#apparently my brother's FIRST GRADE TEACHER had a very long and intensive conversation about how many people are dying because she decided s

[ibijau]

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Nie Huaisang goes home, tries to deal with missing his friends, and gets a visitor

Nie Huaisang’s last month in the Cloud Recesses passes so fast that he hardly has time to register it. 

Much against his will, he gets roped into joining Jiang Cheng’s study sessions. Those turn out to be rather intense, and Jiang Cheng might be a more severe teacher than even old Lan Qiren. It pays off though, because everyone passes their exams with flying colours. Even Nie Huaisang ends up with a pretty decent grade, in spite of his refusal to put any effort into this. 

Lan Qiren congratulates him on actually putting some work into this at last, in answer to which Nie Huaisang just laughs to his face, too stunned to even get angry. He is still in a daze when he leaves the teacher’s office with his diploma in hand. He had honestly prepared himself to have failed again and he wouldn’t even have cared, but apparently he had underestimated Jiang Cheng’s determination to see everyone succeed.

“Come on, try to at least look a little happy!” Jiang Cheng scolds him later, when they all get to the Jiang cabin to celebrate. “What, did you want to stay here another year with Lan Xichen?”

Nie Huaisang scoffs and shoves him away before stuffing a handful of dried nuts in his mouth, pointedly refusing to answer such a stupid question.

He hasn’t seen a lot of Lan Xichen this last month. They’ve both been pretty busy, and Lan Qiren cancelled their last two compulsory meetings to give Nie Huaisang a better chance to study. But what little time they spent together has been… not so bad. They’ve managed to chat a little when they met in passing, and the meetings they did have were… fine. The first one was spent painting together, with Lan Xichen still exquisitely awful at Nie Huaisang’s style. The second they played Go and Nie Huaisang won, though it was a very close score. Both times, they actually ended up staying together after the incense stick had finished burning. It’s not even that Nie Huaisang hadn’t noticed. He was just having enough fun to allow it, just that time. And then again the time after.

It’s not that Nie Huaisang likes Lan Xichen any better than before. It’s not even that he’s stopped hating him. But what’s fun is fun, and to his surprise… Lan Xichen, on occasion, can be rather fun.

Nowhere near as fun as Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan, of course. The two of them make Nie Huaisang promise that he'll write to them and come visit. He extracts the same promise from them, and even gets them to grudgingly agree they might tolerate some overlap in their visits, if he so badly wants to have them around at the same time. 

More surprisingly, Lan Wangji also comes knocking on the last day Nie Huaisang spends in the Cloud Recesses. He too offers a correspondence, which Nie Huaisang readily accepts. He doesn't say, but he's already plotting to invite Lan Wangji to Qinghe, and perhaps by some planning on error on his part, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian will be there at the same time. 

More surprising, Lan Xichen also comes visiting a few hours after his brother. For a moment Nie Huaisang half wonders if he too will ask if they can write to each other. In the end he doesn't, choosing instead to say a few empty words about being proud of his fiancé's well deserved success. Nie Huaisang, who is not disappointed by this, ends up sending him away so he can finish packing. 

-

Being home again is the best.

Nie Huaisang's first week back in the Unclean Realm is, without a doubt, the happiest time of his life. He tells Nie Mingjue everything he's done while he was away (everything he can share, anyway). He visits all his favourite spots in the Unclean Realm, in Qinghe, and in the countryside around. He checks on his surviving birds and dotes on them. He sleeps in as late as he can, and refuses to do anything even slightly useful. It's paradise. 

By the second week, paradise loses some of its glow and boredom settles in. Doing nothing at all is only fun for a short while. More importantly, Nie Huaisang soon finds himself kind of lonely. Now that he's had friends, the company of his birds doesn't quite satisfy him the way it used to. His myna can speak a few sentences, but that's just not the same as chatting with Jiang Cheng or arguing with Jin Zixuan. Nie Mingue is there, but he's far too busy, as are most of the disciples. Nie Fangjie rose in rank after his time in Gusu and is rarely free, while He Zimu had to go home to meet the fiancée his parents picked for him. 

Nie Huaisang writes to all his friends, but it'll be a long while before he gets an answer, and that depresses him further. He doesn't quite fall back to the sort of moods he was in during his first year in the Cloud Recesses, but it's not so far off either. 

The difference is that this time, Nie Mingjue notices. 

It's a right pain in the ass at first, because Nie Huaisang wants to wallow in his misery while his brother is determined to drag him out of it, even kicking and screaming. It sparks quite a few arguments between them, which is rather new. Nie Huaisang never really had the guts to argue with his brother before. Nie Mingjue doesn't seem to mind, anyway. If anything, he seems pretty happy to find that his little brother won't let himself be pushed around so easily. 

By the end of Nie Huaisang's first month back at home, they've reached a balance of sorts. Nie Huaisang has to train daily, both with the sabre and in hand-to-hand combat since he definitely still enjoys that. He also has to learn how to help Nie Mingjue deal with sect business, which is even more boring than the lectures in the Cloud Recesses, but gives them a decent excuse to spend time together. Nie Mingjue doesn't say, but Nie Huaisang suspects it's also a way to prepare him for the role that will be his in the future. Qingheng-Jun is a healthy man with many years ahead of him, but someday Lan Xichen will have to succeed him and Nie Huaisang will have to step up and help him. 

With all this piling up, when Nie Huaisang does get a bit of freedom, he rarely mopes around. There are too many things to paint, too many fans to decorate, and his birds to train, and that shop in Qinghe he wants to visit, or that new book of poetry he found in the library. 

Which isn't to say there are no bad days anymore. Some mornings it's a struggle just to get out of bed. Nie Mingjue doesn't get it, even if he tries, and seems to think that on those days Nie Huaisang needs to be kept even busier than usual to push away any bad thoughts. After it happens once or twice, Nie Huaisang gives up on explaining why that doesn't work. Instead, when a bad mood strikes, he just hides. It's easy enough, in a place like the Unclean Realm. 

The best place to hang out undisturbed, Nie Huaisang figures out, is a little alcove hidden behind the throne room where his brother conducts his meetings. Nobody ever goes in there, and he's half sure nobody even remembers it exists. He's done some research, and it was built alongside the main room so the sect leader's wives could listen in on important business without being seen by guests. It's not very big, but it's comfortable enough that he can lounge around and paint, or read, or just listen to his brother's increasing frustration over not finding him. It also means that if something really does require his presence, he can know and appear quickly at his brother's side. 

It's Nie Huaisang’s second favourite place in the Unclean Realm, right after the place where he keeps his birds. 

It's a little under two months after returning home that Nie Huaisang, hiding in his alcove and slowly recovering from a bout of depression by snickering over some very bad poetry, is startled to hear a familiar voice conversing with his brother. 

"I'm really sorry for dropping by unannounced," Lan Xichen is saying. "I apologise for the inconvenience. But since I was in the area, I thought it'd be ridiculous not to say hi." 

Even perfectly hidden as he is, Nie Huaisang can't help but tense. This is the first time he's anywhere near Lan Xichen since graduating a few weeks ago. He's not nervous, of course he's not, but he's also. He's not quite comfortable. 

"Well, you know I'm always happy to see you," Nie Mingjue replies. "I'm a little busy right now, but if you don't mind waiting…" 

"Actually…" 

There is a moment of silence. Nie Huaisang is tempted to check what's happening through one of the small openings that exist for that exact purpose, but before he gets to that, Lan Xichen speaks again. 

"Actually, and I hope you won't mind," he says, sounding oddly uncertain, "but the person I was most hoping to see is your brother. I'll be happy to chat with you as well of course, but if he allows it I'd like to spend time with him first." 

Nie Huaisang feels punched, but in the main room, his brother just laughs. 

"What, you didn't get enough of that brat last year? After how much you complained that he doesn't like you, I'd have thought you'd be glad not to see him until the wedding." 

"Mingjue, don't tease me." 

"Why not? I don't get the chance often. Oh, fine, I won't. I will survive this betrayal of seeing my brother's company preferred over mine, so go chat with him if you like. You'll have to find him first, though. He's gotten a little too good at hiding." 

"Then with your permission, I'll look for him. I'm sure he'll let himself be found if he wishes to be, and otherwise… I'll just wait for you to be free." 

Lan Xichen sounds so resigned, as if he dares not hope for the first option but the second would make him sad. 

It's just so awkward to hear him be like this. Nie Huaisang almost miss the days when Lan Xichen was nothing but cold and insufferable. It made it easy to hate him, and at least Nie Huaisang knew where they stood. Now though… he just doesn't know what to make of his fiancé anymore. He's starting to wonder if maybe Lan Xichen wasn't sincere every time he's said that he wants them to get along, when he promised to improve and that's absolutely awful. It makes everything too complicated. 

So Nie Huaisang discreetly escapes, and takes hidden paths to go be with his birds. It's not as good of a hiding place, but their company always calms him down, which he badly needs. Luckily it's even cleaning day, so that's a good hour of hard, gruesome work to distract him from the perspective of maybe facing his fiancé later. 

There's only a few birds left, which still takes Nie Huaisang by surprise every time even though he should be used to it now. That incident really decimated them, and he can't even get new ones. In little more than a year, two at most, he'll have to leave them behind for good, so it'd be pointless. Usually it doesn’t bother him too much, but on a day where his mood is already so near to collapsing... As he cleans the cages and checks on food and water, Nie Huaisang finds himself focusing on that future loss. If he thinks of everything that he'll leave behind, he can make himself hate Lan Xichen again, almost, and he’s in a bad enough state that feeling hatred is better than not feeling anything at all.

"Good afternoon, Nie gongzi." 

Nie Huaisang startles at the sudden appearance of Lan Xichen in this private space, and nearly drops the seeds he was carrying for his pair of parakeets. He quickly recovers though, and bows to his visitor. 

"Lan gongzi, what a surprise! I had no idea you were coming to the Unclean Realm. If you're looking for my brother, you might want to try the training grounds."

"I've seen your brother already, and told him you were the one I was visiting this time," Lan Xichen explains. Even though Nie Huaisang already knew that, it sends his heart racing to hear it said so calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Mingjue was not sure where you might be," Lan Xichen continues, "so he allowed me to look for you while he handles other business. This seemed like a good place to start, and I was right." 

His heart still beating too hard in embarrassment, Nie Huaisang turns around, ostensibly so he can continue feeding his birds. 

"Lan gongzi must find me very childish, still so obsessed with my pets." 

Lan Xichen does not reply right away. Nie Huaisang hates how careful he has become, just as much as he is grateful for it. 

"If I have accused you of this, and for that reason, I'm sorry," he says at last, sounding painfully earnest. "It was wrong of me. From what your brother says, you are very diligent at caring for your birds and except when forced to go away, you always take full responsibility for them. There's nothing childish about that."

Nie Huaisang's heart squeezes at the words, so painfully he almost feels like he's dying. He hates this. He misses the days when he could just tell himself it was all fake, that Lan Xichen was either forcing himself or subtly insulting him.

"You're always trying so hard to say the right thing," Nie Huaisang accuses, with far less venom than he intended.

"I hope I can do the right thing as well. Just saying it doesn't do much good." 

Nie Huaisang sighs. This is annoying. He hates that his heart beats so fast, he hates that his cheeks feel warmer, he hates that he desperately wants Lan Xichen to be sincere. He hates that he's certain Lan Xichen is sincere.

"Listen, just… give me a moment to finish this," he mutters. "Then we can go back and have tea or something. We have actual, nice biscuits here. They even taste sweet, if you can believe that." 

Behind him, Lan Xichen chuckles lightly. It's not an unpleasant sound, as Nie Huaisang has discovered during his last few weeks in Gusu.

"If you tell me what to do, I can try to help you," Lan Xichen offers. "Though I'll understand if you'd rather I didn't." 

"You'll get messy." 

Another soft chuckle, making Nie Huaisang’s heart beat too hard. It's stupid, and he hates that like he hates all the rest, but he likes that Lan Xichen stopped trying to be controlled and perfect with him. He likes it too much. He hates it. 

"I can survive a little mess." 

"Then grab that bucket and bring it near that big cage." 

"The one with the myna?" 

"Hm." 

Nie Huaisang hates that Lan Xichen apparently knows a little about birds. He hates that Lan Xichen doesn't complain as he grabs that bucket filled with filth and carries it as if it weighs nothing. He hates that Lan Xichen smiles at the bird inside and comments how pretty it is. Nie Huaisang hates Lan Xichen because that's what he's done for so long now, and he's not ready yet to face the new warmth in his chest when he looks at the other boy. 

He hates everything today, and wishes Lan Xichen had chosen another day to visit, one where Nie Huaisang is capable of feeling emotions in a normal way so he could try to sort this out in a rational way.

When the birds’ cages are spotless and they all have clean water and fresh food, Nie Huaisang has no choice but to suggest it’s time to return toward the main buildings. Lan Xichen readily agrees and they start walking side by side. It doesn’t take long for something to bother Nie Huaisang, partly because it’s that sort of a day where everything is annoying, but also because a certain detail is becoming hard to ignore.

“How come your clothes are still spotless when mine are filthy?” he complains.

“I must have been more careful,” Lan Xichen replies with a small smile.

“You were not,” Nie Huaisang accuses. “I saw you step in several puddles of dirty water. Your robes have no right to still be this white!”

Lan Xichen chuckles, but says nothing.

“I’m going to have to get changed,” Nie Huaisang laments, annoyed that he is actually upset by that idea. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on having a guest today, so I wasn’t exactly well dressed to begin with. I just wanted something comfortable. But now seeing the two of us together, we look like a great lord and a peasant!”

“Nie gongzi is too handsome to be a peasant.”

Hearing this unexpected compliment, Nie Huaisang stumbles and almost falls face first on the ground, only for Lan Xichen to catch him just in time.

“This is… you’re just trying to distract me from your clean robes!” Nie Huaisang sputters, escaping his fiancé’s grasp so quickly that he almost falls again. “I demand to know how you did that!”

“It’s a Gusu Lan secret,” Lan Xichen retorts, smug enough that it almost feels like teasing. “In due time, I will share it with you, but at the moment, it’s impossible.”

“But there is a trick.”

“Obviously. Can you imagine how many servants we’d have to hire for laundry otherwise? We make children wear white, and people going on Night Hunts as well. Of course there’s a trick.”

It might be the way Lan Xichen says it, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, or the sheer ridicule of imagining Lan disciples in stained robes, but Nie Huaisang finds himself laughing. It's never easy to get that on days like this one, and he’s suddenly glad that Lan Xichen came. His fiancé is proving a more efficient distraction than what he’s tried so far.

When they reach the more frequented areas of the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang catches a servant and asks for tea to be served in his room. He then takes Lan Xichen there, inviting the older boy to find somewhere to sit. At first Lan Xichen appears torn between amused and mildly horrified by the mess (Nie Huaisang wasn’t expecting guests, and Nie Mingjue gave up on that particular fight years ago) before gaping in shock when Nie Huaisang removes his outer robe in the middle of the room and throws it in a corner for the servant to pick up later.

“Nie gongzi, are you really getting changed?” he asks, sounding so worried that Nie Huaisang can’t help laughing again.

“Lan gongzi, I’m covered in bird poop and mud, of course I’m getting changed. Ah! Don’t worry, I won’t remove the rest in front of you,” Nie Huaisang adds when Lan Xichen looks like he’s about to have an attack. He motions at a modesty screen. “I’m just removing my shoes and grabbing something clean to put on and then… I’ll try to be quick.”

“Wouldn’t you rather I leave the room?” Lan Xichen protests in a strangled voice, his face completely red.

“No need, that’s what the screen is for, and I’m not bothered. Just sit down, grab a book, and wait for me.”

Without paying his fiancé any more attention, Nie Huaisang selects some nicer robes and clean under layers. Once he starts undressing, he realises that he is dirtier than he initially thought, and is forced to give a quick wash with some water and a towel so he doesn’t ruin his clean clothes.

