Second Shift in college, long before I ever considered having children and I wondered to myself how my mother did it all but also WHY did she do it all? I now know the answer: She did it all because she had to. I loved my father but he did not play a substantial role in my family’s Emotional Labor Force. 

So how did I end up here, with so many of my educated, independent, intelligent Mother friends and women of power alike? Did we create this by insisting on carrying the load ourselves? It’s hard to put it down, because, especially for SAHMs like myself, it’s what we do. It’s ‘all’ we do, when someone asks us what we do all day, and we struggle for an specific answer.  

Perhaps it’s that element of Dumbassery, as my eloquent friend put it. Or perhaps we just need to call out these inequities and ask for more with the understanding that it might get done differently than we would have done it, but that’s OK. Great, even. 

In our situation, I explained my frustration and my husband got it. He handled the arrangements and we found a way for us all to win. Another friend told her husband that she needed a break and he booked both a sitter and a restaurant. There’s hope for us all. Hopefully next time, neither one of us has to ask. 

When we decided that I would stay home with the kids, I realized that the majority of household tasks would fall to me. And I feel the need to add that my husband is a great Dad, a wonderful partner, and an active part of keeping our house running smoothly. But as lives, as marriages, evolve, we are entering into a new phase. Our family still needs me - and the things I do - more than ever, but they are different things now than when they were babies. I’ve been carrying this weight because I insisted on holding the bag, all of the time. That was on me. But it’s time for a change.

I’m happy we are finding ways to lighten the load, together.