a native-american actress got into the best actress category for the first time in the history of the oscars and instead of celebrating that we gotta hear thinkpieces about how the movie that's up for 8 oscars (including best picture) missing out on 2 additional oscar noms is an affront against feminism or whatever
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Humility
Chapter 3- Sleeping powder
Shouto wasn’t sure how he made it to work at a decent time, but somehow he did. Even though he woke up on the floor of his bathroom to the sound of an alarm, Shouto didn’t remember setting one. With Aizawa still on the phone with him, neither of them hung up until Shouto panicked and quickly pressed end call, leaving Aizawa to do whatever he was doing at 7:30 in the morning. He managed to clean up the vomit on the floor, shower, have a cigarette, and take his pills (well, chew some of his pills) in an hour, although he needed a few minutes to lie down before leaving. But somehow Shouto was in his desk chair at 9am, just an hour late.
Bakugou and Midoriya seemed surprised to see him. Midoriya turned to Bakugou when Shouto walked in, mumbling something under his breath, before walking over to Shouto with a big, fake grin spread across his face. Shouto had the feeling something was wrong and he was sure it had to do with what happened last night.
“Hey, you’re here,” Midoriya said, that big, fake grin still plastered across his face.
Shouto nodded slowly and furrowed his brows together. “Yeah. I am here.”
“So…” Midoriya swallowed, looking down at his twiddling hands before looking back up at Shouto. “We need to have a discussion regarding last night.”
“We?” Shouto drawled, sitting back in his chair. “What do you mean, ‘we’?”
Midoriya winced, taking a shaky breath in through clenched teeth. “Well… you know, we need to get a… PR release out about… everything.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Bakugou grumbled behind Midoriya. He stomped over, a scowl spread across his face. “We got the fucking PR crisis management team together and you need to cooperate or else people are going to think you're a spoiled brat- which you are. Don’t think for a fucking second that you aren’t.”
“Kacchan,” Midoriya said, his voice stern, “you need to cut it out. I know you’re upset-”
“Of course I’m fucking upset. I’m a part of this stupid fucking company too! This hurts my image too!” Bakugou shouted.
Shouto winced, the sound of Bakugou’s yelling pounding in his skull. Bakugou must have noticed, since he turned and huffed a bitter laugh.
“Oh, I’m sorry, princess. Do you have a headache? Are you hungover?”
“Kacchan, if you aren’t going to be helpful, then leave.” Midoriya looked as though he were going to kill Bakugou if he didn’t shut his trap, and Shouto wouldn’t blame him if he did. Shouto was quite close to strangling him as well. Although, he didn’t have nearly enough energy. No amount of coffee would help that.
Shouto sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. “So when is the meeting, Midoriya?”
“They're already here.”
Shouto met Midoriya's eyes, that all too familiar burning hot rage burning through his veins. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you just fucking got here,” Bakugou growled, taking another step closer to Shouto. “Why don’t you learn to be on time?”
Midoriya made a small noise of protest. “Ah, well, technically he is early. Well, earlier than he normally is. I mean, he is late, but earlier than-”
“Stop talking.”
Midoriya sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.
Shouto stood up from his chair, his vision spinning for a few seconds before turning into that nice, fuzzy feeling he had grown accustomed to. “Let’s get this fucking over with.”
**********
Shouto didn’t want to be here and he was sure that was pretty obvious.
Midoriya, Bakugou, the crisis communicator Hana-… something, the crisis consultant Hagimoto, and the media manager who Shouto wasn’t even going to try to remember the name of were all discussing something. Honestly, Shouto wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about. He heard his name pop up a few times, although it didn’t spark anything in him. Instead, he just stared ahead at his mug on the table, watching as the ice slowly dissolved in his already ice-cold coffee.
He couldn’t care less about this meeting. It wasn’t a big deal anymore. Sure, last night he felt like shit, but all he had to do was chew a few oxy when he woke up and within half an hour, he felt completely fine again. More than fine- he felt so fucking good. He felt like he was floating, his body not even pressed against the desk chair at the conference table, but instead, he was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere way fucking better. Every fiber of his being felt as though it were tingling, an orgasmic feeling he craves and caves and craves and needs and needs and needs and needs, never enough and never high enough.
“-y-hot. Hey, Icy-hot. Fucker, are you listening?”