“I thought you were just getting changed?” Lan Xichen notes when he hears water being poured from its jug into a basin.

“The situation is worse than I thought. Cleaning is dirty business.”

Lan Xichen chuckles at that. “I’ll need to wash my hands as well, come to think of it.”

“Well, you can join me if you’d like. I’m mostly decent, if you’re loose enough on your definition of the word.”

“And what’s your definition?” Lan Xichen asks in a voice dripping with suspicion.

“I’ve got trousers on.”

A moment of silence follows this.

“I think I’ll wait until you’re done,” Lan Xichen says after a moment, and Nie Huaisang grins to himself imagining how uncomfortable his ever proper fiancé must look.

Still, it’d be rude to keep Lan Xichen waiting, and Nie Huaisang’s mood has improved enough that he doesn’t want that. He washes quickly, and gets dressed as fast as he can. His hair, as messy as the rest, is dealt with by tying it into a quick braid. It’s not the most refined he’s ever looked, but it’s not the worst either. When he emerges from behind the modesty screen, Lan Xichen stares at him with an odd expression, his cheeks dusted with red and his lips slightly open.

“Nie gongzi… this suits you well,” he mumbles, averting his gaze.

“Trying too hard again,” Nie Huaisang teases. “Go wash your hands, the tea should be here soon.”

Lan Xichen nods and gets up from the table. He takes a few steps toward the screen, then stops himself and looks for something inside his sleeve before handing it to Nie Huaisang.

“A letter?”

“Since Wangji knew I would be in the area, he asked me to give you this.”

Fidgeting with the piece of paper, Nie Huaisang feels something shifting inside him, as if the good humour he only just got back were already melting away.

“Well, that’s nice,” he stills says. “Do you mind if I start reading it?”

“Not at all.”

And so while Lan Xichen washes his hands, Nie Huaisang gets reading. It’s a short letter, clearly just written because the occasion was there (Nie Huaisang only answered Lan Wangji’s latest missive a few days ago, it wouldn’t have reached Gusu yet). Most of it is about the rabbits, though Lan Wangji notes that they are preparing for the next batch of guest disciples to arrive and he’s hoping they’ll be a quieter bunch this year. It’s only an innocent comment, but reading it makes Nie Huaisang ache for the company of his friends in a way he thought he’d learned to manage. It was so much fun to be all together in the Cloud Recesses, completely carefree. If he had known that he’d have to start behaving more grown-up upon getting home, Nie Huaisang would have gotten up to far more mischief, and he would have tried to enjoy his fun even more.

Just as Lan Xichen is done tidying himself, servants come in with the tea and some very fancy biscuits. Nie Huaisang gave specific orders regarding what’s to be served, amused at that moment by the idea of forcing his fiancé to enjoy something once in a while. It doesn’t seem so funny anymore, not even when Lan Xichen is looking at the biscuits with a mix of gluttony and worry.

It must show that Nie Huaisang’s mood is vacillating. When he’s done pouring tea for both of them, Lan Xichen has stopped staring at the treats and shoots him a concerned look instead.

"I hope the letter did not contain bad news?" 

"No, it did not. I'm just distracted." 

Lan Xichen sips on his tea and hesitantly picks up a biscuit, but does not eat it. 

"Speaking of letters… I have to admit I envy my brother," he says in that cold, careful voice that still annoys Nie Huaisang with how controlled it sounds. 

"How so?" 

"When Wangji told me you agreed to a correspondence with him, I wanted to obtain the same from you," Lan Xichen admits, distractedly playing with his biscuit. "I even went to see you to ask for it, but in the end I wasn't sure if I should, so I said nothing. I didn't want to overstep some boundary." 

Nie Huaisang thinks back on Lan Xichen's brief visit on the last day. He'd been disappointed when his fiancé didn't have anything to say to him that time. He doesn't exactly miss their excruciating weekly meetings but they were still part of what was clearly the best year of his life, and maybe he wouldn't have hated keeping in touch. 

"You can always ask me now," Nie Huaisang offers. "We'll see what I answer." 

"Very well. Nie gongzi, would you be willing to exchange letters with me?" 

Nie Huaisang, to his own surprise, doesn't even hesitate. 

"I'd like that, yes." 

The smile that breaks onto Lan Xichen's face is nothing short of radiant. It's unfair, really, how gorgeous he gets when he's genuinely happy, and Nie Huaisang doesn't know how he feels about being the reason for that happiness. He doesn’t hate it, he supposes. He doesn’t hate Lan Xichen in general, in fact. It’s an odd thing to realise.

Nie Huaisang picks up a biscuit and bites into it, hoping to encourage his fiancé to stop being stupid and have a little fun. It works. Lan Xichen gives in and nibbles at his own biscuit. His eyes widen slightly as the flavour hits his tongue, and in a moment he devours the rest of it. Nie Huaisang snorts, more endeared than he’d prefer.

“So, do you want to talk about something?” Nie Huaisang asks, refusing to linger on the thought that his fiancé can be a little cute at times.

“Yes, actually. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, but never found the right occasion yet,” Lan Xichen announces. “I would like to suggest some arrangements for when we are married.”

Nie Huaisang freezes and stares at him. As a rule, they don’t talk about their future marriage. They never have, except sometimes when arguing. Even in a good mood, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t want to breach that subject, so today, when he’s fighting the need to go hide until everything stop being so much…

“I don’t think I want to talk about that,” he replies, toying with his half eaten biscuit. “Lan gongzi, I don’t believe there’s much to be said on that topic.”

“On the contrary, I have plenty to tell you,” Lan Xichen insists. “I think it would please you to…”

“Not today,” Nie Huaisang cuts him. “I’m having the sort of day where nothing could please me, and quite frankly, that topic… it’s not something I want to think about at all. Can’t we chat about something less distressing?”

Lan Xichen frowns at that reaction. Nie Huaisang braces himself for his fiancé to insist, perhaps even for an argument to happen if Lan Xichen decides he’s tired of being nice without getting anything in return. Neither things happen.

“Of course I won’t force you to speak of this if you don’t want to,” Lan Xichen says with surprising gentleness. “I do believe we should discuss it while we have time, but if you’re unwell today, then the time isn’t right for it. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Not unless you can magically change my mood,” Nie Huaisang scoffs, uncertain how to react to kindness when he hasn’t prepared for it.

“I could try to do that,” Lan Xichen offers, startling him. “Or something to that effect. There are a few Lan songs that can calm an unquiet mind. I could play one for you, if you’d like.”

Nie Huaisang drops his biscuit on the table.

“I thought the Lan songs were just used for battle?”

Laughing softly, Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Those would be the one most people know about, but we have many other sorts. To calm the mind, to help the body heal, to improve the quality of meditation… we’re a musical sect, and we take that very seriously. Even now, some members of the sect still try to come up with new techniques.”

“I had no idea,” Nie Huaisang admits. “I didn’t really try to learn about Gusu Lan, aside from all your stupid rules.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not alone in that. Ask any cultivator what Gusu Lan does, they will tell you that we invent rules faster than the flowers bloom in spring, and that we’re deadly with a guqin. We’re more than that, though, just as Qinghe Nie is more than brute force and sabres.”

“Uh. Guess I’m learning a lot about your sect today,” Nie Huaisang muses. “Secrets to keep your robes clean, and healing songs… Lan gongzi, your people are more surprising than I’d have thought.”

"I'm glad if you feel that way," Lan Xichen replies, his smile warm and soft. "I hope you'll want to continue learning more about us. For now though, would you let me play for you?" 

Nie Huaisang shrugs, and nods. If this works, his mood will be improved. If it doesn't… Lan Xichen is a skilled musician, so he'll have that pleasure if nothing else. 

It takes a little more preparation than Nie Huaisang would have expected to hear a Lan healing song. He can’t help a slight grimace when Lan Xichen explains he’ll have to get into a meditative state, never an easy feat for him, but apparently the melody itself is meant to help with that. Nie Huaisang grumbles and mutters and struggles to find a comfortable position on his sitting mat, but once he’s somewhat settled, Lan Xichen starts playing on his xiao.

At first, Nie Huaisang is certain this won’t work. His brain is still jumping from one thought to the other, aching with the way he misses his friends, and how he can’t seem to enjoy being home even when he should enjoy it while it lasts because soon, in some months now, even if there’s no clear date yet…

But as the melody goes on, Nie Huaisang finds that it envelopes his thoughts and pacifies them. The fears and worries are still there, but their sharp edges which were hurting him are rounded off by the music, making them less distressing.

When the last note drops, Nie Huaisang takes a moment before opening his eyes, enjoying the peaceful feeling inside his heart. It had been a while since he felt this calm. In fact, he’s not sure he’s felt like that before, not since his mother's death.

“That’s a very efficient song,” he sighs when he finally opens his eyes, slow and deliberate. “Thank you, Lan gongzi.”

“It’s my pleasure. Did it help?”

Nie Huaisang nods. He feels oddly light, in a very pleasant way. “Lan gongzi, you’ll have to play it again for me next time we meet.”

Lan Xichen laughs softly, his eyes crinkling with joy. He really is handsome like this, and Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling at his fiancé. If Lan Xichen asked again to talk about their future marriage, Nie Huaisang would agree because for the very first time, the idea doesn’t fill him with dread. There are worse people to marry out there, and Nie Huaisang is starting to feel he might be as lucky as people have told him he was, all those years.

But Lan Xichen doesn’t bring up that subject again. Instead they end up chatting about Lan Wangji’s bunnies, and how much he dotes on them, which in turns makes them talk about the younger boy’s crush on Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang is just starting to share his cunning plan to bring both of them to Qinghe when there’s a knock on the door. Before Nie Huaisang can invite the person in, Nie Mingjue barges inside the room and unceremoniously comes to sit next to his brother.

“Very rude of you both to have tea and not invite me,” he comments, snatching a handful of biscuits and shoving them in his mouth.

“Gross!” Nie Huaisang gasps, wishing he had a fan to hit his brother with. He has to slap him with his hand instead, which is a lot less refined. “If you’re not invited, then why are you still here?”

“I can’t let my brat of a brother try to steal my friend,” Nie Mingjue retorts. “Besides, you always have the best biscuits when you’re having tea. How come I can never get them when I ask for them?”

“Because I hide them from you, having paid for them with my own money,” Nie Huaisang retorts, grabbing the plate and holding it out of reach when his brother tries to grab a few more. “Don’t! They’re not for you! Lan gongzi, help!”

Of course Nie Mingjue, being the tall, long limbed monster that he is, can almost grasp the plate even when his brother is trying his hardest to keep his precious biscuits out of reach. They are both stunned and nearly lose their balance when Lan Xichen snatches the plate away from Nie Huaisang’s hands, looking a little lost about what his next move should be.

“Run with them!” Nie Mingjue enthusiastically orders. “We can share them!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes jump between the two brothers a few times before he shakes his head.

“He said he paid for them,” he softly protests. “If you want some, ask him nicely.”

Nie Mingjue gasps at that betrayal while Nie Huaisang, after the first moment of shock, starts laughing so hard he can hardly breathe.

“Xichen, you turn against me like this?” Nie Mingjue complains. “Aren’t we friends?”

His tone is so falsely pathetic that Lan Xichen chuckles and grins.

“We’re friends, but he’s my fiancé. I’ve got to take his side when it's needed, don’t I?”

Nie Huaisang’s laughter dies in his throat, stunned for a moment by that simple declaration, the way Lan Xichen says it as if it’s the most evident thing ever. Something shifts inside his chest, something big, something so soft it is nearly agonising.

The moment passes quickly because Nie Mingjue, not one to accept betrayal so easily, turns against Lan Xichen and tries to steal the biscuits from him instead. This in turn forces Nie Huaisang to team up with his fiancé so they can protect the precious sweets from being eaten in an uncouth manner. All three of them laugh when, after some struggling and a movement too quick, the biscuits end up falling on the floor. Nie Huaisang pretends to be heartbroken until the other two both promise they’ll buy him new ones, at which point he just joins them again in laughing.

He’d never thought the three of them would ever have fun like this someday, but he’s glad to have been proven wrong.

#xisang #worst engagement au #jau writes #this one got a little long oops #but it's soft? I think? There's softness and there's progress and those dumb boys are going to get somewhere someday?? #mdzs

[ohmytheon]

Karma in Retrograde (19)

title: Karma in Retrograde

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

– Chapter 19: Dealing with the aftermath of his conversation with Natsuo and Shouto, Ryouta tries to move on with the rest of his day with varying successes.

Lanni notes: And I'm back! It was so weird not to write for this fic. It's been like a month! I was worried that I'd struggle to get back in the mindset of writing for this fic, but the moment I started, it was like I never stopped. Ryouta is just such an easy character to slip into for me and I'm ecstatic people are enjoying him. Another round of applause for Misty taking the reins! After some discussion, we decided to postpone the "Embers to Ashes" prequel one-shot in order to post this chapter because sometimes we like to be nice. The last chapter was heavy and an emotional rollercoaster. While I'm a glutton for angst, we both thought it was a good idea to lighten up in the next two chapters. The idea is that while Ryouta is experiencing one hell of a shock with his family, he's also experiencing a different kind at UA. Honestly, some of my favorite parts to write in this fic aren't the big emotional scenes (although I do love them), but the little moments where Ryouta shows growth and improvement despite his various struggles. It's important to me. My baby's growing up and off, well, doing hero school shit. The song for this chapter is "Shake It Out" by Florence + the Machine.

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat

When Ryouta and Shouto reached the common area to wait for Natsuo, they found it empty, much to his relief. Aizawa must have corralled the other students into returning to class. While Natsuo wasn’t embarrassing or anything, he wanted to keep things separate for now. Family issues packed away in one corner and school stuff shoved in the other. He didn’t have it in him to combine them yet.

Saying goodbye was an awkward affair, but it didn’t feel final.

“I’ve got a boatload of work with exams around the corner, but don’t think school is gonna distract me.” Natsuo wasn’t a nervous mess like Fuyumi, who had acted like, the second she walked out of the room, he would disappear on her again . No, he was much more confident that the U.A. staff would keep him in line. “When the year ends, we’re gonna do this again - but we’re gonna do it right. We’ll make up for lost time. And you” - he pointed a finger at Ryouta that, while not exactly accusing, wasn’t forgiving either - “are gonna be honest this time around.”

“I didn’t lie completely before,” Ryouta pointed out, rolling his eyes.

Natsuo harrumphed. “I remember your half-truths very well, so don’t even start.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Ryouta had survived off of half-truths and lies. Dabi probably had as well. All he could do in response was hold his hands up in surrender and mumble, “Okay, okay, you got me.”

Honest. He could do that. He was trying to do that. It shouldn’t have been a big deal - it shouldn’t have been too much to expect of him - and yet it was. That was the frustrating part. Why couldn’t he just be open and honest with his family? The Class 1-A kids and U.A. teachers were one thing, but his own siblings? Was he that much of an emotionally constipated ass?

It was probably better not to ask that question.

At first, Ryouta thought that Natsuo was going to go for another hug, but he seemed to realize he had reached his limit. It was both a relief and annoyance when he got a pat on the shoulder, the latter because the action screamed “big brother” so much that he thought Natsuo might’ve done it on purpose. He did hug Shouto, who took it with much more grace than he ever could have, but was still somewhat stiff.

Physical affection and comfort was a language that took time to learn. They couldn’t expect him to learn it right away. It had been easier to figure out with Fuyumi back when they had both been younger, but now he had to do it for the third time. It was tiresome. He’d never been like that with Natsuo, although he had sometimes forced himself with Shouto to comfort him when training got too intense. It appeared as if Shouto was doing the same thing he had, but with more practice. Ryouta had a feeling his classmates had a hand in it. They were so damn friendly.

