Chapter 1: Tag
Notes:
long and hard have i toiled bc i dont know how html works but there's a texting skin on this one. yippee
Chapter Text
Eraserhead is terrifying as an on-the-clock hero. He falls into the alley like a jaguar might pounce - although all the billowing fabric and glowing yellow eyes toes the line of ‘angel of death.’ Izuku knows he should run. Knows that his teacher was about the most dangerous hero he could run into at ass-crack AM, knows that there is a reason they never get to do teacher-as-villain training with the Erasure Hero.
On the other hand, he’s so close to a work of art. Even if he stops now, his duffel is on the wall behind him, and no way is he getting time to snatch that up with Eraserhead’s silvery scarf filling out the alley like a laser grid in a spy movie. But as Izuku stares into Eraserhead’s glowing eyes, their glare holding real pressure that could pin someone in place, he notices that the pressure isn’t on him. He doesn’t dare shatter his legs to try to escape, but he can feel the deep ocean of One For All at his fingertips.
No, Erasure pins down some target over Izuku’s shoulder. He doesn’t waste the opportunity to snatch his duffel up and break into a sprint. The figure Eraserhead is after doesn’t stop him, but he has to duck and weave around errant strands of the capture weapon. He can’t chance a close look as he runs his fingers along the concrete, snatching up a smooth rectangle that should be his phone. It finds its way into his hoodie pocket, and he spares one last glance back.
He doesn’t think about the fact that standing at the end of the alley means in the street lights, illuminated for anyone to see, with only a respirator mask. If Eraserhead is an angel of death, the girl who dances around him and whose knife cuts the capture weapon like butter is a beautiful, beautiful demon. Maybe it’s the spray paint fumes talking, Izuku thinks, then dismisses it as the girl’s giggle reaches his ears. No, she really is… He can’t quite put a word on the thought, but he felt heat in his cheeks.
A moment of cartoonish panic later, he remembers to run. Eraserhead will be done with her, and once she is handcuffed he is next. Still, a few blocks of dead running later, he hasn’t noticed a twitch of movement from that alley or the roofs above. He doesn’t dare think he is safe, but he lets himself settle into a more comfortable jog until he is back in the safety of his home.
He sets his duffle bag in his closet as gently as he can and lets himself sink into his bed. Coming down off the adrenaline high, it’s hard not to be tired. Still, he digs into the pocket of his hoodie before he throws it in the hamper, digging out—
Fuck.
A phone with a pink sanrio case and an assortment of clashing stickers and a charm made of red beads and rose designs. Whoever actually owned it had an overly edited red wallpaper, from what he could tell of the lockscreen he was stuck on.
That’s fine, he thinks. I could toss this tomorrow, use Find My, it’s bad but it could be worse. Knowing he’d be up early, training for the Sports Festival, he is happy to let sleep take him.
Izuku awakes with a start. Stupid, stupid, he thinks, launching out of his covers and onto his feet almost immediately. The realization hits him like a basic fact as soon as he wakes up, and he curses himself for not realizing the night before.
If he has someone else’s phone... Considering the charge, probably the girl who Eraserhead subdued— That means his phone is at a crime scene. It could be worse, sure, but if any investigative Quirks got involved he's screwed. Sure, the police won’t have any strings attached besides his phone, so they might not have grounds to bring in a specialist. That doesn’t change the fact that his artwork is distinct, and if they pin it all on him, the cost of cleanup could add up to a higher crime. Either way, it'd be a black mark on his heroic record and might give him a hefty fine or other legal recourse. Or worse, get him expelled from UA.
He can’t help but pace the room, chewing his nails. If they did know it was me, they might already be here , Izuku thinks, calming for a moment. But I’m going to a school full of heroes in just a few hours, and they could ask almost anything. He’s about to have a full blown panic attack when his new phone buzzes furiously on his nightstand.
Izuku stares down at the phone before putting in the PIN.
“Izuku, honey,” his mother’s voice calls out, shocking him so he almost drops the phone. “You’re going to be late if you don’t get up!” He glances at the clock and scrambles to get ready the moment he sees how late it is. He’s still blushing from the text when he pauses in front of the mirror to attempt his tie. He has to wolf down his breakfast, which is harder than it’s been before UA - now, he can’t spill any soup on his uniform, and All Might’s fitness program includes eggs with breakfast, which are awful to swallow quickly - Still, he’s out the door and jogging to the station in moments.
When he does finally step into the train, he pulls out his phone, ready to check the newest hero forums, and I really have to get used to this.
There aren’t any more texts for the last few minutes of the ride, but Izuku lets himself laugh at the girl’s teasing. He cuts his losses, deciding he doesn’t have time to download apps or make accounts for his news sites. He changes her contact, and then he’s out of the train car and jogging again.
Well, I can at least hope today is uneventful , he thinks as UA’s sprawling campus comes into view.
Dammit.
The last time their class went to the USJ, a swarm of villains attacked. And now, with both supervising teachers too injured to fight, another comes out of hiding? I don’t want to back down, Izuku thinks, but my joints still have that creaky stiffness. I’m not ready to fight.
That doesn’t matter. Kacchan leaps at the villain and those huge muscular arms send him skidding across dirt and into rubble. That strength is definitely superhuman, but Aizawa-sensei isn’t canceling his Quirk, which means we just have to deal with him being that powerful. Izuku’s analyzing glare is lost when he notices his classmates near him have turned to face him.
“So what should we do, kero?” Tsuyu says, and the rest don’t even glance at her for turning to him for advice.
“O-oh, you must’ve heard me mumbling, I-I don’t really know w-what to-”
There’s a crash as, this time, Kacchan, Kirishima, and Sato are all thrown into the rubble. The villain is massive, too big and strong for any of them to restrain. The villain is imposing, a gasmask covering his face and huge metal shoulders turning his already sculpted muscles into terrifying, angular shapes. He levels a finger at the defeated students, starting a cruel monologue.
“O-okay, maybe we can…”
If he had known it was All Might the whole time, Izuku never would have broken a finger. Recovery Girl fixes it with only a glare and a grumble about “going overboard,” which Izuku wishes she knew he takes to heart. He wouldn’t be here at all if it was his decision - even though the finger is healed, it aches in an odd way, and bending it isn’t quite the same. He chose his middle finger, though, so it wouldn’t stop him from getting out that night.
Ectoplasm’s last period math class after a wave of Heal is the most boring thing Izuku could imagine, but he doesn’t want to get excused or in trouble for falling asleep. Instead, he turns to a blank page of his notebook, letting lines flow. I’ll ask Uraraka to share her notes later, he concedes to himself. Somewhere along the way of doodling, inspiration moves him like lift catching under the wings of a plane, and he's suddenly soaring. Cursing the static medium of a mechanical pencil, he tries to emulate those muscles. It doesn't quite work. There's no line weight, or color, or sense of severity and impact.
“Midoriya? Can you answer the question on the board?”
“O-oh, yes, s-sorry Ectoplasm-sensei!” Izuku stammers, ignoring Kacchan’s snort as he reads the chalkboard. “I-I’m sorry, I got distracted, b-but x equals thirty-two, right?”
Ectoplasm nods. “Yes, please try not to get distracted again, Midoriya.” Izuku can feel himself flush, but he can’t keep his eyes on the blackboard much longer. Soon enough he's sketching again, right up until the moment the final bell rings. He scrambles to get his notebook into his bag and then slings it over his shoulder and hurries out the door. He says a few quick goodbyes to his friends, and then heads right for the train station.
Izuku points the phone away from his face when he laughs, earning stares from students and salarymen in the car. He awkwardly mumbles “sorry” and looks back down at his phone.
Izuku puts away the phone with a grimace. He stares out the window of the train car, ignoring when he feels the phone buzz again. Why did I say that? He thinks, cringing. He barely notices his own zombie walk from the station to his house. He knows his mom isn’t home yet, and drops his bag on his desk, and collapses in his bed.
He stops at his doorway.
When he glances back, all he can see is his digital clock’s ‘1:03 AM’ and the gentle illumination it casts over his nightstand. It casts the shape of his lamp and catches the baubles attached to weird girl’s phone.
This is better than my mom finding me gone and a phone she hasn’t seen before, he decides, stuffing it into his jacket pocket around the strap of his duffel bag. His hand skirts along the other thing in the pocket; a folded piece of paper. As he shuts the apartment door, quiet as a mouse, he takes another look at it.
I never did get the muscles, but the shape is right, he decides. It’s going to be more experimental than some of his other pieces, but he chooses to let that encourage him. He squeezes his right hand in and out of a fist. The creaking and pain in his joints is annoying, moreso after a night of homework, but moving them is a itch-scratching, good-stretching kind of pain. Izuku puts on his respirator a few blocks from home.
And at last, Kyuubi can get to work.
He starts with the shape of the man, in a deep red. Dust swirls around his legs, but their angles are still sharp. Even in silhouette, the way he’s pointing is declarative. Izuku hopes all the intimidation he bears isn’t just Izuku’s memory, but the way he paints him. The shadows and sharpness of his defined musculature is done in black, but his glare bares a shining blue eye. Then, fire blooms from him, blazing, swirling oranges around his face and sides. The shoulder spikes turn into massive licks of flame. Izuku squints, remembering videos of beautiful, precise combat, and draws the traces of a dissipating Hell Spider. He leaves his tag, and steps back.
The presence of Endeavor blazes across the side of an industrial building. His stance, his muscles, and the intensity in his eyes, are powerful. Izuku can practically hear the flames die down as Endeavor declares “Stay down, villain,” or “You don’t want me to do that again, scum,” or—
“Wow, seeing you in action is so cool!”
Izuku jumps about a foot in the air, trips over his feet, and tumbles on his ass. Weird Girl giggles, standing over him.
Chapter 2: Going Over
Summary:
I left you on a cliffhanger. Now play catch up. :)
Notes:
Yeah, I had too much fun and released chapter 2 early. whatever, this one is shorter anyways
I don't think this chapter has any CW besides some hateful messages and a low level bone-shatterer chronic pain.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Two and a half months ago:
When Izuku leaps towards the Zero-Pointer, he barely feels adrenaline. Adrenaline is what numbs the pain in his shattered legs, and adrenaline is what drives and ocean of force to build ever greater within his arm. No, what he feels right now is a need to act. To protect and save. Heroic instinct swells in his chest and steels him. Nothing else could banish his anxiety so powerfully as someone in need. He left it all on the ground. Adrenaline is also what fills him a moment after he strikes— when three-out-of-four limbs flop like dead fishes, and he is falling so much faster than they make it seem in movies.
When that girl just manages to catch him, it’s like that adrenaline keeps falling. He lets out a delirious, tired laugh as she pukes rainbows, and when his limp body tumbles the rest of the way to the ground he only has a moment to stare up at the beautiful blue sky before he’s out like a light.
That’s why he doesn’t wake up for hours, body burdened by Recovery Girl’s Heal. He still feels like he's made of aches and bruises when he wakes up. His mouth is drier than a desert and his muscles are more stiff than a statue. The feeling of having a zero score is still worse.
“You savior-complex kids,” Recovery Girl scolds as he blinks blearily, “you always get ahead of yourselves. I don’t wanna see you break more bones, sonny.” After another few minutes of observation while he wakes up, she sends him off. He’s a little too tired to jog back home, but a spirited walk gets him to the station just in time to catch the train.
His mother makes katsudon, which he’s happy to eat, even if he’s worried about his exam. No, the real problem is wrapping his hands around his utensils. He fumbles to articulate his fingers, still both numb and aching at the same time. The same problem continues as he does his homework, fingers fumbling with his pencil and making messy marks. It’s so frustrating that he can’t bring himself to do any Hero Analysis for the Future that night, just slinking into bed early and turning off his light.
He sighs when he stops staring at the ceiling half an hour later. His hands are still aching, and he’s so restless he can barely stop moving, much less sleep. So instead, he throws on a hoodie and decides to go on a nighttime run. “Just to clear my head,” he tells his mom, in motion from his first step out of the apartment. He passes by the park a few blocks away— The swing Yubi pushed me off, the slide Tsubasa shoved me down, the seesaw i finally tagged Kacchan at. The hit of nostalgia is enough to distract him and let his thoughts drift away from his fingers by the time he’s home.
It becomes a habit by the end of that week. His hands just won’t stop bothering him, but the route is nice and gentle, and nobody tends to bother him at night. His mother stops worrying after the first few runs, too, and then he feels a bit freer. It’s all pretty perfect, if a 15-minute jog is the only day-to-day drawback of the awesome power of One for All.
Until the day he passes the playground, ready to turn around, and he sees the cement at the back of the playground that forms the walls of the buildings on the other side of the block. It’s drawn across with black spraypaint, all sorts of awful messages— 'weak and useless’, ‘eliminate the 20%’, and anything else the vandals could come up with, are all written across the cement. The only art of any sort is planted right in the middle, a blobby shape of an eyemask and glaring eyes in it.
When Izuku runs by it the next night, nothing has changed. It makes him sick to his stomach. Again, and again, Destro's eyes glare at him. The fact that the city hasn't painted over it in an hour is offensive, much less leaving it up for a whole day. The next night, he spits at it and keeps running. But he doesn’t run home— he goes straight to the hardware store and picks a few bottles of spray paint off the shelves. Black, blue, yellow, and white, along with the respirator he needs. It all takes a bite out of his allowance (so long, limited Hawks tank top) but he’s back at the hateful messages in less than half an hour. He stares them down, frowning as he sticks his tongue out and just thinks.
Am I really about to vandalize this wall, too? What if they have cameras? They’ll probably paint over it by the end of the week, really, what’s the harm?
He sees a kid’s toy, with well-loved joints bent oddly. He stares at the quirkism all over the wall again. He grabs the white spray paint from the bag, and he moves without thinking. The idea had come to him earlier, that’s why he grabbed the colors he did, but what starts as a coverup job starts taking longer. The sky is an unchanging dark, and the cold starts to seep into his aching hands. An hour passes, then two. His workout playlist makes it easier to keep moving, and the hiss of the paint and the big movements feel as natural as breathing. Unlike trying to sketch in an analysis notebook, the big strokes and easy button press of the can feels like it really can move.
The shape comes out naturally - a big fat grin shines right over the hate. Huge tufts of yellow blot out a few more lines. A broad, muscled chest and shoulders in royal blue and heavy black shadows eliminate most of the rest. Izuku glares back at the symbol of Destro’s eyes, and he paints over them with All Might’s cape. He frowns when he notices ‘scum’ sticking out from the edge of All Might’s shoulders; those proportions are perfect, and how else can he cover that mark?
Unless he comes up with a signature, on the spot. He rubs his wrist out as he thinks. In the morning, he’ll barely remember how his late night brain got to Kyuubi. Something about the way it’s like ‘ku’ and ‘nine’, and a kitsune sounded about right at that time of night. The rest of the neighborhood are only happy it’s gone the next morning.
Still, Izuku still has 4 half-full cans of spray paint in his closet. He’s ready to dump them out a week later, and decides to take them down to a station where they can be properly disposed of. Of course, when he sets off on a jog there, he just has to see a Rising Sun flag drawn there. His pallet is limited, but it’s enough to draw a nice mid-run Ingenium with his exhaust blazing out behind him. He runs back home as soon as he’s done tagging it.
There’s more hate on the underpass he takes to get home - the underpass he met All Might under. He scoffs, chews on his cheek, and Kyuubi is there later that night to paint Best Jeanist over it. It uses the last of his blue, and his black is spraying mostly blank.
Of course, Izuku thinks, if I do buy more spray paint— and I really should, since a few more colors could help— I want to make sure it’s worth it. And of course, that line of thought brings him down a bit of a rabbit hole about which brands are best, and then a period of investigating graffiti culture, and then discovering that there are some pretty popular street artists in Japan, like Pop-Step and Kyuubi. And Kyuubi?
Izuku discovers that Kyuubi has a hashtag on twitter, and Musutafu community groups post when they see a new piece pop up. More knowledgeable people are saying that they’ve never seen work quite like this, which is odd because they're too good to just be starting. It’s a bit of an odd compliment, but Izuku decides to take it. Being so mysterious that people don't even know what pronouns to use is fun, too. He draws his tag on his respirator with markers. He decorates a duffel bag with heaps and heaps of patches and stickers and handmade art of heroes. He doesn’t even think about his hands when he sets out, despite their aches, and he hardly sees hateful graffiti anymore.
His schedule doesn’t even shift that much as UA starts. Even Aizawa himself can’t drain so much of Izuku’s energy that the passion and art of Kyuubi disappears. His hero costume is being reworked after it was destroyed by Kacchan, but the paint and markers turning his hoodie into a messy patchwork feels like just as much of a costume. He certainly feels pride when he tugs it over his head and affixes his respirator, like he’s setting out to patrol. It’s something he’s too much of a fledgling hero to do, but he doesn’t need a license for his art.
Besides everything else happening at UA, there’s plenty to watch. He hopes it’s not too obvious that he’s drawing inspiration from his teachers: A tide of Ectoplasms down an alley are based on watching the man use Clones to split his attention between students. Snipe’s casual cowboy stance is based on how his hand rests on his revolver whenever he’s behind the podium. Present Mic roars, in huge yellow writing, ‘Let’s be Heroes!’ which are words straight from the man’s start-of-class announcement.
After the USJ, he doesn’t get out for a few nights. For the first few, his hands just hurt like hell. He’s glad school is canceled for a few days afterwards, but even still it feels like he can’t stop irritating his joints. They burn and ache no matter how he holds them, until his teeth bite through his lip and leave the taste of blood there for days. The next few nights, the idea doesn’t even cross his mind. But suddenly, staring down at a blank page of Hero Analysis for the Future #16 , he sketches out a rough shape. His fingers fumble, even more awkward than before, unable to capture heroism and power like he’s done before. Tears burn at his eyes at how fatigued and useless his hands feel.
Heroic poses are one thing, but trying to capture a moment of All Might in action is hard. His broad shoulders have to be just right to show every massive muscle in his body directing power into a blow, and the villain on the receiving end, Nomu, has to wince and roar into action in one pose. The pencil won’t do it justice, though. It can’t. Not with his stiff hands, and not when he knows he has cans itching to paint waiting in his closet.
Five nights after he disappeared, Kyuubi is on the streets again. The clash of musclebound titans does look better in spray paint. The alley feels dwarfed by the impact of All Might’s fist into the monster. The thing's monstrous visage is unforgettable, so its sharp teeth and beady eyes come forth easily. Izuku has all the shapes down, about to hit it all with the angles and black paint, when Eraserhead drops from the heavens.
Notes:
Wow, this got more attention than I was expecting! (cough, not writing obscure weird AUs will do that, cough) So, uh, thanks!
-If you haven't noticed, the trend for titles is graffiti slang. I will probably keep doing it unless I run out :)
-Yubi is 'fingers'. He doesn't have a canonical name, but it keeps with the naming scheme of the series for his actual name to be pretty close to finger. So there.
-I forgot to mention it when I dropped chapter 1, but All Might as a villain refers to MHA's first OVA. I thought he went by All Smite, but he does not! The entire fan base just... decided to call him that, but also not enough that it shows up that much on google. Weird.
Chapter 3: Ghost
Summary:
Back in the present, Izuku stammers his way through an interaction with 'Weird Girl'.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku is intimately aware of how red his face is, thank you very much. He had the same reaction the last time he heard Weird Girl’s laugh - and here she is now, catlike eyes creased with that bubbly giggle, flyaway hairs catching the golden light of streetlamps, sleeves of her comfy-looking turtleneck tugged up over her hands.
He’s still prone, looking up dumbstruck, when she catches her breath enough to speak. “Sorry,” she says, half laughing again, “I-I didn’t mean to- god, I really got you,” she wheezes.
“H-how did you find me,” Izuku blurts. He scrambles up to his feet, but he’s already tomato-red to the ears, and he knows he’s not recovering, and she won’t stop giggling. That’s a weird thing to think about, he decides: Giggles and laughs at him have been cruel all his life, but some part of him wishes that he could pin down and lock away craves the sound coming from her.
“Well, you have my phone, dummy. I GPS’d it,” she coos. She draws his phone from her pocket, All Might case blessedly not anymore damaged than it had been before - the same scorch marks spot its surface.
“Oh, th-thanks,” Izuku says, offering the pink phone back to her. She grabs it, and then suddenly steps closer. She presses his phone into his chest and raises her own, grinning wide and sharp, as she raises her phone. “Smile!” she giggles, and this close Izuku can see that her canines are curved and sharp as a knife, fangs that nearly reach her bottom lip. He tries to keep his nervous eyes on the phone, although any smile would be behind his mask.
“W-wait, you’re not gonna p-post a picture of me, r-r-”
“I’m not gonna post any of me , silly,” Weird Girl replies, cat eyes and sharp smile overtaken with a saccharine-sweet danger. The streetlamp backlights her as she lingers close, and with his bag and general slouch she manages to stand taller than him. She’s a villain, he thinks, she’s a villain and she doesn’t like heroes and she tracked me down and she beat Eraserhead himself-
“Who’s Eraserhead?” She asks, still staring with those yellow catlike eyes that drink up light. “Is that the guy who fell on you? He’s a hero, right?”
Izuku can do nothing but stutter, looking up at her. Part of his mind is cursing at his muttering habit, most is screaming to run, but he already feels like a bug in a venus flytrap. She giggles again, finally moving her eyes off him, and he stops trying to form words as she stares down at her phone. There’s a lull, and he almost thinks to leave, when she suddenly speaks. “‘Weird Girl’?” she reads, mock-affronted, “I can’t believe you’d say that to me. I knew you were rude.”
“N-no!” Izuku stammers, waving his hands apologetically, “I-I mean, y-yes, but mostly be-because you h-hated heroes…” his voice trails off as he catches her just smiling at him again. This time, it’s creepy, because he knows she’s a villain, and he suddenly feels stupid for stammering that apology. Everything happening feels stupid, he decides, why is she acting like this if she’s a villain?
“Nuh-uh,” the girl says, “Hating heroes makes more sense than…” She waves her arm at him, and the wall they’re standing next to. “I mean, most of them aren’t actually helping people, or are doing it for stupid reasons. Look at the guy you painted. Endeavor is so scary , and so angry. That’s not… heroic. Or, it is, but it’s bad, and that’s bad.”
“That… w-well, Endeavor’s p-persona isn’t…” He winces at his trailing-off, frowning as he fails to explain. “E-Endeavor does save people, he’s so mean that almost all of his rating comes from being good at his job. H-he’s a hero, even if he’s also…”
“As if!” Weird Girl interrupts, voice filled with more passion and volume than before. “Sure, he can avoid property or civilian damage with his fire, but it still maims villains! And he doesn’t care! A-and his focus on fame makes him ignore that he’s supposed to save people, not just fight. ”
“P-people have to fight v-villains,” Izuku stammers weakly, “A-and, ev-even if they’re mean, o-or unhelpful to civilians, th-they’re still good heroes, b-because they win fights!” He knows it sounds stupid the moment it leaves his mouth, and Weird Girl seems to agree. Her smile is gone, replaced with a pout and a glare. Her legs move, fast and powerful, and suddenly his aren’t under him. A few cans of spray paint noisily clatter out of his bag, and he doesn’t have to get up to know she’s long gone.
His walk home is silent, but disquieted. He can’t shake the feeling of being wrong about something that makes sense. Or, rather, that what he thinks is sensible is wrong. He glances at the image of Endeavor one more time before he lets it leave his sight, and it’s lost a spark that it had before.
When his phone buzzes on the train the next morning, he feels his heart lift. It buzzes again before he can even get it out of his pocket. Notifications from Musutafu Hero Network and Hero Net cross his screen, and he feels himself sighing, shoulders slumping, at something he knew he had wanted back not 24 hours ago. The articles this morning don’t catch his attention like they have before. The blur of the passing outside world keeps his attention until he gets to UA.
The rest of the day is more of the same. It’s weird that there’s no windows in here, he thinks. He would have the window seat if there were. Instead, he’s stuck next to cement. Midnight is giving a lecture that he can’t really focus on - She has a way of drawing attention, with her costume and her inflection, and it’s a kind Izuku can’t focus on. A kind that is unsuitable for a classroom, a voice inside him chides, a kind that speaks to sensationalism and a hunger for fame.
At that, he tries to distract himself instead of staring off into space. Midnight is saying something about art around the time of the birth of Quirks, and how it shaped perceptions. Meanwhile, he stares down at his notebook, chewing his cheek. Whatever artistic inspiration he’d caught for the past few weeks was gone like the wind. It feels basic and uninspired, but he sketches out the shape of an eye. At some point, it becomes catlike.
Other lectures went similarly - UA is a school with a lot more lectures than he’s used to, he notices, but it makes sense given the caliber of the school. Still, it seems like more and more of his days are unfocused and antsy, and he wishes he could just do a worksheet every once in a while. The bored, unattentive off-feeling continues right through lunch. He’s surrounded by friends, and Lunch Rush is a fantastic cook, but that doesn’t mean he’s any more present for the conversation. Which is a little sad, because Kaminari and Iida started rallying against each other, at some point. Izuku turns his attention back to his food for another minute before someone shakes his shoulder.
“You gotta be on my side, Midoriya-kun! I mean, look at this!” Kaminari jostles him, reaching over Uraraka, and holds out his phone. When he manages to stop shaking enough that Izuku can see it, he blanches for a single drawn-out moment. It’s a picture of his Endeavor piece, flames catching the sunlight well.
“It is vandalism!” Iida interrupts, angrily chopping the air. “Why would someone disgrace the image of a hero by committing a crime?” Izuku wants nothing to do with this argument. Izuku wants to eat his beef curry. Kaminari’s thumb swipes across his phone, and an image of his Ingenium piece is suddenly on-screen. Izuku starts, “I-I don’t know…”
“C’mon, man!” Kaminari says with an overdramatic sigh, “this guy has mostly been covering up hate art that the city won’t cover! That’s pretty heroic, right?”
“Kaminari-kun, I hope you aren’t implying that doing something without proper licensing is heroic!” Iida replies, seeming hurt by the idea of someone disagreeing.
“B-both of you!” Izuku blurts out, catching Kaminari right before he snaps back. “I-it’s not th-that big a deal. H-he makes art of heroes, so what? If the city wants to c-cover it, it’s not any more hassle than the hate from before, a-and if they d-don’t, it’s stupid art anyway.” The words surprise him, too, and he winces at the venom he spat them with.
“What do you mean stupid?” Kaminari demands, like someone’s told him the sky is red. “This is sick , this guy’s done two All Might pieces, too. They’re a hero superfan, like you!”
“W-well maybe he shouldn’t be! M-maybe we shouldn’t- I-I mean,” Izuku swipes back to Endeavor, “Congrats, y-you made a big sc-scary guy. H-he fights the bad guys. H-he has the highest villain takedown rate and is in the tw-twenties for villain arrests. Y-y’know, because he b-burns them.” Something caustic has overtaken Izuku, is piloting his vocal cords, is wielding the statistics he knows in a way he doesn’t expect.
Uraraka grabs his forearm with four fingers, eyes pleading up at him worriedly. “Deku…” she starts. He feels himself pulling his arm away.
“I-it’s stupid. I-I’m s-stupid,” he stammers, standing in place awkwardly. His eyes pass over his classmates’ faces, ranging from disbelief to pity. He doesn’t want to be there - so he leaves, ignoring when a few of them call his name.
Notes:
'Ghost' - the mark left if someone messes up trying to cover or clean graffiti.
If you enjoyed, leave a kudos or a comment! It tells me people do more than just look at the fic and I'll try to reply to all comments <3Izuku: *probably not allistic, nervous and incapable of hiding his feelings*
Toga: *probably not allistic, expresses affection openly and in a unique way*
me: fuck i already tagged this slowburn. uh make them fightToga: Endeavor sucks
Izuku: no, Kacchan deserves to be a hero
Toga: what
Izuku: whatIzuku: man i feel so hollow and disaffected. i wonder why, since i have my phone back
also Izuku: *waxes poetic about his romeo o romeo bullshit*
Chapter 4: Burner
Summary:
Izuku storms out of the cafeteria, and needs some time to think.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku knows he messed up by the time he’s taking the final step out of the cafeteria. He only finished half his curry, so he’ll trudge through the rest of the day even less present. That pales, though, compared to the drawn eyes. He can’t help but look back, despite how much he just wants out.
The look on most of his classmates’ faces is some mix of confusion and sadness. The looks from the nearby tables, from kids he’d only seen pass him in the hall, isn’t comforting either. It hurts to see that, the cherry on top of a bad day.
What takes it from a mess up to a fuck up, though, is that when he meets Bakugou’s eyes, A curled lip said “The fuck does that mean, Deku?” But his eyes are lost and confused, searching for something in Izuku.
Searching for what is wrong with you, his mind supplies as he turns his head away. He wants to stomp out that part of his brain, because he thinks he knows what he said was right. The thundercloud of self doubt fogs his brain and hangs over him for the rest of the day, though. Through the concerned glances during English with Mic, and the single time Bakugou actually looks over his shoulder and studies Izuku’s face.
When the final bell rings after another agonizing lecture, Izuku is the first student out the door. He doesn’t bolt home, though, since he’s too tired to jog, and the train station is the same direction. Hoping to avoid the tide of UA’s student body, he hesitates for a moment before starting off in a random direction.
Musutafu is a huge city, and Izuku has been there his whole life and yet has only seen a tiny, tiny fraction of it. His eyes are drawn to alleys and old places, and even though the city bustles in a whole new way where he is, faded black scrawls of graffiti are ever familiar. Even though he stands in late afternoon light, he can’t help but see through Kyuubi.
But my paint and respirator are at home , he thinks, fidgeting with the wallet in his pocket he knows is full enough. Money’s not an object, if the urge really takes over. The trouble is that he feels totally uninspired. In fact, he feels drained. He’s not a coffee drinker, but when he passes in front of a café, he figures he might as well.
In line, he pulls out his phone. His mom will worry if he’s out, but at least if he says he’s studying at a café instead of watching a villain fight he can save himself a scolding. So, he ignores his notifications, carefully avoids a few texts from Uraraka, and finds his mom’s contact, right between ‘Kacchan’ and ‘Smallmight.’ His confusion fades the moment after he taps it, and his conversation with Weird Girl opens. He grimaces at his phone, going back to his mom’s again, starting to type.
“I don’t mean to bother, but I think you got my order wrong,” says a voice at the counter. It wouldn’t get Izuku’s attention, but he suddenly feels tension in the café so tense you could cut it with a knife.
“I’m not stupid,” a barista replies, glaring, “You ordered a coffee with oatmilk and sugar-”
“I’m sure you’re not stupid,” the man at the counter says, making a noise somewhere between a hiss and a scoff. When he leans forward and Izuku can see reptilian mutation, that makes more sense. “I guess I could’ve just asked why you spat in it.”
Izuku knows he should step in - deescalate the situation before he conflict becomes a screaming match, or thrown hot coffee. Over the coffee machines, though, he sees those glaring eyes. It’s a subtle symbol, graphically simple. Enough, he realizes, that only he Quirkless boy and the lizard-Mutant man recognize it. Suddenly, deescalation feels stupid.
“Most of them aren’t actually helping people.”
The barista snaps back, so quick and angry Izuku doesn’t catch it from what feels like miles away.
“He’s supposed to save people, not just fight.”
The lizard man throws the coffee across the counter, and the barista spits at it hard enough to split the cup and send a mess into the back wall.
“And now you’re going to intimidate me with illegal Quirk use. How professional.”
“Maybe if you didn’t attack people they wouldn’t have to defend themselves, freak. ”
At bigotry so blatant, the café goes still. Most of the customers look to the conflict and quickly avert their eyes, and so the moment passes uninterrupted.
“Go fuck yourself,” the lizard man says, turning on his heel and walking out the door. He shoulders right through Izuku, stumbling a bit, and the chimes of the café’s door ring through the quiet.
He can hear the woman at the counter ask for the next order, but his eyes are still on the door, the smudged glass where the bell still sways slowly. His feet move, stumbling as his body catches up, and he leaves.
He wants this one all over the news. He’s popular enough with underground fans and niche bloggers, popular enough for Kaminari-kun’s limited attention. But he can go bigger.
Izuku swings by his house. He doesn’t waste the momentary glimpse of inspiration, but he wants all the colors, and the respirator. He wants Kyuubi. He slips outside while it’s only barely dusk, a messy sketch in his hand, and heads back towards the corner of the city he wandered into earlier. Past the black scrawls, where the buildings stand a little older.
All Might’s debut is his most iconic pose. Ten bodies laid across him and under his arms, heaved out of a flame that destroyed five city blocks. There’s no chance Izuku could forget that, with the way it’s burned into his memory.
But there’s another one that comes rather close to that debut, off of its infamy. Izuku can’t forget this one either, and there’s a good reason. All Might’s fight with Toxic Chainsaw was the one time people were afraid for the Symbol of Peace.
His slicked-back hair is frayed, blond flyaways catching the light. His intense look is pulled taught, smile more pulled taught over his teeth than ever before. His neck and shoulders are thick with muscles that remain tense in his hunched over pose. A horrid green decorates his fists and his side, too viscous to easily drip off. The most recognizable part, though, is that All Might has fallen. Simply, slightly, but he has dropped to one knee, crushing the asphalt under it.
Izuku has bile in his mouth at the thought. Kyuubi has a grim, intense determination. He can picture in his head the scene in the morning. Perhaps a passerby on a morning jog is the first one to see. The image will be across the internet before Japan wakes up for its morning news. They might get it. They might just be simply reminded that no hero is perfect. A part of him is reassured by that thought.
He steps back, to admire his work. The front of the café looks better this way. Toxic green spills across everything that’s not All Might. The glaring eyes of Destro mean nothing, not to this.
When he gets home, he’s exhausted. He takes off his respirator and tosses it on the dining table. Sweat sticks his hair to his forehead. His fingers, a little more numb and a little more achey than usual, fumble to take the plastic wrap off the leftovers his mother set out and put them in the microwave. The hum of the microwave and its yellow light fill the dark, quiet kitchen.
Izuku stares at the food as it spins. He thinks about the way Kaminari looked at him. He thinks about how he stuttered through his words, second guessing himself before his classmates could even react. The microwave beeps. He doesn’t move, still staring at the katsudon, until he realizes his mom is probably trying to sleep. He clumsily jabs at the ‘off’ button twice before he gets it.
The thought that sticks with him as he chews on his katsudon is one he can’t seem to answer. Was I wrong? His mind drifts over and over to his classmates, and All Might. And Weird Girl. I was right about those statistics. Am I wrong to care like that? I know Endeavor’s rates in pretty much everything. Obviously he hurts people. Should he?
The katsudon isn’t enough to fill the pit in his stomach - half because All Might’s diet plan didn’t account for UA’s changes and Izuku’s hobby, half because it’s getting more and more bottomless. He grabs a melonpan on the way to his room. His respirator and bag are tossed in his closet with more strength than usual, because Izuku is already moving. A notebook hits his desk as he chews the bun. He taps his pencil against its cover, deciding on a name.
Is Heroism Ethical? Pros and Cons For The Future.
Notes:
Burner: An elaborate piece of graffiti. Most are legal murals, since if they're not it's a lot of time and effort that might A) get you caught B) get taken down quickly.
Hey! I did not write any other chapters in advance so,,, probably going to update next week!
Long story short, I burned out of my interest in MHA for a while, and like now was only half-back when I started writing this fic. Besides that, I was struggling with things like "how the fuck do I get on HRT" and "job search". I don't have a job but I do have a much easier time crying, so at least I'm halfway there.
I do feel bad for leaving it to rot, and don't plan on doing it again. I have plans for this fic, I know where it's going, and no amount of tag searching has given me what I want to read so I have to write it myself anyway.
Chapter Text
Pros:
Keep people safe. Areas with hero patrols have dramatically lower crime rate, and heroes often reduce the impact of serious crimes.
Bring smiles to people’s faces. People are happier when they feel safe and know there are great heroes out there.
Stop dangerous villains. Villains are often equipped with Quirks or gear the police aren’t prepared to deal with.
Cons:
No hero has an incredible rate of actually protecting civilians from attacks, since most dangerous villains never cause enough destruction unchecked to warrant a hero battle. Heroes also disproportionately patrol wealthier neighborhoods, dramatizing the divide.
All Might brings smiles to people’s faces, but anyone who’s not comforted is basically screwed. What to do about this?
Villains wouldn’t be so well equipped if a massive service primarily devoted to combat didn’t exist.
The sports festival comes quickly. It doesn’t mean Izuku is safe from worried glances or pointed questions, but his classmates are focused on larger problems. Kaminari and Uraraka have both practically forgotten their class schedule, so busy with the thought of proving themselves.
It’s infectious. Izuku can feel himself catching it too, even as the classroom starts to feel more and more like it’s waiting for the blank to be fired and the fighting to start. Worse, it’s something a whispering devil on Izuku’s shoulder has a reply to: As a hero would. Prove the heroes wrong.
That tiny voice is spiteful, but it does the job. It’s easier to brush off classmates he knows don’t really want to listen. He’s not cruel or rude, but he knows he’s not smiling the same way he used to. He hopes they see it as a sign that he’s taking on the sports festival with the grim determination to win.
The one thing that really bothers Izuku is the fact that Bakugou should have noticed his intensity, but he hasn’t made one big declaration yet. No crackling explosions or ‘stay out of my way’ or ‘don’t think you can win’ for a week. It’s like Bakugou has decided Izuku is fragile - or worse, that he’s not to be messed with.
Does heroics = villlainy?
Although Quirk battles are the main subject of heroism, quirk-assisted crime is common, and the presence of heroes only ever escalates that. Most villains don’t have a chance to fit back in, even with vigilante rehabilitation programs, because of Quirk biases. In the past ten years, all of Japan’s forty-seven successful rehabilitation cases never committed a felony, never caused a hero injury, and never cause property damage over ten-thousand yen. They also all have Quirks with direct physical manifestations.
If heroics is such a quirk-specific field, that must mean it has a purpose in mind.
The obstacle course is a mess. Izuku has better stamina and lung capacity than most of his class glued together, but he doesn’t have a shot at going like they’re going. Todoroki is ending the race for a dozen people with each wave of his hand. Iida and Bakugou are practically built for this. Uraraka doesn’t need half the stamina Izuku does. It’s hard to keep his head in the game. He’d be lucky to make the top forty by the skin of his teeth, and he doesn’t want it to be close. He wants to win.
The landmines are a unique puzzle, but Izuku has always liked puzzles. They’re always easy to solve, when they have rules - and more importantly, loopholels. The landmines are no different. They’re in the final stretch, clearly designed to increase tension between frontrunners. And, of course, the frontrunners are powerhouses practically just fighting each other by now. It’s a far easier puzzle than ethics, and shoveling in dirt is easier than dragging a fridge across sand.
Izuku gets first, by a photo-finish. His smile is shaky with adrenaline, like he’ll clatter apart the moment his muscles relax. But it’s intense, and determined, and the first real smile in a week. The crowd roars, but he sees just how much of the audience is dressed in bright colors and support gear. A hero event, for heroes.
I can be better than this business. I can be more than Quirkist, and I don’t have to call myself perfect. The thought doesn’t tighten his smile, despite how it fights the cheers. Having a goal puts a confident curl in his lip.
What made Heroics?
Heroics began as an attempt to organize the wild vigilantism that originally countered villainy. In a world where Quirks have generally stabilized and the majority of the population has them, there’s not a major balance for villains to exploit. As a result, most Quirk crime involves legacy crime organizations or attempts to make money.
As always, groups trying to make money this way have bloated heads and draw in people with very few other options. That’s why Quirkless people end up with no route, and people with ‘villainous’ Quirks find a self fulfilling prophecy.
Is it ethical to be a hero?
Does grass grow? Does sun shine? Heroes are generally doing more help than harm. They complete rescues and generally work to protect civilians. However, a culture of heroism that’s been cultivated over the centuries since the dawn of Quirks has been a serious problem. A bad hero is an outlier, and the system isn’t questioned.
Isn’t it heroic to challenge the system?
Izuku feels about 80% of the eyes of Japan on his forehead, on the big glowing neon “kick me” on his back. One million points is a sick trick from god. But the stare he feels most intensely, like where the sun hits sunburned skin, is Endeavor’s glare. It’s directed at Todoroki, that much is obvious, but the man isn’t even sitting. He’s a glowing orange dot standing with his arms crossed some thirty meters away.
“Midoriya, are you ready?” Tokoyami’s voice recenters him. Dark Shadow is going to be brutally effective here, since unlike most of their opponents he can physically interact with some articulation at range. It doesn’t matter that much though, since in the long run they’re going to be attacked by about every team on the field.
“As we’ll ever be. Remember, stay aggressive.” It’s a bit of a stupid plan, but everyone will be following the million. If it does get taken unavoidably, they may as well have a few more headbands. He offers a look to Uraraka, who meets it with intensity, and Hatsume, who meets it intensely.
“Can I get a ‘Plus Ultra’?”
The crowd goes wild for Present Mic. Izuku mumbles along, meeting the glares of thirty-six enemies.
“On your marks! Get set! Get those points, heroes!”
Bakugou’s team comes at them like a bottle rocket. Todoroki’s is more methodical, but almost as fast. Izuku doesn’t get to pick which to deal with at once, and he knows it. Unless he’s able to move very suddenly and very quickly.
He jumps off his carriers, straight at Todoroki. In an instant, he goes full defensive, more off-guard than actually worried. But it does the trick, and Bakugou’s dive is wasted. With Uraraka’s Float, Dark Shadow actually gets a chance to grab him.
“You’re dead, Deku!”
Izuku smiles, Bakugou is far more articulate in the air, and could probably disqualify him with a well-placed explosion. But with no weight on their shoulders, and no inertia from yanking him back, his cavalry bolt towards the small fish.
I can do this.
Himiko doesn’t really mean to watch the sports festival. It’s more of an afterthought, really; the TV in the house she’s squatting in works, and it plays the biggest televised event in Japan besides the Olympics. It’s mostly background noise while she tries to poke around a map for her next stop. Until she sees him. Smallmight. Kyuubi. Blowing up all the landmines at once, like a fucking crazy person. He flies into the frame, quickly overtaking the kids who were in the lead.
It’s not like she’s thrilled to see him again, considering how uncute their last meeting was, but he certainly has her attention. She gets the sense he’s not going to get boring right after a move like that, at least. But she’s got fifteen minutes between the race and the cavalry battle, and she lazily pulls out her phone to try to entertain herself. Any social media she uses is absolutely full of talk about the sports festival - and most of them are losing it for Smallmight. The feeling is contagious.
It doesn’t let up, either. Smallmight is launching himself at his opponents like a dog leaping for a ball, limbs scattered as his hands snatch at anything they can. It’s crazy, but snapping out like a rabid dog has most teams struggling to actually pin him down and get his bajillion points.
Ten minutes of it should get boring. But it doesn’t, even though the game is hard to follow from the camera’s perspective. The exploding boy and the ice boy are less boring when they’re lashing out like they’re happy to take Smallmight’s head off, and it’s still not working. He has this look, in what closeups they do get. It reminds her of how he looked examining his piece. He’s not smiling, but the intensity of his eyes isn’t panic.
Heroes line the stands, and he’s assaulted on all sides, but Smallmight has an artist’s focus. She doesn’t like that he’s a hero, but there’s something cute to his eyes. Every time they snap to the next threat or back to his team, there’s a ferocity caught up in them.
She wonders what kind of piece he’s making when he gets that look. It’s a thought that makes her antsy with excitement.
Notes:
Legal - a piece made with permission, like a mural.
Izuku: Damn, what's up with Bakugou?
