Genovember Day 26: A story both Bowser and Geno still tell to this day - but only Bowser knows the punch line.
So for Genovember, I've been WRITING Geno every day. Mostly work on long things, but lots and LOTS of goofy short things. And I had a crazy thought today that maybe I should actually freakin post some of them 👀
Here's one! (cw: alcohol)
Geno and Bowser go to the Grate Guy casino together
Bowser eggs Geno on to get into a one-on-one drinking contest with him
Geno declines for a while, because he's 100% sure alcohol would have no effect on a doll and he doesn't want to hurt Bowser
Bowser doesn't quit until finally Geno's like, "Dude, if you REALLY want to play a game you KNOW you're going to lose, fine. You're buying."
They have some surprisingly genuine bonding time as Bowser gets drunker and drunker and opens up in ways Geno didn't expect
Geno is very understanding as he keeps up with Bowser shot for shot - no effect on him, nothing, nada
And THEN
Bowser pisses someone off
Slowly it becomes clear that a bar fight is about to close in on them
And, with his pal Bowser absolutely sloppy-sloshed, Geno realizes that HE'S going to have to deal with it.
There they are, about to face off against a bar full of angry thuggernauts or whatever
Geno is 100% annoyed but also 100% here to defend his ally
Bowser is 200% READY for this fight and 0% able to tell the difference between a person and a barstool
and then
just before it goes down
Geno's like
"Yo Bowser."
"Weh?"
"I just realized something."
"Whuh?"
"I can get drunk!"
And Geno falls on his face.
Bowser proceeds to get ABSOLUTELY TROUNCED by the ENTIRE BAR
(Throughout this, Geno just lies there about 0.5% conscious and feeling quite excellent, and through some dumb luck remains blissfully unharmed; he will not remember any of it)
They both get thrown out of the bar (Geno is still very much not awake for this)
And that's the story of how Bowser and Geno got banned from the Grate Guy Casino.
Pix opens Zloy’s fridge, out of habit. They start a discussion about the stains on the middle shelf. Pix isn’t sure he wants to know.
Pix notices a bottle of what is either mineral water or carbonated vodka in the fridge door. He asks Zloy about it, who has no idea what he’s talking about. Pix assumes the former, because Occam’s Razor and also Zloy doesn’t tend to drink alcohol.
(Zloy can’t be affected by alcohol as a zombie and finds the taste horrendous, so he doesn’t bother)
Zloy says he can have some if he wants, he doesn’t really care, so Pix shrugs and pours himself a glass.
He notices it’s reflecting light weirdly and looks kinda shimmery, but doesn’t think much of it.
It’s not mineral water
It’s definitely not mineral water.
Pixlriffs did not, in fact, drink mineral water.
So now he’s on the floor with a terribly high temperature, coughing up glittery vapour.
Which is. Probably Not Good.
Zloy heard him fall, so he goes to check on him, and he’s not a doctor nor particularly knowledgeable of Human anatomy but even he can tell that when you start spitting sparkles, you should probably get checked.
(Plus Zombies can sense temperature, which is usually used for hunting their primarily warm-blooded prey, but is also activating Zloy’s alarm bells because Pix’s temperature is much higher than usual)
So funnily enough, Pix did not drink mineral water. Or carbonated vodka, for that matter.
No, that was an awkward potion. You know, the one that you have to make before you can make any of the other potions?
The one that’s full of magic but has no way to direct it?
Yeah. That one.
To a Player, that much magic is essentially a drop in a pond. You might notice it, but it’s perfectly fine.
To a Human, however? It’s more like a drop in a puddle the size of an ant
Zloy recognizes the signs of magical overload, at least once he gets his act together long enough to stop panicking, and then he starts panicking again.
Because like. The only way to deal with magical overload is for the individual to use that magic, and Pix is very much not experienced in magic whatsoever. Zloy’s not even sure if Pix believes in magic.
But. Uh. He better start believing quick.
.
So the advantage of potions is that the magic, once expelled, doesn’t come back… uh, usually.
So Zloy figures that one Pix gets it out, with a very minor, very simple spell, he’ll be fine!
(The spell winds up being a very, very small, weak illusion, because that’s what Zloy’s had the most practice with. Pix is pretty out of it, so he figures he won’t even remember)
And it works! The magic’s gone! Pix wakes up with a killer headache a few hours later and not much idea as to what happened.