After making the promise to call soon to set up another time to hang out (one that wouldn’t involve attempts to run away or sneak attacks through the window), Natsuo left, more self-assured than Ryouta would’ve expected of him. Then again, Natsuo had always been the most boisterous and confident of the bunch, the quickest of them to bounce back whenever something happened. Likely, as hurt as he was over this whole situation, the fact that his brother was alive was enough to allow him to maintain an upbeat mood. It was an overwhelming relief, a weight off their shoulders that he hadn’t even known they’d been carrying.

Shouto glanced at the clock. “We’re late for Present Mic’s class.”

Having to go back to class after that emotional downpour was one of the last things Ryouta wanted to do, but there was still lunch and then the hero course in the afternoon. He couldn’t slack off simply because he’d had an emotionally exhausting reunion where he found out that his family had thought he’d killed himself. Well, he probably could if he asked, but there was that old need to prove that he could take it creeping up on him. Even though he knew that Shouto and the others wouldn’t think any less of him for needing some time to process, he didn’t want that time. If he thought about it too hard, he would think about other things as well.

How bad had things gotten between the time he remembered and when he’d dropped out of school? How far had he fallen before he finally disappeared from their lives? He supposed, if he followed the progression of what he’d been doing, he would’ve continued to injure himself at more frequent and dangerous rates. He’d never moved to the hero course, so he must have been very frustrated and angry, which would have only made things worse. He knew how he was when he got like that: he was a volatile mess.

If he hadn’t dropped out, there was a chance that he would’ve been kicked out.

Ryouta didn’t want to think about that though, so going to class was a welcome distraction. “Let’s get to it then.”

“Are you sure?” Shouto asked warily.

“Iida is making me re-do some of my English homework,” Ryouta grumbled. “Apparently my grades in his class could’ve been better.”

Shouto tilted his head as they both started for the door. “I thought you liked reading.”

“I like reading fine,” Ryouta corrected. He must have remembered him and Fuyumi reading him bedtime stories. In his childhood, it was one of the few ways he could escape his home life. He could be somewhere else - someone else - and all would be well for an hour or two. “I don’t like English that much. It’s more of a mess than I am.”

“Admitting your shortcomings?” Shouto’s lips almost twitched into a smile, but not quite. It was like the ghost of one was on his face, the confrontation with Natsuo having sucked the energy to create a living one out of him out of him.

It was enough to make Ryouta narrow his eyes, jumping to meet Shouto halfway to a lighter mood. “I never acted like I was the perfect student. That was Fuyumi. She used to write lesson plans for fun and make Natsuo and I sit down while she played teacher.”

“It’s nice that she was able to follow her dream,” Shouto said thoughtfully.

Ryouta thought back to his twin. She’d wanted to be a teacher for as long as he could remember. It had irritated him sometimes, if only because he didn’t want to sit down and do additional homework, but he always went along with it in the end. It made her happy. She got really into it, trying to emulate their mother, who had taught them all how to read, write, and do math. It was thanks to her that he enjoyed reading so much. In the beginning, after a particularly rough training session, she’d let them crawl into bed with her and read them stories until they fell asleep.

That felt like a dream to him now.

Present Mic’s English class turned out to be an excellent distraction as he was forced to pay attention. Iida wasn’t about to let him drift off in there, even if he did look concerned upon Ryouta and Shouto’s arrival. After a brief silent exchange in which he assumed Iida was asking him if he was alright to continue for the day and he nodded in return, class resumed as if nothing peculiar had happened. He had no doubts that the few classmates who had witnessed a civilian climbing through one of their dorm windows had a lot of questions, but hopefully, they would either keep them to themselves or direct them at Shouto. Honestly, he didn’t know if he had the energy to be polite right now.

Once that was over, the class shuffled off to the Grand Mess Hall as a group. Ryouta let himself get herded along with Shouto’s friends, although he caught pointed looks from both Mina and Kaminari. They’d both seen Natsuo, after all, and he had even introduced himself to Mina. He tried to ignore it and avoided them in the process. They’d either understand or they wouldn’t. As callous as it sounded, he didn’t feel like considering their feelings at the moment.

While waiting in line to grab something to eat, someone bumped into him. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the Mess Hall since it was so packed, but it still jerked Ryouta out of his ponderings over how much money was left in his school account. When he turned around, instead of the other student apologizing for bumping into him or outright ignoring that they had, he found a blonde-haired boy looking directly at him with intelligent, light blue eyes, catching him off guard.

At first, he didn’t recognize him, but it clicked when the boy smiled. It was the kid who had bumped into him in the hallway on the first day. What had Uraraka said his name was? Mono? Momo? No, that was Yaoyorozu’s given name. Now was not the time for him to be bad with names. He’d never cared enough to remember people’s names before. He hadn’t even bothered to remember more than the quirks of his own classmates. The boy was from Class 1-B. He knew that much.

“You’re new,” the boy said. “Are you an exchange student too?”

Ryouta wasn’t sure what the protocol for a conversation like this was. The principal had gone over a few things with him in case people outside of the hero course or UA questioned him, but it hadn’t been a much. Did Class B not know the truth about him? Hadn’t he heard that they had been on the same Camping Trip that Dabi had attacked with the League? Was Class A really the only ones in on UA’s little experiment with a de-aged villain?

“I’m a transfer student,” Ryouta found himself saying. It was a decent cover and one that could explain why he had suddenly appeared. An exchange would imply that he’d replaced someone in Class 1-A, but that clearly wasn’t the case. A few happened here and there, mostly from foreign countries in order to build relations and ties, but he was at something of a loss on what school he would say if pressed for more details. Besides maybe Shiketsu, UA had been the only high school he’d concerned himself with.

“Well that’s interesting,” the boy replied. He didn’t sound like he believed it.

A frown made its way onto Ryouta’s face. C’mon, you’re a better liar than that.

“I couldn’t help but notice how much you favor Todoroki,” the boy continued, his tone casual but his eyes sharp despite his heavy-lidded gaze. “Are you two related?”

Ryouta turned his head and caught eyes with Shouto, who seemed like he had only just realized what was going on. He could say that he was Shouto’s brother and it wouldn’t be a lie, but it would beg the question of why he had transferred to U.A. instead of going there in the first place. No one had told him what to do if someone pieced together the fact that he and Shouto were related even though the risk should’ve been obvious. They looked too much alike even before Ryouta showed off his fire quirk. Sure, fire quirks appeared fairly frequently, but the coincidences were too much. What would sound plausible?

At the last second, Ryouta decisively settled on, “I’m his cousin on his dad’s side.” Shouto gave him a weird look, but there wasn’t any room for him to shrug when they were currently being stared at. It was the only explanation he could think of. He could deny being related to Shouto, but in all honesty, it would probably just make people more suspicious. “My parents moved back to Japan. I took a test and was accepted into U.A. as a transfer.”

The boy’s lips twitched into what looked like a half grin/half grimace. “Another Todoroki then. Sure you didn’t just get in because of your name?”

Ryouta stiffened at the implication. The idea that he would use the Todoroki name to do anything or get ahead anywhere… It was more insulting than he realized. He had originally applied to U.A. under his mother’s maiden name not only because it had been one of his father’s requirements, but also because it had been his way of getting out from under his old man’s thumb. Ryouta didn’t want to be shackled by the Todoroki name, as Shouto surely didn’t, although he went by it at school. Or maybe it was the idea of being tied to Endeavor. Shouto wanted to be his own hero and Ryouta had…

Well, he’d wanted to be something once upon a time, hadn’t he? That dream had died, but here he was, trying it all over again. He wouldn’t use his father’s name. He didn’t then and he wouldn’t now.

Under any other circumstance, Ryouta would’ve let the conversation die, but the wrong buttons had been pushed and he felt himself stepping forward. Although spotted the realization on Shouto’s face and concern on Midoriya’s, both were ignored. Pranking Bakugou had taught him something: he couldn’t always let other people defend him. He hadn’t always in the past, but had taken a backseat throughout this whole mess. He had thought being passive was the safest route. He’d chosen something similar the first time around when he was in GE. Maybe it wasn’t though. None of the kids in the hero course were passive. They couldn’t be if they were going to be heroes.

If he was going to start changing for the better, then he had to switch tactics. Clearly being passive wasn’t working out for him. Time to try a different approach.

Also, this kid had a face that screamed for him to punch it and although Ryouta couldn’t do that, he couldn’t ignore it completely. He had picked the wrong time to mess with him. Having been through an emotional ringer, he was tired and grouchy and ready to take it out on someone.

“You’re in Class 1-B, aren’t you?” Ryouta asked in an equally casual tone.

The boy narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

“What’s your name again? Uraraka told me.” Ryouta tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I can’t remember.”

He gave a smile that would’ve been considered polite if not for how tense it was. “Monoma Neito.”

“Oh, yeah, that was it.” Ryouta returned his smile, pleasant if not a bit vague, which only made Monoma simmer even more. Beside him, Shouto sighed in defeat while Midoriya cringed awkwardly. In his defense, making friends with Class A was about as much as he could take. He wasn’t the super friendly type like Mina or Uraraka or the kind of person that people gravitated toward like Midoriya or even an inspiring person like Shouto or, hell, Bakugou. No, he was too prickly for that.

If there was one thing that he excelled at, it was annoying people. No, it was more than that. He could find a person’s weakest point and would pick at it until they were pissed off. It was probably why he and Bakugou kept butting heads. It was why he kept looking at everyone in Class A like they might turn into a threat. He knew how to pick until a person exploded. No wonder his father had hated him. There was very little worse than having a bratty teenager point out all your flaws.

“Well, the hero courses pair up every once in a while for lessons here, don’t they?” Ryouta continued. He knew that they did. His father had talked about it and he had overheard hero course students talking about it. Teachers didn’t want students to get used to fighting against their classmates or they wouldn’t be able to improve. “You can find out then if I got in on my name or not. It’ll be fun.”

Ryouta could practically hear Shouto groaning internally, but both of them kept straight faces. Monoma didn’t look nearly as entertained, eyeing him with a shrewd expression. In the past, he might’ve faltered under that, but he’d learned his lesson well: he couldn’t back down. He didn’t know who this kid was or his history with Class 1-A, but it didn’t matter. He had his own life to live, didn’t he?

“Fun, right,” Monoma replied carefully. “We take things seriously at U.A., of course.” At his left, Midoriya coughed into his hand as if to contradict him. He got a disgruntled look from Monoma, but no fighting words. “So what do you go by then? Should I call you Todoroki? Maybe Todoroki Two?” He waved a hand in Shouto’s direction. “There’s one of you already.”

It was a shit move, but Ryouta was in a shit mood, so he held out his hand and said, “Ryouta will work just fine. Using given names isn’t that big of a deal where I grew up.”

Monoma glanced down at his hand before taking and shaking it as he said, “That’s odd, considering your accent.”

Ryouta’s grip tightened just a fraction before he let go and pocketed his hands. “I moved around a lot when I was younger. You learn to adapt pretty quickly so you don’t stand out.”

“I’d change that,” Monoma quipped. “You don’t make it big here unless you do stand out. Isn’t that right, Midoriya? Still stuck in Todoroki’s and Bakugou’s shadows with that faulty quirk of yours?”

Despite being called out, Midoriya didn’t seem any less pleasant. “We’re all working toward the same goals. Things will be different later on when we’re pros.” Honestly, Ryouta didn’t know how he could manage to be friendly and not sound fake. Maybe he’d get some of the tension he must be feeling out when the classes fought each other. “Besides, you won’t be saying that the next time our classes square up.”

Monoma considered Midoriya for a moment before turning back to Ryouta, who could only add a smirk to Midoriya’s comment. “I can tell you’ll fit in with Class A nicely. All they have going for them are their egos and some bad luck.” Monoma stopped when someone calling his name made him look back. A girl with a red-haired ponytail was heading their way, a disapproving frown on her face. He turned back around to give them a mocking salute goodbye and a huge grin. “See you around, Todoroki!”

Ryouta was well-practiced in not exploding on the spot, but it had been a while since someone had called him that. Mina had asked beforehand and everyone else had called him by his given name like Aizawa had told them to when he had first stepped into Class 1-A. Even when he’d been in GE, his classmates and teachers had referred to him by his given name. His mom’s surname wasn’t really his. He hadn’t felt attached to it enough to go by it and didn’t have any strong feelings about his given name either.

Being called Todoroki though… That stung bitterly. He clenched his hands into fists at his side, willing his quirk to die down. A hint of smoke trickled out from between his fingers as his palms heated up, but then he let out a sigh and relaxed. His quirk went dormant. Crisis averted.

“He’s kind of an ass, isn’t he?” Ryouta prompted, turning to face his brother and Midoriya.

“A fairly harmless one,” Shouto replied, although his eyes followed Monoma as he greeted the red-haired girl with a loud laugh. She looked one second away from smacking him upside the head, but instead glanced at them curiously and caught eyes with Ryouta. A moment later, they were both walking away.

“You handled him well though,” Midoriya offered as they got back in line. “You were more confident.”

Ryouta snorted. He didn’t feel like it. His whole body and mind were still exhausted from having such an honest conversation with Natsuo. If the lesson for the hero class today was a practical one, he was going to get his ass handed to him. He knew that whoever was teaching it would let him sit out if he asked, but he couldn’t afford to fall any further behind than he already was. These kids had nearly a full year of experience over him. His father’s harsh training was the only reason he was capable of competing.

Oh, look, it finally came in handy. His dad would be so pleased.

It made Ryouta feel sour. This was just one more thing Endeavor was right about. Still, circumstances aside, he was in the class now. That meant he also had the chance to prove him wrong about something. He would be good. He could do great things. He’d prove everyone wrong, including himself.

After lunch, the rest of the day went surprisingly well. Maybe the universe had finally decided that he’d had enough. Despite the rocky start, the remainder of the lunch period itself was uneventful. The others were content to let him sit quietly and drift off. The group chatted excitedly about exams and how they planned to spend their break in between school years, two topics that he could gracefully bow out of without losing face.

He was anxious about the hero class, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Instead of a harsh lesson in heroics, they focused on quirkless hand-to-hand combat again. With two extra lessons from Uraraka (the first one with Mina and the second with Midoriya) under his belt, Ryouta could honestly say that he’d improved. It probably also didn’t hurt that he was paired up with Kaminari, who clearly had not taken the time to work on his combat skills outside of school.

“Jeez, Ryouta,” Kaminari whined while he rubbed his nose. “Where did you learn that move from? I thought you said you couldn’t fight.”

“You can thank Uraraka,” Ryouta replied with a laugh. He was still tired and distracted, which was how Kaminari had actually landed a punch to his gut, but it felt good to one-up someone. Even if Kaminari wasn’t much of a fighter, he had still been in the hero course for a full year. He hadn’t learned to take as many punches to the gut and face as Ryouta though, which meant that he couldn’t bounce back as quickly.

Kaminari pointed at Uraraka. “Traitor!”

“You could’ve come to the lessons too,” Uraraka sweetly shot back as she wiped the sweat off her brow.

“I did invite you,” Mina added a second before she snatched Sero by the arm and threw him over her shoulder. The poor boy yelped in surprise right before the wind was knocked out of him when he hit the ground. Ryouta hadn’t realized how much everyone relied on their quirks in the hero course until they couldn’t use them. He’d struggled with fighting, but he knew how to evade and get out of grips without using his quirk better than half the class.

Judging by the way he was able to hold his own against Shoji, Bakugou certainly didn’t have a problem fighting without his quirk, but Ryouta thought it was obvious that he would’ve preferred to use it. He knew the signs of someone struggling to hold back a quirk when he saw them. The frustration was evident in the way Bakugou grit his teeth and repeatedly flexed his fingers. It was difficult not to explode when that was all you did.

