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Chapter Text

The last thing Izuku “Deku” Midoriya remembers before blacking out was sitting in the common room with his friends, Mr Aizawa, the Big Three, Kota, Eri and the Wild, Wild Pussy Cats.
They were watching the Hero Billboard Chart together.
They were having fun.
Then he fell.

“Izuku, sweetie?”
A small, rounded woman with mid-length green hair and large, gentle emerald-like eyes shuffled into a small, stuffy hospital room that the doctors and medical staff had covered from top to bottom in all kinds of wires and important-looking medical equipment.

Her cardigan was akin to the colour of a peaceful, summers evening’s sky. Like the hue of a fresh, blossoming Carnation. Comparable to all of the soft, sweet love that she held inside her heart.

This cardigan had been knitted by her sweetie, Izuku, before he’d been hit by a bus when he had been making his mandatory journey home from school a few months prior.

“Honey, I know that you can’t hear me, but I’m back again.” Her voice was filled with pain. The bags under her eyes and her sad, simple smile carried gallons of tears and tonnes of despair. “I brought you some of your favourite comic books.”

Inko Midoriya was doing all she could do try and get her son to wake up. A week from now, the doctors would pull a plug on his life support.

The physicians had said that someone in a hopeless vegetative state such as his was a lost cause and that the odds of him waking up again were a “million to one”.

Inko didn’t want to lose him.

Izuku was all that she had.

For the past two weeks, she had been trying everything in her power to try and get him to wake up.

She had been bringing him his favourite food, singing him his favourite lullaby from when he was younger, bringing all of his sketch pads and art supplies over to the hospital ward and reading aloud all about his superhero characters that he had been making up in his spare time.

Hell, she even contacted his biological dad and tried to get him to come visit Izuku!

But nothing worked.

Tears started to well in her eyes as she took a seat on the end of his bed.

She reached out to grab hold of her precious son’s hand.

The second her hand touched his, Izuku sleepily mumbled, “What did I do this time?”

“MY BABY!” Inko screeched, flinging the assorted comics onto the ground.

Inko rapidly scooted up the bed and flung her arms around her son’s head, tears of happiness streaming down her chubby cheeks.

Chapter Text

It took a while for Inko to calm down, and for the nurses and doctors to run a few tests

It was early the next morning. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, casting its blessed rays onto the people who had dared to venture out so early.

“Are my classmates alright?” Izuku enquired.

“Apart from being worried sick about you, they're perfectly fine. Those poor sweethearts have been sending you “Get Well” cards and they’ve been phoning the house to see if there were any updates on your health.” Inko rested her right elbow on her knee and plopped her sweet, chubby face into her palm. “Although they only knew you for a couple of days, they seemed to readily accept you as a friend so quickly.”

She then got up and lumbered slowly over to the window at the back of the room.

Just as she began to draw the curtains, to let sunshine so gorgeous that it could have been God’s own face enter the dreary little room, Izuku started to speak again.

“O-oh. I assumed that I was in such a bad state was because of a villain attack.”

Inko glanced back at her son who was shackled on the right side of this medical prison. She momentarily looked at him in confusion, not understanding what he was quite getting at. She then quickly changed her expression, not wanting to offend him, and went back to staring out at the scenery that lay beyond the hospital grounds.

At the current moment in time, nothing seemed to make sense to Izuku.

One moment, he was watching the Hero Billboard Charts with one of the coolest pro-hero teams he had ever met and all of his insanely caring and awesome friends and acquaintances. The next minute he was lying in a hospital room, surrounded by tubes and wiring, and being told that if he had woken up any later they would’ve taken him off of life support.

And Izuku was positively certain that he had known his classmates for months. Not just a few mere days.

It didn’t add up.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Midoriya. Your mother has fortunately informed us about the news of your coming to a conscious state. As the President of Class 1-A, although we are not well acquainted yet, I have decided to stop by and help you catch up on the multitudes of homework and mountains of classwork that you have unfortunately missed.”

A rather tall, muscular looking boy with black hair and square glasses announced this as he calmly opened the door to the hospital room.

The more Izuku observed this rather commanding boy that was currently getting comfy on the stool beside his bed, the more he seemed to notice that it wasn’t only his thick-rimmed glasses that were square.

The boy himself seemed.... square.

This had to have been Iida.

“So, I would like to start off with English, as even though I only observed your academic prowess in two lessons, I could clearly tell that you are very clearly nearly fluent. Which I have to admit, am rather envious of.”

“Iida, could you slow down a little? It’s only been about six days since I’ve woken up and I’m still so, so confused.” Izuku propped himself upwards on the heap of pillows that lay behind him.

“Ah, yes, of course! I cannot believe that I didn’t even take into account your current mental state! Ah, how horribly careless I am! I have really slipped in my duties as a Class President!”
Iida stood up abruptly, which slightly shocked Izuku and prompted the shabby, wooden stool to topple. Iida bent down into a deep, apologetic bow and muttered something about him “being careless for disrespecting the ill and infirm”.

Iida straightened up his body once more, and as he was picking up the stool, Izuku asked, “What’s life in the real world like?”

Iida paused, stool in hand, not quite sure what to make of his classmate’s enquiry.

The taller, squarer boy set the stool down and gingerly plopped down upon it once more.

“Well, I have to say life is go-”
“Not how life is going. What life is. What reality is like. What living in this world is like.” Izuku interrupted his classmate, clarifying the connotations of his question.

“All I know is what happened in the dream. The only reality I know is the one my mind fabricated. I seem to remember my classmates, teachers and my mother, as you were all in my dream, but otherwise, I know nothing.”

For the first time in his life, Iida had no idea how to reply.

As Class President and a highly intellectual boy, he had always had an answer. Sometimes not a complete answer, but sometimes the ungraspable, intangible edges of answer hidden in that great mind of his.

In some way or another, Iida had always known the answers.

Now he didn’t.

Seconds slowly ticked by on the white-faced clock that hung above the heavy door.

Those seconds soon transformed into minutes, and a few minutes into ten.

“Well, w-what was this dream world like?” Iida finally managed to stutter out.

“Well, about 80% of the world’s population had superpowers called quirks. I was one of the 20% of the quirkless people in this world, until the number one hero in all of the world, All Might, passed his power to me, like how the Olympic torch is passed on when the games are held. UA was a school for training children to be pro heroes, and it turned out that getting aroundbecomingaperoherowasfarmoredifficultthanievercouldhaveperceivedimeanitwasjustadreambutithadsuchcomplicatedloreandbackstoriesin-”

“Hey, hey, slow down Midoriya.” Iida swatted Izuku on the arm, causing Izuku to blush and quickly cover his mouth with his hand.

“That sounds rather interesting, though. Maybe you could make some sort of a novel or comic book out of it!”

Iida generally wasn’t one to be highly excitable, but he could tell that by the look on Izuku’s face that this was something that he was bursting at the seams to share, so he showed as much interest as possible.

“Oh! Thank you for saying, Iida.”
Izuku awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. People showing enthusiasm about his personal interests wasn’t particularly normal to him.

A short silence once again commenced, before Iida suddenly piped up.

“I cannot believe that I was so careless to forget our Calculus classwork!” He gasped, slapping his forehead in frustration.

At that moment, Izuku could almost see smoke pouring out of Iida’s ears.

“Hey, Iida, d’you think we could maybe leave the school work aside until I'm Out of hospital? I’d much rather chat with you and get to know you better.” Izuku mumbled, hoping that this rather “profound” statement wouldn’t anger the steadfast schoolchild.

Iida exhaled heavily, contemplating what he was going to say next. What was it about this boy that always had him lost for words?

“Although I don’t feel particularly up to sharing personal things about myself at the moment, how about we discuss something that you like?”

Iida’s eyes danced around the hospital ward, desperate to find a source of conversation.

His eyes quickly caught a stack of American comic books that were rather poorly concealed under his bed.

“What about comic books? You seem to have quite the collection in this room alone.”

Izuku’s eyes widened at the mention of comic books.

Iida almost felt like smiling himself when he saw how Izuku’s face lit up.

His big, viridescent eyes widened and his dark pupils expanded rapidly. His cheeks flushed bright red and his sweet little mouth broke out into a positively enormous grin. His freckles frolicked across his cheeks like the stars that were beginning to accumulate in the evening sky outside.

And his abnormally green hair seemed to begin to stand on end.

They managed to have quite a lengthy and friendly conversation about comic books.

Izuku even managed to get Iida to come out of his shell and share some things about himself.

Unfortunately, just as they were reaching the heat of their chat, which they had both gotten rather invested in, a rather short nurse popped his head around the door.

“I’m sorry, but visiting hours have just come to an end. Please say your goodbyes.”

As the nurse shuffled off up the corridor, Iida gathered up all the papers he had brought and Izuku thanked him for using his free time to come and visit him.

On a school night, no less.

They waved good-bye to one another, and Izuku turned over to go to sleep and Iida headed toward the exit.

As he was walking to the train station, thoughts began to churn within the complex configuration of cogs within Iida’s head.

‘That boy, despite not knowing him for long, has always struck me as strange.’

‘I mean, even his appearance… Bright green hair. I assumed it had been dyed, but after seeing his mother I don’t think that that is the case. And not to mention his peculiarly enormous eyes…’

Iida halted.

‘No, it couldn’t possibly… Could it?’

Chapter Text

By the time Izuku had been cleared to go home, it was late May, almost three weeks after he had woken up.

He was due to return to school in about a weeks’ time.

He had had the chance to meet a majority of his classmates, as they had tried their best to stop by and chat with him. Those who didn’t go had sent gifts along with the pupils that had visited.

Meeting his classmates and seeing some of them (particularly ones that had had a mutant quirk) was shocking in itself, though the classmate Izuku was most startled upon meeting was by far Aoyama.

Izuku, judging by the fact that his other classmates were highly similar to what they had been like in the dream (apart from some of their physical appearances) was certain that Aoyama, in reality, would be French (or at least pretend to be).

It rather amused him when Aoyama had addressed him in a very thick German accent.


Right now, as Izuku was being wheeled down a road not too far from the hospital, he wished that he could be as carefree as the clouds floating up above him.

Float like the fleecy lumps of dream that drifted by in the cerulean city, not having a care in the world.

Izuku was filled with anxiety and dread and even more questions than he had woken up with.

To top it off, he had lost almost all feeling from his calves downwards, meaning that for the moment, he had to use a wheelchair.

The wheelchair itself wasn’t a hindrance. In fact, Izuku couldn’t care less.

He just disliked how people looked down upon him for it.

He used to be greeted as someone of his age, as someone in their late teens.

He used to be greeted with some amount of respect.

Now, bar from a handful medical staff, his classmates and family, practically everybody he met treated him as if he was only five years of age.

Saying that it angered him was almost an insult; it vexed him to the innermost part of his entire being.


“I-izuku sweetie? Are you okay? Are you hungry? Do you want to nip in to a cafe?”

Inko had noticed the foul expression that had danced its way across her son’s face, which had been caused by simply thinking of some of the rather ableist remarks that had been directed at him in the past few weeks.

The violent thunderstorm instantly left his face at the sound of his poor mother’s concerned tone.

“Oh, yeah, sure mummy! I could go for some tea.”

Chapter Text

Izuku and Inko, rather fortunately, spotted a petit cafe on the opposite side of the road not long after bringing the topic of tea and traybakes up.


Upon entering the cosy establishment, a wave of serenity and tranquillity washed over Izuku.

A majority of the decor was a bunch of assorted objects that had been upcycled, like the jars that had been used as lampshades, t-shirts that had been sewn together to make rather lovely, odd-patterned curtains and tin cans that were being used as flowerpots.

The walls and floor were made out of absolutely gorgeous blue-stained oak wood planks and the tables were rather sizeable spools that Izuku presumed had once held coils upon coils of wiring or rubber tubing.

Inko wheeled Izuku over to a table in a corner near to the door, while she trudged over to the till to order.

Izuku rapped his knuckles on the table with boredom.

Why on earth was his mother taking so long to order?

He started gently rocking back and forward in his wheelchair and whistling.

Good thing the only other person in this cafe was an old man that sat reading a newspaper at the table diagonal to his.

Upon taking a glance at his newspaper, Izuku was positively sure that it had been issued almost half a decade ago.

He turned back to his own table and looked up out of the window.

‘Am I… imagining this?’

Izuku strained his eyes as much as he could.

He was in complete and utter disbelief at what he was seeing.

He rubbed his eyes, just to make sure that what he was seeing wasn’t just an illusion, just a mere, cruel trick of the light.

Surely he couldn’t be witnessing All Might walking down towards the cafe?!


In an instant, Izuku had started to wheel himself out of the cafe and was gone in milliseconds.

“I-izuku? Izuku sweetie? WHERE ON EARTH ARE YOU GOING?! IZU-IZUKU?!”

His mother began to panic, dropping her purse, coinage spilling all over the oak wood floor as she turned to run after her son.


When Izuku was only a few feet away from All Might, he realised what he had just done was immensely stupid.

A feeling of total dread and anxiety, a concoction of nausea, swelled in his stomach and his oesophagus began to tighten as if someone were wringing his neck.

The man who looked identical to All Might’s true form started to walk toward Izuku, limping as he did so.

As Izuku began to back up out of pure uneasiness, the man managed to utter, “Damn, kid. You really missed your old Gramps, huh?”

This sentence was followed by an ineffable coughing fit, causing the skeleton-like man to almost snap into two twigs.

“Geez, you’ve got quite the hang of using that old contraption already. I still can’t even get used to using my walking frame. Reason why I don't use it much, even though I really should.”

“O-oh, uh, yeah. It’s not too hard.” Izuku stuttered. “A-uh, too bad about your walking frame though.”

He threw in an additional sentence of sympathy towards his... Grandfather? Whoever this old man was to him, Izuku was just plain terrified of coming off as vain and self-absorbed.

“Izuk-Izuku. Darli- huff, huff.”

Inko was panting like a dog by the time she had reached the pair.

She grabbed onto the handles on Izuku’s wheelchair as a way to steady herself.

“Inko, I apologise for not visiting the boy sooner.”

She looked up and into the brilliantly vibrant blue, sunken-in eyes of the old-timer.

“I- wheeze- apolog-apologise for not telling you soo- huff- sooner, Yagi.”

“It’s fine. I know how it is between your side of the family and Hisashi’s.”

“Thank- WHEEZE.”

Inko seemed to be having an immensely great struggle trying to breathe.

Yagi rushed to Inko’s side and started roughly patting her lower back.

This didn’t seem to help in any shape or form.

“I left my inhaler a-at ho-” Inko was trying desperately to take in large gasps of air, but a majority of her attempts were in vain.

“Young man, call 119.”

“Isn’t the hosp-”

“It doesn’t matter how close the hospital may be! She may not reach the hospital if we walk it!”

Izuku started to fumble with his phone, trying to call emergency services as quickly as possible, but as his hands were still shaking from his nerve-wracking encounter with real All Might, AKA his grandfather, it was a rather difficult process for him to complete.

“Come on, kiddo! Quickly!” Yagi urged Izuku on, while still trying his best to help Inko’s respiratory system continue functioning.


Izuku was only a few minutes after getting out of hospital and now his mother was in it.

Grampa Yagi was set to be Izuku’s caretaker until his mother returned. (Thankfully, things were looking rather bright for Inko- just a bad asthma attack.)

Just as things were starting to look up- everything seemed to crumble back down.

Chapter Text

Izuku’s apartment wasn’t too different.

Sure, all of his posters and memorabilia of All Might was replaced with Marvel merchandise and some assorted anime posters, but everything else was still the same.

Thankfully, Grampa Yagi wasn’t too different to the dream version of him.

His looks were near identical to the No. 1 Hero, and his demeanour fit uniformly into Izuku’s mental portrayal of him.

Instead of blood spurting out of his mouth every time he attempted to talk, however, he bent over and a great upsurge of coughing rocked his entire twig-like figure.

This made Izuku fear that he may end up hospitalised, like his mother, but thankfully Grampa never seemed to forget his inhaler.


“So, uh, kid, sorry to ask, but I’m rather curious.” Grampa Yagi shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had spent the past three days as Izuku’s caretaker and was currently sharing dinner with him. He had estimated that Inko should arrive back home shortly after dinner had been cleared up.

Izuku gave him an enquiring look, which resulted in Yagi gritting his teeth together, trying to cough up the courage that was hidden in the golden lion’s mane of his that adorned his thin, emancipated face.

“What was your dream like?”

Izuku had briefly mentioned his dream to his grandfather, but hadn’t further mentioned it as, even though it had been almost a month, he was still tossing and turning for hours at night just… reeling it all in. It all seemed unjustifiably unfair to Izuku.

Why did he have to be the one to be hit by a bus?

Why did he have to have such a realistically amazing dream?

Sometimes, Izuku wished that he had just stayed asleep.

“Sorry for asking, kiddo.”

Grampa Yagi had noticed the sullen expression that had begun to billow across his chubby face.

“Oh, no, Grampa, it’s fine. Just a little bit, ah uh, confused. Like, that whole dream was my reality. That bus gave me real bad amnesia.” Izuku forced a light chuckle to try and ease the tension that had been present at the table for the duration of their meal.

“Yeah, retrograde amnesia is one doozy of a mindfu-”

Yagi managed to catch himself before swearing in front of his doe-eyed, seemingly innocent grandson.

Izuku just nodded in agreement, not too sure about what ‘retrograde’ meant.

‘Retrograde amnesia… retro… must mean amnesia that makes it so that you can’t remember anything before an accident. But what other types of amnesia could there be?’

Izuku quickly put a stop to this trail of thoughts. He didn’t want to bamboozle himself further.

“Oh, ah, yes. My dream. What was it like?”

Izuku plopped his arms on the table and rested his cheeks in his hands.

Surely it couldn’t be this hard to remember something that he couldn’t stop thinking about for weeks on end!

He started patting his cheeks, causing them to jiggle like jelly.

“You were in my dream, Grampa Yagi. You were the number one hero in all of the world! And we weren’t related. Which is abitofasadthingseeingashowcoolyouwereinthedream.I-Imnotsayingyournotcoolinre-”

“Dang, you really are the Prince of Nonsense, aren’t’cha?!” Yagi interrupted Izuku’s muttering, sighing deeply.

“Well, kid, at least you never lost your ol’ habit of muttering.” Yagi stood up, reached over the table to ruffle Izuku’s cotton-like hair that bore an unusual resemblance to a large tuft of grass.

As Yagi was washing his plate in the sink, he quietly mumbled, “You wouldn’t just quite be Izuku without your strange green hair and your mutterin'.”


“Night, mom, night grampa.” Izuku yawned as he wheeled himself into his bedroom.

It was around ten o’clock now. His mom had been home for roughly four hours now, and they had had a small celebration by watching a movie and gorged on mini party foods that had been stashed away in the pantry for special events.

“Do you need me to help you get into bed, sweetie?” Inko called, hauling herself up off of the sofa.

Although Izuku had gotten used to wheeling himself around, it was still rather difficult for him to get in and out of bed and into cars.

Just as Inko had entered Izuku’s room, the ten o'clock news came on.


“Back to you in the studio, Matsushita.” A petite, brown-haired woman signed off, giving the focus of the NewsChannel to news anchor Reo Matsushita.

“Thank you for the weather, Ishinomori. Now, we have just received intel of an old lady being rescued from what would’ve been a devastating fall at Shizuoka Station in Aoi Ward.”

A video that had been shot using someone’s cell phone that had captured a rather infuriating scene.

An elderly woman had been shoved off of the platform by a group of young delinquents, that appeared to be in their early twenties.

The video paused, giving Matsushita a chance to speak.

“The next part of this video is honestly quite mind-blowing. Most people stimulate that it’s merely edited, although the people that had witnessed it claims that it was not. Decide for yourselves, viewers at home.”

It then zoomed in on a short, squat woman who seemed to have green-black hair. It was hard to tell what colour exactly, as her appearance was rather blurred, despite not being behind any strangers and she wasn’t too far away from the camera.

This woman made a sudden yanking movement with her hands as if she were tugging on a rope, and in an instant, the older civilian had been hauled back onto the platform with no visible injuries.

As soon as people starting rushing over to check on the lady, the peculiar blurred woman was swallowed by the crowd.

“This video goes on for another seven minutes, which is mostly made up of the cameraman trying to find this strange hero, but to no avail.”

Chapter Text

The wind was screeching, disapproving of the world that it watched over. It stripped the bark off of trees, it picked up and threw stones at such velocity that it shattered car windows. Anyone who was unfortunate enough to be outside so early in the morning (3 a.m, to be precise) would have felt as if their skin was being peeled off by the gnarled claws of a demon.

A group of around 20 people, whose ages ranged from around late teens to late seventies, were gathered in the ground floor of a rather small office block.

The office block stood only two (two and a half including the roof space) stories tall. The outside wasn’t anything impressive- just an eggshell white building with revolving doors and a procession of windows that stretched around the entire perimeter of the building.

Inside, there lay the standard rows upon rows of computer blocks, which were accompanied by a reception desk.

The first floor contained a surplus of computers even greater than the floor below it, even though barely 40 people worked within the establishment.


“Mrs Midoriya, please calm down. We’re not mad, just disappointed.”

Yawara Chatora and his comrades, along with Inko and a few others who were also… gifted, were gathered around the reception desk on the ground floor.

“I-m sorry. I sl-lipped u-uhp. Sh-shsh-” Inko broke down into tears. She clutched her cardigan that had been hand-knitted by her precious son. Despite being knitted almost a year ago, it still hadn’t lost any of the sweet, gentle love that had been knitted into it.

Inko fell to her knees and wept. Her tears washed down her face like sorrowed, salty billows of guilt and regret. Even the soothing words of Shino Sosaki and Tensei Iida’s comforting hugs didn’t cleanse her from her anguish.

“Listen, Chatora, you’re being a little harsh on her. She just did what she had to. If she hadn't of acted, the old lady wou-”

“The old woman would’ve died, Shiretoko, I know. But this video puts all 50 or so of us at stake. If the Sheath Brotherhood find out any intel on us, it’s game over for us entirely.”

As Chatora said this, the entire dimly-lit room fell into an awkward silence, the only sound being Inko’s bitter sobs.

A few more minutes passed before Sosaki quietly said, “Do you want me to call Hisashi?”

This didn’t stop Inko from blubbering. In fact, it seemed as if she didn’t hear what Sosaki had said to her.

“What is this, charades, Mr Toshinori?”

Shinji Nishiya was not in the mood to try and guess what Yagi was trying to say.

He was flailing his arms around, making gestures that made him look like some form of a demented bird.

“What?” Shiretoko said, not getting what Yagi was trying to express.

Nobody else seemed to be able to understand his chicken flaps either.

After a few hopeless moments of swinging his arms about, he sighed in frustration and picked up a piece of paper and Sharpie that lay on the desk where he was sitting.

The mood in the room changed from alarm and perturbation to a mix of sympathy and discomfort as Yagi held up a piece of paper that had ‘DIVORCE’ scrawled across it.

“Well, it looks like our first meet-up after two years is going fantastically.”

A girl around Izuku’s age, who had short Persian indigo hair that had been cut into a choppy bob and two earphone jacks sprouting out of her earlobes, hopped up on a desk. She was ready to perform a reprise of her rather forward remarks that she had made during their last reunion.

“Hey, hey Jirou. Drop the ‘tude, okay? Us adults are dealing with important matters.”

Nishiya was taking none of Jirou’s sassy nonsense right now.

“It would’ve been nice if Midoriya was here.” Jirou’s attitude seemed to deflate as she started to think of the only other person her age that would attend these meetings. “I guess he’s catching some shuteye right now, huh? It must be hard to train in a wheelchair.”