Bakugou: the nerd said heroes were stupid and is now glaring at everyone. was he replaced by an imposter at the usj? what is happenin-Izuku: I'm gonna win this and I'm gonna do it like a monster
Toga, just noticing the TV: oh FUCK yeah
Chapter 6: Chicken
Summary:
The end of the Calvary Battle and the first match of the tournament.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Last half-minute, folks - this is a nail biter!”
Present Mic’s voice booms, and it gets Izuku’s attention to glance at the big timer over them. 00:28, it reads.
Izuku doesn’t have time to think about what that means.
Todoroki’s team is still brutally efficient, since they’re composed with a highly effective plan in mind. But their rider is worn out by nine minutes of Quirk use. His jaw shakes and his breaths come out in thick mist. Their team is a threat, but not an active one.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, Bakugou is a howling storm. The more Bakugou fights, the more he sweats, and the more he explodes. He’s mercifully not blasting his team to bits, but his palms crackle and pop involuntarily. With Sero’s help in air mobility, he’s not straining his wrists to the point of failing, either.
I’m slower than Bakugou, Izuku knows. Certainly stronger, if I wants to break a finger or two, but if we collide in midair there’s no world where I don’t get disqualified.
Bakugou doesn’t give him time to think, crackles sputtering louder as a moment’s warning before he’s on them like a bullet again. Mei’s hover boots kick into gear, and Uraraka gags at the lurch before they move. With Izuku weighing nothing, they can move erratically, which means as Bakugou plants a foot on Tokoyami’s shoulder, they’re already dashing sideways.
Bakugou is not deterred, and goes for a right hook, but his momentum is off and he telegraphs it. Izuku gets him square in his very exposed gut, and Bakugou is sputtering but his crackling palms give their team some parting gifts. Mei has some kind of gadget that gives them the leverage to plant their feet and not tip over, but Izuku winces and Dark Shadow shrieks.
Izuku steals another glance while he hears the telltale sound of Sero’s tape withdrawing Bakugou. 00:22, it mocks.
There’s the telltale sound of Iida’s engines, then. Dark Shadow is too weak to catch Midoriya since Bakugou caught it in the light, and the hover boots are disengaged so Uraraka doesn’t lose focus. This leaves one person to respond to Iida. Izuku feels his face twist into a smirk that is much less confident than it probably looks.
Todoroki’s team is very suddenly adjacent to theirs. Izuku leans forward, entirely unstable on Tokoyami’s shoulder, and swings a fist. It clips Todoroki’s shoulder enough for him to not grab the ribbon around Izuku’s neck, but he’s passing on Izuku’s right, which means his glancing right hand still draws cold across Izuku’s body, and suddenly his sleeve is stiff with frost and his arm is numb.
“So this is what it feels like to be you, huh?” Izuku calls, eyes more on the other combatants than Todoroki’s team passing by. “If I had that Quirk, I’d undo this. But I guess you still think you’re objectively, much stronger, yeah?” It doesn’t sound like a question. It’s not really supposed to; he’s earned the ice cold glare boring into the back of his skull.
00:16. Crackling, barely audible over the crowd, before an explosion that drowns all of it. 00:15.
“Half a minute left - and what’s this folks, Midoriya is glowing! Could it be that we’re finally gonna see that Quirk in action?”
He doesn’t really feel the energy fill his arm. He can’t feel his arm at all, really, but he can feel an odd sort of creaking in his shoulder and elbow. The uniform, cold as it is, starts to snap and shift under movement as he cocks a fist, but it bursts to tatters entirely as One For All manifests. His fist is tight, so tight he feels he feels his nails digging into his skin. All of it is gathering there, bubbling like a pot on the verge of boiling over. 00:14 feels like forever.
Bakugou isn’t stupid, Izuku knows. Bakugou will win, if I let him attack me while I can’t retaliate, but he’ll also be out the moment he lets me hit him with a punch like this. Bakugou isn’t stupid, he thinks, watching Bakugou rocket through the air at him, snarling. If he wants to get my flag, he will, but then he’ll get hit, and he’ll hit the ground. These are all facts, Izuku tells himself, as Bakugou pops his hands to adjust midair, angling his feet for a landing. If Bakugou lands on my shoulder now, he’ll lose. And Bakugou isn’t stupid. Bakugou is a meter away. 00:14 drags on.
Crackle, pop. 00:13 comes. Boom. Bakugou blasts, straining his wrists to fly off the other way and escape Izuku’s range. Izuku’s fist is shaking, and the bubbles of the pot rise over its rim, but Izuku kills the heat. The glow disappears, and it has been one second but he gasps for a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Bakugou shouts something that would probably need censorship, but Present Mic is louder.
“Can you believe it - Bakugou is scared off by Midoriya’s threatening Quirk!”
00:10. A buzzer blares quickly, marking the countdown. Bakugou takes a breath and then launches again. It’s too fast, he’ll regret it later, but later is after the ten seconds he needs to kick Izuku’s ass.
00:09. The buzzer blends into the sound of Iida’s engines blazing to life, skating straight to them from behind. There’s blue on Todoroki’s lips and frost climbing up his neck and his eyelashes are frozen. He’ll regret it later, but later is after the nine seconds he needs to kick Izuku’s ass.
00:08. Mei kicks the hover boots on. Mobility doesn’t really matter now, with Bakugou and Todoroki both on top of them. Dark Shadow bursts from where it was recuperating tight to Tokoyami’s chest. His eyes snap from Todoroki to Bakugou and back again. Every muscle tightens, surges. Fists tight until his nails draw blood. One For All.
00:07. Bakugou touches down on Tokoyami’s right shoulder. Mei leans on her hover boot and yanks the team as she pivots around it. Bakugou goes for another right hook. It’s predictable, but it’s also bound to hurt, and Izuku can’t dodge. He snaps his head forward, deciding to get hit in the forehead instead of the nose. Bakugou yells something they’ll have to censor, strained wrist now dealing with something much like punching a brick wall. Izuku’s head is a little too fuzzy to hear it.
00:06. The buzz refocuses Izuku enough to see Todoroki get closer. Bakugou is still in the process of falling away from their team, so Todoroki doesn’t have a clear shot to go on his right side. But there are six seconds left, so Todoroki uses his stupid pole to pivot and pass on Izuku’s right. Dark Shadow throws Bakugou off.
00:05. Iida’s speed, dragging 3 teammates, is reactable. Izuku puts a firm foot on Tokoyami’s left shoulder. It smells like ozone. The air pressure changes , just enough for Izuku to feel his ears pop painfully when he grits his teeth. Iida’s focused stare tightens. Todoroki’s eyes get wider as he tries to ready himself. Crackle. Pop.
00:04. Boom. Bakugou is back, contending with Dark Shadow, for as much time as that buys them. Mei’s gadgets whir, and that leverage seems to be back, and they’re straining forward with the hover boots. Todoroki closes the gap, past the point of no return. His eyes are wide, face unreadable in a different way than usual. His chest is out, but he’s not lunging out like he did last time.
00:03. Bakugou tears and blasts and pushes through Dark Shadow. Todoroki is almost in swinging in range, but Bakugou has forward momentum and he’s passing Tokoyami’s shoulders with a feral smile. “Uraraka!” Izuku barks, voice strained with effort. Bakugou is done being smart, Izuku decides, and Bakugou is tackling him backwards.
00:02. Izuku feels his gravity return, and he stomachs that lurching feeling as his right arm gets a vice grip on Bakugou’s shoulder. The glare in Bakugou’s face tells Izuku that he’s wearing that shaky smile when he’s pulling off one of his stupid plans. If Bakugou wants Izuku out, it’ll definitely happen, but Bakugou isn’t stupid. Bakugou’s left hand passes Izuku’s neck and his palm is inches from the ground and he has plenty of sweat.
00:01. Neither of them touch the ground, because they are flying, and Izuku’s back is seared as he rises in the air, and Todoroki jumps. The pot finally boils over. The wind bursts and the air pressure pops their ears and it smells like ozone and his joints creak and his the left half of his top is annihilated as he lets go of Bakugou’s shoulder and starts to swing. Todoroki’s face is all rage and fear and the left side of his uniform goes too, as fire blazes bright and strong and desperate. Todoroki’s hand pushes through the dam-burst energy of One For All. Todoroki isn’t stupid, Izuku hopes. His elbow extends past a ninety-degree angle. Todoroki’s blazing fingers are inches from his neck. Todoroki’s eyes are beady, looking right at Izuku’s. Izuku’s fist is almost as close to Todoroki’s face. Todoroki’s fire dies and he is already falling back and his fingers trail short of the million flag and he collides with Iida painfully and where they were a moment ago Izuku carves a vicious gout from the concrete.
00:00.
“WHAT A FINISH FOLKS! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT! IZUKU MIDORIYA CLINGS ONTO THE MILLION WITH A DARING PLAY!”
Izuku lands on his back and promptly passes out.
Izuku’s eyes pry themselves open and then promptly shut against cold white fluorescents. As his brow furrows, he hears tittering. He starts to push himself up, sitting up on the papery bedsheets, but a hand on his shoulder keeps him gently in place. “You overdid it again, boy. I’m afraid I’m encouraging bad habits.”
Izuku lets out a sigh as Recovery Girl checks him over, eyes still closed against the harsh light. “I-It’s not like I’m trying, ma’am, b-but-”
“No buts, young man. Breaking your bones is not a good long-term plan.” Izuku swallows thickly, and she continues after a moment. “Have you experienced any issues? Stiffness, soreness, weakness?”
Izuku thinks about the fingers that struggle to write and ache until he has to move around at night. “N-no, I don’t think so,” he lies.
Recovery Girl hums. “Interesting. Well, the good news is that your poor fingers didn’t suffer as much as they have before, since you didn’t actually make contact with that blow. You would’ve sent Todoroki here too, you know.”
“Well, his f-fire hands would send me here too…”
“Yes, yes, all of you are reckless fifteen year-old boys,” she chides, moving away from his bed. This time, he does sit up, slowly, and squints through the light as his eyes start to adjust. “You didn’t land on your head, so no concussion, but do try not to break any more bones in the final round.”
At that, Izuku gasps and pushes himself fully upright. Recovery Girl almost drops a packet of gummies in surprise. “N-next round! I-I need to-”
“You need to regain your energy!” She punctuates this with her cane tapping his forehead. “The next round is a tournament of one-on-one matches. You were only out for fifteen minutes, so you will rest in your waiting room!”
Izuku squeaks but nods obediently. He catches the pack of gummies Recovery Girl tosses his way as he heads to the door. “Thank you, Recovery Girl, ma’am!”
“Thank me by not doing it again!”
All Might’s words bounce around in his head, but Izuku can’t really manage a good smile as he steps out onto the arena. His eyes drink all of it in, tracing the cheering crowd. They dart away from the jumbotron with his face on it. The flame pillars are dramatic, but are they really necessary? His eyes find his opponent, who is shadowed starkly by the flames, and he can feel the half-smile become a quarter-smile on his face.
“Ready?”
“Man, I can’t believe I got put against wonderboy,” his opponent chuckles dryly. It would sound resigned if it wasn’t so bitter. “Well, Deku . This is gonna test your strength of will, got that?”
“START!”
“Although I guess you’re used to using that will. Could probably beat down anyone you want with that Quirk of yours.”
Izuku’s arms are raised. He’s not risking getting distracted, because this boy isn’t a classmate. His physical features don’t give away any Quirk, but his purple eyes seem to bore right into Izuku.
“Born perfect. Born a hero. You didn’t have to work a day to get here, not really. ”
Izuku thinks about winning the first event without his Quirk. He thinks about ten months of heavy trash and a month of shaky fingers and wrist pain. But there’s another part of his brain that hears it. Born a hero. The boy in front of him doesn’t know One For All, he knows its official name is Super Power and it goes through cement like tissue paper. The boy in front of him sees a hero , and Izuku tastes bile because I am one, aren’t I.
“C’mon, Midoriya!” The boy shouts wildly. “Don’t be a dumbass, put me in my place. Like a good dog!”
“No.” The boy seems to pause, eyes still staring with that wild look. “W-what’s your obsession with putting yourself down! I-I’m gonna win using my strength, not because of it.”
The boy smiles, cocking his head. “I win.”
“Whoa! Midoriya’s frozen in place!
Now… Shinsou Hitoshi demands our attention!”
“It must be nice to have everything handed to you.
Now, do me a favor, wonderboy.
Turn around on your stupid shoes and get out of my ring.”
“What’s this? Midoriya’s following orders, like a dog!”
All Might is leaning around the doorway,
stricken with fear.
Izuku is too,
although he’s not sure his face shows it.
He can’t move an inch, but he is . He’s walking out of bounds.
He can’t stop.
“That’s right, folks! Midoriya fell for Shinsou’s trap!
He’s under the effects of Shinsou’s Brainwash now!”
Stop! Stop moving!
But his head is really fuzzy, and his body is numb, and it’s moving.
Damn it!
The doorway is roiling with fog. It spills out into the light of the fires and the sun and it sparkles brilliantly, full of color.
Everyone’s done so much for me…
The fog is watching him. Or, rather, someone in it is. Or there’s more than one?
I can’t lose now!
There are figures, and they stand in billowing fog, and they are billowing fog, and the fog is rushing forward, or they are reaching out, or they were never in the fog, they have always been here, and Izuku can’t think or feel or see and his body is moving because of Shinsou Hitoshi’s Quirk and his body is moving because of One for All and his body is
What
Is this?
I..
Something is happening,
Something is-
Izuku Midoriya’s left foot pauses two inches above the boundary line.
“Right. That’s it wonderboy, you lose.”
Ozone. Air pressure. Glowing. Izuku’s fingers twitch so hard that the concrete at his feet shatters and the dust billows around him and his left foot sets itself firmly inside the arena. The heaving of his breaths is rough and heavy and loud. The look he gives Shinsou over his shoulder feels like All Might was right about smiles being better.
“Could this be? Midoriya has stopped, has he escaped Shinsou’s power?”
“How the hell did you do that,” Shinsou says, and he seems genuinely shaken. Izuku looks at his fingers. I did that, but I couldn’t have escaped on my own. He thinks of the fog and the figures and the eyes. Focus. Shinsou seems to be having thoughts of his own, because his face is currently moving from confusion to rage.
“You’re the real deal, wonderboy.”
Shinsou never got a hand on me. We’ve made eye contact plenty of times. The switch had to be the conversation. Izuku glares, biting his lip to ignore the throbbing in his fingers.
“Wonderboy. Hero material. I’d kill to be that lucky. Born with the perfect Quirk to live your dreams.”
Izuku runs at him. It’s only a second or two of space between them, and Shinsou’s face twists desperately as Izuku gets closer and closer. They both know how hand to hand will end.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” Shinsou’s hands raise up into a weak fighting stance. Izuku’s fist hits him in the face while he forces Shinsou back using his other forearm. The struggle is intense, but Shinsou is weaker and in a quick blur of back and forth swings Izuku gets him in across the jaw again and Shinsou is dazed for long enough for Izuku to heave him out.
“Hitoshi Shinsou is out of bounds! Our winner is Izuku Midoriya!”
Notes:
Chicken: a game where the options are to push forward hoping an opponent gives, or give yourself. If both push forward, the resulting collision is the worst outcome.
Art!Originally this chapter was supposed to focus on the Shinsou fight more, but then I didn't do that! Obviously it's also a much longer one, so I hope nobody's upset about that. Also, it's not Thursday! that's because i have no self control. :3
Todoroki and Bakugou: we’re gonna fuckin GET you
Izuku, glowing: yeah? wanna play chicken?
Todoroki and Bakugou: aaaaAA-Todoroki: *wide eyes of ‘oh shit we’re going for it’*
Bakugou: *rabid dog noises*
Izuku: *shifting air pressure with a step*
Mei: ive seen enough explosions in my life to know to compensate for the shockwave. jesusShinsou: fuck you and your birthright bullshit fuck you fuck y
Izuku, who wrote a Notebook On Why That’s Bad like yesterday: i agree but i cant just say thattttt
Chapter 7: Legal II
Summary:
You've Already Watched The Sports Festival, and Midoriya vs. Todoroki.
Notes:
happy valentines day. i was going to put this out thursday to get back on that schedule and then i got impatient. i like watching my little numbers go up.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Round One goes fast, and Izuku is lost in thought.
He gives some encouragement to Uraraka as she moves onto her match, looking grim, but none of the matches are too unexpected.
Shiozaki is an unfamiliar threat,
he decides after seeing her match against Kaminari.
But I’ve got a roadblock before her. More like a sinkhole in the road, actually. Or a yawning chasm straight to hell.
Suffice to say, he’s not optimistic about Todoroki.
His classmates seem to agree. “Todoroki and Bakugou are nonstop powerhouses.” “Todoroki and Bakugou are the ones to watch out for.” “I feel bad for Uraraka.”
That’s not right, Izuku thinks. Bakugou strains his wrists. He might’ve sprained his right wrist after that blast against Uraraka. Who knows if he even got it fixed. Nervous nausea sets into his stomach as he marches towards his next match. The starters of Round Two. Midoriya versus Todoroki.
Todoroki doesn’t sprain his wrist. The force is all external, his body isn’t even budged by the air pressure of an attack. Izuku is mumbling, he knows, but the empty concrete halls are the perfect place to get into a mindless pace. Think, what’s his limit? His Quirk comes in distinct halves that are pretty much an even balance, but he’s been sticking to his ice almost exclusively. The fire seems wildly powerful…
Izuku barely notices that someone’s coming around the corner until he walks right into them.
“You,” Endeavor declares.
“Me?” Izuku squeaks.
“You’re strong. That power of yours, it cowed Shouto. It’s comparable to All Might,” Endeavor states, glaring down his chin. “He’s meant to surpass All Might, so you’ll be a great test.”
“I-I really should get going,” Izuku squeaks again, walking as fast as he can past Endeavor. He still feels the heat of the man’s glare on his back.
“Give it your all. Put up a good fight against him.”
Izuku’s mouth twists into a nervous shape as he plants his foot and wheels around. Endeavor has exactly a foot on him, he knows, but the man dwarfs him with his presence. He feels his mouth wobble more as ‘nervous nausea’ becomes the strong urge to barf. He swallows thickly. “I-I’m not All Might,” he declares, meeting Endeavor’s eyes. “I’m going to f-fight Todoroki, a-and I’m going to win. He’s like you, i-isn’t he.”
Endeavor looks surprised at that, but he only grunts.
“Y-you have a lim-limit. You overheat. A-and Todoroki- m-my classmates think he’s unstoppable. B-but, after he encased Sero, I-I saw.” Izuku’s rambling now, stop rambling stop rambling I can’t stop- “O-on the screen, they sh-shifted to him when they could, and his b-breath was condensing. The sp-specific heat of air, i-it’s like a fourth of th-that of the body, the air in his lungs, it gets cold, and he has to breathe. He needs to.”
Endeavor’s face has a look somewhere between approval and anger. It’s hard to tell with all the fire.
“Todoroki, h-he’s going to fight me. A-and you both, y-you’re gonna have that stupid idea of All Might.” back on track, Izuku decides, taking a shaky breath as he finds the right words. “B-but in the space of a breath… I’m g-gonna put him in his p-place, a-and when I do, y-you’ll see. A h-hero like you or him aren’t- aren’t shit. ”
Endeavor glares. The hallway rushes with heat, but Izuku sets his expression as he turns and makes his way to the exit of the tunnel. It’s not a smile he comes out to the field with, but it’s not nearly the mess it was last time. The heat on your back is just a reminder of why you’re here, he tells himself. Show them. Show everyone. A hero-
“Both of these competitors have shown nothing but absolute power!”
A hero is someone who saves people.
“Between the first-place scorer and the behemoth of power, there’s only room for one!”
Not the title, or the license. A hero wields strength for others.
“You folks ready? You already know these two!”
This strength that All Might gave me…
“MIDORIYA! VERSUS! TODOROKI!”
…Right now, it’s about to deal a blow to the Number Two.
Todoroki’s glare is as determined and icy as ever as he rolls out his neck and shoulders.
Izuku’s glare is uncharacteristic, he can see it on the jumbotron. It probably looks odd on his soft face, it probably looks odd to his mom at home. He takes a deep breath
“START! ”
Todoroki barely has to move, but the air shifts as ice flares out from his foot. Being face to face with it it seems even faster, but Izuku’s already in motion, too. It’s almost like a standoff, Izuku thinks, we both knew the other was going to need a strong attack. A flick seemed like a good idea, but Izuku reminds himself. The space of a breath.
The ice is nearly on top of him, and Izuku’s foot comes down.
He’s digging a crater into the concrete, but the shockwave is already blowing the ice apart, plowing through it. The stitching of his shoe is obliterated, sole detaching from the half-gone fabric above it, laces splitting under the pressure. The bones running through his right foot break from the force of the impact, but it doesn’t run all the way up his leg. That’s good, he thinks nervously. Now the hard part.
He visualizes the microwave, visualizes the five-percent. It’s almost impossible, limiting the power, like reacting to a bullet. It runs up his leg, and his eyes are wide and beady, focusing through the mist and dust of the destruction ahead. One clear shot to Todoroki. Don’t fuck it up. He grits his teeth to keep from howling in pain as he presses his broken foot into the ground, hammering energy through his heel and pushing off. Izuku sails, adrenaline so thick in his veins he can only tell he didn’t shatter his whole leg by the fact that it’s not flailing behind him.
He bursts through the mist, finding Todoroki heaving a breath of condensation. His eyes widen in shock as Izuku flies through the air, all grit teeth and wild eyes and power.
“Woah! Midoriya smashed straight through, and he’s not letting up! It’s time for some close combat!”
Izuku’s landing is rough, but the throbbing in his foot feels like another world as he rolls and springs up, fist carrying his momentum right into Todoroki’s face. The boy stumbles, the punch forcing the last of the condensation out of his nose and mouth. Izuku’s other fist is coming again, relentlessly.
“What a slugfest- and how will Todoroki respond, he’s on the back foot folks!”
Ice spreads from Todoroki’s foot, but he’s barely recuperated. The mass that rushes up reaches Izuku’s knee height before his fist cracks across Todoroki’s jaw before he stumbles back. He presses his left hand against the mass of ice behind him, though, stabilizing himself. His breath is cold and thick, and Izuku can feel its chill as he steps into Todoroki’s space again.
“C’mon!” Izuku screams in Todoroki’s face, a right hook knocking the boy against his ice again. “You wanna be a hero? Then earn it! ” Todoroki slugs back at him, bringing an icy fist that misses the mark as Izuku leans onto his unbroken foot.
“My father put you up to this?” Todoroki huffs out, breath still cold. “This is pissing me off.” He slides his right foot under Izuku, ice trapping his feet and unbalancing him for a moment before he pries his broken foot from its shoe. He plants it firmly and gets an open palm under Todoroki’s’ chin, thrusting his head into the mass of ice behind him with a solid crack.
“Shut up,” Izuku growls back, just as out of breath, “I’ll tell you what I told him-” with a massive effort, he rips his left leg from the ice and plants his foot. “I’m going to put you in your place.”
Todoroki hisses condensation through his teeth. Two, three, his knuckles are white and there’s frost in his eyelashes, a fourth breath, and he smiles. “Let’s see it!” He spits, right foot pushing against the concrete as ice surges.
The glow moves from Izuku’s leg to his arm, and it brims with energy. The ice is already coming, the force of its manifestation heaving him back in the moment before it encases him. A guttural roar escapes his throat, a scream of effort that’s raw against his throat, like the morning Dagobah was clean. The ice is already overshadowing him, swelling over his head as it nearly reaches his toes. And then his fist hits it.
Todoroki’s wall of ice shatters before him, sending him sliding just a few paces short of outside the ring.The crowd goes wild as Izuku’s arm falls limp and both of them still remain after the dust settles. Todoroki is heaving out a breath that puffs out in the air around him, and there’s ice creeping across his right side.
Izuku takes a breath in, raising his other arm. “In the span of a breath!” He yells, tightening his fingers into a flick. Todoroki’s eyes go wide. Just like I thought, he can’t handle this. His lungs are shuddering, he needs to breathe, but I won’t give him space.
The first flick blasts through the air, taking fist-sized chunks of concrete and ice. Todoroki hasn’t even regained his footing, and he stumbles closer to the edge of the ring. Izuku cocks his next finger with his thumb. “You wanna turn me down? Then prove what you’re made of!”
You decide who you want to become.
Todoroki bursts into howling flame, and his face twists into a confused mess of a smile.
“What’s this? Pushed to the edge, Todoroki bears that flame once again!”
“I’m- I’m gonna be a hero, too,” Todoroki declares, stepping up to his feet.
Izuku lets loose the next flick. He stumbles back.
Todoroki’s right arm sweeps back, and when it comes forward there’s a wave of cold air, but the third flick catches him in the midst of his push forward, off his footing, and he is pushed back again. His face tightens in determination, the frost burning up into water vapor. His stance lowers as air rushes off him, but a fourth flick has him before he can gather his strength.
“Don’t get it twisted,” Izuku calls, tightening both broken fists as he stomps forward. “This isn’t your time to turn the tide!”
Todoroki takes a step back, force swelling around him. “It’s not my problem what happens to you next,” he says, with an indicative glance at the bruising, broken parts of Izuku.
Izuku doesn’t say anything back, feeling the glow of One For All cross his body. Ozone, air pressure, red light flaring out from this face. He slams his left foot into the ground, flying low, the air around him whistling as he cock his fist back.
Present Mic exclaims something, but it’s lost to the insane air pressure. Cementoss tries to intervene, but they’re already so clear that half of what he does is contain the force so that no poor audience member dies from a stray chunk of concrete.
The ringing in his ears fades, and the first thing he notices is the cries of the crowd. He can barely feel himself with adrenaline, heaving breath, but he can just barely see the cement under his feet, the inside of the ring.
“Th-that’s the match! I-it’s gotta be! Yes, folks, looks like there’s only one left in the ring!”
Izuku’s whole body throbs, the hums of pain breaking the numbness of his adrenaline in the rhythm of his pounding chest.
“Midoriya moves on to the next round!”
I really can’t make this a habit,
he thinks, passing out before he can hit the ground. The last thing he sees, at least, is that Todoroki is just as done for, halfway to his entrance tunnel.
Notes:
So, what a todoroki v midoriya! APBio has never been more useful, the ‘specific heat of his breath’ is a very Smart Midoriya thing (In canon Izuku walks into the fight trying to draw it out to find Todoroki’s weakness). I think it’s much more fun, in this case, for Izuku to realize and think Endeavor and Todoroki are more alike than either thinks - and, of course, there’s been no Todoroki Trauma Dumps scene, because Izuku has been more closed off. All in all, this fight is much more brutal because Izuku isn’t pulling punches like in canon.
todoroki: ten seconds fight. easy fight
izuku: *breaks ice*
todoroki: ok i couldve seen that coming. ill just-
izuku: *screaming through the dust at iida speed*
Chapter 8: Legal III
Summary:
Izuku wakes up before his next match! fun stuff i promise
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku wakes up quickly. It’s not as sluggish as it often is, but the papery sheets and the scratchy bandages all across his body tell him where he is before he even opens his eyes.
“It’s like he’s trying to do this. You know I told him he was lucky he didn’t hit anything? To not have totally destroyed his fingers?” Recovery girl tuts. “Now I’ll have to be careful, make sure to keep his joints and bones separate before they can be allowed to heal.”
Izuku blinks, squinting at the harsh white lights above. Turning his head, he spots All Might standing a few feet away, and Recovery Girl doting by the bed.
“He’s inherited your habit of overdoing it, you know. Both of you, you’re giving an old woman a headache.” Izuku offers a beaming smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes in response. All Might smiles wearily when he gets Izuku’s eye.
“I-I’m not sure…” Izuku huffs out, waking up just enough to feel the pain starting to get to him. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to win at this rate.” Izuku laughs at the absurdity of his own words, arms nestled to his chest by thick bandages. He’s already not sure how much he can carry on.
“That’s… That’s alright, young Midoriya,” All Might says, stepping closer to put a hand at the side of his bed. “I’m proud that you’ve come this far. And even if you don’t win, you’ve certainly put on a good show.” All Might smiles at him, a warm thing despite the sharp angles of his face.
“I have to prove it, though,” Izuku urges, his brow furrowing. “I-I want to be a hero, and I have to… Prove that I’m gonna save people like nobody else.”
“Do you remember what I told you, the day we met?” All Might asks, the question so sudden and sure that Izuku is jarred out of his train of thought. “I told you you were more heroic than anyone else. You’re cut out for this, not in the Quirk, in the soul.” His finger jabs against Izuku’s chest, and he can almost feel something special under it just because All Might pointed it out.
His smile twists into something sadder, though. “Th-thank you, b-but I also feel… I-I can’t just be a good hero. There’s too many people out there heroes don’t help, I w-want to prove that… That there’s more, and th-that we can all help together.” The words sound wrong as they come out, addled by pain, but All Might smiles understandingly.
“Young Midoriya… What you feel is heroic. Shouting ‘I am here’ hasn’t always saved the day either, so…” The man pauses, shining blue eyes lost in thought. “I can already tell, kid. You’re made of better stuff than me. I see it, even if everyone else here hasn’t spotted it yet.”
“This conversation can continue later!” Recovery Girl interrupts, shooing out All Might. “I won’t rush this, they can delay the festival for all I care,” she mumbles, moving around Izuku quickly as she prepares all her equipment.
“This is the last time I heal an injury like that.”
The words echo in his ears as he walks alongside All Might. The damage is less than it could’ve been, he thinks, but looking at his fingers he still swallows thickly. They’re a little crooked, with a bit of scar tissue around the joints in his middle and index fingers. He’s still got bandages across his body, too, but the ever-so-soft twinge when he breathes deep isn’t as bothersome as the lasting damage in front of him.
The shoes on his feet feel odd as he goes up the last set of stairs before his seating section. He’s glad he was given anything, although they feel mostly unworn and uncomfortably tight around his toes. Getting back to Class 1-A, All Might splits away, and Izuku is left to face a wave of faces between shock and concern alone. He smiles sheepishly as he walks back towards his seat.
“Dude! Ho-ly shit!” Mina exclaims, sitting up on her knees and leaning over the back of the seat. “Midoriya, you’re totally awesome! Scary as hell, but awesome!” Kirishima and Sero look sheepish in her stead, wincing at their friend’s half-backhanded compliment.
“Yeah, Midoriya, that was pretty wild. But… it looks like everyone really is giving it their all.” Uraraka smiles. “There’s a while before the next round.”
“O-oh, I missed all of those matches?” Izuku says, cringing at the childlike whininess he hears in his own voice.
“Yup!” Mina says. “You’re against Iida, but he disappeared to his prep room pretty quickly - Oh, and he’s got this, like, super speed burst, too. Isn’t that exciting?”
Izuku nods, brain already sputtering to life. “He’s definitely faster than me, and if he can get even faster than he already is I’m gonna have a tough time,” he murmurs, “But I’ll bet that burst of speed wears him down quick. He’s not just gonna let it be an endurance match, though…” His finger taps the corner of his mouth as he sinks deeper in thought, until suddenly Mina’s waving a hand in front of his face.
“ I’ll be cheering for you, I think,” she says, flashing a thumbs-up. “Iida’s good, but I wanna see Midoriya versus Bakugou part two!”
He smiles back at her, but swallows thickly. “I-I’m gonna get going now, I think. Recovery Girl said not to strain myself too hard…”
“Good luck, Midoriya!” Mina calls after him, and he glances back to wave a little as he disappears through the doorway.
“Will our reigning champ take another victory from a legacy student? It’s Izuku Midoriya, the top-scorer, versus Tenya Iida, the super-fast Iida kid!”
Iida looks as severe as ever, or even moreso. He huffs a breath out through his nose, his rigid stance just a step away from the sprinter’s position he often takes. His jaw is set with a little more tension than usual, though.
Izuku is much the same. He’s sure his face is less set than it was walking into the Todoroki fight, but he’s feeling too grim to muster a smile, either. This is gonna be a tough one, he thinks, but Iida will have to be cautious around me, too. That thought doesn’t make him feel much better, stomach twisting and a lump forming in his throat.
“START!”
Iida’s engines burst to life, and Izuku grits his teeth. Unlike Todoroki, he can’t predict how Iida will attack, but it’s almost as threatening, and leaves just as little time to react. What do I do? He thinks as Iida takes off. He’s in a fighting stance, but has little to do other than take whatever kick is coming.
Iida’s motion, though, is reactable despite its speed. He dives forward to avoid the kick, but he can already hear Iida turning on the spot behind him. Twisting around on the ground, he brings up a hand, ready to flick. Iida’s engines sputter as they die from blasting to a gentle hum, and Izuku grits his teeth to hold the energy in his fingers, pushing himself to his feet.
“That grit you have, Midoriya,” Iida starts, rigid to the point of being almost choked. “It’s uncanny. But, it’s like…” The air is thick with tension. “It’s that look. That wild-eyed look you get.”
“I-Iida, I don’t-”
“There’s a darkness in there.” Iida’s engines sputter, gouts of exhaust preceding a fwoosh of flame, and he closes the distance between them in an instant. Izuku barely dodges a kick that has Iida hanging in the air, recklessly going high, but his engines whine to a higher pitch and Izuku feels a wave of heat just before a lightning fast kick. Iida calls out “Recipro Burst!” at the same time the crowd goes wild.
Izuku bounces off the concrete before skidding to a stop, tossed halfway across the arena by the force of the kick, right near Iida’s starting position. He’s about to shove himself to his feet when he sees how close Iida is getting, and he does something stupid. Stop the microwave, react to the bullet, you can do it - The power warps the concrete for a moment before it makes a small crater, but Izuku pushes further, forcing his hand to continue the blow. His joints creak in protest but his hand stays firmly intact.
Iida reaches him, ready to send him out of bounds, but his fist is snug in the concrete. Iida’s hand grips the back of his uniform jacket, but he almost trips as his movement is cut short. The strain on Izuku’s shoulder will sting later, but for now he’s still here.
“What’ve you- oh, that’s rather smart. Made yourself unable to dodge, though,” Iida says, circling Izuku at breakneck speed.
“I-I only have to stay c-concious until Quirk exhaustion sets in,” Izuku calls out, “from whatever special move this is.” He looks up, and he can feel that stupid-plan smile spread across his face.
“Then I have six seconds to make you submit!” Iida calls out, and Izuku can’t even breathe out for a reply before a kick digs into his not-grounded side. He manages to keep himself from flipping over, but Iida has an easy time getting to the same spot. There’s none of the same focusing throbbing or pumping adrenaline as fighting Todoroki, either - his body was half-spent stepping into the arena.
He tries to focus on the seconds. He can’t keep a rhythm besides the kicks. The smile disappears from his face, but his teeth are still gritted against the force of the blows. The spot is right above his kidney, tender to the kicks and unlikely to cause severe damage by way of broken ribs or burst organs. It also hurts like a bitch.
There’s a kick at his shoulder. One at his other side. He must be getting desperate, Izuku tells himself between the blows, Maybe those seconds are ending. Still, it doesn’t change the pain echoing through the body, and he thinks Cementoss and Midnight are starting to raise their voices when he gets another kick in that tender spot by his gut and loses his lunch.
Iida’s engines sputter wildly, like a motorboat, and then after a tense silence, gives final fwoomp of defeat. Iida backs off, huffing breath. Pain is blossoming all over his body, and it’s not a familiar thing like broken bones. There’s heat and tenderness in all the spots that were hit, and they’re distinctly hit but not broken. My whole body’s like a building after an earthquake, he thinks. But I need to focus. End it now!
With a grunt of effort that runs stabbing pain across his core and shoulders, he pulls his fist free of the cement. He stands shakily, teeth grit tight enough that every breath is hissing loudly through them.
“That was brutal! But Midoriya, he doesn’t back down? What’s this kid being fed?”
“Is this kid a masochist?” Midnight asks, sounding far more concerned than interested.
“If me breaking my bones was scary,” Midoriya murmurs, “Then I’m a nightmare now, aren’t I?”
Iida’s brow wobbles a bit as it furrows. He’s watching like a hawk, so he’s gotta be spent now. Izuku runs at him, and his eyes widen for a moment before he lowers his head and they meet each other. Iida’s legs are weaker, thick calves still spasming a bit, but his fists are still powerful. They scuffle and every hit explodes against the bruises Izuku already feels forming, but Izuku plants his feet and hits Iida across the jaw.
Stumbling back, Iida looks about right in his positioning. His body wails against the thrumming of One For All, but as it glows within his finger he preemptively winces at the pain of bracing it. Iida’s eyes go wide as he braces himself, more to take the hit than stay in bounds.
“And with that Midoriya moves on again! What a behemoth!”
Recovery Girl gives Izuku a finger splint and tapes his broken middle finger to his ring finger, just in case. The bruising from Iida gets a quick check-up, but she barely says a word as she works. It’s almost eerie, and that alone is as much of a discouragement as the scars in his right hand.
Bakugou takes down Tokoyami in their war of attrition, although Izuku only catches the end, as Bakugou’s palm crackles over a diminished Dark Shadow.
He tries to school his expression as he prepares for the final match, but he’s almost blank. He already threw up from Iida’s beating, and he thinks the stress would have him taking extra time in his waiting room if that hadn’t happened. Beyond the nervousness, he’s a roiling sea of emotion.
“It’s the finals, folks! This year’s first-years have shown grit, power, and technique beyond belief! And now, the fiercest of all of ‘em!”
Izuku can barely feel his feet hitting the ground, or the rush of light as he steps out from the tunnel and towards the fires and the daylight, or the steps he walks up into the arena.
“What happens when an unstoppable force meets an unstoppable force? It’s IZUKU MIDORIYA! VERSUS! BAKUGOU KATSUKI!”
The crowd loses it. Izuku’s eyes are fixed on Bakugou, and Bakugou’s glare is fixed on izuku. The cheering seems like it’ll never die down, but Midnight cracks her whip and speaks into her mic. “Both of these contenders have stepped up to the arena injured! Boys, if either of you would demand, this fight’ll be no-Quirks-allowed!” Her voice echoes out over the crowd, who are stunned into silence for a beat.
They usually reserve that clause for any Third Year fights, Izuku remembers, eyes darting between Midnight and Bakugou. There’s compression bandages around his wrists and hands. But… What do I want to prove against Bakugou?
“I’m not taking half-victories! I’ve pushed to get this far, I’m not giving up,” Bakugou snarls, and parts of the crowd go up in cheers.
All eyes move to Izuku. “I-I’m the same,” he stammers, pausing to take a breath. “The victory is gonna go to the one who deserves it!” The crowd cheers at that, too, but he definitely has less fans than Bakugou.
“Then it’s decided, folks! This one’s all out!”
“It’s still against the rules to use excessive force, though,” Midnight replies, voice thick with urgency. Izuku hopes her worries aren’t entirely necessary.
“FINAL ROUND: START!”
Izuku’s face wobbles as he walks. Each step is much more deliberate now, one after the other. It’s not a sprint, he just marches closer than the starting position. Bakugou’s glare keeps its intensity as he matches Izuku, until they’re just a few paces from each other. Present Mic’s commentary dies out for once as the whole crowd seems to hold their breath.
Let’s play Heroes and Villains!
Izuku doesn’t like Heroes and Villains. Kacchan’s always the Hero, which is fine. It’s the way of the world. But Izuku is always the Villain. That means Kacchan’s always taking him down, and it hurts.
Izuku smiles and nods anyway, happy to do what Kacchan wants. He likes playing with Kacchan, and until he gets to play Hero, maybe he can do something more fun playing Villain. Villains who aren’t strong don’t usually do much, though, and the last time he tried to give a scary speech Kacchan defeated him before he finished.
“L-let’s play Heroes and Villains one more time,” Izuku stutters, voice still firm even if it’s far too quiet for the crowd. “Just- Just like always. I’ll be the Villain.”
Notes:
I’ve been reading the manga along with my writing to make sure I stick to canon - usually I reference it quickly, but end up reading along, keeping more original lines. I think I’m also including a longer end note because of Horikoshi’s little notes/character biographies at the end of chapters.
I wrote the scene with Mina and Uraraka to fill the gap until round 3, but I didn’t really expect mina to be there! She just showed up as I wrote. She’s a very energetic person, so it was easy to have her pop in, and I think her being willing to poke at Bakugou would make her willing to approach Scarydoriya, too.
Lastly, I never wrote the scene, but I originally included Shiozaki winning against Iida and fighting izuku (He gets tied up, but rips at her vines with his teeth to maneuver his shoulder and free himself). I liked it, but while Iida could show up again I’d have to stretch to stick Shiozaki in the story again. Either way, I like her a lot. She’s got such a standout design and is one of 2 1-B students in the final round, so it’s a shame both her rounds are so quick.izuku: *is himself*
midnight: jesus, safe sane and consensual
Chapter 9: Legal IV / Krylon
Summary:
Izuku and Bakugou play a game of Heroes and Villains. It’s a lot different than last time, for both of them.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Kacchan, are you really gonna be such a strong hero?”
“Yeah, duh. Villains don’t stand a chance!” To prove his point, he lets explosions pop in his palms.
Bakugou’s eyes look odd when he’s taken aback. His face is usually tight in a scowl, red eyes glowering past knitted brows. He looks almost wrong with his eyebrows raised and and his mouth slightly ajar. Izuku’s not sure what he’s going to say, but it’s taking a while to get out. His face twists, just a little, into concern, and-
“The tension is killing me! What’s going on between those two!?”
Bakugou’s gaze snaps up towards the announcer’s booth, and it returns to Izuku once again a glare. It’s oddly comforting. Izuku can even feel that wobbly smile appear on his face. This is Bakugou, same as always, Izuku thinks, nodding to himself.
They haven’t really been friends in a long time. Not in the way that he made friends with Uraraka and the other 1-A students, not in the way that he already aches for with the tension between them now. All through middle school, he ached for that, the boy in front of him to be… different. But Bakugou is still his childhood friend. They’ve known each other since diapers, there’s some kind of connection there.
That unspoken bond rises to life as they stare each other down. Both of their Quirks blaze to life in the same moment.
Bakugou’s palms crackle as he raises them at his sides, fingers flexed and clawlike. That snarl is back on his face, glaring out from the shadows under his hair as he crouches into his familiar low stance. Izuku doesn’t take his eyes off him, one foot sweeping across the concrete into a more typical fighting stance. Still, the motion has an energy to it, muscles glowing and tense under his skin. The smell of the bonfires fades in the dance of ozone and saccharine-sweet combustion.
“I’m gonna destroy you, villain!”
Izuku stumbles back, trying to get his footing. Kunieda got arrested after his last fight with Endeavor. Izuku figures if he’s going to be the villain every time he might as well get better at it.
“Kinda a dumbass thing to say,” Bakugou growls, “Heroes always win.”
Izuku leans forward, feeling energy shift within his body. “Sh-show me victory then.”
Bakugou snarls as he closes the last of the gap between them with an explosion that rings against Izuku’s ears. One For All nestled in his hand, he lunges at Bakugou’s path with a fist. The boy grins, weaving to the side with a blast. The air pressure of the punch pushes his shoulder back, but he can still get his arm close enough for the explosion to rock Izuku’s bones and singe his clothes.
Crouching low and saying things like ‘ultimately, no matter what you do more villains shall arise’ doesn’t stop him from getting exploded. Burn cream soothes the slight spots of exposed skin that Kacchan didn’t mean to burn too bad. Izuku wants to be a better villain, still. He wants Kacchan to feel like a good hero.
Izuku rolls away, pushing himself up and calling One For All again. It takes focus, and Bakugou’s explosions are just the thing to break it, over and over. Every explosion shakes in his gut; a sensory wave too big to be ignored. The look on his face is a little more smug than usual. “Kinda easy to dodge when only one hand can make a fist,” Bakugou taunts.
