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armpirate · 3 months

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Soundleasure | Choi San || CH. 25

Pairings: Soft!San x fem!reader || Strangers to lovers, fake dating

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, online sex, ghosting

Warnings: inexperienced!San, fem!reader, masturbation, online sex, camboy, first times.

Summary: You can do whatever you please and be whoever you want on the Internet. And San knew that a little bit too well.

After finally following all the signs the universe was throwing at him, he started living a double life that no one was aware of. Everyone in his daily life knew him as Choi San, the reserved and quiet boy who wouldn't raise his voice, and would barely communicate with anyone outside of his comfort group. But only a few knew him as Soundleasure, the man with a sexy voice and a filthy mind that had their toes curling just with his narrations.

He never thought of the possibility of those two lives ever meeting, he had always tried for them to follow a parallel route and had always played safe to keep his friends from ever suspecting that side even existed. But his plans will start to crumble when he gets a little too close with one of his subscribers and she invades his real-self and altergo's universes without being able to stop it.

Y/n will not only help him to keep his secret from his circle, but will also show him there's more of Soundleasure in him than he'd like to admit.

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

Aprox. time of reading: 18 minutes

Chapter warnings: smut, virgin!San, first time, female and male masturbation, protective sex

It felt like there was none other than them while they celebrated that step forward in their relationship, trapped in one kiss, overwhelmed by the emotions both of them were feeling rushing through their veins as they tried to assume what had just happened.

—I can't believe I can say I'm your boyfriend —he cutely giggled against her lips—. Well, I already said that, but I mean saying it and it being true.

Shaking her head, her lips trapped his again while her arms kept him close while wrapping around his wide shoulders. They both just wanted to enjoy the moment, and they were about to... at least until the door suddenly opened, hitting his back with the golden knob. Y/n's first reaction was to check on her boyfriend, palming his lower back before she was finally aware of what caused that to happen.

—What do you mean to be true? —Seonghwa accused them, peeking his head over Mingi's shoulder.

—And why did you say date for real? —Hongjoong interrogated immediately after.

—Were you spying on us? —San tried to divert the attention from them, faking annoyance at his friends when they all popped up one after the other right where they were hiding.

—Because we thought you two were fucking —Jongho straightforwardly said while smirking.

—Or you were kicking his ass for arguing with someone at the party —Yunho shrugged.

—That's not the point —Iseul interrupted all the reasons why they chose to stick their ears to the door.

—Right, what's all the fake stuff about?

After Wooyoung's question, San turned to Y/n with a concerned expression, asking with his eyes something he wasn't able to vocalize. At the end of the day, he owed it to them, they had always been by his side, and he needed to be honest with them.

—It was my fault.

—It was our fault —Y/n rushed to correct.

San's eyes looked back at her with surprise, not expecting her to take the blame for something he started. Instead of stopping to look at him, Y/n motioned all of them to step inside that room, closing the door being them so no one else could find out the big secret she and San had been working so hard to hide from everyone.

—It was supposed to last for one day only, but things got complicated after my dad found out —Y/n admitted—. Being honest, it never felt like pretending because I genuinely liked San since we started talking —Y/n admitted.

—Really? —through the worry, San's eyes shined with excitement with her words.

—Not now, Romeo —Mingi interrupted him—. Why did you lie to us, instead of telling us the truth?

—Because I knew you'd tease me about it —San confessed—. The truth is that I only talked with Y/n via text and calls when you two found out about her —he pointed at Wooyoung and Mingi—. I got nervous, and I said she was my girlfriend because I didn't really expect you to find out about her. But when we saw her...

—Wait... Now it makes sense why you got in between her and that boy that way —Wooyoung squinted his eyes.

—I had already said we were dating, so I didn't want to go back and say we weren't, so I convinced her to play along —Y/n waved her fingers in the air when all those eyes fell on her—. And like she said, her father found out later and it was a lie we couldn't get out of.

—You two never dated? —Yeosang finally asked.

—So you pretended to date —Meghan tried to explain—, but you two liked each other. So, while it was a lie, it wasn't totally a lie.

—That's not important —Sam interrupted her—. Why didn't you tell us?

—Fuck that —Mingi huffed—. We want blood.

—Oh, shut up —all of them managed to say, one over the other.

—I understand not telling them, but not telling me? —Wooyoung suddenly asked.

—Fuck off —they all spoke again one over the other, while pushing Wooyoung's arm.

—So now you two are dating for real? —Sam peeked her head in between Mingi and Yunho, to be able to look.

—Do we really need them to confirm? —Mingi looked down at her— We heard the whole conversation.

—The only thing I'd like to ask —Y/n commented, interrupting the bickering that was about to happen—: my dad can't know. Actually, no one in the company—she looked at Hongjoong, being the one who had kept contact with some people in the office—. I don't know how they'd react if they knew I lied about something so dumb, but I'm sure it'd affect bigger decisions, so please...

As much as their friends wanted to act like they weren't sure about keeping the secret, their hidden smiles and the looks they exchanged gave away that her secret was more than hidden with them.

—Of course we won't tell anyone —Seonghwa was the first to speak, giving up to the pressure he was feeling with her nervous gaze among the group.

—How could we? You're our friend —right after saying that, Wooyoung's arm wrapped around her shoulders—. You're two liars, but I'm so happy you fell for each other —the long haired boy started jumping slightly, causing Y/n to move up and down with him.

—To be fair, I already suspected you two weren't dating —Mingi commented.

—Of course you didn't know —Jongho cut him off before he could continue—. We had enough lies for today.

Mingi only smiled nervously, letting that topic die for itself before Y/n stepped back from Wooyoung to look at everyone.

She hadn't been around for long, but it was obvious she fitted their group as if she had been by their sides for years. Despite their relationship being a lie, all of them could tell her feelings and thoughts were genuine. It was on the way she looked at their friend, or the way she had been caring for him the month they had known her. It was never a lie they liked each other, they just were slow at realizing it.

The rest of the night after that went by smoothly, with Y/n and San barely moving an inch from each other, going everywhere with their arms tangled around each other's body while Y/n made the best job she could to focus on the guests instead of her boyfriend -ending up smiling to herself whenever she unconsciously called him for what he was.

—I can't wait to get home —she mumbled.

—Right... Because doing what we think to do is a bit too much, right?

—And what do you think I'm thinking? —she moved her head back, just to be able to look into his eyes.

That confidence vanished away when she asked that question, with his smile suddenly dropping and his eyes tinting into a dark worry that made her snort quietly.

—Pervert.

—So you weren't thinking about anything else? —San asked back.

—I could've been talking about lying on the couch and watching a movie —she shrugged—. But yeah, I meant that I wanted to drink something more than this beer.

San's fingers pinched her side with a smirk, pulling her closer to his body to be able to hide his mouth in her strands of hair.

He couldn't understand how he got so lucky to be with her.

Y/n was a giggling mess when they broke into her place, with her head every few times resting on San's shoulder while they walked down the three steps that led to her living room.

—I can't believe you dropped my father's wine —Y/n cackled, taking off her heels to throw them away.

—I'm too expressive when I talk, and he was way too close to me —San defending himself, suddenly puckering with his words—. I bet he knew the cologne I used, and could even tell apart the ingredients.

—Well, you're lucky it wasn't one of his wines —Y/n's eyebrows arched in a funny warning—, and that we had free drinks. Otherwise, he'd have eaten you alive —she assured him.

—Your dad hates me, right? I knew he'd hate me after what happened in the office, I'd hate myself, too. Imagine if we had a daughter and an asshole was waiting for her half naked over her desk? I'd kill him.

He was too focused on his own yapping to realize what he had said, but Y/n did notice. Attempting to make him feel better, and make sure his eyes wouldn't have it easy to escape hers, she walked towards him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to make sure he looked into her eyes properly.

—If we did what?

She knew they had been dating for less than an evening, but the fact that he was dating her with a future in his mind made her feel nervous, and cheesy. And the fact that San wasn't even aware of what he said, because he had it all assumed in his head, made things feel even more personal.

—I was just saying. It was a way of speaking —he started speaking faster, going back to his yapping to save his back on something else he had started—. I didn't mean I was thinking of impregnating you, and saying this I don't mean I don't want to have a family with you. It's just that it's way too early, but I'm serious about liking you and being exclusive...

—San...

But he kept on talking as if she hadn't been trying to stop him from the big loop he was in, trying to calm her down -when he was the one in need for some oxygen.

—San —she called him a bit louder—. Don't you ever shut up? —she giggled— It's the first time someone thinks of me that way —the soft tone in her voice immediately calmed him down.

San's hands moved to each side of her hips, pulling her a bit closer.

—And before you say anything —she stopped him before a word could come out from his parted lips—: this doesn't mean you can say you want to spill your seed inside, or some shit like that. But —she smiled cutely again—, I really like how you think of me as something so serious.

—Well, we've been dating for three hours, but I said what I said because I'm really serious about us. And that doesn't sound any better —he pressed his lips, trying to think of a way to form his words.

—We've been formal for three hours, but technically we've been dating for almost a month —Y/n tried to work better on his sentences—. And we've been liking each other for even longer, so...

His body moved first, bending over her to trap her lips in a soft peck that raised all the hairs in her body, enough for her to think about turning the kiss deeper, moving her hands to cup his neck in her fingers and make sure he wouldn't move whenever she wanted to suck on his plump lower lip.

—I can't see myself with anyone else either —she quietly admitted, finally managing to place his words properly so they'd make sense.

San was the one to take the lead, cupping his neck with one hand to pull her in for a kiss, moving his lips sensually on hers, making her weaker with each rub, just like she had taught him to do. Her hands were in the air for a short second, before they found a place on his forearms. And with the last layer of intimacy being added when their lips parted, San towered over her, sticking their bodies together.

—Y/n —his voice sounded raspy when breaking the kiss—, I want to do it.

—Do what?

His eyes opened slowly, showing a new color she wasn't used to seeing on him. Dark, mysterious, intriguing...

—I want to make love to you —he whispered, rubbing his thumb over the spot below her ear.

—Are you sure?

Y/n knew giving your virginity to someone was something important. She knew it, because she regretted it immediately after she lost it, when her boyfriend broke up with her days later because somebody else grabbed his interest more; and San had been treasuring that meaningful part of him for so long that she was scared of him rushing it with her. They had known each other for some time, their connection was off the charts, but it was still difficult to tell for her whether it was the right choice.

—I want to show you how much you mean to me through something I have been saving for someone special... you're that special someone. I've... I've never felt this way with anyone —he admitted—. Ever since I started talking to you I've daydreamed of how you'd feel wrapped around me, how your moans would sound in my ear instead of the speakers. And ever since I met you, it's only grown deeper. So, if you want to...

Before he could finish his sentence, her smile was soft and kind, softened by his words and endeared by that pure confession, wrapping her arms around his shoulders again to link their lips together. His hands held her firmly by her hips, pressing his pelvis against her lower stomach, just to move them lower on her body. A gasp almost broke the kiss, but San took the chance to slide his tongue through her lips, using all of his strength on his arms so he could lift her body effortlessly.

—Have you been practicing? —Y/n teased him, wrapping her legs around him.

—Wooyoung weirdly enjoys it a little bit too much.

With that confession, the tension was broken with soft giggles that were only stopped with some small and innocent kisses. And, as much as he'd have loved to be able to move blindly to her room, every few seconds his eyes half-opened to see through his eyelashes where he was walking on.

Y/n turned more nervous with each step he walked, feeling her stomach turning upside down when he took the last step, allowing her to distinguish the smell of her floral perfume in her room.

It was strange, because despite her not being the one losing her virginity, it for sure felt as if she was.

San left her back on the floor, aiming to get her naked as carefully as he could, dealing with her body as if she was made of glass. Every kiss, every touch, every gesture he lied on her skin were meant to worship the person he had in front of him, while at the same time trying to reassure her he was going to take care of her.

It was far from the rough and dirty sex they fantasized about a month ago, it was sweet and intimate, working as a way to express himself through actions -which she appreciated more- rather than words.

Her breath was getting heavier, lazily placing her hands on his shoulders, as his lips tenderly wrapped around her nipples, with his tongue licking the button until it was hard enough to jump against it. Her dress was gone, her bra was gone, she was only left with her beige panties, while he was still completely dressed.

The roles changed again, with Y/n taking the lead and San just looking back, when pushed him away.

Her fingers felt like boiling iron through the fabric of his shirt, feeling relieved when she took it off to slide it through his arms, exposing his tanned skin under the lazy light of the lamps on her nightstands. Although her kisses on his neck didn't slow down the feeling, having his body squirming with each touch on his freckles.

She went down on her knees, taking off the last piece of fabric remaining in his body to allow his bulge to jump free in front of her. His body reacted so quickly to her, that Y/n couldn't help but press her thighs together when her core throbbed with pleasure.

—Y/n... —San begged, when her tongue first licked his tip.

Although, instead of sucking him off, Y/n stood up again, guiding him towards her bed, aiming for them both to sit in the middle of the mattress. San stopped her from sitting, holding her thigh and guiding her to lift her hips so he could take her panties off.

—We'll do it how you want —she spoke softly—. Although it's better to start like this —she referred to their current position, with their legs tangled on one another while they faced each other.

Her fingers trapped his wrist, moving his hand to place his fingers on her slit, saying without words what he should do.

—Move them like that —she hummed, dragging her body closer to him.

While two of his fingers traced invisible circles around her clit, her digits wrapped around his hard dick to stroke him off gently. San was the first one to aim for her lips, giving her a peck that turned into an exchange of spit and gasps in a matter of seconds.

—You're so wet —he groaned, breathing her air.

—And you're so hard. I want to feel you so deep inside —she admitted.

San moved before she had to say a thing, sliding two fingers inside, causing her hand to hold him a bit tighter and stop momentarily from stroking him.

—Fuck, I want you so bad —her voice turned a pitch higher when he curved his fingers.

—Am I doing it right? —his question sounded way too innocent in contrast to what he was causing in her with what he was doing— Let me make you cum in my hand. Hmm? Can you do that for me?

Her body disconnected from what her brain wanted to do, moving back her arms to rest half of her body on the bed, offering herself to him. The sheets were gripped tight on her fingers when another finger was added to the other two, circling her clit while his digits pressed against that spongy spot that had her losing control of herself.

His other hand moved up through her body, going up her stomach through her tits, until it reached her neck, holding her so lovingly that it turned into an added point to the way to her high.

—San, I'm going to cum.

She was convinced he was going to slow it down and stop after her warning, but instead he kept the speed and the movements, keeping her legs spread with his whenever she tried to make the attempt to close them.

He didn't need to ask her to cum in his hand, he didn't ask her to give it to him, his eyes were communicating how bad he needed her to reach her high without words being used. And that need was replaced with satisfaction when the contraction in her pussy led to the biggest orgasm she had to date, almost losing part of her hearing for a few seconds.

With a smile, his body covered hers, reaching for her lips for another kiss, tracing her body with the tip of his fingers, only to be pushed on the other side of the bed after three kisses.

Their bodies rolled over the mattress, changing positions. Her legs were placed on each side of his hips, her hands covered his collarbones, and her chest was pressed against his while they gently kissed.

—I'll be the one making love to you, babe —she whispered, rubbing their noses together.

Although her promise flew away momentarily, making him think she could've possibly regretted her decision when she moved back to the other side. That fear didn't last much. Only until she went back to straddle him, breaking the small package she was carrying to wrap the elastic around his hard dick.

—If something bothers you, or if you want to stop... —she started, being paused by his hand pulling her back over his body.

—Babe, just do it —he assured her.

San linked their lips together again, with it coming up as passionate and deep since the very beginning, too sensitive to how she felt to notice the moment she took his cock and placed him against her pussy, pushing the tip against her entrance before she moved her hips down to take him in.

A roaring moan vibrated through his throat when her warm walls hugged him tight, gulping him inside slowly, inch by inch until her hips connected with his. He was sure he could be able to stay like that for as much time as she wanted, just having enough with feeling like they were one finally.

—Are you okay? —she asked, breaking the kiss to look at him.

—Okay? You're feeling so fucking good —he mumbled—. It feels like I'm dreaming.

Y/n linked their lips together again, moving her hips up as slowly as she could, rocking them back down to take him in completely. She tried to be as gentle as she could, she tried to hold in everything she wanted to do to him, everything she had been waiting to do for those four weeks.

She tried to... Until she wasn't able to.

Supporting herself on his lower belly, Y/n moved up, finding a better posture to start bouncing on him. A moan escaped her lips when her hips moved down, with him feeling completely different from that new angle.

Her body changed the rhythm, the movements, the friction... everything. Neither of them got time to get used to what they were feeling, because Y/n managed to change something -as small as it was- to make it feel completely different from what it was. And that made them unable to control their moans, with San's pleas sounding as a background to her short and cut off whines in between gasps.

In his eyes she always looked like that goddess he could only look at from afar, lucky enough to the coincidences of life playing in his favor to have their lives intertwined together by a mistake; but that night she looked completely out of reach. Her body moved so effortlessly on top of him, with her tits bouncing with each jump, and her hair swaying in the air.

When he recognized that feeling that was building up, it was way too late for him. His cock twitched inside the latex, and his thighs turned tense right, letting out a prolonged moan that marked the end of something that could've been so good.

Far from being disappointed or upset, Y/n smiled, understanding of what happened. Before he could even open his mouth to apologize, her body was back at covering his, hugging him while she played with his hair.

San saw her like a goddess, but Y/n saw him as a treasure she wanted to protect and take care of. After being surrounded by so many people with ill intentions, he was one of the few people that came into her life as genuinely as it could be -ironic though, considering how they started. With him everything was real, so transparent that she could see through the little flaws and like them even more. She didn't care about any small mistakes, because she knew what he was going to give her back was going to be the triple of her bet.

—I didn't even last for ten minutes.

—That's why you fingered me so well before? —she teased him.

—I'm serious.

—Why don't you stop torturing yourself before you feel worse, take off the condom, and cuddle with me? —she suggested, tilting her head— I will give you a lot of kisses, and I'll let you sleep on my chest.

When she suggested that idea with such an intimate tone, and caring gaze, San couldn't help himself but move down her body to get up from the bed, causing her to land on the other side of the mattress.

—I'm sorry —he quickly turned to her, making sure she was alright.

—I'm alright —she giggled.

San's little run before and after cleaning himself had her looking forward to the moment he jumped on the bed, lying by her side, sticking his body to hers with his head resting on her chest.

And that moment they were together, after sharing such a special night, made her wonder when things would start going south for them. She was used to everything getting out of control right when she was starting to be happy, she knew it was going to be a matter of time until something ruined the way they both felt about them, even if San reassuring hands caressed her skin to wash those thoughts away.

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takingchences · 1 year

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𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐

A descendant of a legendary quirk longs to separate herself from her family name, but first she'll have to confront villains, ghosts from the past, and her growing attraction for Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x OP!fem!oc

Warnings: swearing

series masterlist + my masterlist

"What? A Quirk assessment test?" Most of the class exclaimed in unison.

"But orientation!" Uraraka whined. "We're gonna miss it!" Who cares? Sana sighed, just wanting to jump into the action already. She was dying to know the quirks of her new classmates and get a feel for her competition.

Their home room teacher obviously couldn't have cared less about missing something as trivial as orientation. "If you really wanna make the big leagues, you can't waste time on pointless ceremonies." Uraraka and others gasped at the haggard man's brutal honesty. Sana nodded her head solemnly in agreement. "Here at UA, we're not tethered to traditions. That means that I get to run my class however I see fit." A few uneasy looks were spotted in the crowd. The unidentified pro held up a small tablet. "You've been taking standardized tests most of your lives, but you never got to use your Quirks in physical exams before. The country's still trying to pretend we're all created equal by not letting those with the most power excel. It's not rational. One day, the Ministry of Education will learn."

Not if my father has anything to say about it, she argued.

Mr. Aizawa turned towards the angry ash blonde standing not two feet away from her. "Bakugou, you managed to get the most points on the entrance exam. What was your farthest distance throw with a softball when you were in Junior High?"

"Sixty‐seven meters, I think."

So Blondie's name is Bakugou.

"Right. Try doing it with your Quirk. Anything goes, just stay in the circle." Bakugou stepped inside the designated area. Sana watched his every breath and each shift of his muscular frame in anticipation. That confidence of his is killer. His quirk must be incredibly strong.

"Go on. You're wasting our time." An impatient Aizawa stood off to the side with his hands in his pockets.

Bakugou stretched his throwing arm in preparation. "Alright, man. You asked for it." He replied nonchalantly. Then, with a crazed look in his eyes, he suddenly wound his arm back and-

"DIE!" He screeched inhumanly as he released an explosion from his hand, sending the ball rocketing through the sky. Sana's eyes narrowed at the display of power. Just as she'd expected, Blondie had a strong and flashy quirk... but did he really have to be so loud all of the time?

"All of you need to know your maximum capabilities," Aizawa narrated as the class silently followed the trajectory of Bakugou's pitch. The ball eventually came to a stop, making the device in Aizawa's hand beep. "It's the most rational way of figuring out your potential as a pro hero." He flipped the device around to show them Bakugou's results.

705.2 meters. An impressive score, Sana could admit, but not an unbeatable one.

"Whoa, 705 meters, are you kidding me?" Kaminari was shocked by the results of the test, pun very much intended.

Bakugou returned to his original spot with a cocky smirk, flashing his teeth at Sana in hopes of provoking a fight. He obviously wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. Luckily, neither was she. Just you wait, pretty boy. I'll blow you straight out of the water.

After a few students made the mistake of commenting on how fun it looked, their teacher smiled sadistically before adding a punishment: whoever ranked last at the end of the eight tests would be expelled.

"You can't send one of us home! I mean, we just got here! Even if it wasn't the first day, that isn't fair!" Uraraka once again confronted their teacher.

"Oh, and you think natural disasters are?" Aizawa countered. "Or power‐hungry villains, hmm? Or catastrophic accidents that wipe out whole cities? No, the world is full of unfairness. It's a hero's job to try to combat that unfairness. If you wanna be a pro, you're gonna have to push yourself to the brink. For the next three years, UA will throw one terrible hardship after another at you. So, go beyond. Plus Ultra‐style." He bent his finger in a come here motion. "Show me it's no mistake that you're here."

Sana's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. Her eyes cut to the dual-haired boy standing in the back of the group. So close, yet so far away. I have to prove that I'm strong enough to make it on my own.

"Now then. We're just wasting time by talking. Let the games begin."

The first part of the apprehension test was the 50-meter dash. So far, the most impressive score had come from Iida, but what else would you expect from a guy with engines in his legs? Soon, it was Sana's turn to run. She was paired up against a blonde guy with a tail.

This is my time to shine. As she'd passed by Bakugou to stand at the starting point, she'd made sure to brush his shoulder with her's. Immediately, a warmth had flowed through her body from where they'd made contact. Sana crouched low to the ground and released a deep breath.

Thank you, Bakugou...

Her glowing eyes locked with the said male's just as the starting pistol was about to go off. Her lips curved into a devious grin, making his red eyes widen slightly.

...for being my stepping stone.

There was a burst of blinding light where the girl had once been standing, causing many of the observers to turn away and shield their eyes. Before the class had time to process what had just happened, the measuring device beeped.

"0.11 seconds!" The automated voice cheered.

Standing at the finish line was Sana, lightly panting as she bent to rest her hands on her knees. Running at the speed of light, her pastel hair cast her eyes in shadow, but did nothing to hide the proud smirk on her face. Try and top that.

"HUUUUUH?" The class exclaimed.

Mina, Kaminari, Kirishima, and a boy named Hanta Sero immediately circled the peach-haired girl once she rejoined the rest of the class. "What the heck was that?!" Mina grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "It was crazy cool, babes!"

"What a manly score!" Kirishima held out a fist, making Sana laugh as she bumped their knuckles together. Thankfully, his quirk wasn't activated, otherwise her hand would've crumbled like wet paper beneath his.

Kaminari slung an arm over her shoulder. "So that's your special move, huh? How about I show you mine tonight-"

"Oi, Flashlight!"

The lightning-haired teen was cut off by a gruff voice. The small group turned to face Bakugou, his red eyes seemingly trying to peer into her soul and learn all of her secrets. "It's Sana," she reminded him with a sigh. "Did you need something?"

"What's your quirk?"

"Does it matter?"

The ash blonde's lip curled in annoyance. "Ya think I didn't notice? You did something." He squeezed his shoulder with a frown. He quickly snapped out of his trance and thrust a finger in her face. "So tell me what the hell your quirk is!"

"I didn't do anything to you." Sana held her hands up defensively. "I just wanted to power up."

"Huh?" He yelled, just as visibly confused as the rest of her new friends.

(Present Mic announcing) "Sana Sakano, her Quirk: Light Manipulation! By absorbing heat and light into her body, she can create blasts of radiation. The more energy she takes in, the stronger her attacks are!"

"Obviously, the Sun is my main source of energy, but any kind of heat will do." Sana tried her best to explain the inner workings of her quirk. "Your quirk has to do with fire, so naturally, your body's core temperature is higher than normal." She placed a hand on Sero's and Kirishima's toned arms and felt a sliver of warmth soak into her palms. "It works with anyone, though I prefer people like you." She shrugged.

"Does your shitty quirk weaken the other person?" Bakugou pressed, his anger unwavering.

"No," Sana answered sourly. "So don't blame me when you lose."

