My Keyboard Literally Autocorrected Shigaraki To Agitation.

My keyboard literally autocorrected Shigaraki to Agitation.

The fandom can't seem to agree, so let's settle this. Reblog for wider sample size, defend yourself in the tags.

I wrote a thing.

Day 1

First foot over the threshold, and I already want to set the place on fire.

It's nothing wrong with the house. It's a fine house. Small, cozy, close to work. And free too, as it is an inheritance. From my uncle who isn't dead. Yet. He's in jail, but not in death row. It's just that he won't last. I know him like that.

This is his summer home, up here on a hill, just a scooch over from the rest of civilisation. I wonder if the people here knew him. If they remember him. If they've heard.

Maybe that's it. Maybe it's the burden of living in a space that a life-taker inhabited. Maybe it's the burden of knowing that I'll think about it later on, likely on a bad day.

Well, nothing to be done about that. It's a fine house after all. Small, cozy, close to work. And free too, as it is an inheritance. It'll just take some cleaning up. Remove some cobwebs, some dust bunnies.

And that ant hill near the door.

Day 3

Maybe the sun will set the place on fire for me. I didn't know this place got so hot.

I have a soda, long since warmed by the weather and my hands. I hate my hands now. I also have mango cubes. I got them from my closest neighbours. They brought a fruit basket over yesterday, wanted to welcome me. They're nice. They're new. They never knew my uncle.

My sister hasn't called yet. She said she would.

I've taken down the cobwebs because I don't like spiders. They come into my spaces, build their own little webs, spin their little lives. They don't discriminate in how they catch the flies and the mosquitoes and the butterflies. The pests, the parasites and the proper.

A mango slice falls out of my hand, lands next to the ant hill. I should remove that. But it's hot, I'm lazy, so later.

Later.

Day 7

I don't hate my job. It's at a convenience store, and the owner is nice. Mr Gates have me a free chocolate today.

I don't hate the town, either. These people don't know me beyond "new person". They haven't asked where I live, so I don't have to lie. I like not having to lie.

There's a community college in the town. I don't go to school anymore, but I tip my hat to those who are willing to die for 4, 5, 6 more years. Sometimes, students come to the store. Some older than me, some younger, but all within my age range. Makes them talk to me. Think we'll relate with each other just because we're all from the same generation and none of us has died yet

I talk to them. Don't give them discounts, though, even when they ask. I've only had this job for five days, can't do that. Won't.

When I get home, I look at the ant hill. There are ants there, as always. I think of removing it, as always.

I go in, as always.

Day 16

I've made a friend. He says we're friends, my sister says the things we've done are things friends do. She didn't call, I did.

His name is Terrence, says I should call him Terry. Thank goodness, Terrence is too many sounds, releases more air than saying Terry does. This is the true way you measure word length. Not with letters or syllables. With how much breath and energy you need to refer to another human being, to acknowledge another existence besides your own. Everyone has a limited number of breaths. Save yours for shit that matters.

Terry goes to the community college. He came in and started talking. Didn't shut up. Didn't ask for a discount, though, so I didn't write him off. Gave me a cookie, even.

He took me to a park, we fed ducks, domestic shit.

It's good shit.

Day 20

Mr Gates have me a free orange. Says I should stay healthy.

It's juicy.

Day 21

I met some old ladies at the park. They have tiny dogs. They're cute and tiny. The women call me cute and tiny.

But I'm not.

Day 29

I don't hate this town.

Terry and I are dating? I think? Kissing is what you do with someone if you're dating them, right? Unless you're married. Then, it's just to remind yourself that you own someone.

He invited me to a party at his friend's house. I don't know anyone there. I don't remember anyone there, afterwards. Everyone's a little drunk, a tad stupid, and a smidge less stressed.

Good shit.

Day 33

My sister comes to visit. It's a long drive, I didn't expect her to come. She has a new car, red like barbeque pit embers. It burns my hand under the sun.

"How are you liking it?" She asks me.

"I'm liking it."

"Better than home?"

"..."

"Okay."

We share melting ice-pops that Mr Gates gave me.

"That's so ew!"

She's pointing at the ant hill near my door. It's bigger now, and a couple of ants have come to lick at the drops from from our ice-pops.

"Lets go inside." I tell her. Wouldn't do to fight the ants over leftovers. Not in this heat.

Day 42

My neighbours invite me over for dinner. Say a young person like myself should have people with them around dinner time. They don't ask about why that is not the case for me.

I like them.