“You wanna t-try a right hook for the fifth time today?” Izuku responds, too nervous to flash a smirk with the words. Bakugou blasts himself forward again, but he doesn’t raise off the ground for more than a step. His hands reach out, crackling with bloodlust. Izuku raises his arms in front of his body, and the explosion only tosses him back a few feet. His sleeves are blackened and his skin is pink, but his face is safe.
Think, he commands himself, digging through years of notes on Bakugou. But the boy is already on top of him again, and at this rate, he’ll be knocked right out of bounds. He raises his arms in front of him. A very sudden and maybe stupid idea pops into his head, and he forces himself to focus. Not on Bakugou, a moment from blasting him, but on One For All. He lets the energy run through him, run through his arms, and-
“CAROLINA SMASH!”
Bakugou’s explosion is rumbling through him when the forces his arms apart in a cutting motion. They don’t even glance at Bakugou’s sides, but the air pressure sunders the fire before it scorches him again. As the heat disappears, Bakugou’s surprise is visible on his face for a moment before he’s launched back. The crowd is roaring.
Toxic Chainsaw rips across All Might’s raised forearms, leaving rough gashes. The hero’s smile is tense, halfway to gritted teeth, at the hiss and bubble of the caustic wound.
Izuku feels nauseous. This is hard to watch. But even if he wouldn’t ever root for him, Toxic Chainsaw is cool. He smiles wearily when All Might punches him through a bus, as if to say ‘that’s just the way it is’.
Izuku’s joints groan, arms shaking as he brings them back in front of him. He doesn’t even make a fist, fingers aching at the motion. Every part of him throbs with every beat of his heart, and his heartbeat is coming thunderously fast. He grimaces, eyes wincing shut for a moment as he hisses breath through his teeth. He steels his expression into a confident
“That’s a move out of All Might himself’s book! But it seems like it’s wearing on both of ‘em!”
This time, Bakugou’s gaze doesn’t move to the booth. His glare is less intense, but his shoulders heave with every breath he takes, cradling his wrist. Izuku thinks he hears
“Are either of you incapable of continuing?” Midnight calls out warily. She deflates at the silence that meets her.
Izuku feels a cathartic ache as he relaxes his arms, every knuckle in his hand offering the tiniest bit of relief. Bakugou gently stretches his wrists, and there’s no crackle or ozone as they exhaustedly close the distance again.
“Somethin’ changed,” Bakugou huffs.
“I’m not useless anymore-”
“Not your shitass quirk,” Bakugou barks, “You’re fuckin’- you’re different.” Izuku doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just stares. He’s not even moving closer. “You changed, and- fuck. Fuck!” Bakugou’s exclamation is punctuated by a crackle. “You’ve been weird recently, and that means everything- everything - until now was just you .”
“Kacchan, I’m serious!”
“Kacchan, really-”
“No, Kacchan, it’s not like that!”
And now recognition flashes in Bakugou’s crimson eyes. Izuku’s not sure what to say to that. He chews on his words for a moment. “I-I always looked up to you, b-but,” he shakes his head, “I can’t do that anymore. Not when I have I have my own dreams.” He’s barely looking at Bakugou, half-staring into the distance.
Bakugou’s breath comes a little ragged, caught up in his throat and shaking as he tries to fill his lungs. The shaky breaths become a strained laugh. “Nah. When I’m Number One you’re gonna have to look up.” A sad smile tugs at his lips, and Izuku beams at him. They’re both grinning like idiots as they move again.
“Let’s play heroes and villains!”
“B-but Kacchan, I- I don’t have my Quirk yet…”
“Yeah, whatever. You can be my sidekick. Just don’t get in the way when there are villains around, yeah? I’m the best of the best!”
“These kids are wild! Even on fumes, they’re fighting fiercely!”
It feels stupid to throw punches. Bakugou ducks around Izuku’s exhausted swings with the agility of a boxer. Izuku’s raise forearms block what Bakugou throws. Both of them seem to be hurting themselves about as much as the other. Finally, Izuku kicks out at Bakugou’s leg, and as he stumbles back, Izuku gets a good right hook in. Pain shoots across his knuckles.
Bakugou socks him across the jaw while his guard is weak from the pain. Izuku’s smile remains. Bakugou lets out a guttural yell as the pain of punching with a sprained wrist gets at him, and then they’re at each other again. Izuku catches him off guard with a palm strike from his splinted hand, Bakugou replies with an elbow to Izuku’s gut. Izuku staggers forward from where he’s hunched over, grabbing Bakugou in a double leg hold.
Izuku roars, starting off in a run to the boundary line. Bakugou slams an arm, the other, both at once, on his back. Izuku can’t keep a pace, not really, but he can run like hell. Bakugou pummels him with elbows and hammer arms. They’re just a few feet shy, but Bakugou catches the soft spot Iida left and Izuku’s grip finally weakens enough for him to kick off Izuku.
“Sidekick? Why wouldn’t we be a duo?”
“Because, dummy, I’m gonna be the super-best. No competition. But if you’re my sidekick, we can be heroes together and I’ll keep you safe.”
Izuku feels like he can barely move. He was dead on his feet the moment he called on One For All, though. This is muscles refusing any more toil. Failure. Bakugou doesn’t look like he’s faring much better. They trade blows on the sidelines. Something happens and Izuku is suddenly on his back, wind knocked out of him as his spine flattens against solid concrete. Bakugou raises a fist, but cocks his head at Izuku before bringing it down.
“Oh, then I hope we can be each others’ sidekicks.”
Izuku sucks in breaths needily. Voice still raspy, he calls out “Y…yield.”
“That’s- Folks, I think- Yes, we have a winner!”
Bakugou stands above him, surrounded by a roaring coliseum and backlit by the fires. “I’m not helpin’ you up because I’ll fuck up my wrists.” Sorry goes unsaid, but Izuku still smiles bashfully.
“That’s alright, I’ll just- wow, Med-Bots w-were ready,” Izuku mumbles, surprised there’s already a stretcher coming for him. With the Bots’ assistance, it’s pretty easy to get on. “I’ve gotta work on this,” Izuku laments. Bakugou looks confused. Izuku passes out.
“Ninth needs-”
“I don’t care if-
“Please,”
the voice shuts the rest up,
“I think a rest is earned.”
Himiko is a bit of a mess.
She got overly excited, because holy shit , that’s Smallmight - fuck, Kyuubi is doing that? - her fangs have torn up the pillow she’s clinging to and nibbling on. She’s got some sort of feeling in her, like adrenaline, but she doesn’t think stabbing someone would help. She feels too excited, even after Smallmight gets wheeled off and all that’s left is a little award ceremony she’s shaking out her wrists to try to handle the energy.
She stands up to pace, pulling out her phone. Twitter is losing it, but she doesn’t really feel like scrolling aimlessly. She picks through her contacts for a minute or so.
Himiko dives back onto the couch, gnawing at the pillow and kicking her feet in the air.
Notes:
Krylon - A popular spraycan brand in the 70s/80s. They’re still popular, but went from a circular spray to a square one in 2008. Because of both of these things, it’s nostalgic.
holy shit we made it! First arc over!! it only took 6 months. thank you for reading! I hope you liked it as much as I did, since I love writing fights but it’s still been a decent adventure in trying to write more emotionally.
I’m thinking the amount I’m writing is starting to wear on me, or I have too many ideas bouncing around upstairs, or both, so this fic may go on a brief hiatus (just a few weeks) before the next arc. Thanks for reading so far!izuku: im not gonna be explicit but this is kinda punching my trauma to prove it wrong!
katsuki: you aren’t the only one who can be emotionally gutting, fucking fucker,
izuku: this is,,, weird,,
katsuki: yeah it’s called character developmentPS: remember how this has a workskin? well i certainly forgot how to use it. took 20 minutes to fix what i fucked up
Chapter 10: Slam
Summary:
Now that Izuku is no longer Playing The Villain, he’s back to confronting all the real problems he’s dealing with. And the cute(,) villain(?). that too.
Notes:
my 'hiatus' ass just needed to delete the extraneous ideas in my docs and get past my permit test. im free as a bird and happily back to. remembering the point of this fic
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku tosses his phone oh his bed, frowning at the ache and twitch in his fingers. He pulls his Kyuubi hoodie on over an old shirt he doesn’t really care about— which is all of them, really, although this one says ‘pants’. He's apathetic to his whole wardrobe, really, except for the minor pride of being a UA student (which has nothing to do with the feel of the uniform, anyway). The broader movement feels a little better, although pressing the fabric between his fingers makes them ache uncomfortably. He feels his phone buzz in his hand as he pockets it, but he doesn’t check it.
With his duffel on his shoulder, Izuku pads to his door without a sound. He grits his teeth to slowly turn his doorknob, hearing the quiet ticks of the door latch until it gives. He gives his bag a wide berth, and shuts it with the knob turned just as quietly. His hand aches, but he slowly moves through the apartment, ignoring the pain as he ties his shoelaces and slips out the front door just like his room.
He takes a deep breath, leaning against the cement wall behind him. After three more, he’s steady enough to move away from the door and set off down the building’s stairs and out into the city. Each step down is taken gently, to keep the duffel from jostling or the jolt of his feet hitting cement from reaching his hands.
Scouting for tags to cover up and good places to drop a piece isn’t nearly as easy as it was the last time he looked. He can see almost-right canvases wherever he looks, although he doesn’t know the buildings and doesn’t see hateful graffiti. Halfway into an alley, he leans against the wall to give himself a short break. He tugs his respirator off, breathing fresher air as he checks his phone again.
Izuku pushes off the wall and moves out of the alley. There are neon signs and lights across the city, but only a one store on the block is open at this hour. The white light from its windows spills out into the streets. Izuku gets his respirator back on and fixes his messy hair back under his hood, leaving his duffel in an alley to wander the shelves in the store.
Their medicine aisle is much longer than he expects. Some of the displays and racks are near-empty, but they’re still here. He plucks the aspirin off the shelf with little more than a glance, and scans the rest of the way down. Vitamins and supplements, shoe inserts, basic first aid gear. He just barely notices the compression gloves - there’s only one left, where clearly there were more, but the one left behind is pink. Izuku takes it off the rack tentatively.
Unfortunately, the Slurpee machine is right near the register, like it always is, and Izuku realizes he can’t swallow pills dry for his life. So Izuku’s allowance is gone faster than he was aiming for, and he’s filling up a cup with a mix of Mountain Dew and Blue Raspberry. He pockets his wallet pensively, hoping the slurpee will dispel his shame and the rest will dispel the pain.
It’s another ten minutes before he spots it. There’s a wide-open wall, facing a two-lane side street, that looks fitting. It’s open enough that his stomach crawls closer to his throat as he gets closer, but he quashes that feeling down. The itch to make something after spending days too busy or injured can’t be ignored. “Plus ultra,” he mumbles to himself, dropping the duffle and finishing the last sips of headache-sweet drink.
Kyuubi starts with shapes— they come forth slowly, and freehanding without a sketch to start with is a leap of faith, but it feels right to just go. A silhouette is drawn in the curves and flow of the nozzle’s circular spray, but that serves the pose well. She has flowing hair, and her costume is some kind of dress, although most of it is less clear than it could be.
Izuku has always had a fascination with heroes, and so Kyuubi has always had one too. Still, when he gets into the zone, there’s a part of his mind chewing on the thought of her. She’s barely a public name, her old merchandise and promotional material scrubbed from all but the odd and ill-maintained archives of the internet. The aches fade as he quickly moves through paints, and he can’t smell them through the respirator but he can almost feel the chemicals and aerosol around him.
Her hero costume has her hair up, but he portrays it down, flowing shapes of blue and purple outlining the one bold and firm part of her. Her set jaw and steel gaze, as vaguely emotional as he can manage. I don’t know exactly what she did. He places the final details with a sort of reverence. But I know she felt wronged. She must’ve. I know she disappeared.
He lays down his signature, and packs his cans away, ready to leave it behind. But the thought is still bouncing around in his head, something that must escape before he can rest. So instead of lifting his duffel, he grabs a felt tip out of it and writes next to her eight-foot-tall image:
What is the story of Lady Nagant?
He wishes he knew the answer.
“Midoriya, you might actually like this one!” Kaminari says, and Izuku realizes he has been texting through a conversation involving everyone in homeroom who isn’t Bakugou or Todoroki. Kaminari shows a picture lit by early-morning sunbeams, in which the colors of Nagant’s hair seem more excessive than he meant.
“This person is getting bolder! It’s not at all appropriate, and now it’s reaching larger streets,” grits Iida, more reserved than usual but just as intense.
“‘What is the story of Lady Nagant’? It’s, like, sick. She’s this old hero who’s in Tartarus now, and her trial was super private so barely anyone knows what she did.” Kaminari sounds practically giddy. The energy is pure, but half the class seems to withdraw at the thought. “But, like, also , someone actually spotted her in the act!”
“N-Nagant?” Izuku stutters.
“Oh, no. Kyuubi! Someone saw her working on it, so one of the popular images is this, like, half-finished piece with her working on it.” Kaminari lifts the phone, which Izuku snatches as he feels a mini heart attack begin. It shows a picture of Kyuubi behind and to her right from across the street. The respirator and pink gloves are blurry but noticeable, although no part of the face is noticeable.
“W-wait, uh, she? So people think Kyu's a girl now...?” Izuku asks, still staring down at the phone. Nothing damning, but it swells that feeling of nausea all over again. And there's something newer and stranger twisting around, too.
“Well, I guess. Some news stories running with the pink gloves, and she’s not that tall, so…”
“You’re barely taller,” Jirou says, and Kaminari reacts like she’s just sworn fealty to his nemesis. Izuku hands his phone back mumbling an apology when he realizes he just grabbed it right from him. The conversation scatters, returning to a more typical dull roar, that lasts long enough for Izuku to open his text with not-weird-girl again before the door opens.
“‘Morning,” Aizawa mumbles, hair drooping in front of him and hiding his face. He only turns when he’s a few steps in the room, finding the class silently and patiently waiting. “Today’s a Hero Informatics class. And a special one.” There’s no cruel grin accompanying that, so Izuku’s not too worried about a pop quiz. In fact, Aizawa already looks more tired than usual. “You’ll be coming up with your hero aliases.”
The class launches from dead silence into a standing roar. Bakugou grins and nods. Todoroki tilts his head.
“But first, ” Aizawa says, the dull pressure of his Quirk controlling the class, “Concerning the Pro drafts. It’s about whether they think you’ll be ready to enter the work force in a few years. You could say they have an interest in your futures. But there’s almost three years’ time for interest to change before you’re full fledged pros. All that said; this is not the time to stagnate, if you care for your career.
“Now, all hero students have access to a set list of agencies that happily take on all students. These are the students who got additional offers.” Aizawa presses a button on his clicker, and a chart appears behind him.
Bakugou 3,833
Todoroki 3,716
Tokoyami 437
Kaminari 281
Iida 257
Yaoyorozu 125
Kirishima 68
Uraraka 30
Ashido 22
Midoriya 17
Sero 13
“There’s usually a more wide spread, but this year’s event was… Unusual.” Izuku keeps his eyes on Aizawa while almost the entire class turns their gaze on him. It’s very uncomfortable.
“You’re barely there… You scared ‘em, Midoriya,” Mineta stage-whispers into his ear. There’s a bit of other murmuring across the classroom, until Sato calls out “So that’s where the names come in!”
“Exactly. You’re first years, but do pick something appropriate-”
“ Or else you’ll know hell! ” Midnight shouts, swinging the door open and striding in. “Any name you pick now could stick for good. It’s happened before.”
“Yeah, that. Midnight is here to make sure your names are okay. I’m not the one for that job,” Aizawa explains, already stepping into his sleeping bag. “What future do you see for yourself? The name you choose is the guiding force of your image, because they can be capable of reflecting your character in a word or two.” He lowers himself behind his desk, followed by a distinct zip .
Whiteboards move down the aisles, and Izuku stares at his for a while. A name… Half of his classmates are already writing, but he’s lost. He can’t come up with something fitting on the spot, so he tries to start from the top. My Quirk is registered as ‘Superpower’... A pun with that? He leans back, furrowing his brow as he stares at the ceiling. Do I want a pun name, though? He thinks of all the shirts that he hates until he has to shake the thought from his head and start over. Can’t just write Kyuubi. And Kitsune doesn’t really work with my image, does it? I guess it could, but the Izuku who fights villains and Kyuubi... It's a whole different persona.
Izuku doesn’t even glance at the clock, caught up in a loop of the same few ideas he can’t get himself to escape. Midnight eventually calls out, “Let’s wrap it up! We can start with anyone ready.” His whiteboard is still blank, and he chews a nail as he stares down at it.
Aoyama’s is… something. Mina’s launches a minute-long debate with Midnight that ends with Mina pursing her lips and thinking about her desired image at her desk. Tsu and Kirishima nail theirs with a boldness Izuku just can’t feel.
People tell me my costume looks like a bunny, not a fox, Izuku’s brain reminds him for the third time. He’s not sure he wants to wield the power of ancient heroes under the name ‘bunny.’
Todoroki chooses his first name, plainly. Iida chooses his first name, grimly. Mina sticks out her tongue at Midnight while holding up ‘ alien princess, ’ which does manage to pass. There’s only a few students as buffer before him.
Something english, like All Might? I don’t really have any love for America, though… And reverence to the old would be stealing Kirishima’s thunder, and also feel weird.
Bakugou’s names are consecutively disproved, and Midnight sighs wearily each time until Izuku stands up. He swallows thickly, the scrape of his chair feeling louder than it should, every step towards the room piling on attention. I know why it’s a presentation, but I wish it wasn’t…
“I-I don’t really kn-know what I want to be known as. B-but I want to save everyone, so…” He looks down at his bandage-wrapped hands, each joint less compliant than normal with his anxiety tight in them. He takes a deep breath and holds up his sign. “No Limits Hero: Muscle.” It’s not english, like a good portion of the class goes for. Midnight nods approvingly. “Maybe some limits, though,” she says, laughing as she ruffles his hair while he walks back to his desk.
A few minutes later, Midnight passes out papers while Aizawa takes the podium. “Your internships start in a week. It’s an important decision, but be ready to make your call at least twenty-four hours before the internship period begins.” Izuku’s personal drafts take up one page, which he scans hungrily. Most of the names are recognizable, or sound something like a typical hero agency. It’s the one he’s never heard a whisper of that catches his attention.
Lepóridos Luna Office.
Notes:
Slam - painting a dangerous location.
ZOINKS! Toga and Kyuubi and internal conflict are BACK, baby. so. welcome back to the-
checks notes
the... premise of this fic? easy to get lost in 5 chapters of action scenes, I guess.
Speaking of getting lost, coming up with names SUCKS. for dnd i can just use google translate and foreshadow but an mha hero name... that sucks. damn
Muscle = Kin’niku. Bad food/meat = Kinikuwanai. So aizawa said ‘true character’ and izuku wrote a pun about not wanting to establish a hero persona. jeepers!
Chapter 11: Muralismo
Summary:
Izuku and Kyuubi and Muscle and Lepóridos Luna Office.
Notes:
“well i said i needed a hiatus but i did this all nice and easy! im back in the flow!”
and then i rewrote/was stumped on this chapter for a week
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The form in front of him is so simple it feels malicious. He’s filled in ‘1-A’ and ‘Izuku Midoriya’ at the top, and now three blank boxes stare at him. First, Second, and Third Choice agencies. It’s not like they’re going to be rejecting people, right? They put out the draft for us… I guess the paperwork on their end makes it simple for us, though. So simple he lets his forehead collide with his desk, and remains there for another few minutes.
When he pulls his head up, his eyes wander around the room. There’s a lot of hero memorabilia around him, pretty much covering the walls, and then his eyes wander back to the spot on his bookshelf where Pros and Cons for the Future lives. Making a pros and cons list for the right agency is probably what he would’ve done, but the thought of that makes his stomach turn. He already knows that neither is the better option. He knows that Aizawa stressed that this will influence his career.
“Gale Force Agency, that’s Gran Torino,” All Might explained, “He was an instructor here for a year. My homeroom teacher. A-and, he know ab-about One For All. S-so, Uh, Train-Training you is my duty, b-but he did go through the trouble, so he c-could t-take a cr-c-cra-crack at it.”
A man who makes All Might’s voice quiver is its own selling point and detriment. Izuku wrings every thought he can out of his brain, but he’s chewing on his nails and he just doesn’t know. He looks at his phone, which hasn’t changed in the past five minutes.
That information is already filed into its own box in his brain, at the least. It’s not public, and therefore she either just registered it and the story is yet to break or it only exists for the purposes of reporting income and… Taking on mentees. Which she hasn’t done before.
He’s not making a pros and cons list, he just needs to get his options in perspective. Then, maybe, the decision will be easier. He rips a page out of his notebook and writes in quick but messy scratch. “Gran Torino knows about One For All and taught All Might… But Moon Rabbit, that’s Mirko, she’s a huge up-and-comer,” he mumbles as he writes, finding this information fairly unhelpful so far.
“All Might would say he may have an insight on One For All … Girl would say being obsessed with One For All is gonna hold me back.” Izuku lets his head fall against the desk again. “But I have to be obsessed with it if I want to use it well, don’t I? Would All Might’s teacher be able to help me?" The wood of his desk doesn’t give him an answer. “I mean, clearly Mirko thinks she can help me. She can’t have seen that and thought it couldn’t be whipped into shape…”
His phone vibrates on the other side of his desk, so he pries his face away from it and takes a deep breath before checking the text.
The train ride is supposed to be long, so Izuku slides his costume case under his seat with a hefty thunk and puts in his earbuds. He goes through hero news segments and all the details on his feed. It’s all the kind of thing that he knows he won’t remember at the end of the day, but it’s interesting enough for him to survive the multiple-hour ride. A general autopilot state grabs him up enough that the trip is more interesting.
Hiroshima is unfamiliar, but he grew up in the city, so it’s not like he’s stopping and staring at everything. All the fresh walls and graffiti tags catch his eye, though, more than the signs at every storefront and the towering buildings. It’s probably going to be a ten minute walk, which he could jog as a warmup if it weren’t for this huge mess of a case. My costume is closer to a tracksuit than anything, why’s it gotta be held in a case as big as Bakugou’s?
Izuku laughs to himself, taking the turn at the corner he knows he has to take, and the concrete base of a tall building grabs his eye. There’s no tags, despite the quality of the canvas, but there’s a few ghosts left— whatever paint the city used to erase it was watered down or lazy, since Izuku can spot pieces. It’s fun, all the tags a little different than any he’s seen so far away. There’s a scrawl that takes up most of the wall, a full sentence that Izuku spends the entire block squinting at.
“What is the story of Lady Nagant,” he mumbles to himself as he crosses the street. Did that spread here? He would have to go pretty viral for that to happen, although Japanese graffiti artists are few and far between anyway. Still, he decides, it’s a warm sort of feeling.
A block away from the address he was given the high of confidence starts to fade. The costume he’s carrying at his side is for the hero Muscle, and the gloves are not going to soothe his knuckles, and he didn’t have a clean undershirt so under his uniform he’s wearing a white t-shirt that says cosplay on it. Knowing what he does know about Mirko, she’s going to leave him in the dust if he can’t keep up, and he’s starting off the great foot of ‘Hi I’m Muscle and if you see my t-shirt I’m gonna cry.’ His stomach only twists into more and more knots. He wants to cocoon himself in his Kyuubi hoodie, and show Mirko that confidence. But obviously, that'd be a bad idea.
He checks his phone, and finds that he has a few minutes to spare before he’s actually supposed to meet her, so he ducks off the open sidewalk and into an alley. He sets his case down, and feels the bricks scrape against his back through his blazer as he slides into a sitting position. He finds himself face to face with the big blocky ‘18’ across the case.
“You’re kinda mental gymnastics, you know.” He kicks the case gently, the metal scraping against pavement. “What am I supposed to feel about this? I want to be a hero to— to help. But I don’t want to… be this, I just want to help.” He sighs, leaning his head back against the brick. He feels stupid, with tears already threatening to pour from his eyes. “A-and Mirko can definitely help me improve, get better at helping, but every step adds a little weight to the burden of my stupid image, too.” He’d rather get known through Kyuubi’s art, but the public images are only going to move apart. "Why'd I have to name myself Muscle." He feels gross, wearing clothes and a name that both feel unimportant and unfitting.
He takes a deep breath, reining in his hitched breathing and whisper-mumbling. Calm down. This is the best step forward, figure out the best step after it later. Logic feels better; he’s grounded when he gets up and moves towards the address. Kyuubi will always be waiting. He can— he can stomach being Muscle, if he has to. The address is to an apartment building, and he moves inside without letting himself worry.
Training with Mirko for ten minutes reveals that he has been coddled all his life.
She hits so hard he thinks if he doesn’t block or dodge enough for it to become a glancing blow, she’s going to make him throw up in a hit. But that’s fine, that’s standing up to Bakugou and exploding his bones and Iida kicking his side, he’s done that.
No, the problem is she’s quick in a way his classmates aren’t. Izuku’s pretty slow, a more short and stout brawler kind of build, but they’re not faster than he thinks. Bakugou leaping in with a right hook and pummeling with explosions and moving to always be at the advantage is formulaic. The first time he tries to counter Mirko, she easily takes his outstretched arm as an invitation to duck in and his his side, just under his ribs.
After that, he’s sloppier and sloppier. Each time she her strikes fully connect, he loses focus, loses control, feels like nothing he’s learned is worth it if he can’t beat her. His mind is still on the fight, if only because he can already feel the bruises and aches forming and doesn’t want more, but his focus fades. Less prediction, less intense watching, getting sloppy as he loses and sight of how to even hit her.
The sixth time she hits him, he stays on the ground to catch his breath. He knew she was going to wipe the floor with him, but the distance between them is so huge it doesn’t feel like he’s learned a thing. She’s better in every way that matters. He almost takes a water bottle to the face, just barely catching it with a wince.
“Y’know why I kicked your ass, kid?” She asks, sitting across the room from him.
“You’re faster, and you hit like a t-truck.”
“Thanks. But you beat ass in the Sports Festival. That’s why you’re here,” she explains, taking a long drink before she continues. “But now you’re hesitating.”
“Well I can’t j-just use my Quirk,” he stammers. He hates how affronted he sounds, like a little kid. “I don’t want to break my bones and your apartment, Mirko...”
“I’ve seen your transcript. You’re not stupid, so break down your Quirk and how you should be using it.”
“W-well, uh, Superpower lets me empower my body. A lot. But it takes a lot of focus to use in combat, especially when I don't want to hurt myself. It’s like… Uh, this is kinda a weird metaphor, but it’s like trying to microwave an egg without blowing it up. So… no time to focus. You’re too fast.”
“Right. So that’s gonna help in combat whenever you have the opportunity to strike unimpeded.”
“...That sounds about right. Y-yes. Mirko.”
“Well, you’re not bad at fighting without that Quirk, but you should get better.” She stands up, pulling him up a moment later. “Show me your stance.” He gets into a more complete stance than he often stands in, and she nudges his feet into a more firm place with hers. It feels less instinctual, but he’s here to learn. She steps around in front of him, turning her body to expose her shoulder. “Punch.”
He does. Her muscle is like punching cement— he barely stops himself from shaking out his hand as he draws it back, although that could just as easily make it worse.
She hums as she considers the blow. “You fucked up your hands, didn’t you.”
Izuku blanches, stuttering for a response before taking a breath and starting again. “Y-yeah, they’ve been broken a few times. I-I’m still capable, it’s not like incapacitating or anything.”
“Muscle. You’re fine. I took you on, I’m not gonna half-ass teaching. Do you know how to wrap your hands?”
“I-I haven’t done it before, Mirko-san.”
“You should. I’ll do it for you for now, take off your gloves and roll up your sleeves.” She disappears from the room, and he obeys. He stares down at his gnarled hands, apparently long enough to finish grabbing the hand wraps. She grabs his arm as she stalks back towards him, carefully but firmly holding his hand in place as she starts to wrap it up.
It’s a little odd that she knows how to do this, Izuku thinks, watching her work quickly. I mean, her fists are certainly dangerous weapons, but she fights with her legs. Strongest muscle groups, Quirk empowered, proportioned pretty long for height. Honestly, anyone who could move their legs that fast would be better off fighting with them, probably.
“Sure, but they’re harder to use in an up-close fight,” Mirko interrupts, still looking down at his arm. “Quirk combat is entirely different from typical hand to hand for most people. In my case, making that space between an enemy can be done in a bound they can’t keep up with. Speed is my advantage.” She punctuates that by tightening the handwraps one last time. She moves to his other hand, and he flexes his hand slowly. It’s not compression gloves, but it feels much more helpful around the wrist, and he’s not planning on fine motor function.
“O-oh, I’m sorry, I was mumbling, wasn’t I, that’s a bad habit of mine, is all.” She doesn’t respond, just briefly looking at him before she continues wrapping his arm. “So, how’re you going to guarantee that you can hit me?”
“I c-can’t. I mean, The matches I won in the Sports Festival were against opponents who wore out or couldn’t keep up. But you don’t have either of those weaknesses…” His thinking gets caught in that loop, the next logical step just barely out of reach. He scrunches his brow and tries to think.
“Alright, we’re doing hand to hand until you hit me.” She settles into a fighting stance, and Izuku takes the cue to match her, letting the conversation end there. “No hesitation,” she demands, closing the distance a moment later.
Notes:
Muralismo - Referring to the Mexican Muralism movement - after the Mexican Revolution, the government commissioned murals (read: often highly political), which eventually blossomed into a graffiti style/culture.
MIRKO! MIRKO!!!!!!! yes ma’am!! I was struggling to decide who Izuku would intern with since this fic is drifting further from canon every day, but someone in discord recommended Mirko and I realized she’s kinda perfect, and I can’t just breeze over this arc. I guess Horikoshi’s right that every arc balloons to at least double its planned length…mirko, watching an absolute demon wipe the sports fest: holy shit YES ill do paperwork for this
mirko, said demon in her apartment: well. he’s less… intimidating… hmbut whatever my commentary— Over 200 Kudos??? Thank you guys so much! I’m happy that this fic is getting love and I hope you all like it even a little bit as much as I do!!! (let’s hit funny number bookmarks this chapter :D)
Chapter 12: Get Up
Summary:
Izuku, Kyuubi, and Muscle, all of which are one and none of which can be run from.
How long can one stay at the crossroads?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
With a more analytical eye, his closet is actually unsalvageable . Maybe a flannel or some of the merch could stay, but that doesn’t really count. The shirts are… Well, he doesn’t like them, but they’re more of an afterthought. He’s long past the ‘knowing which every one is’ stage and into the ‘not acknowledging it until other people notice’ stage. He has some plain tees, too, and he never replaced that tracksuit but he could probably get one with his allowance.
It’s just… He’s going to need to restock his shades of blue, probably. He uses a lot of blue, he could maybe squeeze more allowance out by leaning on the other colors for a while. But being underprepared is just as risky, what if there’s a piece that I need blue for? Ultimately, he knows that he’ll end up spending most of his allowance on that same thing.
Besides, clothes shopping is an effort. Until his ankles show past his pant legs and his shirts feel tight on his shoulders, it’s a waste of time and money. So, yeah, closet is a lost cause, but it’s not like that’s the end of the world.
On his second day as an intern, Izuku brings his costume, but he wears black joggers and one of his blessedly blank t-shirts. This one is heathered red, which is… It’s not a good color, but it’s better than a shirt that says ‘formal’ or ‘shoes.’ Mirko meets him at the station in a cropped hoodie and sweatpants— she still has that sort of aura of fame every celebrity has, but she’s managed to keep it low-key enough to avoid paparazzi or reporters.
Mirko sets a pace that can’t be beneficial for Izuku’s health from the train station until the city thins, and things, and wow a metal briefcase is heavy, his arms feel like jelly. He’s been staring at her backpack for kilometers. She stops when they reach a trailhead, and he takes gulps of water between ragged breaths.
That becomes the operating basis of the day: Izuku gets worked until he has to stop, and breathes heavy, and hydrates, and then starts again. The second time is when Mirko’s second run through the rough and bumpy natural terrain comes to a stop. The trail goes by a beautiful clearing, where Mirko promises “physical conditioning like a fuckin’ ox.” The trees thin out near a low river with rocks peaking out all across it and churning water in small, nature-made waterfalls.
The third time is when he realizes it’s a pattern, when she gives him a break from punching and kicking drills that pound the form into his muscle memory. She produces a small feast from her backpack as lunch, although she’s sitting on the raised cliff on the other side of the river. After a few minutes of climbing, Izuku collapses into the warm, sunlit grass next to her.
“Don’t pass out without doing cooldown stretches,” she chides, “and eat something.” She nudges him with her foot as he sunbathes, until he finally groans to life and does a few stretches as he surveys the food Mirko brought. Nothing looks very homemade, which isn’t exactly surprising, but Izuku still devours next to everything he can get. His stomach feels like a deep trench until he’s gone through more food than he usually thinks about in a day.
Mirko nudges his shoulder as he finishes eating. “So, how do you feel?”
“Like I’m going to pass out,” Izuku says.
“Great,” she smirks, “you’ll be on the train home by golden hour, but you’re not done here.” She points at the river with a chopstick. “I want you to break the rocks down there for Quirk practice.”
“Right,” Izuku says, pushing himself to his feet.
He does just that until his joints groan and creak and his muscles ache, and surveys the broken rocks and the burbling river and takes a deep breath.
“Fuck!”
A moment later, Mirko lands a few paces away. “You alright, kid? Didn’t break anything, right?”
“N-no, it’s not that,” he says, “I guess it’s partially that we’re in the middle of nowhere and I’ve wanted to do that all day.” He falls to sitting at the edge of the river. He reaches forward and lets the cool water pass through his fingers for a moment. “It’s just… I’m starting to get this, I guess? I’m more used to the appropriate no-broken-bones spot, and all that. Calling the power and using it safely is, uh, down pat!
“But that’s the thing! I- well, I don’t know, it feels like there should be some big next step, I guess.” It’s not quite as easy as that, given the whole number-one-hero’s-secret-legacy thing, but just saying the words still makes tears burn in his eyes. “It’s frustrating. I don’t get what I’m missing.”
“Kid, if that’s a limit, it’s not a bad one. And you’re— what, fifteen?” She sits next to him. “And you’re not an idiot. If that is a hard limit, we’ll find out, and you’d have to be spineless and stupid to give up there. Apply it in new ways, find the loophole. Your showing in the Sports Festival, not just strength but intensity and purpose, that kid I requested? Not a quitter.”
Izuku rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Alright. Uh, thanks.”
“Yeah,” she says, stretching as she stands, “our jog back is a cooldown, so the intensity is a little lower. If you need me to carry your case, just let me know.”
“I got it,” Izuku nods.
Izuku is bone tired by the time he steps out of the shower at home, but the thing about inspiration is that it doesn’t let him sleep. He itches to make something real. Impatient, he tucks his still-wet hair under his hoodie and sets out at sunset.
When the first layer is down, though, he feels like he’s out of steam. He rubs at his temples, examining the shape of the piece, and makes an agreement to himself. I’ll just take a break for a bit, he decides, this’ll still get finished, but I’ll take a minute. That’s how he ends up across the street from the piece, looking at it and imagining exactly how it’ll end up while he sips on his Slurpee.
Right now, it’s mostly just a black shape. Still, he can see the white of collars between suit jackets and ties. The bottom half of the piece is just that, which is a bit more ambiguous than he usually goes for. But, in a way, he’s a slave to his muse. This idea is going to happen, even if it’s a little weird. He climbs down from his fire escape vantage point and meanders closer.
The second half of the piece almost feels like a testament to all the hero trivia Izuku knows. X-Less and Kesagiri Man, all the way up to Edgeshot and Hawks. Heroes with face coverings. He keeps features ambiguous if they’re there at all, a mass of hidden faces above the busts of suits, representing the HPSC. He puts down his tag and decides that he’ll leave it without a sentence to say what it’s about. When he packs his paints away and finishes off his Slurpee, he’s satisfied the muse and is fully ready to pass out.
The next morning, it’s already been spotted and uploaded a number of times. He reads an article about the meaning of Kyuubi’s work, that mentions her earlier works, too. It comes with that warm pride, and that conflicted feeling, once again.
Mirko hadn’t been lying when she said he’d need to be comfortable in his costume on the third day. It’s a shame he’s not.
The support course is great, to be fair, Izuku just hates the idea of being Muscle. Most of his classmates would probably kill for a top ten hero to address them by their hero name, but not him. There’s tension in his shoulders as he keeps up with Mirko; the urge to squirm and wriggle like an eel out of water. Any time they do stop, he finds himself shifting awkwardly. It’s all he can do to paste the intense steely look he wore for the Sports Festival over what he’s feeling.
They run into two villains and get called to handle two more in the area over the course of the day. His hands ache a little more than usual today, but combat is something he can do. Kicking is a little different against a real opponent, but he manages to match Mirko’s intense, fast takedowns. If the villains were the kind of A-Rank thing that earned her a top ten spot, he’d be lagging behind, but here he feels like he’s earned his place.
Thank god, Mirko doesn’t stick around any longer than a fight is happening, since the last thing Izuku wants is to have to go through an interview. He’s sure a civilian or media personnel at the police line for their last takedown got a good shot of his side profile with his foot on a villain’s back, because he’s not stupid, but at least he doesn’t have to be under a spotlight and a microphone.
Around one, they’re back in Mirko’s apartment for lunch. She might never cook, he realizes, but he doesn’t mind takeout fried rice and the like.
“How’s it feel,” she asks between bites.
“Being a hero, you mean?” She raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘what else.’ Izuku stares down at his food for a bit, feeling his face scrunch up. “I like parts of it. I like helping people, I mean. And I’m not, like, a psycho, but fighting street-level villains is a little fun.”
“Yeah,” she says, “when you’re good at it, it’s like that. Adrenaline and all that.”
“R-right,” he says, nodding, “but I don’t know, there’s this, like… I don’t really like being perceived as an image by the public?” He thinks of the cloying hands of the crowd and the staring eyes of passersby. “I don’t just want to randomly go underground, or something, but…”
“But you don’t like your image.” Mirko stops eating to point dead at him with her chopsticks. He feels like she has him under a magnifying glass. She’s not known for investigative skills but she was independent from the beginning of career, and that means independent case resolutions, he reasons, but damn.
Izuku thinks for a long time. That is it, really, but it’s not like there’s an easy solution. “...It’s not that bad. I don’t know.” They eat quietly for a few minutes after that, and Izuku quietly hopes he hasn’t upset her or made the rest of the week really awkward.
“There’s gonna be time to figure it out,” she assures, “you’re a kid. You got shit to sort out. But you’re made outta good stuff. Tough. So don’t disappoint, huh?”
The bullet train network doesn’t run all over Musutafu, so Izuku’s usually on the typical local one for school. But to get from Hiroshima back home? It’s all plush seats. When he gets his case under his seat, he finds that the silence and comfort draws him in. Getting sleep whenever it comes seems about right.
When he wakes up, it’s not to a ticket check or his stop . There’s a distant rumble and then a few more, and Izuku has known Bakugou since he was four. Something outside is exploding. His heart skips a beat before he forces himself to stop and think.
His hands are still wrapped. If he needs to help, he’s capable. Most of the padding of his costume is attached to the tracksuit, and if he’s going to be doing rescue works he needs all the support tech. He’s never put it on desperately, but he takes a deep breath and decides it’s worth it.
He’s just tugged the shoes on, yet to grab the belt or respirator, when the car takes a huge dent and then claws shear through metal. It’s louder than even Present Mic’s excited shouting, and wind howls in through the gap. There’s beady eyes and an exposed brain, and Izuku knows what this is. He also knows using his Quirk without the permission of a present hero is vigilantism. A pretty serious offense.
But at this point, he doesn’t have much regard for the rules.
He bounds towards the Nomu, and his foot snaps out with enough force to sink into its side and make a crunch that Izuku imagines is a rib snapping. A red glow runs under his skin and the smell of ozone spreads, and he considers the bits and baubles of his costume for a moment before the Nomu growls and he makes a call.
Izuku lunges with the force of One For All, tackling the thing straight out of the train and through the concrete guard. He has enough force behind him to get it all the way from the raised train line to the ground before it reacts, where there’s more sickening sounds against the asphalt as he rolls roughly off it. It twitches, starting to move again despite its injuries. Its muscles thicken, and Izuku doesn’t have a chance to react before it throws him back, and he crushes the brick of a residential wall as he collides with it.
The whole city is a mess, he realizes, lit more with harsh flames than flickering or dead streetlamps. There’s scattered groups, all fleeing from the center of the chaos, but no police line or starry-eyed onlookers. The Nomu screeches as it stalks closer, until—
FFWOOM!
Well, Endeavor’s not Number 2 for nothing. As the Nomu screeches and stumbles back, he calls over his shoulder, “you’re a student. Let me handle this.” He grits his teeth, searing hotter as the thing keeps howling. “And stay safe.”
Izuku doesn’t have a great vantage point. He’s always been stout and less-than-flexible, so roof running isn’t an option. Still, pushing in the opposite direction of crowds is tough. Why is a Nomu here? He pushes through the last of the crowd, stumbling into an intersection of flame, ruined asphalt, and a handful of minor heroes. There’s this many Nomu? Shit.
The Fly gets tackled out of the air by a Nomu with sallow, leathery wings. The heroes around him aren’t stunned by the loss, but they grit their teeth and worry lines sink deeper into their faces. The League isn’t logical, he thinks, but villains aren’t aimless. Why are they doing this?
Izuku leaps between a hero and a Nomu, kicking at the thing’s legs with One For All . The man takes the opportunity to send the thing careening across the intersection with a blast of water. “What city is this!” Izuku shouts over the roar of fire and screams and Nomu and combat.
“Hosu,” he says, “It’s not safe here. You might be a Hero student but you’re a kid, go. ” That voice is familiar, Izuku knows, and he already knows who it is. Shock and tension takes over his face as he twists to look at Normal Hero: Manual.
Hosu. Hero Killer. Is he working with the League, now? That’s bad, that’s really bad. Izuku’s gaze snaps around the intersection as heroes fight desperately. Iida isn’t here. Iida’s after the Hero Killer. Iida is going to die and if I don’t stop it it’s my fault.
Izuku sprints from the fire and the roars into the dark, dark night.
Notes:
Get Up - verb, meaning to improve one’s reputation (ups), usually through number or quality of pieces.
kyuubi: somewhat famous graffiti artist. the ambiguous ever.
Muscle: definitely a hero, i guess. exists for sure
izuku: shirt that says “inner turmoil”Thanks for your love last chapter! Seems like a lot of people liked Mirko, which makes me happy because I like her and found her rather difficult to write. for some reason. (the reason is that i wrote a mentor-mentee conversation without an outline or goal other then knowing izu’s issues? insane behavior why do you all like my writing)
PS: this chapter ft. proper paragraph breaks because believe me the workskin used for texting makes already posted chapters nigh-impossible to edit
Chapter 13: Slash I
Summary:
A person caught between 3 people stands up to the Hero Killer's crusade.
Notes:
CW: blood/violence.
It's nothing I'd call graphic, but this fic has been relatively tame, and I should warn for Stain Behavior.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku knows where to look. Blind corners, back alleys, near Iida’s likely patrol routes . But even in a dead sprint, he feels too slow to matter. Every second that passes is another span in which an artery could be cut. He grits his teeth, hissing quick breaths. Could I use One For All for speed? Might be stupid, and definitely not sustainable, but… Izuku thinks of Mirko’s massive bounds, and how little energy she loses when she lands, and focuses.