The explosive blonde scoffed. "Whatever. I don't need other people to help me win." Her spirits fell as he turned and stalked away in his strange, grumpy-old-man way, hands shoved into his pockets. Her new friends noticed the sadness in her eyes and immediately tried to cheer her up.

"Hey, don't mind him." Sero reassured her.

"Yeah!" Mina jumped in. "We believe in you, so go out there and kick his ass!" Sana's eyes glimmered, her mouth slightly open in surprise as she stared at each of the four teens in front of her.

They're so... warm.

She didn't mean physically, but a different type of warmth altogether. They offered their attention and affection, two things that Sana had craved her entire life. She had always known coldness: a distant father who brushed her thoughts, feelings and existence aside, a broken, empty home where she spent most nights alone, eating her meals in deafening silence. A family that wasn't a family at all, but business partners. To them, Sana was nothing but an investment, her stock only rising as her power grew and developed. The second that changed, she'd be deemed worthless and discarded.

Just like her mother.

It was why she and Shoto had gotten along so well. They'd lived such similar lives, experienced a lot of the same pain. They could relate to each other in a way most people would never understand. And that was fine, because they knew that they would always have each other.

But somewhere along the way, she'd lost him too.

He'd left, grown cold like his right side, become unapproachable like her father. The home she'd once found in him had become just as dark and deserted as the one she would return to day after day, and once again, she found herself out in the cold. But here, with these people...

U.A really is the best.

The class was tested on their grip strength, followed by the standing long jump. Bakugou had cleared the sandbox by setting off explosions to keep him airborne, which gave Sana an idea for her turn.

When her name was called, she felt her eyes light up as her quirk powered on. Leveling her palms with the ground, she pushed off with her feet and activated her quirk. Like a rocket, blasts of energy burst from her palms and sent her shooting through the air, easily clearing the sandbox. Her landing, on the other hand, could use some improvement. She rolled across the grass a few times before finally coming to a stop. Hearing the concern in her friends' voices, she flashed them a lazy smile and a thumbs up.

Idiot. Bakugou thought to himself as he watched the girl climb to her feet, dirt now smudged along her cheek and PE uniform.

A few pieces of pastel hair, which she'd tied back with a ribbon at the beginning of the assessment, had been freed during the tumble. They floated and danced around her face as she bounced up to the group of morons she called friends. Her smile hadn't wavered, not since he'd confronted her about her quirk. It was seriously starting to piss him off. How could she be so happy with the way things were going? The only standout score she'd managed to get so far was the 50-meter dash, and that was because she'd used him to do it!

One of the final tests was the ball toss, where Bakugou had set a high standard. I just have to beat 705.2 meters, Sana repeated like a mantra in her head.

She'd turned away, as it was Shoto's turn to throw. She hadn't been able to look at him for too long. The distance—both physical and metaphorical—between them too great and far too painful to acknowledge. So Sana ignored it, shoving every thought of him out of her mind. Of how much stronger he'd become over the last few months, how his hair was longer, how he seemed taller than the last time she'd seen him, his muscular frame more developed-

No, bad Sana. She scolded herself for letting her mind slip. She doubted Shoto had thought such things when he'd seen her this morning, learned that they'd been placed in the same class-

Dammit! I'm doing it again!

Thankfully, Shoto was now done, Uraraka having taken his place inside the white circle. She didn't even have to throw the ball. With her gravity quirk, one touch was all it took for her to reach infinity. Midoriya was up next, then Sana.

"If Midoriya doesn't shape up soon, he's the one going home." Iida put to words what they were all thinking, worry clear in his voice.

"Huh? Of course he is. He's a Quirkless loser." The explosive blonde glared at the greenette from across the field.

"Really?" Sana exclaimed in awe.

The rest of 1-A was surprised by her genuine excitement. Ever since U.A had amended the rule about quirkless students entering the Hero Course, she'd been anticipating the day that someone without a quirk would step up and prove themselves. It wasn't power that made a hero. Endeavor was living proof of that.

"He has a Quirk." Iida insisted, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Did you not hear about what he did in the entrance exam?"

Damn, she cursed. I forgot about that.

In the circle, Midoriya readied his arm, a look of pure concentration on his face. His arm seemed to glow for a moment before he released the ball. The baseball fell to the ground seconds later, barely 40 meters away.

"Wow. That was, uh..." Sana's eyes shifted between the boy and the ball. ... extremely underwhelming, she sweat dropped. What could he have possibly done during the entrance exam to impress so many people?!

Midoriya exchanged a few words with their teacher before coming to a realization. "Ah! Those goggles. I know you! You can look at someone and cancel out their powers. The Erasure Hero. Eraser Head!"

"Eraser?" Sero scratched his head. "Who's that?"

A frog-like girl came to the rescue. "I've heard of him. I think he works on the down‐low."

Teacher and pupil spoke a little longer, none of them being able to hear exactly what the two were saying. Once Midoriya returned to his spot to try again, the class whispered amongst themselves about what they possibly might've discussed.

"I wonder if our teacher gave him some advice."

"Probably told him to start packing." The satisfaction oozing from Bakugou was troubling to say the least. It was unlikely that he enjoyed much of anything due to his prickly personality, but did he really dislike the green-haired boy so badly that he was actually rooting for him to fail?

"SMASH!" Midoriya shouted as he released the ball a second time. The ball was launched into the air from the pressure, the speed and velocity of the ball on par with Bakugou's, though the explosive teen was too shocked by the fact that surprise—Midoriya is, in fact, not quirkless—to do anything other than gawk.

The end result? 705.3 meters.

Alright, Midoriya, Sana nodded her head in acknowledgment.

Bakugou, shaking himself out of whatever stupor he'd been in, immediately launched himself at the greenette, Aizawa being forced to restrain him with his fashionable scarf—sorry, capture weapon.

"How the hell am I supposed to follow that?" Sana muttered to herself.

"You're wasting my time now." Aizawa grumbled as the students crowded around the boy with the broken finger. "Whoever's next can step up."

That would be me, Sana sighed, stepping forward. Aizawa handed her the ball, which she reluctantly accepted. Taking her place inside the circle, Sana couldn't help but frown down at the white paint, grateful that the class—namely Bakugou—was unable see her unease. Her quirk didn't enhance any of her physical abilities besides her speed and that stunt had burned through most of her stored energy. Thankfully, it was a bright, sunny day out, so whatever reserves she'd lost had quickly been replenished. But throwing a ball (ideally) over 705.2 meters would be a difficult task.

I don't know what to do.

She couldn't help but picture a white-and-red-haired boy in her place. Shoto would've already thrown it. Only the weak hesitate, a voice berated. But it didn't sound like her own. The voice was deeper, more masculine, like her father's telling her nothing she does will ever be good enough. Or like Enji Todoroki's, always reminding her of his son's superiority.

You're not weak, Sana grit her teeth, banishing all thoughts of her former friend. She spotted ash blonde spikes out of the corner of her eye, thought of the harsh words he'd spoken. You don't need others to help you.

"Any day now." That was her teacher's voice. Shit. How much time had she wasted already?

Sana took a deep breath in, felt the rush of her quirk flooding through her. Releasing her breath slowly, she began to run along the inner edges of the white circle, her figure a blur of peach and navy blue. Gripping the softball tightly, she drew her arm back before flinging it into the air. It may not be much now, but...

Her glowing eyes followed the ball's course intently. It whistled through the air before crashing into the soft earth. The device in her teacher's hand displayed her score: 607 meters.

I'm just getting started.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #boku no hero acedamia #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #shoto todoroki #bakugou x reader #bakusqaud #kirishima eijirou #bakugo katsuki #mina ashido #bnha fluff

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modelbus · 2 years

Note

Hii! Can I request a Tommy x fem! Reader where they’re streaming together and they’re just like jokingly insulting eachother thought the stream and chat is just going crazy with how much they’re flirting (romantic) <3

<3 felt like the photo really is accurate.

Pairing: CC!Tommy x Fem!Reader

Flirting or Fighting

"You are shit." Tommy deadpans, staring at you. "Shut up. Never speak again."

"Oh, yeah, I'm the shit one when I know for a fact you were up to your elbows in it yesterday-" You begin, fondly rolling your eyes.

"WE BOTH KNOW THAT I HAD A REASON FOR THAT!"

"YOU WERE CUTTING IT WITH A PLASTIC KNIFE!"

"A man's poop is private business."

You give a look to the stream. Yesterday was quite disturbing for you to walk in on, actually. And, as his girlfriend, you were taking it upon yourself to share it to the world.

"You are a bitch. Out of my many bitches, you are at the bottom." He suddenly declares.

"And your hairline is receding, but we both have things we lie to ourselves about."

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TALK ABOUT MY HAIRLINE LIKE THAT. IT ISNT THAT BAD. CHAT, CHAT, LOOK!"

Leaning up to the camera he flips his hair up, showing off his hairline. To emphasize your point and hopefully win whatever was going on, you scream in horror.

"She's- chat, guys, come on, it's not that bad. She's lying!"

"I'm not, Tommy."

He fake-sobs into his hands, prompting you to awkwardly rub his back in comfort. When you agreed to stream with him today you definitely hadn't thought it'd turn out like this.

"I am going to eat your esophagus. Wait. What's an esophagus?"

You stop rubbing his back, staring at him in horror. "My- my esophagus? Like, my throat thing?"

"Hang on, hang on, I'm Googling it." He quickly types it in. "Do you think that'd taste good?"

"For the sake of my esophagus I'm going to say no. Chat, ask us questions. To save me. I was forced into this."

"You were not! You were at my feet, begging me like the peasant you are." Pitching up his voice in what you assume is meant to be you he mimics, "Oh great Tommy please let me on your stream!"

Wrinkling your nose you say, "I don't sound like that. Nor did I say that."

"You sound just like that!"

"I don't! Chat, back me up here."

"Woah, fuck off. This is my chat. They're loyal to me."

"Then why are they backing me up?"

He turns his head to read chat.

It isn't actually backing you up at all, too filled with spam of other stuff. Like the fact you two are being cute, or the ridiculous number of hearts. You knew this would end up on Tik Tok later or a YouTube video of "five minutes of Tommy play flighting with his girlfriend."

"Chat, I know you. I have your addresses. I will come in, sneak in with my little sneaky skills and- ha- and wrap my hands arou-“ He cuts himself off by his own laugher, making you laugh.

“Dont fall to his threats, Tommyinnit may be a man but he’s a weak man.”

“Hey! I’m a very manly man! Look at these muscles!”

As he flexes his “muscles” you relax into the chair he had bought specifically for this stream. No matter how much you loved him you weren’t going to sit on a stool.

“Yeahh!” He yells. “Look at me flex!”

“And here you observe the wild Tommyinnit doing what he does best: lying.” You whisper into the mic. “As he rages at being called out for his behavior, watch as he slowly becomes crazier.”

“Wait, narrate me bitch!”

Tommy hops up from his chair, flapping his arms.

“Uh, and now you can see him trying to fly only to discover that his dreams are hopeless and will never be achieved.”

“I will achieve my dreams!”

He turns around and starts what he calls twerking but what you’re pretty sure is a war crime.

“Well chat, thank you for coming to the stream! It’s-“

“Hey!” Tommy exclaims. “I was trying to show off my magnificent ass!”

You open and close your mouth, trying to find a response. “Please never say that again.”

“My ass deserves to be showed to the world.”

“I want to leave.”

“You’re trapped in here with me forever!” He reaches out and drags your chair closer to both his and the desk before collapsing in his own chair.

“Kill me now chat. Kill. Me. No-“

He slaps his hand over your mouth, cutting you off. Despite the fact he is literally taking away your ability to talk, you can't stop smiling.

“Isn’t this so much better chat? Isn’t it so much better when she can’t talk?”

You let out a muffled “hey!” in protest.

When he leans forward a little to read chat, you take your chance.

“EW! DID YOU JUST LICK ME?!” He screams, jerking his hand away.

“So, Minecraft, right chat?" You ask, free from Tommy.

"Why are you all just awwing us? Fuck off, we will kill each other. Stop awwing."

"...we will?" You ask slowly.

"Yes. Would you not kill me? I'm offended. I thought you loved me."

"I- I mean yeah, of course I'd kill you. I'd even lie to Philza Minecraft about it."

"Never lie to Philza Minecraft. You know better. Let's play Minecraft!"

You blink at the camera, mouthing "what the fuck" to the stream. Sure enough, everyone in chat eats it up.

"Hey, do you want the mouse or keyboard?" Tommy asks. "Never mind, I want the mouse."

"Thanks for the options." You say sarcastically but place your hands on the keyboard anyways.

"You are so fucking welcome. See guys? I'm so nice."

(As if planned, exactly thirty minutes later you both get into an argument over why you died in the game. So nice.)

#tommyinnit mcyt #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit #mcyt imagine #mcyt #dsmp #tommyinnit imagine #dsmp tommy #tommy mcyt

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goodluckclove · 5 months

Text

Various "Failures" From My Google Docs

Good morning! I'm at my usual coffee shop and got inspired by the troubles of a few friends to embarrass myself.

Sit down with me. I'm enjoying my usual blended chai. There's room on the couch if you'd like to join me.

So I've written thirteen novels. I think thirteen, I've actually lost count. Let's say, like, five full-length plays and twelve to fourteen finished novels. Impressive, right? Maybe. I'm realizing that I consider that not much of a brag, if only because I know the amount of trips and stumbles it took to get to one completed project.

I've ditched a lot of ideas. A lot. If I need to I can dig into my old hard drives to find all the doc files from my youth, but I also have the same Google Docs I've had since middle school.

It's mostly plays and ghostwriting assignments, but if you did you'll find some snippets from my constant attempts at growth.

Some stuff like this is okay. The line "hair slicked back/suit black silk" is pretty good, but a little too the writer thinks they're clever for me now. I don't really remember where I planned to go with this. I think the narrator was somehow going to be given the identity of Roy Fontaine. I was really fixated on the surname Fontaine at the time. I don't know why.

But then there's also a lot of stuff like this:

Hey look it's Fontaine again! I guess he's a doctor, too! Also I am astounded by how casually the main character just pulls out the Necronomicon. He pulls it out? From where? His pocket? Is it a zine?

I don't know why, but something about how suddenly this jumps in terms of dropping specifics makes me think that Sonic the Hedgehog is about to show up. I can't explain it.

This is the only thing in a Doc titled "Psychosis". I have zero memory of what I was planning on doing with this. What's kind of crazy though is that I wrote this in 2014, and six years later I'll use essentially this exact bit in a finished novel without even realizing it.

Another bit from 2014. No clue what I planned to do with this. It's hilarious to me that something stopped me from finishing the sentence. What am I, Franz Kafka writing The Tower? I didn't die. I wasn't raptured. I just apparently tried to think of something a large oak door would do and immediately gave up. It was 2014 I had finished, like, four novels. And this idea was fully stalled by what had to be a fucking huge oak door.

My favorite part of this radio play I tried to write is that somehow, believe it or not - when I wrote this I did not fully understand the Quantum Suicide thought experiment. And for along time I still kind of thought that this could be salvaged into a good idea, until last night when I asked my wife to put on a video describing the experiment and I immediately found it so dumb. Just ridiculously stupid. The only good thing about Quantum Mickey is that the title kicks ass and I'm definitely keeping it for something.

I've written a lot. A lot. I've earned the severity of carpal tunnel I currently have. If I had to put it into a statistic, I'd say maybe seventy percent ends up finished. fifty percent ends up polished to be read or published. Thirty percent actually ends up being read or published. I'm okay with this, because I enjoy the work. But for me, part of enjoying the work is not panicking when a project doing work.

If I need to end a project in the middle of a sentence, I do. I've clearly proven that I do. Sometimes I write for thirty pages and lose interest, other times I get a paragraph in and get distracted forever. That's okay.

That's okay. As long as you're doing something.

I could've included segments of Carnation, my first novella that was supposed to be a novel but I never finished it. But I fucking guess that's getting it's own post when I hit 150 followers so I hope you're prepared for what the type of stuff I enjoyed in middle school.

There's an Irish child that speaks exclusively in slang. You aren't ready.

#writeblr #writing community #on writing #writers on tumblr #authors of tumblr #writing #writing advice #writing tips #writing inspo #writing inspiration

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gunraekae · 10 months

Text

love transcending time - aka ikevamp unnecessarily narrated

>ikemen vampire

>everyone x reader

>a/n: dont mind me just leaving my cave to post this

trust i have a headcanon style post in the works and uploaded sometime in the next week or so, i'm just a bit overwhelmed with term papers and stuff sorryyy

enjoy and have a wonderful day dear

Chapter II: The Banquet

At the foot of the staircase was the mysterious gentleman I encountered at the Louvre. He gave a pointed glance to the men. At the sight of him, a wave of relief surged through me and I ran down the staircase towards him.

“It’s you!” I hurried down and stopped short in front of him. Suddenly remembering my composure, I clarified the situation, “Pardon, but do you remember me? We met in front of the ‘Coronation of Napoleon’ and you helped me.”

I was met with a warm smile, “Of course I remember you.” Alright, I can ask him about an exit—any exit—and I can get a ride back to my aunt.

Before I could ask him for directions, my saviour “Leon,” stepped in between us. “She says she came here through your door. Did you bring her?” His tone, and the way he hid me from the prying eyes of everyone, all of it feels as if he was… protecting me.

“I did not. I can give you my oath if you wish,” the gentleman mused, “her arrival is just as surprising to me.”

“Then how did she get here?” Although the men didn’t seem hostile, what they were talking about still made me uneasy. What did they mean by “his” door? And why did they talk about “my arrival” as if it was an impossible feat? Where even am I? I don’t understand at all. Something is very wrong here. I just need to get out. At the new wave of apprehension, I remember my aunt. She must be so worried. How long has it even been? I rummaged around my pocket for my phone. 2:50 pm. No signal. What is going on?

I found the last ounce of courage I had and interjected, “You’ve been very kind, but I really can’t stay. I was supposed to meet up with someone. We’re still in the 1st arrondissement, yes? Where the Louvre is? That door there, does it lead outside?” I asked my questions rapidly before anyone could interrupt me.

His expression turned difficult, “Hmm… I’m afraid the answers you seek will only confuse you more.” My pleading gaze met the gentleman’s golden eyes. “This isn’t the place for a long discussion, however. Would you join me for dinner, chère?” I asked a yes or no question. Any rationality left in my mind crumbled, and it seemed to show on my face, as the gentleman hurriedly added, “Tonight’s banquet is a rare occasion for us. But afterward, I will answer all your questions. S’il vous plait.” With a sigh, I resigned myself to his wishes. After all, if there was any person who knew my predicament, it was him.

Having owned a travel blog, I’d been to many hotels, from the hidden gems to the 5-star establishments, I’d seen it all. The gentleman’s dining room was unlike anything I’d ever seen. A stretching room with a long, clothed table with fourteen high-backed wooden chairs framing it. The mahogany walls had intricate wooden carvings around the high ceiling, and a warm atmosphere coated the room with the chandeliers and the candelabras. Four men were already seated.

The beautiful pianist with the sharp tongue sat at the far end, secluded from the others. He was true to his statement from before—he truly looked displeased in being here.

Around the centre of the table sat two men beside each other.

“Must’ve been something pretty important to keep us waiting here. One second longer and I would’ve left.” The first man’s voice was familiar, being the Englishman’s companion in the hallway I entered. His husky voice, with the Dutch accent, matched his appearance—domineering and brusque. He had slicked-back, brown hair and steely blue eyes with a cold expression. He donned a long grey coat, fastened with gold accessories on top of a dark blue sweater, layered over a neat white button-up; basically, what a sensible businessman would wear if he was born a century ago. His tall stature and strong build were noticeable, with him being the largest of the men so far.

“Now, now. Getting angry about dinner is not going to make the food come out any faster.” The second man seemed the exact opposite, being much easier on the eyes. He had fluffy blonde hair, and even though the two had the same blue eyes, this man was so warm, you almost couldn’t tell. His dimpled smile was almost angelic. He wore a shorter dark brown coat with a yellow sweater on top of a white shirt, but the most attention-grabbing piece was his long yellow scarf loosely wrapped around him. He was somewhat smaller than his presumed brother.

“I have to be angry for two, mijn broer,” the gruff one said. The two Dutch brothers seemed close despite being polar opposites.

The kind brother’s eyes landed on me, and he gave a welcoming smile, “Who’s that? Do we have a guest? It’s nice to meet you!”

My uneasiness was somewhat alleviated by his warm character. He looked like the paintings of the angels I’d seen in the musée. A few words from him make me feel like everything’s better. We need more people like him.

The fourth man was sat a little ways away from everyone, head down and eyes studying the piece of tablecloth he was fiddling with. He looked slightly younger than the others, his innocent cherry eyes matched his auburn hair. He wore a sensible white button-up with a grey vest that had a red lapel. A golden button of an apple was stitched to the collar, giving his otherwise professional outfit an almost adorable finish.

His gaze darted around the room, briefly meeting mine then quickly returning to the tablecloth, “Whoever you are, have you considered sitting down? There’s a queue behind you waiting to get in, you know.” His voice was light and airy with a crisp English accent.

The Englishman’s chipper voice greeted the shy boy, “Newt, old boy, you do care!”

He bristled, “Can you desist calling me that wretched—!” “Newt” placed his hands on the table, as though intending to stand up.

A disciplinary clap sounded behind me. “That will be enough of that, you two. I require good manners at my table.” The gentleman gave everyone a warning look masked by his cordial smile. “Let’s be seated. There’s a few empty chairs, but we’ll have to start the toast without them.” The butler had already snuck into the kitchen, presumably preparing the dinner. The Englishman sat beside the gruff Dutch brother while “Leon” sat beside the shy boy. He gave me a warm glance as if reassuring me that I was safe here. I couldn’t muster up a smile, so instead I gave him a timid nod. Meanwhile, the gentleman gently placed a hand on my back and guided me to a seat beside his, which was at the head of the table.

The various personalities together seemed as if they wouldn’t mesh well together, but surprisingly, with everyone seated down, it felt like they were all a family.

“A vôtre santé!” The gentleman raised a glass filled with golden champagne in a toast. A chorus of toasts responded to him by the men. While most of the men kept drinking, the pianist took one sip before quickly placing down his glass. Not quite trusting the gentleman from his elusiveness, but wanting to be courteous, I pretended to take a sip instead. I was too wary. Too much didn’t make sense. It should be almost 3 in the afternoon, and yet I was having dinner in a strange mansion. I should have been at the Louvre with my aunt, and now I’m dining with seven strange men. Interrupting my thoughts, the butler brought out the first course. To say the food looked like a culinary masterpiece was doing it injustice. It was a classic French spread, the sort that I had at the hotels but somehow even better. Still, I remained wary and didn’t make a move. Instead, I turned my attention to my companions. Who are all these men? They seemed normal, if not odd, but their appearances were so unusual. And they were all from different countries, so was this an international meeting of some kind? They don’t seem to be friends, but it felt like there was an ambiguous intimacy between them all. The gentleman, noticing my uneasiness, inclined his glass my way.

“Let us toast to tonight’s most glorious and miraculous encounter. Santé.” His alluring gaze was comforting, if not off-putting in its warmth. “...à la vôtre.” With such a direct toast, it was impolite not to respond in turn. I timidly raised my glass to his. He finished the rest of his champagne, locking his gaze with mine. Feeling guilty and slightly charmed, I took a small sip of mine. Unfortunately, it tasted wonderful.

I turned back towards the food laid out in front of me. My stomach quietly grumbled; embarrassed, I looked around hoping no one noticed. Wishing to justify my hunger, I rationalized that it would be insulting if I didn’t eat. I tried the terrine. Pheasant with fresh basil. And it tasted as exquisite as it looked. The bisque was delicious too. You can taste the crab. It’s thickened just right! I closed my eyes. Whoever made this food should be as famous as Gordon Ramsay. My increasing satisfaction with the food was noticed by the gentleman, and awkwardly, I chirped, “My compliments to the chef.” The butler from earlier, who dutifully stood by the kitchen’s entry seemed to relax from his stiff composure.

He chuckled, “he’ll be pleased to hear that.” Whether it was the champagne or his ardent smile, my nerves considerably eased. Maybe he’s just a harmless nobleman and I’m overthinking everything. Really, if you looked at this scene objectively, I was having a perfectly pleasant evening. Wasn’t this the sort of romantic adventure I was looking for in coming to Paris?

At the gentleman’s words, the men’s amicable chatter was silenced. “You’ve outdone yourself again Sebastian.” His disarming charisma powered over the room. He looked over the men and said, “I believe we should take this opportunity to introduce ourselves to our guest. I will start us off. Everyone has taken to calling me Comte de Saint-Germain.” Comte? A whole count? Maybe that explains this old-word aura he has. “And once again, it’s a pleasure to meet you, chèrie.”

“Oh no, the pleasure’s all mine, Comte,” I mumbled, slightly flustered at his manners and my lack of it. I could feel the manor’s members’ eyes on me, and my face warmed at the attention. God, I’m making such a fool of myself. Le Comte de Saint-Germain next turned to his servant.

“This hard-working butler and the chef of tonight’s excellent banquet is Sebastian,” he fondly introduced. The stern butler from earlier formally bowed.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said. He spoke English with a faint Japanese accent. The butler Sebastian—how conveniently named.

The Comte turned back towards me, “It occurs to me we haven’t heard your name yet. I’d be pleased to know it.”