Ryouta wasn’t sure how much gas he had left in the tank, but being a hero meant pushing yourself past that limit. It meant going beyond. If he used this class as a distraction, he could keep going. He had to focus on what he was doing, focus on the techniques that he’d practiced repeatedly, which meant that he couldn’t think about what had happened. He didn’t have time to think about the fact that his family had thought he’d killed himself or his father had tried to erase him from their lives afterward. He hadn’t even let them mourn him for long.

Had he even been bothered? Had it upset him in the slightest? Had he felt any shame or guilt over what he’d done, or had he just written it off as a sign of Ryouta’s weakness?

His distraction earned him another blow to the side, which made him grunt and grit his teeth. Kaminari cheered at getting another hit in, only to yelp when Ryouta lunged to make a counterattack. It was a sloppy move, one that Uraraka would’ve been able to turn against him easily, but Kaminari was caught off guard and ended up tripping over his own foot and falling on his ass.

Kirishima paused in his fight with Deku to put his hands on his hips and shake his head. “Dude, you’ve seriously got to get better at fighting if you’re gonna be a hero.”

“Not everyone is like you or Bakugou!” Kaminari exclaimed. “Just look at me: I’m not a fighter. I wasn’t built for a back alley brawl.”

Ryouta snorted and waved a hand at himself. “And you think I am?”

Deku shook his head. “I wasn’t a fighter either for the longest time, but I had to learn.”

It was true that, at a glance, Midoriya didn’t look like he was into hand-to-hand combat, but Ryouta had learned the hard way that that wasn’t the case. Under his school uniform and short ass tie, Deku might not have been as defined as Bakugou, but he packed a powerful punch and even stronger kick. Being on the receiving end of that had not been fun. He’d thought he might have to go see Recovery Girl, but the idea of facing her wrath again was too much of a deterrent. He was fine.

Holding out his hand, Ryouta added, “If you can’t fight, you should at least learn to dodge better.” When Kaminari accepted his hand, he pulled him back up to his feet. “Trust me. You get your ass kicked enough, you figure out how to dodge, duck, and roll.”

While Kaminari eyed him oddly, Bakugou snorted and called out, “Sounds like running away to me.”

Ryouta shot him an unimpressed look. “You can’t expect to win every fight. Sometimes not fighting is the best option out of a bunch of shitty ones. You might not like it, but if it’s a fight to the death or not fight and live another day, I’ll take the latter.”

Bakugou sneered at him. “That’s a coward’s move.”

“It’s the smart one,” Ryouta insisted.

For a moment, Bakugou didn’t respond. He and Shoji had paused their fight while the former examined Ryouta closely. It was the calmest he had ever seen Bakugou when facing him, although he was breathing heavily from the sparring. Even without multiplying his arms with his quirk, Shoji had the upper hand. That didn’t seem to bother Bakugou right now. He looked like he thinking hard on something.

“A hero can’t afford to give up,” Bakugou finally said. “We have to fight and keep on fighting even after there’s nothing left. Because if we stop even for a second, the villains can win.” Ryouta clenched his jaw but didn’t argue this time. Like it or not, Bakugou had a point. Every time he’d run away from his dad, hadn’t his old man won? “Maybe it is a smart move sometimes, but only villains run away from a fight they can’t win.”

“Yeah, but then the villain is alive to fight again while the hero is just dead,” Ryouta said unthinkingly. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Uraraka and a few others wince while Midoriya frowned. Shouto wasn’t looking at him and Iida looked rather troubled. Oh, that was the wrong thing to say. He cringed. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like he was identifying with villainous actions, but, well…

Ryouta had been forced to learn to avoid fighting in order to survive and make things more tolerable. He hadn’t always listened to his own lessons. Sometimes he fought back - a few times he even won on some level - but the times that he lost had been excruciating lessons in themselves. Black eyes took longer to heal than most people realized and burns were even worse.

In an attempt to make things lesson awkward, Kaminari cleared his throat and pointed out, “I don’t have to worry about fighting or not fighting though. I wouldn’t have to fight when I can just stun them with my quirk.” He let out a little jolt of electricity around his fingertips. “I can shock anyone the second they touch me.”

Aizawa glared at him from across the gym. “There is a chance you will be placed in situations where you either can’t use your quirk or it’s unavailable to you. What will you do then?” He didn’t need to activate his quirk for everyone to feel as if they were at an even greater disadvantage. He had an aura about him that vaguely reminded Ryouta of his father: how he could just stare you down and you’d feel like you had done something wrong or he was stronger than you. For some reason, it didn’t feel nearly as threatening when coming from him. Maybe that was the wrong word. Frightening?

Not that Ryouta was afraid of his father anymore. He was too old for that, too tired and done.

After looking at the clock, Aizawa folded his arms across his chest and sighed in what might’ve been relief. He looked ready to curl up for an afternoon nap. “That’s enough for today. Class dismissed.”

Any tension created by the prior disagreement bled out as everyone left the gym and headed back to the dorms, although Ryouta couldn’t shake the feeling that some of it lingered. He’d hit a sore subject without meaning to, letting his mouth get the better of him. He should have kept it shut, but thanks to distracted and exhausted he was from all that had happened today, he hadn’t been thinking straight. Hell, he hadn’t been thinking at all. He had just said whatever came to mind. Sometimes he really wished that he had a better filter. Most days he was good about watching what he said, but there were moments when he blurted out things that he knew would get him in trouble.

The problem was that Ryouta didn’t know what he could say to fix things or even if there was anything to fix. He glanced at Kaminari, who shrugged his shoulders before then jogging over to speak with Mineta. It made Ryouta feel oddly rejected, which immediately irritated him. These kids weren’t his friends. They weren’t obligated to be nice to him or to reassure him whenever his insecurities started to creep up on him.

No, they were going to be heroes and sooner or later, once this quirk wore off, he’d be back to being a villain.

Iida clearing his throat snagged his attention. “Ryouta, are you alright? You look…”

“I’m fine,” Ryouta flatly interrupted before Iida could decide exactly what he looked like. It wasn’t likely to be good. He shoved any anger he felt into a box and kicked it aside. He didn’t even know what he was angry about or who he was angry with. Himself? For being a complete idiot? For destroying his relationship with his siblings and making them mourn a piece a shit? For coming back and still failing to understand simple concepts? He’d felt like he was bouncing back from this morning, then he had to go and say something stupid and make things awkward.

Iida’s frown said that his two-word answer was not satisfactory. “Are you sure? You don’t look fine, if I’m being honest. If there’s something you need to talk about-”

“I don’t need to talk about anything,” Ryouta interrupted, his tone much more heated than he’d planned and his quirk rising to match it. He smashed it back down. The last thing he needed was for his quirk to flare up. It might be taken as a threat. “I said I’m fine, so I’m fucking fine.” He rubbed his face and let out a breath. What he needed to do was calm the fuck down. “It’s just been a long day. After talking with Natsuo... I’m tired.”

“You should’ve taken the rest of the day off after that,” Iida told him, seemingly nonplussed by Ryouta’s outburst. “It’s equally important to take care of your mental health as it is to focus on school.”

Ryouta began to laugh, only to stop himself midway to huff out a breath that, somehow, managed to sound sarcastic. Where would he be if someone had gone out of their way to make sure he did that the first time around? He had been too busy pushing himself - going plus ultra - to focus on anything else, certainly not his mental health. It wasn’t like he’d ever been taught that during his training with his father. It had never been an important factor in his life. Go figure.

You push until you break. You burn until there was nothing but ash left. You pull yourself back together. You do it all over again. Like some messed up phoenix.

“I’m already ridiculously behind when it comes to the hero course,” Ryouta said, going for a different approach. He was frustrated for a lot of reasons. This one he could be honest about without feeling like he was revealing too much of himself. “I don’t want to go into the second year feeling like I’m dead weight - if they keep me around for the second year at any rate.”

“They will,” Iida reassured him. As if it were easy to believe. Being optimistic either came naturally to him or he wrangled it through sheer will alone. It seemed impossible to Ryouta. “In the time you’ve been with us, you have shown every effort at improving yourself.”

Was it enough though? Only time would tell. The weeks between the school years would be long ones.

That was, of course, assuming that the de-aging quirk didn’t wear off.

When they rounded the corner and Height Alliance came into view, Iida gamely offered, “If you want, we can go over some of the heroics coursework before dinner.”

Ryouta looked over to Shouto, who was talking with Midoriya about something just out of earshot. His brother wore his usual impassive expression, but there was something distant about his gaze that made him frown. He was thinking about something else. A lot had been dropped on them today. Ryouta had to remind himself that he wasn’t the only one getting his world rocked by this whole mess. With him in his class now, Shouto’s life outside of school was getting dragged into it. Both of them were extremely private people. It was an uncomfortable situation for both of them.

“Honestly, I think I’m gonna take a nap,” Ryouta finally responded. “I don’t think I have anything left in me today.”

“It’s good to be able to recognize when you’re at your limit and know when to take a break,” Iida told him, nodding his head in understanding. “Just don’t sleep through dinner!”

“Don’t worry.” Ryouta pat his stomach. “As nauseous as I might be, I’ll wake up to eat.”

Despite the fact that he hadn’t fully used his quirk today, it still seemed to burn right through him. No matter how much he ate as a kid, he was never capable of putting on weight. He would eat twice as many vegetables as Natsuo and finish off the milk every time in an attempt to grow taller, but nothing ever seemed to work. Even though he’d managed to build up somewhat over the past few years, it still left him thin. It had been frustrating. It probably didn’t help that he got sick a lot on top of eating a bunch. His body was so damn counterintuitive.

Before they could follow Midoriya and Shouto inside, Iida paused, which made Ryouta stop as well. After a brief moment of deliberation, Iida put a hand on his shoulder, stilling him completely. “Remember: it’s okay to stop to take care of yourself. No one will judge you for that. I know you feel like you have to prove something, but that doesn’t mean you have to push yourself past your limit every day.”

“Isn’t that what you all strive to do in the hero course though?” Ryouta asked.

Iida hesitated and then said, “Yes, but we haven’t gone through what you have.” It was a touch more personal than Ryouta had been expecting, hitting him like a soft blow and taking away any urge to argue. Whereas he was used to Shouto being able to read him and Midoriya seemed to be more perceptive than most kids his age, he was caught off guard by Iida picking up that something was wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t have been. Iida was intelligent and had clearly been paying attention. “Besides, we all take time to ourselves to recover as well. It’s an important step in becoming a hero.”

Ryouta rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Looking somewhat affronted, Iida pulled his hand away. “I’m serious-”

“I know you are. It’s just…” Ryouta gave him a weak smile. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re super intense?”

It was strange to see Iida come close to blushing. He wore a strange look on his face as he furrowed his brow and rubbed the back of his neck. “A time or two, yes. Uraraka thinks it’s funny.”

“It kinda is,” Ryouta admitted. “I appreciate the pep talk though. Thanks.” He opened the door and stepped into the building. “Wake me up if I’m not down for dinner?”

“Of course.”

When Ryouta walked into the common area, he finally managed to connect eyes with Shouto. It was only for a second, but he smoothed out his face and gave a short nod. Despite the fact that his brother’s expression barely changed, he could somehow read his relief in the way he stopped holding his impassiveness together as tightly.

With that done, Ryouta headed for the elevator so he could go to his dorm. Just as he’d told Iida, he planned on taking a nap. Even with his mind running a hundred miles per hour, he knew that he’d pass out within seconds of collapsing on his bed. A dreamless sleep would be nice, but he had a sinking suspicion that he wouldn’t get that lucky. He’d put on the quirk inhibitor braces just to be safe. Sometimes it wasn’t possible to fight your demons; sometimes you had to work around them instead. It was a lesson these hero kids would have to learn one day, as everyone did. He learned it out years ago.

@mistystarshine notes: So I don't really have much in the way of notes this time. This chapter was actually supposed to be the beginning of next chapter, as in the first part of multiple, but then the madness took hold of Lanni. It's my own fault for hogging Ryouta for so long. And I'm about to do so again. But I'm back to writing non-chronologically (despite it being for the same chapter) so she won't need to wait for me to finish to write. Besides... I have a feeling you guys won't protest new content. Also, as of chapter 202, we are one step closer to needing to come through this bitch to change his name to Touya. Yay because canon Tododabi, but also W O E, editing.

#dabi #shouto todoroki #dabi is a todoroki #bnha #monoma neito #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #dabi fic #izuku midoriya #tenya iida #denki kaminari #katsuki bakugou #mina ashido #aizawa shouta #todoroki natsuo #ochako uraraka #bnha fanfiction #the things of songs

[sowingseedsandshootinghoops]

Take One Step Towards God and He Takes Two Towards You: The Autobiography of Malcolm X

Note on the text: The Autobiography of Malcolm X written by Malcolm X and Alex Haley. Published by Ballantine Books in 2015. 

I am spending many hours [telling my life story] because the full story is the best way that I know to have it seen, and understood, that I had sunk to the bottom of the American white man’s society when- soon now in prison- I found Allah, and the religion of Islam, and it completely transformed my life (153).

Malcolm X’s autobiography is a powerful book. Powerful for a variety of reasons. Powerful as an indictment of the racism which he witnessed and fought against, and powerful as a testimony to just how much a person can change over the course of their life. Malcolm wrote this book towards the end of his life, and in fact he was assassinated before it was published, and in it he reflects on how his experiences shaped him and his ideology. It is, as much as anything else, a philosophical-autobiography. It isn’t just a story of a man’s life, it is the story of a man looking back at his life and is finally able to see how it all fit together. Not many people have the ability, much less the courage, to look back at their life in such a penetrating, honest, way. 

The truth is that we are all influenced by the things that we experience around us, whether we can admit it or not. Most of the philosophies that we have about the world and ourselves are shaped by what he experience. By writing this autobiography, Malcolm is able to see how and why God put certain things, people etc into his life. Malcolm lived an intense life. He was, at different times, a hustler, a pimp, a drug dealer, a prisoner, a Christian, a Muslim, a high school dropout, and a scholar among other things. Although he could not see this at the time, having such a wide experience of life meant that he knew the way that a lot of different people thought, and that meant that he was able to speak to myriads of people in ways that they would understand and accept. Malcolm talks in his book about how he “learned early on [in his career as an activist] one important thing [which was] to always [talk to people in ways that they could understand]” and that not everyone knew how to do that as well as he did (225). He knew for example how to speak to Christians in ways that would invite them into the conversation as opposed to turning them off. Same with hustlers, college students, etc. He knew how to modulate his approach depending on who his audience was largely because of the experiences he had over the course of his life. He knew how to speak to high school drop outs because he was one, he knew how to speak to drug dealers because he was one, he knew how to speak to other black men because he was one. Looking back at his life allowed him to see the different ways in which God had been molding him to become the person that he was today. There’s an Islamic saying that he keeps referencing throughout the book: “If you take one step towards Allah, he takes two steps towards you” (159). At every step of his life he was simply trying to do the best he could in that moment, but God was using all those moments of his life as a way to prepare him to actualize his potential, even if he did not know it at the time. 

The seeds that would become his racial philosophy were sown early in his life. The racism that he experienced, even as a child, made a deep impression on him. He talks about how one of the defining moments of his life was when he told his teacher, Mr Ostrowski, about how he wanted to become a lawyer. Mr Ostrowski replied that it was unrealistic for a black boy like Malcolm to become a lawyer and how he needed a dream that was more realistic. However Mr Ostrowski always encouraged Malcolm’s classmates, who were all white, to pursue their dreams even though their grades were not nearly as good as Malcolm’s were: “I had never thought about it [this] way before, but I realized that whatever I wasn’t, I was smarter than nearly all those white kids. But apparently I still was not intelligent enough, in their eyes, to become whatever I wanted to be [emphasis in the original]” (38). As he grew up, he kept seeing the same pattern play itself out over and over again, talented black men and women were constantly being denied the respect and the opportunities that their white counterparts had. People like his friend “West Indian Archie” who although he had a gift for math never got the opportunity to do more with it other than run numbers in a local gambling spot: “I’ve often reflected upon such black [war] veteran numbers men [like] West Indian Archie. If they had lived in another kind of society their exceptional mathematical skills might have been better used. But they were black” (120). 

