#i'm going to smile regardless of the unjust in this world; just because

[turquoisemagpie]

Appreciate the little things.

Not to ignorantly deny all of the big bad things in the world, but to survive them.

[citadelofmythoughts]

Something about Midoriya that I think is particularly tragic, yet oft overlooked and understated, is just how much I think the people around him completely fail to understand what he really needs in order to truly be whole and happy, because their entire society's problem isn't really about the Hero/Villain dichotomy (though that most certainly plays a big part).

It's about Quirks, and how much people put so much value on Quirks to the exclusion of everything else.

Midoriya had the misfortune of being stuck in the lowest rung of the ladder, being Quirkless where it might as well have marked him as a leper.

Yet while his ascension into a hero by receiving One For All was ultimately portrayed as a good thing, I think it's also a testament as to how much their society missed the point, how much even well meaning people like All Might, Aizawa, Gran Torino, and everyone who fixates on his new Quirk miss the point about what makes Midoriya so self-destructive. It's not just because he emulates the most self-destructive man on the planet with All Might like Gran Torino says. It's not that he can't control his quirk and needs to get better like Aizawa says.

It's that Midoriya, whether he has power or not, completely devalues himself as a person, and doesn't view himself as worth anything unless he throws himself into danger, to become a sacrifice in exchange for someone else's life. It's that everyone who views him as the vessel of One For All, whether unintentionally or otherwise, fixate so much on his Quirk that he's internalized the idea that he is worth NOTHING without mastering his Quirk.

Everyone's advice fixates on him as the next Symbol of Peace. The Final Vessel of One For All. He's be a great hero once he masters his quirk...

But what about valuing HIM?

What about Midoriya, the kind and sweet young man who wants to help others even if they don't reciprocate in return? What about the intelligent boy who could fill books about his hobbies and heroes, showing a deep understanding of others if he was allowed to develop that beyond just being seen as a supplement to mastering heroism according to a deeply warped society? What about the boy who was deeply broken and hurt by an unjust and unfair world, who deserves so much to be valued as a person regardless if he had a quirk or not?

The world of MHA doesn't care about that though. Their fixation on Quirks means that THAT Midoriya is only secondary. Everyone, even those who care about him, only see him in regards to the hero he wants to be, the hero that fits within their broken society regardless of what he has to hide or be shunted aside for.

And frankly, even his dream of being a hero who saves others with a smile is pretty fucked up, because of how much he'd essentially just be trading one lonely position for another. Instead of an outcast, he'd be held on a pedestal that he, personality-wise, isn't something that I think he'd really enjoy. He'd never really be allowed to be anyone except the hero Deku, the big savior, the greatest hero...

That frankly sounds thoroughly miserable for someone like him, because ultimately what I think he really needed was someone to value and care for him FOR HIM alone. Not as Deku, not as a Vessel for One For All, Not as the Greatest Hero...

Just Izuku Midoriya.

I'm just going to add one thing that came to mind when reading this.

"You're worth more than what you give to other people. You deserve love too." - Mara to Adora

Just like Adora, Midoriya has been given tremendous power but has such a self-sacrificial streak in them that they're willing to destroy themselves for others. Of course, the big difference is that while Adora's struggle is mostly internal. Deku is having to live in a world that encourages that behavior.

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

A/N

This is Death Note meets Black Panther. So if you like the idea of Erik as Light Yagami, you're in the right place.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

My fics have no READ MORE option because I do them all from mobile. :/ so sorry about the forever scrolls. 😫 Good thing is I'm keeping chapters to about 1500 words.

1. BEGINNINGS

Dear Journal,

I've written of much in my lifetime and now I continue this in my afterlife. But, Journal? How can I accurately describe this VAST realm where the ghost of my former self now exists? That is all I am.