There can’t be any harm in telling them that. “I’m… MC,” I clumsily introduced myself. I avoided the eyes of everyone in the room, incredibly self-conscious and still apprehensive.

“That’s such a pretty name,” the kind Dutch brother piped up. His angelic face, which was sat across from me, was the first to reply, “I wasn’t expecting someone like you to turn up here. I hope we can be friends.” I finally raised my head and met his eyes to be polite, and his expression looked relieved at that. “I’m Vincent van Gogh, I’m a painter. It’s really nice to meet you.” I almost choked on my spit. A painter… named Vincent van Gogh. Is this some kind of themed event? Hoping not to seem offensive at my clumsy actions, I mustered a smile back. He seemed too kind to deserve my stupidity. “And this is my little brother. Go on, Theo, introduce yourself.”

“Vincent” gently nudged his brother, the gruff Dutch businessman.

“Theodorus van Gogh. I’m an art dealer. Don’t confuse me with my brother.”

“I’ll, uh, try my best.” They couldn’t be more opposite. I’m not confusing you two. “You’re not getting anything else from me. Introduction’s over.” To hammer in his point, he took a pocket watch from his coat and tapped it repeatedly, tap-tap-tap, to show that he had better things to do. How could Vincent be older? Theo had me pegged as the older brother with his seriousness. Realizing I was staring at the two of them in puzzlement, my gaze returned to the table.

Sitting to the right of Theodorus was the shy boy, “Newt,” who was difficult to make eye contact with, the both of us too nervous. If he could’ve curled up into a ball to be swallowed up by the ground, he would have. That being said, doesn’t he live here? I had more of a reason to be afraid of him than he was of me. “I’m Isaac. Isaac Newton. I study physics.”

“Nice to meet you… Isaac,” I choked out. A physicist named Isaac. They can’t possibly be serious. Despite the absurdity of this situation, I was still fearful of being deemed impolite. “Wait. Should that be ‘Sir Isaac—?’”

Suddenly, one of the dining room windows burst open. To my surprise, a man climbed in from the outside. I flinched from my seat and quickly glanced around to gauge everyone’s reactions. To my surprise, not a single person looked even remotely startled. The man, who had dark hair and strikingly yellow eyes chuckled sheepishly as he struggled through the window. He had such an easygoing smile that betrayed his serious eyes. He had an old Taisho-style kimono, with a dark purple haori, black hakama, and an unbuttoned white shirt. “Well, well, would you look at that? I’m a little late, aren’t I?” He’d just about fully entered the room when his sleeve got stuck, “...In we go.” He pulled at it comically, his actions humorously exaggerated and ineffective.

“God’s Truth, can’t you use a door?” Isaac sighed.

“And keep everyone waiting? No, no, the window’s a much faster entrance.” He smiled, nonchalant about his sleeve still caught by the window. He caught my bewildered eyes. I sat back down, but couldn’t wrench my eyes away from the bizarre scene. “Oh, hello there, young one. Why, I’m happy to see you here. How’s your dinner been?”

“It’s…good,” I sputtered out.

“Isn’t it? Well, it’s a Sebas-kun meal, so you really can’t expect anything less. You wouldn’t believe how fast his cooking gets gobbled up here.” He nonchalantly mused and sat on Isaac’s right, who then slithered away from him.

“Not to worry, you arrived just in time. We were just introducing ourselves to our new guest here.”

“In that case, I’m Osamu Dazai, just a poor writer struggling to make his way in the world.” His eyes closed with his carefree smile, which made him all the more handsome.

“Osamu Dazai. The writer. Okay.” I took a quick swig of my champagne. If I had to listen to the rest of these wild introductions I needed to be less sober. Should I have introduced myself as Marie Antoinette or something? I took a quick glance at the “van Gogh” brothers, who had started this odd chain of improv introductions. His smile seemed too innocent to be trying to fool me like this. Who the hell are these people? Is this some sort of prank? I glanced back at my now-empty glass. Was there something in my drink?

Skipping several empty chairs was the beautiful and cold pianist I’d met earlier. The Englishman called him “Wolfie,” but I bet that’s probably short for—

“Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Composer.” Called it. His character seemed the least to play along in whatever nonsense chain the others made up. Of course, the pianist would be called Mozart.

“...Hello, Mozart,” two words I never thought I’d utter in my life.

The cheeky Englishman from earlier, who was practically buzzing with excitement piped up, “I do believe I’m next! I’m Arthur Conan Doyle. Mystery writer.” I pursed my lips and looked down at the table, uncertain whether I should laugh or sigh. “And don’t call me Sir, just Arthur. As long as I get to call you MC.” I quickly glanced up at him, and his eyes twinkled with delight. He, I could see was capable of making up this joke. But then, did that mean everyone was lying to me? No, not lying. They have to be pseudonyms. I looked around once again at everyone.

Vincent.

Theodorus.

Isaac.

Dazai.

Mozart.

Arthur.

They have to be. Maybe they have to use fake names to keep their real identities a secret for some important reason.

“I believe that leaves you.” Le Comte’s silky voice interrupted my racing thoughts. Only my hero remained. My protector. He was the only one who was genuinely on my side. The one who wanted me to get out of here. He promised to answer my questions. I trusted him, albeit instantly. But he couldn’t possibly lie to me too.

With his eyes that hid nothing, my saviour looked at me and said, “Napoleon. Napoleon Bonaparte… I’m a soldier.”

#cybird ikemen #ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire x reader #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire arthur #ikemen vampire mozart #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikemen vampire vincent #ikemen vampire theo #ikemen vampire comte #ikemen vampire sebastian #ikemen vampire isaac #ikevamp isaac

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leclerced · 9 months

Note

furthermore on carhop reader

she kinda likes the attention so she ends up taking a sunday shift hoping she will see them (she’s convinced herself she will give them her phone number this time) but it’s race day and she finds herself begging whoever works that night to give her ANOTHER shift because the boys haven’t shown up yet and they show up right before close in their fireproofs and she’s like omg you are race car drivers … like the ones who are dating and before lando can stop himself he goes “well hopefully soon we will be racecar drivers dating you.”

AHH hellooooo sorry i was working and put this in my drafts and nearly forgot after i got off work. im assuming this is still u jelly <3 ily this ideas sooooo cute

imagine she begs someone to give her their shift and it doesn't take much bc they'd all love a free night off when they usually don't get one. she'd gradually get a little annoyed as the day goes on and she starts feeling the exhaustion of the long day set in and they haven’t been by yet. it’s the only thing keeping her going through the long shift. she's skating around looking for their car every time she takes an order out, but it's getting close to closing and it's slowed down enough her and the other carhop are taking turns with the orders to even out tips. she’s starting to regret asking to swap shifts when its thirty to close and she hasn’t seen them.

the other carhop happens to be a formula one fan a formula one fan, so all day reader had to listen to them complain ab missing the race as they watched it on their phone and narrated the exciting parts to the whole place, shouting whenever someone did an overtake or whatever. reader was too busy thinking about her boys to notice the similarities in the names. she caught their names when she delivered their last orders, repeating the names lando and oscar for the rest of her shift so she wouldn't forget them, but somehow she doesn't connect the dots when her coworker is shouting that oscar retired and that lando got a podium. then lando and oscar are there and she doesn’t know its them, she doesn’t rly have a way of knowing they’re there unless she happens to take their order out, and this time the other carhop takes their stuff out while she’s entering another order or making drinks. then suddenly the other carhop comes in and freaking out about the two formula one drivers in the drive thru and she’s like, seriously? you call them high performance athletes and they’re eating this shit?

she’s soo making fun of them and joking ab how their trainers are going to punish them, until another order comes thru and she has to pause her jokes to take the order out. she realizes that the formula one drivers she’d been poking fun at are in fact the two boys she’s been waiting on. the two that have been showing up in pajamas every day are now in race suits and grinning like idiots. she recognizes them instantly from the stories her coworker has told and photos she’s been shown, and is seriously disappointed bc theyre dating. she was fairly certain at least one of them was flirting with her, like sonic food kinda sucks, so why would two pretty foreigners come to the same shit hole fast food place in their fancy car when they could definitely afford the fine dining in the city?? because she’s there of course. or that’s what she told herself until she saw them holding hands or one of their hands on the other’s thigh before they noticed her approaching.

she tries not to show the disappointment but they’d notice something is off and ask her whats up and she tries to just say she’s tired from working all day and oscar’s like, “well didn’t you work this late the last few days?” and lando adds, “yeah, we’ve been coming back to see you and you seemed happier yesterday!” and she’s suddenly blushing and doesn’t know what to say because she was right! she was sooo right! but also confused because they’re definitely boyfriends? why are they going out of their way to see her? she’s thinking too hard on it and can’t think of a response. oscar takes her silence as discomfort, and tells lando to stop being weird because now she thinks they’re crazy stalkers. she’d giggle and say its okay, that she knew they weren’t coming for the food but that she doesn’t know why they came for her considering they have each other. lando being soo smooth and saying “you could have us too, if you wanted.” and oscar’s like, “again, lando. coming on too strong. she’s gonna think we’re weird.”

she totally does think they’re a little weird, but in an endearing way, like, two formula one drivers coming in for a midnight snack and thinking she’s so pretty they have to keep going back and spend hundreds of dollars on food they’re going to throw away at the hotel just so she’ll bring it out to them? certainly weird, not something she ever thought would happen to her, but then her shift is over and she’s climbing into their backseat while completely disregarding the critical rule of never getting in a stranger’s car.

her coworker who is a fan watching her shamelessly flirt w them and then get in her car after clearing out her locker and swapping her skates out for shoes, absolutely in shock that those two drivers are the two men reader has been giggling over for days.

#ask #🪼 anon #ln4/op81 #carhop au #tagging it as carhop au bc this is so cute i wanna be able to find it again

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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 29 days

Text

Pulling on the Strings of Destiny: Chapter 21

Summary: Four days pass for Japan, and everyone is on edge. They wonder, and wait. What will happen next for them? Will Midoriya keep rising? What sort of things would she face. They all turned towards the screens, wondering. None more so then the future class 1-A, more so as they get a glimpse into their first sports festival, first internship and their final exams. Watch as Midoriya’s future continues to unfold, as she learns more about her family, society and herself.

Warnings: References to underage pregnancy and the assualt of a minor. References to child harm. Toga Himiko to, she is her own warning.

ON AO3

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Izumi stood with her friends outside, Tomoe asleep, and Eri peering at the two other teens. She didn’t quite know how to react to the news that Bakugou could continue to refuse to believe he was receiving consequences.

Honestly, it was a bit sad that he still refused to listen. But when the entire world tells you that no consequences are coming, it would be hard to accept them when they come. Years of being told his thought process was suitable, and then only now being told it wasn't?

No, Izumi wasn't surprised now that she thought of it.

“Hi,” Eri suddenly said. “I’m Eri.”

“Hi, Eri!” Uraraka beamed. “I’m Uraraka!”

“I’m Iida,” Iida introduced himself, still slightly shaken. Whatever had happened, he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

Eri looked at them with big eyes, obviously looking up to them like she did Izumi, though not to the same extent.

It did not fill Izumi with glee, knowing she was the favourite. It did not.

(Okay, it did, and Hizashi could stop his cooing.)

They sat together, waiting for the screen to start as Eri played with her hands, at least until Uraraka decided to offer to braid the girl’s hair, much to her delight.

She never had braids. That was not acceptable to Izumi or Uraraka, and they kept their hair short.

“It's nice,” Eri said while Uraraka finger combed her hair. Iida had been roped in so Izumi could do small braids in his hair, and Hizashi was busy doing Shouta’s hair with a grin.

It was nice, Izumi smiling to herself as the screen turned on.

It also was a nicer distraction from… everything so far.

The screen turns on to show Midoriya and Tomoe on a train.

"In the days after the sports festival ended, we recovered from our injuries, and then, our normal classes started right back up again," Midoriya narrates. “I ended up taking the train when Shouta and Hizashi needed to go in early so that the bandages were fully removed. That's when I got my first brush of having fans.”

"Hey, you. Excuse me. You're Midoriya from class 1-A! Great job in the sports festival. I rooted for you!" one of the other people on the train says. Midoriya looks up in surprise from where she’d been on her phone.

“Ooo!” Ochako grinned at Midoriya as the brunette braided Eri’s hair. “Getting recognized already?”

Midoriya just blushed, hands pausing in their administration of braiding Iida’s hair. It caused a small spike of jealousy, seeing Midoriya braid the boy’s hair, even as short as it was.

Ochako tried not to let it play on her mind. So she had a crush. It was a cute girl who was kind, strong and intelligent. The odds were she’d crush anyway.

She just didn't want to mess it up. Midoriya was going through a lot right then, and she didn't need Ochako trying to force something.

She could wait. And see, really. Maybe she and Midoriya will get together in the future! That would be… very nice to see.

"You won it all!" another of the passengers says. “That’s so cool, kid!”

"Uh... Uh..." Midoriya tries, looking around nervously. “Thanks.”

“You have so much potential! Oh, this is your daughter? She’s so cute!” A woman says, cooing at Tomoe, who is just yawning. “Shouldn’t she be in daycare?”

The woman speaking winced. She knew that answer now, of course.

“Uh, there were issues at her last daycare. Both because of her mutation and her Quirk,” Midoriya says.

“Damn, kid, that sucks,” a man says. He has a pair of wolf ears coming from his head and a tail. “I got my fair share of comments when I was a kid, including being banned due to other kids’ allergies from some places.”

“It's all bullshit,” the man grumbled with a dirty look at the screen. It was bullshit.

In another part of Japan, in a post office, a woman hummed. “Well… I know I'm allergic to cats, and there was a Quirked kid who set it off since she was a cat heteromorph, so it’s not always discrimination.”

“Not wrong,” a coworker said, his extra three arms sorting the mail they were going through. Fan mail was picking up with everything going on, and unsurprisingly, a lot was going to Midoriya, All Might and Aizawa. “But at the same time, what if, despite the ears and tail, it was more human hair than animal?”

“Also not wrong,” the first woman said. Her hair changed colours as she thought. “You know that girl also had a pet cat. The girl who set off my allergies.”

“… I'm just gonna say that's like Mickey having a pet dog while his friend is one. Also a bit funny,” the man said. “So it could have been that. I know I was denied a few places due to a lack of uniform to fit me; never mind that we could have fixed it ourselves.”

“So unless testing is done, which is expensive…” the woman paused before shaking her head. “No, no, that's just being a dick. It gets tested when they get registered, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” The man agreed.

“Well then,” the woman looked thoughtful as they kept working. She had a fair amount to think about. She'd never been discriminatory, or at least she hoped she'd never been to anyone. But she had thought the cat girl caused her allergies. But if she had a pet cat to…

Ugh, she should look this stuff up.

“Really? Oh, that's awful,” says the woman.

“It happens,” Midoriya tells her. “Tomoe has a sort of puppetry Quirk and already they were calling her a villain.”

“Only villains are those who discriminate against a cute kid.” The woman says darkly as the train pulls to a stop. Midoriya gets off and heads through the soft rain to UA.

"I feel like I'm barely awake," Midoriya says with a yawn.

"Good morning, Midoriya! Tomoe!" Iida says as he jogs past the two. He is fully dressed in a rain jacket.

"Ah... Whoa, Iida? You really went all out with the rain gear," Midoriya tells him as Tomoe makes some grabby hands at the boy who stops to take her stiffly.

“Getting rain in my engines is unpleasant,” Tenya told the girls as he felt Midoriya tug his hair a little to show Eri his braids.

“… okay how do you shower or bathe then?” Uraraka asked.

“Leg guards,” he said with a shrug.

“Huh.”

"Why on earth are you walking so slowly? You'll be late," Iida asks.

"Late? There’s still fifteen minutes until the first bell," Midoriya says with a laugh, though she does pick up speed.

"UA students should always arrive twenty minutes early, don't you think?" Iida states. The two friends jog into UA and begin to remove their rain gear. Tomoe is placed on a bench, where she curls up with a yawn.

“Tomoe is so cute!” Toru cooed inside, smiling widely. The toddler was just so adorable; she wanted to squish her cheeks!

Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. It was probably her parents trying to harass her about making Midoriya give up Tomoe or something again.

She didn't have time to deal with that when there was a cute baby to coo over.

"So, Iida. How are you?” Midoriya asks. Iida shakes his head.

"If it's about my brother, don't be concerned. I'm sorry if I made you worry. Everything'll be fine," Iida says calmly. Midoriya frowns.

“Iida, don’t shut me out. You’re one of my best friends.” She says to him. He pauses, and his shoulders rise to his ears.

“I am fine-“

“Iida,” Midoriya hesitates but reaches out to place a hand on her friend’s arm. You don’t have to be fine.” He doesn’t look at her. Tomoe whines from the bench, and Iida glances at the toddler, his face tired. “I am here if you need me,” Midoriya says before she removes her hand to pick up her daughter.

“We both are in the future,” Uraraka pointed at Iida with a scowl as Izumi finished a braid.

“Don’t hide yourself away,” Hizashi said from his spot, braiding Shouta’s hair, too. “You need to lean on friends.”

“Easier said than done,” Iida sighed. “I don't know what's going through future me’s head other than revenge.”

“Which isn't a good idea since we’re kids, and going up against Stain is suicide,” Izumi pointed out.

“I know.”

Iida doesn’t say anything, but he manages to smile at Tomoe. It’s a very tired one, but there as the group walks to the classroom.

"It's so weird that people recognize us from TV. Everyone wanted to talk to me on my way here," Ashido says, lifting her arms up in amazement.

"Yeah, me, too!" Kirishima agrees with a big smile.

"People on the street were staring at me! It was kind of embarrassing," Hagakure says.

"Sure, but isn't that pretty normal for you?" Ojiro asks.

"You won't believe what a bunch of elementary school brats yelled at me," Sero groans, leaning on his desk and nodding. Tsu smirks, leaning toward.

"Nice try?" She asks, causing Sero to make a rude gesture at her.

“Oh, come on,” Hanta said as the class laughed.

“No one is ever going to let you live it down,” Tsu told him, and he sighed.

“Well, in this timeline-”

“People will still know.”

“Dammit.”

"All it took was one sports festival, and suddenly we're like celebrities," Kaminari says in amazement.

Midoriya sets up the playpen to put Tomoe in. The toddler is obviously tired. The teenager frowns. She’s so tired still. Could she be going through more of a Quirk awakening? What else is there for her to get?

“Well, that doctor said it was possible,” Izumi mused out loud. “Maybe a low-level empathy Quirk? If she can control a body, it makes sense she can feel emotions too.”

“Oh, most likely,” agreed Uraraka.

“Or something else related to the body,” Iida offered.

“...Overhaul said my curse was bad,” Eri said softly. “But you love Tomoe’s… Quirk.” she looked at Izumi with big eyes. Uraraka’s hands froze from where she was braiding the child’s hair, looking pained.

“Because there are no bad Quirks. Just bad people and you, Eri, aren’t bad,” Izumi told the little girl.

“It made daddy vanish,” Eri said.

“And my Quirk nearly made my daddy float into space,” Uraraka said. “I had to learn to control it, and it took a long time.”

“Training is what every child needs for their Quirk. It doesn’t matter what it is; you need to know your own Quirk,” Izumi told Eri. The little girl looked lost, so the teens and adults didn’t press, letting her sit quietly.

"Morning," Aizawa says, walking into the classroom without bandages.

"Good morning, Aizawa-sensei!" the students reply as Izumi sits down.

"Ribbit? Aizawa-sensei, you don't have bandages anymore. That's good news," Asui says.

"The old lady went a little overboard in her treatment. Anyway. We have a big class today on Hero Informatics," Aizawa says as he rubs under his eye where a scar lays. The class mostly trades nervous looks as Bakugou glares at nothing, his shoulders tight.

“Don’t be a pop quiz, don’t be a pop quiz,” Kaminari mutters, Kirishima crossing his fingers, hoping for the same.

“Aizawa doesn’t give pop quizzes,” Midnight says as she struts back into the common room. Shouta and Hizashi had the kids outside well in hand. “Oh sure, he’ll spring things on you, and he doesn’t believe in letting you kids do long-term planning until the second semester, but he never does pop quizzes. Those are my domain,” she smirks and winks at the class. A few boys flush, and a couple of the girls. Aww, cute.

It always amazed her, sexual attraction. Being aromantic and asexual, Midnight struggled with understanding why teens were like that. Or why people were in general. She’s done it, but ugh. Gross. Give her cats, ice cream and a documentary, and she is happy.

But the entire thing was shiny to look into. Why did some people find her breasts more attractive than her ass? Why was it the other way around for others? What was the obsession with wanting a woman to step on them? Why did some guys claim to want a submissive woman but hunt down independent ones? Why did people like BDSM?

Midnight enjoyed researching it, even writing papers under another name.

Still, she never let any student entertain being with her. She had confessions from nervous kids convinced she paid them close attention, but all she could say was, "Ew." She was upfront and honest. Sometimes, the kids were embarrassed to hell and back that they made such a huge mistake; other times, they got angry.

Only once did someone try to make a claim she tried something. That was shot down hard. The media didn’t even get wind of it, with the parents trying to go to Nezu only for him to reveal everything. The parents had been pissed at their son.

People like that brat made situations like Midoriya’s so worse, more so when no one believed them. Fake allegations were rare, luckily, but they happened enough that Midnight personally attributed anyone turned away because someone thought they were lying about being assaulted to these false accusations. Add in the whole ‘woman's bodies don’t belong to them’ bullshit, too, and you have why society still sucked in regards to the victims of sexual assault.

“He seems like the guy to love pop quizzes,” Hagakure piped up.

“He does, but he actually hates them. He’s fine throwing you into a fight with little preparedness as long as it’s safe enough, but he thinks tests like that need to be studied for,” Midnight told the class. It was true. Shouta was a softy like that.

"You need codenames. It's time to pick your hero identities," Aizawa says. The class falls silent before they cheer and jump up. Tomoe blinks at everyone from her playpen, looking grumpy and tired, but she cheers along with them.

“HOLY SHIT!” the future class 1A cheered as outside Uraraka let out a squeal of excitement, startling Eri.

“Huh?” the girl jumped.

“Sorry, Eri! It's just—we get our hero names!” Uraraka cheered. Eri blinked at the teenager, frowning.

“Like… Limitless?”

“Yeah,” Limitless said, smiling at her as Aizawa seemed to be hiding an eye roll. Did he not like hero names?

“It’s a codename,” Aizawa said. Eri looked at him curiously as the teens glanced at him, too. “In the first day of Quirks they were used to keep identities secret, given how people reacted to Quirks then. Now they're used to market themselves.”

“Or in the case of undergrounds like Sho here, to also protect their identity. Few people… well before connected him to Eraserhead.” Yamada said.

“I am known for my distaste of limelight heroics, which yes, I know I need to work on, Hizashi,” Aizawa said to his husband, who beamed at the black-haired man. But hero codename classes are… difficult to get people to take seriously.”

“They pick really stupid names?” Limitless asked. “Like Pinhead?”

“Or a sidekick at my brother’s agency who goes by... Well, a curse word.” Iida glanced at Eri, who frowned.

“Like fuck or shit?” she had to know. Uraraka began giggling while Limitless snickered.

“… he goes by Fuckface. I believe it was a bet,” Iida snorted, and that caused the group to laugh, with Yamada mentioning he knew the guy.

Eri smiled, surrounded by laughter. It was nice.

Much better than Overhaul.

Aizawa rolls his eyes before activating his quirk. The students all sit back down, quiet. "This is related to the pro hero draft picks that I mentioned the last time we were in class together. Normally, students in the first year don’t get many offers. Not until their second or third year, actually, but your class is different. In fact, by extending offers to first-years like you, pros are essentially investing in your potential. Any offers can be rescinded if their interest in you dies down before graduation, though," Aizawa tells them.

Bakugou growls, clenching his fists and causing some of the class to side-eye him.

"So, what you're saying is, we'll still have to prove ourselves after we've gotten recruited?" Hagakure asks.

“Correct. Along with this, though, we have a new student.” Aizawa nods to the door, which opens to reveal Shinsou. “He will be on a strict training program to get him to where you lot are and will be tested at the end of the semester if his transfer is worthy.”

Hitoshi grinned at the screen, his dad patting his shoulder as they drove to UA, where Nezu was waiting. He’d have to work hard to keep up with the others, especially when it came to physical training, but he’d managed to bulk up quickly in the future. Not that he knew how it had been possible.

Was it something from his mother’s family? He’d never met them, but the idea that there was some leftover mutation from an ancestor wasn’t an impossible thought. His dad often talked about how random mutations might continue through the generations. Any of his future classmates (in the hero course, how cool was that?) with a mutation not connected to their Quirk could have had their parents pass it on. Like that Koda guy. Or maybe Ashido?

Hitoshi decided not to focus on that, though, as they approached UA. It was almost time.

“Hello,” Shinsou says as Midoriya pumps a fist.

“Yes!” She says.

“Hito!” Tomoe cheers, too, and Shinsou grins a little, looking very happy. Bakugou snarls and causes Ashido to give him a nasty look.

“Oh shut up, Blasty,” she says.

“Ashido,” Aizawa says.

“Name calling, no matter what isn’t allowed,” both Aizawa and Midnight said. Mina only heard the latter.

“He doesn’t-”

“Don’t stoop to his level,” Jirou interjected. Mina winced, having to admit that was right. Sure, he was a complete jerk, but calling him names as he called them wasn’t cool.