Somehow, Bakugou was not making him feel as great despite the drugs.
“Are you fucking listening?” Bakugou asked again. Shouto turned to his side, meeting the eyes of Bakugou as he glared at him in anger and frustration.
Bakugou furrowed his brows and pursed his lips. He didn’t believe Shouto, but Shouto didn’t really care.
Bakugou clicked his tongue. “So you’re not fucking listening to us when we’re trying to save your ass, huh?”
Shouto didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to even say. He couldn’t think of a lie to tell Bakugou, maybe a lie that would let him get away with not listening or maybe a lie about what they were talking about and what he thinks about it. But regardless, Shouto doesn’t think he can think right now. It’s like his brain is filled with nothing. He doesn’t really mind that.
“Why the fuck should we help you if you’re just going to sit here and do nothing?” Bakugou yelled, slamming his fist down on the table.
Shouto didn’t feel nervous this time. He felt nothing. “I don’t know. Maybe you shouldn’t.”
Bakugou glared at him with the most hateful look he could muster. “You realize Midoriya and my career ride on your image right now, right?”
“Kacchan, calm down. Please,” Midoriya begged, although it sounded more like a threat. Midoriya was starting to lose his patience more with Bakugou recently, Shouto noticed. He wondered if it was because of him.
Bakugou glared at Midoriya but he went quiet. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.
“Shouto, do you have anything to add about the plan?” Midoriya asked, turning his attention to Shouto instead.
Shouto shook his head. “I mean…I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t think so. Don’t think so.”
Midoriya furrowed his brows. His hand started moving, picking at a loose piece of skin off his nail bed. “Okay. Um, well, I guess we’ll just go with the plan. Shouto, do you need another rundown?”
Shouto nodded.
Bakugou scoffed, throwing his head back. “I told you he wasn’t listening.”
Midoriya ignored him, plastering a fake smile across his face. “Okay. Well, we are going to have you step out of the limelight for a while until this blows over. That means you’re going to be in the background while Bakugou and I take over speaking for the company and doing hero work for a while.”
Shouto blinked. “You’re fucking with me.”
“Your work has been abysmal and we don’t think you are fit to currently run the company until you work out whatever is going on,” Hagimoto explained. Something about the tone of his voice made that familiar fire spark in Shouto’s stomach.
“I own this fucking company,” Shouto snapped, leaning closer to Hagimoto from across the table.
Hagimoto glared at Shouto through half-lidded eyes. “Yes, you do, but you are currently unfit to run the company. Bakugou and Midoriya will take over until you are deemed fit.”
Shouto laughed. “No. No, I’m not doing that.”
“You don’t have a choice, Todoroki,” the woman, the crisis communicator, said. “You need some time to work on yourself. We think this is the best decision for the company, including your coworkers here. They all think it’s for the best.”
Shouto turned to Bakugou and Midoriya. They both fucking… they both thought that Shouto wasn’t fit to run his own goddamn company. They think Shouto is so fucking messed up that he can’t even be a hero, the only thing he was made to do. This is what he was groomed to do since he was a little kid and now… his own friends and coworkers don’t even feel he can handle it. Or maybe they just want to run the company themselves. Maybe this was all a part of their plan to get Shouto out. Maybe this is yet another betrayal.
“Was this all a part of your plan to get my company?” Shouto hissed at Midoriya and Bakugou.
Midoriya made a face, furrowing his brows together and lips parting slightly. Bakugou glared at Shouto, a snarl spreading across his face. Shouto swallowed.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bakugou snapped. His voice was so loud.
“What fucking ever,” Shouto mumbled, hauling himself out of the chair and to his feet. “Do whatever you guys want. I don’t care.”
Bakugou slammed his fist down on the table. It was loud. Shouto jumped. He was waiting for Bakugou to say something, to yell at him and call him vile names, but Bakugou didn’t. He was quiet. Everyone was quiet.
Shouto walked out of the conference room. No one said a thing.
**********
Shouto dropped his phone on his desk. Natsuo was calling. He really didn’t want to talk to him. His brother and sister were both quite desperate to talk to him for some reason or another, maybe to yell at him, maybe to ask if he’s okay, or maybe to shame him. But all of those were warranted. Shouto deserved to be yelled at, he deserved to be shamed, and he deserved no sympathy.