I'll start with the sky for it has demanded my attention. The contrast of the deep purple and rich blue against blindingly white flashes of light make the starry sky of this ancestral plane the most majestic to behold, even greater than that of a Wakandan sunrise, and for that I am grateful. Under this realm’s sky which is so undefiled, so splendid, so divine that no mortal can look upon or stand under it without first forfeiting their very lives and human shells.. we souls of the past run free in our transcendent forms.

But are we truly free within this elaborate repetition?

When we are not running, we write. I'm sure you're beginning to understand. As ancestors, our words bind the earth realm to our own. We are accountable for recording the events in the earth as well as names.

“N'Jobu. Are you going to run?” Chika paces below on the ground, his jet black fur shining blue under the dramatic sky. Life in the ancestral plane is akin to a vivid dream that never seems to come to a point or an end. “What are you pondering so intently? Give that journal a rest, you are free, N'Jobu. You are meant to run on.. forever,” he spoke, each word echoing in my ear, a cement block sealing my monotonous fate. Is that all there is? Running?

“..I’ll remain here.”

Another omen. The curse of eternal disappointment. Chika runs, striding through the soft green grass, toward eternity. He won’t be back for a millennium and it will still be too soon in the scale of forever.

As I perch atop my branch inscribing these entries, I watch the living trapped in the sinking wheel which is humanity.

I see Wakanda entering a new era. I see impending war waged by the unjust. My claw moves on it's own, inking the names of the innocent and the young. They come everyday before their time. I cannot hold back my��is it sympathy? No, sympathy is invalidation. I’ve been removed from mortality for entirely too long to care. The thing I feel–is intrigue.

-N'Jobu

Sinking wheel aside, the human world has its interesting moments. The human mind is an interesting machine. Humans with the capacity to choose their destiny on a small scale will often cling to life for the sole purpose of defiling it. Tooth and nail, they fight to defy and delay the inevitable, still meeting the same fate they struggled against. Humans pursue the end of a certain evil only to be overcome by the specific evil they’ve created.

Humans as a whole? Predictably ordinary and violent. However, the most interesting things pertain to the actions of individuals. Individuals are the wild cards.

That's what I'd like to explore.

---------------------------------------------

Erik slid his phone from his pocket, sliding it in his line of vision as he walked briskly down the city sidewalk toward the block where his office building stood tall. Yahoo news had a few ridiculous articles, pointless in the nature. He considered putting in his earbuds to listen to his playlist until he reached his building. Or maybe he'd pick a research to dive into absorbing it for no other purpose than regurgitating it to the easily impressed. His business partner would be impressed for sure. Decisions, decisions. Clicking quickly through the internet, he stumbled on a title.

17-year-old Isaiah Mark Lewis was unarmed when he was shot after fighting with two officers who first used a stun gun on him.

Disgusting. Another senseless death at the hands of the morally corrupt, the third he'd heard of in two weeks. He hit the back button searching for something different, something lighter.

Marzeus Scott, an unarmed 35-year-old killed by police in Blytheville, Arkansas.

He exited his browser, pocketing his phone and looking ahead to the silver sky and concrete jungle which enveloped him. Black man with a bald fade and suit up ahead, 2:00. Black woman with a long skirt and blazer behind him, 6:00. He couldn't help but see clear targets on their backs as well as his own. It was an unspoken phenomenon, this fear of blackness that became the black soul's burden to carry. Like ants, black people were expected to work pointless 9-5's for CEOs that cared more for dogs and money than human life. Everyday there was the dark aura of the capitalistic, racist shoe hovering above, playing god.

His calf-skin Armani loafers hit the ground at a steady pace and the Harlequin Jacquard wool blazer he wore moved with him like a thick second skin. A police car rolled along with the traffic to his left as he kept his eyes forward.

2:00. Black man sitting on the ground. Elderly. Homeless. It was only a matter of time before he'd be chased away by some pompous authority. Erik took out a few bills folding them into his palm to quickly pass to the old man.