She could probably think of them, though!

The pink girl quiets down. The teacher looks over the students before moving Shouji to sit where Mineta had been. Shinsou takes that spot, so there is some distance between Bakugou. "Now, here are the totals for those of you who got offers. In past years, it's been more spread out. In past years, it's been more spread out. But there's a pretty big gap this time," Aizawa informs them, pressing a button on a remote to cause the screen to extend from the ceiling and the numbers to appear.

Todoroki: 4,123.

Midoriya: 4,100.

Shinsou: 500

Tokoyami: 360

Iida: 301

Yaoyorozu: 108.

Uraraka: 100.

Asui: 90

Sero: 14.

Ashido: 12

Kirishima: 10.

Kaminari: 8

"Gah! That's not fair," Kaminari says.

“Yeah!” Denki pouted at the screen. “Why am I last?” he didn’t look at Ashido, who was also thrown out in the first round, or Kirishima. But he did think about it.

“Any reason,” Midnight informed him. “Heroes often look for certain things in their students. Admittedly, your showing…”

“Wasn’t great,” Denki shook his head. He got it; he did. It didn't feel good, though.

Around Japan, similar conversations were starting up. Heroes discussed what would have impressed them over others.

“I mean,” Pause began, the sidekick tilting back in her chair. “I’d love to get a hold of Shinsou for his Quirk. I think we’d do well training him.”

“He’s not that impressive,” Blind Spot said.

“Oh?” Pause asked.

“I’d rather go with someone who was already in the hero course. Such as Koda,” Blind Spot shrugged. “I know then he’s worked his ass off already and isn’t rushing to play catch up. Perhaps it’s cruel but I would rather work with someone who put in the effort before with a non-physical Quirk compared to afterwards.”

“You don’t have a physical Quirk. Hell, neither do I,” Pause pointed out.

“And we both worked our fingers to the bone to get where we are now, both of us got into our hero courses,” Blind Spot shook her head. “Might just be bias though.”

“Better be dude, Shinsou’s done really well for himself,” Pause frowned at her boss, unhappy with the other woman’s words. On one hand, she got it. She did. Shinsou dropped the ball and only began working towards his goal fully afterwards.

On the other hand, he was an angry teenager. Even if all he got were snide comments or remarks about not using his Quirk on them from other kids, it could still wear you down. The assumption that since you have such a Quirk you’ll automatically use it on people is painful. Pause, with her own Quirk, knew that feeling.

Other heroes debated over who they would prefer as an intern. Hawks, on patrol, even got asked by a reporter.

“Oh, Tokoyami,” Hawks said instantly.

“Why?” asked the reporter.

“Birds,” Hawks said, playing into his persona. It was the truth though. There were very few avian Quirked people out there. It would be nice to impart some wisdom to one.

“Asui and Shouji,” Selkie told Sirius as they drove the boat to Dagobah beach. “Those are the two I’d like to have under my wing.”

“Makes sense,” Sirius nodded. “Asui for her suitability in water, Shouji for his mutation.”

“Us extreme heteromorphs stick together,” Selkie said.

"What about the real star? Moi?" Aoyama asks, crossing his arms as the others all begin complaining.

"Todoroki got the most, ahead of Midoriya?" Jirou asks.

"Yeah, it's the opposite of how they placed in the festival," Kirishima remarks.

“Nepotism,” Todoroki announces dryly. “My father makes me an attractive option.”

That got a fair amount of cursing and complaints from everyone watching. Enji, sitting in his office still, frowned. He did not like the sound of Shouto only getting ahead because of him. Enji honed his masterpiece’s strength, but it was Shouto’s power.

The hero did not acknowledge his hypocrisy at that moment. He was too busy angry over Creepy and his actions, mixed in with the assurance that he had not been harming his family. It was training and focusing on his masterpiece.

Elsewhere, Dabi snorted to himself. Poor Shouto, the little brat, having to deal with the fame of a hero father. Little fucker.

“Well, that's dumb,” Kaminari says.

"People want us!" Uraraka says as she goes to shake Iida’s shoulders, grinning. She looks at the boy when he barely reacts before turning to Midoriya. “You got so many!”

“I did,” Midoriya says in surprise.

“I really did, wow,” Izumi laughed, unable to stop her admiration of it. She had impressed that many people? That seemed unbelievable to think about.

"Despite these results, you'll all be interning with pros. Got it? Even those of you who didn't get any offers," Aizawa says.

“How is that?” Hagakure asks.

"We provide packets of heroes who all have open slots for you to choose from, agencies we have worked with before,” Aizawa says. “You already got to experience combat with real villains during the attack on the USJ facility. But it'll still be helpful to see pros at work. Up close and personal, in the field,” he smirks as he clicks his remote to reveal what they will do today.

Hero Names, is written on the board, causing the class to cheer, even Bakugou looking excited despite his anger.

"And for us to go into the field, we need hero names!" Sato says

"Things are suddenly getting a lot more fun!" Uraraka says excitedly.

"These hero names will likely be temporary, but take them seriously or..." Aizawa starts.

"... you'll have hell to pay later! What you pick today could be your codename for life. You better be careful, or you'll be stuck with something utterly indecent," Midnight finishes as she opens the classroom door to strut inside. She is wearing tight jeans and a sweater that hugs her figure, smirking at the class.

"It's Midnight!" the class cheers.

“Who isn't in the weird bodysock thing,” Midoriya thinks. “I think Shouta says she lost a bet, but she isn't going to wear it other than for PR purposes now.”

“Good, that thing is ugly,” a fair amount of people agreed. Some disagreed, liking how it hugged the woman’s body.

Squirt leaned back in his chair, thinking. He and Midnight weren’t close. His sibling had been her friend over him, and before… everything, Squirt had barely paid attention to the woman. He was gay, very gay, and her sexiness did nothing but make his nose wrinkle. The few times Info Dropper brought the woman around, Squirt hadn’t even talked to her. It was before he stopped talking at all, and he knew he’d been a chatterbox then, though careful about saying names.

His Quirk was a name-based one like ID’s, after all.

Tapping his fingers together, he grabbed some paper and began to draw. Midnight needed a better outfit; he’d probably get to know her better now. A little brother not paying attention to his sibling’s older friends was one thing, but he’d get to know her as an adult.

Maybe he should make some actual friends instead of just people who pretended to like him for the fame his name gave them or the connections to heroes he brought around.

"Yeah. She's got a good point. Midnight is going to have final approval over your names. It's not my forte," Aizawa says, grabbing his sleeping bag.

The screen goes black, and the words "In Shota Aizawa's case" appear before changing to show a high school-aged Aizawa and Present Mic in their classroom.

"Hm? So you haven't decided on a codename yet?" Mic asks.

"It doesn't matter what I choose. I don't wanna be in the spotlight anyway," Aizawa replies.

"Bro. I got it! How about Eraserhead?!" Mic asks.

"Sure, whatever," Aizawa shrugs with a roll of his eyes.

“Awww,” a few people cooed at the idea of Aizawa choosing the name his husband gave him. Miss Joke, though, sulked a little.

Another reminder of the countless red flags she ignored. Sure, Aizawa hadn’t said anything, but she really should have seen that he wasn’t interested sooner. She knew this story, and it never stood out to her! Ugh.

"The name you give yourself is important. It helps reinforce your image and shows what kind of hero you wanna be in the future. A codename tells people exactly what you represent. Take All Might, for example," Aizawa says as the screen returns to the current class.

Midnight goes around passing out whiteboards as she lectures the class. “Now hero names first started as a way to hide your identity…”

“All Might... Ah. My hero name... I need something that embodies the kind of hero I wanna be one day,” Midoriya thinks as she grabs a whiteboard.

“Hero names tend to be short and punchy with a title in front. Such as my ‘R-Rated Hero: Midnight,’” the older woman says to the class. “While you certainly can try to use a sentence, I suggest against it. The media and others will find a way to shorten it to make it easier for them. Stick to two or three words.”

The screen shows her lecturing, writing on the board, shaking her head, or nodding when the kids ask questions, though no voice is spoken. Eventually, the teenagers are shown writing things down while on the board are notes; avoid Quirk names for safety reasons, underground heroes need them vague, and swearing isn't good.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Wait, do people actually use swear words?”

“Cool!”

“We can’t use our Quirk names?” Kyoka asked Midnight.

“It’s not a good idea. Oftentimes, Quirk names can give away what your powers do, and that can lead to deaths or worse,” she told the girl, who nodded in understanding.

After a few minutes, Midnight asks, "Now, students, who among you is ready to share?" Aizawa is asleep in his sleeping bag next to her.

“We're presenting these?” Kirishima thinks, gripping his whiteboard wide-eyed.

“Oh, great! Who's got the balls to go first?” Sero thinks. He’s answered by Aoyama, who walks to the front.

“Hold your breath,” he says to the class. “The Shining Hero: Can’t Stop Twinkling!”

If this had been an anime, most of Japan would have sweat drops staring at the name. Chloe slapped her face as she groaned at her little brother. Seriously?

The class all collapse, rolling their eyes as Midnight shakes her head.

“That sort of title is a bit too much. They will shorten it,” she says.

“Yeah, to Twink,” Ashido jokes. Aoyama makes a face.

“And I'm not one, so I should change it…”

“There is no way you’re not one,” Ashido shoots back—Aoyama winks, making Ashido’s mouth drop. “There is no way!” she says as he goes back to think about it more.

“You are so a twink!” Minda pointed at Aoyama, who smirked.

“I assure you I am not,” he teased.

“Wait, how would you know that?” Kaminari asked. Aoyama just winked, confusing the boy a bit more, as did others. A few, though, understood and covered their faces with their hands, trying not to laugh.

An ex-boyfriend of Aoyama, who watched the thing on a live stream, snorted. Yeah, he wasn’t a twink. The guy was pretty built under his fancy clothing, and his other temperaments weren’t that twinkish either.

“Do you wish to present?” Midnight asks the girl, smirking.

“Yeah!” Ashido beams. She stands up and heads to the front of the room. "My code name: Alien Queen!" Ashido shows the hero's name.

"Hold on. Like that horrible monster with the acidic blood? I don't think so," Midnight tells her.

“Just because you're scared of the movies,” Aizawa pipes up. Midnight sighs, looking out at the class.

“Am I the only one with that reaction?”

“Uhh yeah,” says Sero. “I didn't even know of a villain with that name.”

“Hearing Alien Queen doesn't make me think of Predator,” Kaminari chimes in.

“Alright,” Midnight says. Ashido pumps a fist and goes to sit down.

“YES!” Mina jumped up to dance around. “Alien Queen is here to kick ass and take names!”

“You don’t like the movies?” Kaminari asked Midnight, who sighed.

“No, I don’t, but it is a bias, I see. I’ll work on it,” she allowed. Honestly, the movies were old enough that even with the remake twenty years back, it should be fine.

“That’s a good name,” civilians were saying. “Nice punch.”

“Yeah! I like it!”

The class is getting more excited now as Tsu holds a hand up.

“Is it okay if I go next, ribbit?”

"Come on up!" Midnight replies, letting the frog girl stand and move to the front.

"I've had this name in mind since grade school. Rainy Season Hero: Froppy!" Asui says, showing off her whiteboard.

"That's delightful! It makes you sound approachable. What a great example of a name everyone will love!" Midnight tells her. Ashido makes a face but joins in with chanting alongside the rest of the class.

"Froppy! Froppy! Froppy! Froppy!" the class cheers.

The chant is repeated with a fair amount of Japan, including the future class 1A. Tsu’s siblings also got involved, cheering their sister’s future name.

“That’s adorable,” Selkie laughed. “I want her as an intern even more now!” He made his trademark cute pose, making Sirius groan.

“Boss…”

Kirishima stands up and goes to the front of the room, beaming. "I've got mine, too. The Sturdy Hero: Red Riot!" Kirishima reveals his board with a grin.

"Red Riot? Interesting. You're paying homage to the Chivalrous Hero, Crimson Riot, yes?" Midnight asks.

"That's right. He may be kind of old school, but someday, I wanna be just like he was. Crimson is my idol," Kirishima replies.

"Hm. If you're bearing the name of someone you admire, you have that much more to live up to," Midnight warns him. “Old Crimson doesn't mind when people use part of his name or draw inspiration like some do, but you have to be ready for the challenge.

"I accept the challenge," Kirishima says firmly.

Eijiro beamed on the screen, grinning at the approval of his name.

“That’s so cool, dude!” Sero said, pumping a fist.

“Yeah!” Ashido agreed. “That’s epic!”

“Nice name Kirishima!” was the general reaction of the class. It was a similar reaction among the population, people all admiring his wish.

One of them smiled. “I wonder if I can get his mailing address,” a retired hero murmured to himself, wincing as he carefully moved his arm. Damn injuries. “Bet he’d be happy to get an autograph,” the former hero Crimson Riot smiled.

“Thats so cool,” Midoriya thinks. She giggles for a second. “Man I'm not going to take inspiration from All Might though, no matter how I used to think Lady Might was cool.” the scene changes to show a younger Midoriya in an All Might onesie with her mother. It’s before her diagnosis and she looks so happy.

“Mama!” the little girl waves a piece of paper.

“Oh no,” Izumi groaned, covering her face. Iida and Uraraka laughed, smiling at her.

“I called myself Ingenium Jr.” Iida told her.

“I called myself Fourteen,” Uraraka said. Izumi felt better at that, but why show this?

"Ah. You want me to help you pick out your hero name?" Mrs. Midoriya asks as she takes the paper to go and sit on the couch.

"Yeah! I can't decide which one I like most!" Midoriya tells her.

"Let's see here. There's Lady Might and Might Girl. Oh, All Might Junior?" Mrs. Midoriya asks.

"That's me!" Midoriya says, striking a pose.

"Lady Might or Captain All Might. Ooh, I like Super All Might!" Mrs. Midoriya laughs.

"Super!" Midoriya yells.

"Super!" Mrs. Midoriya cheers as she picks up her daughter to spin her around.

“Awww,” was the general consensus. Toshinori felt his face warm as he laughed, happy his successor had looked up to him so much even back then. A few felt sad though. Civilians saw how Mrs. Midoriya was once, how she had supported her daughter before her diagnosis.

“Where did it go wrong?” Mitsuki wondered out loud. Masaru looked at his wife in confusion. “When did Inko start… hurting Izumi?” Mitsuki clarified.

“I don’t know,” Masaru said, looking at the screen. “Even if it wasn’t physical…”

“I remember us being so happy to have our kids the same age. Oh sure, we joked about them falling in love, but that is a fucking joke right now in itself,” Mitsuki glared at nothing, the spike of anger at her son aching in her heart. “But she wanted to give Izumi the world. Instead, she hurt Izumi in fear. I knew about her being a populationist, sure, and I figured she’d be going on about compatibility and shit later, but…”

“You never expected how it turned out?” Masaru asked.

“Never,” Mitsuki said. “I mean… I don’t know. I knew Inko wasn’t okay. But I just…” she sighed. “I don’t know. And now she’s dead.”

Inko was dead. It hit her then. Her best friend was dead. Her husband murdered her. The anger and sadness flared up, but he was struck down by the horrifying thought that he did it because Inko hurt their daughter.

That was the chilling thought. He did it out of love. But also was a big-time villain. Mistuki hated him but also understood it. Inko’s abuse of Izumi wasn’t physical, and perhaps, given time, they could have had a reconciliation. A remaking of their family. Inko showed she had realized she was wrong.

Or could it have? Mitsuki remembered her mother. She’d been a bystander in the abuse Mitsuki faced from her father. The woman was just there.

She’d contacted Mitsuki three years back, just by email. Mitsuki had been unable to respond. The pain in her heart was too much. Even years later, even after the therapy Mitsuki went through (and maybe she should go back to it now, not slap on the label of things being fine), she still felt too angry at her mother.

They would never know now, though, because Inko was dead.

The screen moves back to show Midoriya looking sad. “Mom…” she shakes her head.

"I loved coming up with all those names. They never failed to put a smile on my face back then. But... I’m not him. I am me, and I can never be him. I can’t be the hero he is, not without sacrificing myself," Midoriya thinks as she stares at her whiteboard. “But I also want a name that describes me. How I am. I want a name to mean something…” She frowns and stares at her whiteboard as other students speak.

"Man. I still haven't been able to think of anything that's cool enough," Kaminari says. Jirou grins, opening her mouth but closing it.

“I’m not going to be a bully,” she thinks. “But it could be a good name…” she reaches out to tap him on his shoulder.

"Hey, I've got one. How does Jammingway sound to you?" Jirou asks.

“Oh, I like that!” Kaminari said though he frowned. “Is this a reference to my whey mode, though?”

“A bit, sorry,” Kyoka winced. “Or I assume so. But it is a good name,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, like-” Kaminari was cut off by the screen, which said what he was going to say.

"Ha! It's like Hemmingway, who wrote 'A Farewell to Arms,' right? Real clever. I like it," Kaminari says thoughtfully. “And includes my electricity, but I don’t just jam things…”

“... I feel like I should get Cementoss to come and talk to you if you like that stuff,” Midnight said. Elsewhere in the school, said hero had perked up. A student liking Hemmingway?

He needed to meet that kid.

“It’s just a thought,” Jirou says. “Though I wonder what to use for mine. I was going to go with my Quirk name, but Midnight-sensei is right that it can be a security risk.”

“Well, what about something the opposite? Like.. Silent or something?” Kaminari says. Jirou nods slowly, writing something down on her board. She stands up to present it.

“The Recon Hero: Silence,” she announces.

“That’s a good one!” Midnight says. “While most would be able to guess part of your Quirk from one look at you, adding Silence can throw them off, so they are unaware of your ability to use your heartbeat!”

“Wooo!” the class cheered. Kaminari grinned at Jirou, who laughed and nodded at the boy.

“Nice name,” Sato told her. She smiled at him.

“Thanks, Sato.”

Elsewhere, others were talking about how cool it was. It sounded like a perfect name for her.

Shoji is shown to have replaced Jirou. “The Tentacle Hero: Tentacole.”

"Oh, I like what you're doing with that. A nice portmanteau," Midnight tells him before the screen changes to Sero showing his hero name.

"The Taping Hero: Cellophane!" Sero announces.

"That's on the nose. But it’s catchy and fun! Good work!" Midnight says.

The class cheered for the names, with the kids outside coming in. Then, Eri nervously hid behind Izumi. None of the students reacted too much, all catching onto the defensive posture and how the girl was clutching Izumi’s pants.

“Nice names, guys!” Izumi told the class, everyone grinning.

“Ooo! We should make Twitter accounts with them!” Ashido suddenly squealed. That prompted a dash for their phones, and Midnight quickly talked about PR concerns. Izumi led Eri to the couch, and the two sat beside one another.

“Don’t worry, they’re nice,” the teen whispered, adjusting Tomoe in her arms. Eri nodded slowly.

She knew they were friendly; she saw them on the screen. But it was still scary.

"Martial Arts Hero: Tailman," Ojiro says, standing before the class.

“Try again,” Midnight says. “Tailman isn't bad, but it’s not great either. Actually, most ‘man’ names have even been taken by other heroes if I remember right.”

“There is a Taleman in Europe, but his Quirk is different,” Midoriya offers. Midnight nods at the girl in remembrance. Ojiro nods and moves to sit down. Sato quickly erases his board with a sigh.

“I was thinking Sugarman,” the student admitted.

“Not bad, but it has been used,” Midnight said. “Adding ‘man’ to a hero name has been done since before Quirks. The list goes on: Spider-Man, Superman, Iron Man, Batman, Plastic Man.”

“Taleman in Europe has a Quirk that when he reads out a book, he can force people into ‘roles,’” Izumi mused. “Like if he read a fairy tale like Kintaro, he could put people in those roles. His wife writes short stories he uses.”

“That sounds devious,” Tokoyami said. “To be able to control people like that with the written word.”

“Yeah, he found out by reading some fairy tale as a kid,” Izumi said. “Apparently, he had to finish it, and they were lucky it wasn’t one where the bad guy died in the end.” The whole class shuddered at that thought.

They were lucky he was on their side.

"Stun Gun Hero. I am Chargebolt. Electric, don't ya think?" Kaminari asks, standing at the front of the room with a giant grin.

"Ooo! Very!" Midnight says.

"The Stealth Hero: Invisible Girl!" Hagakure announces.

"That is a little too close to an old comic book hero. Maybe try again?" Midnight asks. Hagakure nods.

“Damn,” the invisible girl snapped her fingers.

“You also don’t want to add girl anyway,” Midoriya told her. “I mean, what happens when you’re an adult? Imagine the patronizing.” All the females in the room, including Midnight, winced in horror.

“I can imagine it,” Toru grumbled, just seeing some old male hero going, ‘There’s a good girl’ or something. Or someone saying, stand aside, girlie. Ugh. “Thanks for preventing that mistake, Midnight-sensei.”

“Of course, that’s what the class is for!” Their teacher beamed.

Yaoyarozu walks up next with her board.

"I hope that I can live up to this name. The Everything Hero. I'm Pandora!" Yaoyorozu looks at Uraraka and Midoriya, who beam at her, obviously understanding where she’d taken inspiration.

Both girls beamed at the taller one, who smiled back amidst the cheers.

"Great classic reference!” Midnight says as Todoroki get us. He barely has a second to present his name before Midnight shakes her head. “You are not just using your name. Try again.”

“Fine,” Todoroki moves back to his seat. Shinsou gets up then to present his.

“Blink,” the purple teen says.

“Oo! I like it!” Midnight beams. “Like Jirou’s, it's a misdirection from your Quirk!”

“I like it, Hitoshi.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

"Jet-Black Hero: Tsukuyomi," Tokoyami announces next, the screen changing to show him dramatically posing as Dark Shadow looms.

"Ah, God of the night!" Midnight says. Kouda stands next, and he signs his name.

"Petting Hero: Anima." Midnight translates out loud, clapping. “I love it!”

"King Explosion Murder," Bakugo announces from the front of the class. Everyone groans as Midnight sighs.

"I'm gonna say that one's a little too violent," Midnight tells him.

"Huh, whaddaya mean?" Bakugo demands.

“You’re trying to be a hero while yelling about murder,” Jirou says dryly. Bakugou glares at her but stomps off as Uraraka stands up.

Katsuki crossed his arms, glaring. The pun was perfect! What the hell were they on about?

“That kid,” a few civilians muttered, making faces. Wanting murder in his name? Seriously? What kind of hero wanted that?

Stain scoffed, glaring at the screen. That child was indeed a false hero. Only wanting the fame of it. He would not kill him; killing children wasn’t worth it. But a maiming could help…

"Okay. My turn," Uraraka whispers to herself, walking to the front of the room. "This is the name I thought of, Uravity!" she declares, showing off her whiteboard.

"I just love that!" Midnight tells her.

"Whew!" Uraraka sighs in relief as she walks back to her seat. Midoriya flashes a thumbs up that’s returned.

“You’re all doing well, not nearly as many refusals as I’ve had before,” Midnight says. “Of the originals who need to present, we have Iida Sato and Midoriya,” she nods at the three. “Then we have Todoroki, Ojiro, Aoyama and Hagakure.”

Iida clutches the board, not looking up as the screen moves to show him sitting by his brother’s bedside. All around the older man are beeping hospital machines.

"Tenya. I wasn't sure if I wanted to say anything yesterday. But, I... I can't feel my legs. They're useless," Ingenium croaks out.

“NO!” Tenya blurted out, staring at the screen in horror. He couldn’t believe it. Tensei… Tensei was paralyzed? “There has to be something; it can’t-” he shook his head, hands shaking. Shouta came to place a hand on his shoulder, but the teenager barely noticed, too busy feeling himself break.

Tensei couldn’t be like that. It couldn’t happen; none of it could.

In Hosu, Tensei himself stopped, staring at the screen. He felt his face pale as Native reached to clasp his shoulder, much like his brother was being supported.

“Easy Ingenium,” Native muttered. “Easy.”

“I…” Tensei swallowed. “I always thought I’d die or retire at age forty when I slowed down.”

“You will now; we won’t let this happen, I promise,” Native said.

Many people were covering their mouths, horrified. Stain only felt a slight pang. He’d been wrong in the future and cost the world a hero. But… no, no, he had to be right. There was something else.

His views were perfect. He couldn’t be wrong. The only true hero was All Might and maybe Limitless. Everyone else was trash; they were just fakes in it for merch and the like. Stain stomped past a sign promoting All Might bags, barely noticing it as he glared at one with Ingenium on it. More had been popping up the last few hours. All thanks to the hero capitalizing on Limitless’ story. How pathetic was it?

He was led astray perhaps, but he still did the right thing. He knew it.

"What? No!” Iida says, standing up. “There are other doctors- we-”

“Asked ID. They ran through each doctor and the only one possibly able to help… they live to far away. They have a time window and they won’t be able to make it in time.” Ingenium sighs. “My hero time is over.”

"No! You still have so many people to help and inspire, brother. This can't be true," Iida says, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid it is. That's why I want you to take the name Ingenium," the hero tells his brother.

Tenya choked, eyes watering. No, he couldn’t. He blindly moved to sit on the couch next to Eri and Midoriya, the two looking at him worriedly. Tomoe was still asleep, and Tenya stared at her. A horrible thought occurred.

Midoriya, in the same position as Tensei with Tomoe carrying her name. Maybe even One for All to.

How… how was this just? How could Stain do that? How could he decide Tensei was trash? That he was worthy of death?