But knowing his sister, at the very least, nothing he could do would make her snap, at least not to his face, and that is so fucking annoying. No matter what Shouto did as a child and teenager, no matter how annoying he was or how mean he was to her, she never snapped. The fights he got into, the crude words spit in her face, the antagonizing their father until he beat him and sometimes her- nothing got to her. Natsuo, on the other hand, would willingly call him out on his bullshit, which was deserved. Once when Shouto got into a fistfight with some random kid in middle school, Natsuo was called to pick him up since Fuyumi and their father were at work. Natsuo gave him shit the whole ride home, telling him he needs to be more like Fuyumi. Shouto agreed, but it’s obvious that’s not possible. Fuyumi is a saint, Natsuo is a saint. Shouto could never be like them.
Shouto declined the call. Natsuo was going to kill him for doing that, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. After a good minute that felt like a few seconds in Shouto’s state, Natsuo left a minute-long voicemail. Shouto was not going to listen to that.
He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes felt heavy. He was so tired, but he was always tired. The amount of times he would fall asleep in the middle of doing paperwork or need to take a nap immediately after coming home despite sleeping many many hours at night was more than he could count. He focused his eyes on the stack of papers in front of him. Bakugou wanted him to go through the incident reports related to their hero work, such as Bakugou blowing up a building or Shouto freezing the entire downtown area of Tokyo- an impressively stupid feat on its own. Shouto has done a lot of stupid things.
He closed his eyes.
**********
“Shou, you need to stop,” Fuyumi begged, her voice wavering but her words were still very soft and delicate.
Shouto didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to. He hates the face she makes when she cries. It always makes Shouto feel sick to his stomach and his heart beat faster. He never really knew why, but he thinks it’s because he hates when she’s upset. She is too good to be upset. She does nothing but try her hardest to glue all the broken pieces of the family back together, a vase with kintsugi, and Shouto has done nothing but smash it, and Shouto is really good at smashing all of his sister's hard work.
This time, he smashed the vase she was trying to work on by picking a fight with their father, which is something he did an embarrassing amount of times for someone who is supposed to be at least decently mature. He was seventeen and still trying to piss off his father, which always ended with him or someone else in the family getting injured. Usually, it was him. Once in a while, it was Fuyumi. Once in a while, it was both of them. This time it was both of them.
Shouto watched as their father walked away, out of the kitchen and into his study where he would do God knows what. He couldn’t remember why he had started the fight. He wasn’t sure what exactly came over him that made him so angry that he just had to argue. It didn’t really matter anymore. His father was gone and Shouto and Fuyumi were left on the tile floor of the kitchen, bruised, beaten, and burned.
“I hate him,” Shouto mumbled. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to defend himself, explain himself, or if he was just thinking out loud. He hated him. He hated his father so much that it made his stomach burn and his throat tighten. It made his hands heat and cool, hot and cold with his quirk. Hot with his father’s quirk.
Fuyumi sighed. He heard her stand up and walk across the floor, her slippers slightly sticking to the tile with every step. The sink was turned on. A drawer opened. There was splashing in the sink, like Fuyumi was washing something. The sink turned off. She walked over to him, her slippers scrunching against the floor. She knelt in front of him, but Shouto didn’t look at her. He looked down. In her hands he could see a wet white washcloth and a burn on her wrist in the shape of their father’s hand. He didn’t want to look up and see what else happened to her.
“Shouto, look at me. You have blood on your face.”
Shouto shook his head.
Fuyumi grabbed his chin gently, forcing him to look at her. She looked awful. She had a bruise on the side of her face and blood spread across her chin and cheek. Her eyes were red and puffy with thick globs of tears staining her skin. She looked awful and Shouto was the one who caused it.
“You have blood on your face too,” Shouto whispered, his voice thick and childlike.
“It’s your blood, Shou. It’s from your nose. I didn’t bleed. I promise.”
Shouto was suddenly aware of the strong smell and taste of iron staining his senses. His face felt wet and sticky. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, only to find that there was indeed blood smeared across his skin. He was bleeding. How did he not know he was bleeding?
“Does it hurt?” Fuyumi asked, pressing the washcloth against his nose.
“Mm-mm. ‘s fine.”