Zloy makes him promise to not drink any weird liquids out of his fridge ever again.
A week later, in the middle of recording, Pix starts exhaling small wisps of glittery vapour. He doesn’t notice it. Zloy does.
CW: Hungover, alcohol references, flashback, emotional whump, lady whumpee.
=-=-=-=-=
Evie felt the pounding headache before even opening her eyes. It was bad.
Opposite to what people think when watching her emptying bottle and bottles of alcohol, Evie hates to get drunk. It's too dangerous; she can't move properly, she can't think, she can't defend herself.
It's so easy to take advantage.
"Come on, Evie, keep going," Jacob laughed out, throwing something at her. She didn't know what it was but it hurt. It really hurt.
"I don't want more," she said, trying to get up but two pairs of hands forced her down again, "I don't-"
"Shut up," Jacob ordered, and there was more pain. From where? What is he doing? Why does it hurt? When will it stop? "You lost another game, my daughter, keep drinking."
Evie didn't know she was playing, she didn't know anything but the taste of tequila going down her throat. She didn't even know if she was drinking on her own or if someone was forcing it down.
"Stop, father, please-" more pain, she still doesn't know from where, but it's getting worse, the floor and the table were getting farther and farther away. There were drugs in the drink, right? It always has. "I don't- I don't want- let me... go;"
"Oh Evie," Jacob laughed, "We just started."
Evie shook her head at the memory, Fuck fuck, get the fuck out of my mind. She took a deep breath. A shower may help.
It did, as much as possible, pouring cold water on her head helped her to think. She still doesn't know how she managed to drink enough to surpass her impossibly high tolerance, it had been long since the last time.
It was during the shower that the memories of the night before came, well, part of them. Fuck. Of course she would hurt someone, of course she would break things. It was her, after all. It didn't matter how long has it been since she last got drunk she should've controlled herself.
Evie hurried up, putting on the only pair of clothes she brought along with her before walking down to the reception, unfamiliar people looked at her with familiar gazes on their faces; fear.
Why am I here in the first place? I KNEW that things would crumble if I get closer, I knew, and still... Still, she wanted so much for it not to be true, she wanted so much to enjoy the good thing with everyone else. She can't.
It took a lot of reassuring words to make a conversation, luckily –if this word even fit in the whole thing– the young man Evie attacked was –physically– fine now, she had almost broken his arm but was stopped in time. Proving that being drunk makes me too weak.
Evie "solved" things with the only way she knows; money. She can't unhit the guy, she can't make people forget that had to sleep under the same roof that a Fortery, but she can give some financial compensation.
"Evie, look at them, they have no power or use. You own them nothing, you shouldn't do anything for this sort of people, you are-" Alive. Evie cut the line of thoughts, I'm alive, you are not. Shut up.
Evie was starting to wonder where to go now when her stomach growled. Food, of course, maybe a bar- No, not a bar, not drinking just yet. A restaurant it is then.
CW: Environmental whump, references to drug and alcohol use, references to Derrick (see: The Break-Up for his last appearance), Kauri’s Bad Life Choices, slut-shaming, trauma response, untreated abuse survivor with fucky headspace, referenced abuse
When Krista opens the door, Kauri stands on the doorstep to her apartment soaked to the bone, water dripping off the flattened curls of his hair, stuck to his forehead. Water runs in rivulets down his cheeks like tears, drips from the sleeves of his sweater onto her doormat.
She’s proud of that doormat. She picked it out at Target and it says Shoes Off, Witches.
Krista decorates for every holiday, because she can, because the holidays belong to her. There are tiny pumpkins, alternately white and orange and painted with little patterns, lined up along the little railing on their concrete patio. She has little witch figurines in the centerpiece of the circular dining table she and Sonya found at a garage sale, and a Halloween wreath made of black and orange leaves hangs on the door.
Mrs. Richardson didn’t celebrate Halloween, because of something to do with celebrating our sinful natures and something something demonic influences hidden in seeming fun and the devil something harry potter witchcraft something, but Krista celebrates every holiday, just because she can.
Sometimes she thinks of Miss Alyssa and wonders if she celebrates Halloween, now, too.