This man was nothing, just another villain like Shigaraki or Midoriya’s father. Wanting to do what they wanted without care.

Tenya’s hands balled into fists. He wouldn’t let it happen. He would make sure of it. He would not let Stain claim Tensei’s career. He would not let it happen.

Even if he had to kill the man first.

The screen goes back to the classroom, showing Iida refusing to look up.

"Will you do that? For me, Tenya," Ingenium asks, his voice echoing.

‘I… I can’t…’ Iida thinks, shaking his head. “Midnight-sensei, can I have some time?”

The teacher purses her lips, nodding slowly. The class all trade looks, even Bakugou not saying a thing before Aoyama stands up again.

“I am the Dazzling Hero: Starlight!” he says.

“Magnifique!” Yuuga beamed. He really liked the name; it felt perfect. He looked at his fellow students, who were congratulating him, and a sense of horror struck him.

He was going to be a spy. He would be reporting to All for One. He would be betraying them. Yet here they were, cheering him on. Only years of acting camps and drama lessons (and he suddenly realized why he was signed up for them with the sickening twist his classmates would one-day feel) kept it off his face.

What would he do? What about Chloe? Hayato? His niece and nephew?

What could he do?

“It's beautiful!” Midnight cheers as Sato also gets up.

“I’m the hero: Sugar Time!” he grins. “And it's a built-in catchphrase,” he jokes.

“I will pay you to shout that and go into battle,” Jirou says.

“Bet!” Sato points at her as the other students laugh.

“Oh yes, please.”

“I love that idea.” civilians laughed, imagining it. Some heroes were even chuckling, imagining the teenager bursting on the scene shouting that.

“It works!” Midnight cheers.

Ojiro gets up and then declares himself K.O. for knockout. It is permitted with a cheer as Hagakure goes next.

“Prism!” she cheers. The class applauds, and then Midoriya stands up. She walks to the front of the class and reveals it. Limitless.

No one stopped cheering, smiling widely at the screen. There it was. The name, the name she would choose for herself.

Izumi felt her face nearly burst; her smile was so broad that everyone cheered. Tomoe didn’t twitch oddly, but maybe she was just tired. Eri was bouncing, as even Iida managed a cheer, as ragged as it was.

Her name was there. This was one of her milestones, her hero name. Limitless because that’s what she was.

What she always had been.

The tears started and didn’t stop, but no one seemed to mind.

“That’s…” Midnight blinks. “A very heavy title.”

“I was born Quirkless,” Midoriya says. “I was out down constantly my whole life for it, and everyone has treated me like trash. They said I wouldn't be a hero. That I wasn't like them. Getting a quirk… coming here… someone told me I was limitless,” she glances at Aizawa, who looks a little stunned. “I want to remind myself and others of that.”

“Well then… I love it!” Midnight gives a thumbs up, grinning. Midoriya beams and turns to smile at Aizawa, who hides his face in his scarf.

“Problem child,” he grumbles. It gets a laugh as she goes to sit back down.

The screen changes to show the small form of All Might frowning at something in his hand. “This just came in for Midoriya?” he asks.

“It did,” Cementoss says. “I never heard of a Gran Torino, and she has a lot of offers, so I wondered if I should give it to her.”

“Hold it back,” All Might says. ‘Gran Torino is too rough for her now… but I got to talk to him, don’t I?’ the hero shudders.

Toshinori sighed, his cheer gone. Gran Torino. Meanwhile, Sorahiko flinched, his gaze dropping down.

Fuck. It looked like he would need to do this, wouldn’t he?

He walks away to grab his cell phone and duck into an empty meeting room attached to the staff room, dialling a number.

“Hello?” an older man says over the phone.

“Sensei?” All Might asks as the screen changes back to the classroom, where everyone groans at Bakugou’s new name.

“Lord Explosion Murder!” he glares at the groans.

“Are you joking me?!” Kyoka threw her hands up, mimicked by a lot of Japan. How bad was this kid?

Katsuki glared harder at the screen, not happy. He didn’t see anything wrong with it! It was powerful and cool! It was great!

“Dude, the entire issue is the murder!” Jirou throws her arms out. He gives her a nasty look but moves to sit down as Midnight shakes her head.

“Would you like some time to Todoroki? You, Iida and Bakugou run the risk of being named by the papers,” she warns.

“I’m not sure what I want,” Todoroki says. Midnight nods, moving on with the lesson.

“Now, as said, these aren't hard yes or no names. I changed my name three times as a teenager, and I’ve known people who changed their hero codename as an adult. You may also gain a second name, such as if you work with a hero team with a theme such as the Fae Court,” Midnight lectures. “Some names won’t stick, and some will, but they are beacons for how you want to be as a hero.”

The screen goes back to All Might.

“-you would hurt her too much.”

“I wouldn't hurt that kid-”

“You hurt me.” All Might says. He clenches a hand. “I was hurting when Nana died, and you just did not care. You let your own hurt and grief get in the way.”

Everyone watching froze. Melissa dropped the wrench she held, staring in horror at her uncle-father-whatever. Did he…

“All Might was abused?” snarled Stain.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be true.

He… no.

“… I did, yeah. I did that.” the voice sighs. “I fucked up badly. I… you needed a teacher who…”

“I won't deny I am who I am because of you, sensei, but I also know me being terrified of you for years is wrong,” All Might says.

“I know Nana would try to murder me for some of my shit,” the voice laughs. “I stand by the sharks.”

“Of course,” All Might rolls his eyes, though he is half smiling.

“I’m sorry, Toshinori. I messed up and it's on me what I did,” the other man on the phone says.

“… that’s what I needed to hear.” All Might says. “For now. I think we need this face-to-face.”

“Agreed. I gotta apologize a lot more, and we need to talk about how we’re going forward, you zygote,” the other man teases cautiously. All Might laughs, half smiling.

“Aye,” Toshinori said. His shoulders dropped when the old man apologized, and his heart lightened.

He couldn’t describe it. It wasn’t like young Midoriya and her mother, and to be fair, he would never say ‘if they had a reason you understand it’s okay’ to anyone to make them forgive their abuser, but…

Gran Torino had apologized, and he had a reason. Grief wasn’t pretty, and All Might could hardly blame the man for hurting. He never apologized either, so… hearing it made All Might understand. He promised to talk about it, acknowledging he would do it. That was what made it real. Not a ‘sorry for everything’ but never a promise to change. An acceptance of the blame and knowing it was on you. That was an apology.

If Gran Torino didn’t change and act better, All Might would walk away again. He would know the older man didn’t mean it.

But if he tried, he would have.

Sorahiko covered his eyes, trying not to cry. His son forgave him, and he accepted it. His heart felt light.

He would make sure he was worthy of this. He’d change everything; he’d work himself to the bone. He would make sure he was worthy.

A few tears escaped, and Sorahiko gave up the fight. He was going to cry.

‘We aren’t okay yet. It’s going to take more than just a sorry. But it's a start. We’ll see if he changes or stays the same. That's how we know people change: when they try their best to keep it up.’

The screen flips back to the classroom, where people are finishing their notes. Aizawa is now standing by Midnight.

"Now that everyone's decided on their hero names, we can discuss your upcoming internships. They'll last for one week. As for who you'll be working with, those of you who were on the board will choose from among your offers. Everyone else will have a different list. You have a lot to think about. Around 40 agencies across the country have agreed to take on interns from your class. Each agency has a different specialty that its heroes focus on. Keep that in mind," he tells them.

"Imagine you were Thirteen. You'd want to choose a place that focuses on rescuing people, not fighting villains. Understand?" Midnight looks around the room to make sure they do. “But then again, this is also your first internship. You don't have to stay with them forever, and I highly suggest checking out other styles of hero work.” Midnight advises.

“It is a good idea to check out a branch you haven't been exposed to if you want. It is your first year, and another internship week like this occurs in the next two semesters. Then, after you get your provisional licenses for the second year, there will be two each semester or more, depending on if you end up signing on for an extended period of time,” Aizawa says.

“I had six different places I interned at during my high school career. Half of them…” Midnight makes a face. “Not good.”

“Ugh, yeah,” Midnight made a face. “Sexism and harassment galore,” the heroine tried to change the subject from the realization brought before. No one likes to hear anyone was abused, but somehow, the idea All Might was abused felt worse. Like it being true meant there was nothing good in the world.

Midnight could tell you almost a third of the people she knew were abused. Shouta, one of them, gave his parents. Hizashi’s mom hurt him, too. Even Midnight would say she’d had some shit tossed her way from family. Never her parents but others? Yeah. Ms. Joke was too, and so was Snipe (and his hell story sent shivers down her spine); Cementoss had been buried alive by a pair of cousins- the list went on.

But All Might? It just felt wrong.

Which was the issue. They deified him, made him bigger than a man. And when the shine wasn't there, the happy story missing, the world went sideways.

It wasn't right. But she wouldn't help the feeling.

No one could.

“Our normal teacher for helping out with internships has retired, and his replacement is currently in the middle of an investigation, so they are not here, but ask your teachers for advice,” Aizawa says.

“Some heroes offer internships for prestige, as Todoroki pointed out, while some have alternative motives. I already went through the offers to remove heroes I know from my own experience are not a good environment for girls or boys,” Midnight says darkly. The class shudders, Midoriya’s shoulders going up.

“And I went through to remove ones I know are Quirkist towards mutations or ‘villain’ Quirks,” Aizawa says. “Other than that, you have two days. Your internship week will begin Saturday to next, and after that, you’ll have a week before midterms.”

“We only have two days?!” Sero asks as Kaminari blurts out,

“Wait, midterms are in two weeks?!?”

“Oh god,” Denki said. “That and internship?! That close?!?”

“It’s supposed to stimulate paperwork,” Aizawa replied. His tone indicated that he wasn't sure he agreed with that. Denki got it. On the one hand, it was probably good for learning to balance work. On the other hand, it meant the students who needed extra help didn't get it.

Denki needed a bit of extra help, but he thought the week between then would help—maybe.

Aizawa ignores the chaos as he goes back to laying in his sleeping bag. “You have the next while before English to start. I am here and willing to offer advice as is Midnight.”

“He's just dozing after a night of worrying over Midoriya,” Midnight teases. “With her big interview tonight.”

Midoriya groans as she covers her face as the class bursts into noise asking questions. Tomoe makes a grumpy noise which quiets them, but a few people keep poking at Midoriya as others open the briefings on the agencies.

“Selkie offered!” Tsu says, smiling.

“Sel!” Tomoe says, beaming. Midoriya latches onto the change of subject quickly.

“She loves Selkie.”

Said hero, who’d been happy the frog girl wanted him, punched a hand into the air.

“I got to get that kid some merch!”

“Of all of us Captain?” Sirius asked. Selkie laughed, nodding.

“I’ll get her an autograph,” Tsu says as Shouji speaks up from where his new spot is.

“Selkie is on the list of people taking interns who don't get offers. Can two of us go?”

“Two are allowed,” Midnight confirms. “Some agencies do offer specific internships but also have others.”

"I want to fight crime and bad guys in a big city," Kirishima says. “What about you, Bakugou?”

“I have to work with fucking Present Mic cause of bullshit,” Bakugou grumbles. Kirishima hesitates, eyes flickering.

“Well- he's awesome! You'll have a good time!”

Bakugou scowls, not answering.

It was BULLSHIT. He shouldn't be punished like that. It was limiting him from learning proper heroics! Who gave a fuck about looking good for the camera?!?

Katsuki glared at the screen, anger bubbling inside. He was pissed right off that his choice got yanked from him. He should be going with a combat hero! He should be out beating villains!

He slumped further in his seat. Stupid Eyebags. Stupid Deku. It was their fault. Eyebags cheated and-

Deku did nothing, the voice inside whispered. But you blame her anyway. How is that heroic?

Katsuki glared. It was Deku’s fault. She was always at fault because-because she looked down on him!

She doesn’t.

She was a liar! She did! Everyone was against him for no reason! He was the best!

He was!

The screen moves to show the class at lunchtime, with little Tomoe eating a cookie that Sato seems to be thanked for, as the teenager blushes with a smile.

“Any ideas for your internship?” he asks Midoriya as Jirou steals a cookie from his bag for himself, grinning at the mock glare he shoots.

“Not sure. I need a place where I can take Tomoe for part of it,” Midoriya says. “She's never been away from me for longer than a day, and I'm cautious about trying a full week right now. Not… so soon.” Midoriya shakes her head. It’s been a few weeks, but I can't risk her freaking out.

“Oof, that’s gonna cut down the potential list,” a sidekick for Wash remarked to her boss. “Not a lot of heroes have daycares attached or are near.”

“I would argue that most heroes are married, and one parent stays home, but even then…” Wash frowned. “A lot of heroes marry each other. Easier to do that when people know your job.”

“Yeah,” the sidekick nodded.

Unknown to them, quite a few heroes would be adding daycares to their facilities because they also realized that daycares were a lacking resource for their workers' kids. Others debated reaching out to daycares and asking if they were willing to make a deal to accept the heroes' kids along with a security presence.

“Makes sense,” Uraraka says, bulldozing over any comments. Ojiro looks disapproving when he walks out, shaking his head. Uraraka glares at him. “I already know where I'm going!”

“Oh?” Midoriya asks. “Which one?”

"The one that the Battle Hero: Gunhead runs," Uraraka replies.

“Taking Aizawa-sensei’s advice?” asked Jirou.

“Yeah. I need more hand-to-hand moves, and Gunhead is known to be good at martial arts.” Uraraka says. “I’ll also look into the extra lessons offered by that one teacher- Gas Attack?”

“Oh yeah! Shouta- I mean, Aizawa-sensei told me she's going to offer more lessons, too. Apparently, her ‘problem children’ in her class have settled down,” Midoriya says.

“Because I got in after I got my head on straight,” Shinsou says. “Gas Attack told me that she had worried about me until I ‘wisened up.’ She is now shoving it into all the kid's faces who complained too much about the entrance exam without trying. So, thanks, Midoriya. I think she'd have blocked my transfer if I had been like I was before.”

“Blocking a transfer? She can do that?” was the common question amongst the public. One reporter, though, noticed that Gas Attack, a hero not well known, admittedly, began posting on Twitter.

Gas ‘Em @officalGasAtttack

Yes, I have the power to block people from transferring. A little-known fact about 1C is that we are where the waitlisted kids go. Often, these kids nearly got in, or admittedly, we think they have great potential, so they are placed into my class (1/?).

Gas ‘Em @officalGasAtttack

As a pro-hero, particularly one who is a military officer with a highly dangerous Quirk, I keep an eye on potential students we deem ‘almost ready’. These students tend to be kids with a lot of potential, but often, they need a firm kick in the pants (2/?).

Gas ‘Em @officalGasAtttack

If we think they aren’t ready, I will block them. I’ve done so multiple times. If you hear how rare it is for a Gen Ed kid to get into the Hero course, this is true—and it’s because half the time, they aren’t ready. The other half, they try and wash out (3/?)..

Gas ‘Em @officalGasAtttack

Heroics aren’t for everyone. I don't mean to say no one can become a hero, but I am saying that unless you’re willing to put in the work, you WILL fail. I don’t see the point in letting certain students into the hero course if they’re going to crash and burn (4/?).

Gas ‘Em @officalGasAtttack

Because they didn’t give their all, I would refuse a transfer if Shinsou had never bothered TRYING to exercise and work hard. A useful Quirk is not the most important thing about heroics. It’s drive, power and the determination to see things through (5/6)

Gas ‘Em @officalGasAtttack

I’d rather have a bunch of kids pissed off at me than have some kid run into danger, getting KILLED because they were allowed into the hero course half-assing it (6/6)

The reporter smiled. She had a story, it seemed. And it should be a good one.

“Welcome, Shinsou,” Midorita says. “Who are you going with?”

“I got assigned one to help me get on track with you guys. Midnight-sensei,” Shinsou explains. “Aizawa-sensei will be teaching me to use a capture scarf since he's one of the few in Japan who has one, but he says it's the second semester he runs his underground lessons for first years.”

“Underground classes?” Ashido asks.

“You didn't know?” Shinsou asks. “It's in the syllabus.”

“No.” Ashido frowns. “Who reads that?”

“Underground heroes,” Shinsou says dryly. The pink girl has to give a nod.

“Wait, you don’t tell us on purpose?” Mina asked.

“Underground heroes often have to search for information. A good underground hero will hunt down any bit of info they can,” Aizawa said. “It’s just for the first round of extra lessons, not the next. I want to see who is willing to look.”

“Yeah, but…” Mina trailed off. She didn’t have an answer to that. It wasn’t like he was focusing on only one student; he just let them find the information themselves and then would tell them if they hadn’t. For an underground hero, she supposed it made sense.

It didn’t seem fair, though, still.

“What are extra lessons?” Kaminari asked.

“Extra lessons are sort of clubs,” Midnight said. “UA has clubs, but with how intense heroics are, we also offer extra lessons after school. They’re graded and everything. Aizawa teaches underground heroics; Mic teaches how to manage an agency. I teach PR lessons, Gas Attack, and a few others teach martial arts- the list goes on. You are also encouraged to do a club or two for stress management, but extra lessons are highly encouraged.”

“We don’t see any clubs,” Mina said.

“Clubs for hero students start in the second semester. We just don’t see any extra lessons due to the nature of the… show,” Midnight winced, and Mina got it.

Sure, it looked like an anime, but it wasn’t. It was a Quirk showing them the future.

God, it still felt weird to think that.

“Come on, let's get lunch,” Midoriya says. Todoroki, who'd been hovering, walks forward.

“May I eat with you?” he asks. Midoriya blinks but nods with a smile.

Fuyumi had to crack a smile. Her little brother is making friends. It felt good to see, even through all the other shit going on.

Sadly, only one of her other brothers agreed.

“Of course!” she pauses as she gets up. “I have to walk to my interview by myself today since Aizawa-sensei is running extra lessons for second-year underground hopefuls, and Mic-sensei is going to his radio show. Do you want to join me and Uraraka walking to the station?”

“Ah, yes,” Todoroki nods. Ashido smirks, wagging her eyebrows at Jiro who shakes her head as Sato checks his phone.

“Ah man, thinking about this afternoon reminds me I gotta help out in the bakery.” he says.

“Do you have tomorrow off?” Jiro asks. He nods, agreeing he does. “Want to hang out? You were texting about video game music last night, I want to see what you mean by I've never heard a sound track like Baldur’s Gate or Mass Effect.”

“Oh yeah!” the two walk out, leaving behind the others.

“Iida?” Midoriya says, turning to the blue-haired teen. He startles and stands.

“Ah, yes. Lunch.”

“Unc!” Tomoe makes grabby hands at the boy, and he hesitates before going to grab her. She laughs, smiling as she leans her head against his.

He looks about to cry for a second before his face glazes over. Midoriya and Uraraka trade worried looks.

The screen morphs again to show the end of the day. Iida is already gone when the girls grab their things from the locker room. Todoroki is with them, awkwardly holding Tomoe, who is now calling him Sho-Sho.

“AWWW!” a lot of the female population cooed. “Sho-sho!”

“That is adorable!” Fuyumi giggled. She beamed at the screen, her eyes shining. She should call Shouto that…

“Sho-sho,” Ashido teased Shouto, who tried not to let on how much he didn’t mind it. Hearing Tomoe call him that was adorable. He would prefer not to let anyone else call him that, though.

“I hope he’s okay,” Midoriya says to Uraraka. “Iida, I mean.”

“Same, what happened is…” Uraraka sighs. “Bad.

“Yeah.” Midoriya agrees. “Let’s go.” the three students walk out of UA, Tomoe poking at Todoroki’s face.

“Split!” she says, reaching up to touch his hair.

“Yeah, he has two colours,” Midoriya says to her daughter, who beams. Todoroki gives a shaky smile before the screen changes, showing him and Midoriya, though it’s a bit of a split screen. In one, Midoriya enters a building with the words ‘Japanese Equality News’ on the entrance sign, while Todoroki enters a hospital. The screen shows them both stopping to get directions from a secretary and then heading further in. The screen zooms in to focus on Todoroki as he reaches a hallway of doors.

Todoroki stops at one, hesitantly lifting his hand to lay on the doorknob before he opens it to reveal a patient's room where a white-haired woman is sitting. Her hands are clutched together, and as the door opens, she turns to reveal herself. Todoroki Rei looks back at her son.

The humorous mood fell, and everyone stared. No one spoke. Shouto took in a shaky breath, Rei mimicking her son.

Neither knew what to think. After years of pain, they were finally face-to-face in the future. Rei was not in the same place her future self was, nor was Shouto.

Neither wanted to see what would happen. They wanted it private; they wanted to know themselves. They didn’t want it splashed everywhere.

The rest of the family, bearing one, agreed. Fuyumi winced, praying the scene changed. Natsuo cursed under his breath, and Enji stared only in horror.

Dabi scoffed. Oh, look, confronting the insane bitch, how utterly awful for poor baby Shouto who got everything. Where was Rei snapping about Dabi’s treatment? Why was it Shouto who got everything? Why was it HIM?

Dabi dug a cigarette out of his pocket to smoke, stomping down the street. Fucking Shouto.

He would enjoy burning him.

The screen moves again to show Midoriya and Tomoe in front of the reporter who gave her the business card. “Ready,” she says.

The screen moves to show Present Mic laughing at Aizawa, the two men cooking. “Awww, she chose to use the name you gave her,” he teases.

“Stop it, Hizashi,” Aizawa grumbles.

“Nope! It’s so cute! Look at you all blushing and embarrassed since she decided to honour you,” the voice hero laughs again. Aizawa is blushing, and he gently knocks into his husband.

“It was nice, that’s all,” Aizawa grumbles.

“Yeah.” Yamada laughs. He hums as he stirs something in his frying pan. “Do you think this will be permanent?”

“What?” Izumi and Shouta asked, their question mimicked twice with Hisashi in his lair and from the screen

“What?” Aizawa asks.

“Izumi here with us. She’s sixteen, sure, but… do you think…” Yamada hesitates. “Do you think she’ll stay?”

“Are you saying you’re already attached?” Aizawa asks.

“Like you aren’t?” Mic snorts as he stirs the pan more. “She’s… a good kid. Tomoe is adorable, too, and… it feels more like home here than before.”

“...It does,” Aizawa says under his breath. “We can’t… we can’t push her.”

“I’m not saying that!” Mic shakes his head quickly. “I am saying that if she wants to be… our kid as it is, we should let her make the choice. But we should also… let her know we want her to?”

The screen shows Midoriya right at the entrance to the apartment, her eyes wide, and obviously, she’s overheard. A heavy blush colours her face before she shuts the door firmly. “I’m back!” she calls out.

“Welcome home!” Mic calls out. Midoriya smiles, adjusting Tomoe to her grasp before fully entering the apartment.

Izumi’s face was warm as she looked at her teachers. Hisashi was smiling, but Shouta looked red.

It was too early now. It was, even with how nice they were. She wasn't a child clutching to them after a death. She was a single teen mom struggling with trust.

But… knowing they cared that fast in the future, hearing them talk about it… it filled her with warmth. She had to look away, cheeks red, from the two men.

She hadn't had anyone like that before, who cared instantly. Well, except for Iida and Uraraka, but this was different. These men were acting like her parents and wanted her to be their kid.

Inko had been a good mom once, and Izumi wouldn't deny it. But then the diagnosis came, and suddenly, things changed. Inko’s love for Izumi changed. Hisashi cared, but… he wasn't there. He left and said it wasn't because of her status but because a part of Izumi still felt worried.

Yet these men… God, it twisted her inside, and she almost felt like she couldn’t breathe. They cared. They cared so much.

It felt amazing.

Hizashi and Shouta felt something similar. They'd talked about kids, fantasized about them, debated adoption or surrogacy, and talked about it one way and back, but… they'd never really felt the way about kids until they met Izumi. And Eri, actually. Something about the two girls caught their attention: Izumi, with her drive and mind, and Eri, with her determination to save herself.

Those girls made them want to be parents. Yes, maybe it was too early, but they couldn't say they didn't feel that way about them.

(In his lair, Hisashi snarled. That was HIS daughter. Not those fools. They better watch themselves. Making them into Nomu or not, they walked a fragile line!)

The screen goes back to the scene with the reporter, and Midoriya is talking,

“I grew up Quirkless. People hated me. It’s not as bad as some of the Wild Islands and their views on the Quirkless, but it wasn’t good,” she says. “I was bullied daily, and my own mother thought I was a weak thing, thinking she had to marry me off to protect me.”

The screen moves to show the students in class taking notes as Midoriya keeps speaking.

“And you still wanted to be a hero,” the reporter says rhetorically.

“Yes,” Midoriya’s voice speaks. “More than anything, I wanted to save people. I wanted to make them smile in relief, to know they aren’t alone and they don’t need to be afraid. I’m, well, here.”

“Ah, All Might’s creed,” the reporter laughs as the screen flips to show the lair of Sensei, the interview playing on a screen. “There were plenty of issues, though.”

“Oh hell,” muttered a woman on the streets. She'd been on her lunch, enjoying the show. But now her shoulders felt stiff. Seeing that a villain was observing the interview made her nervous.

It also made her ponder the sports festival. Others thought about it, but the fact that villains could be seeing the future generation of heroes' Quirks was alarming. Sure, some Quirks were pretty straightforward, but not all were. And they just broadcasted them to villains.