They're nice.

Day 58

My mailman doesn't feel nice. He doesn't sound nice, or smell nice, or look nice or look at me nice, but this is too much to explain, and I can't just say he ain't nice based on these few observations, so I say he doesn't feel nice.

I catch him as he's about to drop some letters in my mailbox, so he just gives them to me instead.

"How you like the house?" He asks out of the blue.

"Fine." I hope to escape conversation with him. He doesn't feel nice after all.

"Your uncle said the same thing. Never stayed long, though. Thank God."

Under the sweltering heat, I freeze, unable to move as the mailman walks away. Only when I can't see him anymore do I start to speedwalk back to my house, flipping through letters as I go.

I pass by the ant hill, dismissing it and the letter from my cousin, asking if I want to visit her anytime soon.

I go up the stairs, dropping the rejection letter from the university I applied to and refusing to pick it up.

I burst through my room door, holding the damning one.

"Your Uncle, Weston." It says on the front.

Like I don't know the fucker's name.

Day 61

Everybody knows. This town is a small one, the mailman is popular. Thus, everybody knows. And everything changes.

Like it usually is every time juicy news gets revealed, it starts with whispers. In the store, at the park, on the way home. People on the streets who recognize me whisper about me and shuffle away when I get too close to them. Close being within four feet. The old ladies won't let me pet their dogs anymore.

But I don't hate this town. It's still a nice town. It's no one's fault that my uncle abducted, abused, and annihilated several, several people in his life.

No one's fault, I think.

My fault, the people think.

Day 70

Terry comes over to my house for the first time. Ever.

"You live here alone?" He asks after he's done inspecting my ground floor.

"I have ants."

Terry laughs like he thinks I'm joking.

We watch a movie, eat some cookies. He puts a hand on my thigh sometime around nine pm and says he hasn't seen upstairs yet.

I'm not dumb.

We go upstairs.

He leaves the next morning.

Day 80

It feels like days are simultaneously longer and shorter now. As temperatures climb higher, tempers grow shorter.

A customer snaps at me, tells me to watch myself, lest he call the police on me. For what? I don't now. But I know it's meant as a threat, so I watch myself.

Terry doesn't invite me to anymore parties. I get the feeling it's less of his own choice. But we still hang out.

My neighbours still invite me for dinner.

I don't hate this town.

Day 87

My uncle sends more letters. I don't read them, I don't need to. The contents fall from the lips of residents who seem to care less about me overhearing their conversations.

The mailman is reading my letters. He's not even bothering to be careful or discreet about it. Such audacity is a mildly respectable.

I pass by a couple and the man tells his partner that "Weston Fisher had other properties. Maybe other bodies are there."

"Old Mr Fisher says he'll never talk to the police, never tell them where all the bodies are! My cousin told me this!" Is what I hear at the park from some eleven year olds.

"Are you going to see your uncle?" Is what an older woman outright asks me at work.

I don't act like it doesn't gaze me because I can't act to save my life. I'm not a theatre kid. It shakes me and quakes me and throws me to the ground to get tossed around like salad.

But it's not like I can just move. Moving is expensive! I still have my job, and my dating friend Terry, and my house with it's stupid ant hill so I can't move yet.

Day 90

Some of the college kids come by, try to follow me home. I lose them by heading towards the police station.

They smelt like drugs.

I change course after they're gone, go straight home with my grocery bag. Mr Gates gave me a discount and I bought food and toiletries and a can of bug spray.

It sits in my kitchen, unused because I'm lazy.

But, I find a single ant wandering my floor as I come out of the bathroom.

Ants have great smell, great sight, great strength and great speed.

None of this stops my shoe, though.

Day 103

My neighbours very politely asked that I don't come by anymore. They never say anything about my uncle.

I don't like them.

They're nice.

Day 118

"Why you never answer him, huh?" The mailman asks me as he hands me my unsealed, read letter.

"Guess." I respond.

He watches me go inside.

He isn't nice.

Day 130

"Should I — should I ask about your uncle?"

I look at Terry, wondering what to say here. "Do you want to ask?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Then don't. Or do. Do whatever pleases you, dude."

"You please me."

"That line is three words too long."

"I'm three too long, but you never complain."

"Shut up."

Endearing. Charming. Handsome. Unchanged. Terrence is longer than Terry.

It's worth the breath to say.

Day 150

Terrence is out of town for a month. His aunt had a baby and the timing matched up with a family reunion. He worries about leaving me, because Terrence is sweet. I tell him to get out.