“I hav-haven’t told him y-yhet,” Inko managed to squeak out in between tears. “He’s so confused and can’t r-re-remember any-thihihing. I do-dhon-”

“Inko, for child’s own safety, it’s probably sensible to tell him.” Iida once again embraced Inko in his arms, letting her tears soak his jacket.

“In all honesty, Iida, I can’t bring myself to tell him either.”

They all turned to look at Yagi. He had once held Japan’s titles for both top weightlifter and top boxer for the longest anyone previously had. He had been the defender of their people.

And yet here he was, expressing that he couldn’t bear to tell his grandson that Izuku was one of them.

A silence once again penetrated the atmosphere.

A few yawns broke the silence, which prompted Chatora to call the meeting to a close.

“We’ll return here next Saturday morning. Our two-year break is officially over. We are now back in business, and I expect you all to behave appropriately.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Izu-buddy. Time to get up, sweetheart.”

Izuku opened his eyes, and before him stood his mother in her cream-coloured nightgown.
“Are you feeling ready to go back to school tomorrow?”

Inko made small-talk as she helped Izuku into his wheelchair.

“Yeah, mom. Oh, yeah, I forgot to ask you, but when Iida last visited, y’know, the day before I got out of hospital, that he and a few other guys out of my class would like to come over today. To just, like, uh, chat and maybe go over the classwork that I’ve missed.”

They continued their conversation as they entered the kitchen, side-by-side.

“Hm? I thought you had that covered already.”

“Oh, yeah, I have. Just incase I had missed something or whatever.”


“Heeeellll yeah, nutshot!”

“Ow, dude! That is so unmanly and immature! Stop it!”


A loud, collective sigh escaped the mouths of the group of boys that were gathered at the Bakugo residence.

Once again, Kaminari, Kirishima and Bakugo were squabbling.

“Please, I implore you to stop this behaviour at once or I will not hesitate to cut you from the group of those who wish to visit Midoriya!”

Iida very quickly began his general procedure of ordering everyone around.

“Please, do as Romans 14:19 says: Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification.”

A rather pale boy dressed from head to toe in stark black apparel clasped a hand around the silver Cross that hung from his neck. His hair was almost as dark as his outfit; it was slicked back and the tips were rather spiky as if they were pointing upwards toward his Heavenly Father. His eyes were as red as the blood that was shed on the cross; his entire being seemed to be Holy.

“Yeah, yeah we get it, Churchboy.”

Bakugou wasn’t in the mood to hear any of Tokoyami’s religious spouting at the minute.
“Even though I myself am not religious, I agree with what Tokoyami says. I think that we all just need to take a deep breath and uh, calm down a li-little biiit?”

Ojiro’s voice grew increasingly squeakier and terrified as Bakugo flashed him a death glare.



Now it was Bakugo’s mother’s, Mitsuki, turn to yell.

“I honestly think we should just leave before anything worse happens. Hopefully, there’ll be a calmer aura over at the Midoriya residence.”

Sero, using his calm yet confident inclination, managed to swiftly and effectively win the other guys over, and they began to gather up any belongings they had brought with them.


“Oh, hello boys, it’s a pleasure to ha-have you here.”

Inko had tried her best to welcome the group of young men as they took their seats in her living room, but she couldn’t help but be intimidated; they were all so tall and their speech was so vulgar and deafening and they all seemed so to be so… boisterous. She generally wouldn't have particularly minded this, but after so much happening to her and her family in such a short space of time, her nerves and confidence were entirely shattered.

“Izuku’s just out for a short walk with his grampa; he should be home soon.”

Inko said as she took to anxiously re-washing the already clean dishes. As long as it looked like she was busy, she hoped that they would leave her isolated. Alone with only her thoughts to accompany her. That was Inko's idea of the perfect situation.

“Mrs Midoriya, I assume that Midoriya has caught up on all of his classwork?”

Iida began to talk to Inko; her worst nightmare.

“O-oh, yes he has, pet. What are you guys do-doing in school n-now?”

They began to talk over one another, listing everything that they were doing in each subject and more.

The clamour grew greater and greater, until it began to closely resemble a whale's mating call.

“HEEEYYY. EX-CUUUSE ME. I want to say something to Mrs Midoriya.”

Kaminari’s electric-blonde head bobbed into sight as he tried to use Todoroki as some form of a platform to try and make himself more noticeable.

“We all want to be heard, Kaminari.” Todoroki rolled his eyes and went back to checking his phone.

“Mrs Midoriya, in History class, as it’s near the end of term and we’ve already cleared up all of our necessary modules for the end of term exams, our History teacher is letting us research, come up with and explain different conspiracy theories. The best ones, though, are the ones he tells us about.”

At the mention of conspiracy theories, Tokoyami instinctively clutched his cross and said a silent prayer.

“Oh, that sounds pretty interesting. Who’s your History teacher?”

“His name is Mister Aizawa. He also happens to be our Homeroom teacher, and I can confidently say that although he can be seemingly cruel, he does that for our own good and he is a man of high calibre.”

Iida entered into teachers’ pet mode and began spewing about how high the pedestal was that he put Mr Aizawa on.

“Oh, he sounds like a, a-uh, a good man.”

Inko turned back to wash the dishes just as Izuku and Yagi came back home.



Just as Kaminari began to loudly declare his excitement at seeing Izuku again, Todoroki clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Shut up.”

Chapter Text

Their visit to the Midoriya household concluded with them accompanying Grampa Yagi and Izuku on a walk through an evergreen forest that lay directly beside the apartment complex that Izuku lived in.

“Daaaammn, it’s nice to get some fresh air, huh?”

Kaminari stretched out his tan arms a little wider than he should, hitting Todoroki in the face. Whether this was done intentionally as a form of vengeance or not, we’ll never know.

“I agree with ya, kiddo. Nothing beats have a stroll in the early evening. Really relaxes yer mind and yer muscles.”

Yagi momentarily looked upwards at the sky. It was no longer resembled the Kingdom of Zeus that it would at midday; now, it was a stunning menagerie of colours that belonged to Iris. The clouds danced as daintily as a prima ballerina through Heaven’s gardens, causing people to stop and stare in awe at them.

“Rather beautiful.”

Shoji still wore the blue mask that Izuku had envisioned him in; he was a rather quiet and mysterious man, keeping himself to himself and whatever he said was short, sweet and to the point.

Kouda eagerly nodded in agreement. Kouda, like Shoji, was a very quiet man, but in a different way.

Kouda’s quietness was more attributed to shyness rather than a deliberate performance of keeping himself shut off from others. His quietness was sweet and gentle, much like his looks.

Despite being such a large boy, his face was soft and gentle. His stiff, strawberry blonde hair stuck up at odd angles, giving him the impression of having a rock-like formation growing out of his head. His eyes were as golden as honey and radiated cuteness. All in all, he was an incredibly sweet boy.

“I was just wondering, what was it that you guys were talking to my mommy about when Gramps and I came back? Like, conspiracy theories or somethin’?”

Izuku was being wheeled by Iida, meaning that he had his hands free. Free to draw the breathtaking scenery that surrounded them. Free to try to imitate the masterpiece that had been painted by God Himself.

“Oooh, mommy’s boy! Mommy’s boy!” Kaminari teased, once again outstretching his arms and hitting Todoroki.

“Okay, asshat, that was definitely intentional that time.”

Todoroki tried to hit Kaminari back, but he dodged and ran up ahead to join Kirishima and Bakugou.

“Oh, yes. The conspiracy theories. I, personally find them rather interesting. It’s strange to think that in a world so small we still know so little about things that are happening around us. It’s strange to think about what sorts of unnatural happenings can be right in front of our eyes, yet we are so blind to it.”

Iida was beginning to declare his love for all things scholarly.

“Oh, like what?” Izuku wasn’t a big fan of this stuff, but as his fluency in English enabled him to watch American YouTubers, he had watched a few. Didn’t particularly grab his attention, so he was interested to hear his classmates' input on the subject.

“Y’know, the standard Illuminati stuff. My favourite one though is something that’s exclusive to Japan. It’s much cooler than anything else in my opinion.”

Kaminari had always been quite the talker, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to quit it now.

“Apparently, there’s something that the government is hiding. That around 50 people have some sort of freakish supernatural abilities. I’m not too sure about this, uhm, thingy, just something I found on the dark web when I was lookin’ for some freaky porn. The dark web is real weird. Anyways, back to the main topic. These people have these enemies, some sort of a hate group or something that wants to purify their blood before it starts spreadin’ or some crap like that. Eh, sounds real fakey, but still cool.”

After Kaminari had finished spouting what was on his mind like some sort of a dysfunctional water fountain, an overwhelming feeling of discomfort had descended upon both Tokoyami and Grampa Yagi.

“That kinda crap scares me. Mebbe we should just change the subject.”

Yagi was scared.

After the video of Inko appeared on the news, a great feeling of tenseness and trepidation began to grow within their miniscule community.

It seemed like they were on the brink of war.

And unlike last time, they couldn’t just disperse and hide under the covers of normality.

“I agree with Mr Toshinori.”

Bakugo angrily kicked at an energy drink can that was lying in his path.

“It sounds dumb anyways.”

Chapter Text

“You better be grateful I’m doing this for you, you damn nerd.”


Bakugo had agreed (in essence; had been forced to by his mother) to wheel Midoriya down to the station and help him onto the train.


“Honestly, not really. I would’ve preferred it if Grampa Yagi had taken me to school today.”


A small flame ignited at the end of a bomb’s fuse.


The flame grew larger and larger; it roared more furiously, eager to detonate the ammunition that lay at the end of the winding trail that it was blazing.


Within a few seconds flat, the bomb blew.




Bakugo roughly tipped Izuku out of his wheelchair and began to run ahead.




Izuku had quickly realised, not long after waking up, that he and Bakugo had the exact same temper.


He just had more control over his.

It just took one call home and Grampa Yagi was right at Izuku’s side.


Izuku was astounded with the strength that his old Gramps hauled him up into his wheelchair with.


It just took one swift yank of the collar and within milliseconds he was sitting upright once again.


And the tug didn’t even hurt him; it was effectively painless.


“That Bakugo boy… I should really give him a tongue-waggin’ when I getcha into school, my boy.”


Yagi was a calm man. His laid-back and understanding nature made him very easy to come to. It was why his people looked up to and respected him and his family so much.


Anger was an emotion that he despised with the most absolute contempt that you ever could imagine a person’s body could hold.


A potion of wrath and vexation had rocked Yagi’s entire being to the core, leaving him bare-boned yet at the strongest he had ever been.


Strength gained through anger wasn’t strength at all.


It was an immunity to the weakness that was self-doubt. An antibiotic to the virus that was falling into selfless despair.


Once someone became so self-righteous and vain to the point of hurting others, in Yagi’s mind, there was no turning back.


He might’ve thought differently in the past, but after the entire ordeal with his son, Hisashi, his morales and opinions shifted heavily.


Yagi knew he was wrong to think that, but sometimes personal experiences can change people for the worst.

And I, Tomura Shigaraki, a simple cameraman that works for the local News Channel, should know that.


How did I know all this?


I’m just good at spying, I suppose.


Anyways, I’m sure that you don’t care to hear about me.


Let’s continue with the story, then.

Izuku and Yagi stood on the cramped train in silence.


Both of them were too busy dealing with their own explosives that were going off inside of their minds to make conversation.


Yagi ruffled Izuku’s green, voluminous locks in an attempt to soothe both himself and the boy.


“Too bad my hair looks like dads hair, huh?”


Izuku didn’t know the whole story about his parents divorce.


He just knew that his father was a cheater and was cut off completely by both sides of the family.


Well, that’s at least what Mitsuki Bakugo had told him when she visited him in the hospital.  


"Nah, kid. There’s nothing wrong with yer hair. I mean, it’s not like you can help yer genetics, y’know?”


Yagi gently smiled as his precious grandson exhaled in relief, his shoulders slouching. .


“Hey, c’mon now. Don’t crease yer nice new uniform. Yer mother is so emotional over how handsome you look in it.”


“Gramps, stooop!”

Chapter Text


Chatora excitedly fist-pumped the air, his yellow shirt tightening and his ridiculous galaxy-coloured tie that was covered with pictures of cats flapped in the wind.

Chatora was all fired up for he and his co-workers first day back at work after the agency’s two-year breakup.

Gathered outside the building were the 20 (minus Jirou) that had been gathered in the early hours of the morning the day after the video of Inko using her gift was leaked.

Along with them were about another 10 people who also had gifts, and another 8 or so people who were just your normal, average joe but helped to keep the agency's secrets and cover up any mishaps.

A few others didn’t work specifically in the building but were still part of the gifted society as their day jobs prevented them from working there.

“Ahem, Chatora. I do not mean to be disrespectful, but I think that we’d officially be back in business if we could actually get into our place of business.”

A rather plain-looking man, who went by Naomasa Tsukauchi, was a positively brilliant detective and always helped the society by pointing out the obvious.

“AH. YES. RIGHT.” Chatora began to fumble in his pockets, throwing empty sweet wrappers onto the ground in a desperate search to find the keys.

“No worries, darling, I always keep a spare on me, just in case.”

Inko Midoriya, who was possibly only a third of Chatora’s height, gently pushed through the small crowd and handed him a key.

“Thank you very much, madame.”

A feverish blush of embarrassment began to devour Chatora’s very tan cheeks; a pinkness that nobody could possibly miss.

“Hey, ain’t she a bit old fer ya?”

“Shiretoko! Please act appropriately! She is merely a work colleague and a fellow society member; nothing more.”

Shiretoko had mistaken Chatora’s sudden ruddiness of the cheeks for a sign of love and found it appropriate to whisper her suspicions rather loudly to him.


The general office buzz began and things calmed down; it was just a day of report writing and filing, e-mailing, scheduling meetings, arguing over who was meant to do what and drinking copious amounts of coffee.

That was, until late afternoon, until around 2 o’clock.


Hisashi Midoriya had burst through the glass doors, near shattering them, yelling.

“Tell us as much detail as you have at the minute.”

A petite, brown-haired office girl, Sakura Ishinomori, who was coincidentally also the weather anchor on the local News Channel, began rapidly taking down what Hisashi had recalled about the incident.

“Please tell me that you did not intervene as that… superhero pseudonym you go by.”

Yagi spun around in his spinny chair, looking his son directly in the eye, trying to convey that he was being serious.

He generally would've had more patience for his son, but after he had caused and continued to cause trouble for the gifted society and his own family, his temper was worn thin.

“Oh, no. Dear gracious me, how daaare you assume that I still go around calling myself Ignis Lustro! No, Pops, I have put that name to rest!”

Hisashi was, once again, being the annoyingly ostentatious man he always was.

“So you did do something stupid.”

Inko peeked out of her office block, disgust written crystal clear all over her normally sweet, sincere face.

“Ignis Lustro shall never die and you all know that!”

Hisashi was, quite frankly, one of the most immature men you would ever meet.

He was the type of silly, eccentric, fun-loving guy that you would never have believed to have broken his family’s hearts.

He overall, at a first glance, seemed like the type of man to light up his family’s hearts.

But the more you got to know him, the more you realised that immaturity and being overly flamboyant were not the only personality traits he had; he was also devilishly sly and evilly intelligent.

He knew rightly what he was doing.

“Mr Mido-”

Nishiya went to scold Hisashi, before being interrupted by Yagi, Hisashi and Inko all at once, telling him that he had changed his surname back to Toshinori after their divorce.

“Mr Toshinori Junior, I implore you to stop acting so childish. Every time you put on that fancy dress costume and go around breathing your wretched flames in an attempt to ‘save people’- you’re just putting our lives at stake. Normal humans die all the time. One or ten more six feet underground don’t make a darn difference. Our race is on the brink of extinction. We can’t risk losing anyone. We’ve already almost lost your son to the Sheath Brotherhood, and they managed to, unfortunately, deal some rather serious damage to him. And you don’t even seem to care. It’s illegal to speak about the fact that abilities used to belong to a majority of the world’s population. We have to pretend to be blind to our heritage. We have to just sit silently while both the government and the Sheath Brotherhood are loading their metaphorical Glocks that they are going to shoot us with?! IS THIS A JOKE TO YOU?! IS IT?!"

Tsukauchi and Sosaki had to try and pry Nishiya’s branches off of Hisashi.

“Nishiya, please! Calm down for a second. Do not resort to violence like he does.”

Tsukauchi tried his best to reason with Nishiya, and thankfully managed to swiftly coax Nishiya into releasing Hisashi from his deadly grip of oak.

“Nishiya. I’m evil. I don't care who lives, who dies. What happens. As long as I have my fun, that’s all I need in life. You should at least be thankful that I’m giving you this information and trying to care about human lives, unlike the rest of you. I could very easily sell everything I know about the Gifted Society to the Brotherhood for a pretty penny, but y’know, I actually care about you guys in a weird way, so unless you seriously annoy me, I won’t step out of line.”

Silence penetrated the atmosphere.

“Are you… threatening us?” Sosaki managed to choke out.


And with that, Hisashi picked himself up and marched back out of the doors he came in.


It was previously mentioned that Hisashi was a peculiar man, in more ways than one.

Another way in which he is strange is that he seems to care more about the general public and less about his own people and his own family.


Because he was always taught that selfless was the right thing to be.

And in his head, that translated to not caring about the things that you truly wanted to.

Chapter Text

“Okay welcome to History sit the f//ck down and listen in.”

Mr Aizawa, a shabby-looking man in his thirties, violently swung around in his spinny chair, ultimately throwing himself off of it.

Lying in a crumpled mess on the floor, his long, unrushed black hair was strewn everywhere and his black cat onesie was so baggy it gave him the impression of being deflated.

This rather alarmed Grampa Yagi, who had been given permission to stay the day as Izuku’s classroom assistant.

“Sir, are you al-”

“I’m fine, Toshi. No need to worry.”
That way that Mr Aizawa addressed Yagi indicated that he knew him, but the poor old soul couldn’t for the life of him remember how he and Mr Aizawa were connected.

“Midoriya, welcome back. Okay, kids, now you can stand the f//ck up and head over to the computer suite.”

Mr Aizawa’s voice was as flat as a corpse’s heart rate monitor, yet still surprisingly titillating.


“Auf! Mein bach!”

Outside of the computer suite, Aoyama was loudly complaining about his minor injuries inflicted upon him by his badly behaved classmates.

An assortment of Class 1-A students were roughly pushing and shoving one another in the ‘neat and orderly queue’ they had formed outside of the ICT classroom that they had their first period in.

“Holy crap Midoriya looks so done.” Jirou and Kaminari doubled over in fits of stupid giggles while Izuku’s blatantly annoyed face was on show for the entire class to begin guffawing at.


A smug, cat-like look crossed Izuku’s profile after he inflicted the intended damage he had planned to by wheeling over Kaminari’s foot.

“Du probably enjoyed zat, ein pervert!”

Aoyama huffed, punching Kaminari in the arm.

“I can do it harder if you want~”

Izuku had quickly registered what his classmates acted like and began to respond accordingly.

This obviously got a good laugh from quite a few of his classmates, whereas people like Kouda just covered their ears and Tokoyami considered shoving his cross down his throat.


Mr Aizawa raced around the corner in a semi-crab-like stance, screeching and then falling flat on his face.


“Okay, so, you have one more day to complete this assignment on conspiracy theories in your groups. Midoriya, you can just play CoolMath Games.”

Mr Aizawa was just lying on the teacher’s desk, watching The Notebook on Netflix, which unbeknownst to him was being broadcasted on the projector as he was so invested in his phone screen.

“Awwww, but I wanna play CoolMath Games too, Mr Aizy-wa.”

“Well, I want to die Kaminari but do you think that’s going to happen anytime soon?”

And with that, they continued finishing off (and for Kaminari, Kirishima and Mina, starting) the project.

Chapter Text

“So, how was my handsome little man’s first day at school?”

Inko had come to greet Yagi and Izuku at Shizuoka Station, where they had gotten off at.

Izuku had managed to witness his teacher get drunk in front of them, become a bystander to a shouting match between Tokoyami and Bakugo, which contained a mix of Bible verses and swearing, almost losing his virginity twice to the ever-so promiscuous and seductive Mei Hatsume that liked to flirt with all of the “fit” boys in Class 1-A and was also subjected to Aoyama’s horrific German accent.

“It was great! I loved being able to see the dudes in my class after, like, forever. They were pretty rowdy, I suppose, but what else do you suspect with high schoolers?”

Yagi knew he was lying.


The walk back home was peaceful. Although their area contained many houses, apart from the few small apartment blocks the rest were all uninhabited holiday houses, a majority of them being owned by rich English and American businessmen and women and their families.

The sun was casually colliding with the horizon as it set; their stunning colour palettes mixing to create a scene that was so beautiful it was incomprehensible to the human eye. Only a Heavenly deity could truly admire it’s breathtaking worth, as it lit up Japan, whose inhabitants were beginning to prepare for an undisturbed night’s sleep. The moon would soon be watching over them; a moon that had shone upon the world and its sins many times before. And it would shine upon them the morrow and overmorrow, absorbing their evilness so that God could stand to ten to them the next day.
Izuku looked over this scene as he and his guardians trekked on homewards in silence. His brain absorbed the vibrant hues of pinks and oranges, purples and blues. His brain was drinking in the tableau, an attempt to memorise it so that he could paint it after he had finished his small amount of homework.


“Here, honey, let me take your blazer.”

Inko began to fuss over her precious little cinnamon bunny as soon as they had got through the door.

“Thanks for the concern, mummy, but I think I’ll be okay changing on my own.”

“Just call me if you need any help, sweetie.”

Izuku wheeled himself into his room to change into more comfortable clothes (and likely watch some anime, the weeb.)


“C’mon, Yagi. A penny for your thoughts?”

Yagi and Inko were sitting, undisturbed, at the little table that resided in the middle of the Midoriya kitchen.

They were sat face-to-face as if this were some form of a job interview or interrogation.

“Inko, do you know a man that goes by the title, ‘Shouta Aizawa’?”

Mr Aizawa’s first words to Yagi wouldn’t leave his mind; he, first of all, assumed that it was to do with his old age, but the more he began to dwell upon it the more it seemed to dawn on him that he did know him. It was buried deep in his subconscious; had to reach, hard to remember.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I think I do.



“Listen, Nishiya, hiding will do nothing. They know our faces; they’ll come for us no matter where we run and try to win at this game of hide and seek.”

The office was in an entire uproar.

People’s gifts were going wild out of pure stress and anxiety; computers were being smashed, fights were breaking out and a fire had begun to spread on the floor above.

“It’s our only choice, Murase. If we do not hide, that gives them the chance to find out more information. Find out about our friends and families. Put more people’s lives at risk. It’s only logical. I know that up until now you have just gone with the flow, but please, in these despairing times, please, think logically and rationally.”

Behind Nishiya’s stern exterior, his eyes were soft and filled with pain and conflict.

And with that Murase turned and ran out of the cracked glass doors that adorned the eggshell-white face of the building, and he never went back.

Unbeknownst to Nishiya and the rest of the troubled society members, those words had stuck with Murase. Although his change seemed slow, it was, matter of fact, rather drastic.

It was only logical to Murase rewrite his entire identity. It was only strategical to become someone else so that he could hide under the bedsheets of normalcy and keep his beloved ones safe.

He would no longer be Norio Murase, the narcoleptic, lackadaisical loafer.

He was now Shouta Aizawa, the man who’s entire disposition was defined by logic and strategy, and although unintimidating and still quite the couch potato at a first glance, his mental state was completely changed.

He never wanted a repeat of the catastrophe. It scared him.


“You probably don’t remember him as you only briefly met him once. Aizawa didn’t show up to meetings much, and on the day of the disastrous outbreak, he just ran away. None of us knows what happened to him.”