“What are you doing here, Kauri?” Krista squints past him, shivering against the chill air even in her big soft purple sweatshirt. It had cost her six hours of work to pay for it, it was so expensive, but it’s the softest thing she’s ever felt in her life, like wearing a cloud with a hood on it everywhere she goes.
“Can I crash here?” Kauri blinks rainwater out of his eyes.
Behind him, the rainstorm that’s been going for nearly three days continues, pouring water like it’s falling from overturned buckets from the dark gray skies. “Sorry, they shut the buses down, it’d take me like five hours to walk to the shelter from here, and…” He rocks up and down on the balls of his feet, and Krista winces at the squelch from his thin black-and-white checked shoes.
Krista takes a deep breath, looking over her shoulder. Sonya is still in the bedroom, finishing up a call for work, speaking in her Phone Voice, softer and pleasant, with all the edges sanded off. When Krista was a pet, she spoke in a voice like that. Sonya speaks for her job to men who constantly interrupt her, but somehow when she does it, the voice is gentle but commanding, where Krista always felt her voice just sounded… weak. “I don’t know, Kauri, I’m not… I’m not sure.”
“Please?” Kauri’s eyes are huge and blue, and water frames them as it runs from his hair. He shudders, as a winter breeze blows at his back. A spatter of the tiniest water droplets is blown with it, and Krista blinks rapidly against the feeling. “Please? It’s just for tonight, they said the buses should be running tomorrow morning if it doesn’t get worse… please?”
“If it doesn’t get worse,” Krista repeats, her eyes scanning back into the parking lot. Someone drives past, their headlights on, and the rain falls in such thick sheets that Krista can only see their headlights, not even the car.
Who would drive, in something like this?
She looks back at Kauri, and figures maybe someone who would walk in rain like this, someone who doesn’t have a choice. Not every business is closed, after all, and not everyone can work from their laptop like Sonya. Not everyone can afford the days off if they call in. There are people who don’t have the option to stay safe from the floods. There are people who are told to risk their lives or they will not eat.
There are times Krista wonders how anyone doesn’t become a pet. At least she never had to watch a paycheck disappear from a bank account nearly as soon as it was deposited before.
Not that she knows of, anyway.
“It’s just overnight,” Kauri says, softly. “I know she doesn’t like me, but… but it’s just one night.”
She looks at him, in his soaked-up shoes, shivering in the rain and with his backpack dripping as hard as everything else, and then she sighs. The felt leaves on the Halloween wreath rustle against the door as she steps back and to the side. “Take your shoes off and stay on the mat, I’ll get you a towel to get you to the shower. I think you can probably wear some of my sleeping clothes.”
Kauri’s eyes brighten, and he kicks off his sopping shoes and peels off soaked-through white cotton socks. His toes are wrinkled from being wet for so long, and he spreads them with a sigh of relief against the rough doormat.
“Thank you, Krista, thank you so much-”
“Get inside,” She says, but her voice is gentle, and he steps in to stand on the inside doormat (this one just says I hope you brought tacos) while Krista walks away, across the soft beige-gray-nothing-color carpet in the apartment, swinging around the low-slung coffee table by the couch. She ducks into the small bathroom and grabs the towels off the towel rack.
Sonya calls out, “Baby, do I hear someone at the door?”
Krista hesitates, towels in hand - she bought them at Target, too, the bathroom is fall-themed and the towels are a deep saturated pumpkin orange and a hunter green and they have cream-colored stitching that reads thankful and choose joy - and looks towards the closed bedroom door. “Um, yes. You remember Kauri Grant?”
There’s a pause, and then the bedroom door cracks open, and Sonya peeks through. Her short, straight brown hair is pulled back with clips to keep it out of her eyes, and she’s still in her pajama pants and t-shirt from last night. “That druggie friend of yours? The homeless guy?”
Krista shakes her head, nervously twisting the bunched-up towels in her hands. “He’s, he’s not-... he’s not on drugs, Sonya, I told you he’s not on drugs.”
“But he is homeless.”
“... yes.”
Sonya’s lips are a straight line, and the look she gives Krista makes her heart flip unhappily. Kauri always makes Sonya look like this. She doesn’t trust him, thinks he’s going to get Krista arrested, thinks he deals or buys or something, but Krista knows the truth and it’s a truth she can’t tell.