Mr Gates also has to leave town for a bit. He's visiting his daughter in university. Funny enough, it's the same one I applied to. He makes me promise to look after the shop, saying he'll being me a souvenir from his trip. I tell him everything will be fine.

Day 151

Some of the college boys jump me on my way home. Drag me to an alley, ask unnecessary questions about my uncle and whether I'm a murderer like him, get nothing in reply, beat me up and make it home in time for dinner while I begin a long trek uphill, made that much harder with bruised legs.

Day 152

It happens again.

Day 154

Terrence calls. He asks whether I'm fine. I say yes while holding an ice pack to my stomach.

Day 155

I order tasers and pen knives and other self defence tools.

But I can't bring myself to use them. Frustration makes me curves the bullies taunt me.

Criminals only cry when guilty, they say.

I think of my uncle, teary eyed and droopy the last time I saw him.

I stop crying.

Day 160

I'm woken up in the middle of the night. I don't know what it is yet until I throw off my bed covers and discover ants, the tens of them, crawling over my legs and sheets. I

It's not disgust that fills me, or discomfort or irritation. It's a rage that can only be defined as pure.

How dare they?

How. Dare. They!

Because I haven't bothered to clean up my crumbs, crumbs that they sustain themselves with.

Because I haven't used my insecticides to decimate their home.

Because I haven't paid them much mind, because I've ignored them this long, they dare to come attack me! To disturb me!

How dare they mistake my negligence for benevolence?!

Day 161

I message Terrence and Mr Gates, ask them when they'll be coming back to town. Terrence says in two days, Mr Gates says in four.

Good.

My house is finally on fire. I predicted this, don't know why I bothered putting it off for so long.

The flames eat at the structure, pieces crumble down to ashes. It's beautiful.

It's the starter.

I walk away from the house, my body coated in flames. Squirrels and insects flee from my blazing form.

What? did they think I was normal? Did they the I was mortal? Because I catered to the whims and followed the general rules of society.

I am the incarnation of Iphrit, the son of hell.

I am beyond these ants.

Day 162

I don't hate this town. Hatred is such a tiring emotion. It is a finite fuel, an ignition point.

I dislike the town. This is my fuel. It is infinite and will last.

The entire town is on fire. The police station, the suburbs, the park. Everything.

Except for Terrence's house, Mr Gates' house, and the store. I like those two, I won't destroy them.

I stand at the top of the ant hill that once was this town. I have doused it in my fury.

They wanted my attention.

God help them, they have it.

So, since I joined the lmk fandom, I have been obsessed with Macaque's character. He definitely fits the theme of characters my brain goes gaga for.

And, I started reading this fix called Sunbreak on AO3 that has dominated my thoughts. And, one of the things I loved most from there was the whole, Macaque was born from wind thing.

It just makes so much sense to me.

When I couple that with this post:

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GenralQueenCycle

Screw this, my new head canon is that Macaque has grey eyes, he glamours them because he finds them boring and thinks wukongs golden eyes ar

...And I remember the fact that in ATLA, who has grey eyes?

The airbenders.

And his power, shadows, would be helped a lot by wind magic, really. They both require an ease of flow or something. The way macaque can melt into shade is how I imagine him letting the wind carry him around.

And, Macaque in the air was a pretty picture in s3.

Plus, the six ears also add to that. Look at the shape: smooth, curved, aerodynamic. With a flexibility that allows them to manoeuvre easily. Imagine he was born with them for the purpose of better connecting with the wind.

Like, to hear the smallest of wisps, the most gentle of breezes.

To carry those currents straight into his body to fuel his powers.

Imagine he was born from a storm, the wind harbouring such power as to tear the earth apart, only to produce a being who could do that in its stead. Striking his opponents as lightning strikes the ground. Never in the same place twice. Adapting. Full of mischief like a wind sprite.

And, it also fits the 'Macaque had white fur' theory. White is a colour that we'd expect more from a wind demon.

And, wind is an element related to the moon.

It also makes sense that Macaque and Princess Iron Fan would be close.

It even makes more sense when you relate it to how he behaves. See how he fights: retreating, coming back, taunting, whispering, like a breeze that sweeps through a room to uppend every item on every surface.

Compared to Wukong's indomitable force and strength that supports his birth from stone, Macaque being born from Wind makes SENSE.

...I put this fic and this post together and my brain exploded.

Who agrees with me that principal Damocles is a bit trigger happy when it comes to expelling students?

I agree.

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