Inko was anxiously pulling on her emerald-tinted hair, memories of the destruction looming in her mind.

“Guess I’ll just have to try and get better acquainted with ‘im, seeing as he’s one of us, huh?”

Chapter Text

“Morning, Mura!”

Ishinomori charged at Murase, knocking him onto the cobbled pavement outside of the cramped establishment.

It was roughly ten o’clock at night. The sun had long gone down, leaving the world in an empty, soulless void that consumed every nook and cranny of anything good that was left in the world.

It was the gifted society’s weekly meeting- it was generally just a chill session. The Sheath Brotherhood hadn’t caused them any trouble in almost two decades- that was when Yagi had last fought. They didn’t have any other enemies, so there was not really any other reason than to just unwind and chat.

“Hey, Ishinomori.”

Murase’s deadpan voice resonated in Ishinomori’s ears. They were, and always had been, the best of friends. Murase had never been too friendly with her half-sister, Nemuri Kayama, as she had a rather slutty and frankly repulsive reputation. But Murase couldn’t exactly hate her- without Kayama, Ishinomori wouldn’t be working as an ungifted receptionist and secret-keeper at the society.

Ishinomori picked herself up and then outstretched her hand as an offering of help to lift Murase to his feet.

He ignored her kind endeavours and instead leaned back slightly, and in one swift movement kicked himself upright.

“Thanks for the offer, Ishi. Just don’t like touching people’s hands and stuff, y’know.”

Ishi began to feel slightly guilty about her hug. She was such a physically affectionate person, and often forgot that some people don’t like being touched or hugged or simply held.

They walked into the office side-by-side, Murase’s slouched-over meander forcing him to slightly lag behind Ishi, her upbeat, bouncy skips matching her upbeat, bouncy smile.


“Well, well, well, fashionably late, are we?”

Nishiya was a rather strict fellow- not always a man to play by logic and strategy, but always a man to play by his timetable.

“Being fashionably late means showing up an hour later than supposed to, Nishiya. We turned up only about 15 minutes late. You should know the difference.”

Murase flopped down on one of the beanbags that were strewn up and down the large, carpeted aisle from the front door to the front desk.


Their conversations were, all in all, very light-hearted and Yagi proved to be a good craic.

It was now almost midnight, and they were playing a game of Pictionary.

“C’mon, it was obviously a hedgehog!”


Sosaki and Kayama were in a rather heated argument over Kayama’s attempt to draw a hedgehog.

In an attempt to break this up before things got messy, Tensei Iida loudly declared that he was going upstairs to go and refresh their paper supplies, as they had almost run flat.



The blood flowed out of Ryuko Tsuchikawa’s body as steadily as it flowed out of Niagara Falls.

The entire floor stunk of not only blood but the physical manifestation of evil itself.

It was as if the soulless demons of the night had claimed that one room as their domain, as their
grotto of grotesque and grim entertainment.

Tsuchikawa’s chest had suffered numerous stabs and the top quarter of her body had been disintegrated entirely, leaving her insides barren as a wasteland.

It didn’t make sense for the blood to flow out of an empty corpse.

It defied any and all logic that resided within Iida’s brain that the blood flow to be so plentiful.

His knees buckled.

He was weak.

His senses, bar from sight, seemed to shut down. He couldn’t feel anything.

The closest thing to feeling anything was the vibrations of a deafening shriek that resonated throughout his entire body.

It took it almost half a minute for Iida to register that it was, in fact, him that was screaming.

Meanwhile, downstairs, they sat in communal horror as they listened to the inhuman screech that echoed from the floor above.



Those were the final things he could scream before he passed out.


Chatora held Tsuchikawa's corpse close to his chest, rocking her back and forth like a baby, while he himself was in a numb, zombified state.

They had taken her downstairs and had for the past half an hour and had attempted in vain to try and resurrect her.

Although she was so obviously long dead and her corpse was so horrifically deformed, Chatora and the rest of the society members didn’t want to give up on her.

“My only question would be how on earth someone managed to murder her.”

Kayama’s face was pale and tear-stained, and although her nature may have been perverse, she was still a rather strong woman who cared deeply for her friends and fellow gifted co-workers.

“I mean, it only makes sense that someone in here is conspiring against the rest of us.”

She stood up, her frame trembling slightly. Her eyes gazed coldly downwards at the other society members.

Kayama felt as if she were selfish to say this- in front of two children, Izuku and Jirou, who were only around thirteen, no less. In front of Tsuchikawa’s closest friends- Shiretoko, Sosaki and Chatora. To announce this in front of every single grieving person in this room right now. Overall, she felt like it was a selfish thing to say.

But it had to be done. If it helped to solve Tsuchikawa’s murder or even catch the perpetrator, it was necessary.

“Only the society members and secret keepers know about these meetings. So, someone must have been selling us out to the Sheath Brotherhood behind our backs, or even directly working with them. It’s really the only thing that makes sense, in regards to the message her murderer left on the ceiling.”

On the ceiling above Tsuchikawa’s mangled remains, someone had scrawled a “message”- in essence, a threat.

“ω૯ ωɿՆՆ ૯ՆɿɱɿՈค੮૯ ע૦υ ૭ɿԲ੮૯ძ ૦Ո૯ς คՈძ ƿυՐɿԲע ੮Һ૯ ҺυɱคՈ Րค८૯'ς ცՆ૦૦ძ ૦Ո८૯ ɱ૦Ր૯.”

“How dare you say that.”

A panicked gasp escaped the mouths of the onlookers.

Despite how calm Chatora’s voice may have been, he had just knocked Kayama to the ground and was currently beating her black and blue.

Chatora was a large man. His frame was adorned with bulging muscles- hence why after a few hits to the head Kayama had begun to feel numb.

Her vision went blurry and her senses went dead as a crimson fountain began spurting out of her nose.

As this was going on, a ruckus had broken out between those who supported what Chatora was doing and those who understood Kayama’s reasoning.

Izuku had had his head slammed against a table.

Jirou had forced someone's head through a computer screen.

Sosaki had smashed a glass bottle over Nishiya’s head.

Tensei Iida was lying in a slump, still numb, too numb to feel the rough kicks that were being inflicted on his stomach by another society member.

Too senseless to realise that he was throwing up blood.

Computers were being thrown everywhere.

Hisashi had started some fires in random places on the ground floor.

They were all turning on each other.

Just as I had wanted them to.


Murase was trying to run away just as a plant pot was thrown his way. He dodged it and dived into an office cubicle milliseconds before it reached him.

He lay on the floor, tears trickling down his face. His breathing hitched when more screams emerged from the heat of the battle. He couldn't let everybody do this to one another.

He was the one with an erasing gift. He could prevent some of the fighting if he got up and used his gift.

He shakily got to his knees, his hand gripping the spinny chair for dear life.

Just as he managed to haul himself to his feet, his vision blurring, his stomach twisting, he heard a voice behind him.

Unthinkingly, he grabbed the chair and hit the person who had spoken to him at full force, out of pure fear.



The blood began to flow out of a crack in the unconscious Ishi’s skull.

Murase looked at his friend’s limp body.

She was helpless.

And he had done this to her.


Murase threw up on the carpet, sickened by what he had done.

He couldn’t bear to look at the damage he had done.

So, he climbed over into the next cubicle, avoiding Ishi’s body, and turned and ran.

That’s the reason why he changed his name.

The pain he had inflicted upon Ishi in a time of despair when he could have been helping everybody instead, made him force himself to be someone he wasn’t.

To be someone who was logical and rational and strategical with his life and his choices.

Not some depressed couch potato who constantly threw himself into danger on a whim as he didn’t care for his own life.

Not after he learned what it was like to lose someone he loved.

Murase didn’t want to pain anyone he loved by throwing his own life away.

And I'm sure that you are surprised to hear what happened in the last chapter was a lie.

Some heroic speech made by a strong-willed colleague in the middle of turmoil didn't change Murase.

Trauma did.

Murase, or should I say, Aizawa, you took the most important thing in life away from me.

Your people took my Papa away from me.

That’s why I took away your Tsuchikawa.

That's why I temporarily took away your society.

Chapter Text

“Hello, and welcome to the news at ten o’clock in the morning. A small criminal gang that goes under the name,’Et Pignus’, were caught illegally importing precisely 5,160 pounds of spring steel in the Port of Shimizu earlier this morning at six o’clock.”

Reo Matsushita droned on about how the 'oh-so incredibly brave Ignis Lustro saved the day with his mysterious fire-breathing tricks'.

“I honeshtly don’t regret divorshing him.”

Inko had come down with a bad touch of the flu and was staying off of work so as not to contaminate anybody else.

She was lying on the sofa under a mass of blankets and cushions. A pile of tissues and empty boxes comparable to the island of waste that resides in the Pacific ocean lay strewn across the floor.

She was feeling absolutely miserable.


Yagi, who had become Izuku’s official caretaker within school grounds, was currently trying to calm down a class of rowdy sixteen-year-olds that were meant to be working with dangerous chemicals.

Mr Aizawa had left him in charge of Class 1-A while he had to go and attend a short meeting with the Principal.



Iida was practically foaming at the mouth. Everyone knew how seriously he took school, and being careless with your classwork, your homework and your grades really ground his gears.

“Vat? I am juzt making it look az fabulouz az me.”

Aoyama flirtily winked at Iida, his sparkly contour shimmering in the artificial lighting of the classroom.



“Hey, Bakugo, what d’ya think would happen if I ate the manganese oxide?”

Bakugo had unfortunately been paired up with Kaminari, meaning that he was subjected to listen to the fountains of garbage that his several remaining brain cells came up with.

“You’d die, dumbass.”

Suddenly, in the deep, dark depths of Bakugo's mind, a light bulb flickered into view.

A smile crept across Bakugo’s face.

A cruel, shark-like smirk.

“Hey, y’know Kaminari, maybe you should eat it! It'd be real cool!"


“Midoriya, dude, when you were in the hospital you missed out on so many chances to observe all of the fine ladies in this class!”

Izuku had been paired up with Mineta and was forced to put up with his perverted spouting for two periods.

“Yeah, yeah. Yaomomo’s got huge jugs. I know. You never stop going on about it.”

Izuku rolled his eyes and tried to continue with the experiment they were meant to be carrying out.

“Psh, what are you, gay?”

“Bi. But I’m not interested in looking at anybody’s figure without their consent, so I would ask you to quickly drop the matter.”

Izuku’s stern demeanour and tone of voice quickly shut Mineta up.

He may have been more tolerant with the pervert earlier on in the class, but at this point it was just really peeving him off.


Yagi was sitting at the teacher’s desk, face in his palms.

He didn’t know how to look after a group of children!

He had zero ideas on how he would discipline them or what punishments he would have to enforce for being disruptive and rowdy.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sluggishly put in his passcode.

Yagi wasn’t exactly the best with technology.


“Kids, how do I use Google on this old contraption?”

Yagi was trying to look up tips on how to calm unsettled teenagers, but could hardly navigate anything.

Inko had taught him how to call and text people, but even her knowledge ended there, so he was completely and utterly stuck on what to do.

In an instant, twenty different voices began yelling out instructions.

In a bid to try and make themselves heard, they all kept raising their voices until it became completely and utterly unbearable.


Mr Aizawa had arrived back from his meeting with Nedzu.

As Aizawa knew Yagi to be a very strong-willed yet docile man, he thought that if he could calm anybody in the society, no matter how violent or angry or enraged that person may have been (at least, that’s what he had heard about Yagi), he assumed that he would have been able to keep a classroom of twenty teenagers under control.

Apparently not.


“Aizawa, how could you ever forgive me for letting such a ruckus carry on in your classroom is beyond me.”

Yagi and Mr Aizawa were having an afterschool talk in one of the teacher’s lounges.

Neither of them had spoken to each other much over the past few days, but it was apparent that they both had a lot to say.

“Don’t worry about it, Toshinori. I’m the fourth homeroom teacher they’ve had this year- none of the other teachers could stick them for more than a week or two at most.”

Aizawa lied about his high expectations for Toshinori’s teaching abilities and replaced his harsh critiques with words of encouragement.

The air went silent for a few moments.

The evening sun was still almost as bright as it would be at midday, which was to be expected for the end of May. It filtered in through the faded, grey-white blinds that hung limply in front of the windows.

The layout of the five teacher’s lounges were all the same: windows that spanned the entirety of the back wall that were adorned with scarlet curtains. The walls were olive green and against the left wall stood a large, oak bureau. On top of the bureau sat a tea set, from which Aizawa was currently making up two cups of tea for him and Yagi. In the centre of the room, there were two grey sofas which were divided by a glass tea table.

Aizawa tapped the spoon on the edge of one of the cups, a clinking sound interrupting the stillness.

As he made his way to the seating area, Yagi finally managed to choke out the question that he had been meaning to ask Aizawa since they first met.

“So, are you gifted?”


This startled Aizawa so much that he almost dropped the tray he was carrying.

He sighed and set down the cups of tea on the tea table.

“Yes. I don’t like to talk about it much, though. Not since the disaster.”

Aizawa plopped himself down on the sofa, his grey eyes drifting off towards the ceiling. This was obviously a topic he did not want to discuss.

“O-oh, right. Sorry.”

“I assume that the secret keepers didn’t make you aware of my name change. I only informed them, Nishiya and Mrs Midoriya. I didn’t want to tell everybody and cause a scene, so I only told those who I was close to and trusted to keep quiet about it.”

Yagi was a little taken aback that Aizawa had told him something rather personal rather quickly, so all he could do was nod understandingly.

They both sipped their cups of tea, refusing to look within the other's direction.

“Ah, this tea is fantastic. What type is it?”

Yagi ignored the awkward air that had engulfed the room and instead marvelled at Mr Aizawa's tea-making abilities.

“Australian black tea. I’m probably able to make it taste so great as it’s the same colour as my soul.”


Their conversation about the gifted society branched out into a tangent about different types of tea, and before long it was almost 7 o’clock.


Yagi sprung out of the sofa he was sitting on, slammed the teacup down on the table (almost breaking both the table and cup at the same time) and hurriedly excused himself.


“My boy-my bo-” Yagi shuffled into the library panting and wheezing.

“Oh, hey Gramps! How was your chat with Mr Aizawa?”

Yagi simply gave Izuku a “thumbs-up” signal as he pulled his inhaler out of his blazer pocket.

After a few puffs from his inhaler, Yagi managed to catch his breath.

“Did you read any American comics or those mango books you like?”

“It’s called manga, Gramps. And yeah, I checked out a few.”


“Sniff- hey shweetie.”

Inko greeted Yagi and Izuku at the door. She was wrapped in a blanket, tissues stuffed up her nostrils.

“Hey, mummy, I think you need to lie down and rest.”

Izuku wheeled himself inside, placing a hand on his mother's shoulder.

Although Inko heavily rejected this idea, Yagi and Izuku forced her to rest while they cleaned up and cooked.


“Did you manage to- sniff- talk to Aizawa?”

It was only around half past nine, but seeing the condition that Inko was in, Yagi decided to put her to bed.

He sat on the end of Inko's bed as she propped herself upright on the numerous assortment of pillows that lay at the top of her bed.

“Yes. Yes I did.”

Chapter Text

Izuku was sitting at his desk, his eyes burning. It was 1 o’clock in the morning, and he had been writing down and drawing everything he remembered from his dream since around 8.

“No… no…” Izuku grumbled, grabbing for his rubber. In his sleepless, sluggish state, he missed the rubber and managed it knock it down onto the floor.

Thankfully, Izuku managed to slightly wheel himself forward in time so that the rubber would land on his foot, meaning that he didn’t have to stretch down too far to retrieve it.

Although none of the effects the training in the dream had had on him didn't carry on into real life, he still remembered most of the techniques he learned and had been re-teaching himself everything. He had even begged his mummy and Gramps to let him start the ‘All American Dream Plan’- the diet and exercise portion of it, anyway.

The sleeping part, well, was obviously not working out very well for him.

“I can’t get… Kacchan’s gauntlets right. Dan-”

And with that his body crumbled onto the desk, slumber overriding his desire to illustrate.

In actual matter of fact, it had been quite some time since he had thought about his dream.

There were some strange things about it too.

How he had managed to perfectly envision Mr Aizawa almost to a T, yet he had apparently never met him before.

In the few days he had been at UA before the accident with the bus, he had had a different History teacher and a man named Ken Ishiyama had been their homeroom teacher (but as they caused both teachers so much distress they left after only two weeks or so).

It had recently got him dwelling on the subject a lot, wondering if there was more to his dream than he knew.

Or more to his dream than he was being told.

Ever since his mother had come home after her horrific asthma attack, he had heard her and Gramps discussing things that sounded… off to him.

And after seeing that video of the woman who had saved an old lady that had fallen off of a train platform without touching her, and hearing the conspiracy theories about ‘people with unnatural gifts’ from Kaminari, things just didn’t seem to add up.


Am I still in the world of quirks and this is some form of a prank?

No, that wouldn’t make sense for everybody with mutant-type quirks to suddenly disappear.

Do quirks actually exist and I’m just not being told?

C’mon Izuku that's just crazy talk.

Those were excerpts from the mental argument he had had with himself earlier that day, not long after he began sketching and writing.



Izuku woke up, panting and sweating.

He looked up into the corner of his computer screen. It was almost 5 o’clock in the morning.

He gripped onto the desk, a knot tightening in his stomach. He felt as if a Boa Constrictor had caught him in its life-ending grasp. He thought he was going to projectile vomit.

His dream had continued.

He had nearly made it to the end of his first year.

But he had been captured by the League of Villains around February time.

He had been locked in a cage.

Shigaraki had tortured him and laughed at him.

When Izuku had his tongue pulled out, Shigaraki had mocked him.

When Izuku had his left arm ripped off, Shigaraki guffawed.

When Izuku had been beaten unconscious, he didn’t know what Shigaraki had done to belittle him.

That was when he had woken up.

Chapter Text

“... and then he just kinda, laughed at me while he kept tugging at my arm so ferociously that it came off.”

Izuku had found out that, at UA, he, Uraraka and Iida, although they were good friends with each other, they didn’t exactly have the close bond that they had had within the dream.

Iida, Ojiro, Hagakure and Momo hung around in a little preppy, nice-kid clique, Uraraka generally chatted with Asui and Sero and Izuku had begun to become closer to Tokoyami, Aoyama and Jirou.


“Holy crap dude, that sounds, like, insane.”

Jirou, along with her taste in heavy metal music, was a huge fan of macabre and horror, so Izuku’s relay of his nightmare was like a drug to her.

“Jirou, excuse me, but I am a holy child. Do not use that phallic language around me.”

Tokoyami spat, small bits of ramen landing on his midnight-black jeans.

Aoyama jerked himself away from Tokoyami, almost falling off of the bench as he did so.

“Ugh! Pleaze, be more careful ven you’re eating.”

Jirou and Tokoyami laughed, Izuku continued on with his story and the early June sunshine smiled down on them, warming both their skin and their hearts.


“I can’t believe that he knows who Shigaraki is.”

Jirou was seated in one of the office’s standard spinny chairs that everyone loved to fool around with and spin until they felt queasy.

“Like, not actual know, y’know, since he lost his memory and stuff, but in his dream, he still had a disintegration gift, he hated the people on the good side of the law an’ stuff. It was basically just, like, perfectly him, I guess. I'm just telling you this cause his dream had too much in it for it just to have been a dream, y'know? Just in case it helped us get any more dirt on the Sheath.”

The standard forty or so society members and secret keepers were all gathered in the building. It was 7 o'clock in the evening. The mesmerising hues of orange and pink were beginning to fade and descend into a mixture of lilac and pastel yellow; the blood-orange sun stark against the gentle colours of the sky’s choice of an evening gown.

Not a single light was on in the inside; rather, they let the natural sunlight filter through the windows, illuminating everyone’s faces as their eyebrows furrowed and their lips pursed.

“Do we have any photos of Shigaraki? I mean, Izuku described him to us as a guy with pale blue hair, mutilated hands which also were, like, really pale blue or somethin’ covered his body an’ stuff and his skin was so dry that he needed to bathe in Chapstick.”

Tsukauchi sat for a moment, biting his tongue, his brain taking in all of the information Jirou had rallied to him in her confusing teenager-speak.

"Unfortunately not, no."

A look of concern and slight disgust crossed most of the society member’s faces upon hearing the description of Shigaraki that Izuku had told Jirou. The only ones that remained stoic were Ishinomori and Inko, both busy scribbling down notes.

“I assume that he still hasn’t been told yet?”

Nishiya was also a rather impatient man- if something needed to be done, it had to be done as quickly as possible or he would be vexed to the core. And informing Izuku about his gift was apparently one of his top priorities, seeing as how peeved off he got when any mention of its delay was made.

Inko glanced up from her notes, her face changing from stone-hard to anguished and upset.

“Listen, he’s my baby. He’s already gotten hurt once, what with the Sheath Brotherhood making that bus hitting him look accidental, I just want to keep him as far away from things like this- things like us- as much as possible.”

Inko looked to be on the verge of tears. She was an incredibly strong woman, both in terms of her gift and her emotional and mental state. It was just when anyone mentioned her sweet boy, she crumbled. Apart from Yagi, Izuku was all that she had.

Inko gripped the hem of her cardigan, willing the tears away. Touching the soft, fluffy material of her baby pink cardigan reminded her of ruffling her own baby’s hair. Images of his big, gentle smile revolved around in her conscious, and as quickly as her fingers had curled around her cardigan, she began shaking and sobbing.

Like always, Sosaki and Iida were there to comfort her, hugging her and mumbling comforting words in her ears.

“Mrs Midoriya, as a soon-to-be father myself, I can kind of see where you’re coming from. But at the same time, doesn’t his gift resemble a mix of your gift and Yagi’s? With his ability to generate such high speeds of wind, on top of being able to float a little bit, he shouldn’t have anything to worry about, should he?”

A small gasp resonated around the room.

“Well, I’ll be darned, Nishiya. Who’s the lucky lady?”

Yagi put a hand on Nishiya’s shoulder and flashed him a smile. A warm, fatherly smile. It was a grin of pure pleasantness, a sign of congratulations from the strongest warrior the society had ever harboured.

“Her name is Yu Takeyama, and I’m so pleased that we’re expecting.”

Inko's tears quickly evaporated when the subject of Izuku and his gift was discarded from the conversation as it was steered in the direction of Nishiya and his girlfriend’s first child.

She felt like jumping for joy.

Chapter Text

“Heya, kids, settle down, settle down.”

Mr Aizawa gingerly strolled into the classroom, sucking the life out of a Caprisun. The tail of his blue giraffe onesie flapped gently, giving him the appearance of a majestic lunatic. He pulled his long, untamed black hair out of his face as he took a seat at his desk, reading to begin registration.

After roll call concluded and the announcements were read out, he excused his pupils and they individually got up out of their seats, grabbed their PE bags and raced down toward the sports complex like absolute madmen.


“I hate PE. It alvays makes me zo zveaty.”

Aoyama felt like it was a good use of his time to loudly complain.

Bakugo thought otherwise.





Everyone cringed, their stinging ears the aftermath of Iida's whistle.

Iida had managed to settle the yelling match by using a mixture of his booming, stern voice and a whistle that he continually carried on a string around his neck.

“Please, as UA students, we have to behave and live up to the expectations our teachers and carers have set for us, and being well-behaved is certainly one of them.”


“Okay, kids, today’ll just be a lazy day. Feel free to play with any equipment outside or inside and basically do whatever you want.”

Aizawa waved his hand, dismissing the horde of over-excited goblins to run and do their own thing.

Izuku, Sero and Iida ran straight to the trampoline on the inside of the gymnasium.


Izuku just lolloped around on the trampoline while Sero and Iida bounced him, giggling all the while.

“Jump higher! Higher!”