“Please don’t do that again. Don’t make him angry.” Fuyumi was crying again. Her voice sounded wet and thick, like she was trying to hold everything together deep inside.
Shouto blinked back tears. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of his sister at least. He is supposed to be strong, someone that his sister can depend on. He isn’t supposed to be like this, he isn’t supposed to be weak. He isn’t supposed to cry.
“I’m sorry, Fuyumi. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I made him hurt you. I didn’t- I didn’t want him to-”
“No, Shouto,” Fuyumi said, “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.”
Shouto started to cry.
**********
“Hey! Are you fucking sleeping?”
Shouto opened his eyes. Bakugou was standing in front of him. He looked angry, his brows furrowed and his mouth turned into an angry sneer. It seemed like Bakugou was always angry when it came to Shouto.
“What the fuck? You were asleep. You were fucking asleep.” Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head in what Shouto assumed was disbelief.
“He was fucking asleep at his desk,” Bakugou said, every word laced with malice.
Shouto frowned. “No, I was just-”
“You know what? If you aren’t going to take any of this shit seriously, you can go home.”
Midoriya blinked a few times, his brows furrowed. “What? Kacchan-”
Shouto let air out of his nose slowly. “You can’t do that. You can’t fire me.”
“I’m not. I’m saying you need to go home and stay home until you get your fucking act together. You need to fucking leave,” Bakugou growled. His voice was starting to get louder and louder.
“No, I’m not leaving. Don’t be fucking ridiculous.” Shouto was starting to match Bakugou’s loud, angry voice.
“Bakugou, I think you’re overreacting-”
“No, I’m fucking sick of everyone picking up this asshole's slack. He needs to take a month off to grow the fuck up,” Bakugou shouted to Midoriya. “I’m sick of his bullshit.”
Shouto didn’t think. He lunged out of his chair and at Bakugou as if he were on autopilot. His hand gripped Bakugou’s collar. He could feel Bakugou’s hot breath against his face. That only made him tighten his grasp.
“Woah! Shouto!” Midoriya cried.
Bakugou pushed against Shouto’s chest. Shouto lost his grip on his shirt, stumbling backward into his desk. He heard his coffee cup fall over beside him, coffee spilling onto the desk and floor below with a splatter. He could feel the liquid pouring on his hand, but he couldn’t feel th etempurature. He knew it was hot, Bakugou always made their coffee near boiling and even after a good amount of time, it was hot as hell. Shouto still couldn’t feel it.
Bakugou looked like he was going to tear him apart, and Shouto wasn’t sure if that was his goal or not. What was his goal? To pick a fight? To hurt him? What did Shouto want? What did Shouto want, that was the question. It didn’t feel good to hurt him, no matter how much he wanted to in that moment. It never felt good when he did these things. The way Bakugou and Midoriya are looking at him with a mix of anger, shock, and pity… it wasn’t worth it. It never was. But still, the burning hot rage of his father coursed through his veins and he wanted nothing more than to punch Bakugou in the face.
“What the fuck was that?” Bakugou yelled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Shouto crossed his arms over his chest. He wished he could sink in on himself. He wanted to curl up under the blanket of his subconscious, hiding from Bakugou, hiding from Midoriya, and hiding from himself. He wanted nothing more than for all of this to be over.
“Shouto, I think you should leave,” Midoriya said, his voice cracking halfway through. He was going to cry. His eyes were starting to fill up with tears, which were bound to cascade down his face thickly like raindrops on a car window.
“If you don’t go, I’ll have the board fucking fire you. I will,” Bakugou spat, rubbing his neck with his hand. “Don’t test me, fucker.”
Shouto swallowed. His mouth felt dry, yet so wet. That anger was starting to build up again, masking the sadness that had previously taken it’s place. “Fine.”
Bakugou squinted at him. “That’s all you have to say? Fucking fine?”
“What the fuck do you want me to say? This is my company. You guys shouldn’t be just kicking me out. This is my company.”
Bakugou scoffed. “You do nothing anymore. Jesus, what has gotten into you? You used to be fucking driven and slightly cool, now you’re-” Bakugou stopped for a moment, looking Shouto up and down, “-pathetic. You’re fucking pathetic.”
Midoriya made a small noise of protest. “Um, well, I think Bakugou means that you’re going through something and that’s really obvious. You’ve been struggling for a while. We want you to sort it all out so you can come back and be with us!”