So it wasn’t really surprising that he concluded that blacks would be better off if they created their own society that was separate from white society. It’s understandable, especially given his experience, how he could conclude that integration with whites was impossible, not because blacks were not good enough but simply because whites would never accept them: “A thousand ways every day, the white man is telling you ‘you can’t live here, you can’t enter here, you can’t eat here, drink here, walk here, work here, you can’t ride here, you can’t play here, you can’t study here’. Haven’t [you] seen enough to see that he has no plans to unite with you?” (259). Is that really such an illogical conclusion?

Now what it would mean for blacks to create their own society and split off from white society, and how they should do it, changed dramatically over the course of Malcolm’s life. When he was young his father belonged to a group of Baptists that were lead Marcus Garvey who believed that “freedom, independence, and self respect could never be achieved by the Negro in America and that therefore the Negro should leave American to the white man and return to his African land of origin” (2). Obviously this tactic was impractical for a variety of reasons, including the fact that for most blacks America was their home. But it’s possible that having been exposed to this type of thinking as a child made Malcolm more susceptible and likely to accept the type of economic emancipation that Elijah Mohammed and the Nation of Islam proposed. Elijah Mohammed believed that the black man could achieve equality with their white counterparts by developing an “economic structure” that existed outside of the white person’s economic system. To that end the Nation of Islam, including Malcolm himself, encouraged African Americans to own and operate their own business which could then serve as “examples to help black people see what they could for themselves by hiring their own kind and trading with their own kind and thus quit being exploited by the white man” (209).

His pilgrimage to Mecca brought on the final evolution of his racial philosophy. Every good Muslim is supposed to make a pilgrimage to Mecca, called Hajj, at least once in their life and that’s why in 1964 he decided to make the trip. Remember the saying that was quoted above? You take one step towards Allah and he takes two steps towards you? Malcolm was only doing this trip because it was his religious duty and he wanted to get closer to God, and as a result God was going to take two very big steps closer to him. Going to Mecca would change his life forever. First of all, it was the first time he had seen so many black people in positions of power, whether they were heads of state or simply important members of their communities. Secondly, he saw that black and whites could live together as equals. As a result of this he no longer saw white people as the enemy, but as allies that could help black people take down the racist institutions which had oppressed them for so long. As he told a group of reporters when he returned from Mecca: 

My trip to Mecca has opened my eyes. I no longer subscribed to racism. I have adjusted my thinking to the point where I believe that whites are human beings. . . . I’m not a racist, I’m not condemning white people for being white but for their deeds. I condemn what whites have done collectively to our people collectively” (420).    

This in turn lead to Malcolm’s final ideas regarding how whites and blacks can work together to build a more just society, the final twist on the idea of how blacks can learn how to support themselves and not rely on “the system” to help them: 

I tell sincere white folks, ‘work in conjunction with us-each of us working among his own kind’. Let sincere white individuals find all [the]other white individuals they can who feel as they do and let them form their own all white groups to work to try and convert other white people who are thinking and acting so racist. . . . We will completely respect our white co-workers. We will give them every credit. We will meanwhile be working among our own kind, in our black communities, showing and teaching black men in ways that only other black men can- that the black man has got to help himself. Working separately, the sincere white people and sincere black people will actually be working together (384).

As a white man myself, I will never fully understand the black experience. So it’s not up to me to tell the black men and women out there how they should or should not feel about what has happened to them. What I can do though is listen to them when they talk about their experiences  and show sympathy. Show them that I am their brother, that I have an open heart and am willing to both listen and, even though it still seems strange to actually have to say this, believe them when they talk about what they have experienced. Only once I have done that can I do things like go back to my white brothers and sisters and communicate to them everything that I have learned and find a way to bring the two sides together. 

As a kid, all Malcolm had to do was be the best kid that he knew how to be. Even though he dropped out of high school, when the time came he was able to tap into his abilities as a scholar to fulfill his destiny. As a hustler, he did the best he could and as a result he was able to communicate with other hustlers in ways that were meaningful and impactful. As a member of the Nation of Islam he did the best he could to be an effective civil rights activists, and as a result he slowly got to see just how powerful the black community is. Finally as a practicing Muslim who was simply fulfilling his religious obligation to make a pilgrimage to Mecca, he was able to learn that we are all God’s children that we need to learn how to love each other more and learn how to live with each other. At every stage all Malcolm had to do was make the smallest step towards God by trying to the best that he could in that situation and God did the rest.  

In the Bible, when David is about to meet Goliath, everyone tells David that he is crazy for taking on that challenge. But David responds by telling the people that God has been training him all his life for this moment. That every lion, bear, and wolf he ever faced as a shepherd trained for this fight with Goliath. It was the same for Malcolm X. God was training him his whole life on how he could actualize the potential that God knew was in him when it was time for that potential to be actualized, even if he did not know that that was what God was doing at the time. “If you take one step towards Allah, he takes two steps towards you”. We are not responsible for the future. All we are responsible for is doing the best we can right now. If we can do that, we will have done our job and God will handle the rest. 

#malcolmx #theautobiographyofmalcolmx #allah #civilrights #takecareofyourown #growth #god #dogood #racism #bebetter

[basedonatruestory-official]

CHAPTER TWO: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

It's quite easy to fall into a routine: getting up, going to school, eating a shitty lunch, going home, doing homework. Repeat, like a robot. It's only been a few days since the start of the school year and yet I already feel the pressure. The first days of class are critical to figuring out who might be approachable and who might be an asshole. There’s generally no in between. Speaking of, a girl bumps into me while entering the classroom and she mutters something along the lines of "look where you're going, dwarf". It's been quite a while since someone has picked on me because of my height, and I did not miss the feeling. I immediately blush and keep my head down so my hair covers my face.

"Rude. Also, is that the best you can come up with?" 

Wait, did I say it out loud? No, someone else did. I turn my head and see the girl from the first day, the one with the contagious laugh.

I stare at her as Midge, the girl who insulted me, snorts and walks away. 

“Man, her only neuron must be feeling so lonely up there,” she points at her forehead with her index finger and a breathy laugh escapes my lips. Her American accent is so evident, I don't know how I didn't notice before.

“Thank you. Most of the time people just go along with the snickering and the teasing.”

“You mustn’t have met many smart people then,” she grins and we start walking towards our seats. When she reaches her chair she extends her hand. 

“My name’s Maggie, by the way."

“Robin,” I shake her hand, mentally cursing myself for being so nervous when meeting new people.

“Yeah, I know. You’re with sunshine over there,” she tilts her head towards Beca, who is just sitting at her desk with an emotionless expression. I laugh and bend my head at her words, amused by this girl's sense of humour.

"Can I have your number?" she asks passing me her phone. I instantly blush, not knowing why.

"So we can keep in touch about school and homework, you know," she clarifies.

"Haven't really met anyone apart from you."

I type in my number and give the phone back to her. Our conversation is cut short before I can say anything.

“Good morning class!” Mrs Potts exclaims while slamming the door shut. Maggie rolls her eyes and itches closer to me to mutter something about teachers being too cheerful so early in the morning. I grin and turn around to face our English literature teacher, but I’d rather chat with Maggie a bit more.

I celebrate my birthday with my parents on Wednesday; it sounds pretty depressing, but I don't have any friends so that is the only way I usually celebrate. My mum and my dad have always been sweet about it: they have always bought me a cake and we have always had dinner together. Back when I was younger they both lost their jobs and we have struggled with money ever since, but they always try to get me something to open for my birthday. This year is nothing different, we've eaten chocolate cake and they've given me some money to spend however I want. My grandma has also scheduled the usual Sunday lunch to celebrate with my aunt, I must admit I'm not particularly looking forward to it because my aunt can be... unpleasant to say the least.

The next morning I find myself chatting with Maggie in between classes, we're walking around the hallways. We've talked every day since the "Midge incident" and her livelihood infected me from the start.

"Hey, can I take a quick look at your planner? I haven't written down next week's homework," she asks while toying with a curl of hair. I hand it to her and she quickly scans over the pages but suddenly stops walking. I notice after a few seconds and ask her what's wrong.

"Yesterday was your birthday."

"Um, yeah," I reply feeling self-conscious for having written a huge "happy birthday to me!" on yesterday's page. It feels childish now.

"Why didn't you say anything? We could have done something together!" she exclaims opening her arms.

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm so taken aback that I don't even know what to say. The bell suddenly rings and Maggie is giving me back my planner and I'm soon standing in the middle of the hallway surrounded by kids trying to get to class.

Later that day I'm laying on my bed with my cat and I chuckle at my phone as I get a text.

"You are cordially invited to Ivory manor on Friday, the 24th.

You don't need to worry about food and entertainment: everything will be provided by your host (me)!

Kind regards, 

Maggie Ivory"

I try to keep it cool so that my parents don't notice anything out of the ordinary, but I'm actually freaking out. My palms are sweaty and I can feel my heart pounding against my chest.

"I kindly accept your invite, Miss Ivory!" I text back quickly.

"Hey mum, I'm not coming home straight after school tomorrow."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"To a friend's house," I reply smiling. Apparently, I have made a friend within the first two weeks of school. Who would have thought?

I feel my phone vibrate on my lap so I don't hear my mum saying she's happy that I'm going out more; Maggie and I text each other for the rest of the day.

•••

On Friday my classes are over in the blink of an eye and I'm soon making my way to the school gate by Maggie's side.

"So, you haven't told me where you live yet."

She points at the building facing the south side of our school, across from its playground.

"What? You literally live five minutes away from school!" She shrugs and smiles smugly at me. I, on the other hand, have to wake up at six in the morning and take two buses to get to class on time.

The building where Maggie lives is very tall and dilapidated, like most houses on the outskirts of the city. It's mainly grey, but it also has reddish details in certain areas.

When we get to the entrance door Maggie buzzes whoever is home at the moment.

"Yeah?" A voice comes through the intercom.

"It's me, Jas," she says, "open up."

We make our way through several hallways and finally get to the lift.

"Sorry, that was my brother, he's stupid," says Maggie, timidly. It's the first time I've seen her act like this and I feel a sort of pull, I want to know more about this girl.

"Oh come on, he can't be that bad," I reply grinning, but she doesn't say anything.

We get to the ninth floor, just below the rooftop, and Ivory manor turns out to be... not a manor after all. Not that I was expecting one, of course. It's a simple flat, there's a small corridor that goes from the entrance to the living room, which is also connected to the kitchen. All the other rooms are joined to a long hallway that starts from the living room: there's Maggie's bedroom, Jasper's bedroom, their parents' bedroom and two bathrooms.

Jasper turns out to be a scrawny ten-year-old boy with sandy blond hair, a far cry from her sister, who has dark brown locks. He comes out of his room just as we're walking down the corridor to get to Maggie's room and follows us.

"Oh hi! I'm Jasper, Maggie's brother! You can call me Jas. You're Robin, right? Be careful about my sister, she's going to use you to get good grades!" He talks so fast that I almost don't understand what he is saying. As soon as he's done talking he sprints towards the living room and Maggie is about to go after him but stops abruptly, probably because I'm present.

"I told you, he's stupid," she mutters seriously. I notice she's clenching her fists and she shoves her backpack on her bed a little too forcefully. Not knowing what to do, I place my backpack at the foot of her bed and look around. There's a wardrobe on the immediate right and a desk on the left, her king-size bed is positioned against the right wall, which is an intense dark red, while the others are a light grey. There's a big window with long white curtains on the wall opposite the door.

Maggie has flung herself on the bed and she's now resting with her eyes closed. It looks very comfy and, as if reading my mind, she pops one eye open and tells me to join her.

"Are you sure? I mean, it's your bed."

"Oh stop fussing and get over here!"

I look over at her and a shy smile starts taking over my face. I jump right beside her and we burst out laughing: I don't know exactly why we're laughing, but it feels so good.

"Hey sis, what do I need to do with the- What are you doing?" Jasper is standing in the doorway and he's looking at us with a weirded out expression on his face. As our laughter quickly dies down, Maggie gets up and tells me she needs to check something. A few minutes later I hear her calling me so I make my way to the kitchen, where she is sprawled over the kitchen island. It looks like she's covering something with her body, but before I can see anything both Jasper and Maggie scream.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks and I'm pretty sure my eyes are about to pop out of my head.

"I- what- when-", I stutter repeatedly while staring at the very good looking raspberry cake in front of me.

"Would you like to buy a vowel?" Maggie laughs and pushes the cake towards me while I sit down on one of the stools.

"Did you bake this?"

"Actually yes, could you tell 'cause it's ugly?"

"What? No! It's actually really good! I don't know what to say..." I look up at my new friend and feel overwhelmed by her thoughtfulness.

"You don't need to say anything, you need to eat", she smiles the biggest smile I've ever seen and I can't help but comply with her order.

"I gotta say I'm famished myself!" Jasper exclaims expectantly and we all burst into laughter.

The weekend is over in a flash and lunch at my grandma's has been postponed to next week because my aunt couldn't make it. I've told my parents all about Maggie's surprise and they were very pleased, I keep thinking about it and it makes me smile. I'm brought back to reality by Mr Dwight yelling out the number of laps we have to complete around the track.

"Twenty-five laps, no exceptions! I also have some good news for you as motivation. We're going on a trip!"

Everyone starts chattering, especially a group of boys who is weirdly looking my way.

"A trip, huh? This is gonna be interesting. Ride next to me on the bus?" Maggie has come up behind me and is now leaning on my shoulder with her elbow.

"Sure."

Read on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/797340172-based-on-a-true-story-chapter-two-happy-birthday

Read Chapter Three: Smells Like Teen Spirit.

#based on a true story #based on a true story chapter two #chapter two: happy birthday to me #robin sallow #maggie ivory #jasper ivory #LGBTQ story #LGBTQ storyline #LGBTQ character #LGBTQ characters

[lxiewrites]

Arseholes and Articles

Ch. 3 of Altea High

Keith slouched in the surprisingly comfy chair in Shiro’s office. He knew Shiro was talking to him. The intense look on his face and the moving mouth were indicators but, honestly, he can’t tell you what the flying fuck he was saying. Something about fitting in or making friends he’s sure, but he just can’t focus on the current topic right now. What he’s focusing on is how that guy just casually… checked him? Like he wasn’t afraid of getting seriously injured? He knew his clothes were smoking, it’s not like this guy couldn’t have seen that. That was essentially a goddamn warning sign. Do Not Touch.

In nature many creatures had bright vivid colors to warn off predators from eating them or coming closer.

Nearly setting himself on fire is his goddamn warning to others.

Normally, people aren’t stupid enough to get close enough to get themselves burned but apparently there’s one.

He…honestly, just can’t…fathom…? The guy was obviously scared of him, at least near the end when he was being an asshole. Why else wouldn’t he just simply walk past him to get to class? But then why did he shoulder-bump him out of the way? Is his stupidity and ego bigger than his self-preservation? Is he just stupid?

Is he stupid?

…

Keith concludes that he's just stupid. But that stupidity is so damn familiar. He doesn't know why but this special brand of stupid and ego-tripping reminds him of someone he knew before. Some scrawny kid in middle school that didn't know when to quit while he was ahead. He had some semi-fond memories of this boy and several indifferent ones and just one where it was so bad.

He wonders if this guy could possibly be his brother.

“…eith. Keith!”

Keith’s eyes crossed as Shiro snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Wha?”

The older man sighed. “You didn’t hear a word I said didn’t you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“No, you said something about making friends and… stuff.”

“Keith.”

He threw himself back into the chair; arms limp at his sides. “Fine. I have no idea what you just said.”

“What’s got you so distracted?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, he eyed the magazine on the table advertising something about the new product from Empire Industries. “Everything’s just fine.”