Izuku chuckled as the two black-haired boys boinged and sproinged higher, often slipping and ending up lolloping on the trampoline themselves.

Overall, it was a fun time for all three of them. There wasn't a second that went by without one of them giggling or chortling.



Jirou’s heavY footsteps echoed across the gym as she pelted across the gym, heading straight to the trampoline, her short purple hair flying behind her.

Jirou had obviously not noticed Izuku.

She threw herself violently onto the trampoline, subsequently knocking Sero completely off of it and onto the mats below.

Iida, although shaken, had somehow managed to retain his balance.

Izuku, however, was in shock.

Jirou had bumped him almost a metre up into the air. It was fun; until he realised that he was up in the air longer than he intended to be.

Levitating almost half a metre off of the trampoline, Izuku’s hands begun to get clammy. His body began to heat up. A knot began to tie itself in his stomach. He was panicking.

‘This isn’t right’, he thought to himself. ‘Not right at all.’

‘Quirks don’t exist in real life. Why is this happening?’

‘Everyone in the gym must be looking at me so weirdly. I bet I look like such a freak.’

Izuku felt like he was almost on the verge of tears.

Both Jirou and Iida noticed this, and both raced to pin Izuku back down to the trampoline.

“Dang, dude, got both the men and the ladies pining after you, huh? You must have quite the romantic aura.”

Sero pulled himself back onto the trampoline, laughing as it looked like both Jirou and Iida were pulling a yukadon on Izuku.

“Oh, shut up, gangly arms.”

Jirou scooted over to the side of the trampoline and shoved Sero back off of the trampoline, giving all four of them a good laugh.

“Don’t worry, Izuku.”

Iida had bent down to whisper in his ear, their faces near touching.

“Tensei is also gifted.”

“Oh, just kiss alre- JIROU! DON’T HIT ME!”

Sero’s second attempt to get back on the trampoline was unsuccessful, to say the least.

Chapter Text

‘Gifted… this world’s version of quirks?’

Thoughts raced through Izuku’s mind at the speed of light.

“Hey, bud, why are ya looking so confused? Iida’s kiss making ya feel funny?”

Jirou looked over at the pair and smirked, while simultaneously shoving her hand in Sero’s face to prevent him from getting back on top of the trampoline.


Iida was not amused with Jirou and Sero’s cooing and mocking.

“Hey! Jirou! Dude! You can’t just say the same thing that you hit me for!”

Sero’s aura wasn’t exactly calm, to say the least.

“Geez, dude, you’re making me gain a negative aura! Please, just let me up.”

Sero was practically begging at this point, his large, near-black eyes and his quivering lip adding to the look of absolute desperation.

“Fine, puppy eyes,” Jirou said, scooching over. “But nobody said you couldn’t get on the other side of the trampoline.”

It was now Sero’s turn to hit Jirou.


“What did I say last week about unorderly conduct within the gymnasium?!”

Iida had marched over to where Jirou and Sero were sitting on the edge of the trampoline- well, tried to march. It’s not exactly an easy thing to achieve on a trampoline.

“If you two do not calm down this instant I will not hesitate to forcefully remove you from the trampoline. Do you hear me?”

Iida’s voice was exactly like the low, whisper-shout that adults generally used to tell their children off in public areas- just as intimidating as full-on shouting.

“Yes, Iida!” Neither Jirou nor Sero wanted to lose the privilege to play on the trampoline, so they quickly agreed to Iida’s terms and conditions.

“C’mon Iida, stop being so uptight- it looks like your little boyfriend really wants you to return to him.”

Sero remarked, sending Jirou into a fit of giggles with his words.

“Oh, can you two shut up?”

Izuku rolled over to Iida, Sero and Jirou, his PE t-shirt twisting uncomfortably around his midriff.

“Can we please just have fun on the trampoline and stop trying to force each other off of the trampoline and Iida and I into a relationship?”


“Mummy, Gramps, would you know anything about gifts?”

Izuku, Inko and Yagi were sitting around their kitchen table, enjoying their usual Friday night tradition of having a hearty feed of American foods.

“Why, h-honey? D-dd-do one of your classmates have a b-bir-birthday co-coming up?”

Inko’s spirit instantly became very tense and overwrought.

She hoped and prayed so, so hard that this was what her baby was talking about.


‘Whew… at least I don’t sound like a madman.’

Izuku had hoped that, in the situation where his guardians had no idea about his sudden ability to float or ‘gifts’ or whoever Tensei was, he could just play it off as needing a present for a classmate.

“Oh, y-yeah. It’s quite a little while away, but it’s just that a nice boy, li-library assistant, actually, good friend, is going to be sixteen on the 1st of July. I-I’m just worrying in advance, y’know?”

“Oh, uh, right. What’s his name? What kind of things does he like?”

“His name’s Shinso. Hi-hitoshi Shinso, and he really likes manga, like me, he seems to really like cats as well and, um, I’m not too sure what else. He’s not one to do much talking, especially about himself. I’m generally the one who chitters on.”

This conversation went on for a short while, and it eventually came to a jolt when it was time for them to clear up.


Izuku went to bed, endless possibilities about what happened that day swirling about in his imagination.

He wants to sleep rather happy.

And woke up at 3 am to the sound of his mother’s uncontrollable and inconsolable sobbing.

Chapter Text

“My boy… my baby boy… I can’t do this anymore…”

Inko was stuck sobbing into Yagi’s shoulder, her small, rounded body locked in his fierce, protective grip.

Shiretoko, Sosaki, Kayama, Ishinomori, Chatora and Iida were clustered together in the small kitchen of the Midoriya’s apartment, along with Yagi and Inko.

They had been called around to help console Inko from her distress, and possibly, explain to Izuku about his gift.

None of the 6 were doing a very good job of it.


“I just want h-hi-him to be safe…”

Inko was grabbing onto the back of Yagi’s oversized t-shirt for dear life. Her short-cut, yet rather sharp nails dug into his back, leaving small lacerations in his skin through his clothing.

“Shhh, shh, Inko. It’s okay. He’ll be safe. Everything’ll be fine.”

Yagi repeatedly whispered soft, comforting words into her ears in an attempt to calm her. He rubbed one of his large hands in repeated circles around her lower waist, the other hand softly gripping her right shoulder.

The other six were standing in silence, exchanging awkward glances as this scene carried on.


Izuku sat upright in his bed. He almost felt like crying himself. The things his mother was saying… Was it a bad and dangerous thing to have a gift in this world? Would he be killed for it? Would he be sent to a detention centre and be tortured for it?

Izuku didn’t know.

The only thing that he could do was to try and wheel himself into the kitchen and find out what was happening.

It took him a short while, but eventually, after many trials and errors, he managed to pull himself into his wheelchair (this was achieved at the expense of making quite a racket.)


“Mummy, are you oka-”

Izuku cut himself off. He expected to see his mother sitting in the kitchen blubbering her head off with his Gramps silently comforting her.

He was met with a rather different scene than what he had had in mind; six rather strange-looking people surrounded the small kitchen table where his guardians sat, his mother on his Gramps’ knee, the pair in a close embrace.

“What’s going on?”

Izuku paused, leaving himself stationary in the middle of the hallway between his room and the kitchen.

All of the adults in the room halted what they were doing- even Mama Midoriya stopped her ceaseless wailing- and turned to look at him.


Inko practically leapt out of Yagi’s lap, and raced down the short stretch of the hall and skidded to a stop at her son’s feet. She gripped his green-and-black plaid pyjama shorts and rested her head on his knees, her tears quickly leaving large wet patches.

“Baby, promise me you’ll stay safe.”

Izuku didn’t want to say what was on his mind.

It seemed so unnecessarily cruel.

But he needed to know.

Ignoring his mother’s desperate sobs, he swallowed the steadily growing dread that had started off in his stomach and had slowly begun to work it’s way up his oesophagus.

“I promise you that I’ll stay safe- if, that is, you tell me exactly what gifts are and why on Earth I have one.”

Chapter Text

“I’ll tell him, Inko.”

Iida had slowly wandered over to Inko and dropped to his knees. His arms stretched out and enclosed her in a heartfelt embrace.

They parted after a few seconds and Iida helped Inko up off of the floor. Iida turned back to face Izuku and made a beckoning motion with his hand. “C’mon, Little Midoriya. We wish to explain as much to you as we can.”

Izuku followed Iida and his mummy into the kitchen, apprehension swallowing his entire being. His body was being slowly engulfed in the black, murderous tar that covered Japan at this time of night.

Although the world had the moon to look to for salvation, Izuku’s only salvation would be the words that Iida spewed- and even then, they may not even be any form of a saviour.

Izuku wheeled himself up beside his guardians and halted, waiting for the explanation.

He looked toward Iida expectedly- his emerald eyes flashing in curiosity, and widening in eagerness when Iida began to speak.

“So, to put it simply, there are around 50 people in Japan- and around 7,000 worldwide- people who have supernatural abilities that we called ‘gifts’. From those 50 people, we have close contact with around 35 or 40. Two or three of those people never returned because of what happened… two years ago, and some never were part of the society in the first place. A kid's gifts are documented by the Paranormal Department, which is a team of higher-ups in the police department and a group of doctors that work in maternity wards all across Japan. These people hide us from the government. They’re called ‘ungifted secret keepers.' My younger brother, your friend, Tenya, is a secret keeper.” Iida paused for a minute to catch some air.

He looked over to Izuku and noticed how full of wonder his eyes were. His right thumb was clicking an imaginary pen as if he were longing to write down all of this new information.

“Whether these kids join the gifted society is purely up to their carers. We try our best to educate parents on how best to raise a gifted child and what precautions to take,” Iida sighed and brushed his navy bangs out of his eyes. “Some parents just don’t listen, unfortunately. There are around 3 undocumented children with gifts, and apart from the fact that they’re gifted, we know nothing else. So if they’re facing abuse at home because of their gift, or if they’re undergoing torture or being taught to abuse their gift… we wouldn’t know, sadly. And the government wouldn't try to stop their tormentors from harming them, either.”

All of the adults in the room nodded in unison. Izuku’s irises no longer swelled with anticipation. They shrunk with trepidation.

“H-how did g-gifts come about in the first place?” Izuku’s voice was shaky as he spoke, as was the rest of him.

“That’s something that a lot of us are fuzzy on,” Yagi was the one to answer Izuku’s enquiries this time. “What the gifted, all around the globe, believe is that it all began with a child that had been born in Chernobyl in Ukraine not too long before nuclear reactor 4 exploded. That child then became radioactive, and that radioactivity manifested itself into a mutant gene- giving the child that ability to take control of the winds. I, myself, am the grandson of that child. He is long gone, but none of us will forget him. Although he did “meet up with women” quite a bit and is the reason why I have so many half-aunts and half-uncles, he still defended the entire gifted society and fought for our rights all around the globe. This origin story is not definite, but it’s highly likely if you look back on what little history and information we have about this man.”

“Holy crap, I’m part Ukrainian?”

Izuku had successfully managed to make a room full of adults facepalm at 3 am- something to tick off of his bucket list.

“Yes, you are. Now lemme finish, sonny Jim,” Yagi hissed, obviously peeved off at his grandson’s intrusion.

“Yes, unfortunately, we didn’t manage to get those rights. A majority of governments around the world want to extinguish the gifted people in their country- and they use crime groups to dispose of us so that they don’t tarnish their own reputations.”

“So, continuing on with what Sir Toshinori has said concerning the government hating us and all that jazz, that means that we need to strengthen our gifts- which is why we run a “martial arts” group in your school. We do not make this club known, but if someone were to find out, they would be presented with a general martial arts class and nothing more, unless they were some sort of trained spy or an undercover agent. We have the means necessary to take care of general snoopers and low-rank spies. Your friend, Jirou, goes there and I can definitely see her getting stronger and stronger by the day. I would implore you to join as well, so that we may strengthen not only your gift but ease your state of mind and help you to sleep better at night knowing that you have a good defence if anyone tries to persecute you for your gift.”

“Thank you, Chatora.” Iida exhaled deeply, happy that the explanation was over.

He looked over at Izuku- or Little Midoriya, as he had dubbed him- and smiled.

Izuku smiled back, trying to make it appear that his mind was at ease.

But his mind wasn’t at ease.

He had so, so many questions.

But he felt that it would be rude to ask them after they had so nicely met his demands, so he kept his mouth shut and tried his best to strike up a cheery conversation to take everyone’s minds off of what had happened that night.

Chapter Text

“Izuku honey, do you think you’re up for school this morning? What with being up so early this morning?”

Inko was wheeling an exhausted Izuku into the kitchen. The six society members that had suddenly appeared in his house earlier that morning had all collapsed in the living room, each one of them wrapped in a myriad of different blankets, each blanket looking clean and fresh as if they hadn’t been dragged to hell and back by Izuku when he was a toddler.

None of them seemed to notice the sound of tough rubber squeaking against tiles; they snored on comfortably. Izuku was pretty sure that Shiretoko was saying things in her sleep, but he couldn’t quite piece together what she was mumbling. He was certain that he had heard the name, ‘Tsuchikawa’; but he couldn’t be too sure.

He also noticed that his Gramps wasn't sleeping with them; he had likely either joined his mother in bed or gone home to his own house.

“I’m not sure mummy. You decide,” Izuku yawned, his eyelids drooping.

“In the state that you’re in it’s probably best if you take today off and rest, darling,” Inko planted a squelchy smooch on Izuku’s forehead and went back to the counter to finish buttering her toast.


Iida woke up, his eyes blurring and head spinning. He sat up, trying to make sense of his surroundings, only for his nose to be attacked by the wondrous smells of freshly cooked breakfast.

The sound of something sizzling in a frying pan and a combination of absolutely fabulous scents overwhelmed him, saliva gathering on his mouth. His mind couldn’t help but imagine how good the crunch of fresh toast would feel right now. He fumbled around, his hands patting the ground around him, trying to find his glasses. Despite the fact that he was late for work (he assumed he was, at least), food was always a priority in his life; which is probably the reason why he was so chubby.

“Oh! Iida! We’ve prepared breakfast for all of you! I-it’s a Western-style breakfast this morning.” Izuku called over to Iida, wheeling over to the living room (Izuku was thankful of having a conjoined kitchen and living room, for convenience’ sake) carrying a plate piled with a fried egg, two rounds of toast, a few fried tomatoes, three rashers of bacon and a slice of soda bread.

“Listen, thanks for the food and all, but why am I here? Am I your father now or something?”

Izuku doubled over, a kettle-like laugh exploding out of him. The plate slipped from his hands and tears slipped down his cheeks. Iida’s attempt to rationalise the situation was hilarious to him.

“What? I can’t see anything, son. Stop laughing at your dad and try and help me find my glasses.” Iida was not amused that Izuku was laughing at his confusion.

“N-NO! THAT’S N-NHAT W-WHA-WHAT’S GO-GOHING O-O-OHN!” Izuku couldn’t get his words out properly because he was howling so loudly.

“Aw, you’re not my son?”


Apparently, Izuku and Iida had managed to wake up Sosaki, Kayama and Chatora. Shiretoko was somehow still asleep and mumbling.

“I WANT ANSWERS!” Within Chatora’s eyes burned a million fires; he was not a very pleasant person to wake up.

“I have no idea why I’m here, but I woke up not long before Little Midoriya was going to give me breakfast. Me, being the confused dummy that I am, assumed that I had slept with his mother or something like that because my stupid brain couldn’t think up anything else.”

Chatora sighed in exasperation, facepalming so hard that Izuku was positive that he would get a bruise afterwards.

Izuku could sense Chatora’s anger was directed mainly towards Iida, so to ease the tension he decided to offer them some food.

“A-uh, do any of you want breakfast? Me and mummy made some for ya. Mu-mummy’s away at the shops right now to get some snacks and cat food or something.” Izuku rolled himself over to the kitchen counter to get a tea towel and to grab a small, white bin bag so that he could properly dispose of the food and plate that he had wasted.


“Thank you very much, Midoriya. What time is it?”

Izuku had successfully managed to clean up his mess and deliver breakfast to the six who were lodging in his living room.

“Uh, it’s almost 11 o’clock, Miss Kayama. Why?”

A flurry broke out. Four out of the six plates smashed, and unfinished breakfasts splattered the floor as they all hurried to neaten themselves up and rush to work.


Shiretoko began to mumble nonsense as she stressed about tidying up her clothes.

The mirror that hung above the TV stand was being hogged by the sextet in their attempt to straighten themselves up and make themselves presentable for work.

“Hey, hey calm down a bit. Mummy already called in and told some office girls that you’d be much later than usual, or maybe not come in at all. I think that it’s okay to take your time and finish your breakfast and maybe rest a bi-bit.”

"Yeah, you guys should probably just calm yerselves," Yagi called from Inko's bedroom.

Chapter Text

“Oooh, Mr Toshinori. How scandalous~ I don’t think Tsukauchi would be too pleased if he heard about this,” Kayama purred as the tall, gaunt blond emerged from Inko’s room, his baggy clothes engulfing his skeleton-like figure.

“Listen, Nemuri, I slept on the floor wrapped up in blankets. I ain’t no cheater,” Yagi grumbled, trudging into the kitchen to grab what was left of the breakfast food.

He glanced over at the work maniacs and noticed the mess they had caused. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, if you make a mess, especially in someone’s else’s house, clean it up!”

He grabbed a plate of toast and sat down at the kitchen table, angrily glaring at the six guests and viciously munching his toast all the while.


“Hey, Yagi, sweetheart,” Tsukauchi murmured as he plopped himself down on the edge of his fiance’s desk. The pair leaned in for a short, sweet peck on the lips, while a groan of disgust came from behind. Nishiya, who had gotten up from his cubicle to get a new pen at the reception desk as his had exploded all over his shirt and his hand, was not pleased with their intimacy.

“Please, Mr Tsukauchi and Mr Toshinori, keep the PDA to a minimum.”

A large, “Oooooooh!” erupted from the office girls and various society members in neighbouring cubicles.


“Why is Gramps doing PDA with Mr Tsukauchi?”

As all eight adults that had been occupying the Midoriya household earlier that morning had finally decided to head off to work at around noon, they decided to let Izuku tag along. (Or rather, they were forced to as Inko didn’t want to leave her precious, sweet boy in the apartment on his own).

“Oh, uh, s-sweetie, when two boys or two girls or when a boy and a girl love each other ve-”

“I know what PDA is, mummy. I-i just want to know what’s, y’know, like going on between them, y’know?”

“Oh, well, not long before the bus accident, Yagi proposed to Tsukauchi. They weren’t together or had any sort of romantic relationship previously. I think they didn’t, at least. Well, anyways, Yagi decided to propose as it was obvious to both of them that, for years, something more than a friendship had been blossoming between them.”

Inko looked away from her computer screen and over to her curly-haired, long-lashed, freckled son, whose eye bags were rather large due to the lack of sleep.

“Y’know, Izuku, Iida, Tensei Iida, has been telling me about you and Tenya. Maybe you tw-”


Inko just laughed at his intense mumbling and patted his mass of grass-like curls and returned to her work.


Izuku had always thought that working in an office, despite staring at a computer screen for hours and doing interviews and filing paper would somehow be fun. Well, that’s at least the idea that had been painted in his head by the dream. The UA Hero School staffroom had always seemed to fun yet so hard-working.

He was sorely mistaken.

It was the most tedious and boring thing ever. The only people who seemed to be having some fun were Yagi and Tsukauchi, but this came at the expense of not getting much work done.

In all honesty, Izuku had been dreading attending Chatora’s martial arts class at UA that evening, afraid of being babied by any assistants because of his disability (some teachers and upperclassmen had a bit of doing this to him), but now he couldn’t wait to actually be able to do something.


“C’mon, Jirou. You need to sharpen your reflexes a bit.”

As Izuku and Chatora entered the gymnasium, they were greeted to the sight of Jirou being crushed onto the floor under Mr Aizawa’s grip. Jirou had obviously been having sparring practice or something of the sort with him. Although what looked to be two… earphone cables? Protruding from Jirou’s earlobes slightly alarmed Izuku.

Over in the corner, a tall, stocky blond boy whose face resembled that of an Amiibo character's was holding a torn-up punching bag steady for Kirishima whose body had seemed to have turned as hard as a rock.

“HEY! MIDO- AUGHFF!” Unfortunately, Kirishima had spotted his classmate seconds before he got whacked in the face by the punching bag.

"HEY! Quit fooling around."

The look on Chatora’s face and the tone of his voice beckoned the four others using the facility to gather around him.

“Alright, from here on out Little Midoriya is going to be joining us here. Aizawa, I would like you to be Mirio’s sparring partner. Jirou and Kirishima, you two’ll practice using your gifts on one another. And Little Midoriya,” Chatora glanced down at Izuku, his eyes glinting in the gently fading summer sunlight. “You’ll take on me.”

Chapter Text

“Yes, Chatora, sir,” they all mused, and collectively left to go and train in their own confined corners of the gym.

After they had been left alone for a few moments, Chatora began to stare at Izuku out of the corner of his eye. His stare penetrated Izuku’s soul; he felt a chill of perturbance run down his spine, the chills worsening the longer he was stared at.

“Little Midoriya, I really want you to show me what you’ve got,” he growled as he turned to face Izuku, viciously cracking his knuckles.

“B-but I do-don’t ha-have anyth-anything! I us-used m-m-my gi-gi-gi-gift once b-b-b-efore on accident, b-b-but otherwi-ise I cant d-do not-nothing.”

Izuku stuttered, slightly backing up a bit as Chatora began to trudge over to him.

And before Izuku knew it, his wheelchair was skidding all the way to the other half of the gym, which was thankfully vacated.

Chatora had stretched out his arm, as if it were made of rubber, and went in for a quick punch.

Thankfully, although his current body wasn’t very strong, Izuku remembered all of the hero moves he had recorded in his little notebooks in his dream, and his quick reflexes had kicked in.

And he was thankful that they did.

Izuku lifted up his arm, his fingers poised and ready to fire at wherever Chatora was.

As soon as he had begun to flick his finger, he was knocked out of his wheelchair and left completely and utterly winded by a ridiculously powerful whack from behind.

“Young kitten,” Chatora growled. “Never let your guard down.”

Chatora assumed that Izuku was down and out for the count; boy, was he wrong.


‘C’mon, stupid body, let me fly or float or whatever.’

Izuku knew that he had more up his sleeve; his sleeve just didn’t seem to want to release anything that it contained.

Since try as he might, flying didn’t seem to work for him, so he was just going to have to rely on the good ol’ point-and-shoot style where he sat.

It was a good thing that Chatora was also distracted; the second he assumed victory, he had turned his attention to admiring the pretty birds that were sitting on the window ledge outside.

A large gust of wind shot out of Izuku’s fingers. It wasn’t like One For All; no, this gift seemed to be a form of actually channelling the wind, not just an outburst of power that created wind as a side effect.

Chatora was knocked right into the wall, face first.

And by the sound of his groaning, he wasn’t one bit pleased.


“My fingers! My fingers! They aren’t broken for once!” Izuku felt as if he could jump for joy; for once, he could actually fight without causing himself any injuries from his own powers.


Izuku rapidly scooted to the right to avoid an incoming, elastic fist that elongated itself to the other side of the gym, but unfortunately got hit as it returned to its sender.

Izuku let out a cry of shock as he rolled backwards, his cheek stinging, as he rolled to at Chatora’s feet.

“Now, Young Midoriya, are you ready to accept defeat for the second time or are you going to challenge me once more?”

Chatora looked down at Izuku and smirked.

‘This kid has spunk. I like it. If only he was better at using his gift,’ Chatora was excellent at analysing people’s gifts and physical capabilities, and he could instantly tell that Izuku had some form of potential buried deep inside of him.