Launching himself down the length of an alley makes his whine at the force, but it’s faster than just running. He twists around another narrow corner, putting his foot down with One For All rushing in it, and launches himself further. When he regains his footing, he hears nearby voices over the sound of his shoes scraping against the ground.
“It doesn’t matter what you say now!” Iida. “ You’re still the criminal who hurt my brother!” But the moment after he spits out those words, there’s no sound of engines roaring. Not a hint of combat. Izuku turns down another corner just in time to see what happens without a moment to do something about it.
The man standing over Iida is adorned with numerous sheathes and blades. He holds a long katana, pointed downwards at Iida’s center of mass, and his scarves and blindfold dance in the air around him. Shit, it is the Hero Killer. “Ingenium dies tonight,” he growls, and the sword comes down. Iida howls, and Izuku refuses to let himself hesitate as he raises his right hand and braces it with the other. Stain’s gaze snaps up to him, but he can’t react to the air pressure, and is thrown a few feet from Iida. Izuku’s fingers throb, but they’re not broken.
“Don’t you dare hurt a kid, ” he growls, holding his hand close and feeling his fingers curl.
“Midoriya!” Iida shouts, “What’re you doing? ”
“Saving your ass,” he says, still trying to catch his breath and keep an eye on Stain. “Can you move? Get to the road, get heroes-”
“I can’t,” Iida groans, “he cut me, and then… That’s his Quirk.” This is bad. Down the alley, past Stain, there’s another victim. I can’t just leave someone behind, but I don’t have reinforcements, either.
“You’re the kid from Shigaraki’s hate list,” Stain says, regaining his footing and flicking the blood off his katana. “Saving them…” Stain grunts acknowledgement, and then sighs. “I’m going to kill them. If you get in my way, the weaker of us will be culled,” Stain says, raising his katana to point between Izuku’s eyes.
Shit. He means it, he knows killing. Izuku braces his hand again. I have to buy time. Hope he loses focus on his Quirk, hope someone shows up.
“ GO! This is none of your business!” Iida howls from the ground.
“Shut UP! ” Izuku spits, “You’re going to die if I leave you. I don’t care whether you want my help,” he says, turning to Stain, “I am morally goddamn opposed to child murder. ” A smile stretches across the Hero Killer’s face from ear to ear, and a giddy light shines in his eyes.
Izuku flicks.
This time, Stain is fully prepared. Tattered fabric flails in the sudden wind, but the man keeps his ground easily. I don't have enough power over the air, not without pushing myself to breaking something. As soon as the air pressure flares beyond the alley, Stain sprints forward through the howling wind. He lashes out, the edge of his katana whipping towards Izuku’s shoulder. He forces himself not to freeze or stumble back. It’s a long edge. I’m not as capable a fighter, but up close I have a better chance. He ducks under the blade in a squat that sets him up for a horizontal leap that sends him to the other end of the alley, narrowly avoiding another slash of the katana that gouges the pavement.
“You’re not bad,” Stain sighs, “Perhaps you can deliver on your promises. Perhaps you may live.”
“Is that what you think makes a hero?” Izuku asks, pushing himself to his feet. “That’s— that’s not what a hero is.” He glares as he turns back towards Stain, face set in a grimace.
Stain grunts in thought, and then laughs dryly. He relaxes his stance, katana dragging across the ground with a grating noise before it settles at his side. “So, what makes a hero then?”
Izuku feels his breath seize in his lungs and his face tighten. “It’s not that, ” he says. Stain’s face drops. “It’s— I don’t like the system, but this isn’t the way to fix anything.”
“And what would you do? To really enact change.” Stain swings the katana around slowly, spreading his other arm out. “The system has to be ripped up from the roots. And they’ll cling unless they’re dead.” His presence smothers the alley like nothing Izuku has ever seen, and he’s barely able to keep his breathing from hyperventilation as his heart thumps in his chest like an engine.
“Change i-is more, um, complicated, than that,” Izuku stammers, “Y-you can’t just do this and hope for the future.”
“Enough.” With that, stain reaches his empty hand around his chest, tugging a small knife from its holster. His arm whips out, and Izuku doesn’t have a moment to react before the knife digs into his shoulder. This time, he can’t focus at all, and panic seizes him as he looks at the still-embedded knife. Stain is on him in the next instant, and everything happens too fast to think about: he barely avoids Stain’s katana, and swings with One For All aimed right for the man’s ribs, but Stain twists away and kicks him and there’s a gruesome tug on his shoulder. Above him, Stain licks the blood off the knife, and Izuku feels his body freeze, slumped against the wall.
“You’re… not bad,” he says, “but my conviction holds true.” Stain glares down into Izuku’s wide eyes. “You see the truth of it, but are here. In a damnable costume. These people you wanted to save, though? They are the problem. The fakes.” Stain holds his eye for another moment, and as his posture shifts his katana drags closer to Izuku’s neck.
His life doesn’t quite flash before his eyes. He thinks of Bakugou for a brief moment, and All Might and One For All for another. Overwhelmingly, he thinks of Kyuubi. At Stain’s mercy, that passion and that muse is gone.
Izuku Midoriya’s life doesn’t quite flash before his eyes, because he fears Kyuubi’s death far more.
“Don’t fucking touch him.”
The blonde girl is here. Really here, in front of him, one hand on his shoulder while the other holds off Stain’s katana with a combat knife. She shifts her hand off his shoulder and he doesn’t even see her grab a knife before she’s holding one in that hand, too, and it slashes out at Stain’s gut. He barely leaps out of its reach.
Her eyes detach from Stain for a moment to look at him. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” he grimaces, “You shouldn’t— I mean, thank you, but you shouldn’t be here. ”
A dark look crosses her face, and she twirls the knife in her right hand. “But I am.”
“Wait,” he pleads, “his Quirk, you can’t let him taste your blood, you won’t be able to move.”
She holds his gaze for a moment, and then nods. She stands, and turns back towards Stain, who holds his katana ready to strike and another hand near the huge knives on his back. “I like you,” she hisses, “so why are you doing something I hate.”
Stain squints. He watches her for a long moment, waiting for a pounce, before he quietly replies, “I care little what you admire or hate.” He slides one of the larger knives out of its sheath, just enough to see the metal glint in the dim light. “I’m not going to stop for you.”
The girl pouts. She looks childish for a moment, before her catlike eyes narrow and the knives in her hands are held at the ready. “Oh, well,” she sighs, leaning forward. Stain launches himself towards her, drawing his blades out in slashing motions, while she dives in with teeth and knives bared. She laughs, and it’s just like the night he first saw her, it’s a beautiful thing, but she’s barely a match for Stain. Izuku can only track the motions of their close-quarters speed when metal meets metal with clang s that fill the alleyway.
Izuku struggles against his stupid, stupid, paralyzed body. His muscles don’t obey him for even a moment, he’s not even sure he really is trying to move, until his finger just barely starts to twitch. A limit, he thinks, eyes caught on his finger. Focus? Time? If it’s time, it’s probably based on volume, but it could be the properties of blood.
Izuku’s eyes snap back towards the fight as he wriggles his aching fingers against the paralysis in them. The girl and Stain push against each other’s blades, shoes scraping the pavement for a moment as they separate. In the fraction of a second between engagements with her, he tosses his katana in the air, and flings a knife at her, and she’s gone from being toe-to-toe with him to a moment from loss. She can’t react to him and both projectiles, Izuku knows. But he can only barely move his fingers. It’ll have to be enough.
Izuku’s finger breaks, this time, and he doesn’t have enough control of his wrist to aim it. But it’s slumped forward, meaning that as the force of the unaimed flick shatters the opposite wall and sends scattered trash sailing out of the alley, it also knocks the blades out of the air and slams Stain against the wall further down the alley, and sends the girl tumbling back towards Iida.
The passive pain in his hands roars to life, throbbing like the wound in his shoulder never could. He feels a sound of anguish, somewhere between a yell and a roar, tear out of his throat, as the recoil rages against his whole, unbraced arm, and through the shoulder that’s still staining his costume with blood. But with the shock of pain, he can grit his teeth and hiss his breath and roll his head back, he can move. He feels that the pain in his left arm isn’t a break, but his elbow and shoulder sting with an intensity that makes his vision swim.
“You held back? ” Stain spits, face twisted in visceral disgust. “You swore to save someone and you held back.” The makes it tough to make words as Izuku pushes himself to his feet with his good hand. He staggers for a moment, looking up in time to see Stain throw a knife at him, and it’s probably going to hit my jugular, and there’s no chance to get away-
With a ringing of metal on metal, the girl bats away the knife. It embeds itself firmly in the brick beside Izuku.
“I held back so I could fight you until reinforcements got here,” Izuku growls, “I held back because I do not deserve pain for wanting to help . But here you are, doling it out.” He glares at Stain, rage hot in his veins and hammering in his heart, in time with the throbbing like his finger is going to burst every half-second. “To answer your stupid question… No, I don’t know if I care what a hero is. I know what I have to do.” In his peripheral vision, the girl looks giddy. Her smile and the light in her eyes is genuine, and its presence tempers the rage and pain until he’s purely focused. The smell of ozone fills the alley, and the throbbing dulls under the intensity of the red glow that makes the hints of moonlight and streetlamps seem insignificant.
The moment stretches on, every percentage of One For All blazing and humming within him until the moment the air shifts and Stain launches a handful of knives at him. The girl is beautiful and she deflects them with the grace of a dancer and the ferocity of a lioness and the smoothness of a spray can in the right hands. His eyes are locked on her, even as he tugs Stain’s knife from the wall beside him with his good hand, and before the man can close the distance again, he holds it by the blade and throws with all the power he can put in his fingertips. Those break, too.
The knife flies forward with a crack of the air and sound giving way. Stain barely gets his katana between his chest and the knife. In the moment of collision, the knife is oh-so-barely deflected, showering sparks as it skates along the katana and leaves a grazing cut on Stain’s cheek. As the air pressure hits, the katana shatters at the point of impact, brittle against sheer force. Stain’s arms are thrown apart by the force, and he careens backwards, just barely landing on his feet.
The alley is still in the wake of the destruction, until the silence is broken harshly by a sharp, stomping gait.
“I won’t let it stand that you leave this alley alive,” Iida growls, eyes alight with fury and focused on Stain. It’s only as he gets close to Izuku and the girl that he glances at them. His glare looks almost incredulous when he locks eyes with Izuku for a moment before scoffing. “And I won’t let the blow be dealt by— by the likes of these two.”
Notes:
Slash - to draw something over an artist’s work, usually a line or a tag.
Well, it’s izutoga. It’s questionably moral, but they’re not gonna work with Stain. So obviously, I have to write, like, The Fight.
This one is extremely fun to me because of the idea of a fight as an argument! It’s even more dynamic because Izu and Stain both kinda suck, and Toga is a much more personal, emotional argument, but I like it. I hope I lived up to the hype!
I suppose I’ve ended on a bit of a cliffhanger, though…Thank you for your continued love as this story goes deep and starts turning its back on canon. Every kudos and bookmark and hit makes me really happy, (and the bookmarks I lose don’t feel like a loss with such nice people,) and my regular commenters are so goddamn cool.
Lastly, a special other-content corner. I was possessed by a story gremlin as I was writing this chapter. I now have a very exciting 3k word outline in my google docs, but based on past events I’m restraining myself from a 3rd longfic. That being said, I might periodically mention it in endnotes, although I don’t know how often these are read, since they’re long…
Chapter 14: Slash II
Summary:
Kyuubi, Himiko, and Ingenium vs. Hero Killer Stain.
…There’s a lot of murderous energy in this alleyway.
Notes:
back to our regularly scheduled thursday upload!
CW: violence again. More intense than last chapter. sorry
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Stain rises from his crouch, eyes beady and breath coming in angry, intense huffs. He doesn’t aggrandize himself with spread arms. Instead, his posture stays hunched, and he snarls, like an apex predator. Izuku can’t push down the fear that bubbles in his gut and crawls up his throat. It tastes like bile. He clenches his broken fingers into tight fists, close and guarding. If anything, the contortion of his guts gets worse, because pain roars deep under his skin, but it’s focusing.
His eyes trail to the girl. She hasn’t looked away from Stain for a moment, and her smile is lost as she watches every movement he takes. The look in her eyes is something like what he saw when she tripped him. When she got right through his armor and forced him to think her way. Maybe she can do the same to him. The thought dies when he sees the injuries he hadn’t even seen her get, cuts and gashes across he arms and one at her side, her vitals were protected but she’s just as in danger as he is.
Stain spits something dark, and his teeth are stained crimson when he looks up. “Your injuries are dangerous,” he hums, “a few minutes until shock. Then exsanguination. Then two less fakes.” His tongue curls around his lips, tasting the blood he spit up and the blood he’s eager to spill.
Iida scoffs, and if he can feel Izuku desperately glaring at him for escalating the situation he doesn’t show it. “No amount of time would be enough to bring justice. But I’ll make do before I have to worry about blood loss.” With that, he plants another foot forward, and his engines roar thump-thump-thump and he’s on top of Stain in an instant. Armor rings against blades, although the wound in his back is a grim reminder that Iida’s lightweight gear does nothing against Stain.
Izuku lifts a brick from the debris scattered throughout the alley, but the pain in his hand makes bile burn on the back of his tongue. It’s only one broken finger, he thinks, ignore it. When he gets ready to throw it, though, Iida doesn’t leave any openings. His posture falters as he stares on. Iida’s engines are blazing with intensity, but if he suffers Quirk exhaustion he might die. He can’t die. Then this is for nothing. Then she’s bleeding for nothing. He grimaces and raises his arm again. Pressure and ozone, his sleeve shifting in the new wind, the wound in his shoulder raging at the exertion.
Stain meets his eye, and he knows he can’t throw it. In the same motion he uses to duck under one of Iida’s kicks, one of his bony hands travels down his shin and finds a small knife.
“Most top heroes show signs of greatness, even as children,”
The brick rolls off his fingertip, leaving an especially painful blunt feeling in the last segment of his broken finger. Stain’s fingers grasp the knife easily, the movement of tugging it from its sheath and throwing it through the air contained in an efficient flick of the wrist.
“Many of them claim that their bodies simply moved , before they could think.”
He tugs at the the girl, wrapping an arm around her. He can feel the warmth of her blood and as he places his hand on the back of her head and tucks her into his chest and-
The knife goes in just below the elbow, near the bony side of his forearm. He can feel that, and he can see the hot blood running, that it’s mostly the dark red that he learned in first aid basics characterizes the deoxygenated blood in the veins, rather than a severed artery.
He just can’t feel it, besides the dull sting of the knife. The throbbing in his finger subsides entirely. The feeling of the girl’s soft hair, the messiness and frizziness tickling his fingers, disappears. Stain grins, until the eye contact is broken by Iida’s leg slamming into his bicep and sending him into a roll down the alley.
He doesn’t let the girl go so much as he doesn’t resist when she pushes off his arms. He thinks of saying something to her as he stares into those golden, catlike eyes. Instead, his mouth hangs slightly ajar, and her eyes break away to examine his new injury. “Severed the nerve,” she says, “don’t take the knife out this time, you’ll lose more blood that way.” She looks back up at him, and he hums affirmatively.
“My Quirk is dependent on blood,” the girl says, “So I’m going to use the wound on your shoulder.” He stares at her for a moment, until he realizes that she’s raising her eyebrow for a response and he nods weakly. He’s not really ready for her to stick her face there, but now he’s pointedly looking back at Stain because is she swallowing it? That’s the activation requirement for most blood-related Quirks that aren’t personal-only or hemokinesis, I guess. A moment later, the face that rises in front of his line of vision is his own.
“Oh, shit,” he says, wincing back. His shoulder stings as he does.
“‘S my Quirk,” she explains, “Blood means transformation.” He nods again. “Try to catch him off guard when he’s dealing with me, okay?” She pulls away from him, moving down the alley before he can even think about what she says. He fumbles for her sleeve, managing only to gently smack it with his limp hand, but she turns back.
“You can’t deal with him,” Izuku says, “You have to let me.”
She looks him in the eye (are his own eyes always this bright green?) and her fingers trace up his arm past his elbow to where he can feel her grip. She shakes her head with a strange softness, and then squeezes. “I’m going to. And you’re going to catch him off guard. That’s what’s going to happen,” she says, “that’s what has to.”
“And what if I don’t?” He asks, distantly aware of the desperation leaking into his voice.
“You get this look.” She studies his eyes. “Like, steel. Like someone who’s gonna do something. So, you will.” With that, she twists out of his grasp, and the chaos in the alley hits him all at once.
Iida’s engines are sputtering out, and it’s a wonder he hasn’t been paralyzed again already, but there’s a knife buried in his right forearm. He’s losing speed quickly, a kick twisting through the air over Stain’s head before Stain dives closer to stab Iida. The girl barely manages to interrupt, and rather than engage her he leaps back before adjusting his stance like he’s about to pounce.
It seems she can’t copy One for All, though, since even though she holds herself in a stance much like his, she can’t conjure any glowing energy or ozone-smell. The moment drags out, and Stain’s eyes start to narrow. Suddenly, he leaps forward, slashing out at her. She catches his blades against hers, straining against him for a moment that feels like years.
“My affection lies elsewhere, ” she grits out in Izuku’s voice, and Stain’s brow furrows. He tries to disengage, but she swipes out at him with her knives.
With a growl, Stain lashes out, and the moment he takes the offensive, he hits one of the girl’s knives out of her hands. Every swipe has her dodging and weaving back up the alley, and she narrowly avoids his strikes. Still, she has a too-wide grin as she keeps up, just barely. She twists his sword away with her remaining knife and grabs his forearm with her other hand, stopping him before he has momentum. “A real hero,” Stain roars, “shouldn’t use cowardly tactics like decoys! ”
“My name is Kyuubi,” Izuku roars back, “and I’m more than a hero!” He launches himself through the hole in the wall he made earlier and out of shadow. His Mirko-inspired bound is too fast for Stain to react to, especially when pinned by the girl. If I break myself now, I’d just be hoping that it puts him down, because I’ll pass out. I can’t count on that. Focus. The wind whips his hair and his hood, but he focuses on the glow and the ozone of One for All and swings his legs forward, crashing to Stain with a flying kick that knocks him down the alley again. Again, he lands on his feet, but his momentum takes him another two steps backwards.
“You’re…” Stain huffs, “all fakes. ”
Izuku hisses through his teeth, thankful for the tiny respite that using his legs instead of his arms gives. Thank you, Mirko. Behind him, Iida’s engines whine and whistle, then blaze. “This is my fight, ” he demands, but as he dashes off, the girl and then Izuku don’t fall far behind.
Iida is in front of Stain in the blink of an eye, and digs his front foot into the pavement until it cracks and crumbles. His other leg snaps forward, engines blazing white-blue, burning into Izuku’s eyes in an arc following his shining metal armor. Stain leaps backwards, just barely out of Iida’s reach, with a vicious smile. The girl throws a knife, aimed right for his heart at the height of his leap, but with a sweep of his blade, Stain deflects it, and it screeches against a dumpster before clattering to the ground.
Izuku bites down on the flesh of his unfeeling thumb— probably too hard, but he can’t feel it— and tugs the knife. It comes out with a gurgling of blood the seeps onto the pavement, which he does his best to ignore. Glaring up at Stain, and letting his hand fall from his mouth, Izuku throws. Stain’s eyes go wide open, but he doesn’t have a chance to react when he’s in-air and his center isn’t guarded. The girl is knocked to the side from the force, but she tumbles without any crack or snap (She’s fine, she’s going to be fine, she has to be,) but Iida manages to stumble forward with the wind. Stain’s arms fly open, unable to withstand the force, and it takes everything Izuku has to focus on anything other than the pain, pain, pain.
Stain is nearing the ground when Iida is there again, and Stain doesn’t have any way to react. Iida’s engines manage to hum louder as his kick slams across the side of Stain’s head, and they keep pushing as he drives Stain’s head to the pavement. They only sputter and go dark as he crushes Stain’s temple into the pavement halfway down the rest of the alley. With that, for a moment, the alley goes silent.
Izuku stumbles to the wall of the alley. Pain sears in his body with every heartbeat, and the hammering in his chest starts to feel more intense as the adrenaline slowly fades. He feels everything a little too powerfully, like the brick scraping against his back as he slides down the wall, but in the same moment his vision starts to feel a little fuzzy, and his right hand oscillates between intense pain and deathly numbness.
“Ooh, that doesn’t look very good.” He can’t really make her out, but that’s the girl’s voice, and he can almost focus in on her golden eyes before- “Just a sec,” she says, going back down the alley. She comes back with a tatter of fabric, and tugs him forward from the wall. He whines at the pain, but he doesn’t bother protesting, and wow she’s strong. I mean, I’m not that heavy, but still. His mind stops wandering when she tugs fabric around his shoulder and his breath hitches in his lungs.
As she continues, the pain is a little more rhythmic. Between tugs of the fabric, laughs dryly. “I thought our third meeting would be for Slurpees.”
“Some other time,” she smiles, “this isn’t gonna kill you.” With a firm tug that tightens the wrapping, she leaves it and moves to his arm.
“And I was gonna ask your name, ” he sighs, “I don’t want, like, a record of you, but my contact is still just ‘girl.’” She pauses, and for a moment the air feels still, before she giggles. It’s beautiful, like it always is, and Izuku lets the tension run out of his shoulders and his clenched fingers at the sound.
She gasps for breaths as laughter seizes her body. “Oh, oh my god,” she wheezes, and he can make out the light in her eyes as they travel back to her bandaging, “Alright, uh, my name is—”
“Over this way!”
Izuku turns his head quickly, trying to blink the blurriness out of his vision. There’s definitely footsteps, although he’s not sure how far they are, until shapes reach the corner and one of them seems to notice the bodies in the alley. Bright colors and odd silhouettes. Heroes.
Izuku turns back to the girl, and she’s gone. The alley is empty, except for Native, and Iida’s perfectly still kneel with a foot still across Stain’s cheek. His head swims as his brain catches up with his turn, and he nearly falls over before one of the new people grabs him— painfully, but firm.
Izuku sighs, too exhausted for any tension to reach his shoulders. The pain and the cold pavement start to become distant too, until his eyes are slipping closed whether he wants them to or not.
Notes:
Izuku: oh my self-sacrifice complex is kinda bad because i actually care dearly about an aspect of my life
Izuku, not a minute later: and id take potentially permanent nerve damage for her any day!!!Izuku, delirious from blood loss: we were gonna get slurpeeees
Toga, manhandling his beefcake ass: THERELL BE TIME. fckin. ugh.Is it weird to write a unique thank you every chapter? I released the previous chapter early because I was struggling to write, and the engagement I got was amazing. ily all <3
Author corner: Often, I find new ideas sweep me up, or specific arcs anchor into my brain. I find that this fic is simply becoming my favorite, though. I can’t wait to see where it goes with all of you!
Chapter 15: Dress-Up
Summary:
In the wake of the Hosu Attacks, Izuku wakes up in the hospital.
“I’d prefer that you answer my question. You’re not an innocent person, Midoriya, I’m under no compulsion to leave.”
Chapter Text
Izuku squeezes his fist. Squeezes tight as he can. He grits his teeth at it. It takes restraint to not call upon One For All right in the hospital room, but there’s a barely-visible twitch in his index finger.
“The wound was too… agitated, let’s say, for direct repair.” The doctor glances at their tablet, then offers him a sympathetic look. “The important thing is, time and physical therapy will resolve all of this.”
Izuku chews his lip, but the doctor seems to be waiting for his question. He takes a deep breath, and says, “how much time?”
“Given your age and treatment options, it’s not a straight answer.” They cock their head, weighing the information. “You’ll probably start to get limited sensation and mobility in the next month, although full recovery is much more variable. Nerve grafts like this usually take from the sural nerve. That’s along your outer calf, probably a little less feeling and balance in the left foot, but nothing that’ll change your day to day ability.”
“My day to day ability is hero training, ” Izuku says, “but fine. Fine, uh, you said it’s variable? When’s ‘possible but unlikely’ happening?”
“Optimistically, especially since you’re still young, you could make a full recovery in less than six months. If you’re asking when a remarkable recovery might happen, I’d say before your second term starts.”
“Four months.”
The doctor says a few other things, too. Says some things about scheduling and physical therapy and Izuku’s mom is going to have to be informed, despite the rules around hero students being odd. It fades from Izuku’s mind like water off a windshield. There’s some shuffling around, new figures in the room, and the he nods at some question the doctor asks without really thinking about it, and then:
“I’m Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Izuku stares for a moment, not really thinking. Not really himself. But the detective sits patiently at the foot of his bed with a notepad. “I guess not.”
“Great. The first few are pretty easy,” Tsukauchi smiles, “What’s your name?”
“Izuku Midoriya.”
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Are you a student at UA Academy?”
“Yes.”
Tsukauchi adjusts in his seat, leaning in a bit more and edging a bit closer to the edge of the seat. “I’ve spoken to your classmate, but I’d like to hear you tell me what happened last night.”
Izuku swallows thickly. As a hero, he’d work with police a lot, but his other avenues in life don’t get along very well with them. He’s inclined to take the position of Kyuubi. Cautiously, he says, “Hosu was under attack. I had fallen asleep on the bullet train, I woke up in the middle of the city.”
“Oh, you were on the train? Were you also the one who tackled that Nomu out of the car, then?”
Izuku nods. “Self-defense. I only continued into the city to help evacuate civilians and provide first aid. Duty to rescue.”
Tsukauchi looks up at him with an inquisitive squint. Izuku feels like a bug under a microscope. “I’m familiar with those laws,” Tsukauchi says, “how did you find Iida?”
“I realized that since Stain— the Hero Killer, I mean— since he was in the city, he’d probably be… busy. Most of the time, he attacks at blind corners, dark alleys, the kinds of places he could ambush people. I didn’t want to be in the way of any heroes, so I figured it might be best to find him. And I did.”
“You were looking for Stain?”
“Yes.”
“Are you aware that what you did was vigilantism?”
“I believe I have a right to life,” Izuku shrugs, “and under circumstances like ‘in an alley with a murderer’ I have a right to defend it.”
“Iida says you struck first. Did you strike first?”
Izuku can’t help the frustration bubbling in his chest.
Why can’t Iida just leave it.
“I saved his life.”
“The laws we have in place exist for a reason,” Tsukauchi says, calm as ever. “Vigilantism is dangerous, and especially common and dangerous among teenagers. Your supervisor for your internship was hours away, so she didn’t give you permission to engage. So why did you?”
“To protect myself.” Izuku barely gets the words out of his mouth before Tsukauchi levels him with a disbelieving glare.
“Midoriya, I’d like you to know that my Quirk is called
Lie Detector.
It would be more helpful to both of us if you spoke the truth.”
Izuku meets Tsukauchi’s gaze. He can feel his heart in his throat, but the detective isn’t all that scary.
Would’ve been nice to know about that Quirk, although I’ve barely lied.
The clock in the corner of the hospital room ticks another few tense seconds, and Izuku doesn’t break the silence.
“Why did you engage the Hero Killer?”
Izuku breaks away from Tsukauchi’s gaze, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.
He wants a vigilantism charge. That’s… Fine. Who knows how detailed Iida was, he probably doesn’t think of himself as deserving the charge either.
He looks at his hands for a moment, piecing together his response, before he looks at Tsukauchi. “Iida and another hero were in the alley. I moved towards them, and Stain was in the way.”
“What happened after that?”
“I had to defend myself. That’s when I got the knife in my shoulder. When Stain…” Izuku shudders at the memory. “His Quirk paralyzes people when he swallows their blood. I got paralyzed.”
“Did anyone
else
arrive in the alley?”
“Yes.”
“Iida says you knew the woman who arrived in the alley?”
“Not really.”
“Not really? Could you elaborate?”
“I’ve seen her before, in Musutafu,” he explains as evenly as he can, “But I don’t know her name, and I passed out during my only conversation with her. Last night, I mean.”
“You know nothing regarding her identity? It seems like she knew you.”
“Maybe,” Izuku muses, “it’s because I was a silver medalist in the Sports Festival. Iida might’ve thought it was weird that I tried to cooperate with someone in order to not
die,
but he was practically
trying
to get himself killed.”
Tsukauchi sighs. “I’m… familiar.”
“Great. Any other questions based off the report of murder-wonderboy?”
“This one’s a little far-out, but I should ask. Are you Kyuubi? The graffiti artist around Musutafu?”
Izuku feels his breath catch. He furrows his brow, trying to force deep breaths into his lungs. How the fuck do I get around Lie Detector. Of course this guy became a detective, he could just— “Is your Quirk admissible evidence?” Izuku blurts.
Tsukauchi squints at him. “What do you mean, ‘admissable evidence.’”
“Your Quirk. It doesn’t have any sort of external register, as far as I can tell, and most precognition Quirks aren’t legally straight-shots, so I asked if your Quirk is admissible evidence. As in, can contribute to a case or be accepted in a courtroom. It’s pretty much hearsay, isn’t it?”
Tsukauchi purses his lips, leaning back, and that’s as much of an answer as the agitated “no” he says next.
“May I ask that you leave the room, detective?” Tsukauchi meets his eye with an intensity, but Izuku steels his jaw. “I’d like you to leave.”
“I’d prefer that you answer my question. You’re not an innocent person, Midoriya, I’m under no compulsion to leave.”
Izuku fights the lump in his throat. He tries to ignore the steady increase in his breathing. “I’m not Kyuubi.”
Tsukauchi’s eyebrows raise, and his eyes wander and narrow as he thinks. After a moment that’s probably seconds, but feels like hours, he stands. “I’ll leave you to rest. Someone’s going to come speak to you and Iida later, because your charges remain pressing.”
Izuku didn’t really expect to get away from the vigilantism charge. Both Tsuragame and Iida spend most of the conversation glaring in his direction, but either Tsukauchi didn’t share his discovery, or the police chief didn’t change his plan of action. Stain’s dangerous wounds are all bruises and broken ribs, but the media will eat up whatever they’re fed, even if it’s Endeavor getting the credit. Izuku wants to stand against that, but he doubts he has any wiggle room— Tsuragame isn’t really presenting him with a choice at all.
He’s still mulling over the conversation a few hours later. It’s not like he’s been discharged anyway, but sitting alone in his hospital bed lends itself to time spent thinking. He’s barely roused by a knock at his door, although he glances up at a nurse who says “you’ve got a visitor” before turning on their heel and heading right back out of the room. When he sees the woman stepping through the door, he tries to sit up in the bed. He’s mostly unsuccessful, but it doesn’t hurt anything too badly.
“I’ve heard a very interesting set of facts,” Mirko says, “One: You ended up in Hosu. Two: My intern fought villains. Three: That’s a bad thing, and my fault, apparently. Four: Lepóridos Luna Office is no longer able to accept hero student interns.”
“I-I’m sorry, really, I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.” Izuku attempts to raise his hands in surrender, although neither can really make the gesture. “I mean, I couldn’t not do something. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Relax,” Mirko says, “you fought villains, and you won. I would’ve preferred that you not get
that
injured, but I’m the same way. Better to win bloody than take what you can get unscathed.” She crosses her arms, and squints at him. “So, was it the big monster things?”
Izuku shakes his head, taking a deep breath before saying “Stain.”
Mirko lets out a low whistle, scans the injuries across his body again, and nods slowly. “Good shit,” she says, “what’d I tell you. You’re like a goddamn freight train, kid.”
Izuku shrugs, winces, and reminds himself not to try that again. But Mirko’s compliment… It’s nice, to be thought of like a freight train. To be the kid who dragged All Might and half-gutted truck across a beach. It should be nice, but it doesn’t feel nice. It feels like Muscle.
“Hey. Kid.” Mirko snaps, which finally makes him aware enough to make eye contact. “I’m built like a train too. Lepóridos can take work studies kids, too, and you’re not exactly an underachiever.” Izuku feels confident enough to smile and shake his head. “Anyway, I figure your internship is decidedly over, but it’s up to you, really. What’s next?”
Izuku thinks. It takes him a moment, and his usual habit of a finger along his lip feels odd with a splint. “I think… I have to always do what feels right. I’m a better judge than I think.” He looks up into Mirko’s eyes, holding their typical fiery enthusiasm. “I’m gonna save people, and I’m going to do it my way.”
Izuku feels odd to leave the hospital so unscathed. Of course, the injuries remain, but there are no cuffs or police or watchful eyes, no matter how paranoid he is to search for them. His mom tries to generate conversation between Hosu General Hospital and the train station, and Izuku feels bad he can’t reciprocate, but eventually she understands and just smiles softly.
It hits him, on the train home, that he’s not suspended. Tomorrow he’ll wake up and take the morning train and go to school, like nothing’s all that changed. The world hasn’t even noticed that he’s any different.
On the train home, he pulls out his phone. There’s a few notifications from news outlets he dismisses like he always does, and Uraraka sent a text about kicking ass which he smiles at, but nothing from god dammit he still doesn’t have her name.
He checks back on it again in fifteen minutes, and then again in ten, like it’s going to update silently. It should buzz, because it always buzzes, because she doesn’t usually take this long to answer a text, he thinks, swallowing thickly and forcing himself to put his phone down. By the time they’re nearing their home stop, Izuku’s fingers are half-twitching in their splints, unable to feverishly write or tap or fidget at all.
The walk home is a blur. He catches momentary glimpses of graffiti and street noise and it’s all gone by the time he’s eating dinner silently, and that’s gone the moment he’s in his room. There’s still no reply. His fingers twitch uselessly, and he knows it’d be stupid to go work on a piece. But his eyes linger on his closet, on the duffel bag hidden under the shirts and the shirts and the shirts.
In an alley a few blocks from his house, he clumsily paints his old shirts with one hand. His aim isn’t perfect, but his control has always been in the wrist, anyway. His working hand starts aching quickly, but it’s not a full wall art’s worth of work to change the shirts. He starts with his tag, which he could do in his sleep, but then the ‘formal’ shirt becomes a spray of blue and purple and a scrawl of ‘what is the story of Lady Nagant.’ ‘Pants’ becomes a caricature of Stain’s glare. ‘Cosplay’ becomes a purple crescent moon with ‘tough stuff’ written around it. It feels just like decorating his hoodie and his respirator and his duffel. It strikes him that his Kyuubi costume is infecting his wardrobe while Muscle is sealed away in a metal briefcase whenever possible.
Half an hour later, his phone buzzes.
Notes:
Dress-up - to cover a whole area with graffiti, like a whole door or window.
Bit of a shorter chapter, but I was struggling with motivation and this one is more about tying up Internships. Making this little arc 5 chapters (it was probably going to be 2, as originally planned) feels like the characters have grown so much more, even in such a short time.
Also, to insert my politics in here: In both the Japanese and American legal systems, despite his caution, Izuku shared more than he should've. Always demand the presence of a lawyer, and for this minor, his guardian, and remain silent besides that.
Holy hhHHECK, 300 kudos??? Thank you, all of you, every reader who liked it in passing or reads consistently or is bingeing later.
(Also, if you’re bingening, you’ve read over 30k words. That’s like, half of Carrie or The Sorcerer’s Stone. Go get water.)
Chapter 16: Soak Up
Summary:
Last time, Izuku was interrogated by police, left the hospital, and was affirmed that Girl was not, in fact, dead.
And now, there's a month in canon before finals (lmao??) and they’re getting Slurpees! yay
Notes:
the spacing in this chapter is weird. the spacing in the chapter before is weird. probably in all of them. i don't know what the fuck is going on but i want to be FREE
(edit as of like 15 minutes after posting: I pressed ctrl+v a lot. it's better. you should be thankful /j)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku wishes someone had mentioned that Stain got up with a broken jaw and lacerations across his torso. His speech went pretty viral, intense but just digestible enough. Girl is nowhere in it and he’s out of focus near the other heroes, so it only lingers in his mind for so long.
Classes start again, for real. Students back in the classroom, familiar dangerous glares from Aizawa, and typical training and advanced education. Ectoplasm’s math continues to be the worst offender, but with nothing in the future but finals, every class is getting more intense.
Heroics isn’t an exception, either. It’s the first day back, and they’re supposed to be following a rescue signal through the city to find All Might. A pure speed test. He’s paired up with Sero, who everyone knows is the de facto winner, but he tries to focus. Mirko taught this, he thinks at the start line, overcoming Stain taught this. No hesitation, he repeats like a mantra, until the blank fires and Sero launches himself into the air with his tape, and everyone else takes off almost as fast.
Izuku takes a few steps for momentum, but is more focused on One for All. The pressure, and the ozone, a familiar swelling in his heart, an egg not exploding. His run falls into a crouch, and then he bounds forward with the power of his Quirk.
It’s going to be tough to keep up with Sero. But Izuku can see his back, and he decides to pace himself. Sero falls into another swing, accelerating, but Izuku focuses One for All again. It’s tough, as he’s running, but when it’s spaced out like this, it’s manageable. He bounds right over one rooftop and lands on the next, stumbling into a dead sprint to keep his momentum.
He’s cleared for activity, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Running across a pipe, he struggles to balance without feeling on the edge of his foot, and bounding to the next roof, he can’t brace or grip with one arm. Bakugou and Mirko aren’t people he can emulate entirely, he has to improvise on the fly. And he’s always sucked at that.
No hesitation. He feels OFA churn, crouches with his arms out to balance, and launches forward, stretching the next leg out and focusing there. The wind howls in his ears and makes his eyes water as he flies by Sero. He stumbles again on his next landing, trying to ignore the odd feeling of being evenly weighted but not feeling some of it. Still, Sero lets out a surprised laugh, calling “Damn, Midoriya!” As he flings himself into the lead again.
In the end, he takes third place, behind a smiling Sero and a glaring Iida. He makes his way back to the observation deck still breathing heavy and feeling sweat bead on his forehead.
“Damn, Midoriya! Who’d you intern with? That was, like, crazy.” Uraraka is the one asking the question, but most of the class has their attention on him.
“I’ve bounded before, I just applied it in a different way. It’s hard to move like someone until you really see it in person, you know? I still haven’t really gotten it down, although it’s possible she has different muscle groups, especially towards the balls of her feet. That’s where a lot of the directional force Mirko uses comes from, but maybe I could—”
“Mirko?” Uraraka exclaims, eyes bulging. Most of his classmates are visibly taken aback, too. “I thought she was, like, famously solo?”
“W-well, she’ll probably keep going that way, since she’s no longer allowed to take on interns.”
“Damn, Midoriya,” Kaminari breathes. Just like most of his other classmates, his eyes linger on Izuku’s brace. They’re all too nervous to ask what exactly happened, but Kaminari settles for, “you really are crazy, y’know.”
By his tenth day home, his mom finally stops doting constantly. Izuku ignores the ache in his right hand and the doctor’s orders for his left, because he itches to make something. His notebook is filled up with sketches, pushing the edges of pages and just barely overlapping. He never really got past the habit to fit everything he possibly could on a page, but it makes him feel a little better to see all his sketches at once.
When he gets his things together, though, he realizes it’ll be much harder than it used to be to tug on all his gear in the dark. He puts his hoodie on in the apartment, sets the respirator around his neck, keeps his brace hidden in his pocket, and slips out silently— except for a “bye, I’ll be safe” whispered to the living room.
Back by the playground, more art lines the walls, and parts of the old All Might piece show through a too-thin layer of paint. Some of it is hateful, and Izuku gets to work. Despite all the stumbling and the numbness and the imbalance, the paint flows unimpeded. It feels right. He can’t hold back a smile, even as he changes on the fly to avoid the tags and throw-ups and pieces that have blossomed like flowers in the cracks of the pavement.
“Kaminari Hot Takes time. Honestly, I’ve thought about getting into it.” Kaminari nods at Izuku as he walks in, and then suddenly turns away. His ‘hushed voice’ isn’t all that quiet, though. “Like, I don’t think I’d be as good or anything, I suck at art stuff, but there’s like tons of people cropping up wherever she drops a piece. It’s like she’s planting seeds, isn’t that awesome?”
“Yeah, this is plain weirder than Stain. Isn’t graffiti, like, illegal?” Mina says, “if you bumped into someone like that, a hero would apprehend them.”
“Heroes resolve Quirk crime,” Izuku says rote from his desk, “Unless a Quirk is used, you could just, um, call the police.”
Iida glares daggers. Izuku avoids his eyes.
“For the record,” Aizawa interrupts, “Midoriya is right. In fact— get to your seats, it’s a pop quiz.”
The Slurpee machine whirs away, mixing its contents tirelessly. It’s a larger type that doesn’t stay exposed, but behind the chipped labels brightly colored sugar-sludge spins like clothes in a washer.
For the third time, Izuku looks up at the ring-a-ding, ding of the door opening, and this time it actually is Girl. He’s early far more than she is late, but he’s sure the nerves he feels would be present regardless. She doesn’t have any visible bandages except for a few Hello Kitty bandaids on her hands and a barely visible dressing under the holes in her jeans, and she wears a very distinct tattered red scarf.
He feels a little underdressed, in his tough stuff tee and joggers with a zipper hoodie on top of it, but it’s too late to run back and change, even if he had anything worth wearing. Belatedly, he offers her a small wave, which she beams at.
“S-sorry, that I was busy and all that,” Izuku says.
Girl shakes her head as she pulls the largest cup from the rack. “You’ve mentioned, like, ten times. Finals for the top school in the country is a big deal. And again, I’m the one who decided to lay low. Figured I could trust you to wait, as mean as it was.”
“Right!” Izuku follows suit, even though he knows he probably won’t finish it. “Uh, it’s good that you’re doing better?”
“Yeah, I don’t usually get hurt that bad,” she sighs, “but I had a whole bunch of time to rest. I didn’t mess anything up too bad. You, on the other hand. Mr. Self Sacrifice.” She leaves her half-full cup on the drip tray and pushes into his space. “Is your arm okay? I had more cuts but they were mostly superficial, you—”
“Yeah,” he agrees, now that they’re both staring down at the fancy brace in Girl’s hands. “I’m fine, just a longer recovery period for nerve damage, I guess. Um, seems like ripping out a jagged knife in the middle of a fight made the wound less straight-edge.” He laughs nervously, feeling heat rise in his face.
“Obviously,” she says, quieter. “Don’t do stuff like that. It’s gonna get you killed.”
“It’s kinda been my dream since I was a kid to be a hero.” Izuku gently pulls away from her grasp, tugging his sleeve over the brace. “I have the chance now, so I’m not wasting it.”
“You’re not wasting it with a permanent injury?” Girl asks.
“It’s not wasting it to save someone who deserves it.”
She turns back to her Slurpee. The machine hums as she pushes the button for cherry, and the sound fills the silence. She works on the dome cap and then fills it past the hole on top, quickly licking away the excess before she steps away. Izuku starts working on his, Blue Raz first.
“I can’t believe you drink that,” she sighs, “I get mixing flavors, but that’s just an abomination.”
“All Slurpees are an abomination,” Izuku corrects, “we’re both drinking carbonated sugar ice in a convenience store.” He raises an eyebrow teasingly, but he just gets an elbow to his side that makes him stumble and spill Blue Raz across his thumb. He gasps dramatically, raising it in front of his face like it was cut off.
“You’ll be fine,” Girl says, stained-red lips curling into a smile. He glares back at her and wipes it off his thumb with a napkin.
“No care at all for me. Apathetic to my plights, that’s what you are.” She giggles, and he feels his own smile widen. He’d pluck the sound right out of the air if he could, the shitty music and the Slurpee machine and that perfect laugh. “Indifferent to my anguish, you villain.”
She keeps laughing, taking a deep breath as he body hunches in on itself a bit. She reigns herself in just enough to get into his space again. “I am,” she says, “but you can call me Himiko.”