"I can't take this," he rasped. "I can't-- I-- Thank you so much. Thank you." He grabbed Erik's hand which held the $300 and shook it, not letting go. "Thank you so much," he repeated before Erik pulled his hand back.

Great. Now he had to wait at the crosswalk because he'd missed the break in traffic.

He checked his watch impatiently, a rose gold Patek Philippe Nautilus gifted to him by his team at 2K Security, Inc. Having fattened their pockets over the years, he was their hero. And now he was on his way back to his office for a virtual meeting with Samsung.

"Good morning, Mr. Stevens," Gloria, the receptionist perked on his arrival to the ground floor lobby. Nodding in greeting, he could feel her eyes scrolling over him but like every time before, he ignored this--stepping into one of the four large elevators which took him up smoothly to the very top where his spacious office resided.

Large floor to ceiling windows lit the white painted room naturally and his computer awaited, ON but sleep. He could practically see the seconds ticking quickly by, but luckily he was just in time for the meeting with Sandeep.

"Password and login, okay.. 2kMeetings.com. Input access code," he mumbled punching keys all to see the brown skin man with a pompadour of thick straight jet black hair staring back at him. He started the recording.

"Can I say this the best web conferencing software I've used thus far? And I've used a lot," Sandeep commented seemingly impressed. Erik wasn't surprised having been named in Forbes, but he smiled nonetheless giving humble thanks. This software was his own creation. The company overall was his baby. He nurtured it like one would nurture an actual child.

The meeting began and as it progressed, Erik had new projects to undergo, features that Samsung wanted to incorporate into their products and even into their own security and data systems. They began to talk user privacy, security VPNs, and MDMs. Soon after, it was time to disconnect and implement some of the changes discussed.

Hours later, Erik had not ceased in his work. He would not stop until he absolutely had to, it was a thing about him. When it came to his baby he was totally engrossed.

"Baby," Erik spoke into the phone catching it on the second ring when he saw the name Mika flash on the screen with a picture she'd taken and set as the icon herself. "Oh, uh--Dinner? I don't know, I've got a lotta shit to do today." He started typing a code and nearly forgot to continue his call. "Uh--Mika," he paused to type another line. "I may be late tonight."

Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Something had fallen through the sky.

"Hm? Oh. What happened?--Nah, I ain't hear about that story, but I just read about two more today. They're just out here killing niggas left and right." He stood looking through one of the tall clean windows to see what had dropped from the sky. No one on the ground seemed to notice. Was he buggin? "Hm? They what? His hands were up and they shot him? With cameras recording?" He listened to his girl's angry report. She was right, they'd probably get off regardless of the evidence. She would know, she was a cop. Well, a detective.

He headed back to the elevator, cellphone in hand while his girl gave him the entire story, venting her frustration simultaneously. When he stepped onto the sidewalk outside of the building, there was no disturbance. No one seemed to be glued to the area for any particular reason. He looked in every direction including up finding a black leather bound journal on the concrete with its spine in the air. If he hadn't seen it fall from the sky, he'd have assumed some random passerby dropped it and he'd have ignored it. Picking it up, he shook and dusted it, turning it this way and that. "No. No protest." Mika was bent on being front line, but it was dangerous. She could get hurt. "You're not going," he asserted. "I understand, but I want you to be safe, okay? Hm?--Aight. I'll see you tonight. Love you," he said hanging up and pocketing the phone, both hands now gripping the worn journal. Whose was it?

The deafening whir of a siren broke through the city noise before a police car appeared from around the corner up ahead. The stories of the three recently murdered men swirled in Erik's head. With the police's extreme prejudices, the results were never favorable for those who looked like him regardless of what they wore, did, or their level of innocence and involvement. He could only imagine the violence that would come from the driver when he made it to his location. Would there be another bad report?

There he was again--anticipating the drop of the sadistic shoe overhead. An ant's mentality. As an ant, this world he was chained to was nothing but disappointment.

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