“Is it about—“ Keith swiped the magazine, releasing a wave of flowery sample perfume. He paged through idly, though nothing really kept his attention for long. Temper Gummies for Kids! New Formula! The artificial cherry actually doesn't taste too bad from what he remembers. Which Season are You and Your Powers? He's apparently a Fall. Are YOU the Quantum Commander’s Type?! No. No he's not. The Commander is too anal for him. Power Enhancement: Three Short Steps. Psh. He has no issues in that area.  He could feel his cousin’s stare before he continued. “…About what happened at the Garrison?”

He sighed and threw the gossip rag back onto the table. “No, Shiro. It’s not about the Garrison.”

“Are you sure? Because you have a lot better control over your powers than you did back then. It might feel like you don’t but you do.”

“Yes, Shiro, I’m fine.”

“You’ll make a lot of good friends here too. Lifelong friends.”

“Oh my God, Shiro! Stop being such a mother hen! What if I don’t want any friends?”

His cousin just looked at him in that really annoying way of his, like he knows something or…something. “Trust me. Even if you say you don’t want any they’ll come find you. And you will never get rid of them.”

“Hunk!” Lance shouted as he burst through the door of the classroom. Spotting the Samoan he sprinted over grabbing his arm.

“Oh my God, Lance! Why are you so cold?”

Lance ignored his friend’s complaint and continued to chant his name. “Hunk! Hunk! You will not believe who I have to babysit for the rest of the year!”

His friend simply maneuvered his arm out of the icemaker’s grasp and looked back at his worksheet where he was solving the chemical equation. “Uh, like a kid? Is it Melody? Cora?”

“What? No, nonono not actual babysitting, but yeah, gotta watch the girls this weekend. But that’s not it. I’m talking about the thing Allura’s making me do.”

“Hey, nerds, what’s Allura making you do?” Pidge slid in across from them moving aside the Bunsen burner and beakers to make way for their laptop. They curled their little legs under them on the stool to get a little height and immediately started tap-tap-tapping away on their computer, their fluffy blondish chestnut hair the only visible part of their head.

“She has me being a representative of the school or something and helping one of my fellow peers assimilate to a public school setting or whatnot. Basically I have to babysit the new guy.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

Lance threw his hands in the air. “I know right?!”

“I mean that she thinks that you would be a good representative without messing up.” They grinned over their computer the light from the window glaring from their glasses. Lance told them to spring for the Anti-Reflective lenses.

“Oh, real funny coming from you. May I remind you of who somehow kept setting the sprinklers off with the bells?”

“Hey, I got it fixed by the end of the day!”

“Not before it soaked ev-er-y-one, but I got out of my math test that day so thanks for that. “

They rolled their eyes at him. “Of course. Next time I’m charging.”

“So who’s the guy you’re babysitting?” Hunk interrupted whatever Lance was going to quip back before the conversation derailed even further.

Lance slapped his hands on the table like he needs its support for the bomb he was going to drop on them. “Oh. My. God. Oh my God. I completely forgot, but it’s just, oh my—“

“Yes, oh my God and baby Jesus, get to the point Lance.”

Lance just glared at Pidge before sticking his finger in their face until they go cross-eyed before booping their nose. “Shush, you.”

He looked at each one of them in the eye for several seconds before saying, in a hushed conspirial tone, “It’s Keith.”

A moment of silence.

Pidge and Hunk looked at each other before looking at Lance again. “Uh, we don’t know who that is, buddy.”

Lance threw his hands up again. “How can you not remember, Hunk?! I can understand Pidge because I don’t think they were in the Garrison yet, but my bro? Remember? Keith? Keith. Keiiiith.”

“Bro, just because you keep saying his name does not mean I’m going to remember.”

“Keith Kogane? He was in our class? For, like, years? Know-it-all, show-off, arsehole?”

Pidge quirked an eyebrow, “One, isn’t that a swearword? Just because you say it like a British person doesn’t mean it’s not a swearword, Lance. Two, this Keith guy sounds familiar but give me a sec.” She ducked down behind her technical shield.

The Cuban planted his elbow on the table, his pointer raised toward the sky. “One, it totally isn’t a swearword because it doesn’t count if we’re in America. Two, mi mamá is not here. Three, okay, do your diddly bop. Four, c’mon Hunk! You have to remember him, he was a total jerk!”

Hunk gently led Lance’s four fingers out of his face and onto the counter. “Okay, Lance, the guy sounds a little familiar now that I have more than his first name. Wasn’t he, like, really quiet though?”

“It didn’t stop him from showing off every damn—“

“Language.”

“Shut up, Pidge, damn isn’t a swear and you know it.” Lance didn’t miss a beat as he continued. “ –Second. Ooh, look a flame here, a fire there, I can set myself on fire I’m soooo cooooooll.” Lance mocked, voice high in a poor impersonation of Keith’s own voice. “And he just had to get perfect grades and be the absolute golden boy to every teacher. Iverson loved him.”

“Ugh, Iverson was a jerk.” Pidge’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

“I know right, he was all ne, ne, ne, and blah, blah, blah, and there's no eating in the classroom. Ugh.” Hunk griped.

“But anyways,” As much as he loved bashing Iverson Lance needed to get them back on track. “Keith was a jerk to me. I mean, anyone who was in Iverson’s pocket had to be a jerk, come on.”

“Yeah, but buddy, didn’t you make everything with him into a weird competition? I think a lot of those fire shows were because you pissed him off dude.”

“Well, I might have found when he dropped out.” Pidge turned their computer around to face the both of them. “Here’s an article from 2013 when you guys were in 7th grade it was actually deleted from the original source but I found it. ‘Local Boy Devastates School with Fire Abilities.’” They hummed a bit when they skimmed the news article. “Wow. He really did some damage didn’t he. No wonder he dropped out, I’m surprised no one pressed charges... Shiiit. His parents are Penance and Hoshindo?! Dayum.”

Hunk’s forehead wrinkled with sympathy. “Two supervillian parents? That’s gotta be hard man.”

“I think him mom only turned to the dark side that year. She was always nice whenever it was parents day.” Lance frowned in possiblecompassion; he was still a major jerkwad before his mom decided to go all Winter Soldier on the superhero community.

Lance remembered the day Keith had that accident. It actually wasn't that much later after his mom was incarcerated the entire school was talking about it at the time. Thinking about it soured his stomach and made him feel colder than when he used his powers. Red covered his cheeks in shame. He remembered the fire engulfing the fire starter, how it licked up first his arms and haloing his face, illuminating his eyes as they turned into a lava gold. The rest of him followed quickly. So very, very quickly until it spread. It spread across the carpet, melting lockers, igniting homework and stray paper until it finally hit the janitor’s closet, the little flame of the DANGER: HAZARDOUS MATERIAL sign the first to warp coming alive for the briefest moments before everything was light and sound. The only thing that saved twelve-year-old Lance that day was the amount of power that he even didn’t know he could produce, forming an incredibly thick but small ice dome around him. It protected him from the heat and the fire well enough but not from the energy of the explosion that fractured his protection and threw him against the wall.

He shuddered out of the brief foray into his memories.

Yes, he would always remember the time he got Keith Kogane expelled.

Ch.1 Ch.2

Ao3

#Altea High #Sky High AU #Lex Writes #my writing #klance #keith x lance #keith #lance #forgot this one too #oopsies #vld

[wonderingangelsuniverse]

February 2nd 2018

I don’t even know where to start with all the many things that have been going on as of late. I can’t decide if I should start with two weeks ago or just begin with today. Well there has been an abundance of anger going on within me. I think today is a good example of this. We were all sitting on the couch. I was drinking my coffee remembering back in the day when we used to all meet up really late at night and go to the diner together. The boys would add so much sugar to their coffee. Hope and ApprenticeBoi were reading and Moe was stirring up the whole living room with his intense boredom. That’s when out of fucking no where at 2:30pm Hope just had a seizer mid conversation. He looked around the room and then bam. Kept his page for a while even. I just went and got his dad because I was so pissed off I couldn’t decide fast enough to push him over or let him remain on the couch. Hope and I’ve become significantly closer sense I’ve returned back to Hawaii. I guess his condition keeps getting worse and worse. I swear I can’t remember a time when this has happened so randomly. He bit his tong making blood spewed all over the couch. Gabe heard me tell ApprenticeBoi that he was having a seizer because the small ignorant boy started laughing. Apparently our student teacher relationship is very close as well as I didn’t fucking flip for his immature behavior. The only comment I ended up making was something along the lines of, “ How about you sit and read your book instead of making terrible comments.” He seemed to listen to me as I was being quite urgent. I wasn’t mad at him though. I then spaced out and asked Gabe what he was getting ready for right after he took a shower. I can’t say I’ve been being super bright these days either. I have a theory that I’m just not listening to me as well unless I verbally state what I’m saying. Update: I just talked to Hope’s dad and he mentioned that Hope had just gotten up. That makes this whole situation a lot less concerning to me. I guess the neurologist had explained that he tends to have a his episodes in the time where his brain is beginning to boot up after awakening. I didn’t realize how long it takes for a brain to start running but I also didn’t realize that they could know so much about his problem and yet still not completely fix it.  

Who’s Gabe? Yeah, that goes back two weeks ago when I started this whole gig cleaning air planes. A week before MelloMad and I started Gabe had gotten fired due to the closer of the Santa Maria unit of the airplane company. Sandy, the head director of the airline for Hawaii is stationed in Kona and for the most part to my understanding he runs at least Honolulu as well. He called Gabe only a day after he was fired to offer him a place with the intimate group of mechanics here on the Big Island which was apparently about a month before he came here, That’s when he stayed in the pilot’s grew house for about a month. I guess around six months ago Gabe’s goil Lee Ann died a slow death due to the cancers. I know this experience very well. I feel like Gabe and I are meant to be friends.

Jerry, the lead mechanic of the later in the weak mechanics groups, Wednesday to Saturday, was the blessed man to get us the job cleaning. He lives only up the road from us. He would have been able to help us out in these hard two weeks that nearly drove me to stabbing my best friend haha. I said, “would” for a damn good reason though. The day of the missile or that Saturday, he was riding his motorcycle through an intersection and like most nearly fatal biking accidents was drove into by a car trying to make a left turn. It really is a shame for both Jerry and the now traumatized driver of the car. I guess from what I heard, Jerry got up and walked over to the guy to give him what he deserved in violent words, which tells you the kind of guy Jerry is, before he sat down declaring that he thinks he needs an ambulance. One of the other mechanics on the other shifts neighbor found him and called the emergency services. We saw him last weekend and oh my was he bruised and shattered. His hole left side was completely wrecked. He shattered on of his knee caps and had a giant circular chunk taken out of his leg. His other knee is broken and both spots right above his ankles are fucked. He’s going to be out of work for four months. He told us he’s headed to his mom’s in Cali. I don’t blame him. I would want my mom as well.

With Jerry out of the picture, MelloMad and I would have to rely on the fact that BoldFuck and Mom-o-pan go to Kona each day if we are to return home. Sounds good yes? Our shift is from 8:30pm to 4:30 am. That means BoldFuck and Mom-o-pan cannot be that inconvenienced sense they have children. Fine, whatever, I get two weeks of helping us out while we wait to get paid does seem a little over whelming.... We did get the job in the first place so BoldFuck could quote on quote stay home with his kids. More about this later. I’m so happy to be writing after all this time omg. Alright any how, all these sentences lead up to the fact that Kona Airport is sitting in a dry hot lava rock climate around five miles from the city. No money combined with MelloMad’s inability to walk long distances for some form of foot related problem leaves us stranded at the airport all week. MelloMad and I managed to find a nice culvert buried deep under the highway to take refuge in. The two of us kind of swore off BoldFuck and Mom-o-pan after that because honestly this was insane. I’d end up paying four hundred of the four hundred and thirty seven dollars I made on my first weeks work to them for the month of January after I spent two weeks of that month sleeping in a fucking storm drain.You crazy fucking assholes.

This is where Gabe. our Hispanic 47 year old friend from the gangster areas of both Nevada and LA, would come in. He had the pilot’s car, I can’t remember the model lol. It was a really small two door car that wasn’t even a hatchback. We banned together with him since he was sleeping in this car as he both already blew all of his money on women and alcohol and the fact that Kona living is nearly impossible. Between the three of us our best bet would be to find a car over a house so we could in fact live. Hilariously I found a great deal on this apartment that I’m half tempted to keep trying for, for the four of us. I have a small wish of chilling in the condos shared backyard pool in a pink floaty, like the man from when we were on Hilo side chilling with my wondrous Angel of Melody. Haven’t texted her in a hot minute haha.

Angel of Melody is actually a great segway to why I think Gabe and I are meant to be friends. When he did return the car he joined us for about a week and half in the storm drain. BoldFuck and Mom-o-Pan would come pick us up for the weekend but man does rivet-y metal cylinders *fuck me* sucks to sleep in. I’m gay and I think that amazing and magical fact has to come with some form of repercussion in itself for I live in a time where abnormality, although worshiped, often is actually frowned upon. “It’s good to be unique!” Lies I tell you, unless its going to make you an abundance of cash to swede people other wise. One person that we all know very well as Wondering Angels’s number one anti lesbianism antagonist is MelloMad. He could probably easily defend himself by stating that he doesn’t mind lesbians at all as he watches porn of it.. Maybe? I actually question that lol. Plus lesbian porn is fucking stupid. I tried to tell him but he told me it’s because I want the love and not the lust. It’s probably where I’m watching it. Honestly though, how many time’s do lesbians have to clearly state to people that scissoring isn’t the fucking bee’s knees of lesbian sex? I haven’t even had sex with another women yet and I can agree. I’d give you some sources to this from my hours of researching when I was having a crisis but…. I don’t have internet right now alongside the point that I just don’t want to. It’s hard for me to say something so opinionated on other peoples behalf sense I can imagine MelloMad seeing this as an opportunity to disprove my point. I could even imagine a different color text being typed across here like: This is MelloMad and your wrong because I never hear anyone say that. Yes, I understand your word is way cooler then mine, awesome. Even just yesterday when MelloMad was having a good day and I was asleep in the backseat, I heard him tell Gabe I needed to prove to him I’m gay. Gabe even told me MelloMad thinks I switched… SWITCHED. Look, what the fuck?! I actually did bother explaining to Gabe why this was and it brought up my mother which was good. Actually it all lines up really well. I’m just getting to good at my job. Gabe isn’t homophobic in the slightest and that’s so refreshing. Someone whom of which MelloMad has no influence over would like to hang out with me and isn’t homophobic haha, perfect right? So I can give Gabe support on Lee Ann and he can give me support on my very CLEAR gayness.

Can we stop here to speak about how I’m not fucking curious? Yes, we can because this is my letter to you and not the other way around. Here is a brief essay on why.

I am not curious because, I was born very gay, I have no sexual feeling towards men, and sex isn’t everything. When I was only hardly a handful of years old my brother Chris had a girlfriend named Christal. Christal was this super fucking hot blond chick that I would pretend was my girlfriend. When I was in the third grade I joined the boys and girls club because my friend Liza went there after school as well and she was really hot! I found out she was signed up for the other side of the club. I was quite lonely there but I continued to attend because this sixth grader named Sam, whom was another hot blond, walked the same way to the bus as I would. If I was fast enough getting out of class, I was able to catch her. My sister-in-law and my mom both knew I was gay. Mom’s always know! Secondly I am not curious because I have no sexual feeling towards men. That ALONE should be a good enough fucking reason you ignorant fuck. Finally FUCKTHIS.

Well teach, I didn’t probably not get a very good grade on dat essay but anyways, I don’t know much more about what’s going to happen between Gabe and I accept that he’s going to help me get some spine talking to women. He’s also taught me a bit about airplane mechanics and some Spanish. El avion esto muy limpio. El avion esto sucio. Airplanes are men in Spanish. I am Spanish as I am from Spain and therefore some Spanish won’t kill me sense its so widely spoken. I quite enjoy learning. Trying to get the sentence; my favorite game is life is strange, down now. It’s like: Mi favorito Jewenkn something something esto esto extrago or something. Yep lol one time reading it off Google translate and I got this haha! Ironically I can read Spanish quite well so if I wanted I could just translate everything but meh why not memorize it?  