Bakugou didn’t argue. He didn’t say anything. He just glared at Shouto with his angry, angry eyes.
“I don’t- I don’t think you want that, do you?” Shouto asked.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t think you guys want me back. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get me kicked out so you can run this thing yourself. This is what you wanted to do from the beginning. You wanted to take this away from me. Do you guys even want to be my friends? At all? Or is this all just one giant game to steal this from me since you guys could never fucking do this yourselves?”
Midoriya was silent.
“Get the fuck out,” Bakugou whispered. “Get the fuck out of here right fucking now.”
Shouto scoffed. “Typical. You love to push everything away, don’t you?”
“I swear to fucking god, Shouto Todoroki, if you don’t get out right now, I will hurt you.”
Shouto looked from Midoriya to Bakugou. Bakugou seemed oddly calm, like the anger was taken away from him and replaced with something else- pity. He was pitying him. That’s all Shouto got his whole life. Fucking pity.
Midoriya was quiet other than a few sniffles here and there. He wiped something from his eye. He was crying. He was fucking crying. He was crying because of Shouto. This was all because of him. Just like when his sister would cry and his mother would cry when he was a little boy, it was because of him, because of how much of a shitty person he is.
Shouto’s heart started to beat fast in his ears. His mouth felt like it was tingling. He felt anxious, but with the added feeling of being high on top of it, it was as though he was experiencing anxiety without the actual anxious feeling that comes with it. Like how his sister would get migraines without the physical pain. His high was going away. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.
He bolted out the door, turning his back to Bakugou and Midoriya and making his way through aisles and aisles of his employees. They were all staring at him. They probably heard everything. They probably were thinking about how much of a shitty person Shouto is for making Midoriya cry and how much they wanted him to be kicked out.
Yeah, Shouto is the victim in this, isn’t he? He is the one being kicked out of his own company, not Midoriya, not Bakugou. He is the one suffering. Why is he always the one that has to fucking suffer? Why is it always on him? Does he really deserve it? Maybe he does for all he says and does, but then again, he was born from suffering. He didn’t deserve it then. He didn’t deserve anything that happened to him then.
Shouto walked out of the building and to his car, his thoughts racing so fast in his head. His phone was vibrating in his pocket. Someone was calling him. Probably Fuyumi or Natsuo. Maybe Aizawa. For some reason, those three are so hellbent on loving him despite all the shit he has done.
No, wait. Shouto didn’t do anything wrong. He is the victim.
Shouto got in his car and took his little bag of pills out of his pocket. He stared at the baggie full of those little white circles, and those little white circles stared right back at him with glee. He needed more than just chewing or swallowing. He needed so much more.
He set his phone on his lap and one pill on top of that. The credit card that his father gave him was always what he used when he needed the quickest fix. It was a great tool, always there for when Shouto wanted to buy a girl the most expensive cocktail on the menu to impress her into thinking Shouto was a somewhat decent enough person to sleep with or order a nice cab for a guy from his apartment. It was also great for cutting up those little white pills.
And that’s what Shouto did. He cut it up until it turned into a fine powder similar to that of powdered sugar yet somehow much sweeter. It didn’t take long, especially if Shouto dissolved the casing by sucking on it for a moment and then wiping it on his shirt. It looked like a little snow bank on his phone case, one comparable to the ones that his siblings used to play in as children. White, powdery, and fun.
He had seen people in movies and documentaries about drug abuse do it and he never thought he himself would be sitting in his company parking lot with a phone held up to his nose inhaling that delicious powder.
It was an instant rush that always felt so fucking good. Just so. Fucking. Good. His head felt like it was swimming with everything pleasant and his body had a rush of warmth that tingled on his skin and made everything around him slowly disappear. It was good, so good, so so good, like his mother hugging him after a long day of dealing with his father when he was just a child or the warm chocolate chip cookies that Fuyumi makes during winter straight from the oven on a cold day. He felt like Fuyumi’s chocolate chip cookies.
He couldn’t remember much after that. Everything was sort of a blur, which was preferable, and it happened when he would get super super high. Everything seemed to be entirely gone from his memory.
When he became aware, he had his lips pressed against someone else’s, a total stranger that he couldn’t even remember meeting. And Shouto didn’t mind that. He didn’t mind that at all.
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