“No. You haven’t even defeated me once, Chatora, sir,” Izuku, face down on the floor, got his right hand in position to let out another blast. He flicked his fingers, but only a mere gust escaped his body.

Izuku pushed himself up off of the ground, completely and utterly mystified.

“But only a second ago, I could…” Izuku’s voice trailed off as he tried time and time again to create gales, but he could only summon a breeze at best.

His thought process was very rudely interrupted by a rubbery punch to the stomach which managed to fling his body to the other side of the gym, almost interfering with Mirio and Aizawa’s sparring match.


“You got potential, Young Midoriya. That point-and-shoot style of yours is clever, I have to say. If we worked on strengthening your gift, I’d say that you’d turn out to be just as good as Mr Toshinori, if not better.”

Chatora was making his way across the gymnasium, dragging Izuku’s wheelchair along with him.


A small smile spread across Izuku’s cheeks when he heard Chatora speak.

‘I have potential.’

Chapter Text

“You good, Young Midoriya?” Chatora offered Izuku a hand up, and oh boy was he grateful to get a chance to get up off of the floor. A bout of queasiness was plundering his stomach, and he wanted to be able to get to the bathrooms quickly in case the sickness decided to lay assault on his oesophagus.

“I-i feel a li-li-little sick, but I’m ok-okay, Mr Cha-chatora sir,” Izuku was yanked to his feet by a very sweaty, stretchy hand that was volumes larger than his own.

Unfortunately, there was a little too much sweat, and Izuku ended up on his rear end on the ground, once again.

“Geez, Lil' Midori, you’re really attached to the gym floor, huh?”

“AAAAUUHHH! MI-MIRIO! WH-HOW?!” Izuku screeched and fell backwards, shock resonating throughout his body.

Mirio's upper torso had popped up out of the ground right in front of him, out of nowhere, shirtless.

A few moments of shocked silence passed, Izuku not breaking eye contact with Mirio out of fear, and Mirio not breaking eye contact with Izuku for fun.

“Hey, Mirio, get back to sparring with Aizawa, now.” Chatora was a man who did not like to be disobeyed and his orders toward Mirio were no exception.

“Okey-dokey, Captain!”

And with that, Mirio disappeared into the floor and popped up once more, only to get slapped right across the face by Aizawa’s strange scarf-thing. Could you even call it a scarf? Izuku didn’t know, but right now he was too aghast to even think.


“That fight with Mr Chatora was so, so manly, dude! The way you kept getting back up when he knocked you down, and that big bwoosh of air, man, was that cool! You have a seriously cool gift!”

Izuku, Kirishima and Jirou were sitting outside of the gym. Martial Arts club was over, but they decided to wait behind for a while and chat in an attempt to get better acquainted with the new member (particularly the two boys).

And the two of them hit it off rather well, considering how Kirishima wouldn’t stop going on and on and on about how ‘manly’ he thought that Izuku was.

“Y-yeah, but you and Jirou were way cooler! I mean, you both have so much morefightingexperiencethanmesoobviouslyyourfightwasgoingtola-”

“Are you okay, man?”

Izuku quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. He had forgotten that nobody from school had heard him mutter before.

‘I must’ve weirded them out so much! Drat it all!’

“I’ve never heard somebody speak that fast before,” Jirou said. “Hey, maybe Eminem had some competition.”

“Who’s M and M?”

After Izuku had said this, he and Kirishima could practically smell smoke coming from Jirou. She paused, letting rage take it’s time to consume her.




Chapter Text

The second Izuku got home he began to doze off in the cloakroom, still in his full PE uniform and his wheelchair.

He was exhausted. What with the early wake-up call that was his mother’s sobs and his extreme Martial Arts club session, he just didn’t have to energy to be awake.

Yagi stood behind him, almost on the verge of passing out himself.

“Hey, you two, wake up. The cloakroom isn’t really the best place to take a nap,” Tsukauchi chuckled. He was standing in the doorway behind them, and apparently, his visit gave both of them a rather bad shock.

“N-naomasa! What are you do-” Before Yagi had a chance to finish his sentence, a horrific coughing fit took control of his body.

Tsukauchi closed the door, walked over and began to pat Yagi on the back as he took his inhaler from the pockets of his baggy khakis.

“Th-thanks, Naomasa,” Yagi exhaled shakily as he gripped tightly onto Tsukauchi’s shoulder, crinkling his crisp, beige trench coat.

“No problem, Yags.”

A rush of blood flooded Yagi’s capillaries, causing a red-hot blush, a blush as crimson as fresh blood splattering on pure, innocent snow, to explode across his bronze skin.

Tsukauchi was the one to often attempt (and more than often fail) at coming up with numerous. endearing “pet-names” for Yagi, although in all reality, neither were particularly good at “romance”. Neither of them cared, though. They were happy together and loved spending time with one another, whether it be a romantic date or not, and that was all that was important to them. Along with each other’s safety, of course.

“O-oh, h-hey, Mr Tsukauchi, a-uh, Det-detective Tsukauchi, si-sir,” Izuku wasn’t quite sure how to properly address a detective, especially one as high-ranking as Tsukauchi, so he tried his best to be as respectful as he possibly could. “Wh-why exactly are y-you here, uh, sir Detective?”

Izuku’s way of addressing Tsukauchi made him chuckle. A small smile spread across his lips as his slicked-back midnight-black hair shone in the light of the dying sun that filtered through the small window above their front door. His deep brown eyes were filled with mystery; some people’s eyes, regardless of colour, could give everything away about them. This was a tool that Izuku used when first meeting people, so that he could gauge how trustworthy and friendly they were or weren’t.

But he couldn’t detect anything about Tsukauchi at all. This man, no matter how nice he may act, sure had his secrets; plenty of them. That was all that Izuku could tell from a quick observance.

“Oh! Since I heard about six society members rudely intruding your home early this morning, I figured you’d all be dozing off standing up, so I decided to come around and help out a bit. Just in case you were wondering why I’m here,” Tsukauchi said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he slipped off his black Doc Martens and hung up his coat and sleek, rather cool-looking detective hat.


“A-uh, Inky, Naomasa’s here,” Yagi mumbled as he sulked out of the cloakroom and flopped down onto the sofa, collapsing out of exhaustion, while Tsukauchi wheeled Izuku to the kitchen table.

“Oh! Tsukauchi! Why didn’t you give me a call before you came here? I would’ve prepared some extra stew if I knew!” Inko said, her speech as quick as the speed that the tiredness multiplied within her already skew-whiff brain.

“Because I know how much of a worrier you can be, Miss Inko. I just came to help out and, uh, take a break from, uh, work.”

Izuku looked at Tsukauchi.

The way he had said, “work”, sounded dodgy.

The way his eyes had gone awry as he managed to squirm that sentence out of his larynx seemed shifty.

He had momentarily let his guard down.

He had momentarily let his secrets be exposed by opening the mahogany doors to his soul that were his eyes.

Izuku had seen, even for just a mere second, what he was hiding.

And Izuku saw.

That Tsukauchi was afraid.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Tsukauchi.”

The slowly falling evening sun scorched the back of Tsukauchi’s neck. No matter how late or early in the day it may have been, lately, the sun always seemed to be hot enough to sear people’s skin off.

And this was no different in the small back alleyway that Tsukauchi and his right-hand man, Sansa Tamakawa, were being held at gunpoint in.

A young girl draped in a filthy, raggedy, sunflower-yellow dress who appeared to be no older than 13, lumbered towards them, her piercing yellow eyes boring a hole in their souls. The longer she looked at them, the louder the prominent screeching that was coming from the deep coils of their minds became.

“Tsukauchi, Detective ‘Kauchi, ‘Kauchi, ‘Kauchi,” she repeated over and over again, her messy, dirty blonde buns that clung to the sides of her greasy mop of hair bouncing and flailing with every step.

“My name is Himiko Toga. Dada says I need to spill your blood.”

At this point, both Tsukauchi and Tamakawa’s backs were pressed tightly against the stone wall that marked the ending of the alley.

They have been out of the sun at that point, but both of them were beginning to realise that that could’ve been the last time that they felt the sun on their backs.

Both men had been disarmed of all weapons or communication devices when they had previously brawled with the psychopath that was currently slowly pacing towards them.

Despite being so young appearance-wise, she definitely had the combat skills equivalent of someone who had been training steadily for decades.

Suddenly, she stopped and dropped her gun. Her gangly arms hung at her sides, creating small ruffles in what could’ve been a princess-like dress if it had not been for the blood that covered it.

The only thing she didn’t drop was her gaze.

Tamakawa let out a painful screech and dropped to his knees. He began clutching his throat for dear life as blood began pouring out of his mouth.


Tsukauchi also dropped onto the rough, tarmacked ground, rubbing the back of his partner in an attempt to soothe him.

Thankfully the blood wasn't flowing too heavily. It had initially been a large spurt but was now a mere trickle.

“What happened? Are you okay?” No matter how many times Tsukauchi repeated and rephrased his questions, he couldn’t get Tamakawa to speak.

“Please, Tamakawa, talk to me!” Tsukauchi yelled out in desperation as Toga looked at the pair, her irises growing. She got immense pleasure out of seeing people in pain.

“Sh-she ch-ch-choked me. I wa-wa-wasn’t her-r-re. I was u-underw-w-wa-wate-r. I tr-tried to swim up b-b-but she kept on dr-dragging m-m-meh down until I b-b-b-bl-bla-blahcked o-ouht.”

Tamakawa finally managed to choke out a sentence, more blood flowing from his mouth as a result.

“Oh? Do you like my gift?” Toga’s voice was like nails dragging across a chalkboard, yet at the same time, it was like sweet birdsong. So naive and sing-songy, yet the layers and layers of ruthlessness and apathy were so horrifically apparent in her tone.

“I can make people hallucinate. I can make them let me see their memories. I can make them see mine. The only drawback is, is that unfortunately, both of us bleed.”

Toga pulled up her dress, right up to her chest, exposing a myriad of bloody bandages. They encased her emancipated figure like a cacoon; and by the looks of the fresh cut that had just opened up on the inside of her right thigh, she was going to need more.

“My injuries are on the outside, whereas other people’s cuts are on the inside. It can be seen as a really cool metaphor, y’know? That while I may be damaged and starved and neglected and beaten and bloodied on the outside, I’m a perfectly good, obedient girl on the inside! My dada tells me that whenever I do what he wants me to do. But other people. The other people of this world,” she gritted her teeth. Her voice lost whatever honey that she had been stirring through it before. The endless screeching jumped to decibels that Tsukauchi and Tamakawa didn't think were possible to reach. As they were doubled over in pain, tormented by hellish screeching, she continued her little declaration. “They are all pretty and nice and flirtatious and wealthy and generous on the outside. Yet on the inside, they’re all penniless, remorseless, lying, betraying pigs that deserve to go to the seventh circle of Hades.”

She finished off her speech with a curtsy, grabbing her gun while she was low to the ground.

Chapter Text


That was the only word that could overpower the torturous thrashing of the demented souls that seemed to have gotten a grip on both his physical and mental state.

He couldn’t die now.

It was only a mere twenty minutes ago that he had left the Midoriya residence, his belly full of food and his heart full of love. He had his parents and sister back home in Kazakhstan. He had Yagi, his long-time best friend and lover. He had the society and all of his friends in it. Tamakawa had everything at stake, too. Both of them had too much to leave behind and so many things still yet to do.

And yet here they were, paralyzed and lying in a heap on the filthy ground of a dingy alleyway, about to be murdered by a teenager with a gun.

Such a simple end to two not-so-simple lives.

As sweat dripped down his forehead, tears slipped their way down his cheeks and blood spurted out of his mouth, Toga loaded the gun, her demonic eyes not glancing away for even a second.

She cocked the gun in their direction. Her finger closed around the trigger. Neither Tsukauchi nor Tamakawa could even brace for their untimely demise as their flesh was turned into a painful prison of perpetual agony.

“Himiko... Himiko, darling. It’s me, dada. I want you to put your gun down and come home now and leave those nice men alone.”

A sonorous voice rang out of what Tsukauchi could assume to be a small camera and microphone contraption of some form, despite not seeing any evidence that pointed towards Toga possessing either.

“But… but dada! You t-”

“No more if, and's or buts. Another peep of resistance out of you and you’ll be punished.”

The Toga girl inhaled sharply and instantaneously dropped her gun the second she heard the word ‘punished’.

She snarled at the two cowering officers as she turned around, and began to trudge back into the warmth of Apollo’s fading rays.

Even as she turned around the corner and left them there, isolated, Tsukauchi and Tamakawa’s bodies would not stop burning. Sensations of being prodded by multiple white-hot pokers burned almost as intensely as they did when she was there. The incessant, beastly wailing still continued to turn their brains into mush.

And they both continued to bleed.




Tsukauchi woke up in a hospital ward not too dissimilar to the one that Izuku had once layn in. Across from him lay Tamakawa, his wife and children standing solemnly around his hospital bed. It seemd like he was still unconscious.

Tsukauchi looked up, and sure enough, Yagi was sitting on his bed. It appeared as if he hadn’t slept in days; knowing Yagi, he would’ve been too worried about Tsukauchi and had neglected himself in the process of worrying. That’s what Yagi had always been like, no matter the situation or the people involved. He had to care for them all, no matter how bad the state of disrepair that his own being fell into was.

“What happened?” Tsukauchi asked.

He remembered everything that happened- the remnants of the screams of the dead still haunted the back of his mind.

He just didn’t want to recall anything, so he just made basic enquiries and acted as if he didn't know anything- hoping that his mind would soon turn his play-pretend into reality.

“Well, you and Mr Tamakawa seemed to have been badly attacked a few days ago. Both of you were in a rather… bad state, when a shopkeeper found the two of you.” Yagi didn’t go into much detail to try and spare Tsukauchi’s mental wellbeing.

Tsukauchi smiled as he stared up at his fiance. “It’s just a bit funny to me that I’m the one hurt and hospitalised this time. Our roles are generally reversed.” He forced out a light chuckle, trying to ease the agitated air that seemed to be trapped in the room.

Yagi smiled back, giving Tsukauchi a pat on the head. As he did so, he leant in and whispered into Tsukauchi’s ear:

“Himiko did this to you, didn’t she?”

Chapter Text

Bakugo walked just a few paces ahead of Izuku, making sure to express his inner fury every ten seconds by constantly angrily kicking stones and pebbles, or occasionally swearing for no reason at all.

Neither of them spoke to each other much. At all.

The most interaction either of them had had with one another, that Izuku could remember, was the incident where Bakugo dumped Izuku out of his wheelchair.

They never looked near one another unless by accident and they always made sure to part ways as soon as possible.

They had apparently been great childhood friends up until middle school when peer pressure got to Bakugo. He stopped hanging around Izuku, as he had been labelled as one of the 'weird' kids in the class (for his extreme enthusiasm about manga) and this very quickly set Bakugo onto the path of metamorphosising into the bully he is.

Just a few days ago he was almost expelled for very audibly telling Aoyama to go and kill himself. Izuku wanted to try and reach out to him, to try and make him change and grow the way he did in the dream.

But Izuku knew it was futile.

Since Grampa Yagi wasn’t there to be his assistant, and his mother had to go to work, Izuku's circle of friends were to act as his designated caretakers for the day. It wasn't that he particularly needed one, it was just mandatory in order to adhere to the school rules. So, as a result, he was wheeling himself down to the train station in silence. Without Yagi’s usual chatter to fill the quiet, crisp morning air, Izuku’s mind had begun to wander, with Bakugo being the main subject on his mind.

He wanted to find somebody close to Bakugo to try and communicate with him more and maybe help him slowly change his rather evil disposition, but apparently, there was no one that he was friends with.

Sure, he could act civil with a few of the guys for about ten minutes, but that was closest things to friends that Bakugo had.

Unlike back in middle school, he didn’t have a clique of fellow bullies and delinquents to do his bidding, so he had further hardened his heart and had begun to isolate himself from the others to try and make his loneliness less apparent.

Nobody could sympathise with him though. He didn’t want friends. That was the problem. He wanted followers. What he wanted were slaves to pick on people for him.

But what he needed, though, was a counsellor and a trip to anger management. Something his mother didn’t provide as she assumed that her own yelling was help enough.


“B-bakugo? Can I-I ask you som-something?”

Bakugo stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. His spiky, very well-gelled blonde hair accentuated his wrath as his frenzied hazel eyes locked with Izuku’s own brilliantly emerald ones.


Izuku cried out as a stone hit him square on the nose. A stone that had definitely been kicked by Bakugo.

“What do you f//cking want, you b//tchin’ freak?” Bakugo’s voice was rather deep and raspy- yet another factor going towards his overall intimidating-ness.

“A-uh, oh, um,” Izuku hadn’t quite planned out what he was going to say. “Y-y’know, Kir-kirishima i-is a li-little lonely, a-and he li-likes pun-punching and fi-fighting like y-you do, so wh-why don-don’t you ma-ma-ma-make fr-f-fri-friends with hi-ii-im?” His reasoning was rather weak; Kirishima, although he was a rather rowdy boy who did indeed like to fight and was often described as being the 'delinquent' type, he was no bully like Bakugo. In fact, he probably possessed the softest heart in the class and was an all-around bro-type of guy.

Izuku’s voice managed to crack umpteen times out of fear while he spoke, and he had a good reason to.

The second he closed his mouth, Bakugo’s instantly opened and let an avalanche of cuss words and threats flow forth. This lasted for about five minutes before Bakugo gave Izuku a final punch to the face and continued to stalk on towards the train station.

He now sat in a desolate avenue, blood dripping from his nose into his lap. The only noises to accompany the sounds of his own choked-back tears were the din that Bakugo’s positively irate sounding stomps caused in the distance and the murder of crows that occupied the power lines that ran up each side of the pathway.

They laughed, mocking Izuku’s frail attempt to appeal to Bakugo.

It wasn’t that Izuku was feeling sorry for Bakugo; it was just that Bakugo’s miserable attitude made everyone else feel miserable too (spare for Kaminari, but he never seemed to lose his usual sparky pep), and he wanted to turn that around. Like when the boys had visited Bakugo's house a few weeks before, when they had decided to go and see Izuku after he had gotten out of the hospital. They only dropped in because it was close by and they didn't want to disturb Izuku too early (they arrived at around 11 in the morning and left at 2 in the afternoon). They had no intentions of simply having a friendly visit to the Bakugo residence 'just because' or because some of his 'friends' might've wanted to have a chat with him.

It was also the fact that Izuku still clung to his dream world too closely.

He still missed everyone and everything.

Even the recent revelation of finding out that gifts existed still didn’t exactly seal off the hole in his chest where his love for his own fictional world had once been.

As the blood flowed heavier, he turned his wheelchair around and headed back.

Chapter Text

“Oh, Zu-zu, honey! Your nose is f//ckin bleedin’!” Mitsuki Bakugo, the parent from which Katsuki Bakugo got both his looks and attitude from, opened the door to their, frankly, rather massive, American-style house.

“Auntie Mitsuki, could I come in? I, uh, want to talk to you about so-something.” Izuku had made this decision and he thought that it was the best.

“Sure, kiddo, but you'd better be quick about it. You've already missed your train by about half an hour at this point, but if we’re speedy enough you should be able to catch the next one in an hour’s time.”

Mrs Bakugo led Izuku into their kitchen; a marble fantasy world where some of the best dishes of Izuku’s childhood had been prepared.

Izuku sat by the island in the middle of the room while Mrs Bakugo pulled the First-Aid kit out of a cupboard under the sink.

“So, what was it that you wanted to say?”

Mitsuki strutted over to where Izuku sat, her blood-red stiletto heels clicking on the sleek, pearly-white ceramic tiles that adorned the already luxurious kitchen floors. She bent down and began to mop any remaining blood away from Izuku’s face (he had previously used up all of his tissues in his blazer pocket earlier, when the blood flow was heavier).

“Oh, uh, it was just that,” Izuku paused, trying to word it in a way so as to not cause offence. “Bak- Katsuki doesn't have ma-many friends at school. N-none at all, actually. And-and-and it’s all because he’s so angry all the time. In fact, he was the one that ga-gave me this noseb-bleed. I-I know h-h-how adamant you are a-a-at send-nding him to the-therapy or an-anger man-management, but i-it really is the right ch-choice.”

Mrs Bakugo stood up, leaving a cotton ball in Izuku’s right nostril.

‘Crap. I made her mad.’ Panic rapidly took control of Izuku, a raging blush rushing all over his body and hot tears threatened to fall once again.

Mrs Bakugo pulled out a stool and sat down, resting her head in her palms.

“I hear this so damn much. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with ma kid, lemme tell ya that. Sure, he may be angry, but that’s just a teenager thing. Therapy my ass. Although I am sorry that he gave ya a nosebleed, though. I'll be sure to discipline 'im when he comes home.”

Izuku gulped. “S-surely yo-you got a ph-phone c-ca-call about wh-what he sa-sa-said to Aoyama the o-other day.”

Mrs Bakugo raised her head, looking directly into Izuku’s eyes. Her chestnut irises burned with even more intensity than Bakugo’s ever had.

“Yes, I did. And that’s just a teenager thing. Do not make me repeat myself again, Izuku Midoriya. I don’t wanna make a call to your mother, telling her about how ya walked into my house and then disrespected my parenting right to my face after I helped you with your injuries. I know my boy better than anyone else and let me tell you, he’s just being a kid. Now let’s get you down to the station without any commotion over how I’m raising my child.” Mrs Bakugo’s stern voice was on levels of petrifying that surpassed any villain from a horror movie. The dread and alarm that built up inside Izuku was overwhelming.

And before he knew it, tears were streaming down his face as Mrs Bakugo wheeled him out of her house and down towards the train station.

Tears of distress and failure.

‘This was all just a big mistake. Why is it that everytime that I try to help someone it always turns out wrong?’

He had spent almost half an hour, wheeling himself around in circles, contemplating whether or not he should make this trip to the Bakugo casa. All that time had been wasted in vain, trying to help someone that doesn’t love you.


Just like how my time is wasted in vain day after day at this damned Brotherhood. They all know that I have more strength than that little prissy brat that they sent out to target those two wingnuts from the Gifted Society. I could’ve killed them in seconds flat, and many more surrounding civilians too.

I’ve already killed many before with my phenomenal gift. But no, I have to sit still and look pretty all because I’m the heir to the Sheath.

Because someone like me, Tomura Shigaraki, because apparently, I need lessons on how to manage a business and an organisation more than I do actual experience.

If only things could go back to the way they were in the old days when I could do whatever I wanted and harm whoever I wanted without any repercussions.

Back before Yagi Toshinori fighting my father, causing him to weaken. That's when they decided that I needed to be coddled like a baby.

I’m tired of narrating other people’s lives at the minute.

I want you all to take a look inside my own.

Chapter Text

I was born into a family whose wealth was multitudinous.

From a young age, I was given everything and anything I ever wanted, presented to me on a satin cushion.

My parents adored me.

I had been the only child to survive the 'test' that their other newborns had been put through at birth, so they quite obviously thought the world of me.

Rather stupendous, ravishing meals served on a myriad of silver platters was the norm for breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper and anything in between.

I was given private tutoring and had always been an astute child, a genius prodigy from a young age.

I was everything that they had ever wanted.

Someone unyielding and capable enough to be an aloof and responsible leader from a tender age, a boy who could do everything and had everything.

But then I had to go and manifest a damned gift.


Everything fell apart when I began to accidentally disintegrate objects such as my toy cars, colouring pencils, teacups, gloves and more when I was about nine years old.

My parents were terrified of me.

Mama couldn’t even look near me without gagging and crying.

They had a son who possessed the thing that they feared the most.

They had a son that had a gift; the exact same thing that my Papa, the heir to the throne of the Sheath Brotherhood, fought to eradicate.