Let’s go back to the spine and women thing. I was at Gabe’s favorite bar having a single IPA when I staring at the bar tenders ass as she was wearing this cute pair of black short shorts. I think it should be illegal to be that hot because why am I such a sucker for blonds with hips? Her name’s Shy. Gabe informed me last night that she’s trying to get a plane ticket to Maui for her birthday but she has a boyfriend to go with her. Gabe and I were talking before he found this other blond to be bothered with cause he knew what I didn’t and I mentioned to him again that I’m gay. I was trying to be obnoxious about it in hopes Shy would maybe start speaking of it but I think she sadly didn’t hear me. I guess repeating I’m a lesbian, I’m a lesbian, isn’t going to help me get laid any faster but that’s why I need Gabe to help me out. Now, I didn’t think or think she heard me because she was in the other room. Now the sad part before I go on is that she’s the bar tender so she’s supposed to be nice for her own benefit. This is America after all. She could of easily of done this because I’m friends with Gabe or it could have been completely coincidental. Destiny does tend to spoil me. I did state I had no fucking money though and Gabe did buy me the beer. He’s a really good guy. Let me tell you, I was watching chopped all star addition. I’ve really fell out of chopped over the years but it gives me such a nostalgic feeling from back when that was our jam. Did my mom like chopped? I feel like we would watch it together when we were babysitting at my brothers. Remind me to mention this when I tell you something cool about lately. Next paragraph maybe. Alright back to Shy. She kind of was trying to talk to me but I couldn’t keep myself together at all. I was so damn nervous I wouldn’t stop touching myself all over my head like I was trying to calm myself. I had my hands tangled in my hair I was super insecure, I was just all wrong. Really I just wanted to watch Chopped, sadly. The extremely hot girl was making things so difficult. HER VOICE SOUNDED LIKE the Angel or Dreams or Dream Angel’s HELP. I can’t, alright, alright, okay okay. Gabe was gone and only one other person was at the bar. Now I was sitting by the TV where I could read the sub-tittles which happened to be by the register and most of the tap, oops. She had a moment and stopped to read the TV. I looked right at her like a not so sly moron. She turns to me and is like, “Oh she has a wife, that cool to see a lesbian on the show. They should have a strictly gay version of chopped.” She looks me dead in eyes and I just say, “Yeah then there wouldn’t be any room for discrimination.” That’s when the conversation was over. “I’d watch the shit out of that.” or “I’ve always wanted to be on chopped.” FUCKING ANYTHING REALTED TO ME WOULD OF HELPED. FOR FUCK SAKES I’m SUCH A NARASISTIC FUCK HALF THE TIME, ALWAYS SPEAKING OF ME AND HERE I AM COMING UP WITH A COMPLETELY NON ME RELATED THING TO SAY. I guess it’s better then being like, “Fuck me.” Rip…. I was so mad I just ignored her existence even harder and left the bar after drinking the rest of Gabe’s beer. I just angry ranted in the bathroom for a good hour after that. I was chilling in the car when MelloMad and Gabe thought they would pull a prank on me by trying to insist we needed to turn our badges in. I didn’t believe it because MelloMad wasn’t pissing angry. We just went to get Gabe’s new badge scanned for documentation and MelloMad and I’s member ID’s were in too. Now we can fly free on all of our flights. 

Well when we were at the bar and Gabe walked off with that blond, MelloMad messaged me cause I guess he was with Gabe about how the car might get toed sense we left it at our new bank. We opened an account before hand. When I got there I saw the notice from security  under the whipper. A parking violation warning. I snagged it up in so MelloMad didn’t have a direct reason to bitch around or at me. Well I guess he didn’t even see it at all. The blond Gabe was walking with was older and she was all over MelloMad whom was working on some music. He was getting more and more pissed at her annoying him. It was hilarious. We dropped her off at her house in which she was selling due to her Ex Husbands assholishness. I suggested she rent it out xD ;). Hope lost but later after their little fired prank they failed to pull off. I got Gabe good as I walked off, put the note back where it was but now in the airport parking lot and then went to rant in the bathroom as if I was busy. When I returned they both thought they drove with it on the windshield. YEAH totally. Gabe sounded worried for a second and I decided sense there prank was so shit, I’d quickly spoil my good one. I confessed to putting it there, luckily I didn’t get reamed but I also didn’t get a single laugh either which pissed me off anymore. 

All in all I’ve been hella angry lately. Considering how fucking anxious, depressed over his grandfathers sudden death, and emotional MelloMad has been due to just a random on slot of sudden change.. It sucks cause that’s all Gabe knows MelloMad for. Yet Gabe is/has been slightly over emotional too. I don’t blame either of them so I just sit SILENTLY. Somehow I’ve remained mostly silent. I think it might have thrown MelloMad through a bit of a loop. I’m never quiet but I to know I’ve had quite a bit of anxiety therefore to remain strong I’ve just kept quiet during any even potential arguments or problems that could a rise verbally. I must say even with my efforts there has been twice now where I’ve snapped at MelloMad. One time over me trying to help MelloMad find a solution he can effectively use regarding a bank account which we already went over, we both opened one. I was trying to get him to open maybe a pay-pal. You can use a debit card, master card or vista, bought for roughly a dollar or so or even order a pay-pal debit card. No banks involved in that option. MelloMad insisted that at max three dollars was to much but can’t get over them holding his check for over twenty four hours. Obviously both quite irrational rebuttal and to his surprise the nice man who set us up with an account made sure our money didn’t get held. So fuck me for trying to help. The other argument was at work and was literally over how much sugar per flood ounce was in both the tea and monster energy drink and which had more sugar. Yeah I to got tired of this argument just reading that sentence. This is what happened, seriously this is ridiculous as is. I was board and I calculated his tea as the two servings which would come out to 54 grams of sugar in his entire 24 ounce bottle. I didn’t calculate as two servings and did the math of 19 grams of sugar for the 16 ounces. Obviously mine already has less sugar? Well that’s about 1.2 grams of sugar per ounce on the Monster and 2.3 grams of sugar per ounce of tea meaning the tea had double the sugar per ounce. I didn’t even explain all my reasoning to Erwin when he concluded that I was terrible wrong. I listened even though he never gave me a breath to fully explain especially after he pointed out there was in fact two servings in my Monster. He also insisted over and over that there was three times more sugar in my Monster. Well like I said I’m not afraid to be wrong. I love it. usually if said person doesn’t make me feel like shit over it. My love for learning usually out weighs all. So the Monster had 38 grams of sugar to its 16 ounces meaning there also 2.3ish maybe 2.4 grams of sugar per ounce. For some reason when I did the math last time and fixed it and then did it on my calculator the tea had exactly 2.2 percent more sugar per ounce but that doesn’t make any sense meow unless somehow the second time I calculated it during the argument I managed to calculate the percentage. I mean 27 twice is 54 and dividing that by 24 goes into 2 and 6/24 which is in fact 2.4. Which I mean if you just multiply my first answer my 2 its still going to come out the same amount of sugar per fluid once. No matter what it isn’t three times...  I was quite angry he even accused me of interrupting so I suckered him into interrupting me lol. I am considering the idea that he might be literally going insane. I also think MelloMad has a hard time accepting that I am actually very smart. Considerably and debatably, smarter then him. He was frustrated that I finished signing up for the websites we use at work with so much faster then he. He was almost instantly mad at the computer as soon as he laid eyes on it though so I don’t know what he expected. I don’t see why in anyway it matters if I’m in anyway shape or form more ineffectual. I wasn’t born smart I worked hard to be smart. He could easily do this as well and I know for a fact there are things I know not much about that MelloMad knows plenty of. We are equal even if so. I wonder if he just sees me normally as less adiquite so when I do prove him wrong its more frustrating. I on the other hand hold MelloMad to an equal standard. If he does fail in any way I trust him to figure it out or at least I’ll help him. I’m talking so much shit about him because of how frustrated I’ve been with him lately. I really hate how much pent up anger I have even if I know exactly why its happening. I have to go off to work in thirty minutes so I’ll have to continue this whole part another time.

My Mom loved chopped. Remember that sentence? Well My sister-in-law friended me recently on facebook. I’d imagine I’ve mentioned it. I saw a heartwarming post of before she friended me about how she was having a coffee totie 2 remember her Mother-in-Law I nearly broke down crying. I don’t believe in evil. I can’t see the evil. I even had Guy admit to me that hell as of now, according to the Bible, doesn’t and won’t exist until judgment day. I think its ironic and amazing that I was finally able to get him to confess. By the way, I’m not Christian. MelloMad in the mist of our difucklty was contacted by his father’s sisters. His aunts he didn’t know of. This inspired me with my new found friendship on facebook to ask my sister-in-law of my own half sister. I didn’t know her name until now but I’ve known of her for a long time. I’ll have to tell you all about her later but I told her all about me and as soon as she’s completed her cool nursing exam she will respond to her long lost sisters brief life summary. She didn’t even know I existed until I messaged her haha. Well anyways I have to go to work. Stay awesome Pain!              

PS can’t forget about last nights anxiety dream about the room change. That song I showed to jenny. The dream was much wow. Very refreshing and Hope there too    

[onceyougoexo-blog]

Summer Lovin’

Chapter 1

Supposed To Be

Eunji sat across the table from Jihoon, looking down at her hands. The soft hum of other conversations in the coffeeshop filled the silence between the two, who sat in a little corner out of the way.

“Happy Birthday,” Jihoon started. Eunji looked up to see him smiling sheepishly. She laughed a little hesitantly.

“It’s not even my birthday yet,” Eunji tried to smile and fidgeted with the frayed hem of her sweater sleeve.

Jihoon leaned a little closer, hands clasped on the table.

“Yeah, but I wanted to give you this before break started.” He unfolded his hands to reveal a little package. The small rectangle was carefully and neatly wrapped, complete with a festive red bow stuck on the top left corner. “It’s for you,” Jihoon said quietly. He leaned back in his chair a little too quickly to pass as relaxed and looked at her expectantly, hopefully.

Oh no.

Her heart felt like it was compressing into itself, the weight of his heavy expectations and her dread of what was to follow slowly pushed down on her chest until it started to hurt. The reason Eunji had asked Jihoon, her boyfriend of three months, to meet her today was to end their short relationship. And here he was, effectively shattering all the resolve she had tried so hard to work up in one single move. Of all the different scenarios of the breakup that Eunji had pictured in her head, one where Jihoon would get her a nice little gift all wrapped up in red and gold was not one of them.

The two went to school together. Although they seemed like an ideal match as two of the top students at their school, any time they spent together alone were too painfully awkward to make dating a real possibility.

So, Eunji thought it best they terminate the relationship.

Jihoon apparently thought otherwise.

“Jihoon-” Eunji tried to start the speech that she had practiced in the car.

“Yeah?” Jihoon looked at her, puzzled. Eunji felt constipated.

“Uh,” Eunji faltered. “Jihoon. This can’t work.”

Jihoon looked confused. “Uh, but you haven’t even opened the present…” He rubbed his jaw. “I think you might like it.” He chuckled nervously.

“No, no! Thank you so much for the present but… I meant us.” Eunji inwardly cringed at how cliched and disingenuous those words sounded stumbling roughly off her lips.

He was quiet.

“Oh.”

“I’m so sorry.” Eunji felt like running out of the coffeeshop. She grabbed onto the seat of her chair, as if she expected her body to bolt out of there without her permission.

“Uh. Can I ask why?” Jihoon met her eyes plaintively, anxiously palming the hot chocolate in front of him.

“It’s just… we’re so different and I feel like you deserve better.” Eunji blurted out. Their breakup was turning out to be just as awkward and empty as their short-lived relationship. Or maybe all breakups were like that, Eunji wouldn’t know as this was her first.

“What? No, I… ” Jihoon looked confused. “I thought we were doing great.”

Eunji sighed and looked down at her latte.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Jihoon.

“Thank you so much for the present but…” She gently pushed the package towards Jihoon. “I’m sorry.”

He was quiet.

“I’m gonna go, okay?” Eunji awkwardly struggled her way out of the corner that her chair was stuffed in, almost knocking over her latte in the process. As soon as she escaped from the stubborn chair, she rushed out of the coffee shop as fast as she could without breaking into a sprint.

Eunji slammed her car door and slumped against the cool leather of her seat.

“Thank God that’s over.” She covered her face in her hands and breathed out slowly.

In. Out.

In. Out.

Truthfully, she had only stayed for Jihoon for three long agonizing months because she felt like she kinda had to. Her justifications for dating him sounded empty even in her head, but it was hard to find a solid reason to break up with him. There was really no reason to start this pointless relationship, but once she was locked in, she couldn’t find a reason to end it either. So, after weeks of back and forth, she decided that she was wasting her time.

She couldn’t help but feel cheated out of the perfect first relationship she’d always envisioned. It was supposed to be all fluttering hearts and cheesy one-liners, shy looks and whispered promises. A first boyfriend was supposed to mean something, wasn’t it?

Eunji always got caught up in the supposed-to-be’s.

If she really had to pinpoint the reason she even considered dating Jihoon, she would say it was because a lot of their friends had been expecting them to for a while. Eunji was very easily influenced by expectations. In the deep subconscious of Eunji’s mind, there existed very clear supposed-to-be rules that delineated every social interaction and relationship. They were always there, nagging at her in every whenever she talked to a teacher, whenever she received a compliment, whenever she met someone new.

You’re supposed to do this.

You’re supposed to be this.

Sometimes she couldn’t distinguish her own thoughts from the voices of those pesky supposed-to-be’s.

And that’s why she wasn’t so sure about the intensive music camp she had signed up for a couple months ago. Her voice teacher, choir director and recording supervisor had all enthusiastically recommended her to the prestigious Intermony Center of Performing Arts for the Modern Voice track, so she had felt like she should do it. It would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience to work with the top talents from around the nation, and it could turn out to be pretty fun. Although the whopping $5,000 tuition package worried her, her school, the Nova Performing Arts High School, had generously offered to cover her full scholarship for camp. So now she really felt like she had to go.

Now, this “music camp” was nothing like those those cheesy “Camp Rock” types you see on T.V., where cute guys and cute girls be-bop all over the forest having a grand old time. This was real shit. There was a highly competitive application and audition process that each camper had to pass. And once you were in, you had to receive passing performance grades, or you were sent home with no refund on your payment.

When Eunji read that tidbit on the camp’s website, she gulped. Money was no joking matter to Eunji, as her family never had enough of it. As the daughter of blue-collar parents, Eunji was used to working summer jobs and buying most stuff herself. But she still considered herself spoiled in everything but money. Her parents raised her and her younger brother with constant love and affection, and she knew that she had lucked out with parents who supported her dream of becoming a musician. However, she knew not to ask for or expect any luxuries when it came to clothes, electronics, etc.

This camp was one huge luxury. From the beautiful castle-like buildings on campus to the majestic pine forests that enclosed the pristine grounds, everything about this camp looked foreign to Eunji. She had seen all the pictures on the website, and she couldn’t help but feel that she wouldn’t belong. But since the school was paying her tuition, Eunji felt she had no choice but to go with a grateful heart.

And so, two weeks later, with the guilt of the breakup still in the back of her mind, she got on the coach bus that would take her the 200 miles to Intermony.