If she told Sonya what Kauri is, there would be questions, and then Krista would have to explain what she is, and she… she can’t.
What if Sonya reported him? Krista would shatter if she were the reason someone had to go back. So… she keeps his secret for him, and it’s just one lie, but it means Sonya only ever believes the worst.
“Well.” Sonya takes a deep breath. “What does he want?”
“They stopped running the buses,” Krista says, keeping her voice low. “Because the roads are so flooded.” The TV is still going, running a show Krista doesn’t even remember turning on, and Kauri is still on the inside doormat, dripping and cold and wet and in need of somewhere to stay. “He just wants to crash overnight, Sonya. Please.”
“I’m tired of you letting this guy take advantage of you, Kris,” Sonya says, and then just sighs, raking a hand through her hair and getting it caught on the clips, frowning and jerking her fingers back out, leaving her hair all mussed and beautiful. Krista wants to kiss her, but this isn’t the time.
“It’s just one night-”
“It’s never just anything with Kauri Grant, Kris, and you know it. Just one night with Kauri Grant means he’ll eat half the food in our kitchen and you’ll end up washing his clothes for him-”
“He shouldn’t have to pay for laundry!”
“How come he can’t stay at a motel or something?”
“I don’t know, probably he hasn’t been making much money, if it’s raining people don’t go walking around to give-”
“Oh but somehow he always has money for drinks when he calls to see if you want to go out, though? You think I haven’t noticed that?”
Krista sets her jaw, at that. “Sonya. Please don’t do this. You know he almost never has to pay for drinks-”
“Because he’s fucking all the bartenders, Kris!”
“He just needs somewhere to crash for a single fucking night. Come on, Sonya, don’t be-... don’t be like this. He’s my fucking friend. It’s not like I have a lot of those.”
She never curses, and the unusual word coming from her lips pulls Sonya up short from whatever she intended to say next. There’s a silence, and then her girlfriend sighs and pushes the door open a little more. She holds out her arms and Krista steps into them, taking the tight embrace and soaking it up.
On the bed, their black cat Pepperjack looks up, gives a soft chirping meow, and lays his head back down again.
“I’m sorry,” Sonya says, softly. “I know you care about him. I just wish I understood why.”
Because we’re the same, in all the ways that made us. Because he needs to know there are places where he is allowed to stay. Because of a million reasons I can’t tell, secrets I have to keep.
Because he’s a ghost, and he wears the face of someone who died for him to be born.
Just like I wear a dead girl’s face, just like Leila does, like Chris and Antoni and all of us, we’re all walking around in someone else’s discarded body.
And I can’t tell you.
“He’s my friend,” Krista says again, more softly, and kisses Sonya’s cheek. Her girlfriend turns her head to turn it to a kiss on the lips, and Krista relaxes into the soft reassurance that comes with the love in that kiss. “One of my first friends, really. He’s just going through some stuff right now-”
“Baby, you always say he’s going through some stuff. When does he finish going through it and get out on the other side of all that stuff?”
Krista sighs, and nuzzles her way back into another kiss. “I don’t know. But he’ll leave as soon as the buses are running again, I promise, okay?”
Sonya nods, and they rest their foreheads together for a moment, let the softer silence stand. Then Sonya says, quietly, “Okay, baby. Just. I feel like Pepper over there is all the strays we need in our life, you know?”
“I know,” Krista murmurs. “But he’ll have somewhere to go once it stops raining, I promise.”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll start making a list for replacing all the goddamn groceries he’s gonna eat.”
“He doesn’t get much good food out there-”
“Kris. He’s a taker. He uses you. And when he’s here, he uses us. I don’t see why you don’t get that.”
“He’s not-”
“Kris, listen to me. Stop trusting some pretty dude who is just going to get you hurt when he pisses the wrong person off. I know you guys met at the same homeless house or whatever, but he’s going nowhere fast and you can’t let him take you with him.”
“Sonya, stop.”
“Kris-”
“I said stop it.” She pulls back and away, grabbing some of her baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt from the pile of ‘clean’ clothes folded on top of the dresser until she has the energy to put them in the dresser - which is never, Krista delights in being able to be messy in her own home - and carries them out. Sonya stands in the doorway watching her go, and then sighs and goes back to her headset, back to work.