Home life became isolated and daunting as nobody, not even the maids and butlers, would dare to come near me for a period of maybe three years.

I ate alone.

I played alone.

My tutoring stopped and my previously steadily gained intelligence seemed to gush out of my ears, leaving my head empty of all knowledge apart from the fact that I. Was. A. Monster.


This torture, as aforementioned, went on for about three years before my father finally approached me.

And told me that they had legally changed my name from Tenko Shimura to Tomura Shigaraki.

They didn’t even want to be associated with me anymore.

Their own flesh and blood, whom they had put so much love and trust into.

And for yet another year I heard not even so much as a pin drop from them.


I felt like I had to prove to them that I was worth something, I had to do something to once again get their validation.

So there was only one thing I could think of; fulfil Papa’s wish.


For the longest time, he and his squadron of men had been trying to kill off my grandfather, allowing my Papa to take the throne, but failing miserably each and every time. My Grandpapa was far too competent in terms of intelligence and too apt at combat to be taken down by sneak attacks or poisoning attempts or gang raids, no matter how well-devised the plans might’ve been.

He wouldn’t’ve suspected his own, lonesome grandson, that his own son had abandoned had come to end his miserable life.

He would, rather literally, crumble in the hands of a simple thirteen-year-old.

Chapter Text

I opened the doors to Grandpapa’s spacious chambers.

After I had been born, he had insisted that I take his bedroom and that he move into a spare dining room.

Still, to this day, I have no clue as to why he instructed that; it’s not as if he ever loved me.

My nose was greeted with a disgusting waft of musty air.

It was clear that much akin to myself, he had been ignored by all of those surrounding him.

It was apparent that a window had not been opened in what could’ve been a few months, and with the state that my Grandpapa appeared to be in, he himself hadn’t eaten anything in a few days.


Over the past year or so, my Grandpapa had been spending more and more time in his bedroom, until he had practically shut out the outside world completely.

I surmise that he had been the one to (rather rudely, I would like to add) tell everyone else to leave him unassisted.

Looking at him, I almost teared up; his face was gaunt and hollow, dark circles had formed hideous rings under his eyes and, most detestable of all:

he was smiling.

A grin that lit up his otherwise grey-ish complexion was plastered across his chapped, blue lips.

As I slowly made my way over to his canopy bed, he turned his trembling head to lock eyes with mine.

His own lavishly scarlet-red irises had lost any malicious spark that they once held.

H e w a s w e a k e n i n g.

He forced his slight grin into a full-on, toothy beam, the wrinkles and creases on his face growing tenfold as a result.

“Ah, my dear Tenko. How long has it been since I last saw you, my handsome little grandson?”

All I saw when I looked at him was a monkey begging for its pathetically meaningless life.


I extended my hand, hoping he had enough strength to reach out and hold mine.

Then it would be game over for him.

“Little Tenko,” his voice was so mild and submissive I could hardly stand it. I felt like gagging. “You’ve been sent by your father to disintegrate me, haven’t you?”

I stumbled backwards, complete shock taking a grasp of my fragile frame.

‘Not now. I can’t show fragility now.’

“It’s okay. Go ahead. My time has come. And,” his grotesque smile seemed to expand more than humanly possible as he spoke this. “I’ve always wanted to go out at the hands of someone who has a gift. What better way to be sent to Heaven than being disintegrated by my own grandson who shares the same gift as I do?”

That’s when I couldn’t take anymore.

The moment he finished his sentence, I clasped my hand around his neck, all five fingers, and within milliseconds all that remained inside the bed was a pile of dust.

“It was ME who killed you! I wasn’t sent by anyone else, you old geezer! I killed you! Not my good-for-nothing scumbag of a father!” I spat, hot tears spilling down my cheeks as I fell to my knees. My quivering hands firmly grasped the silk bed sheets as I slammed my head into the dusty marble floor, more and more blood gushing out the more intensely I wounded myself.

Why was I upset.

Up until now, I had loathed him.

So why was I feeling sympathy for him.

Why was there a gaping void opening in my heart?

I w a s w e a k.

Chapter Text

Still to this very day I have no idea why my Grandpapa sought so hard to destroy gifts if he had one himself.

Maybe he wanted to be the superior gifted one.

Maybe his gift didn't come to him naturally, and he had been infected by one of the society members, causing him to become vengeful toward the people who had cursed him.

It’s something that, when I’m all alone, like to think about from time to time.



That night a banquet was held in my honour, for my valour as a blossoming assassin.

At least, that’s what the people who feared and despised my presence had dubbed me.

My feast was held in Grandpapa’s bedroom.

The maids had been given orders to leave his ashes where they lay so that other nobles could admire my handiwork.

I received many’s a compliment, but all were spoken to me by quivering lips.

It wasn’t until now that they realised my full power, and their neglectfulness merely pushed my gift’s abilities to expand.

T h e y w e r e a f r a i d.


For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I was getting affection from my parents.

I regret saying this, but I enjoyed it.

Even though they had done so much to me by caring for me so little, I still somehow… loved them.

I welcomed their embrace, knowing in the back of my mind that soon, everything would relapse.

I knew that I would end up isolated from their warm, parently 'love' once more in the future.


So, I ate and drank my sorrows away that night.

I don’t think that I’ve ever been drunk since that day.

But since they decided to glorify me, I pigged out like a King.

Like the King that they still revere me as to this day.

Only thing is, that back then I was the King Chessman; a disposable Chess piece that could be used to my Papa's advantage.

Now, I am the King of death. My comrade’s deaths.


Morrow’s morning, I was entered into my Papa’s practical test- an exam in which promising rookies from the lower-down departments are forced into a Hunger Games-like situation in order to prove who could be proficient assassins and fulfil my Papa’s murderous wishes.

To explain further, my Papa also operated a mafia- he was, in short, a Yakuza.

The newbies and people in the lower-down departments knew nothing of gifts or our war with the Gifted Society.

They presumed that this was just the penultimate step to becoming an ordinary assassin (the final was to be granted the official title at a ceremony).

Those lowly scumbags were just here to get an adrenaline rush off of crime.

'Felony junkies' was our (us in the higher-ups) nickname for them.


I would like to describe the exam in more detail, but unfortunately, there is nothing more to it than the fact that I managed to disintegrate them all- all 100 or so of them- within about 2 minutes.

Sure, I got shot and wounded a multitude of times, but us gifted people don’t damage like regular humans do.

We have more overall stamina, are able to jump unreasonably high, run faster, heal more expeditiously, have stronger immune systems and ultimately possess a longer lifespan than the general human population.

So, all of these factors plus my gift and my gun, gave me a predetermined victory the second I walked into the desolate battlegrounds.

And that began my role as my Papa’s right-hand assassin, which I was up until a few months ago when my Papa took ill.

That's why I’ve been put under extreme guardianship by his most adept and skilful men.

Why I'm enforced to flourish inside a cocoon of bouncers.

He doesn’t want to risk losing his heir.


No matter how badly his company is crumbling under his sickly orders.

Chapter Text

The aforementioned ‘extreme protection’ is a small vanguard squad that goes under the name of, ‘Et Pignus’ is run by my Uncle.

‘Et Pignus’ which roughly translates to ‘The Pledge’, as in the pledge that we all take to eradicate the gifted population (bar from me, of course) and to do my Papa’s bidding, no matter what the command may be.

‘Et Pignus’ also runs a small TV station down in Shikoku, I believe it is.

Some gifted lunatic that runs around in a skimpy red-and-black BDSM suit (kinky bastard) that calls himself ‘Ignus Lustro’ has beaten down upon them, rather heavily, more than once.

Their failures earned them a harsh chastisement from Papa.

Good thing that my little blonde b//tch of a cousin that recently joined managed to get him hospitalised.


This final chapter of my mini-autobiography will be nothing more than a collection of my thoughts and a few random tales from my life.

No order, no planning, just what is in my head.


As a child, in my long period of solitude, I would often wander out into our garden.

It was a luscious place. There were about 3 kilometres of wooded area and a further 4 kilometres of flowers, fountains and fanciful statues.

I spent most of my time in the garden disintegrating flowers, as I knew that nobody would stop me from ruining all of the gardener’s hard work.

Yes, I hated my gift, and I still do to this day, but damn does it feel good to destroy things.



Surprising fact about me, but I am actually rather accomplished at flute and the cello.


I have to admit, there’s not much else about me or my family or the organisation that I can really tell you about.

Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

I think I’ll just keep narrating Izuku’s life from now on.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Mido, dude,” Jirou poked Izuku with one of her ear jacks, a trickle of mischievous intent peppered throughout her tone. “Look at this.”

Izuku peered over at Jirou’s phone, disappointed filling his entire being as he was subjected to watching a video of her successfully playing Despacito 2 on a bass guitar.

“It took me a few weeks to perfect it. I probably would’ve nailed it quicker if I didn’t have to train so much.”

These past few weeks Chatora and Mr Aizawa had really been putting them all through their paces.

Izuku, although not being able to make any form of progress in his emission of wind, was doing rather excellently in terms of floating and flying.

Although he can’t go too high off of the ground, his control over his abilities were rather impressive.

“Yeah, I’ve been tr-training really ha-hard too,” Izuku paused, taking a sip of his Fanta. “It’s so fun ju-just to be able to fl-loat around the house and stuff. I-i-i really like it w-when I tr-train in the wo-oo-ods. It’s re-really b-b-b-beautif-ful to see the wo-orld from the treetops.”

“Vhy are ve talking about treetopz exactly?”

Aoyama and Tokoyami appeared from around the corner, the prissy German doing his usual strut while Tokoyami lagged behind.

“Oh! Die Tugend! The ztepz of the gym are zo uncomfy. How on earth are you able to zit on them?” Aoyama had tried to take a seat beside Jirou, but was swiftly brought back up by the harsh texture of her choice of seat.

“Aoyama, please, do not complain. We should be forever thankful that we get to spend quality time with our friends like this afterschool,” Tokoyami put on his usual performance of fingering his silver cross and looking upwards to Heaven.

As he looked upward, the dimming rays of God’s great, golden masterpiece illuminated his unusually stark crimson eyes. The fir trees that surrounded the playing fields out the back of the gym complexes swayed to and fro in the breeze; the wind entangling soft whisperings of mystery into their myriad of branches.

Tokoyami felt that God was all around him; and he felt comforted by that. It was what Father Saitou had taught him when he was but a young fledgling in the Lord’s loving arms.

“Yeah, I-i get wh-what Toko’s ge-getting at. I me-mean, su-summer’s almo-ost he-here, so th-there’s o-only so m-much time w-w-we have lef-ft to enjoy si-sights a-and expe-experiences like th-this.”

Izuku took another sip of his Fanta. He really liked Fanta.

“I zee vhat you’re all getting at,” Aoyama mused. “But I vould enjoy time with my friendz more if I were comfortable!”

“Oh, c’mon, Yama!”

“A-aoyama, dude, m-maybe jus-just chill a li-little bit?”

“Aoyama, please, complaining does nothing. Trusting in the Lord to see you through hardships does. And maybe getting up off of the stone steps would stop this particular hardship that you are currently facing, so to sp-.”


Just as Tokoyami was going to finish his sentence, he was cut off by the emergency exit doors being swung open (and consequently knocking Jirou, Aoyama and Tokoyami onto to pavement).

“Ah! Little Midoriya! Good to see you!” Apparently, Chatora hadn’t noticed the three who lay face-down on the cement yet. “Come on in, we need to begin training as quickly as possible today! Aizawa has a scheduled meeting soon, and I don’t think that I can keep an eye on all four of you at once, so we’ll try to get as much trai-”

Chatora trailed off as he saw Aoyama and Tokoyami picking themselves up off of the ground. He had to be careful with what he said in front of what he could assume were only normal humans.

“Ooh, iz thiz zome zort of a zparring club?” Aoyama said, trying to take his mind off of the dust that now covered his pristine school uniform.

“Oh, I-i guess. But, you see, it’s more for, uh-” Chatora was finding it hard to find the right words to make up a feasible lie.

“It’s for people who have disabilities and stuff like that, y’know? Both Mido and I go.” Jirou said as she dusted herself off.

“Y-yeah,” Izuku wanted to try desperately and continue the lie. “I-it helps m-me keep my bo-body in sha-shape ev-even though I’ve lo-lost the use of my legs and i-it helps Jirou mo-move easier wi-with her Rick-rickets.”

The three smiled bleakly, hoping that Tokoyami and Aoyama would buy into their not particularly well-fabricated lie.

“Oh, vell, have fun! Ve can all Zkype vonce you’re done, ja?” Aoyama grabbed Tokoyami by the arm and began to drag him away, waving wildly the entire time. “Wunderbar!”


As Tokoyami and Aoyama rounded the corner, a collective sigh of relief filled the steadily cooling (yet still incredibly humid) Thursday evening.

Chapter Text

“I never would have guessed that you’d be such a good liar, Little Missy Jirou,” Chatora wiped the seat that had begun to form on his forehead from stress.

“I’m not exactly a good liar, per se,” Jirou swaggered on into the gym ahead of Izuku and Chatora, doing arm stretches as she did so. “I just know how to fake confidence.”

“W-wish I kn-knew how t-to have con-confid-dence at a-all,” Izuku chuckled, gulping when he realised that his brand of humour would probably worry Chatora.

“Little Midoriya, do we need to have a chat?”

“N-no! It w-was just a j-joke! Do-don’t w-worry! L-let’s get on wi-with tr-t-training! We don’t have mu-much time, righ-right?” Izuku forced a grin, trying to divert the conversation away from what he would assume to turn into a call home.

He couldn’t risk making his mother worry more.

“Very true, Little Midoriya. OKAY, EVERYONE!” Chatora’s voice suddenly seemed to turn into a megaphone, the vibrations echoing off of all of the walls.

“Mirio, you take on Izuku. Jirou, you and Kirishima will do a quick match against Aizawa, okay? I, myself, shall umpire Mirio and Izuku’s match.”

Chatora’s orders were absolute at the Gift training club. You didn’t dare argue with him, no matter how displeased you were with your assigned partner or how you didn’t like what exercise you had to do. If you *did* happen to get gutsy enough to do so, well, nobody knew what would happen to you, and nobody wanted to.

“Hey hey hey, Little Izuku! Brighten up! We’ve got a mega-cool day of training ahead of us, wahey!” Mirio popped out of the ground like some form of a majestically tragic narwhal and managed to land right on Izuku’s lap.


“Wh-hey! Did you really not like me sitting in your lap that much?”

Izuku had freaked out and accidentally shoved Mirio off of his lap.

Now, Mirio lay on the ground, a pout forming on his lips and a look of malcontentment spreading across his usually cheery face.

“Now, little ones, no mucking around. We need to be serious now.”

“Yes, Chatora, sir!”

They both cried in unison, and Mirio promptly launched himself upward and back onto his feet.

Chapter Text


Izuku instantly went on the defensive. He knew that Mirio would initiate the fight by using his strategy of hiding for any amount of time, and then popping out of anywhere (where he popped out of was obviously a well-thought-out strategy devised through simple observation, but to those on the surface it appeared to be more random than a magic 8-ball).

He slightly levitated himself out of his wheelchair, waiting to lunge upwards at the last second to bamboozle his upperclassman.

If, that was, Mirio decided to strike first.

Izuku’s eyes darted around, trying to make a calculated estimate as to where Mirio may be.

And out of the very corner of his eye, he saw a certain blonde quiff rise above ground level like a shark’s fin protruding from the ocean. He was likely surveilling the battlefield like a submerged CCTV camera.

As Mirio’s head began slowly sinking below the ground once again, Izuku took the chance.

He spun around in his wheelchair and pounced at Mirio, managing to grab him by his quiff and yank him upwards.

At that moment, Izuku knew.

He messed up.

In a quick turn of events, Mirio gave Izuku a hefty kick to the stomach, enabling himself to drop back down into the ground.

Izuku was left floating in mid-air, clutching his stomach. He tried turning, hoping to catch another glance at Mirio, only to receive an uppercut straight to the jaw.

Mirio returned to the dark depths of whatever lay below the surface while Izuku now lay on the ground.


“Sorry, Chatora, sir, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but could you please kindly be quiet? I want to get as much training in with the little time we have today without any distractions.”

Mr Aizawa was not one bit pleased with all the ruckus that the trio (generally, the three noisiest people in the club) were making.

“Sorry, Aizawa,” Chatora bowed, a deep sigh escaping his bulky chest.

Not long after Mirio and Izuku had stopped to take a short break to recuperate, Mr Aizawa had to leave, ultimately breaking the club up for that week.


“Little Midoriya, your mother mentioned something about you going over to your father’s house. If I remember correctly, you used to visit him every Thursday and Monday before the, uh, accident,” Chatora had held Izuku behind and let everyone else take their leave as they pleased. “I just kept you behind to remind you.”

“O-oh, uh, thanks for re-reminding me, Ch-Chatora, sir.”

Izuku had been becoming increasingly anxious as the visit to his father’s house loomed closer and closer, ever since he had been made aware of it last week. He guessed that his mother had told Chatora at work to remind him.

“Hey, c’mon, Little Midoriya. Don’t look so down-hearted. I’m sure that you and your father’s reunion will go spiffingly!”

Izuku giggled.


It was such a funny word to him.

Chatora chuckled in response and, patting Izuku’s back as some form of a silent “good luck, kiddo”, began to wheel him down to the train station, where his father would pick him up.

Chapter Text

Hisashi looked around the platform.

His son should have arrived here by now…

His eyes frantically scanned the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of a freckled teenager who donned a mop of unkempt, green hair and the UA uniform.

“Izuku… where are you,” Hisashi muttered, watching the minute hand on his wristwatch tick round and round. The ticking seemed to grow gradually slower, dragging the world along with it. It was as if the universe was mocking his impatience.

Another five minutes or what could have been an eternity and a half passed before he finally decided to try and call Izuku.

“C’mon… c’mon,” Hisashi tapped his foot in frustration. He wasn’t a particularly tolerant man.

“O-oh, hey, uh, dad.”

A voice that Hisashi was all too familiar with resonated through his ears.

“Uh, we may be a bi-bit late b-because w-we have t-to t-take the lo-long route a-ar-a-around b-because of a c-c-car crash t-that caused the sh-shorter r-route to be i-inacc-accessible. Sorry, daddy,” Izuku mumbled. Part of him was terrified of angering his father. He had no idea what he was like apart from the fact that he was an emotionally abusive, cheating narcissist. At least, that's what he had been told.

“Eh, don’t worry kiddo. Just make sure you don’t miss the train.” A feeling of unease like never before suddenly hit Izuku. His breaths became deep and staggered as tidal waves of panic struck him over and over again, eroding away at any hopes he had for a happy trip to see his father. He had no idea why it happened then, of all times.

“You okay, Little Midoriya? Panicking about riding on an unfamiliar train?” Chatora halted and kneeled down so that their heads were level with one another.

“I-I’m fi-fine,” salty tears burned their course down his freckled, chubby cheeks as uncontrollable sobs shook his entire body. “J-just a l-l-li-little nerv-nervous a-about the t-train, y-y-yeah.” It was obvious that Izuku was lying to hell and back.

“Listen, Izuku Midoriya, if you are too scared or nervous about seeing your dad, you can postpone the visit. I’m sure he’d understand.”

Chatora placed a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, lowering his voice so as not to alarm Izuku any further.

“N-no, I-I-I’ll go-g-go,” Izuku was now attracting the attention of strangers, and boy, did he just want to crawl into a ball and disappear right there and then.

“No. You’re not. I’ll take you home in my car and I’ll explain to your mother and grandfather that it would be best to move the visit to another date.” Chatora didn’t know if what he was doing was right or not, he wasn’t used to dealing with teenagers, or even children in general. But he could, at the very least, figure out that it wasn't exactly the best idea for Izuku to visit his father with such feelings of dread.

Izuku just nodded, letting Chatora turn around and begin to head back toward the school car park.

To put it simply, Izuku was not good at making decisions. Each one of them felt like life or death. At least, that’s what his brain inflated each situation into. That’s why he was so adamant about going to his father’s house; if he didn't follow the pre-arranged plans, who knows what could happen to him?

I generally don’t sympathise with heroes, but for once I have to say, Izuku and I have a few more things in common than I originally anticipated.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Yuuga, zveetie, velcome home.”

It was nearly 8 o’clock at night. The weak, aubade beams filtered in through the hot-pink floral-patterned curtains that were drawn across the small windows that adorned the sides of the cutesy bungalow that Aoyama and his grandmother lived in.

He had spent most of his afterschool time shopping with Tokoyami and then had headed to the local farmer’s market in their village to pick up some groceries when he had gotten off of his train.

“Hi, Oma. I picked up zome grozeriez on ze vay home,” Aoyama planted a kiss atop his Oma’s near-bald head. Her white hair was becoming thinner and whispier as the weeks and months went by.

“I’ve alveady ztuck zome lazanga in ze oven. It zhould be veady zoon, hun.”

Their bungalow’s front door led directly into their living room, and a small fork in the hallway just past it led to either the kitchen or another hallway, which led to his Oma’s bedroom, the bathroom or the stairs up to the attic, which was his bedroom. The entire house was plastered in tacky, pink-and-beige floral decor. Decoration as ugly as this would normally appal Aoyama, but since these colours and patterns were his Oma's favourite, he didn't mind too much.

Aoyama went and plopped down the groceries on the table and returned to the living room so that he could complete his homework while keeping an eye on his ever-sickening Oma.


Aoyama heard a blood-curdling, stomach-churning shriek resonate from downstairs. He leapt out of his bed, almost tripping in the process, and ran down the stairs.
He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to his Oma.

Just as he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he came face-to-face with a hooded figure. The surprise intruder lifted up their hood to reveal a man who appeared to be in his twenties but was unsightly enough to be dead.

This man had irregularly blue, shaggy, greasy hair and red eyes. His skin was horrifically dry. It cracked and bled as a grotesque smirk spread its way across his face.

Aoyama flinched as the man held up his hand. He expected to be hit or harmed or maimed in some form or shape, but instead, the only thing to hit him was…

A handful of dust?

Aoyama clamped his hands over his mouth. That dust could’ve been anything, from arsenic to cocaine for all he knew.

“Aw, poor little human. Guess you didn't want to taste your old hag's remains, huh?”

A sudden jolt of sickness grabbed ahold of Aoyama, twisting his oesophagus like a monkey wrench.

“O… Oma?” Tears welled in his eyes. He collapsed down the last two remaining steps into a limp pile. Not his Oma. Not his Oma. Not his Oma. Not his Oma. Not. His. Oma.

Aoyama wanted to fight him, to make him pay for what he had done. Aoyama had never had thoughts of taking someone else’s life, but at that moment, he desired nothing more than to quell the urge to wring this evil cockroach’s neck until his face turned as blue as his hair.

“I’m Tomura Shigaraki, by the way. I came here to say something to you,” Shigaraki sauntered towards the crumpled, crying, Aoyama. Placing his right hand on the end of the banister, the only thing he said to him was, “Look.” Aoyama looked up, the reason why he did was unbeknownst even to himself.

As his tear-filled eyes adjusted to the dim light of the hall, he noticed a soft, blue light emitting from Shigaraki’s crusty hand, and in seconds the entire bannister, and a part of the stairs, crumbled into dust.


The tears stopped rolling from his eyes. For a second, the air stopped entering his lungs. No matter how disgusting this man’s strange powers were, they were ultimately enthralling. No matter how evil they may be, they sent a fantastical rush like no other over Aoyama’s trembling body.

“There are around 50 other people out there who can do things like this. Three, of which, happen to be your close friends, Izuku, Kyouka and Fumikage,” the magical sensation left Aoyama’s body as he heard this. Where was this speech coming from? How did this man know his friends? They were the nicest people on earth, as he was concerned. No way would they get themselves caught up with a man like this. Were they in danger? As Aoyama let a shaking sob escape his body, Shigaraki continued on. “We work in cohorts. They are not human at all; to put it simply, they possess supernatural mutations akin to mine. Don’t trust them if you value your other friends and family member’s lives.”