It’s a very nice name. The sounds are like notes from her cherry stained lips, still breathy with laugher, and he feels his ears burn and heat overtake his freckles, and he blurts “like the ancient queen of Japan?”
“Like my name, dummy,” Himiko says easily. Himiko says easily.
“That’s a perfect name,” he says. “Or, I-I mean, a nice name.”
“What’s yours?” Himiko asks, straw poking out of the corner of her mouth. Izuku cocks his head at her. “You have, like, six that I know.”
“Oh,” Izuku says, and then pauses. It’s not really a question he’s had any reason to think about. “Last time I went by Kyuubi I got suspicion from police for it,” he says, “although it’s been a month and nothing bad has happened yet.”
Ring-a-ding, ding
Izuku sees a man walk in dressed in all black out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t really take note of him as the man immediately turns to the cashier.
“So Kyuubi?” Himiko says, and Izuku shrugs.
It sounds nice when she says it, though. So after a moment, he nods.
“Problem child.”
Izuku jumps, which he doesn’t usually do when he’s startled, but “Oh! Um, hello, sensei.” Judging by his glare, Aizawa is more exasperated than usual.
“Toga Himiko,” Aizawa states, ignoring him, “you’re under arrest.” His hair raises and his eyes shine yellow and catlike. Over his shoulder, the cashier watches, breaths quick and panicked. They called her in.
“H-hold on,” Izuku stammers, “Himiko saved my life, sensei, I—” Erasure darts over to him, and the words die in his throat.
“You know her name now, which wasn’t true a month ago.” He tugs at his capture weapon as it floats weightlessly. “Getting close with villains isn’t a good idea, Midoriya.”
“Maybe it’ll be good for her,” he counters.
“What’s good for her is rehabilitation,” Aizawa says, more gruff and harsh that he usually is with the class. Izuku feels his throat close up.
“Shut up,” Himiko growls, “stop trying to fix me!” She draws knives that had been hidden on her back.
“Both of you—”
“Kyu, out of the way,” Himiko says.
Izuku turns back to her, confused, and he hears the capture weapon but he can’t react before it wraps around him and tosses him to the door. “The next vigilantism charge is gonna stick. Don’t be illogical,” Aizawa commands, eyes not leaving Himiko.
Izuku pushes himself to his feet. Aizawa is right, and he knows that, but—
“I’ll be fine,” Himiko says, with a wink. “Like last time, Eraserhead?”
Izuku curses himself, and he runs.
Rehabilitation. Izuku grits his teeth as he works. Himiko’s anger lingers in his mind with more intensity than even her laugh. He can make guesses, mostly, he can try to be understanding.
All Might is huge on the face of the wall, more of a bust with every feature and shadow than a full-body, but his arms are outstretched. Izuku tries the neon-looking lettering, and it comes out right on All Might’s intensely shadowed back. Really, the whole piece looks perfect, despite how much Izuku feels like shit.
All Might has ‘Redemption’ written in that neon lettering across his back, and he holds chains and birdcages and bulky Quirk-canceling cuffs and applicators. Kyuubi has been more vague before, this piece is simple enough.
“So this is what gives you the eyebags, problem child?”
Izuku twists around, the voice is somewhere above, Aizawa looks down from a fire escape, and Izuku glares back.
“This isn’t a Quirk crime, remember? If I call it in, it’s not like they can unpaint the whole wall before morning.”
“Why are you here, Eraserhead?”
“Because I like to avoid troubled youths killing themselves,” he says easily, “terroristic villains usually move at day, and stopping teenagers from fucking up is a better use of my time than punching drug dealers. It’s logical.”
“I’m not in danger,” Izuku growls, picking up his green paint and moving to the edge of the piece to place his tag.
“No, you’re just befriending A-rank villains,” Aizawa sighs, “I want you to stay safe. You have potential, kid, and… Look, these are really good political pieces, I just don’t want you toeing the ‘spending time with villains’ side of that line. It’s dangerous.”
“You haven’t seen me with any A-rank villains,” Izuku says easily.
“Right. Calm down, Kyuubi, she got away.”
The warm feeling that bubbles up inside him mixes with the anger in an uncomfortable way. With a few more angry lines, the tag is done. “There. No danger. I don’t stay out after I do these, and I can defend myself. I’m safe, I don’t need your help.”
“If you ever need me, kid, you can reach out. I promise—”
“Could you just leave it?” Izuku asks, hoisting his duffel.
Aizawa doesn’t follow him.
Notes:
[art!]
Soak up - to use other pieces for inspiration.I walked myself into this chapter and then realized it’s uhhh still a slow burn!! lmao
anyways, augh this one hurts! Writing this, there’s such a power that just makes them so cute, but a lot of the more meaningful conversations in this fic don’t go well… so it’s pretty bittersweet. Still, they’re just adorable. My lil f words
More than 200 people have this fic subscribed. Like, reading weekly. I’m so thankful to all of you, from commenters to lurkers, for making this feel like it’s really something.
PS: the prevalence of Slurpees was an accident tbh i just like the vibe. im not sponsored but something about a carbonated icee makes my thighs rub together n whatnot
![[art!]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/695721218757623878/1095791694949122048/IMG_7483.jpg){kind=link}
Chapter 17: King
Summary:
Last time, Izuku had a totally-not-date with a girl who he now knows is Himiko, and a failed attempt at a heart-to-heart from Aizawa.
Now, it’s time for the most pressing issue for Izuku: passing finals!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku approaches the door to the first year support labs. He stops short, and listens carefully. There’s the low rumble of talking and the sound of various tools at work and gear shifting, but there’s no explosion. Izuku opens the door, and is immediately thrown halfway across the hall by an explosion, and thick black smoke chokes the doorway.
“Is that ten-million? Hi!” A hand reaches out of the smoke, grabs his good arm, and tugs him to his feet. He’s practically dragged into the workshop before he can think to fight back. “What’re you here for? Internships just happened, right? You need an update? Nobody’s been by recently, believe it or not, I’ve got time—”
“Hatsume!” Power Loader shouts from the front of the room, “let the poor kid breathe! And be more careful!”
“Aye aye, sir,” Hatsume nods, never looking away from Izuku. Her eyes whir in and out, scanning him, which feels very exposing.
“Uh, I did want an update, yeah,” he stutters, “I have a brace on my left wrist, but more compression or hand wrap-style gloves would be good for using my Quirk with punches or throwing stuff. And, uh, I don’t know how much of a beating these shoes can take? They’re great, I don’t want to be rude to anyone, I mean, just, yeah, uh. A-anyway, maybe also less of a tracksuit? I don’t want it to get in the way or get caught on stuff, but a looser top—”
“Alright, ten-million! I gotcha. That can all be done and…” Hatsume turns towards Power Loader for the first time. “I have a customer! Am I still on timeout?” After a long moment, he sighs, and as soon as the sound of ‘no’ begins she turns back to Izuku. “Great, good. Awesome. I’m going to pull up the file from your support company, but if you have the real thing, get it out.” She turns away from him, and he stares at her for a moment. “Hurry it up! Lots to do, babies to make!”
Izuku tugs on his costume, pushing down the anxiety brimming in his stomach. The academics felt pretty solid, the practical’s gonna be fine too. The costume feels great— The changes he asked for work out nicely, and all the extra bits of support gear and design quirks Hatsume wanted to tack on— it all feels much more right.
When he catches up to Bakugou, he says, “we should come up with a plan.”
“The plan is that we kick his ass,” Bakugou growls.
Izuku takes a deep breath, and then slowly picks through his words. “Right, but we’re talking about All Might. So… You’re way faster than me, Bakugou, but I can try to support your attacks. If you get pinned—”
“Not gonna happen.”
“If you get pinned, or you need a break, or whatever, All Might’s gonna take me out. If one of us goes down, the other isn’t going to put enough pressure on.”
“So don’t lose, is what you’re saying.”
Izuku smiles. “Don’t lose.”
Bakugou’s grin is feral.
“Get ready to have a really bad time!”
Izuku’s ears are still ringing, and the dust and crumbling rubble clouds sound away, but All Might’s voice carries.
“Who cares if I level the city,” All Might declares, his classic belly laugh echoing out of the cloud of dust, only stopping as he becomes visible in the street ahead of them. “Think of this just as a test, and you’re going to suffer.” The trademark smile stays, but there’s no flexing or pose. He just lowers himself down, leaning forward. “I’m a villain, heroes. Give me your best shot.”
He bounds forward, blowing away most of the dust, and collides with Bakugou easily. It’s not that surprising, since even if he could get away, he wouldn’t want to. All Might has him by the face, and— “I was expecting this,” crackle, pop, b-b-b-b-b-b-b — A barrage roars across All Might’s body. He reaches out, grabbing Bakugou’s arm, and twists him into the ground.
“A weak barrage like that hurts, but only a little. Now then, for Midoriya…”
All Might does catch the car-sized chunk of cement, but with momentum and his bracers it’s not effortless for him. Izuku’s counting on that, because a perfect outcome isn’t coming with All Might.
“That’s good,” All Might growls, “I get to play with my food!” The chunk of rubble is ripped in half and tossed aside. Izuku knows he won’t have time to grab another piece of rubble, but All Might’s even faster than he expects. He punches Izuku squarely in his gut, and he tumbles back down the ruined street with bile in his throat.
Bakugou’s explosions are bigger this time, but there are less of them, and despite his first miss, All Might’s punches create enough air pressure to interfere with Bakugou’s air movement. The next punch is brutal, and Bakugou pukes as he flies towards the exam’s entrance.
He’s staggered us, Izuku thinks, pushing himself up immediately. I knew he would struggle against both of us at once, but he’s trying to make us a one-at-a-time problem, and good-enough attacks won’t do anything. Without his left arm, though, a bigger projectile is impossible. Meanwhile, All Might gets closer and closer to Bakugou.
“This is about his growth, isn’t it. With the disparities you started with, it’s only fair.”
“Shut up!” Bakugou coughs. “He’s a real asshole. And he’s— Ugh!” Bakugou shakes his head, gritting his teeth. “I’m going to kick your ass, with or without him!”
Izuku dives, tackling Bakugou away from All Might’s next swing. The dust and rubble it creates tosses him through the air, but it also gives them a chance to get away. Bakugou doesn’t have it in him to protest, so Izuku takes what he can get and bounds into the alleyways. By sound alone, he figures All Might is looking for them and he’s damnably fast, but Izuku’s been spending his nights in alleys and deep in cities for months, and it pays off.
“Alright, put me down,” Bakugou growls, and Izuku complies while he catches his breath. “He’s too fast to run, and most attacks aren’t shit. We gotta hit him
hard,
and take that chance to win.” He pauses, grabbing Izuku’s shoulders. “Having faced him close and personal, we gonna run?”
Izuku thinks, but his answer has to be on the fly. “We’ll try. But he’ll probably catch up, and if he does… If he manages us one at a time again, it’s over.”
Bakugou smirks. “I can live with those odds.”
Izuku stays low to the ground, running between bits of cover. All Might has enhanced senses, but as long as he doesn’t notice my footsteps, I’ll have enough time. The plan’s pretty dumb, but if it works, it’ll work well. Izuku takes a close look at his latest piece of cover. This is gonna work, he promises himself. Now or never.
The effort involved in throwing a car really does take two hands, but tugging it onto his back like a fireman’s carry only takes one. He grits his teeth at the effort, twisting his body around for just enough momentum to throw it.
“Impressive, Midoriya!” All Might roars, planting a foot and spreading his arms— He doesn’t move to dodge it, but rather to catch the car. His eyes are on Izuku, though, at least for now. “Show me your strength!” Izuku’s mouth twists like he’s tasting lemon, and he growls with effort and his spin ends and his working hand on the back of the car sends it forward like a javelin.
All Might catches it, the windows shattering and the doors denting inwards as he grabs it with a wingspan wide enough for a hand on each side. He doesn’t need to take a step back, but Izuku gets a moment to stare at the top of the car and prepare himself. Now or never. No hesitation.
All Might throws it back, and it’s like a moving wall, the headlights scraping against the ground with a torrent of sparks moments before it reaches Izuku. He leaps towards it, with the tiniest fraction of One for All he can manage, and swings his leg out. It’s always embarrassing to shout ‘Smash!’ in front of All Might himself, but “Luna Smash!” roars out of his throat as his kick hits the car with the roaring ocean of OFA .
First, the collision drives a shock through him. Then, the car starts to crumple around his foot, and both of their velocities halt. And then the metal of the iron soles screams against itself, metal on metal, and the second impact sends the car flying. Thanks, Hatsume.
“Impressive little toy you’ve got there!” All Might says, “but this little fight ends now!” He catches it again, this time pushed back by the force of the kick. He regains his footing, though, and there’s a whine of metal as the car adjusts in his grip before he hurtles it at Izuku.
“Then eat this one!” Bakugou roars, launching himself out of an alley and straight behind All Might. His finger is already wrapped around the pin of his gauntlets, and he tugs it with a sneer. All Might twists, swinging out with one hand, but he’s not faster than the explosive force of all the stored-up excess sweat. Izuku bounds out of the way, and then down the street.
BOOM!
Izuku forces himself not to look back, even as the rumbling shakes his gut and the sound rings in his ears, bounding along with Bakugou’s sudden momentum. There’s no laugh or sudden rush of air, so the attack definitely hurt him— seeing the gauntlets from an outside perspective, the explosion they make is incredible. The car to reflect heat just make it an instant oven.
Away from the smoke and dust, the exit is finally visible. All Might’s initial attack came from just near it, so the buildings and asphalt are torn up in a mess of rubble. Izuku can’t resist the urge to check his back after another few moments of running, but all that he sees is a cloud of smoke. “Do you think… do you think that took him out?”
“Nah. Car mighta made it a fuckin’ oven, but it was just one hit.”
Izuku pushes himself. His hand hurts like hell, and his knees are starting to creak in a weird way, but he’s only two or three bounds from the exit. It took kicking a car, which he’s definitely aching from, but All Might’s still subdued, even after this long. Izuku hopes Bakugou making the big attack is enough of a win, even if they’re just going to cross the finish line.
“Do you remember what I said, heroes?” Just a little farther, just another moment! “I’ll level the city!”
There’s a moment when Izuku is still in the middle of the bound. If he sends an air attack at us, we might just win, Izuku thinks, but he knows that All Might isn’t stupid.
Then, as Izuku’s legs extend toward the ground ahead of him, the ground is annihilated. He can practically see the ripple that precedes the earth breaking into shards and dust and dirt surging from within and under the asphalt. He’s above ground, but the shockwave still forces the air from his lungs as he loses control of his positioning and tumbles into splinters of asphalt. Out of breath and body aching, he just can’t force himself to move.
Even then, though, he can still hear the growl and crackle of Bakugou. As he becomes just a bit more distant, though, wind howls over the small crater Izuku has fallen in, and Bakugou roars. With one working hand whose fingers are too weak to grip and one leg that isn’t burning with pain, he claws himself up to the lip of the crater.
“I’m not done with you yet!”
Bakugou swings his arm towards All Might, twisting with his whole body. His brow is perpetually furrowed, but he’s too surprised to even look angry, wide eyes meeting shadowed but fierce blue. His aim is right, but before he even tugs back the safety, All Might crushes the gauntlet to shards, the fluid dispersed by the sudden rush of air.
“Aw, you’re just not fast enough, Bakugou!” Bakugou still unleashes a barrage of blasts as All Might grabs his arms, but despite the exertion he’s been making, they’re not enough to stop the hero from twisting him around and pinning him hard enough to force the air out of his lungs. Izuku fights the pain to move, since nothing’s broken, but when he launches himself towards the gate with power in all three functioning limbs, he instead collides with All Might’s hand. It catches him in the chest, but with that insane speed he switches to Izuku’s arm.
“The first team to pass is Todoroki and Yaoyorozu!”
“Hm. Aizawa got beat?” His glowing blue gaze pierces Izuku. “Must’ve gotten careless.” He tosses Izuku away like a bug off his shoulder, but it takes serious effort to even stand. We’re totally outmatched. “You worked together for the goal. Good job. But that was only a prerequisite, against me. You gotta go Plus Ultra, right?” He digs his heel into Bakugou’s back, and judging by the sound he makes his shoulders are already tender. “So something’s eating at you. Well, you’re fighting a stronger villain than ever before. So what’s stopping you?”
This isn’t impossible. That’s not the point of the finals.
But every time before… All Might fought the Nomu, Mirko fought on patrols, Himiko fought Stain and Eraserhead. What have I done?
Izuku raises himself to be hunched over, but he’s on his feet, at least. I get it, Bakugou. He stares down All Might, meeting his intense gaze with a steel one of his own. Having to win. Having to prove something. The roaring of One For All makes his body numb for a moment, then throb as the power settles into his legs. Because if I can’t do this… He shakes his head. I have to do this.
Bakugou’s wrist crackles, but with his weight settled on Bakugou, All Might can’t do much to avoid the blast, and it sends him up in a torrent of flame and smoke. Izuku leaps into the air after him— If he recovers enough to throw a punch, even from up there, it’ll take us out— And with a guttural roar and his heart thumps like a drum and ozone and air pressure and the smoke is gone it’s just Eighth and Ninth and his black steel shoe hits All Might across the chin and then there’s a shift like a gunshot and a screaming of metal on metal and the second impact comes.
The wind rushes out, so loud he can’t hear anything, can barely see All Might’s vibrant costume and smile. He doesn’t even hear Bakugou approaching, but then a body smacks into his and he’s spinning through the air. Fire rages against his back, but it launches him towards the exit, and he can barely twist through the air to see Bakugou launched towards the ground.
“The next team to pass is Midoriya and Bakugou!”
Notes:
[art!]
King - an artist with a strong reputation, usually built up for years.Well, that was longer than I intended. I really wanted to include that scene with Hatsume, but I feel like the fight with All Might is still pretty solid! It’s a little tough to nail exactly what he’s going for, since it’s less likely to be an educational experience for Katsuki and Izuku with the… way they are now. Katsuki isn’t as opposed to working with Izuku, and besides the Other Stuff, Izuku doesn’t even notice how much he feels the gap between him and All Might is until the end. But it’s all out there, now! Hope you enjoyed.
100 bookmarks. I’m so happy! Thank you, everyone. Some of you have left v fun bookmark notes, so thanks for that, too!
Special content corner: I haven’t been posting about that big outline (mentioned in chapter 13) because after 5k words it was squared away.
Well, I made another big fat outline, which somehow ended up with “hero student+cannibal izu.” There’s a lot going on in that one, and chapter 1 comes in at 2.8k.
That being said: I’ve limited my number of ongoing longfics to avoid burnout, but there’s stuff coming after this project!
![[art!]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/695721218757623878/1097542068395589632/006333F9-1D0E-49A1-BCBA-036D98ED9C15.jpg){kind=link}
Chapter 18: Ghost II
Summary:
“What makes us so different,” “what’s with that graffiti artist,” and other questions it’s really not good for a terrorist to ask Izuku in the middle of a crowded mall.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Himiko stands outside the bar. The broker smells like cigarettes, he’s just lit another one, too. It’s better than the guy barely stapled together and covered in burns. There’s no way he’s keeping that much grafted and fucked up skin sterile. He probably smells like an unwashed piercing, but she’s not interested in finding out.
The broker knocks once, twice, and then pushes the door open himself with the same lazy smile. “Shigaraki,” he says, stepping into the warm, dim light of the bar, “we’ve been spreadin’ the word. How it’s about to go down, all that.” He puffs his cigarette, and steps to the side of the door. She takes that as a cue to enter.
The bar is nice— better than some of the squats she’s been in, and incredibly clean for a potential villain base, or dive bar for money laundering, whatever it is. That’s probably because of the mist bartender, who’s wiping dust off the wood.
The infamous leader himself, Shigaraki, is hunched over at the bar, and only looks toward the door as they file in. “Well, who’re they? ” He doesn’t sound too impressed, looking to the broker, but that’s his loss. A woman knows her worth.
“Hmm,” Burny considers, “you’re way grosser in person, you know that?” His face is blank as he says it. He’s weird.
Himiko plays with the tatters of the scarf, unable to hold back a grin as she speaks. “Handsy! You’re friends with Stainy, and you’re gonna attack those heroes again, I bet.” She can’t help a bubbly giggle. “So I wanna join your League too!”
Shigaraki stares through the fingers of the waxy gray hand on his face, then turns to the bartender. “Kurogiri, warp ‘em. The two types I hate most showed up as a duo. A brat, and a guy with no manners.” Well, that’s mean. And shortsighted. She’d probably win in a fight, the guy’s all too-dry skin and bones.
“Come now, they’ve traveled far just to find you. Humor them with a chat, Shigaraki Tomura.” Kurogiri blinks slowly, finally looking up from the glass he’s shining. “And if our good friend there brought them, they may yet be competent.”
“And I still expect my finder’s fee,” Giran continues, “First, there’s the high schooler. Media’s kept her face and name strictly hidden, but she’s responsible for a string of deaths by bloodletting, or gratuitous stab wounds.”
“I’m Toga Himiko,” she says, smile spreading until she beams, fangs and all. “Life’s hard. I wanna make a nice, easy world. And I wanna taste blood, more’a Stain’s blood and Kyuu’s blood too! So lemme join, c’mon!” The love bubbles up in her chest, but she pushes down the urge to change right there. She’s only got half a minute or so of Stain, and barely any Kyuubi. She squeezes the scarf in her hands.
“I don’t get it,” Shigaraki rasps slowly, “You’re some kind of freak? And who’s ‘Kyuu’?”
“Kyuubi, silly,” she giggles, “I know we’re not in Musutafu, but it’s all over… Unless you can’t see through those fingers too well.”
“You have similar goals,” Giran says, tentatively. “And this one— he’s avoided criminal charges, but he’s quite sympathetic to Stain’s ideals.”
Burny grumbles, and glances towards Himiko and back to Shigaraki before he finally speaks. “Are you really committed? If you’re about to let involuntary commitment over here in, I’m not so sure.” She glares at the thumb jutted at her, but her smile doesn’t really leave.
Shigaraki grumbles. “Right, asshole, but at least she can say her name, like a big kid.” She holds a sweater-covered hand over her mouth to giggle while Burny projects his attitude.
“I’m going by Dabi right now.”
“No good. Your real name.”
“You’ll know it when you need to. Anyway, the Hero Killer’s will… I’m gonna make it a reality.”
“Shut it. I didn’t ask you a question,” Shigaraki huffs, rising from his stool. They’re fun to watch bicker, although pissing off murderers is always tenuous. Her hands squeeze the scarf tight, itching to crawl up to her knives. “Everyone today’s all ‘Stain this, Stain that.’” Shigaraki’s hands flex from curled claws to fists and back again. “No good… No good at all… I’m in a bad mood. ”
Himko grabs her knives in that instant. Shigaraki’s a scary, scary guy, unwashed twink though he may be. His killing intent is incredibly potent, at the least.
“Because you’re all no good.” Shigaraki lunges forward, hands outstretched. Burny does something with his hand, but she really only notices out of the corner of her eye as she lunges close to the floor to slash at Shigaraki’s gut. Her arm goes through icy mist first, though, every attack flung across the room by the bartender.
As the air settles, still thick with tension, he clears his throat. “Please calm yourself, Shigaraki Tomura. If we are to make steps forward, expanding our organization is necessary.” He swirls around, mist consuming his metallic neck brace and well-kept vest and shirt. He appears beside Shigaraki, a cloud of mist with glowing eyes. “Besides, now is our chance, while we hold the spotlight. I advise… acceptance sooner than rejection, Shigaraki Tomura.” Then he talks another sentence right into Shigaraki’s ear, and swirls away.
“Shut up.” Shigaraki yanks his hands from the disappearing portal.
“Where’re ya going?” Giran asks, and Shigaraki pushes right by him and out the door. The bar is silent for a moment. “Unfortunately, he’s a little immature.”
“I thought he was gonna kill us!” Himiko says. He’s fun. A tsundere type, maybe.
“We’ll have an answer for you soon,” the bartender says, wiping a glass. “I expect he knows what he must do. He’s been humbled twice, now. He’ll figure out an answer to satisfy all parties.”
Izuku’s not sure how he got roped into the most crowded place he’s ever been. Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall is four stories tall, and the main floor is filled to the brim with people and dotted with palm trees. He also can’t wear his uniform out, so now he’s in the ‘what is the story of Lady Nagant’ shirt. He hopes his status as a Sports Festival silver medalist is more noticeable.
The class starts to group up pretty quickly— closer friends leaning into each other and a few people shouting out what store they’re heading to. Izuku has all of the stuff on the list, but he figures he’ll grab some exercise gear, so the trip is worth making. Wrist weights, maybe. By the time he’s done dwelling on it, pretty much everyone is gone. Uraraka is looking around for where to go, and he’s about to approach her when an arm slings around his shoulder and tugs him away.
“Hey, you’re the real deal,” he coos, “U.A. Student. In that sports festival, then the USJ and the Hero Killer. You’re a big deal. ” The man’s hand is dry and flaky and approaches his neck. “But man, that we’d meet again, here! I can’t help but feel like something’s helping you out. Destiny, or whatever.” Four fingers tighten, and messy light blue hair hangs out of the hoodie. “But I guess the last time we were face to face was that USJ attack, wasn’t it.”
“Shigarak—”
“Hey, cool it. Let’s have a chat. Pretend we’re old pals. Don’t do anything stupid. I could kill you easy.”
“There’s plenty of people around. Think you wouldn’t get caught?”
Shigaraki glances up, as if he’s just noticed the crowd. His cracked dry skin splits into a grin, baring desiccated teeth. “Sure. I could kill a good— what do you think, thirty? They’re all stupid. What’s the difference between these idiots and livestock. They all think an atrocity could never happen here, could never happen to
them.
Not with their fucking
heroes.
” Shigaraki’s growling now, and Izuku feels his hand twitch just a little tighter.
Shigaraki directs him to a bench. The open air of the mall suddenly makes the sun feel much more harsh, heat beating down on his head.
“I hate pretty much everyone. Everything. But right
now,
I’m pretty annoyed with the fucking politics of villains. Fucking Hero Killer.”
Izuku’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t meet Shigaraki’s eye or shift in his grasp. “Wasn’t Stain… working with you?”
“Well, everyone seems to think so. But the USJ, Nomu, they’re all overshadowed by him. Whatever grandstanding he wants to do in a mediocre phone recording for twenty seconds, that’s whatever. He’s destroying what he hates, same as me. So what makes us different, Midoriya Izuku?”
“I…” Izuku pauses. What kind of answer can he give to that? What answer that won’t get half the mall killed. His hesitation drags on, but the hand on his throat never threatens more. “Well, I can’t… accept that. Killing what you hate. But Stain— I don’t like Stain, but I understand him. You’re not like that. No ideals put forth into the world, you just have an urge. People like ideals.”
“That’s interesting. Interesting.” Shigaraki’s hand tightens, nearly to the point of choking. “Y’know, I talked to a murderer about your age the other night. She had this stupid tattered scarf, but I think I know where she looted it from.”
Izuku goes from wheezing to still. He feels his fists tighten at his side.
Shigaraki stops for a moment, gently rocking with silent laughter. “...And I think I know who else was there. And who she didn’t kill. And I thought, ‘I must be confused.’ But now, I think…” Shigaraki’s hand tightens, and now Izuku really can’t breathe. “It’s funny that I run into you. Funny that you’re not in your fuckin’ boy scouts uniform, and I can see that shirt. Great handiwork.”
For the first time, Izuku meets his eye. Shigaraki’s red eyes are wide and dry eyelids stretched by a cruel smile. Izuku feels like a cornered animal. He can feel his pulse thrum against Shigaraki’s hand. He can feel himself become lightheaded, darkness and blurriness twisting around the edges of his vision.
“Yeah, destiny. It’s incredible to bump into you, Midoriya,” Shigaraki growls, loosening his hand with a sigh. “A difference in ideals. Well you’re an interesting one, what do you want?”
Izuku suppresses as much coughing as he can. “I— I want to save people.” Shigaraki’s gaze feels focused as a hawk, and his nerves spur him to continue. “I have qualms with the system, but that doesn’t change what I have to do. You want to destroy, right? Because too many people are complacent? Th-then say it, somehow. I’m the only one of these ‘livestock’ who knows.”
Shigaraki looks out, smiling. “Right… All the fucking heroes.” He even laughs. The sudden mood shift is bad, he could be volatile. “And painting after painting of All Might, and ‘only All Might can kill me,’ all this stupid shit. It’s all the heroes and their symbol. The reason they’re complacent, it’s him. Smiling wide, as if he can save every one of them. Yeah, this was a good chat. Good, good, good, thanks, Kyuubi. ” And then his hand disappears.
“Shigaraki,” Izuku says, “why prove them wrong this way?”
“If they think they’ll get saved, there’s only one way to change their minds,” Shigaraki replies easily, bubbling into laughter. “You know what’ll happen if you follow me. Oh, and…” that smile creeps across his features. It looks alien, on his decrepit face. “The schoolgirl’s gonna be just fine, but the next time you see me, you’re gonna die.”
And in that moment, he’s gone. The crowd doesn’t even offer him a glance, because even a figure shrouded in a hoodie and showing a horrific smile is just another face. Izuku knows he can’t go after him, and he thinks for a moment about calling a hero. But all he’d do is risk other lives, and risk volunteering information about Himiko.
He’s still sitting at that central area, staring into the spot in the crowd Shigaraki waded through when a few of his classmates come back. They’re meeting back up to go to the food court, and when Mina smiles and waves he plasters the same look back, because what else can he do.
As he waits in one of the many lines for food, he thinks. Mostly about Shigaraki, but enough about Himiko to pull out his phone.
Notes:
yeah, that’s right, i’m doing title callbacks! zoinks, jinkies!
izu: i hope this shirt doesnt upset anybody
shiggy: hey how do you feel about politics, hero student
izu: uhhhhhappy lesbian week, even if this chapter sees little of that
Chapter 19: German Montanas
Summary:
well, Shigaraki menaced him in a mall, but Izuku’s relatively comfortable going to a camp. It’ll be fine!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Be safe out there, okay? I know there’s going to be heroes, but your mother worries.”
Izuku unzips his duffel to check its contents for the third time before he puts on his shoes. “I will. I swear. No bone breaking.” He lets a smile spread across his tired face as— yeah, that’s the right amount of clothes, and his black book is tucked away alongside a more academic one. With a hug and an adjustment to his mess of a tie, he’s out the door.
Going to UA used to get him giddy alone, but the excitement of a camp trip is a whole different thing. His classmates are generally nice, but it’s a hero camp away from the city. The walk to the train station ends with a roiling mix of positive and negative emotion. It’s enough to make him feel awake, even though he’s been mostly nocturnal since the term ended. The weight of an actually packed duffel bag is off-putting after getting so used to the aluminum and paint and aerosol.
On the train, he texts Himiko 'good morning.' 2 stops pass. It is early, even for a school day, which Himiko probably-definitely doesn’t go to. But he frowns a little, when she doesn’t text back. He fidgets and checks his phone probably too many times until the train reaches his stop and he scrambles to grab all of his bags. Despite the added weight, he makes good pace to UA, the irregularity of the whole day putting a pep in his step.
Half the class is already there when he arrives, but they’re not gathered in the classroom anyway. Excited chatter washes over him as he approaches, and a few greetings his way that he smiles and waves back at. Iida, as ever, glares his way and says little. Izuku tries not to meet his eye.
“Hey, Midoriya!” Uraraka flags him down, and he thanks having someone to interact with. “Have you been sleeping alright? You’ve got dark circles,” she giggles a little, “you didn’t seem like the type to kill your sleep schedule as soon as vacation starts.”
When she points it out, he can’t help a small yawn, despite himself. Scratching the back of his head, he says “I-I’m more of a night owl, is all. Harder to get tired without the effort of school, I guess…” Uraraka agrees, and continues— it’s nice how she tries to make conversation, although it mostly makes him feel more awkward. He mostly drifts through a conversation with her, and then her and Mina talking, and then Monoma being annoying, and then they’re putting luggage in the compartment under the seats and filing onto the bus.
Despite Iida’s best efforts, nobody is really sitting in number order. Or sitting much at all, really. And the whole class is doubly excited as they leave campus, going through woods and pretty landscapes and far, far away from the city. Aizawa tries to get the class’ attention, but conversations overlap his voice and he quickly gives up. Izuku is just thankful that he’s sitting in the window seat, so he can mostly tune out of the conversations on the bus.
Well, mostly. It’s hard to not notice when everyone gets a bit quieter. “We’re gonna be sidekicks, in like, a few months.” Kaminari talks wildly with his arms, eyes wide with the realization. “Like, we get our licenses, and that’s what the licenses mean, right?”
Kirishima nods sagely. “Yeah, we’re gonna be, like, real heroes, bro. That is what we’re doing all this stuff for.” His sharp-toothed smile is infectious, and the whole class bubbles up in conversation.
Real heroes, in just a few months. Provisional licenses are probably formatted in a way highly similar to hero licenses, and that means hero name is printed much larger, near the center of the card. Do they include the title, or will his just say ‘Muscle?’ It doesn’t really matter, anyway. He hates the picture in his head, his hero costume and neck brace in frame with his face and— ugh.
He forces himself to stare out the window. Tries to ground himself on the passing scenery. The forests are nicer out here, thick and emerald green like places closer to the city can’t emulate. It’s a lot like training with Mirko. And she had said he has time to figure it out, and he’s made of good stuff, and if he tries hard enough he can believe it.
Out here, in the woods, he’s not going to be Kyuubi, not going to be doing art, but that’s okay. He’s going to come back stronger, and as long as he keeps making steps forward he can figure it out along the way. Hopefully.
He tugs his phone out of his pocket, still zoning out of the conversation. Himiko hasn’t texted back yet, but his thumbs drift across the keys. He smiles a little bit, imagining her reading ‘more hero stuff. Bleh’, but the message hangs there for a moment, and then fails to send altogether. His cell service still says one bar, but they’re out in hills and mountains and woods.
That’s fine. The ride probably isn’t too much longer, he reminds himself, adjusting in his seat. The class is still talking animatedly about being heroes, and even though he doesn’t quite feel the same, he’s happy for them. Most of them are going to turn out great. Actually helpful. Good at what they do. And they’re happy, that’s good.
“Midoriya!” Uraraka’s voice brings him back to focus. “Hey, Midoriya. Tsu’s asking you something.”
“Oh, sorry, I kinda zoned out,” Izuku says, turning toward the inside of the bus. A few of the boys at the back are having a different discussion, but there seems to be some focus on this conversation. He flusters when he realizes how long they might’ve been trying to get his attention, but sits up when he spots Tsu.
She cocks her head and puts her thumb on her chin, like she always does before— “I’m often pretty blunt,” she says, and he narrows his eyes. “So, Midoriya. And Iida, too. Did Stain do something to make you so angry at each other? This is more tense than Kaminari teasing Bakugou.”
Izuku blanches, and stutters, and wraps his head around the question rather slowly. It’s not like the class didn’t know, but nobody’s ever been that blunt about it. It’s off-putting. “Well… uh, I—”
“You could say that,” Iida says, glaring at Izuku.
“Wow,” Izuku bites, “I know you hate me, but you’re usually so kept together, class pres.” It has a lot more venom than he intends, but just meeting Iida’s eyes makes his side ache.
“Yeah, come to think of it, you did fight… uh, way overboard in the sports festival,” Mina says. “Midoriya was kinda going feral on everyone, actually, but I didn’t expect Iida to be… uh, that violent.”
“Well he is a little prone to excessive violence, I’d say,” Izuku blurts, much louder than his usual mumbled thoughts. He really doesn’t mean to be egging Iida on, but there’s that glare again, more severe by the second, and it’s a shame that Aizawa sleeps through everything and nobody’s quite willing to interrupt because
“You’re one to talk about bad habits,” Iida spits, “villainy. And associating with a villain, I’d wager.”
“Villainy is Quirk-related crime,” Izuku corrects in a way that definitely makes him seem more like a criminal. “I’d say attempted murder is worse than anything I’ve done, Iida. Sorry my eyes scare you. ”
“Guys, I wasn’t trying to…” Tsu trails off with a distressed sort-of-ribbit. “You shouldn’t fight, really, it’s—”
“Oh, go on, Midoriya. We shouldn’t fight. Let’s have a nice civil discussion about the girl who showed up.” Iida’s voice is strained and full of anger. “What’s her name? You seemed to know each other well, for having never mentioned her. Given that you took that knife for her sake.”
“Oh my god, does Midoriya have a secret girlfri— ”
Izuku lets out a dry laugh, closer to a scoff, really, “I can’t believe I’m supposed to be the too-violent one. Yeah, I didn’t let her take a knife in the fucking back. Like a real Hero. ‘In the Name of Ingenium’ my ass—”
“ Don’t insult Ingenium—”
“Don’t insult Himiko, you fucking psycho!” Izuku feels angry tears trace hot lines down his face. His breath hitches and catches and makes him feel stupid and childish and Iida is glaring, glaring. Pressure hums under his skin, pressure and ozone and keep it down, control it, and there are angry tears burning against his skin.
“Both of you stop it. Right now.” Aizawa’s Quirk flares down the bus, stronger than it’s been before, capture weapon and hair hanging in the air. His glowing eyes burn into Izuku more than Iida as he walks down the aisle. “Now, you’re under an agreement not to speak on this matter. None of your classmates’ questions mean crossing that agreement. I don’t think I should need to tell either of you that.”
Iida straightens up more than before, anger partially diffused, and sputters “Sir, I—”
“Don’t care,” Aizawa says, voice deadpan as ever but growling with anger like a hot coal. His attention flits back to Izuku. “You both need to make better decisions with respect to your futures. Luckily, you’re teenagers, so a brief bout of stupidity can be rectified. And it will be, or I will expel both of you.” Aizawa’s hair falls and he rubs at his eyes.
The class is utterly silent as he trudges back to his seat. Heads turns from Aizawa to Where Izuku still stands, leaning forward half-over Mina’s seat. And to where Iida stands, twisted over the back of his chair, glaring. Izuku stares back, just this once refusing to give an inch.
“Midoriya has a secret girlfriend, ” Kaminari repeats in a hushed voice. Every head on the bus swings back towards Izuku.
“I— I don’t have a girlfriend,” he stutters, ears getting hot.
“You have an awesome Romeo and Juliet dynamic with a possible criminal,” Mina agrees, ignoring Izuku’s protests. “Well you might not be allowed to tell us about kicking Stain’s ass because it was an act of vigilantism buuuut you can tell us about your girlfriend."
The class quickly gets louder and louder with a wave of questions and he’s not sure when they’re stopping because they’re in the middle of nowhere, and he drags a hand across his face as if he can wipe away the blush.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he explains as slowly as he can. “Sh-she’s more of an acquaintance. I’ve only seen her in person, like, twice. And Himiko might not even be her name, honestly, I probably wouldn’t give my name to a UA hero student. And she’s nice, ” he says pointedly at Iida, who doesn’t turn from his seat.
“Yeah, but what’s she like, Uraraka says. “C’mon, there’s gotta be some stuff you can tell us. You basically said nothing about her.”
“We’re not gonna leave you alone until you tell,” Hagakure agrees.
“Unless you’re, like, super uncomfortable,” Uraraka corrects.
“But, like, if you don’t tell me more I’m gonna be sad, ” Mina finishes.
“H-her. Uh, her favorite color is red?” Izuku says. He’s saved by having to continue by the bus coming to a stop and every student turning to something much more interesting— a rest stop. The class files off the bus, glances still sent Izuku’s way, but it feels good to stretch and be out in the sun. Wilderness summer air feels like a blessing, even if the warmth and humidity is uncomfortable after being on an air conditioned bus for so long.
Really, they should’ve expected it. Stopping in the middle of nowhere is weird, meeting the heroes they’re training with is weirder, and those heroes pointing out the base of a very far mountain as where there’ll be staying is suspicious. Izuku doesn’t bother trying to run back for the bus like his classmates do, though.
Get there by lunch? It’s tough, but possible. More importantly, he can definitely outpace his classmates.
When the cliff crumbles away, he leaps off a chunk of earth and lands in a roll, already sprinting through the underbrush. Thank god I did this with Mirko, he thinks, bounding over untamed growth and knotted, trip-hazard roots.
Notes:
German Montanas - a brand of spray paint/cans that’s made for graffiti, instead of other things.
tsu: did stain expose your darkest secrets or something
izu: what the fuck
iida, glaring: you could say that
izu: what the fuck1-a: ahh oh no!!! this wasn’t a rest stop and we have to fight monsters
izu: oh hell yeah i don’t have to answer more embarrassing questions. cya suckers
Chapter 20: German Montanas II
Summary:
Izuku arrives for the training camp...
...a few hours ahead of his classmates.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku tears from the woods like a beast from a cage. That’s a lot of distance to travel, even without being hounded by beasts made of dirt and brutally overgrown terrain. There was a period in the middle, around noon, where he reached the zone and One for All was automatic and his bounds were consistent and even. But after a while at that speed, his legs become weak enough to take effort to push on, and then it suddenly all takes focus again.
His legs quiver, nearly dropping him on the ground the moment he makes it into the clearing. Izuku is the sweatiest he’s ever been, tie fashioned into a good-enough headband, and the grass has gotten too warm under the sun’s heat to be comfortable to lay in. Soon, the dirt will reclaim his barely-alive body and the bugs will nestle in the comfort of his fluffy hair.
“Holy shit— One of them made it through!”
Izuku pries his face off the ground, and it’s impressive that it takes so much out of him, because grass is not sticky. He’s sure he’s still covered in dirt and mud and is a complete mess, but the face of Pixie-Bob wears a sickly-sweet smile.
Another voice comes from around the side of a building in the clearing. “What do you mean, one of them—” And then Ragdoll turns the corner, and balks at the sight of Izuku. “One of them made it through?” She turns towards Pixie-Bob, and then back towards Izuku, as if she’s not sure it’s possible. “How’d he get through, Yuku?”
“He ran really fast, I guess. Kept pace even with the Earth Beasts. The rest of the class is sticking together like glue, though.” Pixie-Bob frowns down at him. “Why’d you run off? All it did was conk you out, no matter how endearing it is.”
“...Ughhhh,” Izuku replies. He’s puked from a workout before, but his sustainable pace has been a level of effort just shy of that, so the nausea’s catching up, too. It’d be really nice if the dirt hurried up in consuming him.
“Alright, well—” Pixie-Bob’s head snaps up, and her glasses blink and flash and flicker. “Rrraow, they’re really not bad. I’m back to work, take care of the kitten.”
Ragdoll helps him to his feet with a sheepish smile and leads him towards the building. Izuku struggles to walk, far past satisfying ache and into failure. But despite how wobbly his legs are, the camp building is a little less hot and a lot less humid than outside, and he finds himself a bit more energized as Ragdoll guides him down the hall. Rather than knock, she scratches against the door with her gloves’ cat claws. It’s almost cute.
“Ughhh,” a voice drawls from the other side of the door, before sliding open a crack. “What’s going on. None of the kids are bludgeoned half to death this fast, right?” Aizawa’s bloodshot eye sways into the light of the crack in the door, and after a moment falls on Izuku.
“Kitten’s here,” Ragdoll says, plainly.
Aizawa drags a hand across his face. “Ah,” he says.
“Wow, you really didn’t expect me to show up this fast,” Izuku says, relaxing his weight as relief settles in until his legs remember that they don’t work right now. He barely grabs the wall in time to stop himself from eating floor.