Kauri, still just inside the doorway, is lowering his phone from his ear as Krista comes into view. Nat bought him that phone, so she’d know Kauri was alive the weeks he was gone. Nat bought him the phone, he bought his clothes with panhandling money, his sweatshirt is Dustin’s. The backpack he found abandoned at a bus stop.
Nothing Kauri is wearing, or holding, is really his own.
A little plastic ziplock-style sandwich bag sticks out of his pocket. He had his phone in it to keep it dry, Krista thinks, and wonders how long he’s been wandering around out there in the rain. She hesitantly speaks up. “Here, Kauri, I’ve got towels and some clothes to change into-”
“Don’t worry about it,” Kauri says, softly, and glances up at her before he looks down again. Water drips from his hair onto the phone’s screen and he wipes at it with his finger, squinting. “I’ll be gone in a second.”
“What?” Krista goes still, and realizes that she and Sonya were not as quiet as they thought they were. “What do you mean? It's pouring-”
“I called someone,” Kauri says, flat and sharp, without looking at her. “Gonna walk to that bus stop with the little roof and he’ll come get me. Don’t worry about it.”
“Jake? It’s not- Kauri… it’s not safe for Jake to drive all that way across the city, half the roads are flooding-”
“Not Jake.” Kauri isn’t just not looking at her, he can’t. His face is a little red, splotches on his pale cheeks. Is some of the water on his face tears, now, and not from the rain? “I know someone else who lives near here. He’s coming to get me.”
“Kauri…” Krista closes her eyes, guilt twisting around inside of her that he’d heard. He knows Sonya doesn’t like him, but Kauri is so sensitive to being disliked. She should have pulled Sonya into the bedroom and closed the door. “Who is it?”
Kauri blows air through his nose. “It’s Derrick.”
Krista hitches in a breath in surprise. “Your ex? Kauri, didn’t-... didn’t he threaten you when you broke up?”
Kauri shakes his head, gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No. I misunderstood him, that’s all. I thought, um, I thought he was angry, but he was just… sad. The whole stupid fight was my fault anyway, and I’ve seen him since and he agreed to be friends. It’s fine. I asked, and he wants me there. I’ll sleep on his couch.”
No, you won’t. We both know you won’t.
“He wants you there,” Krista parrots, plaintively. “Kauri, you don’t have to leave, or anything, I swear. I’ll make you a bed up-”
“It’s fine,” Kauri repeats, and gives her another breezy, airy smile. He sticks his phone back into the little clear bag, closes it up, and shoves it back in his pocket. He slips his soaking-wet shoes back on and Krista winces as she hears the way his feet push water around inside them. “I’m fine, Krista, it’s really not a big deal. Derrick always says I can call him, when I run into him-”
“You’re still seeing him?” Krista licks at her lips. She holds the towels and clothes useless in her arms like a child hugging a teddy bear, feeling guilty and useless. Kauri came here for somewhere safe to stay, and felt unwanted, and now…
“No, but he… we show up at the same places sometimes.”
“... Kauri, is he following you?”
Kauri gives a brittle, bright laugh. “What? No! It’s fine.”
“It’s fine,” Krista repeats, and then says softly, “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. You… you always say it’s fine. How many times can you say it before you just… admit when it’s not, Kauri?”
Kauri’s smile drops, for a second. His blue eyes meet hers, haunted and sad, making the choice to hurt himself rather than be hurt by anyone else. Kauri Grant is a ghost, she thinks, and very nearly says out loud. You don’t have to haunt us, Kauri. You could have a home.
He takes a deep breath, pulls the hood of his zip-up sweatshirt over his head, where it flops, just as soaked-through as everything else, providing no safety from the rainfall at all. Water drips off of it onto his nose. “I’ll say it as many times as it takes to believe it,” He says, heavily.
“For who to believe it? Us, or you?”
“I’ll catch you later, Krista. No big deal. Thanks for letting me hang out for a minute.”
Krista watches, helpless, as Kauri turns and walks back out into the rain, shoulders hunched. The rain is so thick that he disappears from view before he’s even fully across the parking lot. From a man to a shade of the fog to nothing at all.
Sonya wanders out of the bedroom to find Krista still staring outside, through the open door. “Baby? Where’s your friend?”
“Where’s my friend? He heard us talking.” Krista’s voice is thready trembling. “He found someone else to stay with.”