Shigaraki paused, his crimson eyes flashing with malevolent intent and his smirk twisting into the evilest, most sinister 'smile' that Aoyama had ever layn his eyes upon.

“Oh, wait. You don’t have any other friends or family members, do you, you orphan?”

Chapter Text

Oh, heya! I’m Kaminari Denki. You may be wondering “what’s this blithering idiot doing, narrating this story? And just as it was left on a cliffhanger?”

Well ya see, the author and a friend of hers decided that this story was too dark and heavy, so she’s letting me narrate a silly chapter every so often!

So I’m new to all of this narrator pizzazz, so I think I’m just going to tell you all about the pranks that the seniors pulled on us last year in middle school cuz, man, were they good!

Okay so some background story: at my middle school, there was also a high school conjoined to it, and the high school seniors graduated a month before anybody else got off for the break in March. And because high schoolers hate middle schoolers, they always waltzed right into our section of the school and just did stuff like dumping a bunch of dead crickets everywhere lol.

So, me and my friends were tryna go up the steps and one of my friends was like, “I hear chicken noises” and I said “what where” so we stopped to listen and sure enough, we heard a chicken.

So we looked around for a bit before we fully ascended the stairs and we checked around the lockers there and sure enough, in Sakura Oshiro’s locker (she was really squeamish and stuff)>

So we told the caretaker and was like “oh yea sure lemme just uh check it out meself” and sure enough there was an actual, live rooster inside.

The caretaker allowed us to keep it and my old middle school friend still has it to this day lol.

And if you’re wondering why I didn’t go to that high school that was basically also our middle school ot was because my parents were all like “we want you to go to UA that big prestigious sports and STEM school blah de blah blah” so like people say I’m stupid and sometimes yeah I am, but I’m actually really bright when it comes to literature and I actually managed to get into this school on a golfing scholarhsip so yeah. Good times.

If you’re wondering how other people got into the school I think that this is how everyone got in? I think so, anyways:

Aoyama: uuuhhh I think it was something to do with languages? Yeah that guy speaks a lot of European languages

Ashido: dance scholarship

Tsuyu: baking or business i cant remember

Iida: chemistry scholarhsip (he’s still really rich tho he could’ve gotten in without one)

Uraraka: Physics and astronomy stuff

Ojiro: some form martial arts (?). He’s a really cool guy

Kirishima: weightlifting or something? Whatever Iknew it was something manly anyways

Koda: Biology? It’s something to do with bodies and animals and stuff

Sato: Home Economics scholarship

Shoji: woodworking scholarship. Like that dude can create the most stunning sculptures I have ever seen

Jirou: MUSIC SCHOLARSHIP. She is like the most musical-ish person I’ve ever met. She’s like a walking guitar herself lol

Sero: He got in because of his parent’s cash. Doesn’t mean that he’s worse than anyone else in our class. He’s actually quite the whizz at computer sciences and stuff

Tokoyami: I have no idea. That guy’s REAL mysterious

Todoroki: I think that he was in because of his rich dad as well. He’s actually real smart and one of the best in the class at sports.

Hagakure: She’s actually a model! Like she sometimes has to stay off of school to go and do photoshoots and stuff so I’m not surprised that she made it here.

Bakugo: He was let in with a calculus scholarship. Wish he wasn’t though

Midoriya: I think he has an art scholarship (something about manga or something)

Mineta: Rich parents.

Momo: Richest girl in hre class, yet she managed to get in on a basis of THREE different scholarships (Tae kwon do, English language and something math-related).

So uh if you’re wondering, UA’s first two classes (A and B) are made up of kids who are either rich or managed to grab scholarships and stuff.

I don’t think I have anything else to write apart from HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEEERRROOOOO!

It isn’t his birthday in our world, but I know that in your world it is!

If you’re wondering why I can break the fourth wall, well, it’s kinda my gift, y’know?

I can not only control electricity and stuff, but I can also manipulate technology and stuff like that, so I know A LOT of things that I shouldn’t.

And you’re probably thinking “well if YOU have a gift then why did you bring them up back in chapter nine or something when you were talking to conspiracy theories and stuff?”

Well, simple. Just a little foreshadowing (if you know what to look for, you’ll be able to work it out).

And I know you’re probably panicking “oh no!!111! Not my pikachu son!!11!!! He can’t be evil!11!”

I’m not evil.

And why am I not in the society? Well, I get my gift from my dad, and he wiped our family out of their database and cover-up stuff like that because he knows how dangerous it is to even be involved with other gifted people.

Sowwy but thats all the time I have today uwu owo unu xD

Chapter Text

Nearly five hours had passed before Aoyama had plucked up both the emotional and physical strength to call emergency services.

He was found in an unconscious state, a little bruised and severely dehydrated from crying so much, but otherwise he had no physical injuries.


“So, are you positively sure that this man disintegrated the stairs with magic, or do you think that your memory has been affected by the trauma or that you were just too sleep deprived?”

The cop that had brought Aoyama round to the police station for an interrogation concerning the murder, didn’t exactly believe the story that Aoyama was reciting.

“Offizer Nakano, I can azzure you that vhat I am telling you iz in no way ficzional,” Aoyama paused, trying to word his next sentence delicately. “M-maybe you zhould have paranormal inveztigatorz or zomething like that vork on this caze inztead of ordinary polize men like yourzelf?”


By the look on Officer Nakano’s face, Aoyama quickly discovered that he had not exactly worded it as gently as he would have liked to.

“Paranormal investigators are a bunch o’ loony-bins, let me tell you that. Murder cases need,” Officer Nakano locked eyes with Aoyama as he leaned over the table and jabbed hm with a pencil on his left shoulder. “Real officers working on them. Not some Dungeons & Dragons addicted toddlers. Now is there anything else that you can remember?”

Aoyama shook his head, tenderly rubbing the spot where he was poked.

“Okay so, at roughly 00:23 am on Thursday 23rd June, a blue-haired man, who called himself Tomura Shigaraki, broke into your house and disintegrated your grandmother, the DNA tests prove that. Then, due to your sleep deprivation, you hallucinated him using glowing blue magic to disintegrate the stairs. You do not remember much else because of your aforementioned sleep deprivation. Then he made an exit, without saying anything?”

This time he nodded, not wanting to provoke the officer further. Aoyama hadn’t told the man about what Shigaraki had said concerning his friends. It was something that he wanted to keep to himself. Inside his head, there was no way that he could rationalise the thought of his friends working hand-in-hand with some sort of supernatural serial killer.

“Okay, Aoyama, you are free to go,” Officer Nakano said his goodbyes as he tipped his hat to Aoyama in a seemingly mocking fashion.

“Goodbye to you too, officer.”

And so, Aoyama got up and left the police station, and was escorted to an orphanage in the upper Tokyo area by another officer. He was set to live in it until he either bought a house of his own or began attending college.


Aoyama was sitting in solitude, propped up against one of the many loquat trees that shielded the stone footpath from the school gates right up to the school entrance from the wind, rain and sun. It was home time, and students buzzed all around him.

“Hey, Aoyama,” it had been nearly two weeks since Aoyama had last been at school. He had ultimately been avoiding making contact with his friends and classmates as, as outgoing, as he may sometimes seem, he ultimately was quite introverted and was only close with Jirou, Izuku and Tokoyami. He didn’t want to be drowned in his classmate’s pity.

Normally, in situations where he was greatly mentally affected, he would seek out his friend’s comfort, but after the encounter with Shigaraki… He didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Oh. Hey, Midoriya,” Aoyama said, mistakenly letting his despair leak into his tone. He flashed Izuku a small, sad smile and then stood up disappeared into the crowd.

Chapter Text

The night outside was unusually calm. The gentle breeze carried the happy twit-twoos of roosting owls to the ears of nearby civilians and the assuaging blanket of starry mysteries that dominated the sky seemed to put everyone’s sleepy heart's at ease.

Apart from those in the society.


“So you’re saying that Shigaraki entered a bungalow, murdered an elderly lady and then proceeded to tell a random boy about gifts?”

Nishiya was in downright disbelief at what he was hearing from Naomasa.

Naomasa nodded. They had only seen him look this solemn once before, and that was after Yagi’s run-in with who they had *assumed* to be Shigaraki’s father. His brows furrowed in frustration.

“This won’t do,” Naomasa’s words, despite only being a short and simple sentence, summoned a surge of restlessness to breach upon each society member’s mind. “It isn’t enough to just sit around and worry. We need to take action.”

“But how?” Nemuri, much like many others, was shaken to the core. With how the situation had played itself out, even the boldest of them were unsure of how to rectify Shigaraki’s evils.

“If I knew how to take action, why on Earth do you think I would have consulted this with all of you?”

This prompted a few facepalms from various associates.

“Listen, this is Shigaraki and the Sheath Brotherhood we’re up against, for crying out loud!” Yagi growled. His shaggy lion’s mane, which had sprouted numerous, loose tendril-like twirls, seemed to glow with a new form of conviction. The vehement desire for his people’s safety glowed a brilliant sapphire, as his previously dull pupils lit up.

“We can’t just go, “Huh-dee-durr! No plan! What do?” and sit around like buffoons for hours on end, trying to think up a calculated strategy. That’s just preemptively getting our dignity handed to us on a silver platter! I say what we should do is not plan, but rather train harder than ever before and give in to our natural fightin’ instincts. The Sheath Brotherhood is something, that before, no matter how hard we planned, we could never make an accurate guess as to what their next move would be. And do you see what happened? We were so busy preparing a well-thought-out attack that we were the ones that turned out to be unprepared!” Yagi paused. Jagged breaths rocked his chest as they escaped his lips and an indignant passion burned its way across his bronze cheeks. He became deathly aware of the fact that he had been yelling at the top of his lungs for his entire speech. His eyes darted around, this time lacking in their previous fiery fury.

“What I’m saying is… we need, uh, we need to be stronger.”

Silence buzzed in everyone’s ears.

That is until the windows shattered and bullets rained down.

Chapter Text

“AAAGGGHHHIIEEEE!” Izuku shrieked.

He had barely opened his eyes when a searing pain forced its course around his body. Every single inch of skin burned with the fury of a thousand red-hot pokers. The skin around his wrists and ankles were bloody and raw because of his restraints.
Izuku blinked, trying to clear both the sleepy mist and the tears of sorrow and hurt from his eyes.

It appeared as he was in what was comparable to a dingy jail cell. The stench of both the mould that covered the walls and the puddle of blood that was slowly leaking out of various cuts and gashes all over his body was overwhelmingly retched.

He tried moving his head slightly to try and check out his surroundings more, only managing to cause himself further pain. He once again howled into the dark abyss that surrounded his prison.

Only, this time, someone answered his screams of anguish.

“Oooh, so you’re Midoriya! My dada told me to come and feed you,” a shrill girl’s voice rung out of the darkness.

The door of his cell squeaked open. From what he could see, the girl looked no older than he. She had pale, grey-ish skin and unkempt blonde hair that she had pinned up in two side buns. Her grungy-looking dress hung off her bandaged, cadaverous body like a piece of aged paper. To Izuku, she looked like a walking corpse.

“My name is Tooooooga Himikoooooo! Open up!” She yanked on Izuku’s jaw, forcing him to scream once more. “What’s wrong? Surely you can’t hurt that bad!”

Izuku made a pained mumbling sound in response.

Despite his obvious protest, Toga insisted on shovelling lumps of appalling… Izuku couldn’t even begin to comprehend what kind of food it could possibly be! ‘“We can’t have our star experimentee dying on us!”’ was what she had said.


Nausea rocked and slammed inside of Izuku’s gut as his force-feeding finished.

Toga plopped herself down beside Izuku, criss-cross applesauce, as his blood began to seep into her dress.

“I wanna be friends with you! It’s so boring being the only kid in Et Pignus!” She sighed, rolling her flaxen eyes. “So, what kind of things do you like? Any hobbies?”

Izuku could only whisper one thing before the pain began to gnaw at his jaw again.


This time, the pain was amounting to past the point of unbearable; too much to even cry out. His head was spinning, as well as the dreary dungeon around him.

“Oh no! You don’t look too good. I’ll go and get Mister Kurogiri! He’s the doctor in this place. He’s real nice!”

And with that, Toga hopped up, overly jovial as ever, and skipped off to find whoever on earth this ‘Kurogiri’ man was.

Chapter Text

“‘Ello there, young lad,” a sonorous tone, like that of a Church bell, echoed throughout the dungeons. A tall man whose body was comprised of mist and who knows what else strutted down the outside aisle of the basement-turned-jail, a gaudy Toga skipping at his side.

As they approached Izuku’s designated jail cell, he reached for the key ring that was attached to his belt. Toga bolted on ahead and swung the creaky door wide open, bouncing all the while.

“Oi, little Missy, ya shouldn’ta left tha door unlock’d. Even if ‘e was unconscious when ya left, he still had the chance ter get up and walk if he woke up with the strength ta.”

Kurogiri’s harsh words were accompanied with a sharp slap on the head, hitting her right in the crown.

“A-oowww! Giri-giri, that’s mean! I’ll tell Mister Twice on you!”

Kurogiri knelt down beside Izuku and plopped his hefty medical bag down beside him. It made a horrible clunking noise as it hit the ground, and an even more so gruesome screech as he opened it.

“Awright, wee laddie, let's see what we needa bandage up.”


The world around him, although smelly and tarnished, didn’t seem as bad as it had before. It took a few seconds before he figured it out:

He felt little to no pain.

Izuku sat up and admired the soft bandages that adorned his shaky frame. Sure, it still hurt, but he could actually move without feeling the sensation of death creeping closer and closer towards him!

“Awright, there kiddo?” Izuku shrieked as a wispy hand reached out and ruffled his hair. “Aw, dinni be scared. I’m Mista Kurogiri, the doctor in this wee trash heap. I fixed oop yer cuts and bruises.”

“Ooh-uh, th-thank y-you,” Izuku’s voice was raspy. It had probably been days since he had last drunk anything, or eaten a proper meal (and no, that mushy leftover cow crap that Toga force-fed him does NOT count as food.)

“Toga away ter get ya a bit ter drink, awright?” Kurogiri’s accent was somewhere between Scottish and Irish. It was very rough, yet at the same time, friendly undertones were laced throughout it, like a glass of cold water that had been infused with some sort of alcohol.

Things became silent between the two of them as Toga’s footsteps bounced further and further away. They stared each other down for what felt like a few minutes; could’ve been longer. It was as if they were trying to intimidate the other into making conversation.

Kurogiri didn’t exactly have eyes; they were more wispy, amber-coloured clouds that served as a viewing point of the world that lay before him.

That was exactly the reason why he lost their staring competition.

“Oh, wished ya coulda stayed unconscious fer jest a wee bit longer, ya know? I was plannin’ on removerin’ yer lower calves and fittin’ some prosthetics, ye know?” The scowl cleared from Izuku’s face; and thank the good Lord that it had. Kurogiri hadn’t even seen my face look as horrifying as that (and I’m one ugly b//tch, in all truthfulness).

The doctor, at that moment, had just felt the sheer raw power that lay undisturbed within this boy’s gut. It had radiated from him and swallowed up everything in that jail cell; Kurogiri had been certain that he felt his heart rapidly palpitate from the complete and utter terror that came from being in his prisoner’s presence.

“O-oh, y-you w-were actual-ly thinking of do-do-d-doing that fo-for me? M-maybe another ti-time,” Izuku’s expression had greatly softened and, for the first time in who knows how long, he took a deep breath and let his muscles relax. He knew that he shouldn’t be acting so calm and docile in front of the enemy, but this man had just fixed him up and offered to do so much more for him!

“Giri-giri-giririririririri! I got the drinkity-droos!” Toga cheered, just as she skidded face-first into the jail cell door, spilling the water everywhere.

Chapter Text

“So, first Aoyama’s grandmama and now Izuku’s been captured by the Sheath Brotherhood,” Jirou sighed, any sign of her usual sass or attitude leaving her. “Sometimes I wish I had never been born with a gift. Sometimes I wish I’d never been born at all.”

It had been almost three weeks since the Gifted Society had been stormed and Izuku had been kidnapped. Out of the thirty that had been there, 28 were still hospitalised; some of their conditions were dreadfully fateful. Thankfully, Jirou hadn’t been there that night. Otherwise, she probably would be stuck in a stuffy hospital room, teeming with injuries, right then and there.

She was sitting curled up in her bedroom, mumbling to herself. She had been this way since she had heard of the attack, and the shock of it all left her in a mental rut. She didn’t have the energy to go to school, hell, sometimes she could barely bring herself to eat or shower!

“I wish I could just talk to someone. Kirishima isn’t allowed anywhere near the society because of his parents so I can’t tell this stuff to him,” it all seemed so unfair to Jirou. Why couldn’t someone who was gifted but not in the society be informed about what was going on? Sure, Kirishima’s parents didn’t let him near the society for safety reasons, but that's no excuse to hide it from him! At best, Kirishima knew that there were a few other people out there like him that had extraordinary abilities- like Mr Chatora, Mr Aizawa, Mirio, Jirou and Izuku- and that was about it. He had no idea how much his people suffered- and he wasn’t allowed to know. The society members couldn't interfere with the family at all unless Kirishima was experiencing some form of abuse (which he wasn't). So, ultimately, Kirishima was left alienated from his own kind. “It’s not like I can talk to Tokoyami about this, he's not gifted- and Aoyama has cut all of us off, probably because he’s still in mourning. There isn’t anyone else at the society that I feel like I can talk to, and I don’t want to burden Mirio, who I barely know-” Jirou had gotten herself stuck in a pattern of repeating every person that she knew who couldn’t help her, eventually causing herself to start crying out of desperation for even a glimmer of hope. She stayed like this for a while before she finally sobbed herself to sleep.


“Hello, Brother Tokoyami. Father Saito has requested your presence,” Sister Sawamura cooed, patting Tokoyami’s jet-black spikes. “It was apparently something urgent.”

“Yes, beloved Sister,” Tokoyami picked himself up from his brooding position, made his way down the aisle in the middle of the many rows of pews, and round to Father Saito’s office in the back of the chapel.


“Hello, my dearest son,” Father Saito greeted Tokoyami as he entered the office. “Take a seat. We need to have a discussion about your demonic curse.”

Chapter Text

“W-what about it?” Tokoyami’s voice dropped to something that could barely be considered a whisper. “I-i’ve gotten ri-rid of i-it, I c-c-can asssuuure you.”

He was close to tears.

‘Not another beating. Not another stab with the red-hot poker. Please no please no please no please no please no plea-’

“Hey, don’t be looking so scared, my faithful son. I know that you have gotten rid of it. It’s just that, this morning, God was telling me to check up on you to make sure that the devil has not returned to you.” Father Saito interrupted Tokoyami’s trail of thoughts. “You may not be my biological son, but I still love you more than any single thing on this earth.” The Father stood up and whisked his way around his desk to where he was kneeling. He planted a kiss on Tokoyami’s forehead and upped his cheeks. “My beautiful, blessed, black-haired baby boy. You’re getting so grown up.”


Tokoyami’s cheeks were red and raw. Two streaks of salty, sorrowful teardrops streamed down his cheeks as he tried his best to scrub away the evilness that Father Saito had marked him with. He couldn’t stand being touched by that monster that masqueraded as a priest.

“Dammit… dammit…” Tokoyami clutched the edge of the sink as his body shook and a sickly mixture of vomit and blood spewed from his mouth. He couldn’t bear to look himself in the mirror. He couldn’t stand his own appearance; he had been told that his presence was sinful and ugly many times throughout his childhood, while his ‘demonic curse’ i.e gift, had still plagued him.


“Awright, wee lad, no needa cry anymer. Ol’ Docta Kurogiri is fixin’ up yer arm now. There, there,” Kurogiri stitched up the wound that was the remains of Izuku’s arm. Just as he had envisioned within the continuation of his dream a month or so ago, Shigaraki had decided to come and meet him in person- and twist his left arm right off.

“It’s okay. We can gets yer another prosthetic, don’tya worry, now.”

Izuku nodded, his cries mingling with the snores and sobs of the other prisoners that lay, tormented, in neighbouring cells.

“An’ ‘ow ‘ave the legs bin workin’ out fer ya?” Kurogiri grabbed a fourth antiseptic wipe and began dabbing at the now stitched-up lesion.

“P-pretty go-ood,” Izuku sighed. The smell of antiseptic wipes was like a drug to him; the smell of petrol also. He so desperately missed the scents, sights and satisfaction of the outside world.

“Mi-mister Ku-kurogiri, w-when d-d-do you thin-think the thr-rree-ee of us will b-be ab-ble to es-escape?”

It had been about three weeks since Izuku had first met Toga and Kurogiri. They had all shared their life stories with one another, discussed their own burdens and personal demons, and it turned out that they all had one thing in common: they were all being held captive by the Sheath Brotherhood in some way, shape or form.

Toga, for one, was born into it. Her father was the head of a kind of sub-mafia, called Et Pignus. She had been both physically and sexually abused from a young age (particularly the latter) by Mr Toga Hideo. She would have been punished by either of these methods if she did not do his bidding, which was why she used her body-destroying gift so much. Her brain had essentially been melted by her abuser’s ideologies; he had not only forced himself onto her but also his destructive ethics and goals. That was why she held so much hatred for the human race. Though she may have seemed a sweet girl at first, Izuku quickly found out that she was deeply and seemingly irreversibly twisted and malicious.

Doc Kurogiri had joined with the hopes of making it big in the underworld. Wanting to become a big-time crime boss by starting small and working up the ladder, he had thought that Et Pignus would give him the big break that he needed. A decade or so later, he realised that his dreams were in vain and his medical PhD was essentially wasted. So, all he did now was help heal prisoners and babysit me. Not like I need that twit to do protect me.

Both of them were sticking so closely by Izuku because they knew that he had power in him; everyone in Et Pignus and the Sheath Brotherhood knew about Yagi and his family's power. They hoped that he could be their ticket out of that place. Albeit, learning that hurt Izuku quite a bit, but they had an undeniable trust in each other; almost a friendship.

“I-i dunno, lad. W-we’ll ‘afta get togeva sometime an’ devise a plan fer ourselves, innit?”

“We c-can’t t-t-ta-take too lo-ong to d-d-do it. Oth-otherwise Shi- he might c-come for m-me ag-again.” Izuku shivered, thinking of my gruesome face.

You see, whenever I suspect that they may be conspiring against me, I go down and pay Izuku a little ‘visit’.

Truth is, I know 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Chapter Text

Heyo its ya favourite hacker Danki Meme boy.
Anywaays like hope u like what I did to Shigarki

Yeah I electrocuted him thru his computer system. And because I can also take the tangible form of lighterning I kinda joined that old shut in in his creepy old computer room. So I hope yall noticed the v for VICTORYYYYYY i put because i amanaged to knock him out and save Izukus butt a little bit of time.

Hopefully when warpy gatey sees him asleep he’ll take the chance to escape. Hopefuly

Anyways if your wondering why i cant like interlude or whatever on midos or toko yamos situation is because if i get caught i could face severe punishment and stuff by the government for being an nregistered gift user and stuff. Like death penalty. The government hates us but if they find us out to be unregistered……. Its even worse lol so i had to escape the sheathy weathy place quik ly

Like in the whole society and sheath brotherhood situation im actually neutral. That sounds bad but like... im literally nothing more than a side characte with like the strongest powers in the series. no need to be getting TOO wrapped up in the protagonist VS antagonist sorta stuff

Anywasy i know that this is all dark and stuff and stuff and YEET


Okay so mr aizawa is like really strict. But at the same time hes actually such a sweet dude like we literally couldnt have gotten a better form teacher. He can handle us correctly and stuff


But like why are so many people obsessed with K-Pop. Like Mina is constantly going on about this Sugar guy and Midoriya has drawn so much k-pop fanart

So long story short the art classroom is covered in k-pop and anime fanart because the teachers hang up all of his work. Like his work is beyond exceptionally amazing.