“No, we didn’t,” Aizawa sighs, pushing the door the rest of the way open. For a moment, he looks down at Izuku, absent his capture weapon but still very much slouched. Then he turns to Ragdoll. “Could you get him some water? And lunch, maybe.” She nods with a wide smile and turns back down the hall. As she disappears, Aizawa leans against the wall, opposite Izuku.
Izuku turns himself, with significant effort and one functioning arm. “That sucked.”
Aizawa laughs. It starts with more of a scoff, but then a snort, and then a breathy, tired sound. “Yeah, kid, obviously. You’ve always been the type to overachieve, though.”
“Plus Ultra,” Izuku mumbles.
“You’re avoiding them, now.” Aizawa says, seriousness seeping back into his regular monotone. “Your classmates are friendly.” Izuku opens his mouth but “ Most of them. I don’t really care. You’re strong, but having one friend is gonna give you a heart attack.”
“She’s better than they are,” Izuku says easily. Aizawa’s face doesn’t really drop, because how could it get any less enthused. Instead, it’s a sort of softness that fades. “I… Yeah, I get it, okay? I’m not going to…” Izuku trails off, and Ragdoll’s returning footsteps become audible. “Iida’s an asshole,” he finishes, and a moment later he guzzles down the water and the food a bit too fast. Between the way All Might and Mirko have fed him, though, his body doesn’t suffer for it too much.
–
Less than an hour after he gets to the clearing, he’s helping the Pussycats prepare for the rest of 1-A. Tiger is far too strong and far too tall to be unable to lift things and Izuku has one working arm, but Izuku figures the strain is the point. Izuku figures this is a boot camp, actually, and the whole week is going to suck.
He’s chopping up vegetables with Mandalay as it gets closer to golden hour when the child from earlier comes into view. He’s definitely single-digits in age, and wearing a permanent pout. “Hey. Why’s he here? I thought they were still in the woods!” He calls to Mandalay, as if Izuku’s presence is personally offensive.
“Kota, be nice,” Mandalay chides. “Midoriya got through early. Midoriya, this is my nephew.”
Kota stares at him for a moment. “Left behind all your classmates, huh? Not very heroic.”
Izuku looks down at the coals he’s tending, and smiles. “Guess not,” he says. Kota looks surprised, and much less smug. “I mean sure, ‘unheroic.’” He raises his left arm, and feels its weight hang oddly. “Got this from being heroic, I’d rather avoid it, when I can.” Honestly, he can help, but Mandalay would probably do this faster if he wasn’t here at all.
“Whatever. Loser.” Kota stalks off just as quickly as he appeared. Mandalay apologizes when he’s out of earshot, although Kota hasn’t done anything too bothersome. He’s almost cute, as much as he’d probably throw a tantrum if someone called him that.
When the class finally does arrive, the sky is twisting from blazing orange to inky blue, and they are all exhausted and covered in dirt. He smiles innocently as he gets a heaping helping of too-tired-to-say-anything side eye, and is the last one to get a bowl. Approaching the picnic benches, though, Mina waves at him.
“Hey! Midoriya! We saved you a seat.” Izuku takes a deep breath, straightens his back, and sits next to Mina, across from Tsu and Ochako. They’re both too tired to muster more than smiles, but somehow Mina seems reinvigorated. Well, Izuku has an educated guess, although she’s still wolfing down her food.
“So… Tell me more about Himiko~” she says, face still half-obscured by the bowl. The other girls are watching him, too. “C’mon. You left us in the woods as if you could escape this! But you’re stuck with us for three days, you can’t glare apathetically about all of it.”
“Deep cut, Mina,” Ochako says, taming her like Izuku is not there. “But also, yeah. You’re gonna get pestered until you spill, unfortunately.”
“Yo, are you talking about Midoriya’s secret girlfriend?” Kaminari asks, leaning back from his bench to theirs.
“We’re coercing him,” Mina says.
“You’re pestering me into it,” Izuku corrects, “but yes, this is my hell. Why couldn’t you all be obnoxiously curious about the other half of that argument?”
“Well, you can’t talk about that,” Tsu says, “and I kinda get Iida beating the shit out of Stain, but I don’t get your… girlfriend? Secret double life?”
“I’m— Look, okay, it’s victimless crime. Literally, no property damage, no danger, it’s all fine.” Half of the people staring his way are enraptured, and the other half don’t look convinced. “And Himiko’s someone I met. Just kinda nocturnal.”
Uraraka gasps. “
That’s
why you’ve been so tired. You have a day-night hero-villain relationship. That’s adorable. Is she cute?”
“We’re not dating!” Izuku hisses, and it’s embarrassingly close to a whine by now. “And— I don’t know, I guess?”
“Aww, keep going! Paint a mental picture!” Mina demands, punching his shoulder.
“Uh— I don’t know? About our age, messy blonde with bangs, cat eyes?” Izuku stares down at his rice, feeling his ears burn. “Seriously, I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve only seen her, like, two times.”
“Ah, but you want to see her more,” Kaminari says, confident and scholarly. “I respect the grind. Get that girl, Midoriya, the questionable morality aside!”
“It’s not—” Izuku shakes his head, confusion somehow setting deeper into his eyes. “Questionable morality? She’s not that bad!”
“Right, but like…” Kaminari glances around the table, unsure, before taking a breath. “Stain wasn’t just found with his shit kicked in, he had a bunch of lacerations. Like, stab wounds. So there’s a knife girl involved.”
“Oh my god,” Izuku sighs, sagging his head into his hands.
—
When the class wanders from the baths to the bedroom, exhaustion really sets in. Izuku finds himself in a scattered mass of sleeping bodies. Unfortunately, he’s entirely awake. He digs his black book out of his bag. It’s a bad idea to wander, he tells himself, training tomorrow is probably going to be just as intense. But despite that, he finds himself silently sliding open the door and making his way out of the inn.
The summer night air feels good on his skin. He settles into a picnic bench, taking the night in: He can see the clearing and the color of the trees. It’s strangely bright out, he thinks, before looking up at a field of stars.
He’s heard about light pollution. That cities are too bright and dense for the light of stars to really be visible. All his life, he’s mostly seen satellites and airplanes at night more than stars. But right now, he’s under a field of light. There are hints of cloudy blue and purple stretching across a sky filled with specks of light, like flicking a paintbrush, like the chaotic spray of a nearly-spent can.
He misses his paint.
It’s almost laughably simple, really. Going through a boot camp so that he can be prepared to take on the villain renaissance is logical. Becoming a full-fledged UA alum is simply work. The point is supposed to be to have some incredible drive, right?
Uraraka,
he thinks.
She’s interested in heroism to support her family. But isn’t that heroic? And after those lessons with Gunhead… No, Uraraka wants to be a hero.
He tries to picture her as a successful structural engineer, or something, with a hard hat and a clipboard. It’s almost laughable.
No, Izuku is the outlier. Being a hero is an uninteresting means to help people. Being Kyuubi is an expression and a dream. It’s a Slurpee date with Himiko— no, not date. But it’s a Slurpee he never got to drink and Himiko’s tongue stained red and her tongue is pointed, isn’t it? He feels weird thinking about that, so he shakes that thought out of his head.
His face burns as he looks up at the stars. The thoughts come back in like the tide— how Himiko fights, a dance of knives, a giddiness that stood up to Stain. He’d take a knife straight through the nervous system for her, again and again. He thinks about requests for Kyuubi to make Stain, to make something red, or something bloody. Somehow, gently opening his black book to the next blank page, it feels a lot less morbid than it used to.
There’s really not much light for looking at a page. He inches under the only lamp burning outside the Inn, tired eyes better able to see the page. His mechanical pencil scratches against the page. It’s soothing, in a way, like the skritch skritch is fingers along his scalp and relaxing in a gentle grasp, until the drawing takes shape.
Izuku wakes up at the tone of the bell, with his black book fallen shut in his lap.
Notes:
big changes from canon incoming!!! thrilling stuff.
ok so we broke 420 kudos, 120 bookmarks, 10,000 hits, and 250 subscriptions. holy shit. im freaking out a little bit — that’s like, a lot?? one of my like, outside-of-fic friends read it and sent me a wave of compliments and just. i’m so very thankful for all of you.
And I’m glad you’ve come this far with me! If anything I’ve written was going to get traction, I’m glad it’s this, and I’m glad it’s enjoyable for all of you!
Much love, dear readers. <3PS: maybe one day I’ll tag Izuku’s actual deal. (but it’s also really funny to trick people into a queer identity fic.
“lol,” said the scorpion. “Lmao.”)
Chapter 21: Rook
Summary:
Izuku gets through the second day of camp.
Himiko gets through the most boring heist that’s maybe ever been done.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The reddish light blazes in veins under his skin— more like lightning than veins. It feels hot, and tense, as it rushes through him. Then, his muscles start to obey, anticipation building and filling the air. The smell of ozone starts to build, overpowering the grassy smell of the forest, then the saccharine smoke of Bakugou’s training, then becoming enough to make the branches of trees sway in acknowledgement.
“You’re hear to push yourself,” Tiger growls. It’s helpful, since the effort eats away at his ability to think. “Stronger. More. Plus Ultra,” he commands, the mantra washing over him. Red, power, blazes under his skin. He pushes up, feeling the tide of an ocean of power rise, from where he stands at the bottom of it, and the shoreline, and the sky. His body both rebels and obeys perfectly, as he pushes past ten percent.
It’s a slow, focused climb. At fourteen percent, he stops fighting to hiss breath through his teeth, and holds his breath. At sixteen, he can’t feel his fingers. Seventeen, his forearm fades into a burning numbness, like he’s had it buried in snow and warmed it up too quickly. Eighteen, his fingers ache at his clenched fist, nineteen, his elbow twitches and strains, twenty—
A roar scrapes against his throat as it charges from his lungs, not ‘detroit smash,’ not words at all. The air roars and rushes, with a punch so powerful he can feel the pounds of resistance of the air, but he slams through them like tissue paper because this is One for All, he is Nine, the rage and the ocean and the dark bottom and the tidal wave at the shoreline and the whipping wind in the sky.
Tiger weaves away from the blow, but only partly. When Nine hits his bicep, it jiggles unnaturally and his arm stretches and warps back as if it’s going to leave its socket, although it just stretches like rubber. His shoulder twists back, corkscrewing around his spine a number of times. The closest tree behind him is stripped of all its leaves and half its bark, the dirt and grass of the clearing is churned and gouted, and the rush of air is enough to make half the nearby students shout.
Nine’s fingers twitch, as they slowly return to feeling, cooler and warmer and feeling much more his. As the numbness fades, and his body gasps breath back into his lungs, he starts to come back to himself. Izuku looks up at the damage again, and feels the ache in his arm.
“Cat Punch!” Tiger says, and Izuku barely has time for a rudimentary block before all that winding up unwinds and a fist sends him flying into a tree. “That’s good. More, move less statically with it!” Izuku’s mind stumbles over itself as he starts into the weird TV exercises Tiger gave him, but he manages to get it right on the third rep, as the red light weaves through his body all over again.
It goes on and on like that for hours. Even with cooldown periods and a break for lunch, it’s excessive exercise. Izuku had been overworked with All Might’s plan before the entrance exam, and this is much more intense. Maybe that’s just how Quirk training works, Izuku thinks, maybe One for All increases the recovery of torn muscle fibers, or their durability and tearing them is harder? There’s definitely durability, since my skin and muscles don’t deform from my attacks, but most of the stress does go to my bones and joints— that’s the reason they’re damaged, anyway.
“Focus!” Tiger shouts, and Izuku doesn’t have a chance to guard at all before he gets knocked on his ass. Judging by how extra out of breath he is, he must’ve been mumbling. “Don’t think about the exercise, that makes it harder,” Tiger declares, “You’re here to get ground down into paste before you spring back, kid. Go until failure. ”
“Plus Ultra,” Izuku replies. Between the breathlessness and the exhaustion swelling over him, it sounds halfhearted. pushing himself back to his feet as fast as sore legs and a sorer core and one functional half-numb arm allows.
“Hey. Toga.”
After a moment of hesitation— considering whether what Shigaraki says is more important than scrolling through twitter— Himiko narrows her eyes and rolls her head along her hand so her gaze is pointed at him. She takes a sip of her cranberry juice, then finally replies “what?”
Shigaraki sighs, and glares at her, before taking another deep breath to ground himself. It’s almost funny to watch. “Giran said you had some Quirk to disguise yourself.” There’s a pause, like he expects her to just stop talking. “Enlighten me,” he sighs, and scratch that it’s definitely funny.
“If I drink someone’s blood, I can become them. More blood is more time. It’s not usually that much. Ooh! but Giran said something about getting me proper needles and all that kinda stuff, so it should last longer.”
Shigaraki glances towards Kurogiri, and his head cocks to follow the gaze. Kurogiri whispers in his ear, and a half-contempt half-pleased look settles on his face. “How would you like to… procure the last member of the Vanguard Action Squad?”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Why’d you say procure like that?”
“You’re the best bet for breaking someone out of prison. With Kurogiri, it’s basically in and out.” Shigaraki thinks for a moment, then laughs a breathy, weak laugh. “Like a stealth mission on easy mode. Get blood from a guard— hell, stab them in the bathroom if you want— and you’d be done in a couple minutes.”
Himiko hesitates, despite the immediate urge to say yes. Mostly so that she seems less amicable to running errands. Still, it’ll be better than sitting around a laundering bar that’s never open, where she’s bored out of her mind and Kyuubi probably doesn’t have service so she can’t message him. Twitter isn’t even entertaining for an hour, much less days.
“Sure, I guess.” Himiko puts her phone on the table, then looks dead at Shigaraki with wide eyes. “Where’s the breakout? Who’s the person, are they cool? And why bother, if you’re looking for elite criminals and they’ve, y’know, gotten themselves arrested?”
Somehow, Tartarus is boring.
The most secure prison in Japan obeys the strictest codes ever, but despite the shoot-if-you-think-bad-thoughts bullshit going on, the guards are subject to labor laws. Really, if they have brainscan machines but patrol with regular people— who have to have (scheduled, but still) bathroom and meal breaks— it’s dumb. The people who designed this prison are dumb.
Similarly, Tartarus’ Death Row is underwhelming. Himiko plods down the hall in the most formal march she can, passing by mostly regular inmates in boring, orange jumpsuits. They’re disproportionately mutants, like most criminal groups, but it’s still boring. None of them talk, or bang against bars. It’s nothing like any movies. Maybe it’s just this prison that is boring.
One of Tartarus’ protocols is limited information on inmates, even the ones on these upper floors. She doesn’t know this guard’s exact route, but she hasn’t passed any others, so it all seems boring. Boring.
The guy she’s supposed to press the Kurogiri button about isn’t all that special either. Apparently, he’s killed and eaten people, and his teeth are knives, but he’s not cute at all. His main role is going to be ‘good at stabbing,’ and it’s starting to feel like the elite villains of the Vanguard Action Squad are mostly comprised of ‘anyone with more than one count of murder.’
She almost falls out of step thinking about the middle schooler— the middle schooler! Who’s apparently in the League now. His outfit is a little ridiculous, and pairing a gasmask with that Gakuran feels fashy. He probably got pipelined into extremism on 4chan, or something. She keeps her groan of anguish internal, though.
All in all, the LOV is pretty alright. Shigaraki doesn’t seem all that attached to Stain’s ideals, but wanting to destroy and wanting vengeance is something she understands. She cares a little more about Kyuubi, and about blood and love, though, even if she does want to stab her parents. Women can be complex, she smiles to herself. It’s pretty obvious that everyone involved except Spinner is telling lies about what they fight for and why they’re joining up, but that’s fine.
The Tartarus uniform starts to feel heavy after the first few minutes of walking. It’s hard to discreetly check rooms, too, since guards are somehow supposed to keep an eye on inmates while also being forbidden from making eye contact. Which, unethical basically-solitary-confinement aside, is dumb and boring. The hat is somewhat cute, although Himiko has never been one for aesthetics of authority. A jumpsuit would probably be cuter, really. She’d be the type of prisoner to tie the top around her waist, if she ever got one.
She’s coming up on a turn in the hall when the cell she glances into catches her eye. Which is forbidden, but she still cocks her head and squints a little bit to get a good look inside. At the prisoner who stares right back at her. She stares for another moment, and her hand drifts down to her side. To the Kurogiri button.
Her radio crackles.
“Designation 0571, continue patrol.”
She tilts her head to the other side, chewing on her lip in a moment of thought. The prisoner can’t move, for fear of the turrets in the front corners of the room, but their eyebrows furrow and their eyes widen.
“0571, step away from the prisoner.”
Himiko stares for another moment, thinking. Shigaraki
probably
won’t kill her for nabbing a different one, will he?
“Designation 0571, step away from the prisoner. That’s an order.”
She’s pretty much out of chances to do anything else anyway.
She smiles, not fanged but still wide and dangerous, and clicks the Kurogiri button twice. There’s a point of darkness in the cell, and then inky purple mist swallows the inmate. Glowing eyes spot her, and a moment later she’s tumbling through darkness too. As her stomach drops out and her arms wave around on reflex, a giggle bubbles its way out of her mouth, then she’s cackling.
Ow, there’s the end of the fall. At least her landing isn’t that harsh, but it is still hardwood. After she hisses in another breath, though, laughter wracks her body again as the guise melts away. The fanged smile and catlike eyes of Himiko show themselves through the quickly-desaturing goop of Transformation, eyes that barely see the roof they look up at as laughter shakes her body.
She feels something hit her, and looks down at the blanket now resting across her otherwise bare chest. She looks up, and meets Kurogiri’s tired glower, a permanent (and very funny) expression he has dealing with the whole new LOV at once. She laughs harder. It’s fully out of her control now, even as Shigaraki starts to rasp and shout something that doesn’t quite reach her ears. Actually, his whiny voice is pretty funny, too. As she sits up, though, he’s bearing down on her, and she can hear.
“Fucking NPCs, this is
not
who I sent you to get. I told you Moonfish. Death Row inmate, this is— who the
fuck
is this, Toga, you
asshole.
” His hand is dangerously close to her face, but his clawlike grip digs into the nearest and least fortunate stool instead. She can practically see Kurogiri’s look of sullen acceptance, the look he always makes when Shigaraki wrecks something.
“I thought she’d be more fun,” Himiko says, smiling a bit too wide and a bit too innocent. “It’s my feminine wiles, or whatever.” She tugs the blanket around herself as she stands. “Look, she’s a Tartarus Death Row inmate, I did that part. she’s gonna be fun!” Himiko wheels around, and sees the inmate in question glaring around like a cornered animal. And an inmate at Tartarus could definitely back that dangerous, agitated look up with lots of violence and red and blood. “Lots of fun!”
Notes:
Rook — a trusted member of a crew.
shigaraki: who the fuck is that
himiko: :3
shigaraki: i told you to get moonfi-
himiko: :333
shigaraki: how are you doing that out loudApologies for the late chapter! A lot’s happened recently between friends home from college, un-repressed repressed trauma, and getting so crossed I think I might be plural. (exaggerated for comedic effect. I’m doing alright!) Motivation to come back to this hit like a truck after my blood draw this morning, although I can’t say I know why.
Uploads to this fic might be slowing down, but we'll see by next Thursday, I guess. Love you all! Having readers makes me feel warm and fuzzy.
Chapter 22: Rook II
Summary:
The inmate in the bar is clearly confused. Nobody is good at communicating with her.
Izuku goes on a test of courage.
Notes:
i tried to upload by the next thursday i just didnt <3 love yall surely a chapter will be out within 7 days :clueless:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Himiko stands in the middle of the bar with a giddy smile for another few seconds before everything devolves into a cacophony of violence and noise.
The first noise comes from Dabi, who has sprung from depressive slouch to a fierce, wide stance in an instant. His Quirk first lets out a burts of acrid smoke and sparks from under his staples before fire blazes to life in his palms. He steps forward as he calls on it, widening his arms, and is promptly hit in the chest so hard he lands right back in his slouch in his corner booth, gasping for breath.
Elbow out, the woman twists at the second noise, as Muscular’s strength pushes out of his skin entirely with a grotesque mix of stretching, snapping, and squelching. Her arm twists from pointing at Dabi to dead at the man’s chest. The shitty incandescent bulbs flicker and hair billows at the force of the gunshot, which thuds into Muscular’s engorged pectoral. He drops to a knee with the weight of a tank.
Spinner, to his credit, avoids the creaky boards as he runs at her, but the clinking of his big fuck-off “sword” is still loud enough that she’s already using the kickback to twist around and slam her fist into his chest. Spinner hits the far wall, although he manages to keep his weapon in his hands.
There are other sounds flaring to life, too— Compress shouts, Magne’s Quirk warps and sways to life, Twice argues with himself and whips around his razor wire, and Kurogiri looms to full size with a whoosh — the only one who’s eerily silent is Shigaraki, even as he lunges across the space of the bar in an instant.
Himiko barely puts herself between him and the inmate, and is very certain she’s about to die like an idiot before a void of purple mist wavers into existence in front of her, and Shigaraki’s Quirk cracks and creaks along the wall behind her.
“Let’s all calm down,” chides ‘Sensei’ from the TV, like a parent to a toddler. “Our new friend is disoriented, and you’ve all resorted to base violence,” he says, and Shigaraki is cowed immediately, simply scratching at his neck as he wanders back to his stool. The others are less calmed, but as wide eyes watch each other warily, none of them make a move for Quirk use.
Himiko’s heart is still thundering in her chest, but after glancing between every Vanguard member, she meets the woman’s eye. “You’re Nagant! Kyuubi thinks you’re really interesting!”
The woman squints and and raises her eyebrows, as if waiting for Himiko to explain. She’s about to, and then half the people in the bar say “do you know Kyuubi?”
“Yeah,” she starts, “I mean, like, that’s kinda— was that not clear?”
Dabi rubs at his chest, and wheezes, “didn’t you just say you wanted to like, drink her blood? I wasn’t really paying attention to your little audition.”
Himiko rolls her eyes, and turns to the woman. “Yeah, so Kyuubi’s this graffiti artist that does a lot of political pieces about heroes.” Himiko turns back to the rest of the bar. “She’s also a depressed UA student. That’s pretty much why I’m here—”
“You’re pulling my leg,” Twice says, on the verge of laughter, “I should kill you for that!”
“She’s right,” Shigaraki says, and the bar goes dead silent. He turns on his stool and faces the room. “Midoriya Izuku, the kid who broke his bones in the Sports Festival? That’s Kyuubi.” Shigaraki pauses, widening his arms and continuing in a slow lilting voice. “He’s also the one who took down Stain,” he says, and the thin smile on his face is telling of the reaction he’s trying to elicit.
Half the new members of the League are very obviously just murderers who like murdering, but the other half balk or glare as they internalize that. Dabi’s cold blue eyes burn like cruel fire, and Spinner snarls from the corner of his mouth.
Shigaraki turns back to Himiko and raises his eyebrows with an edge of malice. “Anything to add? Anything I missed? Or are you done throwing?”
“If any of you give her shit, I’m killing you,” Himiko bites back.
“Nothing untoward will come upon Midoriya.” The finality of the voice from the TV gives Himiko chills. She stares at it, hearing a deep, wheezed breath. She can’t quite swallow, her throat feels tight. Her heart is beating a lot faster, and she doesn’t know why.
“Sensei’s right. This assault— it’s one part to dissuade heroes, yes, but we’re here for a reason . To lift a smart, capable kid from the propaganda of heroes.”
Nobody in the bar seems to glance at each other. It’s not like any of them trust each other, of course, they were hired because they aren’t amateurs. But they all mull it over, for a moment, heads cocking and eyes narrowing.
Nagant, though she stands a little taller, raising her chin and straightening her spine. She looks formal, like a soldier standing at attention, with a steel gaze. Shigaraki, with his characteristic slouch, manages to be shorter than her, and she looks down at him before nodding stiffly.
“Are you just mute, or something?” Mustard says, peeking his stupid red-eyed gasmask over the back of a booth. “C’mon, you just nodded yes to the League of Villains. Who are you, anyway?”
Nagant narrows her eyes at mustard, a mixed look of confusion and disgust spreading across her dry lips. She meets Himiko’s eye, and she can muster nothing but a “Yeah, I know,” before Nagant’s eyes drift to a well stocked bar.
Kurogiri, who has been cleaning the same glass and watching the bar like a guard dog for the past few minutes, sputters as she looks his way. “Ah, would you like some water? Or, tea, maybe?”
Nagant points at the shochu.
Izuku is so tired he wants to think of anything but whatever activity the Pussycats have lined up. It’s probably some cooldown thing that’s mostly for fun, but whatever it is will probably use his legs that ache and creak, or his arm whose fingers twitch with numbness and overexertion. Even his voice is raspy from the strained breaths and roaring exertion of using One for All.
A test of courage, Mandalay explains, class B starting as the scarers scattered down the path with a head start from the groups of class A students. There’s a small bucket full of slips of paper to pair up groups to head through the forest. The walk is probably just long enough to wear on Izuku’s knees. He’s a little envious of Mina being dragged off to study, even as she screams bloody murder like he’s never heard before.
Iida marches right up and takes his slip, bumping into Izuku’s shoulder as he walks back into the group of 1-A students. Izuku can practically feel his heart in his throat at the thought of drawing the same number as Iida and ending up in the middle of a dense forest during an event meant to make people scream.
He casts many glances over his shoulder to Iida as the students in the loose line in front of him grab numbers. His hair is the same dark blue as the night sky, and his glasses reflect the orange lights of lanterns with a harsh flare.
Izuku’s number is one. He turns back, and—
Iida smiles at Ojiro, turning his slip to show six.
Izuku’s bones will ache, but he’s not walking with Iida, and at least he gets to get it over with early. He’s barely raised his slip when Uraraka pops up alongside him, although she seems to be less distracted. She’s clearly worried about whatever stuff 1-B is doing in the forest.
It is pretty scary. A girl he doesn’t remember seeing before rises right out of the dirt and looms a few inches off the ground, and it’s enough to make him hitch breath but Uraraka stumbling back means he’s knocked back. The foot he puts down sends a jolt of pain through his ankle and up his leg, but it’s not quite enough to make him limp. Uraraka clings a little closer, and he smiles softly and tries to make his breathing more distinct so she matches it.
The pace they set is just slow enough to feel the slightest bit relaxing, but it also means staying out in the woods for longer. Izuku tries not to let agitation burn away the blank expression he wears. Uraraka is talking, and he does want to hear her, but he’s barely a participant in the conversation, “mhm”s and “uh huh”s escaping his lips without much of a glance at her.
Maybe it’s because she’s scared, or maybe it’s because he’s used to spray paint, but he notices the fumes in the air before Uraraka does. It’s subtle, enough to shift the breath and make the air a little hazy, but in the dark it’s barely noticeable. Izuku figures that might be another 1-B student. One of the boys could manipulate air, right? What was it… Not basic aerokinesis, something else.
Izuku keeps racking his brain, but they don’t run into any obstacles or wind traps or 1-B students. It throws Izuku off that Uraraka is the one who points out the dark smoke choking out the stars and spreading through the forest to their right. Their eyes meet, and their pace sharply increases. An awful feeling roils in Izuku’s gut, like something bad is about to happen. Like a hand reaching for his face, like four fingers coiled around his neck like a python.
There’s a rustle in the trees behind him, and he barely dives away from a sudden rush of motion, tumbling across the grass off the path gracelessly. He turns up, managing to see Uraraka land far more gracefully, but beads of blood push out of a shallow cut on her bicep and down her arm.
“Who the hell,” Uraraka huffs, “would just show up swinging a knife like that?” She raises a hand as if to press the wound, but her hands stay open and ready as she looks back up near the path.
“Aw, but… Uraraka, right?”
Why is she here.
“Yeah, I did remember your name!” Himiko says, stepping off the path and into the clearing while gesturing with a large, worn knife. One of Stain’s, she took his torso sheaths too, “well, I can’t just stab Kyu. It has to be special. But you’re both cute!”
Izuku struggles to his feet, but Himiko pounces before he’s even halfway up. She’s fast, and Izuku’s heart thumps in his chest because this is a girl who went head to head with Stain, and neither he nor Uraraka could do that. But Uraraka twists her arm, the massive knife millimeters from her collarbone but never breaking skin as Uraraka forces her arm forward and twists her into an immediate pin.
Izuku pushes himself to his feet, stumbling the few steps between him and Uraraka. His mouth is dry, and it opens and shuts a few times trying to find words before Himiko’s laugh makes his jaw snap shut.
“I can smell it on you, y’know,” she says, one cheek flat against the dirt but her eyes still hazy and blush crawling across her face regardless. “You’re like me. You’re in love.”
Uraraka jolts, and Himiko’s strange sing-songy voice off-putting enough to put her on edge even with the girl pinned under her.
“I can tell, because I’m a girl too,” Himiko says, with a mock whisper, like she’s sharing a secret. “What’s your type, huh? I like when they’re bloody… I used to do it all myself, but it’s much more fun to see them stand anyway. Like you! I cut you and you pinned me, ah! So cute. But you’re not why we’re here, ‘Raka.” Himiko’s playful tone suddenly dies as she punctuates her last sentence with a syringe stuck into Uraraka’s thigh without warning. Uraraka leaps off her, tugging it out, but the blood is already moving through the clear tubes of Himiko’s costume.
Izuku’s mouth is dry, and his throat is half shut, and his eyes are watery with confusion. “H-Himiko!?” Is all he can shout, and as she pushes herself into a low, dangerous crouch, her gaze moves to him.
“ This is Himiko!?” Uraraka shouts, one eyebrow raised and eyes popping out in disbelief.
Himiko opens her mouth, and an impact shakes the forest so hard her lilting voice dies in the horrid rumble and the creaking, shattering trees.
Notes:
my mental state continues to be questionable, but the izutoga? certain.
Yeah, Izuku isn’t fighting Muscular! (I wonder what that crash was)
Yeah, Nagant is here!
Yeah, she came from a prison that doesn’t let its prisoners talk, so she doesn’t get lines yet!according to the laws of MHA powerscaling, nagant flattens pre-mla league. we’ll never see how that bar fight would’ve played out but I’d probably make her win because she deserves it
Izu: *distressed anime grunt* himiko!?
Uraraka: *confused anime grunt* himiko?!How are we at 500 kudos. When did that happen. We were at the funny weed number at chapter 20. and now I’m at like a Milestone Number. That’s really awesome. Thank you, all of you, for the attention you’re giving this fic.
Chapter 23: Paint-Eater
Summary:
Izuku and Himiko argue as the camp descends into chaos.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku stumbles back, his foot jutting out to catch him as forest debris scatters through the air another minute or so down the path.
“Villains are attacking!” Mandalay’s voice echoes in his head. His eyes snap back to Himiko as she moves, knife held loose like an open maw. His weight is still off, but he’s already starting to move. “There are two here, but there could be more.” There’s another crash, and a pair of dissonant roars, but this one isn’t making Izuku lose footing. Ozone, pressure, the foliage billowing as he leans forward.
Himiko pounces toward Uraraka with uncanny speed. Physicality like a Quirk, like Stain or Shigaraki. This time, Uraraka doesn’t have the anticipation or the strength in her footing to wrestle with Himiko, and despite his speed Izuku doesn’t leap through the air in time to stop her from coiling around Uraraka like a python, fangs close to her neck.
Izuku, though, just shifts the angle of his feet, and pushes off. Himiko’s knives dart away from Uraraka as surprise sparks across the slits of her catlike pupils. Uraraka starts to dive away, giving Izuku just enough space to tackled Himiko back and into a tree on the far side of the clearing with a rough
thump
against the thick old tree.
One for All
burns out of him with a descending whir like an engine cut short. “H-Himiko,” he starts, huffing for breath, “what— what’s going on?”
She shoves him off, and he offers little resistance. “We’re cutting the good meat out of the bad stuff,” she shrugs, gesturing at his silhouette with her knife. “I mean, that was the joke of your hero name, right?”
“Your hero name was a joke?” Uraraka says. She bobbles her head, considering it, then “well, that explains why it wasn’t very good.” Izuku twists around to give her an affronted look, and Himiko takes the opportunity to unceremoniously swipe his legs.
“You gotta stop letting me do that.” She falls to one knee on top of him. “If I actually wanted to stab you, it’d be really easy,” she says matter-of-factly. One of her hands moves to his chin while her knife traces an arc along his neck. She leans in closer, he can nearly feel her breath, her gold eyes and soft blush and sharp fangs consume his vision like a lion starved for weeks. Another crash, more intense this time, rumbles the earth, like it’s shredding right to the core.
He barely hears it, with the way she looks down at him. Her face is a better view than the night sky it absorbs, her pupils a more vivid black set in the gemlike yellow of her eyes. Izuku’s fingers twitch— for once, for his black book rather than his analysis.
Jarringly, it all shifts an instant later. Himiko is yanked away, suddenly writhing within Uraraka’s grapple. As Izuku pushes himself to his feet, there’s another crash, closer, louder, like the world is ending. He falls to his hands and knees, keeping his eyes up as a twisting mass darker than the sky blots out the stars, and a mass of sinew and muscle bounds through the air and right into it. It’s like watching titans clash, this villain and what must be Dark Shadow.
“Show me your blood! ” Roars the villain, and then there’s another crash and one half of the clearing is turned into woodchips and tattered leaves. It’s worse than any tornado or earthquake; it’s practically a nuke. Behind them, a massive stretch of the forest is leveled in the same way.
“TRY AND MAKE ME,” Dark Shadow roars back. Its twisting form coils and rises, looming like a massive cobra. Its voice shakes Izuku’s bones, but it moves with eerie silence.
In contrast, the villain is grotesque and loud as he moves— there’s a sound like stretching leather, and then his calves swell with tissue, bulbous and red. He crouches, and then moves fast. His leap is closer to All Might’s city-crossing bounds than anything Izuku or his classmates can do. He collides with Dark Shadow in a deafening blow, and they wrestle back in the direction they came.
Izuku’s heart slams in his chest like the rumbling of an engine, and he pushes himself to his feet as his attention suddenly returns to Himiko and Uraraka— Uraka is strong, and her arms prove it, but Himiko’s lithe sweater-covered form is like something entirely different. Izuku pushes himself into a run before he’s really even off the ground, but Himiko keeps him at bay with an action as simple as holding a knife out.
“Why can’t you just—” Izuku hates the choked noise in his throat, hates the angry tears that burn at his eyes. He can feel how red his face is, freckles dotting red like a stupid strawberry. “Why can’t you just leave her alone? I don’t understand you, Himiko!” Himiko looks back at him, and the look in her eyes is like she’s snapped out of a trance.
Uraraka takes advantage of the moment to throw her across the clearing with the power of Zero Gravity, releasing her near the height of the trees. Izuku watches, and watches, wide eyes with burning tears. And suddenly— and suddenly he’s using his quirk, lunging into the air, suddenly he’s catching her. His body moves on its own, again, for Himiko.
He twists around her in the air, so his Quirk-enhanced back is the one that slams into the tree. It still knocks the air out of him, but he keeps a gentle, secure grip on her as he slides down and unceremoniously lands on his ass. He hisses a breath into his lungs, then wheezes out “are you alright?”
“Obviously,” Himiko giggles— giggles, that beautiful sound, that music, he never forgets, but it’s always better— and as she leans back he realizes the position they’re in and blushes against his will. “As always, you’re obvious,” she says, looking at him, and he feels his ears burning. Her hand cards along his face again, and her lips twitch into a gentle smile. “I’m glad I came, Kyu.”
The whole sentence makes Izuku blush harder, but the name makes his chest tight and his stomach flutter— all over again, he can barely breathe.
Kyu.
She gets closer, with half-shut eyes, and it takes Kyu and embarrassingly long time to realize he should kiss her.
Himiko has that uncanny strength, that wildness to her, even as their lips meet— He can taste the metallic, raw taste of blood on her lips, can feel her large fangs through her lips. It’s strange, but it’s beautiful, like the rest of her, like she’s intoxicating. When she pulls away, he thinks the moment lasted forever, but he can also barely remember it, a trace of every part of it intact despite the sluggishness of his thoughts.
Her face is painted with a blush, and her eyes have dilated to be almost round in an instant. Kyu stares, and “beautiful” spills from his mouth as easily as a breath.
“Please use tree cover,” urges Mandalay’s telepathic voice, wrought with horror. “We have reason to believe there’s a— a sniper on the western mountain.”
Izuku looks up at Himiko, the words in his head like a sudden ice bath. She hasn’t heard them, of course, her face just twists in confusion, but Izuku’s already gently shoving her off of him.
It’s a villain attack, Izuku reminds himself, my classmates are in danger. Smoke chokes the sky, and there are shouting voices somewhere far away. Another earth-shaking crash, and Izuku looks out towards— Towards an entirely leveled section of forest, and the mountain that rises in its middle. A perfect sniper position, Izuku realizes. Uraraka is pale and barely starting to move in the middle of the clearing. I won’t get to her in time, his mind says, but he tries anyway, One for All humming to life.
He spares a glance to Himiko, hesitating for a moment he can’t possibly help. There’s a sudden fear across her face, but her eyes are still wide and round and fixated on him. He bounds, and he preemptively winces at the sound of a gunshot that never comes.
All he hears is a chugging, a blazing, a whir. Izuku is tiny fractions of a second from Uraraka when Iida’s body slams into him. Iida’s force carries him for a moment before they both tumble through the dirt. Iida’s engines flare to twist his body around and stand quickly, while Izuku is still struggling to get up.
“You don’t know her.” Iida spits, “You ‘don’t know her.’ ” His engines hum. “You’re a disgrace to UA and a disgrace to heroism.”
Izuku’s voice comes out in a low, intense growl. “You’re not a hero.”
Iida is taken aback, but only for a moment. His engines blaze to life again, but Izuku is already bounding low to the ground before he’s fully on his feet. Iida starts moving while Izuku is flying through the air, but One for All outspeeds Engine. Izuku swings his fist, and with his momentum it knocks Iida past the edge of the clearing, engines sputtering as they fly up in the air. Izuku lands, but carries the speed messily, stumbling into a sprint that bounds over the tree roots and gets to Iida again.
“You’re a pathetic— a child ,” Iida urges, “taking the immediate satisfaction. Taking whatever you want. You’ve made a place for yourself in UA, and still you’re a hedonistic fucking child!” Izuku is already on top of him, but Iida’s quirk sends his leg into his side. He calls on One for All in time, catching the blow at his side, but Engine goes much longer than the bursts of One for All. It pushes him, his grapple suddenly his problem, until his back his a tree and Iida’s leg slams across his stomach so hard he coughs up dinner.
Izuku gathers himself, ozone blazing and the pressure all around making the leg digging into his gut less pressing. He swings a Quirk-enhanced fist that glows and hums, but Iida’s second leg roars as it cracks across his jaw. His fist pounds uselessly against Iida’s shoulder in the moment before he flies from the tree, head fuzzy from the impact.
“Kyu!” Iz- Kyu’s gaze snaps to Himiko as she runs forward over tree roots, wide-eyed with worry. He knows Iida’s eyes move to her too.
“Oh, no, ” Kyu seethes, “you keep your eyes on me. ” He bounds forward again, and he knows Iida will be ready. But in a forest, he has the advantage. He slams into a tree, and it creaks despite its thickness. Still, crouched almost like Tsu, he kicks off the tree with a second bound of One for All. He lands in front of Iida and brings his fist forward as it hums and glows. Iida isn’t ready for the One for All empowered punch that launches his body backwards. He bounces off a tree as he tumbles into the darkness.
Kyu looks back at Himiko. She’s stopped a ways away, but relief is starting to spread across her face.
A crash shakes the ground, and then the villain from earlier is crushed through the trees, roaring all the way. He makes a strained sound as his body swells up, muscle stretching sounds practically as loud as his booming voice.
“I’m gonna rip you apart!”
He cries, but his pectorals snap and strain. A look of surprise spreads across his face as the strength in his arms becomes strained and slow.
“That bitch—”
Dark Shadow crashes into him with a roar, and this time he can barely oppose it.
Through the twisting, tumbling shadow, Kyu can hear the hum of an engine. As the trees around him groan and crack and fall, he sees Iida’s glare, fury lacing everything from his clenched fists to his rising and falling shoulders.
“Get back,” Kyu says to Himiko without looking her way. Dark Shadow swims along the ground in a tide that flattens and unmakes, but Kyu is bounding forward before it’s even fully gone from the now-obliterated section of forest.
“Recipro Burst!”
Kyu clashes with Iida in the dead center of the clearing, straining against him with gritted teeth after the initial impact dies down— but against Recipro, he loses. A kick snaps into his side, and another across his good arm, and another into his shin. Kyu manages to brace for two of them, but the kick to his leg knocks him over easily. Another foot slams into his ribs, sending him through two fallen trees before he slams into a third and finally stops.
Ten seconds, Kyu tells himself. Last ten seconds. Recipro Burst is a finishing move. Don’t get finished. As he gasps in a breath, wincing at a probably-broken rib, he grips the tree behind him. No hesitation, he thinks finally.
“I’m going to stop you. Now. As a hero. As Ingenium.” Kyu can see the white glow of his engines as he flies forward.
“You’re going to fail, Ingenium, ” Kyu spits, One for All singing in his arm and ozone makes the foliage scatter and the splinters of wood dance like snowflakes. He tugs forward, leaning on his injured arm in a sort of lunge, and his grip splits bark and wood before he throws the tree like a javelin. His arm breaks, he can practically feel the hairline fractures and larger breaks swimming up from his hand to his radius and ulna. He can hear Iida roar at the impact, get buried in wood and branches. He has mobility and power, but not when he’s already trapped.
He feels something nick the back of his neck before he hears the gunshot. Blood rushes out of the shallow wound, how and tacky, and he glances towards where the bullet splinters the bark of a tree. He feels his heartbeat throbbing in his new cut and his broken arm, suddenly aware of its speed, adrenaline turning sour with the sensation of fear. He turns to the forest Dark Shadow and that villain made into an open field and the mountain that rises out of it. He sees Himiko at the edge of the clearing and makes to bound to her, despite the pain in his arm.
There’s a buzz and a crackle from the bullet. Then, a tinny, raspy voice. “Do you know who I am, Midoriya Izuku?” It says, barely above a whisper, choked like the effort is making its throat close. He can see the speaker in the back of the bullet, now that he looks. He can see the blue-purple material, as vibrant as any paint. “I know a lot about you.”
What is the story of Lady Nagant?
Kyu lets his body slump as he raises his uninjured but unmoving hand in surrender. Around him, there’s suddenly movement, a scarred man and another in a bodysuit from the trees, out of breath. Then, a fifteen-foot tall mass of purple mist with chilling yellow eyes. Kurogiri, he remembers. A man in a yellow trenchcoat bounds from the branches. Himiko skips up beside him. He can hear Iida’s muffled voice, but not what it’s saying, and his engines are silent except for sputtering. The last person he sees is Uraraka, at the treeline. Her eyes are wide with fear and confusion, but she meets his eye.
Izuku Midoriya’s life doesn’t quite flash before his eyes, because he fears Kyuubi’s death far more.
He looks away, and doesn’t give another glance back as he steps into the mist.
Notes:
Paint-Eater: A surface that soaks up paint/takes a lot to look painted, like raw wood or concrete.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA !!
I’m having so much fun with this arc, I hope you all are too!Muscular: RAAAAAGHHH
Tokoyami: RAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHH
Izuku, 20 feet away (for now): wow… ahaha you’re really beautiful…Uraraka “right in front of my salad?” Ochako. She’s such an intense fighter, I’m channeling every wrestler I’ve ever met (grapplers have no mercy and such quick reaction times… kinda scary)
Still fucks me up that this fic has, like, a regular audience. I hope you all enjoy possibly the gayest shit (/pos) I’ve ever written.