The three responsible for this were the ones at fault the most, but she needed to be honest—so was EVERYONE involved in allowing the sports festival to be broadcast like it was all the time? How many kids died or were hurt? How many heroes didn't make it past their first year?

All for what? Entertainment?

The woman turned around and headed back to work. Screw lunch; she was going to ask the lawyers at the law firm she worked at what she could do.

“Yes. Because of my dream, I was targeted more. I won’t give names; I truly believe the students can change. I don’t want to be friends with them or be around them, not really, but we’re all kids,” Midoriya says with a shake of her head. “But I was targeted verbally and physically, some even using their Quirks on me.”

“You think they can change, but don’t give Bakugou-” Eijiro began, but Midoriya interrupted him.

“I do think they can change. I just don't think I have any responsibility to them,” she told him. “I… I've given up hoping Bakugou will go back to Kacchan. I don't owe him forgiveness or friendship. I don't know about my future self, but I do hope the kids I know from Aldera will become better people. We’re kids.”

Eijiro frowned, not sure how to react. He got it, yeah, but… it felt like a double standard how she said it. She could be more or less forgiving of the kids from Aldera, but Bakugou? How was that fair?

But… no, that wasn't it. She wasn't forgiving; she just thought they could change. She wanted nothing to do with any of them. And could he blame her?

“Is it hypocritical?” mused Chang, the woman propping her feet on her desk. After the fifth email from someone in the Commission trying to find fault, they'd decided to break open the secret alcohol stash. She sipped her glass.

“Nah,” Fujioka shook her head. “Kid wants nothing to do with Bakugou, and she isn't saying he can’t change- she just doesn't say he is now.”

“Because he isn't. He’s like any other kid allowed to run around without care. Just doesn't want to change,” one of the male members of the staff tossed in. “Because he never had to and because if he does, it means he's wrong.”

“Or because he thinks it's everyone but his own damn fault,” Chang sighed. She drained the rest of her drink before sitting up. “Whatever. Hypocrite or not, kid had the right of it. She doesn't owe anyone anything. Forgiveness or friendship.”

The screen morphs to show the horrified faces of Aldera teachers, watching their phones.

“The teachers encouraged it, and often I’d be pointed as like a freak for my differences. Mutation Quirk kids also got the same stuff happening, but well… I was the bottom of the totem pole. I don’t blame them for not wanting to face worse.” the screen flashes at these words to show a wincing girl with bright green skin before morphing to show a man in an office, the man having a long nose.

The girl shown looked down in shame. She'd never done anything. But she admittedly hadn't been pleasant either.

Meanwhile, Rikiya raised an eyebrow. What was he doing?

“And it hurt,” the reporter says softly.

“It did. But I think the worst is how… how Yamanaka-sensei had to have been known to touch me. It’s one thing I can’t shake, this knowledge that they had to know. I was twelve, a baby, really.” the girl says. The long-nosed man is nodding, wrinkling his nose as he writes on some paper. The note ‘offer a sponsorship’ is seen.

“Ah,” Rikiya leaned back with a hum. From what the future played, he would be interested in someone like her. A girl with a powerful meta ability downtrodden by society. Sure, her views about anyone being heroes were wrong. But that could be trained.

Sadly, this new version of her wouldn't be the type to bend, would she? No, she was too comfortable with her thoughts of equality, as if all Quirks were the same. Pity.

The screen changes again to show Mrs. Bakugou looking at her phone sadly.

“And he hurt me. I will never regret Tomoe and the fact that I fought to keep her so hard. But I… I can’t help but feel angry at society for what they let happen. No child should go through what I did.” Midoriya is shown again, kissing Tomoe’s hair in the interview.

“Your daughter has quite the Quirk,” the reporter says.

“She has a mutation Quirk and an emitter. Or, well, she has a full-body mutation with an additional Quirk. It happens, and for Quirkless or False Negative kids like me, our children are much more prone to it happening in a non-heteromorph family,” Midoriya says. “I have to put her in vests saying she’s a child. I’ve had hard arguments on the trains with people who refuse to listen until my daughter is sobbing since their kids decided she was a… toy and grabbed her. She can’t hear the… D-O-L-L word without panicking. She’s two. She’s a two-year-old baby girl, and she has panic attacks over a word.”

“That’s awful,” the reporter says.

“It is. And worse is when she developed her Quirk. A worker at the daycare nearly hit her. A daycare that I struggled to keep her in because of how they treated her just for her mutation. Her having a puppetry Quirk…” Midoriya shakes her head as it changes to show the man with green lizard-like skin. He is watching the interview. “It’s awful, and it should change. I want to have it change.”

“There she goes again,” Spinner laughed, unable to help it. He could see why his future self would latch so hard onto her. She was trying to speak out. She cared.

It had been a while since someone had cared about him like that. Sure, it wasn't personal. She didn't know him. But she wanted to make a difference in the world. She wanted to speak out against those who harmed others and support the people left behind by society because they didn't fit the idea of normal.

This was a true hero—someone they needed in society.

With that, Spinner fully stepped away from a path he was unaware he'd been near. The daycare helped, but watching this now, he made his choice.

He would support Midoriya. He would support Limitless.

“And you believe being a hero is the way to do that?”

“It’s one way. I’m not going to sit here and say that being a hero is the end of all jobs and that you're worthless if you’re not. There are so many jobs you can make a difference in and, in fact, be a hero in. Doctors are heroes in their own way.” Midoriya says as the screen shows a few doctors watching the interview. “Firefighters, the guy who hands out extra food to people in need, a random person on a street who can spare some cash for the homeless, they’re heroes too.”

“Do you think heroics is the best way for you to make change?” the reporter asks as the screen shows a woman looking over papers. A smirk overtakes her as she reads a paper and writes something on it.

“It’s one way. For me, I think it is my only way,” Midoriya insists. “I’m a hero who grew up Quirkless, and I remember how it is. My daughter is hated by people for what she is. I’m going to be a hero who saves everyone because that’s what we’re supposed to do. It doesn’t matter what Quirk status or class status is. It matters who we are.”

“Do you think anyone can be a hero?” the reporter asks as the screen shows a blonde girl listening to the interview. Her hair is in space buns, and she has blood splattered on her as she smiles widely.

“Izu-chan is so sweet,” the girl coos as Midoriya continues.

“Okay, I do not want to be called sweet by her,” Izumi said. The blood splatter did not look like a bystander, more like the aggressor. Also, why wouldn't she wash it off?

Himiko giggled from where she'd hid after spotting herself. There she was! She was on screen, and Izu-chan would be watching! Ooo, she hoped the other girl thought she was cute! Himiko smiled dreamily at the thought.

“I recognize her,” Native suddenly said.

“The kid or the woman 'cause the woman is the one I cheated on ID with,” Tensei said, grateful for the distraction. He wondered why the woman had been shown, though maybe she’d be poking her nose into Tensei’s situation. She had a habit of trying to involve herself even now.

“The kid. Toga Himiko- I was in Tokyo when she made her first kill. Near her area, so we all got the alerts.” Native hummed. “Blood Quirk, her parents purposely starved her.”

“She needs to drink blood?” Tensei asked.

“Yeah. Not much mind, and from the reports of the Quirk Counselor she went to before her parents changed them, she displayed some sociopathic tendencies before she started killing.” Native said. “So it's not a need for blood-driving her- not like the serial killer a few years ago. But I won't say she is completely at fault. The counsellor that her parents sent her to practiced Quirk suppression.”

“Tell me he and the parents are in jail.” Tensei almost begged.

“The counsellor is. The parents took off, saying they didn't want to be connected to a monster.” Native sighed. “They got away with it because one of those anti-groups helped. The Confederation of Quirks.”

“The nut jobs who think only certain Quirks are good ones?” Tensei asked. While society did have a view of Quirk's, with some being ‘heroic’ and others ‘villainous,’ the hate groups took it way too far at times with their actions. The Confederation preached Quirk suppression of all undesirable Quirks, meaning they believed that pretending you didn't have a Quirk of some type was better.

Sometimes, it didn't cause any issues. Tensei knew of a girl who could make people deaf by humming and who'd been raised by parents who were part of the Confederation. She hadn't been allowed to hum.

ID themself had been banned from speaking names by a teacher who had also believed in it, though given they tended to use nicknames anyway unless trying to get info, it wasn't a huge deal.

But they didn't have needs attached to their Quirks. If Toga needed blood and they denied it to her, it was abuse. It would be abuse no matter what, but Quirk suppression made it also discrimination, like how people would be hurt for being gay or the such by their parents.

Assholes, Tensei would make a note to try and find them himself to deal with them.

“I do. Everyone can be a hero if they are willing to put in the effort to do so. It’s not easy; not even halfway through my first semester would I say it’s easy. It’s hard, and I mess up a lot of things.” Midoriya says. “But we have to try.”

The screen shows the students at the train station with Aizawa. Midoriya has a bag, her costume case, and Tomoe with her, and another bag of things for the toddler is on her back. Tomoe is wearing a Selkie brand backpack with a leash attachment that Midoriya holds. Aizawa and Present Mic are checking things off a list as further away, Vlad King is with Snipe doing the same.

"Everyone has their costumes, right? Remember, you don't have permission to wear them out in public yet unless your supervisor says so and don't lose them or anything," Aizawa tells his students.

"Gotcha," Ashido cheers.

“Remember Ashido, some heroes may be more particular about respect,” Aizawa warns the girl, who nods in understanding. "Make sure you mind your manners with the other heroes during your internships. Now get to it," Aizawa tells the group.

"Yes, sir!" the students reply.

Iida tries to walk off, but Midoriya calls out, “Hey, wait, Iida! We’re both going to Hosu! " He pauses, eyes wide. “See you guys,” she tells Todoroki, Aoyama, Uraraka, Yaoyorozu, and Shinsou, who are with her, before she walks up to Iida.

“Wait, Hosu!?!” Momo asked. “Isn't that where your brother was attacked?!” she asked Iida. He looked pale.

“Yes… I think… I believe I may be going after him,” he admitted, swallowing nervously.

“Why the hell would we be allowed to go?!” Midoriya asked, the girl looking shocked. I don't… how? I should know, too. Why am I going to Hosu?”

Momo looked at the two, baffled. It shouldn't be allowed, them going, but here they were.

“Ah, I did not know…” he hesitates.

“Yeah, you missed our internship discussions,” Midoriya says. “I’m going with Native. He’s one of the few heroes who have a daycare attached to his agency, and he’s close enough that Shouta can swing by halfway through the week to pick Tomoe up.”

“Unc!” Tomoe hugs Iida’s leg with a big smile. He looks at the little girl, his face flickering.

“Todoroki is going with Wash since they both have Quirks requiring careful precision,” Midoriya says. “He was going to go with his dad because of the fire, but Wash has a fire-based sidekick for advice. Uraraka is with Gunhead, Aoyama is going with Pause- she’s a hero whose specialization is about attracting attention before striking.”

“I know her,” Iida says, walking with Tomoe happily attached to his leg. The girl cheers when he moves, making both teens smile.

“Yaoyorozu was going to go with Uwambi, but since the woman is currently running her ad campaign to promote herself in readiness of the mutant rights campaign going on, Yaoyorozu didn’t want to get dragged in. She’s going with her cousin Fatgum, and so is Sato after Yaoyorozu apparently called her uncle up about it.” Midoriya lists.

“That’s smart,” Iida says. Midoriya hesitates.

“Iida, we’re friends,” she says. “If you want to talk… I’m here.”

“...Thank you, Midoriya, I’ll remember that,” Iida says. The screen shows his face, though, with his narrowed eyes and firm mouth.

It goes black.

When the timer showed up, the reactions were varied: shock, confusion, and fear. The kids were walking into a war zone without anyone stopping them, and no one could understand why.

Izumi did propose that maybe Stain had already finished his pattern of three kills before moving on, but they didn't know if it was true. She did not understand why she may risk her daughter if it hadn't been that. Serial killers like Stain followed patterns, and she could see how she'd do that.

It was the only thing to make sense.

Tensei felt his heart stop hearing that Tenya would be in Hosu, and his mind screamed at him as he tried to breathe. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

God, what would happen?

All they could do was wait for the next episode.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Notes:

GUESS WHO IS BACK? First off, sorry for the long wait. I was in my last semester of school, and honestly, I was not okay mentally. I needed to take some time to get my head on straight. I’m better now, and happily, I got a promotion that is having me move back home to my parents. This might seem like a downgrade, but for me, it isn’t because I need a change of space. I’m so tired, guys.

Now, here are a few notes: No, I don’t have a Discord, and I won’t be making one. I don’t like Discord much, and creating a channel fills me with ‘ugh’ energy. My tumblr, though, is open for people to bug me.

Second, I know how the manga ends and am not happy with it. Now that my knee-jerk reaction is over, I will say I didn’t like 70% of it. But this is also because I don’t like how certain arcs ended and the underlying hints of ‘everyone didn’t talk to Izuku, ’ which could be us reading too much into it. That being said- it isn’t canon here.

Now, off to the actual notes/commentary I make

Eri, being cute, is always fun to write. I will say I kind of am sad I can’t make her the foul-mouth kid I have in POP.

-The discussion about allergies and stuff was more about me going: wait, wouldn’t it be a reasonable complaint? And then it spiralled into this. It would be a sensible issue if the person has the same fur as a cat, and it’s not just hair that looks like fur. But there’s also the: well, what if- thing. So yeah.

-Midnight musing over sex and her moment was inspired by me reading some Reddit stories of false accusations and how awful they are. I think anyone making a false accusation should be jailed. That’s just messed up, and it makes things worse for actual victims.

-I am seriously surprised no one guessed what this chapter was about. Like seriously.

-I changed the names for funsies, but I also think most canon names are dumb.

-Mitsuki’s moment was me also spiralling in my writing. Plus the fact that I don’t think abusers (and Inko was emotionally/mentally abusive) deserve forgiveness even if they have changed. Mitsuki also knows this, given her history. Reconciliation is possible even in these cases, but it’s also something I firmly think is a ‘you don’t have to’ thing. I think kids should get to choose if they want to reconcile with their abusive families. I’ve heard of people who are made to go back to their parents who have changed but are miserable because they can’t forgive them or forget. Would Izumi be able to? Actually, yeah, I think so. Much later.

-Will I always point out the hypocrisy of Stain? Yes. Do I like it? Oh yeah.

-Full disclosure: I wouldn’t say I like Toga and never will. She's a character I wish was a full-on villain with no shame. She’d be much more likeable to me. It's why I love Dabi so much: he is 100% just an asshole. Though if Toga did need blood to live in canon, I'd be much more understanding. She doesn't, though, and just decided to start murdering people on her own wishes. That's not someone who ‘just had a hard life’ that's a sociopath. And she isn't a fun one.

-Izumi isn't a hypocrite, and I wasn't trying to write to her as such. If the kids from Aldera actually changed, she would be the one person who would accept it. She just doesn't wish to be friends or interact with them. Bakugou, as he is, is not changing, so she has little patience. And if he did change- he's gone too far now. She'd be happy but never want to be his friend again.

-I added a lot of my headcanons here: 1C being a waitlist class where students who almost make heroics are placed and the idea that the teacher can deny their entrance into the hero course for reasons. I wrote a Shinsou critical piece on that before. With the newly added headcanon that Shinsou was probably going to be denied a transfer if he hadn’t shaped up.

-Extra Lessons are also a headcanon knowing how big clubs are in high schools. Being hero students, they have to focus a lot on their studies, so they have these extra lessons (also as a fuck you to the school system since HPSC pushes forward the idea of a very simplistic hero curriculum to force more graduations). They can do clubs to, but it’s required that someone take extra lessons.

The whole bit with Aizawa hiding it in the syllabus is more a headcanon for myself. Mostly as an answer to the idea ‘why wouldn’t he also train his students.’

#bnha #bnha au #pulling on the strings of destiny #fem izuku

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slayerkitty · 1 year

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Only Friends and the (Lack of ?) Narrative Frameworks

Something I have been tracking as part of the ongoing discussions about Only Friends is the use of the narrative framework for each episode. I've been tracking them since episode 3 when we realized during our discussions that there were different frameworks that were being used and what they meant in terms of the story the show is trying to tell.

So it was very interesting that we went five episodes with various frameworks in place only to suddenly not have one in episode 6. (Whether episode 7 has one is something I'll come back to later.)

So when I put out my current narrative frameworks post, I wanted to see what people thought about the sudden lack of frameworks when we've had them so consistently to that point.

On that post, I put these thoughts up for discussion:

Have we moved away from the use of narrative frameworks? Is it because everyone is saying the quiet parts out loud? Is it because we’re no longer only seeing what they want us to see or want each other to see? Is it because the characters have stopped lying to themselves and each other? The use of the narrative frameworks was so fascinating to me as a story telling device and that it was used for about half the show feels important so the lack of them is jarring (on purpose?).

@twig-tea commented on my post with some thoughts about it as well as bringing it up in a post of their own and through our discussion we came up with what we thought might be going on.

Up through episode 5, each episode has it's own narrator (except episode two, which sees everyone serve as narrator) and the story is being told through their perspective (to a point). With episode 6, it's distinctly lacking a narrator and a framework.

The change is so marked that it felt jarring to me because for almost half of the show to have a framework and then to not use one? What are you trying to say, P'Jojo?

After speaking to @twig-tea, it appears that maybe Mew's glasses were more than just a metaphor for him (in that losing his glasses and getting Lasik finally means he can see the truth about Top) but also for us, as the audience. The characters have had their "rose-colored glasses" removed and all that's left now is reality.

Episode 6 is dark, literally. As in, the lighting. The episode starts off bright and sunny with Top and Mew in the pool, having a great time, being in love. The brightness continues right up until Mew has Lasik. The scenes after that progressively get darker. Mew goes back to his apartment, his room lit dimly. Ray meets Sand and the bar is darkly lit. There is a brighter moment with Boston, Nick and Boston's dad, but then Nick and Boston end up in Boston's dark room (it's so on the nose). The Ray and Boston confrontation seems (to me) to be lit indirectly. Then we get all the YOLO scenes - dark, dimly lit, and where the truth comes out. Sand driving after Ray, the Cheum and April making up in artificial light (and isn't that a statement), Nick and Boston lying in a dark room. And of course, the amazing Mew and Top scene, lit only by candles.

The reason this episode has no framework is because the characters are no longer living in the fantasy they've made up for themselves. The lighting and camera angles have indicated that we are in reality now. They are saying the quite parts out loud; they are no longer lying to themselves and each other (or us). That's why the framework had to disappear.

So prior to episode 7, I wondered if episode 6 was going to be the only framework-less episode. If episode 7 didn't have one, would that mean that we would no longer have them? Would they come back?

What's interesting about episode 7 is that upon first watch, I did not observe a framework. Then I had that conversation with @twig-tea, who in addition to her insightful comments, also linked me to this twitter post courtesy of P'Jojo.

I'll copy @twig-tea's loose translation of the tweet here:

Essentially he says they filmed short clips of everyone giving three words on Boston as the intro to ep6 framework (as well as this video of Mew cussing Boston as the camera holder out. Pretty sure he basically says "your name is Asshole-Ton" to the best of my crappy Thai) but then decided that Boston's character stood on its own, actually, the audience already knew who he was and they didn't need that extra framing going into the ep.

EPISODE 7 WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE A FRAMEWORK AND THEY TOOK IT OUT!

(And while I agree with P'Jojo that the episode doesn't need a framework per se, because it does stand on his own and us as the audience do know who Boston is without the framework, I WISH HE'D LEFT IT IN.)

Having said that, imagine how this episode would be if they left in Boston and his video camera recording his friends opinions of him. It paints certain other visual moments in this episode way more into a serious focus than an over the top dramatic moment.

Moments like this shift into a different view if you think of this episode as Boston's "home movie".

(gifs are courtesy of @chickenstrangers who did me a huge favor!)

Mew's the villain, Ray and Mew are sleeping together, Mew rejects Top, and Boston is the victim.

Now, I don't know how much weight we can put behind these moments as a framework because they took the overarching framework out of the episode.

Still, as @topmeow pointed out, the dramatic "super zooms" (as I like to call them) are indicative of a soap opera/reality tv/telenovela editing that is still fun and adds interesting visual moments throughout the episode. On their own, they potentially do one of two things. They either present the characters who get the zoom with the consequences of their actions and/or they could always be indicative of us slowly headed back into fantasy (back into episodes with a framework). Whether or not that's what we're doing will be answered in the next episode.

Tagging the Ephemerality Squad: @lurkingshan, @waitmyturtles, @wen-kexing-apologist, @chickenstrangers, @ranchthoughts, @twig-tea, @clara-maybe-ontheroad, @distant-screaming

Apologies to anyone I forgot!

#only friends the series #only friends meta #ephemerality squad #thai bl

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thyandrawrites · 1 year

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I gotta say, as much as I normally sympathize more with Reo, reading chapter 13 of epinagi and rereading the main manga at the same time makes me feel for Nagi, too.

Seeing just how often Nagi's thoughts go to Reo, his reasons for snapping at him after the 3v3 makes so much more sense. In Nagi's narration, it's obvious that he holds a lot of respect to Reo as a player, other than a friend. Every time he faces a challenging opponent or sees a great play, his mind always goes to him. When he's not wishing to show Reo all these amazing things, he's reminding himself and others that they must keep challenging strong opponents to justify having left Reo behind. One way or another, their promise is always very present in his mind, and he's giving it his all to make it come true.

But then they run into each other in the baths and Reo is acting suddenly cold. He doesn't want to hear about Nagi's efforts, and he calls him a rival. It would be so easy to take offense to that, to assume��like Reo did—that the other has forgotten about their promise. But it's not here that Nagi's temper snaps. Instead, he takes it in stride, and actually looks kind of fired up for the chance of facing a Reo who will go all out. After all, Nagi understand wanting to take on strong guys, and through this and other subtle details, it's shown that in his mind Reo is still very much one of them. I'd say that he perceives Reo as an equal, if not strictly a teammate at present. This is especially clear when Nagi's first impulse is to still pick him as his first choice when they win. We've established that Nagi doesn't let sentimentality get in the way of having the best shot at achieving his dream (think of the pep talk he gives to Bachira about leaving him behind if he doesn't step up even if he and Isagi are close). So, all of this to say: Nagi speaks with his actions, and he chooses Reo for Reo's skills, not for his attachment to him as a friend. He respects him.

But he respects their dream more, in the end. Just like how he left with Isagi not by any fault of Reo's own, but to examine his own drive for football, Nagi once again makes the choice that would best result in bettering his plays. Not because he doesn't care, but because he's that serious about it, actually.

Again, Reo doesn't make the cut not because he lacks skills, but because his playstyle isn't compatible with the way Nagi's team is evolving. Reo would bring them balance because he's skilled and charismatic enough to singlehandedly whip up their mismatched chaos into a proper team. But being a team would make them worse players individually, and Nagi has enough maturity to know that's a step back for his own skills, not one forward. Not a single moment has passed by so far where he hasn't been putting his all towards fulfilling his end of the promise, or one where he hasn't had full faith in Reo in turn.

And then Reo, who has acted cold and standoffish all this time for seemingly no reason... Reo, who is so skilled but wants to be picked even if it means losing and possibly flunking out of the program, their best chance to get closer to the world cup... The same guy who swore they'd be best in the world, but whose efforts only stopped at winning in the first selection...

that Reo goes and accuses him of not giving a shit about their promise to each other.

I think I would've snapped back too

#Let's be real for a sec. Reo was a brat there #I totally get where he's coming from and he is absolutely right to be upset and hurt #But accusing nagi of indifference was a step too far come on #He used to trade his position for the goalie's so he could better slack off #Now he's putting his whole soul into it and you don't get how that's a love confession? Come the fuck on reoo wake uppppp #Ok im kidding about the love part but these two...I swear #Blue lock #Nagireo #I need to make a tag for my ramblings....#It's not quite meta bc it's so ship focused but it deserves a tag #People who are more creative than me do you have any suggestions??#Nagi seishirou #Mikage reo #Bllk thoughts

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deeplyridiculouslyinlove · 11 months

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Okay, my thoughts at the end of book 4! I’m mostly saving these for my own posterity and there isn’t much interesting here in terms of theory or meta or whatever, so sorry to anyone who finds it in the tags.

- I *really* liked parts of this book. Rand’s experience in Ruihdean was very well done, as were most of the parts of the book in the Waste more generally IMO. Exploring Tel’aran’rhiod was very cool. And I liked learning about the cultural norms surrounding women in the other cultures who can channel. I also liked getting POV chapters for some of the antagonists. Basically, anything that was focused more on world building and less on specific characters had me so engaged I couldn’t stop listening. Not an original thought, but the world building in these books is so good.

- It really took me some time to adjust to the versions of the characters in this book, because it feels like some of them take a sharp turn from who they were books 1-3. Rand especially. I think I had been expecting a little more buildup of character growth where he grows into someone new informed by who he used to be and retaining those values, but instead he’s sort of just a different person this book. It didn’t help that I switched audiobook narrators I’m sure, but there is definitely a different tone to this book - for example, suddenly in this book there are “bosoms” everywhere and it’s weird bc like, where did that come from? Anyway, I’m learning quickly that character development isn’t the strong part of these books even though they’re all POV chapters. By the end of the book I was used to the new versions of each character, but I’m a bit sad we didn’t see more of emotional toll the characters are going through so their changes would be less abrupt. Moiraine also had a different vibe to me this book - I’m biased obviously, but I feel like we need a Moiraine POV chapter soon to understand her current arc. Not that I should ask for these books to be *longer* lol.