#fanfics #exo #fluff #chanyeol #chanyeol x oc #ot12

[smokeybrandcompositions]

Snowflakes

When i was a kid, i was terrorized by my father. He hated me for literally being born. Dude told my mom he was jealous of me when i was literally a week outside of her womb. He couldn’t help it. I was monopolizing her attention. As an infant. as a newborn. I couldn’t lift my head but he saw me as a threat to his relationship. And my father was jealous of that. I don’t think that feeling ever changed and, as i got older, he became physically and emotionally violent. He beat me regularly. He berated me on a regular basis. I can count on two hands how many times he called me by my name. More often than not, he referred to me as faggot, b*tch, stupid, coward, etc. He forced me to clean up after him. I learned how to clean the kitchen under duress. the hot water scalded my three year old hands as i struggled to reach the sink. I have a very sharp memory, almost photographic, so i remember that searing heat on my small hands like it was yesterday. It hurt. It still hurts.

I was charged with the housekeeping. If it wasn’t done properly, daily, in a surreal timetable, i was beat. Not spanked, beat. My father beat me until i bruised. He beat me until there were blisters. in order to avoid those horrific events, i forsook sleep. at 5 years old, i started waking up at 430 in the morning to clean the bathrooms, to clean my room, to wash the dishes he left after i cleaned the kitchen the night before, all because i didn’t want to get hit anymore. in order to accomplish these things before i left for school, i had to sacrifice basic hygiene. I didn’t brush my hair because that was time that could be spent cleaning. I didn’t brush my teeth or shower because i didn’t want to make a mess of the bathrooms i had just cleaned. School started at 815 and i would leave my house just after my ma left, not sooner because she’d ask questions, but eraly enough that my father was still awake. I often got to school between 6-7 am. I would just sit there and wait. wait for class to start.

The children obviously ridiculed me. I was the stinky kid and they didn’t have the intellectual capacity to understand why. they didn’t know i was terrified to be in m own home when my mother wasn’t there. They just knew i was the smelly nerd in the back of the class who was always panicked. My first grade teacher kind of picked up on my situation and she’d come in early to let me into the class out of the cold. I remember that vividly. I asked her once if she would take me home with her. I was crushed when she said no. Pretty sure she said something to my mother because my parents argued that night. My father made it point to be extra terrible to me the following few days. he began to slap me around at that point, hitting me in the head and the face, daring me to cry so he could beat me some more. i hated being home.

When i was 6, I pleaded with my mother to do something about this abuse, to stop this man from hurting me. she just asked him if i was lying. Here i am, pissing myself at the prospect of her confronting this man, pleading with her not to say anything but to just kick him out, and she has a whole conversation about my claims with him. The next day, he beat me for an hour while she was at work. he held me out of school to do it. He took breaks. He alternated between one belt. then two belts. then he knotted the belts together. then he went and got a f*cking extension cord. i remember that pain. i remember it very clearly. It was like the scalding water on my hands the first time i washed dishes but much hotter, much more intense. he hit me with that cord ten times. i remember that vividly. i have nightmares about that pain to this day. I’m 33 years old, and i have nightmares about that to this day.

Every time he called my name (or the derogatory equivalent), i panicked. Every time i was left alone with him, i panicked. i spent a third of my life in utter terror. There was no safe space for me. Not my home. Not my school. Not even at my Grandma’s house. I thought about killing myself at 7. 7 years old. I didn’t because my mother had become pregnant. With twins. There was no way i was going to let them experience the same terror i had to endure. i did my best but they, too, found the wrath, though, quite a bit less than what i had to deal with. By the time my brothers were born, my father was older and he saw them as a second chance, since i was such a disappoint.

Eventually, my mother kicked him out. i believe i was 15 when this finally happened. He had f*cked up one too many times and, after having my brothers literally cook cocaine on our kitchen stove when they were 9 years old, my mother had, apparently, reached her limit. My brother’s were fortunate enough to have a childhood. they have memories of being able to play with their friends. i don’t. 15 year of my life were spent under this asshole’s thumb. I asked my ma the other day why it took her so long to take action. She told me she didn’t believe someone could be so cruel to their kid. She didn’t believe me. That’s so f*cked up.

I’m a 33 year old adult and i can’t be left alone with my thoughts. I have night terrors about my abuse. I’ve had them since i was about 4 years old. they made me dread sleep. I started drinking coffee at 5 years old to avoid sleeping. i haven’t had a full 8 hours of restful sleep in about 28 years. 6 hours is a great day for me. i average 2 to 4. When i close my eyes, i see me. i see 6 year old me, hurting. pleading. begging. i just didn’t want to hurt. i just wanted someone to care enough to help and no one did. No one. As an adult, i ear this Person suit like a champ. I go to work. I pay my bills. i do everything a person is suppose to do in order to be okay. I am NOT okay. My trauma literally haunt me, every second of my life and its a goddamn struggle to not want to inflict the same pain on the world that i had to suffer in my childhood.

My traumas are very real. i had to learn to cope just to exist. When i hear a f*cking 19 year talk about a fear of rejection or that a cashier looks intimidating and it gives them anxiety, i want to punch them in the goddamn mouth. It’s like mental health has become some f*cking buzzword that the younger Millennials use to be sh*tty people. I had to learn to overcome that anxiety. i had to learn to how to understand not everyone wanted to hurt me like my father. These motherf*cking kids didn’t get that Participation Trophy when they were 10 so now they have emotional scars? the f*ck out of here, man. If you’re afraid someone is going to scold you, stop being a b*tch. If i can find a way to function in society after everything i’ve been through, you can certainly get over your f*cked up sense of entitlement fueled neurosis.

[smokeybrand]

Snowflakes

When i was a kid, i was terrorized by my father. He hated me for literally being born. Dude told my mom he was jealous of me when i was literally a week outside of her womb. He couldn’t help it. I was monopolizing her attention. As an infant. as a newborn. I couldn’t lift my head but he saw me as a threat to his relationship. And my father was jealous of that. I don’t think that feeling ever changed and, as i got older, he became physically and emotionally violent. He beat me regularly. He berated me on a regular basis. I can count on two hands how many times he called me by my name. More often than not, he referred to me as faggot, b*tch, stupid, coward, etc. He forced me to clean up after him. I learned how to clean the kitchen under duress. the hot water scalded my three year old hands as i struggled to reach the sink. I have a very sharp memory, almost photographic, so i remember that searing heat on my small hands like it was yesterday. It hurt. It still hurts.

I was charged with the housekeeping. If it wasn’t done properly, daily, in a surreal timetable, i was beat. Not spanked, beat. My father beat me until i bruised. He beat me until there were blisters. in order to avoid those horrific events, i forsook sleep. at 5 years old, i started waking up at 430 in the morning to clean the bathrooms, to clean my room, to wash the dishes he left after i cleaned the kitchen the night before, all because i didn’t want to get hit anymore. in order to accomplish these things before i left for school, i had to sacrifice basic hygiene. I didn’t brush my hair because that was time that could be spent cleaning. I didn’t brush my teeth or shower because i didn’t want to make a mess of the bathrooms i had just cleaned. School started at 815 and i would leave my house just after my ma left, not sooner because she’d ask questions, but eraly enough that my father was still awake. I often got to school between 6-7 am. I would just sit there and wait. wait for class to start.

The children obviously ridiculed me. I was the stinky kid and they didn’t have the intellectual capacity to understand why. they didn’t know i was terrified to be in m own home when my mother wasn’t there. They just knew i was the smelly nerd in the back of the class who was always panicked. My first grade teacher kind of picked up on my situation and she’d come in early to let me into the class out of the cold. I remember that vividly. I asked her once if she would take me home with her. I was crushed when she said no. Pretty sure she said something to my mother because my parents argued that night. My father made it point to be extra terrible to me the following few days. he began to slap me around at that point, hitting me in the head and the face, daring me to cry so he could beat me some more. i hated being home.

When i was 6, I pleaded with my mother to do something about this abuse, to stop this man from hurting me. she just asked him if i was lying. Here i am, pissing myself at the prospect of her confronting this man, pleading with her not to say anything but to just kick him out, and she has a whole conversation about my claims with him. The next day, he beat me for an hour while she was at work. he held me out of school to do it. He took breaks. He alternated between one belt. then two belts. then he knotted the belts together. then he went and got a f*cking extension cord. i remember that pain. i remember it very clearly. It was like the scalding water on my hands the first time i washed dishes but much hotter, much more intense. he hit me with that cord ten times. i remember that vividly. i have nightmares about that pain to this day. I’m 33 years old, and i have nightmares about that to this day.

Every time he called my name (or the derogatory equivalent), i panicked. Every time i was left alone with him, i panicked. i spent a third of my life in utter terror. There was no safe space for me. Not my home. Not my school. Not even at my Grandma’s house. I thought about killing myself at 7. 7 years old. I didn’t because my mother had become pregnant. With twins. There was no way i was going to let them experience the same terror i had to endure. i did my best but they, too, found the wrath, though, quite a bit less than what i had to deal with. By the time my brothers were born, my father was older and he saw them as a second chance, since i was such a disappoint.

Eventually, my mother kicked him out. i believe i was 15 when this finally happened. He had f*cked up one too many times and, after having my brothers literally cook cocaine on our kitchen stove when they were 9 years old, my mother had, apparently, reached her limit. My brother’s were fortunate enough to have a childhood. they have memories of being able to play with their friends. i don’t. 15 year of my life were spent under this asshole’s thumb. I asked my ma the other day why it took her so long to take action. She told me she didn’t believe someone could be so cruel to their kid. She didn’t believe me. That’s so f*cked up.

I’m a 33 year old adult and i can’t be left alone with my thoughts. I have night terrors about my abuse. I’ve had them since i was about 4 years old. they made me dread sleep. I started drinking coffee at 5 years old to avoid sleeping. i haven’t had a full 8 hours of restful sleep in about 28 years. 6 hours is a great day for me. i average 2 to 4. When i close my eyes, i see me. i see 6 year old me, hurting. pleading. begging. i just didn’t want to hurt. i just wanted someone to care enough to help and no one did. No one. As an adult, i ear this Person suit like a champ. I go to work. I pay my bills. i do everything a person is suppose to do in order to be okay. I am NOT okay. My trauma literally haunt me, every second of my life and its a goddamn struggle to not want to inflict the same pain on the world that i had to suffer in my childhood.

My traumas are very real. i had to learn to cope just to exist. When i hear a f*cking 19 year talk about a fear of rejection or that a cashier looks intimidating and it gives them anxiety, i want to punch them in the goddamn mouth. It’s like mental health has become some f*cking buzzword that the younger Millennials use to be sh*tty people. I had to learn to overcome that anxiety. i had to learn to how to understand not everyone wanted to hurt me like my father. These motherf*cking kids didn’t get that Participation Trophy when they were 10 so now they have emotional scars? the f*ck out of here, man. If you’re afraid someone is going to scold you, stop being a b*tch. If i can find a way to function in society after everything i’ve been through, you can certainly get over your f*cked up sense of entitlement fueled neurosis.

[makingsenseinanntworld-blog]

How We Found Ourselves Here (Pt.1- Mums Story)

Hi it’s Amanda (Amys’ mum) ... so how did we find ourselves here?. Its been a long journey I would say that has been very intense over the past 6 - 8 months but in truth probably really started at around the end of grade 4, or even earlier looking back now. I am sure we will explore that as time goes by. So how come it has taken so long? That’s the million dollar question for sure some days.

Did we miss signs because our family was going through a tough time at that point?  Did the fact that Amy have an intricate knowledge of horses and seeming obsession with the four legged beast not seem to be a concern - doesn’t every second ten year old girl?  Did her quiet manner seem anything but shy? She experienced no learning issues and although she played mostly with boys this also caused no real concern (having been a female who always got on better with males myself). 

So when did it start? Somewhere during grade 5 Amy became more withdrawn and more socially anxious. As I allude to above there was a family breakdown and ongoing matters were often used to justify her behaviour.  At the same time her twin brother was also experiencing some issues and both kids (whether bouncing off each other or not) ended up in counselling. We were told that Amy had social anxiety somewhere around this time. 

The psychologist seemed to concur that the major issues were around divorce and family breakdown and there was never any suggestion or inkling that Aspergers was a consideration or issue. It’s easy to feel a bit resentful toward the system looking back but then I guess being fair, Amy only saw her a handful of times as she, her brother and I moved interstate for a fresh start. 

I remember taking Amy to a trial day at her new school and the concentrated effort she made to say hello - I now understand how very hard that would have been for her and how brave she was that day but thankfully when she actually started there the next year she was smiled upon by the friend god being buddied up with a great kid called Bronte her took her under her wing and just accepted her. This was probably the blessing that got Amy through year 6 and started at high school however it was at the start of high school that more cracks started to show. Stress over changes in routine, higher academic expectations, big noisy crowds etc etc.... but again don’t all kids experience a bit of turmoil and upheaval at the start of high school? 

By the end of first term things seemed to be leveling out a bit and then she and I were hit with a really hard one when her brother, missing his dad and not having a great time of it at school decided he wanted to move back home and in with his father. We were probably, fair to say, a bit blindsided by this. At the same time I had changed jobs and the new one was not so great. To cut a long story short my old job came up and we decided that if I got it we would move back, to be closer to Bryce etc. 

Looking back this decision has been a double edged sword. While we got to be closer to Bryce it also resulted in a range of issues coming up and this is where I say the last 6-8 months have been the time that have led us here. The downside of the experience was the despair that Amy sank into - The upside finding out about Aspergers.  

Amy went back to her former school ( at her request as she had friends there). What eventuated was very disappointing, perhaps the fact that as boys and girls do at 13 years there was a big change in interest, who knows? But her anxiety escalated again to the point that after a meltdown at school we found ourselves back in the psychologists office. What was presenting was a huge amount of resentment ( I think Amy will agree), toward her dad and brother, the boys at school and perhaps at me for taking her away from the best and only real girlfriend she has ever had. On top of anxiety there were signs of depression. While the counselling proved beneficial at first and got Amy into a better place emotionally we did not see any improvement with social networks at school. There was also total deterioration in relationship with her dad ( this is something she can discuss should she want to). By the end of the year I was ready to pull her out and home school her - I could not see her life improving much where she was. We found her current school at around the same time ( through teacher suggestion) and after checking it out decided to give it a try. The jury is still out on this one as it is early days. Amys’ first term has been one of ups and downs. The group of kids at the school are tight knit and as a new kid it must be hard breaking into that but there were other clues that led to us looking at testing for ASD. Aside from the social anxiety and awkwardness these included a genuine lack of understanding or ability to relate to themes of conversation ( such as boy talk), no interest at all in typical teen girl things        ( think make up, hair and shopping) and seeing her retreat further and further into herself to name a few. The psychologist tested Amy and suggested that there were indicators of both depression and post traumatic stress disorder, though we probably both feel the later is hard to justify or apply at times. 

The Psychologist did indicate other testing may be warranted but the ‘aha’ moment probably came when I was talking with my mentor at work, whose son is also on the spectrum. There were some marked similarities so after loads of web diagnosing (not really) and research I raised the possibility with Amy. I think ( and again she will discuss) that she was in a bad way wondering what was wrong with her and thinking that she might have ‘really bad’ psychological issues (”I’m really sick mum after a tearful outburst.... I’m not right”)....that the possibility of an ASD for the first time in a long time gave her and I something that might provide an answer. So we both researched madly. I downloaded a few books and it was like reading the story of Amys life at many times. So we made the appointment with the ASD  clinic and here we are. We were not surprised when the psychologist confirmed what we already probably knew by then.  My first question was ‘so what now.?’. Apparently we wait for the formal report and seek out supportive groups, ongoing counselling and the like. I don’t know - what I do know however is that Amy seems to have embraced ‘this’ as much as one can at such an early stage. She appears to be under no illusion that a label solves issues and knows there will be challenges but she herself will tell you that this is not the definition of who she is it’s just part of her story.I concur and in setting up this blog together we hope to decompress, explore, inform and gain other insight into this non typical experience. What I do know is that I have a very brave and courageous 14 year old who I respect more than ever and who I love as much today as I did before and that will never change.