The ex-boyfriend, who told Kauri he was a ditz and kind of dumb, who told him he was lucky someone put up with how difficult he is, who broke up with him while threatening and scaring him, who… who still let him leave, at least.
So it’s better than where he came from, maybe.
But not by much.
“Oh. So he did have somewhere else to go. Probably he just called his dealer, Krista. Nobody looks that strung out without being on something.”
Krista’s fingers tightened on the cloth she held in her hands until the tension hurt, ached up her arms and to her shoulders. “Sonya, he’s just-... he’s messed up, but he’s not-... he’s not on drugs. He’s just had a hard-... a hard life.”
“Yeah, I mean, a lot of us have. But you always let him take advantage of you, Kris. That’s all. That’s all I worry about. I mean, I’m sure he’s a fine guy, but I’m not on Team Kauri, you know? I’m Team Krista. I worry way more about how you get all weird for a couple days every time he’s here.”
“Sonya-”
“He’ll be fine.”
Krista shakes her head, but repeats, “He’ll be fine,” to settle her own nerves. She realizes belatedly that Kauri’s socks are still balled up on the concrete step outside her door, and she moves forward, closes the door, and does up the locks, leaving them there for now.
Maybe he’ll come back for them.
He probably won’t.
Pepperjack meows softly at her, and she turns to see the black cat winding his way around a leg of the coffee table. Something in his eyes looks… reproachful. Pepper likes curling up with Kauri when he stays over, warm against his back or on his chest, just under his chin.
Krista walks past Sonya to hang the towels back up, puts her clothes back in the clean clothes pile, and curls up on the couch with Pepperjack in her lap and Sonya at her side. Warm, dry, and guilty.
She sent the ghost away - or Sonya did - or she did, by not defending him enough… and still, Krista feels haunted. She pulls her own phone out from the pocket in her pants and texts Jake. He went back to Derrick.
She doesn’t have to say who he is. She sees when Jake reads the message, but he doesn’t send anything back right away. Maybe he’ll call Kauri. Maybe he’ll convince Kauri to go somewhere other than his shit ex-boyfriend’s place. Maybe maybe maybe, but it all relies on Kauri not running away.
It all relies on Kauri. Kauri’s a survivor, she tells herself. They all are. She texts Jake again. I’m sure it’s okay. I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m sure.
Yeah, is all Jake sends back. She can feel the anger through the inconsequential bloodless single-word response. Anger, fear, and worry.
She closes her eyes.
He’ll be fine. He’s fine.
How many times do they tell each other Kauri is fine, when everyone knows it’s not true?
Essentially, @nobodyw8s4evr and I talked about how ridiculous his hero suit actually is (both the half ice cyborg version pfffft and the current version) so we came up w some dumb hcs for their creation ;)
Don’t mind the ooc-ness ^^;
//no but like can you imagine the origin story of the first version??? wheeze
enji: [eyebrows furrowed in concern while looking at the bin in shouto’s room, overflowing with crumpled pieces of paper] shouto, why don’t you let me help you put your hero outfit togeth-?
shouto: -FUCK OFF, OLD MAN, IT’S FINE EVERYTHING’S FINE [sobbing while sketching furiously, wiping his tears away with his arm]
shouto: [a few days later] done, finally [sends off the request to the costuming department, completely satisfied]
natsuo: [watches him pull out the suit from the box that came in the mail a week later] ...hey shou, do you accept constructive criticism?
shouto: [already pulling it on, freezing his entire left side and fixing a thick red lens over his left eye] no. no, i do not.
natsuo: [sighs] yeah, i figured that might be the case. well, it was worth a try.
shouto: [scoffing, adamant] what? of course i can
shouto: [scoffing, adamant] what? of course i can
shouto: [looks at the orange juice on the left side of the table]
shouto: [realises he can’t lift his left arm while it’s encased in ice]
shouto: [mumbles, flustered] ...natsu, could- could you pass me the orange juice?
natsuo: [sighs and smirks as he slides it closer to shouto’s right side] sure thing
//natsuo: so... what’s the backpack for?
shouto: i’m not entirely sure, like, ventilation? i just thought it looked cool.