Chapter 24: Hat I
Summary:
Day 1 of Midoriya Izuku’s kidnapping by the terrorist/villain organization known as the League of Villains.
Ft. Villain healthcare
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu’s legs are too numb and aching to notice the shift of the floor, but as the rest of his body moves through the portal he feels the cool but musty air of somewhere inside. The lights are yellow-orange and dim, illuminating lots of well-kept wood. After a moment Kyu recognizes a bar.
Beaten and bruised but mostly uninjured, two villains glance up from a booth. One is a lizard-like man in Stain cosplay, the other a tall butch woman. They stand up, looking threatening, but as more villains parade in behind him, they relax. The woman still approaches him, though. “Shit, you really do break that,” she says, fingers ghosting his tender, already-swelling arm. Gently, she guides him to a booth. “Someone get ice. And something to splint with.”
The scarred man passes by, glancing down at Kyu before his eyes move on. The man in the bodysuit behind him waves at Kyu. “I’m Twice, it’s nice to meet you! You look like shit!” His voice growls in an odd way the second time he talks, and his head twitches. “I’ll get something, Magne! Fuck off, get it yourself,” he says, starting to look around and behind the bar.
Himiko skips through the mist happily, and the trenchcoat villain follows behind her. He tips his hat. “Good evening.” He walks by, too, sitting in a booth next to the scarred man. Himiko plops down across from him, and her golden eyes are grounding enough to stave off panic. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the dark mist swirl and collapse inward, disappearing from the bar.
“I’ve got the first aid kit!” Twice calls, “Where do they keep the goddamn ice?”
Even louder than his shout is the door swinging open and slamming the wall. “Congratulations, Vanguard Action Squad,” Shigaraki rasps, stalking forward with a gait always moments from lunging. Kyu remembers a hand near his face, a hand near his neck, fear swallowing him. He doesn’t even notice his breath speeding up until Himiko leans over the table to cup his cheek. “And congratulations, Midoriya! Look at you,” he rasps, jostling Kyu’s shoulder gently, but just enough to send a jolt of pain through him. “A lot better now, aren’t we?”
Kyu glares up at Shigaraki, but his mouth is dry. He opens it, searching for something to say, but is distracted by the swirling dark mist reappearing. As it fully expands into a yawning portal, Lady Nagant steps through. Her eyes glance around the bar quickly, lasering in on Shigaraki and Kyu.
“Stop that, Shigaraki,” Magne says, adjusting the piece of wood that is apparently Kyu’s splint with a bandage in the other hand. Kyu winces as she starts to wrap it, but lets her work, eyes snapping back and forth from Magne’s hands curling around his arm to Himiko sitting across from him.
Surprisingly, the first place Lady Nagant goes is towards him. Wordlessly, she adjusts the wood and nudges Magne’s hands. Heroes do have to memorize first aid procedure, he thinks. He looks up at her, and it’s like he’s looking at a statue, the way her chiseled face is set looking down at his injury.
“Shigaraki, this is serious. I can stabilize the arm but it’s really fucked, the kid needs a doctor. Maybe a surgeon.” She wraps it thoroughly but with a stiffness and haste that sends a few twinges of pain through his arm. “God, kid, you do this often?”
“He’s not dead,” Shigaraki dismisses, “fat chance we could even find a doctor who could align his bones to heal.”
Himiko stands on the cushion of the booth, raising one foot onto the table, but her mouth only starts to open when another voice fills the bar. “You’re getting him a doctor.” Nagant is facing Shigaraki, face not far from his, at an even height with him but seeming much more imposing. Her voice is husky, and scratchy, and laced with anger. Kyu can hear how underused and raspy her vocal cords are. “Call up your broker, or your supplier, or your boss.” Those words are demanding enough that her orders wane into coughing that sounds just as scratchy and intense.
Shigaraki glares at her, and Lady Nagant glares at him. He turns on his foot, waves at Kurogiri, and disappears through the door he entered by. After another moment, Himiko walks over the table and drops into the side of the booth right next to Kyu. Magne works the splint up over his elbow, and Nagant’s eyes are still looking down at him. Her gaze is piercing, even if she doesn’t seem to dislike him.
“She’s a little creepy, but she’s nice,” Himiko half-whispers right at him. He can’t help but notice how her breath feels on his ear. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you talk, though,” she says, leaning less towards him, those light-drinking cat eyes staring up at Nagant now. “You have a nice voice… like Miley Cyrus. I like it.”
Kyu, full of adrenaline and a little delirious from pain, winces as he turns his head towards her. “Gay,” he says, as automatically as he would over text. It’s much more embarrassing than when he says it over text.
“I kissed you, didn’t I?” She says easily. He blushes even harder. She leans her head towards the table, looking right at Magne. “I told you.” Magne just laughs.
“Wait, told her what?” Kyu starts, squinting at Himiko. “W-wait, what does doing that have to do with—”
The door slams back open, and Shigaraki stalks through. “Fuck you,” he says as greeting, then “called him. Blindfold the hero brat. Kurogiri.” He tosses a phone to the mist behind the bar with only his name as warning, but the man manages to catch it perfectly.
“Didn’t know you were into that,” the scarred man says as Shigaraki passes him. He doesn’t flinch when a hand decays the edge of the booth next to his head.
“Eat your heart out, ‘Dabi,’ ” Shigaraki drawls. “And someone’s making up part of the fee here, it’s probably expensive.” His glare drifts over the bar, and he quickly deflates as he realizes that nobody in it could possibly cover, except for him. The image of the leader of the League slouching and rolling his eyes is very funny, and it persists even as he lets Himiko blindfold him.
“I’ll tell you all the estimated wait after Midoriya reaches the destination,” comes Kurogiri’s voice. He’s close enough that Kyu would expect to feel a rumble from it, but there’s a strange quality to his voice, like it lacks depth or lower register. Must come with being made of mist, he decides, standing up next to Kurogiri.
“Have fun!” Comes Himiko’s sing-song voice, than a rush of air, then the smell of smoke.
“So this is the kid, huh?” A new voice. He sounds older, and has a relaxedness in his voice. “Wait a minute, isn’t he— Oh, if I get further information about this situation I’m waiving the finder’s fee. Let’s see, it’s… Yep, yep, in Musutafu.” There’s a shuffling-sliding sound, probably the man turning a screen towards Kurogiri.
“Thank you for your business,” Kurogiri says, and before he can wave Kyu is gone again. His feet are on the ground soon after, but there’s a rush of air and swirling mist behind him. In just a minute, he’s gone from being surrounded by very strange people to alone.
His body wants to deflate, but there’s enough adrenaline and curiosity from being in a new place to keep him going. Neither of his hands would probably be able to feel the ground, so he settles for what information he can gain through his shoes— It’s rough, hard, and a little cold, so he figures concrete. Then, his other senses, the whole place. The air isn’t humid, but it’s just as warm as it was outside, maybe a closed off building full of dry heat? There’s clattering from the distance, and it echoes a little as it fills the space . Big, open concrete. A warehouse?
“That’s correct,” a voice hums centimeters from his ear. He jumps, but steady, gloved hands grab him by his not-broken arm. “You are blindfolded, that’s good, you’re just smart. Congratulations.” The person starts dragging him rather suddenly, and he stumbles after them. They walk fast, in a way that is uncomfortable when blindfolded but that he has no choice but to follow. “Any qualms with general anasthesia?”
“No, I uh, don’t think— woah!” He says, suddenly pushed onto something hard and cold. “Is this an operating table?”
“It’s about to be,” the voice says, and there’s a whirring of mechanical sounds above them. Their body is puppeted by gloved hands— Limbs are extended and fastened down, the splint is removed in an instant. Then, a heavy lead blanket is draped over his head and body. The hum of an X-Ray machine (in a warehouse?) and then a needle carefully and painfully inserted into their other elbow. “Count down from one hundred, the voice says as it moves, now in front of him. He gets to ninety-two.
Do I know that voice?
Himiko hears Kurogiri say “three to six hours” and immediately becomes bored. After an hour of lightly pestering Lady Nagant about anything that comes to mind, an hour of bedazzling Magne’s magnet, and two hours of dissociating while playing Mario Party (Rosalina loses horribly with one star both times), there’s a rush of mist and a distinctly-Kyuubi groan from the bar room.
Himiko gasps dramatically, popping up from where she’s sprawled across the couch’s arm. By Kurogiri’s third step, she’s already there, happily taking Kyuubi from his arms. She’s pale and clearly tired, with a pale cast on her arm. Her eyes drift around slowly. Compared to her usual paranoia, it’s odd. “Woah, you’re heavy. What do hero students eat. ” Kyuubi giggles. “You’re full of painkillers, aren’t you,” Himiko muses. “Alright, move, she’s going on the couch.” Spinner and Shigaraki squawk indignantly, but they scramble away.
Kyuubi laughs, bubbly and joyous in a different way than her usual smile. It’s lazy with the painkillers, it’s free.
“What’s so funny,” Shigaraki rasps, glaring from the ground. When he gets no answer, his glare moves to Himiko. “I’d dust him if I didn’t just invest in fucking surgery.”
“Oh n-noooo,” Kyuubi says, still laughing a little, “my trauma tries to kill the same kid a fourth— fifth time? How many times…” She looks down at her hands and laughs again. “Ahh, I can’t count on my fingers! This is also the fault of Shigara Tomuraki. We’re nemses . N-neminis. Nemissus .”
“Tomuraki has a nice ring to it.” In an instant, Tomuraki’s condensed, eye-twitching rage moves to Dabi’s shit-eating grin. He looks past the rasping, finger flexing Tomuraki to make eye contact with Himiko. “I’m starting to believe this kid might actually be Kyuubi. Or the drugs are making him funny.”
“Fire Quirk,” Kyuubi says. “You’re the one who started the fire! And you also burn yourself.” Dabi shrugs. “Most pyrokinetics have resistance.” She reaches towards him, but he bats away her hand, his expression unchanging. “These burns would kill you but they don’t. Because they’re surface level. Burns this bad that don’t go deep aren’t a normal person’s fire resistance.” Kyuubi nods to herself sluggishly, then freezes and looks at him with wide eyes. “ I know what you are, ” she says, and Dabi actually looks concerned for once. He’s quickly distracted by Tomuraki shoving him with a four-fingered grip on his shoulder.
“And, ‘m always funny, my hero name was— Oh my god, my hero name was wordplay .” She clearly tries to move her arms to cover her face, but her right doesn’t move and her left flops limply against her chin. “Ah.” When her eyes meet Himiko’s, she blinks slowly, then says, “it was, well. A lot of hero names are in English, or they're simple verbs or nouns or whatever. And so Eraserhead goes ‘hurr hurr name shows the true self’ and so I said ‘muscle’ which is like, uh, bad food. I said no limits hero muscle actually because I break my bones all the time it’s pretty much my defininining character trait— Ah!” Kyuubi yelps as she notices Nagant standing over the back of the couch.
“You just do stealth all the time, huh?” Himiko says, “I do that, like, deliberately.” Nagant doesn’t respond except for a simple shrug, but her experience is obvious. Tomuraki and Dabi are still loudly catfighting.
“You’re so quiet…” Kyuubi says, “You’re like a ghost. And you’ve been living in a prison and you’re, like— how do you look that young? You are a ghost. Are you dead?”
“Dead inside,” Nagant says.
“Right, an actual ghost would be a complete wonder in the field of Quirk science. Definitely a real and actual thing.” She leans up towards Himiko and urgently, loudly whispers, “it’s not a real field, Himiko… It’s a bunch of loosely posed theories… The guy who made the Quirk Doomsday Theory is like, a weird philanthrope with no discernible history.” At this, Shigaraki stops fighting Dabi. “And now there’s the Nomu! That have multiple Quirks! The scientific community is losing it! Maybe my next piece’ll be about, like, the metaphysical bullshit of Quirks. Send help. ”
Himiko’s about to soothe her very on-painkillers worries when Spinner steps forward. “You usually do social commentary, though, you should do one about us. ”
Kyuubi looks dead at him for a long time, then opens her mouth for another long time, before speaking. “Th’ chainsaw one. At that café. With the destro eyes and the spitty barista.”
Himiko looks back towards Spinner, and the man has gone completely still. “You— you were there? Why didn’t you do anything?”
“I don’t, uh, deescalate with terrori— with Quirkists,” Kyuubi says, “hero training isn’t gonna prepare you for Quirkism, but being Quirkless for fourteen years will!” She punctuates this by pumping her limp arm up in the air, and blinks slowly. Everyone in the bar looks to Kyuubi to explain that, and when she doesn’t continue they all look at Himiko.
“Well I don’t know!” Himiko barks, shrugging as aggressively as she can. “Apparently she has a lot going on!”
“Oh, of course she’s an egg,” Magne says, taking a sip of her soju. “She’s full of trauma.”
“The fuck’s an egg,” Tomuraki and Dabi both drawl.
“‘M a what?” Kyuubi says.
Notes:
Hat - Honor among thieves. Quick and easy code for a trusted artist, especially one who knows about others but keeps what they know private.
God i think i’m so funny for kyu on painkillers (and before that, too, honestly). The league in the first run of this fic was very funny and they will probably be very funny again, I just can’t help it.
heh heh. shigara tomuraki.No promise on an update next week. I've been having a tough few days, but this was written beforehand, so I'm glad I can share it with you all. <3
Chapter 25: Hat II
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
His eyes feel like they’ve fluttered open before he’s awake, blearily soaking in warm, orange light. It’s artificial— when did he sleep? When did I wake up? Where am I?
He blinks slowly, but his vision doesn’t right itself immediately. He squeezes his eyes shut. When he struggles to remember, there’s a lot of chaos, and yelling. There’s burning in his throat and his eyes. There was Himiko, and there was— there was Iida.
He opens his eyes, and he can see a bit more clearly. The warm orange light pours through a half-open door, but he’s laying on a very soft couch, one where the cushions and frame are so worn that it’s like a bean bag draped over a table. His back is a little sore, but everything is sore, and every limb is buzzing with aches. He can’t even guess how long he slept, but he knows it was probably a long time. And probably because he shattered his bones again.
The memory of throwing a tree at Iida rises to the front of his mind, and a laugh rushes out of his lungs, sudden and loud. Next to him, there’s a gentle murmur. He’s ready to turn and see a cat, and instead he sees Himiko, curled in the middle of two old smoking chairs pressed together, like a crib. Her nose wiggles gently, but her eyes are shut, and breaths make her sweater rise and fall. Her golden hair is still wrapped in buns, but they’re even more messy and loose than usual— a mess of hair glows around her as it catches the light, like a halo.
Kyu’s mouth is suddenly dry, even more than it already was. He’s awake in an instant, fighting the soreness to sit up a little and look at her. She looks less sweet when she sleeps, the constant energy in her eyes and smile now strangely docile. Her eyelashes look a little longer with her eyes closed. He feels his mouth whisper “angel,” so quietly he wouldn’t notice, but his dry lips and drier mouth crack and ache at the words.
Quietly as he can manage, he stands— The furniture barely creaks as he shifts around on it and then stands. The floorboards groan, but he tries to keep his steps as close to the furniture as he can. His clothes are stuck to him, and he can feel clammy sweat. Really, his whole body is a mess, wracked by the drugs and the healing process. His footsteps are uncoordinated, but he manages to not stomp too heavily on his way to the open door. He spares one glance back, tired eyes spilling over old furniture and a whiteboard and everything else that isn’t Himiko. She holds his gaze. Then he turns, blinking at the orange light as it swallows him.
Kyu recognizes the bar, although it feels much smaller now. Only three people are around, though: Kurogiri, Shigaraki, and Nagant. Kurogiri’s eyes crinkle and Nagant glances toward him for a moment, but it feels like real acknowledgement. Shigaraki is the only one who talks, grumbling “morning” around his rice.
Kyu stares at the pot on the bar, then back at Shigaraki.
“What?” He holds his glare for another moment before he scoffs. “I’m not rich. Not for breakfast, definitely, and not for you all, absolutely. ” As he speaks, he grabs a bottle of soy sauce, and starts pouring it over his rice. He’s still going when he stops speaking, the rice already dark.
Kyu looks into the pot, and sees a significant amount of rice. “Don’t freak out when I eat, like, half of this.” When Shigaraki balks, he continues, “I’m a growing hero student! I usually eat three eggs and two sausages in the morning.” He looks towards Kurogiri. “Could I get, like, a really big glass of water? Oh, and maybe orange juice.” Then, he looks back towards the rice, and realizes neither of his hands work. “Aw, c’mon,” he sighs.
“Stop breaking them and you’d have hands to use,” Shigaraki points out around a mouthful of soy sauce. When Kyu opens his mouth, Shigaraki speaks before him, pointing with his chopsticks, “uh-uh, not my fault. Your little hero class president kicked the shit out of you. For the second time?”
“Sure he’s thought about it more,” Kyu says. When Kurogiri sets glasses in front of him, he stares for a moment before leaning his head down to meet the one full of water.
“It’ll be worse when you go back,” Nagant says stiffly.
“ If he goes back,” Shigaraki says. Nagant laughs a little, but doesn’t say anything else.
Kyu stares longingly at the rice for a bit, but his stomach is still deciding whether he’s nauseous or starved. Still, he struggles to pass the time— he considers sketching (obvious no), then checking his phone (nope, also traceable. They probably dealt with that), then eventually decides as long as they’re near breakfast they’ll have company. Until Himiko starts to wake up, they figure it’d be better to sit with Nagant than Shigaraki.
“I did a piece of you,” Kyu says as a greeting. It’s awkward, but god, she’s taller than me. Probably more muscular before prison, too. Then, no. Am I no better than Himiko? She’s still looking at him, one eyebrow raised. Her expression is harsh, bringing forth both the urge to justify himself and shut up entirely. “‘What is the story of Lady Nagant’ was my first popular one, really,” he explains. “Others got publicity, but apparently that phrase, uh, spawned more artists. I saw a throwup in Hiroshima.” He smiles a little remembering it. Isn’t that better than a hero name on people’s lips?
“Kaina.” She clears her throat. “My name is Tsutsumi Kaina.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Tsutsumi.”
For a while, Kyu talks about unimportant things and doesn’t point out her silent tears. It just feels right to keep what company he can with her. He tries not to imagine what Tartarus must be like.
About an hour after he first woke up, Himiko enters the bar. When she sees him, her expression softens, and the knife she’s holding slides back into its sheath. He can’t help a smile and soft laugh when he sees it, and she flushes a little before running at him. Without functioning arms, he’s powerless to stop her from tackling him in a hug. Her eyes lock onto his, golden and catlike and wide, so much so that he almost feels himself sink in.
“You doing okay, Kyu?” Is the first thing she says, nestled into him, and he melts into her warmth.
“Everything is sore. And hungry. But I can’t hold chopsticks… not having hands sucks. ” She giggles. “Indifferent to my anguish, you villain,” he whispers, and she manages to draw him closer. If she squeezes any harder, he’s going to pop, but he doesn’t tell her that.
“Stop being gay in here,” Shigaraki growls, “eat or get out.” Himiko blows a raspberry at him, but she crawls off Kyu and fills two bowls with rice. Tsutsumi excuses herself. The awkwardness under her stoicism makes her much less creepy, he thinks.
“I can’t use chopsticks,” he sighs, raising his working arm in an awkward shrug. His eyes narrow at her knowing smile, even if it’s not an unusual look on her face. “Himiko, I can’t— I’m not sticking my face in there,” he says, and the bowl she sets in front of him has no chopsticks in it. He stammers at her, but she quietly takes a bite of her rice. Then still looking at him, she digs into his bowl with the same chopsticks.
“Wow, you’re red,” she sighs wistfully, “are you that embarrassed over an indirect kiss? After we’ve had a real one?” She teases, and when her chopsticks raise he shyly opens his mouth. Her fingers, delicate but strong, hold the chopsticks gently, unlike the firm grip she has on a knife. Her sweater is still swallowing her up, and it looks just as soft as the rest of her. He leans forward a bit to close his lips around the rice. “Cute,” she says, and he suddenly forgets how to chew.
They sit like that for a while, which probably upsets Shigaraki, but he has a place to direct that attention when Dabi walks in and calls him “Tomuraki”. A few of the others wander in. Spinner sits at the bar next to Shigaraki, Twice talks at Tsutsumi. Compress gives greetings to everyone in the bar, stopping at their booth to bow. “Goodmorning, ladies,” he says, and Kyu starts to correct him, until he meets Himiko’s eye. She must’ve said that he’s Kyuubi, and everyone thinks Kyuubi’s a girl.
When his stomach is full, Kyu’s body starts to feel the fuller effects of recovering from injuries, until his eyelids can’t stay open through Himiko talking about the League, and she gently lays him down. He happily drifts into sleep, only pretty sure he woke up in the morning and will probably wake up again by that night.
Kyu doesn’t want to be here anymore.
It was fine— if a little much— when Dabi was laid across the couch, tossing a nearly tattered stress ball between his hands, providing commentary and criticism. Even Shigaraki’s game and brief moments of rage were enough to let Kyu’s eyes glaze over a little. But now, it’s just Spinner, still going after… well, he doesn’t know how long, but it feels longer than Cementoss’ literature classes.
“When you put a hero in a high-stress situation, they aren’t redeemed, they commit an act of brutality. It’s what they’ve been conditioned to do. Hell, you, the Todoroki kid, and Bakugou all did it in the Sports Fest, which isn’t even a real situation. But that’s what the Hero Commission wants, understand? It’s a carefully crafted system, but it’s maintained by the prejudice of the general public, and-”
Himiko kicks the door, and it swings in and slams against the wall, making a second loud bang. “I will disintegrate you!” Shigaraki shouts from somewhere that sounds distant, but the pleased smile on Himiko’s face doesn’t shift at all. Her eyes lock onto Kyu, and his eyes try to avoid looking too much, because she’s got an orange jumpsuit on with the top tied around her waist and is only wearing a sports bra.
“Good evening to you too, Toga,” Spinner drawls. She ignores him entirely and grabs Kyu’s wrist. “Wh- Hold on, Toga, we’re supposed to recruit the kid, Stain would’ve—”
“Stop being a fucking political hobbyist, Spinner,” she says, and Kyu can’t help but notice Tsutsumi crack a smile as she looks towards the door from the bar. Then, Magne shuffles through the door behind her, wheeling a whiteboard with one hand and holding a giant magnet with the other. Tsutsumi and Compress actually start to approach behind her, if only with curiosity. Spinner steps aside, face twisting into confusion.
“This is an intervention,” Himiko says, climbing onto Magne’s magnet as soon as she sets it down. She looks sort of like a gargoyle, with her sharp teeth and cross-legged balance. Her eyelashes are big, though, and they frame her giddy, bright eyes. Less like a gargoyle, more like a cat looking down from their perch.
“Wait,” Kyu starts, “Spinner already gave me a two-hour—”
“This is different, ” Himiko urges, before gesturing wildly at the whiteboard.
Kyu stares for a moment. Probably what could be considered several moments, thinking lots of confused thoughts. Maybe I’m delirious from tiredness or painkillers. Did Iida give me a concussion? “I don’t see what ‘joining the club’ has to do with anything. Actually, I’m very confused in general—”
“Sweetie,” Himiko starts, leaning forward, “what’s the name you told me to use for you?”
“Um,” Kyu stammers, “Kyuubi. Like my graffiti persona?”
Himiko nods. “Right, and not your hero name?”
“Ew. No.” The answer is so easy he doesn’t need to think.
“What about your legal name?”
“Well, I don’t know. I want you to know me by— by my favorite one, I guess? It’s… I mean, it’s normal for like, teenagers to wanna develop a more independent identity, I— am I doing a weird thing? That’s normal!”
“But you modified your wardrobe yourself to be closer to your chosen identity,” Himiko supplies.
“Well I don’t like shopping,” Kyu interrupts, confusion starting to edge on aggression. “I never have.”
“—and you find yourself preferring that identity to the dream that you barely connect to at all,” Himiko continues unfazed, “when Stain… when you were protecting me, you called yourself more than a hero. You did more than most heroes. Do you think anyone else has shown me care like you or the League?”
Kyu looks around. It feels rude to just fill in the gaps, but… Spinner has a high degree mutation. Dabi’s Quirk mangles his body. Nagant certainly chose this over heroism. Magne is a trans woman— “Oh,” Kyu says, “Oh, the club.” Himiko doesn’t ask any more questions, just stares. She just lets him think about it. His instinct is to reply to what she said about heroism, but she’s been right before. He wouldn’t know how harsh or unaccepting heroes could be. I’m a bright-eyed rookie. Most of 1-A is, but how many will be closer to Iida than they are to me?
The whiteboard is a mess of writing that can barely be differentiated from the smudges of erased messages. Does all of that really matter, though? It’s up to how I feel. And the way I feel…
“You take the blue pill,” Himiko says, and Kyu snorts. “You take the blue pill, wake up in your bed, go about the same old life you have control over.” She holds out his student ID. “Or, you take the red pill, you stay in wonderland, and I show you how deep the intramuscular injection goes.” She holds out a small medical vial.
“Was that Morpheus ,” Dabi says, smiling.
“The Matrix is a trans allegory,” Himiko says defensively, scrunching her nose.
The way I feel makes this easy.
Notes:
ART
kyuubi on painkillers
intervention
booted up the finished doc for upload and realized it had to endnote. we're improvising, folks
in the original run, shigaraki's rice was oatmeal, and instead of soy sauce it was raisins. making it salty-umami and a social faux pas really nails how i want readers to feel about him he's just so weird
kaina tsutsumi my beloved i truly feel the urge to put her in EVERY scene and I limit it to MOST of them. i like to think she's not very social, but all of what she says is like. fun (for me, at least)shoutout ao3 user tinee for being a beta reader (gave me nitro for early chapters and gives me good ideas) theyre also a really good writer
Chapter 26: Hat III
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Do you like it?”
Kyuubi stares into the mirror. The wild, fluffy mess on his— her head isn’t tamed— it’s never tamed— but it’s managed, trimmed down into voluminous curls and cute, messy bangs. Besides the haircut, it feels lighter and fluffier. The matted mess was greasy and a fair amount of dirt and three twigs came out in the shower.
It still feels unfamiliar to think her, but it also feels right. Like a perfect pair of shoes that still aren’t broken in. “It’s perfect,” she says, leaning into Magne as she reaches up and toys with the curls. She cards her fingers through, then pushes them into her scalp, soothing.
“Your hair has really nice texture,” Magne says, “If you take good care of it, it’ll be really nice.” Kyuubi smiles at her, and when she turns away from the mirror she sees Himiko too. Her wide smile flares, blush spreading across her cheeks and golden cat eyes gleaming. She looks starstruck.
“Oh my god ,” Himiko sighs, “You’re so pretty. It’s fucked up.” Then, “can I drink your blood?” She looks just as excited and genuine, and after a moment, it sets in. Kyuubi remembers the alley and the girl who saved her life tucking her face into her chest and lapping at the cut and… well, Kyuubi blushes so hard she squeezes her eyes shut. Rather than squeaking out words, she just nods.
“Oh, but you’ve gotta get your injection first. Now that you’re not caked in dirt.” Himiko giggles. “Wow, we get distracted easily,” she admits, staring at the clumps of hair around the barstool in the bathroom.
Dabi steps into the doorframe and glares at the assembly of trans women. “I need to piss,” he drawls. Magne crosses her arms.
Himiko sticks out her tongue at him, though. “That’s fine, we were already going. I’m not getting her in her underwear here.” She grabs Kyuubi’s wrist and drags her past Dabi. Magne follows, pushing him with the bar stool until he growls at her like an angry dog.
Himiko’s room is small, with unfurnished walls, but there’s a red, fuzzy blanket across the bed and as much pink and red as she could stuff the room with. The closet is open, even if there’s not many changes of clothes in it. It makes sense— she’s on the run, and Kyuubi is wearing one of her sweaters already. When Himiko throws her onto the bed, she’s totally surrounded by warm, cozy things. She feels comfortable, and lets herself sink into the mattress while Himiko moves around the room.
“You’re gonna need to take your shorts off,” Himiko says, setting a pink case with My Melody on it on the bed. Kyuubi stammers. “For the injection, dummy,” Himiko says, poking her nose, then turns away to open the case and start messing with the stuff in it.
It’s not any less embarrassing that it’s for an injection, really, especially since she’s also borrowed clean underwear. After a moment, though, she swallows the lump in her throat and pushes them down to her knees. It’s not really easy, with a limp hand, but she manages. Himiko turns from the case with hand sanitizer in hand. “I don’t have alcohol wipes, which is technically what you’re supposed to use, but it’s the same—” She stops, staring at Kyuubi’s thighs for a moment. Kyuubi wishes she could bury herself in a deep hole. “You have really nice thighs,” Himiko says, staring at them as a blush spreads across her face, too.
“Well, y’know, um, Mirko regiment, and all,” Kyuubi explains, laughing nervously. Himiko nods in acknowledgement, still looking down, and then her gaze seems to deepen, like she’s thinking really hard about something.
“Oh my god, you’re gonna have Mirko thighs, ” Himiko sighs dreamily, blush burning across her cheeks and into her nose and ears. She pumps hand sanitizer out onto her hand, barely looking as she starts to spread it on a spot on her outer thigh. Kyuubi jumps a little, then meets Himiko’s eye, embarrassed, and takes a deep breath. The hand sanitizer feels cold, even though Himiko’s hand is warm. They both get a little quiet as she rubs it in.
“I-I’m gonna put on music, if that’s alright,” Himiko says, averting her eyes down at her phone. Kyuubi looks up at her patiently, until it starts playing a technical-sounding synth song. Himiko smiles sheepishly before taking out a syringe and sticking it in a small vial. “This is estradiol,” she explains, “so, it goes in your thigh— you know that, I mean. It’s not necessarily a blocker but that’s— we can do a blood test later and figure it out.” Her fangs press into her lip as she stares into the fluid, carefully pushing an air bubble back into the vial before adjusting the amount. She takes it out of the vial and then unscrews the needle and puts a new one on. She pushes the plunger until a drop gleams out of the tip, then knee-walks closer, until her legs are against Kyuubi’s and they’re both blushing as they meet each other’s eyes.
“Alright, so then it’s— this’ll sting a little. But it shouldn’t hurt too bad, I mean!” Himiko says, placing one hand against her thigh to hold the skin in place. Kyuubi can’t help looking, feeling how soft and warm her hands are. The look of concentration and embarrassment mixing on her face, and then the bite of the needle. Kyuubi winces, making a short whining noise as it sinks further into her leg. Himiko slowly pushes the plunger. It’s all slow, deliberate, and very embarrassing. It feels a little like she got punched in the leg as the fluid enters and the syringe starts to slide out.
They both let out breaths they didn’t realize they were holding as the injection ends, meeting each other’s eyes. Himiko smiles warmly, and Kyuubi can’t help but smile back, a shaky, anxious, earnest thing. She’s tempted to lean closer, but Himiko adjusts back, looking back at her thigh. “Oh, I gotta clean this up,” she says, and Kyuubi sees the small trail of blood leaking down her outer thigh. Then she meets Himiko’s eye again. “Can I—”
“Y-yeah, of course,” Kyuubi says. She stares, excited and nervous and blushing like an idiot. Himiko eases back from kneeling to sitting on her heels, then leans down. She looks up one last, time, as if for permission, and Kyuubi nods. Neither of them looks away as she starts to lap up the blood with a sort of reverence. She moves up her thigh and then kisses the injection site. Then, she looks away, blush spreading down her neck now, and finds a bandaid to put on the injection site. It has Hello Kitty on it. Himiko smiles down at it and then falls into her, nuzzling into her turtleneck-covered neck. Her hair smells like strawberries.
“Thanks,” Kyuubi says, like an idiot. Then, “Do you still, um, want more than that?” Himiko lifts herself up enough to look at her, catlike eyes wide, deep, and gleaming. “Because you asked earlier, I mean. I really don’t mind.”
“Thanks,” Himiko says, like an idiot. Then, “I’d really really love that, Kyu. Can I just…” She trails off as her eyes move down to Kyuubi’s neck.
“Y-yeah, I mean, you have fangs, and all, so…” She trails off as Himiko’s gentle fingers reach up and tug down the turtleneck. Again, she keeps her eyes on Kyuubi’s as she lowers herself. She can feel Himiko’s breath speeding up, and then her lips ghosting along her neck, and then the gentle touch of her teeth before they suddenly bite.
Kyuubi whimpers, pushing herself up at the sting, but doesn’t fight Himiko off as her lips suck at the two punctures, and she feels the throb as the blood is sucked from the wounds. She still tries to adjust up, but Himiko’s hand pushes her down into the mattress with surprising strength. Like a vampire, her Quirk-craving drowns out the rest of her, her eyes shut in satisfaction as her blush deepens. Kyuubi still writhes under her, a little, and it feels odd to not be able to clench her fists at this sensation. Then, as soon as it’s started, it’s over, and it almost feels far too short as Himiko pulls away, with a smear of red at her lip.
Kyuubi stares up at her, a little out of breath, and then lets her nestle back into her neck. Himiko feels like warmth and softness and the messy hair gracing her chin, and it smells like strawberries and comfort.
“Ding-dong, breakfast time, get up assholes, we’re bonding and shit,” Dabi calls, somehow shouting as loud as the pots and pans he’s smashing together while still deadpan. With their respective heroic and villainous instincts. Kyuubi and Himiko both shoot up, although Himiko is still half on top of her.
“How is that guy, like, the second in command,” Kyuubi mumbles, “don’t they, like, bicker all the time?”
“Like a married couple,” Himiko says, blinking blearily. Her makeup got messy while she slept, but it does nothing to stop a smile from spreading across Kyuubi’s face as she looks at her. “Oh my god, and I’m the gay one?” Himiko teases.
“You’re my muse,” Kyuubi says easily. For once, Himiko is the one who blushes with wide eyes and no words, and Kyuubi pecks a kiss onto her stunned face. They stay like that, blushing and smiling softly at each other, until Kyuubi’s stomach growls loudly and the moment is broken. Himiko laughs, that high, lilting, beautiful laugh, and rolls off her, landing easily on the ground. Kyuubi is about to follow, and then feels something restricting her legs. “Can you, uh, put my shorts back on?”
Himiko smiles. “What about a skirt?”
Five minutes later, Kyuubi timidly trails her to the bar in one of her skirts. The seifuku style barely fit— and barely covers half her thigh— but the basic plaid one she’s wearing reaches the tops of her knees, and Himiko said it matches her hair.
The rest of the League, except for Twice, is already filled into their typical spots in the bar; Tsutsumi occupies the end of the bar, in a sleeveless dark blue dress. Dabi antagonizes Shigaraki at its middle, each in their constant respective jacket and shirt. Spinner and Compress talk excitedly in a booth, both decked out in their wild costumes. Tsutsumi is already looking towards the door when they come in, but the first one to say anything is Dabi.
“Good morning! We have rice,” he says, as if he’s going to continue. After a beat, “it’s just rice.”
“If you want something else, pay for it yourself, ” Shigaraki growls. “I also tanked a surgery for you all.”
Dabi doesn’t even spare a glance at him though. His cold, blue eyes are narrowed at Himiko. “You’ve got a little something…” He gestures first at his lip, then his whole face.
“You’ve got a little…” She gestures at his entire scar-covered body, then sticks her tongue out. Kyuubi can’t help but laugh, even if she turns her head away nervously.
With the attention of the bar drawn to her, there’s a moment of quiet. She wants to run right back to Himiko’s room, and then Compress says “lovely skirt, darling,” and Shigaraki and Dabi go back to catfighting, and it’s all back to normal. Just like yesterday, Himiko happily helps her eat, although she doesn’t get a chance to talk to Tsutsumi. Twice comes in in his costume after another few minutes, and then the whole League is present.
Shigaraki claps his hands. Spinner hasn’t stopped talking, but Shigaraki speaks over him. “Assembled villains,” he says, then glares at Kyuubi as she opens her mouth to reply. “Also Toga’s girlfriend. The attack on the fledgling heroes’ camp was a resounding success.”
“Nobody died,” Himiko whispers in her ear.
“Students were endangered, teachers failed to protect them, and one of the golden eggs of the Sports Festival is in the hands of the enemy.” Shigaraki gestures towards Kyuubi. “They’re wondering, y’know. If the proud, fierce, No-Limits Hero: Muscle will return the same.” His tone is teasing, knowing. His cruel red eyes still dig into her with a dark curiosity, but he’s not wrong, and they both know it. “Of course, you’re always welcome to stay.”
Kyuubi’s stomach wants to do flips. It wants to run home and burn her graffiti clothes and get a licensed hero ID with her stupid name and her stupid face and—
She meets Tsutsumi’s eyes, then, silently searching for a lifeline. She doesn’t move, with her arms crossed at the bar, but her eyebrows raise in that knowing way. How many times did she shake her head and look down before she chose this path? It must’ve been a lot, but now… Tsutsumi Kaina has no regrets. It’s obvious from just a glance at her face.
Kyuubi takes a deep breath. Dabi is nice enough, Compress is polite and kind, Magne cut her bangs and— And Himiko is right beside her,
finally.
How many artists can reach out and touch their muse? Colors flare behind her eyes, the hiss of aerosol cans forever and ever. In the end of the day, she’ll always want to save people, but can’t she pick this side, too?
After Shigaraki goes on for another few minutes about budgets and duties, a few people start to filter out of the bar. Kyuubi is happily one of them, after Himiko helps her stand up. Magne stops them before they clear out, though.
“Are you alright, kid?” Kyuubi thinks that’s a rather complicated question, given everything that’s happened since she got kidnapped by the League of Villains, and the fact that she got kidnapped by the League of Villains. Magne pushes her sunglasses up as she rubs her eyes— it’s sort of reminiscent of Aizawa, actually. “Most people with injuries like yours would be in a lot of pain,” she sighs, “although if you’re just used to it, that’s not good either.”
“I—” Kyuubi tries to find the words to explain. Her arm does hurt. Of course it hurts, but it’s not that unusual or important. “I’m fine, really,” she stammers, feeling a little too seen under Magne’s gaze. It’s very reminiscent of Aizawa. She nods a little, more like she’s thinking something to herself, then sets her hand on Kyuubi’s shoulder. A sensation spreads through her body that sets her hairs on end, an intense feeling of strangeness that sets her off balance.
“My Quirk is Magnetism. Right now, your poles are off— your body can adjust to it, but it’s not easy.” Kyuubi falls to a knee, furrowing her brow. What’s she trying to get me to realize? “It affects your whole body, at once, just a smidge. The reason it feels so strange is that it gets to every part of you. It won’t be painful, but it’s disorienting because each cell is slightly more negative. “Quirks are on the cellular level, after all— as strange as they all are.”
Kyuubi laughs a little, because One for All is just about the strangest Quirk in existence. “If it’s in every cell, then…” She thinks of the egg in the microwave. The cellular membrane straining but containing that glow— from the bones to the muscle to the skin. The red blood cells that help repair injuries, the nerves that communicate sensation and intent. All Might can hear villainous incidents miles away— the nerves in his ears are more powerful, kindled with the glow of One for All.
Magnetism throws her body off, and she’s too focused to fight it. She topples forward, her face smacking into the hardwood. Every cell quivers at the might each one contains. They shake, rebelling at the force. It’s jarring, she feels a lump in her throat, and Magnetism and One for All both feel wrong.
“Kyu! Kyu, are you alright?” Himiko squats down in front of her, tilting her head down to meet her eye.
One for All meets the right frequency, for a moment. Kyuubi’s eyes go wide, and then she squeezes them shut. She imagines the lilting of Himiko’s voice, the dance of her laughter, the music of the muse.
One for All sings along— and Kyuubi’s fingers twitch. With her arm not bound in a cast, she pushes herself up. It’s slow, it’s a strain, but it’s the arm that hasn’t moved in months. She stands, and Himiko falls onto her back, laughing with relief, and the feeling of Magnetism fades. Kyuubi breathes deeply, lungs tingling at the air that feels electric, and then slowly breathes out. And as One for All fills her, it crackles into sea—green lightning, and the air hums as it pushes forward, strong enough to knock a glass off the end of the counter.
One for All fades. “S-sorry!” Kyuubi says to Kurogiri, as Himiko bounds up to grab her wrist and tug her out of the bar.
Notes:
sorry for the late update i was in the psychiatric hosptial :P (may have gotten a little too silly I'm being therapied now we're good)
I imagine the song Himiko plays in her room is The Queenstons’ No More Forever.
In other news: got two very important things in this chapter!! It was actually going to include a much larger kamino-related cliffhanger, but I want to update before evening and we're already getting a little long
(aka: i could not stop myself from writing out the injection scene. they're so fucking gay i love them)next chapter: everyone goes back to being upset. kamino is good for that
PS: the scene in Himiko's room is just about the most intense anything's gonna get in this fic! but they are very gay teenagers and one of them is a vampire, soo.... it's only fair
Chapter 27: Inside King I
Summary:
The Kamino Incident - Part 1
Chapter Text
The bar is full of noise. The League are moving around fast, weaving around each other in the narrow, yellow light of the room. Himiko is sitting on the bar behind her, and everyone else is darting all over around her— she wants to leave, but Himiko was insistent about braiding her hair, and Kyuubi wants to at least let her try. Still, she almost jumps when there’s a pop behind her— and then another few, along with the popcorn in the microwave. Magne drags a barstool next to her to watch, Dabi leans over the bar to get a beer for himself and Spinner, Tsutsumi sips her soju quietly.
“Quiet! Shut the fuck up! It’s starting!” Twice yells, lunging across the bar to nab the half-done popcorn from the microwave. Compress stops humming the James Bond theme and hands out a bunch of shittily poured shots.
“On this occasion, our incompetence caused thirty-one hero students to be injured. Despite being an institution for developing heroes, our defenses were failing, and we’ve caused a great anxiety. With the utmost sincerity, we apologize for our shortcomings.” It’s weird to watch Aizawa, from the proper dress to the tied-up hair to the deep bow. It’s off putting enough that Kyuubi adjusts in her seat. There’s a few murmurs in the bar, and Shigaraki laughs a little.
The media comes to life, but eventually one voice is the only clear one— “Reporting with NHA. This is the fourth time this year that UA students have dealt with villains. With all the injuries, what will you tell their families? What is your specific next step.” Magne makes a long, slow whistle. They’re not wrong, but Kyuubi can’t help but feel bad.
“We have strengthened our defenses, and reexamined our crime prevention systems. We are taking the strongest possible measures to prevent any further incident,” Nedzu says. It’s close to the same thing said back around the Sports Festival though, and the media knows it. The public reception is already clear: It won’t be good enough.
“Not that they don’t deserve it, but shit,” Kyuubi says.
“They deserve all of it. This is the failing of heroes— these people that get money and other selfish pursuits for saving life, the normalization and codification of it.” Spinner takes a long drink after he speaks.
“Even All Might can’t save everyone, ” Shigaraki says, “but that’s what all the people of Japan believed— until now. Now, things are turned on their head, people are finally seeing. ” Shigaraki glares right at Kyuubi. “You’ve done your share of political pieces. Don’t pretend you don’t know who’s right just because it’s coming from my mouth.”
The tension that hangs in the bar never gets a reply, only interrupted by the TV. “You speak of the students’ safety, Eraserhead, but you urged the students to fight. What were your intentions?”
“We couldn’t grasp the full situation. I did it to prevent the worst possible outcome.”
“Thirty students injured, one kidnapped. Would you not call that the worst possible outcome?”
“The worst possible outcome is one in which the students helplessly became murder victims.”