So the other day at lunch Shoji and Todoroki had mixed up their lunchbags and it was like a full-on classroom war. Both Sho and To were calm but their friends were fighting on their behalves. Like a got a pasta salad right to the face.

Safe to say we all got 2 weeks of detention. Im surprised our class hasnt gotten expelled yet.

Its lik 3 am dont judge my spelling ok

And another thing why is asmr so popular? Like that stuff lietrally burns my ears off my head. Listening to it immediately activates my fight or flight responses.

I get it can be calming to people with anxiety and stuff and can help people get round to sleep and thats cool but like WHY
Do SO many people do it? Like h

I personally think that you should need a liscense to do asmr videos because 1) too maning amsr people out there and 2) some people are HORRIFIC at it

Same should apply to fanfiction.
Well i mean if OUR author had to go through the process of getting a fanfiction license we may not be here right now but we really just need to try and get rid of all creepy m!preg fics and all that gross stuff.

Like forever

I remember that i used to love harry potter as a kid but i only read up until,,,,,,, like,,,,,,, the start of the seventh book and then stopped. I kinda regret it because the books were so good man. Definitely needa rerread them. Does anybody have any good book recommendations for me imb ored

Like this sounds creepy but i could technically borrow one of your books at my leisure because like the manifesting into lightning and fourth wall breaking and technology stuff that i can do but i wont because that may break the space-time continuum or something.

So i think im gonna leave it here like and subscribe down below for more denki time see you guys in the next video links to my other social medias will be in the description thanks for watching and goodbye!

Chapter Text

“Y-young sir, do I ‘ave permission ter start fee-” Kurogiri was cut off by the sight of his job lying unconscious on the floor, blood pouring out of the wounds that the broken glass had caused. It seemed as if Shigaraki’s head had been slammed into the monitor and roughly thrown aside.

“OI! YOU! BLONDIE! WHAT’RE YE DOIN’?” Kurogiri hastily locked the door and charged at the teenager clad in a black-and-yellow varsity jacket who was spinning around in Shigaraki's spinny chair, only to slam headfirst into the computer screen himself. He picked himself up quickly, ready to throw down. His eyes darted around wildly, fury and panic overriding his logic and calmness. The (incredibly handsome) boy was nowhere in sight, and the locks on the door were still intact- it’s not as if he could’ve disappeared into the computer! (I did. Shigaraki must be either dead or unconscious at this point, I’m too afraid to use my gift, like the fourth-wall-breaking-part and stuff, to check. So I’m currently writing his little diary entries for him and thankfully I managed to get his Ao3 login credentials. I’ll try my best to emulate his writing style uwu). “Awright, timata find that wee cunt oar else I’m headin’ fer the chop.” The doctor tried his best to carefully pick up the blue-haired bozo and leave him snugly back in his chair.

As soon as he had made absolutely sure that Shigaraki was in a comfortable position, he began to try and remove the little glass pieces as quickly, yet as delicately as possible using the spare medical equipment he carried on his person. He had just removed the fourth glass shard before he realised:

‘Shigaraki is knocked out and doesn't look to be coming around any time soon. That means that nobody is here to monitor the security cameras or to contact Mr Toga or Mr Shigaraki and his clones if anyone tries anything funny.’

“We could… escape,” he whispered, all sorts of devilish plans formulating in his brain. He gently let go of Shigaraki, an aura of awe still surrounding him. “We could be free.” If Kurogiri had lips, he would grin the biggest, most bastardly grin he could.

He could escape.


“It’s a really nice night, isn’t it, Jirou?” Tokoyami offered, trying to perk her up.

He had heard that recently, a few relatives of hers had died in a freak accident. A drive-by shooting at work is what they had been told. She came to school a few days a week, for a few hours, looking and acting like a walking corpse the entire time. Tokoyami didn’t like seeing his friends like this. Sure, everyone in the whole class was feeling horrible because of Midoriya’s recent disappearance and the fact that Aoyama has transferred class and is avoiding all of us, but Jirou seemed to be the worst affected.

And since Tokoyami was only sociable with Jirou, Aoyama and Midoriya, he thought that he should, at the very least, try to treasure their friendship more than he ever had. He didn’t want to lose Jirou either.

And he didn’t want Jirou to lose herself.

“Yes, quite. The sky looks nice and… soft.” Jirou looked up and paused. Her entire being had become lethargic and sluggish; as if she were the living embodiment of Windows Explorer. A momentary smile crossed her lips. “It’s nice to look at the sky. That’s why I love just flinging my window open at night time and just looking around at all of the wonderful, sleepy sights and hearing the birds going to bed and the crickets chirping and stuff. I know it may not cure my depression or whatever it is I’m going through right now, but it makes me feel better for a little bit. And right now, that’s all I need.” She breathed in the crisp evening air and sighed. Her legs lurched forward a bit, eventually catching up to Tokoyami, who had waited on her a little way up the path. They firmly clasped hands and wandered on through the forest trail, occasionally talking and laughing with one another.

They both realised how nice it was to be with friends. It was something that they had both heavily taken for granted before and now regretted. They were glad to have each other to depend on and laugh with and spill their thoughts to.

They were best friends and they hoped that nothing would ever change that fact.


“Tokoyami, look out!” Jirou bellowed. A tree had begun to fall, and fall fast. Neither of them had much time to move, so Jirou did the only thing she could think of at that moment.

She threw herself in front of Tokoyami and thrust out her earphone jacks; they dug into the bark of the tree and, channelling her distorted heartbeat through them, managed to blast the tree into bits before it could hit either of them. Sure, they both got pummeled by the splinters of wood that were the aftermath of her actions, but it wasn’t as bad as being crushed to death by a tree.

Jirou whipped around, hoping to see a safe and possibly slightly confused Tokoyami standing behind her.

“DEVIL! SHE-DEVIL!” Tokoyami screeched. He fell to his knees, tears running down his cheeks and wrapping their salty hands around his neck. Tokoyami continued to speak, but it was so muffled by the sound of his tears that Jirou couldn’t make out any of it.

“Hey, hey, Fumikage. It’s alright. I’ll explain everything to you. I pro-” Jirou cut herself off from pure shock. A navy-black mass of… something seemed to be billowing out of Tokoyami’s back. The bigger and more prominent the bird-like creature got, the harder Tokoyami sobbed. Within a few seconds it was fully formed; a bird-like beast that Jirou could only pin down to being a very powerful gift.

“I apologise about Fumi. He’s a little of scared of me, unfortunately.”

Chapter Text

“Fumi, darling, hurry up! The ice cream shop’ll close if we don’t hurry!”

A sleek sheet of black hair cascaded down her back as her skin-tight ruby-red dress snugly hugged her slim figure. Her get-up exquisitely complemented her pale face, which seemed to practically glow with joy. She was Fuyuka Tokoyami, a generally gentle-natured woman who had a strict belief in the God of the Bible and was a brilliant nurse-in-training. She and her husband, Misuke Tokoyami, were a happily married couple that had an equally jovial, four-year-old son.

“I’m coming, mommy!” Little Tokoyami Fumikage plodded down the stairs, his shoes on the wrong feet. Fuyuka didn’t pay attention to this, though. She just took her darling son by the hand and led him out to their car, where her husband sat stationary in the driver’s seat.


As fields and bushes, trees and a whole assortment of countryside cottages flew by their window, a flurry of confusion began to storm inside of Tokoyami's head.

“Mommy… why are we taking the drive to the church? Ice cream shop that other way?” Little Tokoyami was highly worried. The drive to church was a rather long one- if they didn’t hurry then the ice cream shop would have been closed a long time when they arrived! And he couldn't bear it if he missed out on getting a tub of mint chocolate chip!

“Fumi, dearie, look,” Mrs Tokoyami turned around to look at her son in the back seat. “Father Saito has offered to help with your… uh…problem. When that’s all cleared up, we can go and get ice cream!” She beamed and reached back to grab his hand.

“It won’t take long, will it mommy? You said that ice cream shop will close soon…”

“Oh no! It won’t take long at all, Fumi, baby! We’ll be in and out of there in a couple of minutes at the most!”

It had been nearly three years since he and his parents had ‘went out for ice cream’. Getting beaten was a daily custom and he was now desensitised to being prodded with a hot iron poker. He could recite the Bible from cover to cover and followed all ten commandments by heart, but even that couldn’t save him from his dark shadow. It followed him everywhere. The torture it caused was endless; he couldn’t escape the demon that lived inside of him. All he could do, to cope with the torture, was to lie down in his bed at night and just imagine a happy family life and pretend that the tears and scars weren't there.

His punishments got lighter and lighter as, over the years, he learnt how to push it further and further down, until even he was unsure if the creature was still alive.

As we all now know, the monster is still thriving and is stronger than ever.


“Aoyama… Yuuga? There is someone here to see you.” A nurse who donned a greasy black mop popped her head around the door. The bags under her eyes contrasted horrifically with her sickly pale skin- she looked like a wreck. She forced a painful smile, revealing that her hastily applied blood-red lipstick had also smudged over her teeth. Her skeleton-like hand trembled as she clung onto the door frame for support. Her nurse gown hung off of her emaciated form, and a silver cross hung around her neck; its immaculateness perfectly reflected his ward. It seemed to be the only clean thing about this woman. Aoyama tried his best to push his judgement of this woman's appearance to the furthest corner of his mind- it was probably stressful being a nurse and all, so it was understandable that she didn't have much time to spend on her looks.

Aoyama had recently taken ill, and as a result, had been sent to the hospital. It was a nasty case of meningitis, but nothing incurable. His time at the orphanage didn't turn out to be as miserable as he expected; he was actually seen as a pretty decent older-brother figure by a lot of the younger children. Although his mental health was pretty far south, it wasn't as far gone as he thought it would have been.

“Who is it?”

Aoyama couldn’t think of anybody who would want to visit him. Was it one of his new classmates? There was a girl named Ibara Shiozaki that he had been bonding rather well with…
Maybe it was one of his old classmates that had come to talk to him again. Their meeting may be slightly uncomfortable, if not just downright awkward. He severely hoped that it wasn't the latter.

“His name is Midoriya Hisashi. He’s apparently a friend of yours.”

Chapter Text

Aoyama paused, conflicted over what to say. Taking into account this mystery man’s surname, he sounded like a relative of Izuku’s; someone who was a complete and utter stranger to him. And concerning what that deranged killer Shigaraki had said to him back then… if he also had a gift, he would be dangerous to even socialise with. I mean, if Shigaraki can disintegrate things, just think of how despicable and lowly all of those other freaks’ powers must be!

[Author’s note: Neither Shigaraki nor Kaminari are writing this anymore. It’s just me, Essie. They are both… busy, per se.]

The nurse’s aberrant, black eyes and loud, jagged breathing made it near impossible to think. Aoyama had to decide soon, or else he felt as if the nurse would strangle him to death with her twitching, bony arms.

“L-let me see him,” uncertainty laced throughout his voice, Aoyama made a decision.

Whether this was the right decision or the wrong one on his part- well, he would find out later.


Selene's radiant glow cast an aura of stillness onto the earth. Not even a leaf stirred in its sleep as the gentlest breeze that you could imagine glided through the forest, sending tingles of comfort down the spines of those it enveloped. If you were to relax and take a deep breath, a gust of what could be described as the scent of serenity would fill your lungs.

Unfortunately, not all was tranquil within that forest.

“... s-suh-so, aaall in all, what Fa-father Saito has, liiike, taught is totally wrong. We-we’re not demons. We’re n-nooot bound to an eter-eter-etern-eternity in heell. Pe-people with gifts are amazing, hard working and , like, strong people that do not desssserve what you and others have go-gone through.”

Jirou pressed her forehead against Tokoyami’s. Tears streaked their faces like the physical embodiment of their mental scars. They were both destroyed by trauma that had flipped what could have been a normal childhood into a living Hades. They held one another's cheeks, cuddled up against one another in the woods. They had poured their souls out to one another with only the owls to watch them.

They lay, draped in vulnerability, holding one another while weeping. If they had thought of themselves as friends before, they were like blood siblings now. Tokoyami couldn’t bear to let go of Jirou, and vice versa. His Dark shadow cradled them both, providing a rather odd chill of comfort.

“Kyouka… t-tell me more abouh-about the peopl-uhle at the so-societ-he-he.”

Kyouka nodded, her grip on Fumikage’s hand tightening. “I will. B-uht firssst, let-let’s get b-back rou-round to m-m-my house, o-okay?”

With the help of dark shadow, they picked themselves up and began shuffling in the direction of the bus stop that lay in the vicinity of the woodland walk’s entrance, each step as laboured and painful as their breathing at this point. They had been crouched there for hours; the physical and emotional affliction for both of them was off the scale.

They had been walking for a while now; they had gone deeper into the woods than they would have reckoned. “H-hopefully w-we can catch a bus a-at thisss ti-tihme, F-fu-fumi.” Kyouka looked up at Fumi and grinned; no matter how much it may have pained her to do that, her brother’s safety, security and happiness came first. He nodded, a tear falling from his right eye and down his cheek.

Kyouka ignored this; it may have seemed like just another droplet originating from spilling his pain earlier.

But that is wildly incorrect.

Fumikage was just happy to have a tender-hearted, loving family member for the first time in his life.

Chapter Text

“Oirghit, lad ‘n lass, Mista Shigs is asleep. Activate yer gifts and get ready to get some blood on yer hands. It’s go time,” Kurogiri gently placed a hand on Izuku’s right shoulder, one on Toga’s right shoulder, his voice breaking with happiness.

Kurogiri, sensing their sudden shock and jubilation, clamped a hand over both of their mouths to prevent them from letting out any shrieks of pure delight. “We can escape!” Tears welled in the yellow-green pit holes that served as the Doctor’s eyes. “Shigaraki’s knocked out. Nobody to watch us, nobody to alert Mr Toga or Twice. We can taste freedom once again,” he turned to look at Toga, “and you’ll be able to taste freedom for the first time in your life.”

And with that, Operation “ESCAPE ET PIGNUS” was put into gear.


Feverish, salty tears of culpability dripped down Mrs Jirou’s face as she hyperventilated. She held her son closely to her chest, patting his head and whispering sweet words of reassurance into his ear all the while. Kyouka sat on her father’s lap, sobbing into his shoulder.

It was 01:00 am, and Mr and Mrs Jirou couldn’t be happier. Yes, albeit distraught about how their new son had been maltreated in the past, they were just simply overjoyed that he was now home safe and sound.

Upon making it home, they had spilt their woes and troubles to their parents. They were all likely severely dehydrated at this point, but none of them had a shred of care in their bodies. They were together, as a family, and that’s all that mattered at that moment.

Mrs Jirou cupped Fumi’s head in her hands and kissed the tip of his hooked nose. “Looks like we need to gather a few extra supplies for our new baby.” Her voice, despite being croaky and rather faint, was filled to the brim with ounces of motherly love. Mr Jirou simply nodded, too emotional to speak. She gently pushed Fumi away (prompting him to also snuggle up to their father), got up off of their couch, and tried her best to navigate their house in total darkness.

After about ten minutes, she returned with four velvety blankets and few bruises on her feet and legs. “I think it may be best t-to just sleep in the living room tonight. All together.”

And with that, the Jirou household wrapped themselves in blankets and snuggled up against one another on a not-so-comfortable couch.

Chapter Text

“MIDORIYA, WATCH!” Kurogiri let a sonorous cry of caution ring out.

The other guards were soon to catch up, now that they Kurogiri had given away their location.

Izuku whipped around just as a man in a grey-black suit- multiple of that same man, might I add- came charging toward him. A quick kick up with his new prosthetics, although not very experienced at using them, managed to safely propel himself out of harm's way whilst also blowing the guards back a gust of wind.

Toga was quick to step in, dodging fist after fist, slashing away with a knife in each hand at the same time. Each time a guard fell upon being severely wounded, it imploded into grey-green sludge. The smell was repulsive; it was as if the halls of the News Channel Studio were a street from Victorian England.

Fresh blood from the men splattered the hallway as the last one fell. They had fended off seven- the first wave.

The trio were currently three floors higher up than the jail cells (surprisingly enough, Kurogiri and the security cameras were the only guards at the cells. Probably because the prisoners were too weak from severe injuries or on the verge of dying- couldn't escape if they tried). They had another seven to go until they were close enough for Kurogiri to use his quirk and warp them out of there (his gift depended on the range- if he was 12 feet away from his destination, as long as he pictured it in his mind, he could warp there).

Kurogiri appeared from around the corner. “Time's shawt. Shigaraki’s only bin oot for aboo' 10 minutes at this stage, but 'o knows 'ow much longer wi’ll 'ave. 'e could be waking up now for all 'e know.” Kurogiri paused, listening out for the footsteps of any of Mr Twice’s clones. The usual navy tinge of his flames now appeared as a cornucopia of purples in the dim light of the hallway.

Toga stood stationary a few feet behind him. A semi-demented grin swept across her face. Her fangs were even more terrifying when they were illuminated by the blood-splattered portals to Tartarus that hung on the ceiling. “Can I kill Tomura?”

Kurogiri just shrugged and begun plodding off towards the staircase that was located just around the corner from there. He didn't seem particularly interested in Toga's murderous fantasies.

Toga followed suit, her three-sizes-too-big tweed jacket practically leaping off of her shoulders as she skipped. Izuku, on the other hand, lingered just below the ceiling for a little bit longer. Yeah, he was getting out, but at what cost? What two monsters was he bringing out into the daylight? Sure, he knew WHY they did these things, and he sure felt sorry for them both, but that didn’t excuse their actions or their thoughts. Was he doing the right thing?

“Oi, c’mon, kiddo. Timeta bust outta this owl banga!” Kurogiri chortled, his expression softening when he looked at Izuku.

In all honesty, Kurogiri felt like a father towards both Toga and Izuku- they were two children, not defenceless by any means, but they were still children who had both gone through more trauma than anybody should ever have to experience in their life. If he ended having to raise them up, he honestly wouldn’t mind it. Not one bit.

A sheepish look crossed Izuku’s face. “O-oh, u-uh, y-e-eah,” he muttered, lowering himself down.

He ran to catch up with the pair- Toga was now getting a piggyback from Kurogiri while yelling, “Onward, mineth greateth steed! To victoreth!” Kurogiri just held on to her tight and laughed at her childish performance.

If they could both be such seemingly sweet and jovial people at times, why did he feel so off about this? He already knew all too well about their ulterior motives and the darker side of their beings- he shouldn’t let it phase him so much.

Although Izuku had equated that his wariness was caused by the fact that he was essentially helping two maniacal villains escape, he was wrong.

People often tell you to listen to your gut, right? Well, sometimes people mishear what their gut is telling them.

Chapter Text

Izuku loitered behind the pair as he trekked up the mangy staircase. The feeling had subsided, but the thought of it lingered in his mind.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any suspicious thoughts. ‘C’mon Izu! Toga and the Doc are nice people! They’re helping you with your stuttering problem, they nursed you back into sorta-health and now they’re helping you escape! So what if their motives are unclear? Stop judging people so harshly, jeez.’ As he looked up, he realised that both Toga and Kurogiri had paused a few steps above him. They looked at him quizzically, not quite sure what was up. Izuku just gave himself a sharp ‘WHAP’ to the cheek and continued on climbing, hoping they didn’t notice that he wasn’t exactly in the best of moods.

Toga tapped him on the shoulder. Kurogiri had gone on ahead and was near the top, whereas Toga had likely wandered down the steps to walk beside him, trying to match his pace; it almost seemed as if she were imitating his style of walking. “You good-good, Mido-buddy? You seem kinda out of it.” Izuku just gave a sharp nod and continued marching on, now hopping up two steps at a time.


He was nearly at the top of the seemingly eternal staircase before Kurogiri was shoved backwards into him and the two went tumbling downwards to the bottom. Thumpity, thumpity, THUMP.

Izuku’s prosthetic left leg flew off, clanking down the corridor, rolling away into the dark abyss that consumed the unlit section of the corridor.

“Aw dangit,” Kurogiri mumbled, rubbing his head. “‘N we’d made so much progress an’ all ‘at. Least these lads’ll keep us on our toes.” There was a strange cheerfulness to his voice. The prospect of being able to escape had got him on a natural high; these clones were nothing more than pebbles on his path to freedom.

In seconds, Kurogiri had lunged upwards and had one of Mr Twice’s clones in a headlock- Izuku had never seen somebody’s face turn such a peculiar shade of violet before.

He deftly rolled himself out of the way of an oncoming clone and managed to prop himself up against the wall, using his own micro-streams of air from his palms and the very little natural strength he possessed.

‘Doesn’t look like too many this time. Three or four at most, and Kurogiri’s already killed one.’ The sound of pounding footsteps slammed against the slimy concrete- something was coming up behind him, fast. Izuku twirled around and aimed an open palm at the Twice he had knocked back earlier- it wasn’t happy at being thrown around like a child’s play toy, and was coming back for revenge.

One concentrated blast and it fell into grey-green sludge. The appearance of this sludge was something akin to vomit; absolutely sickening. Almost as nasty as Tsukauchi’s cooking.

WHAP! Before he had time to even blink, a second clone was coming after Izuku. A myriad of cuts and slashes marred its face- Toga must’ve tried to take that one down earlier and failed.

Where was Toga anyways?

It grabbed at the grimy prisoner’s uniform that clung loosely to his shoulders, going for the neck. Izuku’s hands were seizing up- that blast seemed to affect both of his arms. It had been much more powerful than any of his old attacks had ever been.

He panicked and stuck out what was remaining of his left leg, hitting the clone right in the nuts. It stumbled backwards, clinging to its scrotum in agony. Izuku charged forward, ready to finish this one off when-


Toga swung in, severing the clone’s head off completely. If Izuku had been even a single pace in front of where he was now, he would’ve cut by Toga’s knife.

It appeared that the clone that Toga had been previously fighting- and just killed- had tried the same grab-and-throttle tactic it had tried on Izuku. Large, red hand marks stretched across the entirety of her neck and the collar of her seared, saggy smock had been further torn and stretched.

“Oi, roight, let’s heed up these stairs once again. If anything comes,” Kurogiri put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I swear Oi’ll throttle it.”

Chapter Text

I apologise if the updates have been too slow or if it has felt like an eternity since the last update (hence the title of the chapter).

I just have simply fallen out of love with this fan fiction.

I think it is simply down to the fact that:

1) My earlier chapters are rather sh*ttily written
2) The plot is inconsistent and convoluted
3) The amount of badly written romance (in general) and queerbaiting concerning Iideku (as an LGBT girl myself I should've really thought it through better)
4) I have never had a clear plan on how to write it. If I had taken time to plan it beforehand, it would've turned out far better.
I know full well how I'm going to end the series and what happens, but that's only because I've finally mapped it out.
After I'm about two-thirds of the way through the story.
I would really love to rewrite and republish this work, and I will most likely do it when I have the time (so possibly a few days after Christmas).

Issues concerning my physical health are also leaving me permanently exhausted and, as a result, extremely demotivated, which makes writing even harder to do.

I would just like to say thank you to everyone who has supported me thus far and Merry Christmas or Blessed Yule and Koliada or a Good Pancha Ganapati or a nice Bodhi Day or Happy Hannukah (I know that Hannukah and Bohdi Day are already over but I still hope that anybody who celebrates and/or observes them had a good time) to you all.