natsuo: [sighs for the 10th time that day] forget i asked
//shouto’s hair is so so cold and wet under the ice, but he absolutely refuses to use his left side to warm himself up, so it’s honestly a torturous few weeks in that ‘suit’ as he shivers every few minutes and scares children with his red eye over and over
it’s literally like
kid: [running up and tapping him from the back] hey there, mister, could you get that ball for us?
shouto: [who literally can’t hear shit bc his left ear is covered with fucking ice, turns around] oh, hello. sorry, say that again?
kid: [screams and runs away]
shouto: [right hand outstretched as they run off bc the left one is still frozen] ...ah
//he has to carry everything on his right side bc the ice spikes get in the way and it’s hell okay? hell.
natsuo: [watches shouto struggle to open the door to his room with his left arm when his right is occupied with carrying a shit ton of things]
shouto: um. a little help, please?
natsuo: [leans against the doorframe next to him, doing nothing] get rid of that suit, and i will
shouto: wh— what’s wrong with my suit?
natsuo: [narrows his eyes in disbelief]
shouto: ...okay, maybe you’re right
natsuo: [sighs and turns the doorknob for him, pushing the door open] aren’t i always, little bro?
shouto: [shuffles in quietly while natsuo shuts the door behind him]
//a few weeks later, shouto reappears in his new hero suit
(enji: [close to actual tears] for fuck’s sake)
(natsuo: [mentally praying to some deity and contemplating leaving suit design magazines in shouto’s room ‘accidentally’])
//conversely, we also thought about him as a member of the league of villains, trying to pick out his villain costume
tomura: [about to snap] for the love of fuck, it’s been five hours. [turning to dabi] if he takes any longer to choose, i’m fucking dusting him.
dabi: [leaning against the bar, amused] chill out, crusty. go play some video game or something while waiting if your impatient ass can’t stand it.
shouto: [choosing to ignore tomura] [instead lifting up two pieces of clashing fabric to the other lov members in the bar] so this and this... they match, yes?
twice: yes, they go together so well! go for it!
twice: no, what the hell? what’s wrong with you? you have eyes, so fucking use them.
dabi: [smiling fondly] aw, baby bro, don’t you know a single thing about fashion?
mr compress: [sitting at the bar next to them, swirling his drink] oh? that’s big talk coming from someone who doesn’t even know any colours other than black and yes, i’m talking to you too, shigaraki.
tomura: [disgusted] fuck? don’t drag me into this bullshit [turns back to the bar and takes a swig of a bottle of vodka]
himiko: [swings her legs on her barstool, humming in thought] hey, shou-chan! why don’t you just do what i do and wear your school uniform?
shouto: [pauses] oh, i can do that? so i didn’t need to spend five hours on this?
tomura:
tomura: [dusts his bottle of vodka in silent rage]
twice: [squawks] hey, i was gonna drink that after you!
and then, a few days later of debate, heists, murders and plotting...
shouto: [slapping some fabric together, slathering on some black eye shadow and nodding, contented] i think i’ve got it
dabi: [proudly as he pulls him into a headlock and gives him a noogie] now we’re talking! that’s my little brother right there!
kurogiri: [smokepalms as he looks at the black clothing and the black eye shadow, reminiscent of dabi’s under-eye scars] yes... i can see the resemblance
kurogiri: [the corners of his glowing yellow eyes crinkle fondly at them anyway]
And that’s it! Again, thank you so much to @nobodyw8s4evr for making such hilarious hcs w me ^^ I’m only tagging this as ttops hcs so I can find it easily, but really, they’re awesome hehe
“I love this song, c’mon!” Zara beamed. This would now be her third consecutive night of drinking, but nobody questioned it. She wasn’t Dallas, or Dom, or Margo, or Gisele, or anybody else who had a publicly known battle with alcohol. As far as her family knew, her binge in Los Angeles was a result of immaturity; not a pain that they planted long before she turned into this.
“I’m not usually one for club music, y’know? But if the atmosphere is right, oh my god, it’s the best!” she slurred over the music, dancing on beat but also swaying all over the place, unsteady on the designer heels beneath her feet. “Wooo! Come on, loosen up,” she giggled, twirling her helpless victim around before stumbling back into a guy behind her, causing him to spill his drink.
“What the fuck? Watch where you’re going,” he spat, giving her a shove, before she had time to respond.
“Dude, that was your fault!” she frowned, shoving him back. “Cunt.”