- I knew the coup was coming and that Siuan would be stilled but I’m still so DISTRESSED by it. In fact I was so distressed that I had to ask my partner if she eventually gets her power back like Moiraine did in the show 😂 I’m so curious if they’re essentially going to do the same storyline twice, or switch up Siuan’s somehow to avoid the stilling plot altogether? And also, I think I get why they used 2x07 to set up Moiraine and Siuan not being on the best of terms if in the books Siuan doesn’t know what’s going on with Rand when the coup occurs.

- Sadly I feel like everything I heard about the poor writing of women that had been the reason I hesitated to read the books in the first place really crop up in this book. Why is every single POV female character (and even some who aren’t POV, like Faile) in love with a male character? And don’t get me started on the weird way that the girls have their clothes change on them to expose them without consent when they think about men in Tel’aran’rhiod - that would NEVER be written to happen to a male character to show his interest in a woman. And yet at the same time they’re supposed to be all in love and weirdly horny now, they’re also somehow all soo childish - what in the world is with Elayne pulling in Thom’s mustaches?? At one point they literally say Aviendha is having a “tantrum.” It’s not just that the book is so straight, it’s also like, weird straight…

- Maybe tied to the above, but it seems like we’re not supposed to like the Aes Sedai (or maybe more accurately, the White Tower and those trained formally there) but I continue to think they’re one of the most interesting parts of these books. Even with the coup! I want so much more from their perspectives. And it seems like Jordan may be trying to make the point that “even if you have only women in power it will also be corrupt and bad because the problem is power not gender” (like reverse patriarchy!), and to the extent he is it isn’t really hitting for me - it just sort of lands for me as “women can’t be trusted with power,” which is one of the oldest tropes out there. Maybe this will improve! I’m enjoying Siuan as a key POV character, although I guess now she’s no longer Aes Sedai?

#dril reads wot #wheel of time #wot book spoilers

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isekai-crow · 8 months

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Mashle: Magic and Muscle Season 1 Re-Cap + Season 2 - Episode 1

Other Episodes-> ep2 ep3 ep4 ep5

This anime shits all over JKR in the best way possible. Highly Recommended if you can make it through the 2nd half of Season 1.

Overall Rating So Far: 8/10 with hopes it will stay there.

For comparison, season 1 ended up 6/10. TToTT as to why...

I'm writing this while re-watching season one, and maaaaan what a strong start Season 1 had!! 9/10 for the first 4 episodes!!

How is this avoiding copyright? I don't know but I fully support it.

I LOVE MASH AND HIS REALISTIC TAKES.

The pacing got completely thrown off after episode 5. Did we really need those fight to be THAT long and drawn out?? No. I get that animation studios are limited in how far into the manga they can go in a given season, but I would have preferred anime original filler over 2 episodes of metal punch dude, and the whole "chamber of secrets" esque episodes...

Despite being sorely disappointed by the second half of season 1, I did finish it. Starting episode 1 of Season 2, I completely forgot where the last episode had left off and it hasn't even been that long!! I had to laugh at just how much my brain had tuned out by the end, which is sad, because this is such an amazing premise.

HOWEVER

SEASON 2 EPISODE 1 BROUGHT BACK THE DRIVE TO WATCH!!

The first episode of season 2 doubles down on poking ALL sorts of holes in the plot of Harry Potter and sidestepping any massive overlaps to avoid copyright. BUT IT'S SO OBVIOUS, I LOVE IT.

May I introduce you to...

"Harry Potter with just enough serial numbers filed off to avoid a lawsuit." - Capybara

Spoilers for Episode 1 Below the Cut

We started off with a small recap of the end of season 1 and honestly I don't remember most of it happening.

Woo they beat the Tom Riddle/Abel Walker, Woo they won tons of points for their dormitory, Woo Mash's super special "magic spell" the Suplex!!!

But oh no! There is a rumor that Mash can't use magic has gotten out! To be fair, it was only a matter of time. Bicep Smash Magic can only get you so far lolol.

The little celebration party is very cute, and suddenly Abel and Abyss show up, and Mash is just totally chill with them joining in their party. Abel even brought a deck of cards and they're playing bullshit of all games lmfao

Personally I want to know why Dot has his mouth and face all bandaged up, but I assume that's Lemon's doing for some reason or another lol

Let me just say, I love Abel and Abyss. Abel is terrifying and carrying around his creepy doll and freaking Finn out, and literally just wants to have fun with everyone. He's far more incompetent, or maybe just normal? than he seems. And cares about Abyss!! And Abyss is doing his best to take care of his master, and thanks Mash for stopping them both. And can't talk to women!!

We love a traumatized bishonen.

Mash gets called to the Bureau of Magic and basically gets called a Mudblood to his face for not having magic and is being sentenced to death.

AND DRACO MALFOY SHOWS UP TO SAVE HIM.

You cannot dissuade me that this isn't another Draco.

And of course, to counter Draco/Ryoh Grantz, we get Knock Off Harry Potter and gang!

Neville with a dragon? Snow girl is Luna? The one with the book is Hermione? Obviously these are also original characters and there is no one to one with characters, but it's fun to try and place them.

Fake Harry Potter / Orter Madel says the most Not Harry Potter thing ever, and its hilarious that a character known for going against the rules has a caricature doing exactly the opposite.

Fuckin' mood Mash. Where the hell did RON come from??? ah.. his only purpose is to narrate what's happening. Makes sense.

The magi-parasite shows up, mob deals with, and it should be a done deal, but Orter continues to push the issue as Ryoh tries to stop him.

Will Mash be taken away and executed? He's not budging. Will Draco and Harry fight? What will become of Mash now that Dumbledore and Finn's Big Bro have shown up?

Until Next Time..

What the fuck is this show I love it so much.

#anime winter 2024 #mashle #mash burnedead #magic and muscles #マッシュル

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hislittleraincloud · 6 months

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(Mature, NC-17, Cairo Sweet/Jonathan Miller, Jairo, student-teacher, age gap, angst, language, sex/smut (Chapter 2 & 3 are the explicit ones), etc. This fic begins at the very end, where the film left off.)

Note: I'm publishing [this first chapter only] here in advance of its publication on AO3. I'm growing tired of the blackouts. I don't publish there often enough to not be affected. Just please, if you liked it, go to AO3 once it's published there for the blah blah. I'll let you know when it is. // I'm still working on Chapter 3, it's 90%. Homestretch. And yet I want more Jairo....

Summary: Judgement day in front of the school board has come, but Jonathan Miller had something more than a fancy lawyer to get him out of trouble. Can he and Cairo escape a dangerous situation and work out their differences? Maybe after some fancy bourbon and a cigarette. Or two.

Tags from AO3: Teacher-Student Relationship, age gap, Age Difference, Seduction, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Loss of Virginity, Mild Cock Worship, Mesophilia, Somnophilia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, detailed sex, Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Literary References & Allusions, Literary Fucking, Consenting Adults, Erotica, Drama, Dramedy, Erotic Thriller, Fluff, Fluffy, Dialogue-Driven, narration, Southern Gothic, Canon Compliant, Miller's Girl, Definite Amber Heard references, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking

Chapter 1: If You Asked Me To

Opal County Board of Education

“I came.”

“That you did.”

Jon shook his head at her smirking satisfaction. “This…this is your last chance, Cairo. Last chance to come clean.”

“Have you come clean, Jonathan?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. I have come quite clean about your d —” he stopped himself with a frustrated sigh. It was hot enough outside without abandoning decorum (with his accuser, no less). “Your midterm and the circumstances around it. I'm just hopin’ against hope that in these last few minutes before this very public hearing, you will too.”

“It isn't public, is it?”

“It's public enough.” His eyes suddenly lifted to the attention of someone in the short distance beyond Cairo’s head, and he waved as the footsteps clacked up the stairs. “Speakin’ of hope.”

“Hey Mr. Miller!”

Cairo’s jaw clenched when she heard the sing-song voice of Winnie Black, but when she turned towards it, she was dumbstruck by how different Winnie looked: her usually untamed mane was combed back, the length of her long, bushy tresses held at bay with a baby pink hair band. Her light grey and pink argyle cardigan complemented her pleated knee-length skirt, which was far too tight on her curvy form. She looked like a completely different person, and if it weren't for the careless, open-mouthed way she gnawed on her gum—and her white faux fur tote bag that looked like a yeti’s nutsack—one might believe that she was.

She yelped as she almost fell into Jon, snagging the toe of her black Mary Janes on one of the steps.

He steadied her with his hand. “Oo, careful there —”

“I'm just so eager to help you that my feet got ahead of me,” she cooed, her trademark flirtatiousness as incapable of being contained as the breasts that were almost bursting through the white dress shirt underneath her sweater, which she pulled down and adjusted as she righted herself.

Jon spoke to her, but his gaze remained frozen on Cairo’s bitter countenance. “Okay, well don't — you don't wanna git yourself hurt now, Miss Black.”

“We sure wouldn't want that now, would we,” Cairo blurted, staring at Winnie’s profile. Her words cut fast like a bullet, killing the cordiality between Winnie and Jon instantly.

Winnie finally turned to acknowledge Cairo’s presence. A sly grin peeled across her lips as she checked her out from head to toe and back. “Well look who showed up lookin’ like her dog done stepped on a bee.”

Jon’s internal seismometer could feel the impending quake. Cairo’s eyes hadn't left Winnie’s face. He dipped his chin and picked up his bag, backing away. “I'll let you — I'll give you some space.”

“See you on the other side, Mr. Miller!”

Winnie snapped her gum as she watched him purse his lips and turn up the stairs, hopping up each step towards the doors. She languidly turned back to Cairo with a sigh, her judgmental eye scanning her former friend up and down.

“The preppy look don't suit you.”

“That suit don't suit you.”

“Looks like two can play at this little cosplay game, sweetheart.”

Cairo’s brow remained deeply furrowed. She could feel her breathing start to tighten. “What're you doing here?”

“I'm here to testify against you…like I told you I would.”

“And like I told you, your credibility —”

“What credibility? I haven't told any lies, Cairo. I may’ve flirted heavily with a teacher, that's my cross to bear. I've already written it all down, just like you did,” she said, sliding a manila folder out of her bag and holding it up, fanning herself with it. “I don't know Your Honor —”

“It's not in front of a judge, you —”

“I was just bein’ a lil’ aggressive with my platonic affections for Coach Fillmore,” she continued, uninterrupted and undeterred. “You see, young people can get a little crazy sometimes…,” her voice faltered. She looked down at Cairo’s shoes, then looked up, a tear falling from her eye, her lip quivering. “Cairo made me send that photo to him —”

“You fucking bitch, I'll —”

“You’ll what, kill me?” Winnie had shut off the water works as effortlessly as Cairo had, and Cairo’s small stature jolting forth didn't even make her flinch. “Oh honey, I know you don't care enough about me to trade Yalie blue for prison orange. If they'll even have you after this.”

Jon leaned against a pillar base, watching Cairo’s face fall from the top of the stairs, her heart-shaped lips dropping open. Broken. The turn of her chin towards him in her crestfallen disbelief lasted a lifetime.

Winnie turned and hopped up the stairs. She pat Jon on the stomach, causing him to huff.

“Almost showtime, cowboy,” she said, turning around and walking backwards. “I mean…Mr. Miller, sir.” She winked at him, but her eyes widened as she stuck her fingers in her mouth and plucked out her gum, flicking it into the trash bin behind the pillar before she stepped in through the building’s doors. She waved at him with the same fingers, and he waved back.

When he turned his head, Cairo was slowing her steps to the one right underneath him. His heart leapt from his chest to his throat, then to his gut: her brow had relaxed into a neutral position, but she still looked terrified.

“It's too late, isn't it.”

“For some things, maybe.” He watched her frown deepen, and she moved to continue into the building. He was able to grab the crook of her elbow, but upon her nasty glare, he let go, hands up. His own brow softened. “Maybe not,” he offered, his concern thickly coating his words. “You'll get destroyed in there, Cairo.”

“Too late for that,” she grumbled, attempting to continue on.

“Hey,” his abruptness startled her still, and he was able to cut in front of her path. He moved to place his hands on her shoulders, but instead, stuffed them in his pockets. “I'm here. Not for me, my fate’s already decided. I'm walkin’ in there on suspension. I'm here for —” he sighed through his nose. “I know you didn't want this. Nobody does. But I understand what I did, Cairo. Now when you walk through those doors, you'll understand what you did too, and no one’s —” he swallowed, shaking his head and averting his gaze. He lowered his voice and his lips to her ear.

“People don't look too kindly on manipulators, even in this day n’ age, even in the thick of #MeToo. That's all I'm sayin’.”

“I don't have anything more to say than what is in my written complaint, so I politely decline to take – to make any further comment.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Don't need ‘em.”

“Well, what about your lawyer, or advocate, anyone?”

“Don't need one.”

Principal Joyce Manner was nonplussed. “Miss Sweet —”

“Don't I have the right not to testify?”

“Well, you were the one to bring the complaint….”

Cairo couldn't mask her disgust at the female lawyer Jon’s wife had hired as her parting gift to him. She was a celebrity lawyer with the capacity to render any liar lie-less within minutes of interrogation, apparently, and she was pricey; much pricier than even Cairo’s parents.

And she was gorgeous, just like each of her parents.

In another timeline, the lawyer and the lawyers' daughter might be related; both flavorful, petite, dark brunettes, the chestnut undertones of their hair were particularly visible under the natural light pouring in from the windows of the hearing room. There was little difference, how the sun touched their skin and clothes, but their individual posture was telling as Cairo sat forward in her seat while the lawyer relaxed her shoulders and clasped her hands before speaking softly.

“Miss Sweet. Thank you for showing the courage to be here. You're a very brave young woman.” Her voice was mellow and comforting, emphasized by her upturned, pitying brow, but Cairo knew better. Same look, same vocal tone as Mama Sweet whenever she was doing the same thing during her own trials to butter up the hot lobster she was slow-boiling on the stand. It appeared that this lawyer could sense from Cairo’s silent defiance that the tactic wasn't working, as she quickly flipped off the heat. “Please tell us in your own words what happened between you and Professor Miller. Starting from when you first entered his classroom.”

“Can I plead the fifth?”

“This isn't a criminal trial, Miss Sweet.

“Then why do I feel like you're treatin’ me like a criminal?”

“That's not our intention today, Miss —”

“Isn't it?”

“Miss Sweet. Can you just proceed to tell us what happened?”

“And I have stated quite plainly that I have no desire to do that. Everything I had to say is in my complaint.”

“Let's move on, then,” the lawyer didn't miss a beat, nearly clipping the end of Cairo’s sentence. “You had a conversation with your classmate about Mr. Miller. Miss Winnie Black?”

Her gaze automatically flickered to where Winnie sat just behind Jon. She was unreadable, but then, Cairo had hardly stopped to read, her eyes quickly turning back to the podium.

“I’ve had several conversations with Miss Black about Mr. Miller.”

“Will the board please look to Exhibit 7B, please,” her strike was swift and hard, as if she had been anticipating Cairo’s calculated caginess. She approached the stand with a thin packet of papers, placing it on the ledge next to Cairo's water bottle. “Apologies, Miss Sweet, here's a copy for you, please review it.” To observers, the time that the lawyer gave to Cairo to look over the documents seemed far too short, but they were also so far unaware of the conversation’s brevity. “Does this look like a conversation you had?”

“Looks like one. Coulda been edited,” she half-heartedly suggested, carelessly dropping the transcript back where the lawyer had put it.

“I assure you, it's not edited. In fact, this is a transcription of an audio recording provided by Miss Black in Exhibit 7A, which I will play for the board in just one second —”

“Hey, I object to my bein’ recorded without my consent —”

“Tennessee is a one party state, Miss Sweet, or did Greg and Ivy not tell you that?” The expressed familiarity with her parents had its intended effect on Cairo, with her turning to Joyce for support that wasn't there. The lawyer dropped her eyes, shuffling her papers. The unkindness of her rhetorical question stung, the board members shifting uncomfortably in their seats as the lawyer reached for a small remote.

Cairo shot up out of her seat. “Then I wish to withdraw my complaint —”

“It’s too late for that, Miss Sweet. The matter is out of your hands. Now sit down,” Joyce spoke up and tried not to show her annoyance. She waited until Cairo slowly sank back down, defeated. She nodded at the lawyer, whose thumb was poised but patient on the remote. “Play the recording, please.”

What're you doin’ to Mr. Miller?

I'm testifying against him. In front of the school board.

Why?

He underestimated me. I overestimated him.

Are you okay?

I'm inspired.

That's not funny.

It is. A little.

Please don't do this.

Why?

You're gonna ruin his life. And for what? To avenge your rejection? To punish him? Because he didn't want to [bleep] you?

He wanted to [bleep] me, Winnie.

Huh. Yes. But he didn't leave his wife for you. …I'll testify against you.

No you won't.

Excuse me?

I'll show them the evidence I have against you and Boris…and not only will your credibility be shot to [bleep], but you'll incriminate him as well.

Cairo abruptly popped out of the leather seat and sprinted past all of the scrutinizing eyes towards the double doors.

Two teachers can lose their jobs. Oh hey, maybe we can double team.

Jon had shifted in his seat the moment she started objecting. Not a single person moved to chase after her. Not one, until it was almost compulsory for his feet to start flying down the same path.

Winnie: “how's it feel?”

“Fuck you!” Cairo cursed aloud at the text.

Winnie: “knowin that I'm gettin that rec that you so desperately wanted? 😘”

Jon called out, slightly out of breath as he chased her down the barren sidewalks. “Cairo! Cairo, stop! Don't do anything stupid —”

She whipped around, her face contorted in a pathetic anguish. “It's too late for that!” She turned back to her phone, hyperventilating.

Cairo: “FUCK OFF!!1”

She typed quickly, her hands shaking, even as she screeched the words in real time. Her phone hit the pavement as hard as she threw it; it bounced against Jon’s shoes as she sobbed and continued ripping her way through the sidewalk in her Keds.

Winnie: “right back atcha, bb 🖕🏽😎🖕🏽”

He scooped it up, glancing at the shattered screen and their conversation before pocketing it and struggling to keep up with her quick strides.

He had almost reached her. It surprised him how briskly she could speedwalk on those little legs, and he was already panting. He tried to grab her arm, but she jerked away. “Cairo —”

She turned again, her face reddened and tear stained. “Just fuck —”

She squealed in terror as she was suddenly weightless, his body a blur to steal her tiny form from the path of the oncoming SUV that hadn't seen her. She hadn't even heard him scream her name to warn her. Maybe he did. Or maybe it was all in her head, just like everything else.

Whatever it was, it stole her breath, and she fell limp like a ragdoll in his arms, fainted.

“Cairo? Cairo,” he said, holding her up. Jon looked around, struggling to keep her upright. There were a few uninterested people around the street corner; the other few people who had passed in their cars seemed to slow down until he backed onto a bus bench, heaving her onto it lengthwise with her back to the street. He slid her phone out of his pocket—its shattered screen was almost chipped in one corner, flashing on and off depending on how he held it. He dropped it into his jacket pocket before his trembling hands found their way to his own. Still panting, he glanced at Cairo’s form on the bench, scanned the area for the nothing that it was, and cursed.

Boris pulled up to the curb in his black sedan as Jon waved him down. Jon’s sweaty, thankful face filled his passenger side window as soon as he lowered it.

“I didn't know who else to call…or text.”

Boris grunted in his irritance, leaning against his steering wheel. “Where is she?” Jon moved aside, revealing her body on the bench. “Is she dead?”

Jon’s brow furrowed in his disbelief. “Wh — no, she's not dead! She just — she just fainted. And now I think she’s sleeping. I don't know — she's breathing, but not wakin’ up.”

Boris sighed, craning his neck to look up and down the street. “I don't think I need to tell you what this looks like —”

“Then don't — we're beyond looks now —”

“Maybe you are, but I ain't drivin’ no unconscious student back to their house! Alone! With you! Wake Sleeping Beauty up, we gotta get ‘er home.”

Jon looked back to the bench where she lay, her body quietly breathing. He looked back at Boris, a withering shake of his head telling of his desperation.

Boris slow-blinked into a rolled eye, acquiescing to Jon’s pleas and putting his car in park.

“God damn it,” he pointed his finger at his face while unbuckling his seatbelt.

“You owe me bigtime for this.”

“I know.”

Sweetland Manor, Lovell Hill

“Just set her down there, right there on the settee —”

Jon led Boris inside, and his instincts could've led the good coach to believe that he might've previously been inside her house for an extended period of time, even when he hadn't. Boris’s wide eyes drank in the darkly opulent hallways and decor until he was directed to set Cairo down on the velvet couch near the tall windows of the parlor.

“God damn. Didn't know Miss Cairo was rollin’ in the dough.”

“You didn't?”

“I told you before. I know where the line is —”

“And that's why you're still teaching and I'm not —”

“That's exactly right. Now let’s get the Hell outta here before that line gets stomped on any more,” he turned, trodding back down the hallway towards the colonade. Jon followed, but with a different type of urgency as Boris’s keys jingled in his hand.

“I can't leave her alone.”

“That's for damn sure —”

“That's not what I mean,” he stopped in his tracks at the front doors. “Boris.”

He threw his head back and turned. “Man, you can't be serious —"

"I'm very serious, I haven't been more —"

"You're in enough trouble already —”

“And I would never forgive myself if somethin’ happened to her! I'm already never gonna forgive myself. But this…it’s the least I can do for her now.”

“For her or for you?” He stabbed his car key so hard in his direction that Jon could feel the wind of it on his face.

He swallowed. “Are you askin’ out of concern or curiosity?”

Boris huffed, nodding as he watched the tip of his key scratch into the center of his palm. His anger vanished, replaced by guilt. They both listened to the white noise of it before he softened, and looked his friend in the face. There was genuine concern written into his brow, and genuine fear as well. “You really think she'd do somethin’ to herself?”

“She's all alone.”

“Is she?”

“Did you see anyone back there with her? Or here?”

“I take it Miss Black —”

“Testified for me, remember?”

Boris put his finger to his lips, looking like he was going to be sick. He shook his head, hard. “God damn it!” He continued to his car, incensed and alone. He whipped open the car door and stabbed his key at Jon again before dropping into his seat. “Next time, call an Uber.”

Jon hurriedly approached close enough to plead for one last thing. “And uh…please don't —”

“Deaf, dumb, and blind. Like Helen Keller,” he said as he turned his key in the ignition.

“Drive safe, Helen,” he waved.

“Who's that dumbass talkin’? I don't know who the fuck he is, never seen him before in my life.”

It was a blended storm of frustration and consternation as he stood over her, watching her shoulder rise and fall as she lay dead to the world, but thankfully not dead. She came pretty damn close, though.

Goddamn, Little Ghost. What am I supposed to do with you now?

The pressure in his bladder that he felt so strongly in the hearing room had returned—it had been driven away by the tightening he felt the second he pulled her away from the path of the SUV; a miracle considering the situation should've called for instant release—so much so that it overpowered his reluctance to let her out of his sight. At least she was home, and there didn't seem much incentive to run.

Run to the bathroom, maybe grab a drink of water or juice if she has any, then come right back was the plan.

Of the Greek Revivals in the South, Sweetland Manor, a.k.a. Lovell Hill, most closely resembled the Thornhill plantation house in Forkland, Alabama, and Jon knew this after some midnight Google stalking the day that Cairo told him where she lived. Still, he’d been drinking the night he looked at the floor plans, so his mind’s eye was bleary when it came to what was where.

Across the hall from the parlor was a bedroom, but his urgency sent him down the hall and past a—a library!—that he would have to check out after he was done with his business. As he started to breathe deeply in his attempt to avoid incontinence, he smelled an oddly sweet scent in the air, wherever he stepped: it was a dichotomously light and heady fragrance that reminded him of the tropics. The Bahamas. Bimini, in particular, where he and Bea honeymooned so many years ago. It was a strange combination of floral and…fruit? He stopped, his body temporarily forgetting its need to piss as he wracked his brain trying to place the scent. Pineapple? No, it's not that sharp. It smelled just as sugar-savory, though, and it was coming from all directions. He thought for just a moment that perhaps it was a Glade Plug-in, but those things were never as pleasant or subtle. A minor stabbing in his abdomen woke him out of his enchantment; he pinched his nose to rub out the obsession as he peeked around corners, finding the dining room, the rather modern kitchen, a large back patio that had an absolutely gorgeous Edwardian wrought iron and glass table, and finally, the bathroom. Or, a bathroom, since this one seemed to be a mere water closet off of the kitchen.

He glanced at himself in the mirror after he was done. He looked awful—his normally bagged eyes were even baggier from lack of healthy hydration and sleep. His reflection couldn't blame him; ever since Cairo turned in her midterm, he hadn't been able to sleep much. Obviously from her current state, she hadn't been able to, either. A splash of cold water against his eyes and he was headed back to that kitchen to quench his thirst after all of the stress and activity of getting the little tired ghost back home.

It was odd to see such a modern kitchen in an old mansion like this, but it is what it is, and perhaps her parents were foodies—Greg and Ivy Thompson, as he was informed by his own entertainment lawyer, hobnobbed with their rich and famous clients on the regular, so surely there was a celebrity chef amongst that lot. White with black and gunmetal furnishings, the decor was minimalist compared to the rest of the house, and the cabinets, plenty; Jon’s breath caught at the sight of them. Not the cabinets themselves, but what sat on the shelves behind the glass panels of the doors.

Row after row of staggered row of hard liquor: vodkas, tequilas…whiskeys. Not just any whiskeys, either, as he’d discovered after his beeline to the row of beautiful golden browns behind the cab right next to the fridge—none of that Crap Daniels gasoline—but celebrity whiskeys and bourbons. Decent ones, at that. Bob Dylan’s Heaven’s Door Small Batch, Lagavulin Offerman Edition Charred Oak Cask, Sassenach Limited Batch Blended. A lonely blue bottle of David Beckham’s Haig Club Clubman in the back, untouched. His hand twitched and went straight for his favorite, a mostly full bottle of Sweetens Cove Blended Bourbon. He opened it, deeply inhaling the notes of toasted oak and brown sugar, his mouth watering for the sweet taste that reminded him of a densely alcoholic Almond Joy. He found himself a crystal lowball glass and poured it halfway full before replacing the bottle in its place, taking a moment to thank the cabinet for its fine spirits before gently snapping its door shut.

He checked his watch as he briskly headed back down the hall—How long had he left her for?—but not without almost spilling his Cove all over the front of his shirt when his feet stopped on his recent memory—the library. All of those leatherbounds, hubbed spines, gilt letter volumes of classics, wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling shelves packed full and equipped with sliding ladders on each for the ghostly occupant of the house who might be a little too short to reach. He could already see where she’d deigned to, from the empty spaces on the highest of shelves…and lower shelves where he, but not she, could reach. It tickled him to imagine her attempting to reach for one of the tomes and failing.

He set his glass down onto a lower empty shelf and reached into one of those high hollows of darkness next to a ladder, the gilt of “1905” on the foot of a spine catching his eye. “NOVELS OF THE SISTERS BRONTË | THE PROFESSOR” it read in gold between the raised bands of its fine, red Moroccan leather. It had been moved, possibly read, but lazily left behind against others that were too thick and obscure for a busy young girl. He flipped it into his hand and reached for his glass, pausing for a moment to appreciate the little finger marks in the dust on the edge of the shelf that he’d missed before.

His anxiety was quelled once he wound his way back to the salon. She was still fast asleep, huddled in a little ball against the velvet and pillows, her bowed lips in a frown as she breathed through her nose. Her normally kempt bangs were clinging to her forehead in sweat, but there was a slight shiver to her breaths. He glanced around the room, the afternoon daylight still spilling in to illuminate its quiet sanctuary, but there was nothing else besides more pillows and books, so he put his treasures down on the book-crowded coffee table and skipped over to the bedroom across the hall.

He winced when he found it, but it was the only thing light enough to tote around quickly without cumber: a Denver Broncos woven throw, from their 2015 Superbowl win against the Panthers. Jon was a Titans man through and through, but he also had great respect for the Panthers (at least, he had great respect for Boris’s Carolina fanaticism). He was there, in San Francisco with Boris, thanks to Bea and her highfalutin' connections. Also thanks to Bea—and Boris—his own collectible throw lay unused in its bag in a closet back at the house, after he was convinced not to burn it in the parking lot after the game.

He draped it over her body as carefully as he could without waking her, his only fright being a soft murmur from her throat as it settled around her shoulders. He seemed to be incapable taking his eye off of her very safe and secure form, even as he pulled one of the salon chairs up to the coffee table, where he relieved a spot of its books for his bourbon. He sat, Brontë book in hand, but was reminded of his pocket heavy with their phones when the bulk jabbed into his thigh.

Cairo’s screen was totally fucked. She had thrown it with such force that it rendered her neon green case useless against the hot, solid Tennessee pavement. It turned on, but there was no use trying to access any apps. He laid it face up next to his glass and checked his own phone, which should’ve been thanking its lucky stars that it hadn't met the same fate as hers. A message from Boris and a shit ton of messages from Bea.

I oughta block her.

The obsequient in him merely steered his brain towards ignoring the messages as they came, and instead checking what Boris had to say. The problem was, Jon didn't know what to say back. Just as he couldn't admit his feelings to him that day in the bleachers, he couldn't admit to them now. But now, he was just angry about it. Angry at himself for being so gutless, but also angry at Boris for pretending like he hasn't done worse.

Yes, damn it, yes, I'm in love with her. She's—you don't get it, she's eidetic, I'm eidetic. To the same photographic degree! Fuck man, don't just look at her face, her body, that's all bonus! I'm talking about her mind. Her mind. It's overflowing with talent and knowledge and…and feeling. That g…that woman knows things. She is…exceptional. And I went about this the wrong fucking way. I know that.

But fuck, Boris. Fuck you and the lesbo porn you're jackin’ off to, with her n’...her n’ Miss Black! Don't you get it? She wanted you to show that shit to me. God damn! Fuckin’ self-righteous asshole. Don't gimme any of that goddamn line shit either…like you ain't after Miss Black. You gave her your phone number, dumbass! Imagine what would happen if fuckin’ Cairo turned you in, too. She's got those photos hangin’ over your head now, we're brothers in arms. Don't you fucking abandon me.

Jon reached for his glass and took his first sip of the Cove, the nutty Neopolitan dessert notes blanketing his tongue and granting a little calm and clarity. He punched in a simple emoji and left it at that, pocketing the phone and getting comfortable to read, his eyes flickering up to keep watch on the girl who seemed to have no idea that he was there. Or that she was there. Something pretty hard must've hit her in that moment she wasn't hit, but Jon would keep vigil regardless. It was the least he could do.

That, and without his car, he was pretty much stranded there.

But, you're only really stranded when you don't want to be where you are, and his acceptance of that fact quickly dispatched the excuse to another sip of that sweet, sweet bourbon. He sat back into comfort and slipped his reading glasses on, prepared to keep company with another English professor and a girl who was much more demure and diplomatic than the little wrecking ball at his feet.

“Cairo? Cairo!”

Jon popped up when he realized he’d fallen asleep. He nearly tripped on the Broncos throw at his feet when it hit him that he must've been asleep for more than ten hours, and that in ten hours, a lot could happen with a broken-hearted young girl whose life had crumbled before her eyes. He thought he might start to hyperventilate when he caught wind of it again.

That smell. That weird, tropical scent of flowers and something. It was stronger, somehow. It felt damp, and this time was accompanied by a very faint and muffled 90's power ballad. Celine Dion? He followed his senses, and they led him down the hall and up the stairs, where an acrid cloud of fresh cigarette smoke was wafting out of a room at the top. The cloud swallowed the pleasant scent, but at least now he could breathe.

The music had stopped the second he stepped foot into the room. He found her on the window seat across from her bed, cigarette in hand and laptop in her lap. The ashtray on her little table stand told of her chainsmoking, since it clearly needed to be emptied.

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder at him.

“Left, right, left, soldier. Or didn't you get the memo?” Her eyes followed him as he stood to lean against her footboard. “I left you a note.”

“I didn't — I didn't see a note.”

“I knew I shoulda stapled it to your forehead. You just looked so peaceful, I didn't wanna wake you.”

He was snoring when I woke, his open book on his gut, threatening to slide off onto the floor on the next inhale. I slipped it carefully from under his slack fingers and placed my blanket over his form, along with one of my mama’s decorative pillows under his cheek. Gets cold at night in this old house, and a crick in the neck’s made worse by it.

Kissing him for the first time was a lot more tender than it was in my imagination. It was the feel of his beard on the backs of my fingers that was unexpected. Softer than it looked, even with every other hair deciding to grow at an angle unconducive towards neatness. The funny corner of his open mouth was all I could get from him in his state, lest I wake him from his exhausted slumber. I can still feel the hairs poking into my lips, even as I tried to keep it brief.

I could've pet that beard forever, though.

I left it propped up on the coffeetable. I thought for sure you'da seen it. “Left, right, left, soldier. Come and find me.” Written in red and punctuated with a stupid little schoolgirl’s stupid little heart…because goddamn —

I still love you.

“But that begs the question, why did I wake up to find you sleepin’ in my house, and why haven't you gone?”

“Those are two separate questions —”

“I believe they have the same answer.”

“...I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Do I look alright?”

He pursed his lips. Her hair was brushed out, and she was wearing an oversized flannel nightshirt over floral silk shorts. Blush over black was somehow fitting, and aside from that odd mismatch and the redness around her eyes, she looked cleaned up.

“You look like you been cryin’. Have ya?”

She took a long draw on her shortened cigarette, shortening it further down to the filter. “I vomited so hard I was up in tears, does that count?”

“So you're not alright.”

She crushed the end of her stub into a pile of ash next to the other butts in the ashtray while at the same time reaching for a new one.

“I'll manage,” she said as she struggled with her low-fuel lighter. She checked the end and twisted back to her laptop, taking a big drag and exhaling slowly as she started to close tabs on her browser. She glanced at him, dismissive with her cigarette hand. “You can go. I know you don't wanna be here.”

“Now what on Earth gives you that impression?”

“So you do wanna be here?”

He eyed her cigarette, and her pack. “May I?”

“You may.” As he bent back from taking the cigarette, he looked around for something to sit on. “I got a chair by the vanity,” she gestured.

He humbly thanked her and dragged it over, close enough to reach the ashtray if he needed it. He lit up, his first large stream of smoke directed towards the ceiling.

“Tell me why you wrote it,” he said, his eyes watching the smoke drift. He turned his head to see her slightly confuzzled countenance.

“I told you why —”

“No. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me —”

“ ‘ — coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit-droppin’ seagulls above’?” She watched Jon chuckle, smoothing his hand over his eyes and then his mouth. Her second recitation from Apostrophes and Ampersands had its intended effect on him, just as the first one had before, but she remained guarded. Coy. Lovestruck. “Because I wanted you to fuck me.”

“Why?”

“B’cuz I wanted you to take my virginity.” Her words came forth a little deeper now, her voice exuding a husky quality that he hadn't heard before. It could have been the cigarettes, or more likely, her conscious denial of the present tense.

He shook his head, but his nervous chuckle betrayed the disbelief of his position. “I'm twice your age.”

“More than twice.”

“Cairo, please.”

“You're askin’ me why…why I wanted you to take my virginity.”

“That's exactly what I'm askin’.”

She finally looked away, taking a drag with a big sigh. “If you have to ask, you can't afford the answer.”

“Please, Cairo, I'm already under suspension —”

“Well I guess that makes two of us then, doesn't it,” she sniped, busying herself with her laptop.

He blinked. “What?”

She turned her laptop towards his view: there was a .pdf file letter with the Benson Agricultural Wildcats seal in the center at the top on the screen, but that was all he could read without his glasses. “Two weeks out of school suspension with a permanent note on my record,” she announced with a defeated acceptance. “For ‘severe violations’ of the Student Code of Ethics.” She shut the laptop and set it aside on a pile of books, sliding her legs off the seat to hang over the edge and ashed. “I checked my email when you were sleepin’.”

He swallowed. Something like that ain't gonna get ‘er into Yale.

“Surely your parents can take care of that —”

“I don't want them to take care of it. I want to take responsibility for my mistakes. That's the adult thing to do, isn't it?”

“Cairo, honey, you don't have to —”

“ ‘Honey’?”

“I may be makin’ another mistake by continuin’ to treat you like a friend, but that's all we are right now, isn’t it?”

“Are we? Friends, Mr. Miller?”

“Y’aint in my class anymore.”

“That’s ‘cuz you ain't teachin’ it no more. Right now, at least.”

“And whose fault is that?” He watched her brow rise, and he swore he could hear her breath catch whatever it was she was going to say. He put his fingers up, his perpetually nervous smile diffusing his heat. His voice sometimes wavered under such stress, and it was stressful to look into her big brown eyes. “I didn't come—I didn't stay here to argue.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I didn't wantcha to be alone right now —”

“Why?”

“God, you ask too many questions! —”

“Just the same questions you're askin’ me. ‘Why?’”

“Can you just — please. I got nuthin’ right now. Between the suspension n’ the divorce, I just —” he pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Please.”

She hadn't taken a drag on her cigarette in more than a few moments and had to ash. Her large eyes were heavy-lidded in her search of his face for his intent. “You want me to make you feel good about yourself, is that it?”

“Nothing about this is ever gonna make me feel good about myself, Cairo.”

Don't be too sure about that, she thought as she took a long drag. “What was the question again?”

“You know what it was.”

She sighed. “ ‘Tell me why you wrote it. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me, coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit droppin’ seagulls above.’ ” Satisfied with the subtle shake of his head and his smiling eyes, she crushed the long end into the ashtray. “That's exactly why I wrote it.”

“But…why?”

“That ain't good ‘nuff reason for ya?” She watched as he struggled to comprehend his station…and her. “Well, why not…”

“Because I'm too old for you.”

“I wasn't finished.”

“My apologies.”

“Why not you, is what I been askin’ myself for weeks. Once I was around you, that is. Your captivatin’ lil’ words on the page of your one and only book —”

“You mean those mediocre words?”

“I was mad when I said that, I'm not mad right now at least not yet,” she snapped.

“I'll stop interrupting you.”

Her gaze flickered away in shame, but just for a missed moment. “No, that wasn't right, and I apologize. In case you haven't noticed, sometimes my temper matches my height. I don't mean to slight you as hard as my stature.”

“Yeah, you are a little…a lil’ shrimpy,” he smirked.

“ ‘A little shrimpy’?”

“Just a little,” he teased, holding his fingers up to almost pinch the air. It drew her grin back, and she blushed.

“You really wanna know why?”

“I do.”

She inhaled deeply, as if to answer with a defeated affirmative. He had finished his cigarette, and upon her offering the near-empty pack, he obliged, slipping one out and nabbing the lighter so that he could light hers as well.

“Lookit us. Just like old times.”

“It can't be like old times.”

“It has to be, since it's the answer to your question.” Her curtness indicated a self-righteous sensitivity, but she softened as smoke made its way out of her nose. “I wanted to save myself for someone with whom I had a connection. And I don't connect with boys my age. Never have.”

“You've connected with other, uh, older —”

“Why Mr. Miller, you do sound jealous —”

“I'm not jealous —”

“Good, ‘cuz you shouldn't be. You’d be the first one. Hence…vir…gin…i…ty.”

It was the first time in a while he’d seen that neon smile. It was the first time in a while it came to the door, following her favorite person into the shared fresh air and the sunlight of his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me now, Mr. Miller. I know you felt that connection too. Otherwise you wouldn't be here.”

He looked away. He hadn't sat back in his chair after reaching for the cigarette, instead twisting his body to lean against its solid arm rest as he stared at her while she talked. His gaze swept over the piles of books and papers next to her on the sill, and her laptop’s energy light flashed red, then stopped.

He picked at his fingernails, the cigarette hanging carelessly between his fingers. “Still got your sights on Yale?”

“What's it to you? It’s not like you can write me a recommendation.”

“I could still get my wife to write you one.” He erased at an invisible chalkboard with his finger and pointed. “Soon to be ex -wife.”

“Now that…is a gargantuan feat I'd love to see.” The soft neon glowed in amusement.

“Barbaric,” he chuckled. “But she’ll do it, if I ask nicely.”

“Anything to get the little homewrecker outta sight, outta mind?”

“No, that's — no. But she'll have to, if she wants me to sign the papers.”

Her brows raised. “I'm not sure how I should feel about such coercion, Mr. Miller.”

“No one’s askin’ you to feel anything about it. Just take the rec. It's what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?”

He leaned back in the chair. “Fair ‘nuff. Then what is it that you want?”

He could see that she was chewing on her inner lip before answering.

“I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I still want you.”

His hands lifted up off his thighs, gesturing at himself. “This?”

“That.”

“I'm too old for you.”

“You said that already. But I think that’s up to me to decide.”

“Cairo —”

“Mr. Miller. Jon. May I call you that?” She took the ashtray and emptied it into the little trash basket by her feet. She set her cigarette into one of the grooves to let it burn. “I told you why I wanted you, yet you seem to be fishin’ for more. Do you really need me to elaborate —”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I need a damn good reason for why I'm even here, in your room, in your hou — your mansion, alone with you when just a few hours ago, we were sittin’ in an academic courtroom watchin’ our lives get blown to smithereens!”

“Or maybe you just need some reassurance that what you're doin’ is right.” He balked, but she hit a nerve. One of many she’d been battering for weeks, and her grin of awareness turned neutral. “I can assure you, it's alright. We’re both legal adults, ain't no crime here —”

“Maybe no crime, but ethically —”

“Not every romance is ethically sound, Mr. Miller.”

“Romance. Is that what this is? You – you wrote that it wasn't.”

“I did, but that was your line in the context of fiction and right now that's neither here nor there.” She watched as he stammered through whatever it was he wanted to say, shredding the words with his teeth. “I know how I feel about you.”

“And you think you love me.”

“Don't you feel the same?”

“I — this isn't about how I feel —”

“Then what is it about, Jonathan?”

“Please —”

“Sorry. Mr. Miller…sir.”

“We could've had this talk before —”

“We’re havin’ it now.”

“I shouldn’a done what I did, but you shouldn’a done what you did.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda…three of my least favorite auxiliary verbs,” she blew a small raspberry at them to emphasize her annoyance.

“And why’s that?”

She blinked into deep thought, as she would often do around him during class and office hours. The intensity of his stare always gelled her thoughts to completion.

“Hesitance for the weak,” she nodded. “And the negatives are often rooted in fear and regret.” She quickly plucked the nearly burnt out cigarette up for a drag, but it was already done. She watched its frayed end scatter its burning tobacco bits as she pushed it down against the gray of the previous ash. “E.g.: If I had thought…it’d make you fall out of love with me…I wouldn’a done it —”

“It didn't make me —”

“So you are still in love with me?”

“...I never said that.”

“You never say anything. You write it. But you haven't written anything in…what is it, decades now?” She didn't mean to sound so derisive. She dropped her eyes to her bare feet. “I mean, why can't you just adm —”

“Alright! Alright,” He put out his cigarette and stared, his knuckles at his lips. “If I have felt anything for you —”

“Come on, Jon —”

“This won't work. It can't work.”

“Why not? If two people like you n’ me are in love, why can't we just —”

“Because it's inappropriate. It's always been inappropriate. And that was my error, my mistake. I led you on —”

“Did you? You said no bullshit. Yet here you are…”

“You sayin’ I didn't lead you on?”

He watched as she slid off of the seat and approached his chair without breaking eye contact; or at least, he believed it to be eye contact. However, she stepped over to him with eyes glassed over, not focused on anything but the wholeness of his presence. She leaned her thigh against the armrest as he sat, stricken by her proximity. The last time she was like this, she emasculated him in a manner not unlike Beatrice had several times before; but this time, Cairo's expression was less than furious. Her eyes finally focused on his, which reflected a similar fear and impuissance of which he reflected before; however, once their glances touched, contact dissolved the discomfort into reassurance.

“You led me to where I wanted to be,” she shifted against the armrest and casually lifted her hand to his beard. It hadn't been a day and she missed the feel of it on her fingers. “And now you're here. Where I want you to be.”

His hand covered hers on his cheek. “Cairo —”

She wrested it free, pushing it away as she continued to pet his beard and stare into his eyes with hypnotic determination. “You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be here.”

“I'm just — I was just —”

“Just what? Concerned about me?”

“Yes that's exactly it —”

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you never wanted me the way I want you. No bullshit.” She was leaning into him; her hand had migrated to the nape of his neck, the soothing scrape of her fingernails having done their job. He looked her in the eyes and, when he said nothing, she pushed herself upright. “That's what I thought.”

“What now, then? What do you suppose happens now?”

Her eyes trailed over his head and features, roaming around until they settled on his lips. He felt like a slaughter steer, and she was checking him for quality.

“Sleep with me,” she shrugged.

“You — I mean that's —”

“I didn't say fuck me. I said sleep with me. You remember what sleep is, don't you?”

“I haven't gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”

“Well then. My suggestion must sound pretty damn enticing, doesn't it.”

He insisted on turning around before she got into bed, despite the fact that she was wearing the exact same thing she’d been wearing since he found her. They had agreed to keep their clothes on, and thus Cairo saw no problem in him watching her get into bed; Jon, however, knew better than that.

He was still reeling from the day’s events, but their conversation made it pretty clear that they were on the same page of the dirty fantasy that she’d written for him. Same page, same paragraph, same sentence, same words, same word, same letters, right down to the crossed t and dotted i. But he couldn't risk excitement, or even a hint of desire, especially when it could have been objectively stated that she was scantily clad: her shorts barely passed halfway mark down her thigh, and her shirt hung almost as low as the hem of her shorts while she was standing. She might as well not be wearing anything down below, but that was another idea that sent him mentally scrambling for distraction.

If only he remembered the existence of the vanity mirrors. Or, insisted on sleeping on the right side. But the right side was her side, as she so firmly informed him before dipping out to her bathroom for a minute while he stripped and got himself settled in.

Dumbass. Boris’s voice rang in his head. Dumb. Ass!

Ripping the covers over his head would’ve been far too childish. He lay on his left side while watching her kneel onto the bed behind him, a particularly sly grin on her face.

The grin was only there because she’d caught him staring at her reflection.

He quickly dropped his eyes, but it was too late. She unbuttoned the highest buttoned button on her top, slowly, paused— Was she tonguing her cheek? —and then lifted the covers, wedging under the sheets next to him, about half an arm’s length away.

Neither faced the other, but he still felt the need to pee—even though he already had.

“You know you can face me. I won't bite.”

Her voice had become tinged with diffidence while Jon’s breathing had gotten heavier, but come Hell or high water, Cairo was going to have her heaping Big Spoon somehow. “I just think it’d be warmer if one of us faced the other. And my back is cold.”

At once, Jon rolled around under the covers to face her back, and that's when it really hit him: that sweet, intriguing fragrance from before.

It was her, obviously. But that still didn't answer the question of what its tantalizIng scent profile was, or from what or where it came.

Could be perfume. Or the scent of her laundry detergent. Her hair. He resisted getting close enough to be sure, and instead stared at the dainty flowers of the floral pattern of her pink flannel nightshirt, visible between strands of her hair.

She, on the other hand, dared to scoot just a little closer, jutting her behind towards him as she made herself comfortable. He looked down into the gap between them; her shirt was pulled tight to the front, exposing the small of her back and its concave dip of her spine into the blackness of the crack of her silk shorts. He moved back a little, with ample room for the covers to hang low enough to shield his sinful view, but unfortunately for him, her body wriggled with him, and he sighed.

They were hardly settled for one minute before she turned her chin to speak over her shoulder.

“I never said fuck me, but you can if you want.”

He had closed his eyes in an absurd attempt to think his way out of the room and into sleep. Maybe if he couldn't sleep soon, he could go raid the kitchen for some more Cove. The image behind his eyelids of her head that had been there a minute earlier when he closed them remained almost exactly the same, except now he could see her shiny gold ear cuff on the helix of her little ear, as she had drawn her hair behind it. Everything about her was little, and adorable.

Save for those giant eyes that’re too large to be proportional to the rest of her face and features. Those things were big…and dangerous. And right now, Jon really wanted to read them, since he was pretty good at finessing her sincerity with just a quick skim.

“I'm not going to fuck you.”

“Sure, Jon,” she taunted. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head. It was the same feeling she got whenever she sat in his class. He was watching. Always watching. The way it thrilled her. The way the thrill terrified her, making her hope that someday it would become more than a stare. More than a shared cigarette, or biscuit. More than an argument that ruined their lives.

“I haven't slept much either, you know.”

“Yeah?”

She turned her chin further, then twisted her body around to face him, his hand in the shortened space between them unsure of where to go before it retreated to rest by his belly. The light from her lamp behind him created a halo around the silhouette of his hair until her eyes adjusted; his doleful eyes exuded concern. Pity, even.

And she hated that.

She reached towards his face, and he flinched.

“May I?” she asked, her voice as small as she looked. He nodded, and she reached her fingers along the edge of his jaw, scratching her black fingernails through the hairs along its line. She bent to touch her forehead to his chest, humming in bliss.

His stomach twisted in knots, a terrible contrast to the feel of her fingers on his face and the heat that radiated from her little body. His eyes trailed over the sheet covering her shoulders; her hair splayed over it in loose strands, and he was tempted to run his fingers though it. The temptation translated to something else, and he moved his hips back at a safe distance from her under the guise of adjusting the covers.

“Well, Little Ghost. Looks like you got your way,” he whispered, cupping his hand over hers to cease the scratching.

“Not quite.” She shifted back a little, tilting her head up. “Can I tell you somethin’, Jon?”

She trapped him in her gaze, her brows knitted up in earnest. He exhaled, not conscious that his fingers were tinkering with one of the rings on her fingers, the pad of his index scraped by the prongs of its jewel setting.

“What it is.”

As they lay locked in their stare, her brow crumpled, her expression caving to her emotions. He watched the faint muscles of her face contort, her lips pressed together to hold back what she could, however futile to fight against desperation. She choked out the words as the tears flowed freely, rivulets of regret and adoration.

“I'm sorry,” her voice keened into sobs as she withdrew her hand from his jaw to join it with her other, clutching at his t-shirt. “I'm so, so sorry Mr. Miller, please don't — hate me. Please don’t leave me. Please, I'm sorry, you don't—know—how sorry —”

“Hush now, Cairo,” he held her to his chest, his heart aching with every tremor and hiccup. He smoothed his palm over the back of her hair as she cried it out. “You're okay. You’ll be okay. Everything's gonna be alright.”

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