“The majority of injuries were caused by the gas attack.” Nedzu stepping in is clearly a move to reduce the tension. “We have ascertained that it was a Villain’s Quirk. Without Kendou and Tetsutetsu’s involvement, more serious injuries did not happen. Further, we are seeing to the mental care of the students, but none show signs of emotional trauma.”
“And what of the kidnapped student, Midoriya ████ ?”
Kyuubi’s face twists. That doesn’t feel very good. It would’ve been fine, just a few days ago, she thinks. What— why does it feel like that? But behind her, silently, Himiko stops braiding and wraps her arms around her. She’s hated crying when she’s angry, but now she purses her lips at the stew of unfamiliar emotion it elicited.
“Second place in the Sports Festival, and displaying over and over an unnatural pain tolerance and a brutal tendency. What if his abduction was intended to exploit that behavior? A few deceptive words, and he’s along with the Villain’s path of evil. Please tell us on what basis he has a future.”
“Damn, they don’t believe in you at all, ” Dabi laughs dryly. He takes a swig, then, “that’s what’s gonna happen if you ever mess up, Ms. Perfect. You’re held to the standard of ‘save everyone.’ ”
For a moment, Aizawa looks downright dangerous. His lip curls, and then— he bows. “What happened was the result of my shortcomings. However, the Sports Festival… That doesn’t speak to cruelty. It speaks to Midoriya’s incredible drive to be a hero. He can’t help but save everyone.” He looks a little pained at the end, and Kyuubi recognizes the look in his face for what it is.
She remembers the alley, and the TV feels distant for a moment. “I want you to stay safe. You have potential, kid, and… Look, these are really good political pieces, I just don’t want you toeing the ‘spending time with villains’ side of that line.” Aizawa doesn’t understand, but what he’s thinking is clear to her and her alone: “She’s trying to save the villains, even if she shouldn’t.”
“Do you have a firm basis for that, though?” The reporter asks, “I’m not asking how you feel. What is your concrete plan?”
“By no means are we sitting on our hands. We are currently working with police to investigate. We will bring our student home.”
“D’aw, what?” Himiko leans forward, setting her chin on Kyuubi’s shoulder. “Can’t we keep her~?” She sing-songs, then giggles a little. Kyuubi leans her head into hers, and their cheeks press together.
There’s a knock at the door. “Pizza delivery!”
There’s a sound like thunder, and the world freezes as All Might roars and shards of the brick wall fly into the bar. The air pressure makes her stumble off the stool, pushed away from Himiko. She barely has time to turn her head to the brand new hole in the wall, and then branches stretch into the room. She gets one foot on the ground, and they’re already filling the room, choking everybody up, starting to curl around Himiko’s arm. And Kyuubi can do nothing against the swarm of heroes, faster and stronger and more skilled.
Tsutsumi’s eyes snap towards them, with surprise and fear across her face. Still, her lip is curled up, showing bared teeth. Faster than Kyuubi could possibly move, her rifle arm snaps out. It’s probably going to leave a nasty bruise, but the muzzle slamming into her back shoves her out of Kamui’s branches and into Kyuubi’s arms. They tumble towards the corner of the bar as heroes fill the new hole in the wall and start to move into the room.
“Fuckin’ wood? ” Dabi laughs, flame blazing along his arm as he rears it back, but it never comes down. A hero whose main feature seems to be speed lunges forward and a kick has Dabi reeling before he slumps. Himiko’s breath hitches and then tears into a sob as the branches tighten and there seems to be no way out.
“Kurogiri,” Shigaraki wheezes, struggling and failing to touch the branches wrapped around his arms and chest. “The Nomu, get the Nomu!”
More heroes lunge for Kurogiri, but even when All Might gets a massive hand on his neck brace, there’s no time to stop Warp Gate. Dark mist expands, Nomu slick with strange green fluid falling into the bar and the area outside.
Himiko scrambles off of her and further into the building, stumbling in panic. She’s fast, always faster than Kyuubi expects. It takes a moment of closing her eyes and furrowing her brow, but she feels the spark of One for All all throughout her again, and bounds after Himiko. Behind them, there are yells and screeches as the building is rent asunder by an all-out fight. Kyuubi tries not to turn around. Himiko ducks into her bedroom, and Kyuubi runs in after her.
“They’re gonna lock me up in Tartarus,” Himiko sobs, pulling her knees into her chest at the corner of her bed. “They’re gonna kill me, they’re gonna—” An impact shakes the building, a Nomu roars so loud she feels it in her gut.
“Himiko, it’s— It’ll be alright, I won’t let them, Himiko. Can you— Try to breathe, please, breathe,” Kyuubi says, stammering like she’s in Aldera again and she really wishes they got more courses about talking to panicking civilians. She shifts forward, hand twitching and barely more than numb but articulate enough to brush Himiko’s hair out of her face and hold her cheek gently. She’s still hyperventilating, a little, but she leans into it.
All Might roars, but the words are lost through the walls between them. There’s shouting and car alarms and heavy blows, and Himiko’s room doesn’t feel cozy like it did, but there’s still the two of them.
“We’ll always have us,” Kyuubi says, and then feels something in her throat. She hacks and coughs, then feels the saliva rush in her mouth before her and Himiko both vomit steel-gray sludge and tumble through the cold, dark mess, and there’s no warmth or softness of Himiko’s cheek anymore.
She hits cement just as cold as the sludge, but at least whatever it was hasn’t left her wet or cold— just on the ground in the dark. She pushes herself onto her knees, and looks in every direction, but she doesn’t see anything. She takes a deep breath, calling on One for All again, and the silent, dark room is suddenly full of the crackle and buzz of neon green.
Just in front of her is a man practically as big as All Might in a dark suit and a heavy looking black mask. He stands, slowly, and his sheer size and broad chest is intimidating— Kyuubi can barely move, but she does rise to her feet, taking clumsy steps back.
“Come now, child,” he says, and then he’s there in a blink , with a massive hand with a hole on it settling on her face. It’s big enough that the fingers curl halfway across her scalp. Then there’s a low buzz and the world breaks into pieces.
“Well, isn’t this quaint,”
All For One says. It
must
be All For One.
Her mind just— supplies it.
He’s just as huge, although he’s suddenly a pace away.
Without the mask, his face is a gnarled mass of scar tissue.
His eye sockets are visible, but covered over,
and he has no nose at all. The main feature of his face is his wide, cruel smile.
“I hadn’t given you much of any notice, child…
Until that new little trick in the bar.
Ah, well,
I suppose only such a brazen one could hold One for All .”
Her eyes go wide, but she can’t reply.
A strange fog clings to her mouth, and swallows her lower body.
“This never works, but why not try?”
All For One says mirthfully,
and then his hand is on her forehead.
Pain shoots through her body,
black-red lightning crackling through the mindscape,
And her fingers twist and dig into her palms.
She doesn’t feel anything,
Nothing but pain. Pain, pain, pain.
“Give me what is mine, ”
All For One demands,
and his fingers dig in a little harder,
the pain throbs down to the bone.
“No.”
Isn’t that odd?
She’s not really sure if she said it,
In fact, for a moment, there’s this splitting headache.
And then a hand reaches past her shoulder.
And then two from her left side, and three at her right,
A few grapple at the arm clinging to her,
five slam into All For One.
Fourteen arms heave against the man they’ve been fighting forever.
“All For One,”
her mind supplies again,
although this time it’s more of a hiss, like cobra spit.
“How could— How dare, ”
All For One starts,
And then the fog starts to recede, tearing away.
Mostly, she notices the roaring pain, different than wherever she just was. All For One’s hand pulls away, but now there’s a searing across her skin. It feels like she’s burning, it feels like her muscles are being torn asunder, and the crackling, dark but glowing angular tentacles stretching out of her body feel like the culprit.
All For One raises one arm against the battering and grappling, and then reaches forward, low voice saying something she can’t make out over the roaring and the pain and the cement shattering around them. Whatever Quirk is raging out of her, she doesn’t have a speck of control over it.
And then a gust slams into her. It’s more like a wall than wind, the air pressure stronger than any of Bakugou’s punches, stronger than All Might’s fist in her stomach in the final exams. She can’t breathe, but the pain and the force never ends, the force of being flung unrelenting, and her back tears through walls like tissue paper even if her body is barely more durable than them, and she can’t breathe or think and she’s burning-tearing with dark-glowing rage and she can’t breathe,
She tries desperately to swallow air, but her chest convulses, and something twinges in it. Tears burn in her eyes as the tentacles refuse to just let her lie in the rubble, forcing her body to move and shift and she can’t breathe. Darkness fills in the edge of her vision.
She wheezes again, desperately, every part of her convulsing and heaving with pain and refusing to quite obey. She thinks she feels the tears and snot run down her face. “Mom,” she wheezes, whispery, “All Might, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and she gasps but it’s not enough air. Something digs into her at the breath anyway, probably a broken rib. The tentacles tug her up, and it sends a spike of pain through her spine, something out of place or fucked up there. She sucks in another breath, and still feels entirely weak.
The tentacles snap out at something, battering and yanking at something in the darkness, but it doesn’t budge. “Kinetic Booster times four, Strength Enhancer times three. Air Cannon.”
Kyuubi doesn’t fly through many walls this time, because All For One stands in the air over her. Instead, chunks of cement dance into the air like ashes and embers from a fire, and Kyuubi is slammed into the ground until it crumples around her, cratering and sundering for what feels like forever, and there’s a horrid creaking and crumbling as the walls of the building around them come down. She can’t breathe. All For One is getting closer, and the tentacles tugging at her want to rip him to shreds more than run away, but they barely leave a scratch. He’s reaching out, he’s moments from her.
He stops. He sighs, and for a moment she can practically see the cruel smile through his mask. His hand is still looming over her, but he turns towards the sky.
“All For One, you bastard!” All Might roars, bright hero costume becoming clearer against the dark sky as he rapidly closes on them.
All For One sounds almost
giddy.
“That’s our cue.”
Notes:
Inside King - a well-acclaimed artist known for work inside train cars.
Late full cowl, early blackwhip, baby! I really feel bad about the whole ‘kid with the air knocked out of them’ segment of this chapter i may have cried a little imagining it ;~;
some reporter: that kid is wild. he broke all his bones in the sports festival and was kinda just a freak generally
dabi: HA wow they fuckin hate you, lmaoPS: We’re not gonna talk about MHA 395. We’re not gonna THINK about MHA 395. Everything is fine.
Chapter 28: Inside King II
Summary:
Last time, the League (plus Himiko’s girlfriend) watched the UA conference and Kyuubi was tossed around by All For One— now, the Kamino Incident truly begins.
The world will be different when it ends, and not just for the loss of All Might’s flame.
Notes:
Obligatory CW: all for one. kamino is one of the more violent parts of this fic, maybe the most.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyuubi is holding her face, just them. “We’ll always have us,” she says, and all is right in Himiko’s world.
Then, something cold and tasteless swells up in her throat— it feels like liquid nothing; brings none of the burn of bile. It defies gravity, wrapping around them, and Kyuubi is gone, because it is cold and dark— featureless dark, the kind where she’s not sure if her eyes are squeezed shut or wide open.
She feels the air shift under her, but even with her catlike reflexes, she doesn’t have time to adjust before she hits the ground painfully. Her legs ache, and her knees and forearms throb where she hit them. She hears other ruffling and thudding and groaning around her, too.
“Kyuubi?” She says, forcing herself to stand against the pain that’s still there. She feels a little dizzy, stumbling around in the dark. “Kyu— Kyu, where are you. Kyu?” Her eyes swell up with warm tears as she looks around, anxiety swelling in her heart just like it did when the heroes burst in.
“Where’s— Where’s Dabi, that asshole, can we get a light,” Shigaraki rasps from somewhere on the ground.
Compress’ tongue clicks. “He got knocked out, Tomuraki,” he reminds gently. In the same direction as his voice, there’s a flick, and then the warm light of a zippo lighter casts away the darkness— a little.
It only stretches a few meters across the concrete before it reaches one concrete wall. It feels warehouse-y, though, and between the musty air and the empty silence of it all, one thing seems clear.
“Well heroes definitely didn’t drop us here,” Spinner shrugs, looking around as if the darkness will give way. His lips peel away from his sharp teeth into an anxious grimace.
“Give me what is mine,” a voice echoes from the other side of the wall. It’s low, and dark, and full of vitriol. It’s—
“Sensei,” Shigaraki blurts, “Sensei brought us here.” Himiko’s not as reassured as he seems to be. She glances around— Magne is still in a wide fighting stance, Spinner is still practically growling, and Compress’ head is still tilted forward. Tsutsumi’s hand is curling into her hair, as she stares ahead with a sort of dead glare.
“All for One,” growls a ghostly choir. Anger fills it, but it doesn’t scream. Still, even through the wall, the voices are as loud as fireworks, and thrum in her gut the same way.
Himiko jumps when something slams into the other side of the wall, and tiny fragments tink against the ground from the damage. That’s about the time she realizes she only has one knife, and her heart is in her throat, and Kyu is gone all over again. She wants to cry.
The wall is torn apart by the force of… It’s strange, and malevolent, it’s dark, but glows a sort of false cyan, standing out from the darkness like the traces left in her eyes when she looks at a bright light. As it pierces the edge of the lighter’s warm glow, it stands out even more, dark and cold and dangerous.
“Toga!” Magne shouts as she tackles Himiko away from the tendril that shatters the concrete where she was standing. Her eyes are still locked onto it as it snaps and twists, crackling power in the opposite-but-same way as Kyu’s lightning. It doesn’t smell like ozone, though, it smells almost like brackish water.
For a moment, Himiko’s eyes snap back to Magne’s. She knows her eyes are probably wide open and her pupils are wide enough to swallow the dark, and then she notices she’s hyperventilating again, and she tries to match Magne’s breathing, at least a little.
“Fascinating,” Sensei says. There’s a few brief sparks of greenish light in the dark of the warehouse. Himiko pushes Magne off, stumbling towards it. It sparks cyan. In the crackles of lightning, she can see her Kyu. She can see the tendrils of darkness curling and twisting around her body, crashing throughout the room. It all moves strangely, the not-black tendrils moving as fast as Kyu can in the strobing crackle of lightning. Most of the tendrils are colliding with a figure who blends into the dark, beyond the light of Kyu’s Quirk. But the figure, unmoving, hovering, must be Sensei.
Then, there’s a sort of sinking in the air, a feeling that shifts what it feels like to breathe. “Kinetic Booster times three, Strength Enhancer times two. Air Cannon.” Her ears pop.
The wind roars through the building, even where they are she watches the rest of the League barely hold their ground. But it’s directional, and blasts through a far wall mercilessly. She can tell a building or three have been leveled, because the blue night sky is suddenly filling half of the warehouse. Moonlight filters in, cold beams of light dancing in the dust and painting the rubble. She pants, staring after the massive destruction that— that was casually caused by a Quirk. She wants to chase after Kyu, but fear sticks her to the ground like a glue trap.
Her head snaps around, as if she’ll catch someone’s eye and they’ll tell her all the answers. But everyone here is just as shocked as she is. Magne stares after the destruction, eyes darting around as if searching for a solution. Compress is unmoving, the same as her, Spinner is still baring his teeth but his eyes are wide. Kurogiri and Dabi are still on the ground, but they said knocked out, they have to be alright.
Distantly, there’s another blast. A moment later, a gust washes over them, billowing Himiko’s loose hairs around her face, stinging her skin. The sound almost disguises a strange sound of shifts and clicks next to her. When she pries the hair away from her face, she sees Tsutsumi, arm revealing a rifle of gleaming, somehow organic-looking dark steel. She grimaces as she twists and tugs her hair into a handful of putty.
“I’ll cover you,” is all she says, glancing at Himiko. "Nice to shoot who I want, though. God knows the asshole beating up a kid deserves it.”
Shigaraki opens his mouth to rebut this, but he never gets it out— even what must be blocks away, All Might’s booming voice is audible. Himiko glances around. Every member of the League’s eyes are darting around, too. They’re all thinking it:
Nobody’s ever heard All Might this angry.
“How kind of you to join us,” All For One coos, “the Symbol of Peace and his young successor, both.”
“What did you do ,” All Might hisses, teeth bared. She meets his eye, and sees the fury in them soften, ever so slightly. She fights to breathe, still feeling One for All crackle and the tendrils scrape against the ground.
“Oh, that was all her,” he muses, “or perhaps that’s a rather reductive way to see it. It’s all her, and seven others.” His fingers spark with dark energy, red lines crawling along them, and All Might takes a step forward, ready to lunge. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?”
All For One’s fingers jut out, jagged black spears headed straight for her. She sees it coming, but even when the tendrils lash out at them they barely slow down. All Might is lunging, he’s coming to save her, but he’s not fast enough. The tendrils rage, and the sparks fly, and it’s not enough.
“Rivet Stab plus Forced Quirk Activation,” he says. The spears dig into her shoulder, bite through one of the remaining fragments of cast on her arm, and cut a gash through her side. Then, black energy flares down them, and pain sears through her body.
The lightning of One for All flares, all of her skin glowing, and the tendrils snap out even harder. They burn across her skin painfully, and as they cling to All For One, tugging and lashing at him, they force her further up the spears. She screams as her arms are forced forward, and the spear in her shoulder groans against the force of her body.
“Impact Recoil plus Hardflame Fan.”
Heat roars above her as the wind shifts. The hot air sears her eyes and lungs as All Might collides with All For One, still forcing him off his footing despite the defense he raises. There’s another sound, a loud gunshot, but it could just as easily be police, since she doesn’t see a bullet.
Kyuubi gasps a desperate breath as the heat and the spears tear away, and All Might stands protectively over her in their place. The tendrils lash at his legs, but without the malice they had towards All For One it doesn’t even make his iron muscles budge.
“Young Midoriya, it’s alright,” All Might says, leaning down to hold her good shoulder. The tendrils calm themselves, but they’re still there, blazing across her skin. The pressure of One for All isn’t really gone, either. “I am here,” he says, quiet and certain, just to her.
“I was hoping you’d come,” All For One says, rising into the air again. “But even with allies against those Nomu, I practically blasted her a third time before you arrived. I’m certain, now: You’re slowing down.” As he speaks, his hand slowly raises to point at All Might.
“Still plenty strong enough to finish what I started when I crushed your skull,” All Might growls.
“Too late to take back what’s happened now,” All For One says, hand opening from a point to a palm, muscles flexing forward. Kyuubi’s breath hitches and she watches it with growing fear. “Tomura Shigaraki has grown quite a bit since I found him. And your successor, she’s an interesting one. You don’t know a thing about her,” he muses. All Might glances down at her, searching for whatever secret All For One is pointing out. She can’t manage to say anything to him, though, throat closed up with fear. All Might’s gaze moves back to All For One, though, and it’s a little easier to suck in shallow breaths.
“Whatever secrets Young Midoriya may have are— their own. They have a heroic heart. Clearly, it’s not corrupted by the likes of you. All you create is fear, never loyalty or love. You are alone.”
“Kinetic Booster times three, Physical Enhancer times four. Air Cannon,” All For One rebuts. Kyuubi watches All Might grimace, but then, his characteristic smile crosses his face. The air pressure shifts as All For One begins his attack, but All Might is already leaping forward.
“CAROLINA SMASH!” All Might yells, cutting through the blast. The wind roars, cutting gouts through the cement, but the crater Kyuubi lays in is unharmed, since the blast has been cut through and pushed aside. Just like she did to Kacchan.
All Might flips in the air from the force of his Smash, then flexes his back muscles hard enough to launch himself forward. All For One manages to raise a defense again, but he’s still sent to the ground and into a crouch by the force of All Might’s knees slamming into him. All Might flips in the air and lands with satisfaction in his smile. “I learned that from Young Midoriya,” he says, “clearly, you haven’t changed a bit.”
All For One’s arm grows unnaturally within his sleeve, and vitriol shows itself over his original mirth. “All I needed to do was protect Tomura, but I’ll happily rip your guts out again, All Might. My hatred of you changes, it grows. You and your pathetic lineage. Lauded as the ‘Symbol of Peace’ while you bludgeon and tear down my allies.” His other arm raises up in a clawlike grip while the swelling of his muscles continues from his shoulder down through his forearm. “I hate you. Standing atop this society, like you don’t even notice the bodies that make your pedestal.”
“DETROIT SMASH!” All Might says.
“ Transmission! Impact Recoil!” All For One says, and Kyuubi coughs sludge even faster than last time— and is suddenly, that clawed hand is around her neck, big enough to reach around all of it. The tendrils snap back at his body, uselessly, and All Might’s fist collides with her good arm. It doesn’t snap, but the pain is sudden and intense. All Might’s teeth grit as the swelling stretches down All For One’s forearm into his hand, and the recoil makes him stagger back.
There’s another gunshot, this time having waited for a moment All For One’s defenses were lowered. The swelling in his arm is perfectly ready to send All Might flying, but he loses the chance to do that. He won’t react fast enough to move Kyuubi in the way, and he knows that. He shifts his hand as Air Cannon goes off, to create a wider blast, not direct enough to do more than nudge All Might, but he allows the recoil to send him away.
The bullet curves. All For One drops Kyuubi as it pierces his bicep.
“Damn you all, ” All For One sneers at her. “You, who make the worms raise their heads. Your childish efforts validated by chance!” He raises a hand, red and black lines swelling over his fingers as Rivet Stab builds to lunge.
“Control your anger.
Blackwhip uses anger. Harness. Control, got that?”
She can practically see a figure in her periphery, but when she glances towards it it’s gone, just a ghostly image.
“Nagant was a good tool, one who understood efficiency. And look what you’ve gone and done, child. ”
One for All dances across her skin, and she feels her eyes swallow light with more intensity as it tunes up. She feels anger, and she lets it concentrate. Blackwhip clings closer to her body, for a moment. “Tsutsumi isn’t a tool,” she growls, “not for the Commission, not for you. That’s all you do, isn’t it? Use people.” It’s astounding someone could be so cruel. It’s infuriating.
All For One smiles. “You sound just like the rest.”
Notes:
Well. that was an interesting one.
Trying to adapt kamino is interesting, just because the original fight is so centered on saving Bakugou and All For One carefully managing the League. So far, there haven’t been as many distractions, though: Just lots of enemies! So All For One is capital d Dangerous here.
PS: Kaina Tsutsumi, my beloved.Next chapter: even more people show up. Yeah, i make questionable decisions, why do you ask?
Chapter 29: Inside King III
Summary:
Last time, All Might and Kyuubi, Eight and Nine, stood up to All For One. Kyuubi seemed to get a grip on the new power her body holds, and faced him down.
Now, the battle rages, most powerfully between One for All and All For One.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Himiko twists around when she hears gunfire. She’s still closer to Tsutsumi than she is to the big fight, anyway. Her eyes widen and her brow knits, confusion and awe spilling across her face. Himiko isn’t close enough to hear her, but she’s just close enough to read her lips.
“He blocked it?”
Himiko scrunches her face together and tries not to let herself dwell on what she’s running towards. She’s running towards Kyuubi, and she is what matters. The fight ahead is pure chaos— the air pressure of the collisions happening buffets her until she’s leaning against it to march more than run, and the rubble around her is unstable and tumbles against her. It’s like the world is trying to flee. She still strains forward, but she tumbles again and again. No amount of delicate steps and catlike reflexes match up to what All Might seems capable of, even at this distance.
The third time she trips, chunks of rubble dig into her. It seems impossible to get up, her arms shaking and her eyes unable to squint against the wind. She leans forward as she collapses, but she’s stuck. Her face burns with tears. My Kyu is getting hurt, and I can’t stop it. Big heroes, and all the problems they cause, and she can’t get any closer. Still, her body moves desperately, crawling weakly up a hill of rubble and dirt.
Then, mercifully, the wind stops. Himiko’s gut is still filled with an awful, dangerous feeling, like what’s about to happen is making every organ in her body scream at her.
She forces herself to her feet, stumbling over rubble. The concrete clinks and clacks against itself loudly, but she ignores it. As she reaches the top of the hill, she can look down it. There’s a crater, where the floor of whatever building this was has been blown away and left only packed dirt painted in moonlight.
Sensei is huge— at least as big as All Might, and he hovers a meter or so above the ground. He’s in a black suit that barely fits the horrific power he holds, and a skull shaped black helmet. It’s a little misshapen, from whatever battle has been happening. She can see Kyuubi, closer to her. She’s standing, with the crackling ozone and the growling darkness coiling around her. Himiko doesn’t make out most of the words she says, but she hears the way her voice burns with anger, and picks up volume, until she’s yelling. “That’s all you do, isn’t it? Use people!” The darkness around her spreads and twists like an extension of her anger.
“You sound just like the rest,” Sensei says mirthfully, raising a hand. With any luck, that mask kept him from noticing her. She takes her chance, sprinting down the hill, the rubble shifting traitorously under her feet, but nothing can stop her good balance and forward momentum. She won’t be able to stop, but she doesn’t need to.
The tendrils snap out, colliding with black and red spikes extending from Sensei’s hand. Kyuubi leans into them, both arms stretching into the glowy darkness wrestling the spikes. Sensei levitates higher, leveraging his shoulder over her. Her knees bend as her upper body is pushed back, and the spikes grow and twist in angular shapes getting closer and closer to her.
Himiko reaches Kyuubi after what feels like ages. Whatever the strength of her Quirk, Himiko is much weaker, but she still barrels into Kyuubi and pushes her up. Leaning back like she is, she doesn’t have a chance, even if Himiko really only slows down what’s coming.
“All For One!” All Might shouts, with pure vitriol, bounding towards them from the other side of Sensei. The man in question turns, pivoting on the arm pinning Kyuubi to sneer at All Might. He reaches up, and his arms swells within his sleeve. Himiko feels a familiar but invasive cold swell in her mouth at the gesture of his hand, and suddenly there’s a hand wrapped around her neck and she’s held out at All Might like a meat shield.
Oh. I’m going to die here, she realizes. She thinks she’d squeeze her eyes shut, but she doesn’t really have time. All Might’s eyes are wide, but his fist is still starting to move forward from where it’s cocked back.
Then, she hears Kyuubi roar behind her, and there’s brackish not-darkness coiling around her. It feels powerful, like it could rip her up like tissue paper, but there’s reassurance in the way it comfortably wraps around her and coils around her torso. It yanks her away from All For One, curling up around her neck in a way that barely prevents whiplash. She’s always a hero, huh, Himiko thinks, rolling across the ground easily as All Might’s fist collides with All For One.
As the spears creak and shatter at the force of the blow, they yank free from where they’re buried in Kyuubi’s body.
“No, no, no, you— you dummy,” Himiko sobs, running to her. She’s only a couple paces away, but it feels like forever. This time, she doesn’t bat an eye at the air pressure of All Might and All For One colliding. She can practically only hear the labored, shaky breathing coming from Kyuubi. Always a hero. “You could’ve just let me get hit! No, no, no…” She kneels down. Both the cyan glow and the dark tendrils are gone from Kyuubi, and she looks almost hollow without that glow. Her eyes still sparkle, though, even as Himiko leans over her and her shadow stops the moonlight from painting Kyuubi.
There’s a gunshot, and Himiko can’t stop herself from glancing up. All For One recoils, and All Might punches his stupid mask off. His head looks weird, but she can really only make out his lack of hair from her distance.
“ENOUGH!” He shouts, and a yellow ripple follows his voice. It rings in her ears, leaving a headache. She manages to crane her head up again, and both of his arms are twisting and swelling out of his sleeves like an awful body horror abomination. His hands and forearms swell, more regular-sized arms weave together into the shape of musculature, and twisting spikes of bone stretch out of his arms. At the shoulders are the largest spikes, and a few free hands splay their palms.
“Hypertrophy, Multiplier, Rivet, Spearlike Bones, Kinetic Booster times four, Strength Enhancer times three, and- ah, Heavy Payload.” He cracks his neck, and as a gross smile widens on his face, she realizes his head is an eyeless, noseless mess of knotted, textured scar tissue. “Air Cannon,” he says.
The first one comes from the arm-thing pointed towards Tsutsumi. The hands splayed out by his shoulder let out blasts just to compensate for the explosion forced downrange— enhanced air pressure alone glows and crackles in the night, a massive column that obliterates practically everything in that direction. Still, after it, he scoffs, like he’s disappointed. Then, he turns. He reaches down, and widens his other palm, right at Himiko and Kyuubi. She freezes, staring up at him.
All my life, I’ve been called a monster. And this man exists. How do I even compare?
She’s still frozen in fear when All Might scoops her up in one arm, and Kyuubi in the other. His teeth are clenched, full of tension and rage. There’s no feigned smile. She could stab him, now, rid the world of its stupid symbol who never saved her.
Except, right now, he snatched a villain away from a monster. She almost understands ‘I Am Here’. The moment ends when they reach the edge of the crater, and All Might shoves them forward. His hands are large enough to push them safely, even at a speed that would probably otherwise dislocate a few things. As they twist through the air, the explosion collides into All Might behind them, and he’s swallowed in dust and rubble.
For all her reflexes, Himiko doesn’t have any way to soften her landing. Kyuubi clearly knows that, and from the look in her eye, she’s about to do something stupid to protect Himiko again. She wants to thump her fists into her Kyu’s big, dumb, muscular chest and tell her to stop, but instead there’s nothing she can do as Kyu’s broken arm reaches out with crackling cyan lightning and tugs her into a protective hug. Kyu’s back is the one that slams into dirt and concrete, her sweater getting ripped to rags as they drive a gout through the ground before they finally stop.
She wheezes in a breath, ignoring the pain across her body and the air knocked out of her body. Kyuubi is already pushing herself up, eyes full of concern for her.
“Himiko,” she sighs, relief sinking into her tense shoulders. Then, “Himiko, are you alright? Please be alright.”
She grabs her arm and gently but firmly holds her there. “You idiot, are you? You— Your arm!” She lets go, horrified, and Kyuubi looks down at it. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Himiko, it’s fine. I mean, it, y’know, it hurts, but it’s not— I’ve done it before,” Kyuubi laughs a little, and Himiko isn’t sure if it’s hysterical or she genuinely doesn’t see the insanity of her situation. She winces when the wheezed laugh actually takes on a little more volume, hissing at the pain in her gut. At the same time, the smell of blood washes over Himiko. All For One’s finger stabs. Shit.
“Shit,” she says. “I’m gonna— I have to get you out of here. It’s gonna be alright.” Her own words die on the air as the floodlight and thumping rotor of a helicopter moves over them. She hisses up at it, but it’s not focused on them, anyway. It’s moving towards All Might. She looks around, and already, she can see the red and blue lights painting the cracked and half-destroyed buildings around them. This incident is the biggest in decades, the police presence is going to be impassable.
She looks back down at Kyuubi, and she looks so empty without that energy dancing across her face, in the pale moonlight. The blood loss probably isn’t helping, but it doesn’t smell or look severe yet.
“I have an idea,” Himiko says, making sure Kyuubi is stable against the dirt and rubble. “Don’t do anything stupid. Please. Seriously.” she stands, tugging off the jumpsuit. It’s baggy enough to come off quick, at least. Kyuubi has an adorable shade of pink across her face when Himiko looks down at her. She’s embarrassed too, obviously, but she just turns away a little as she transforms. “I mean it,” she insists with one last glace at Kyuubi, and then runs further from All Might and All For One. She needs a disguise.
“Why’d it all have to go to shit,” Kaina groans, tugging away a clump of hair-putty and forming it as she runs. “Always, with this League shit.” She hated her old job, but at least it was point-and-shoot. This is hell, and just like the camp, there are explosions everywhere.
The one that obliterated her old position is a shame, since that was actually a useful angle, but she’s pretty sure Sensei has detection Quirks. He doesn’t seem to have eyes, and Ragdoll was inexplicably stolen from the campgrounds, so… He knows where she is at all times. On the other hand, though, she’s afforded the advantage of utter chaos on the battlefield. A well positioned, isolated sniper is pretty much untouchable, while every hero in a massive radius is going to rip Sensei to shreds while she takes money shots.
She’s finally found a new position to fire from, while All Might goes head to head with the villain. With his breathing mask broken, the villain is probably going to lose a battle of endurance. Still, the next time they collide, she can probably critically injure him. She doubts a typical shot would pierce his skull, and she doesn’t want to overextend her rifle before she’s certain of a shot.
The League, however, seems intent to cause her problems. Honestly, she’s glad she’s free, but what the hell. There’s wind so hot and dry it’s like she’s been teleported into the desert, with the rising dust and fragments of cement to match. She’s a shot like no other, but this wind is totally irregular. She huffs, sparing a glance over at— Well, Dabi’s awake.
The glow of flame is almost blinding, as huge swells of it collide— Endeavor’s orange and Dabi’s blue. It’s a feat to match him at all, although he’s probably been using high heat to incinerate Nomu and then fly here, so he’s not at full power. Dabi, though, is going at him relentlessly, and she can hear his bubbly, manic laugh from here as clearly as she can see his jackets burn into embers and his scars spread and smolder. Dabi keeps Endeavor on the defense, which means she isn’t being buffeted by a hundred-degree sandstorm anymore, so she lines up her shot again.
All Might looks small. Well, he’s still far taller than the average person, but he’s hunched, and his hair antenna are wavering, and his costume hangs off his slouched, frail body. His fist is still extended out, and whatever collision just happened reaches her with a burst of wind as she loads a bullet through her hand. All Might loses a battle of attrition. She won’t exactly miss the symbol of peace, but despite the propaganda built as a pillar around and under him, he’s not awful. Spinner and Kyuubi have won that argument.
No, right now, she needs to take the shot. She can’t overextend herself, not when he can deflect, but she can buy a second, she needs to.
A body slams into hers— something forceful digging into her back, between her shoulder blades. It forces her to lurch forward, but she staunchly refuses to let the rifle go off course, even as pain jolts through her shoulders and the muscles roar against it. Her instincts tell her to snap the rifle back into her arm, roll across the concrete safely, and address the threat. She politely commands her instincts to shut the fuck up. She looks down the barrel at the villain, and exhales.
The moment before she hits the ground, Kaina reaches that silent tranquility that comes right before any good shot. It’ll go right into the spot where his ear should be, sliding past his jaw and cranium. She fires, and before the bullet even reaches the target she painfully hits the ground, concrete digging into her body. The sound of the bullet echoes, then reverberates, and a bullet flies so close to her head it takes some of her hair-putty with it.
Kaina curses, and the moment the second one leaves her mouth the rest of the air is pushed out of her lungs in one wheeze as something painfully slams into her back and the rubble digs into her front even more.
“Language,” chides an unfamiliar voice sarcastically. She’s familiar with almost every hero who could sneak up on her, unless this one has risen to that level of skill while she was imprisoned. She sounds young, but a little raspy. Full of sass. She hates this type almost as much as she hates the straight-laced stick-up-ass ones.
“Wasn’t aware I was in the presence of children,” Nagant huffs, raising her elbow as it extends and launching the hero back with the muzzle of her rifle. With the weight off her, she continues the momentum of the rifle sliding into her arm to push off the ground, and twists on the unsteady rubble.
The woman is tan, short, and muscular. She has white hair, red eyes, and bunny ears. Really, she looks entirely like a bunny. It’s sort of cute, the fierce smile sort of adds to it. She’s wearing a white and purple leotard that shows off the muscles pretty well, too. It’s got fluffy white fur around her neck, and she wears white gloves and plated purple thigh high… boots? Stockings? All of it points to an outright physical fighter with a leg focus, though.
“Lady Nagant, right?” she asks, then cracks her knuckles. “I’m Mirko. I came here for my student. You’re gonna point a direction and the concussion won’t be too bad.” She pauses, then adds, “that’s merciful, with the permissions given.” She punctuates that with a thumb drawn across her neck.
Kaina laughs bitterly. “Oh, they’d have me assassinated in prison, thanks. I think I’ll stay a free woman.” She reaches up, carding her hand through her hair before twisting and tugging at the end of it. She’s firing more often than it grows, but she won’t run out for a while. Although… “It is kinda cute that you think you can bring me in, though,” Kaina smirks.
“I am not cute, ” Mirko says, nose wiggling as her brow scrunches. Kaina almost laughs outright, but she prioritizes dodging. It’s barely enough to save her from a kick swinging out at her face. Mirko lands where she just was and bounds at her again.
I’m definitely less agile than the bunny hero— no surprises there, Kaina observes as she weaves away from an axe kick. My Rifle is a more decisive Quirk, though, that’s the advantage I’ll have to press. Although… Kaina grimaces. She’d be plenty happy to shoot a run of the mill hero in the leg and kick them down the hill. A plain-faced ‘stop, villain’ type would be easy to end a fight with, even nonlethally.
As Kaina’s muzzle flies from her arm and catches Mirko in the gut, pinning her down, she grimaces.
Notes:
This chapter is almost 3k— and i originally planned on more happening! whew, what a fun arc.
From Lady Nagant’s extra page: Likes: Pretty things/Cute things (this page was never officially translated/included in the english release of the manga, but I promise it’s on there)
Yeah, lots of Himiko and Kaina this chapter! Who knows what undertones could possibly be implied by that ending scene!
I mean, this one also features egregious acts of average All For One, but he’s… behind the times. Not out of the fight yet, though, and things are looking sort of grim for All Might.Next chapter will probably be the end of Kamino— where’d Himiko run off to? Will All Might defeat his nemesis? Will Kaina keep being a useless lesbian? Find out next time on dragon ball zee!
ps: happy late birthday toga (it was yesterday)
pss: holy shit 20,000 hits. i love you all sm even the ones who quit when they realized its a tslur story thank you for reading my favorite piece i'm so happy <3
Chapter 30: Inside King IV / Krylon II
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“You’re a little rusty, grandma.” Mirko’s legs coil around the barrel digging into her solar plexus and twist, slamming Kaina into the ground. Since the barrel is attached to her arm, Mirko finds it pretty easy to roll off it and she’s straddling Kaina in an instant. She tries a swing with her off hand, but has it batted away and then a forearm is pressing against her throat.
“We have a bigger problem,” Kaina wheezes, tossing a glance towards the man floating in the air and monologuing. “You aren’t exactly gaining any thing— ” Kaina squeezes out the last syllable as Mirko presses against her. She’s glaring and gritting her teeth, but she softens a little at the urgency on Kaina’s face.
Mirko shakes her head, dismissing the thought. Dammit all. This is bad. Her arm on Kaina’s throat shifts from the forearm to press Kaina’s head into the concrete by her chin. She opens her mouth to say something, but then her ears twitch.
“M-Mirko!” Kaina’s head is craned away, but she can still see Kyuubi approaching at the very edge of her eyeline. Mirko’s eyes widened, and she doesn’t hesitate in turning away.
“Kit!” it seems like an automatic response, almost cute. Kyuubi looks bloodied, but she’s good enough to run. Kaina doesn’t waste the opportunity— she’ll lose a two on one if Kyuubi switches up on her, but she’s too much of an optimistic kid to just do that. With that happy thought in mind, Kaina punches Mirko across the jaw.
The problem with being strapped to an uncomfortable chair for years is that your muscles atrophy. That, and Mirko having some experience taking blows in the chin, means she’s met with a wide, sharp grin rather than much of a chance to get away. Mirko twists back and wrestles her onto her stomach in an instant. “Careful, Lady Nagant. I almost felt that.”
Kaina struggles for a moment— and then wheezes out a chuckle, despite the weight on her back. “For all your superhuman senses, bunny, you don’t have much of an intuition.” She twists her head around, giving Mirko a sharp grin, despite the pin.
Kyuubi, jogging up next to Mirko, bares her fangs and bites her neck.
“Ah, shit— Kit, what the hell!” Mirko says, managing to wrestle her off after a few seconds. She doesn’t let Kaina up, but she stares after her.
“Sorry, Mirko!” Toga says, letting the visage of Kyuubi melt away into a gray mess. “ Lepóridos Luna for life!” She giggles, in that sing-songy way she often does, and then begins to change— liquid quickly settling into firm shapes across her body, until she’s a perfect copy of Mirko, except for Toga’s big red scarf. Mirko’s body letting out Himiko’s laugh is strange, but it’s only a moment before she runs away.
Kaina thinks of how her Kyuubi disguise was bloodied, when injuries usually disturb her disguise. Kyuubi is hurt, then. She’s getting her across the police line.
Mirko lifts Kaina by her dress and slams her into the concrete. Blood is smeared down her neck, now, sticking to her pure white hair. She snarls closer, her face just a few inches from Kaina’s. “What the hell was that. Talk.”
“I think you were bitten by a villain,” Kaina rasps unhelpfully. If only it were me, she thinks unhelpfully. Mirko hits her against the ground again. Kaina feels cold nothing swell in her throat. “See you soon, bunny.” She coughs steel-gray sludge into the space between them.
Kyuubi thinks she hears someone approach, but then she’s heaving up the sludge again. It’s no less disgusting or disorienting, and her injuries roar against the pain of falling into a— now much larger— expanse of packed dirt and concrete rubble, at the center of which All For One floats. All Might is there, too— deflated, frail, but there nonetheless. His eyes still shine with that fierce blue, even if— Even if All For One is winning.
She struggles to breathe, and finds her mouth dry and incapable of swallowing.
Around her, most of the League tumbles or stands quickly, in various states of injury. Spinner has a nasty gash on his arm, Compress’ coat is in tatters, Shigaraki looks scraped up, and Dabi— well, Dabi stinks of burning flesh and hair. His skin still smokes, and there are embers burning in his scars and fingertips.
“DAMMIT!” He roars, flame searing and kicking his coat up before it dissipates. “Send me back, asshole!” He juts a finger out at the man winning a fight with the Symbol of Peace.
All For One doesn’t meet his eye— not that he could, but his scar mass head only turns towards Kurogiri. His fingers reach out in those spears of black and red, which press against Kurogiri’s chest. He says something, but Kyuubi’s head is still reeling, and they only see the dark purple of Kurogiri swell into a large circle. “Go,” is all All For One says, with finality. Shigaraki rasps a reply, but he’s already shifting his attention.
Despite his lack of eyes, the gaze he levels at Kyuubi feels oppressive. She feels that she’s hyperventilating, but it seems distant. She can’t really concentrate on it enough to make it stop, anyway. A smile twists and gnarls the scar tissue of All For One’s head.
“And you,” All For One’s reverberating voice is followed by a deeper chuckle. “I suppose you could face me down, or flee with your life, just like he did at your age.” He juts a vicious thumb at All Might. “Or, you could follow them.”
“Not another word,” hisses All Might.
All For One laughs again, floating a bit closer and a bit lower to Kyuubi. “What’ll it be, Ninth? Are you a Hero, with a broken arm and an unbreakable will? Or are you an artist with a muse who doesn’t have to fight?” At the grimace that crosses Kyuubi’s face, he just laughs again. Kyuubi feels Blackwhip crackle along her arms again, itching to lash out. She feels the same, although she can hardly stand.
Are you a Hero? She thinks of breaking herself, over and over. Of everything she’d do to save people. Of the heroes surrounding her who would happily tear down everything she loves for the ‘greater good.’
Are you an artist? She can only hear the mockery in that tone, the teasing weight over her head: ‘you will never go through that portal an innocent person, Ninth,’ is what he’s saying. She wishes All Might destroyed his mouth when she crushed his head, too.
Suddenly, there’s an impact, and the slamming of running footsteps next to her. Kyuubi barely has time to turn her head, fighting the throbbing pain down her back. She sees Mirko, blearily. She blinks as firm hands cradle her, wincing as she shifts but nonetheless safe in the strength of Mirko’s arms. Safe in the rough fabric around her neck that Kyuubi can curl into—
This is Stain’s scarf. This is Himiko , she realizes, looking up at her— and Himiko looks back down with a lovestruck, fanged grin. She’s not leaping and running like Mirko’s muscles would allow, but Himiko is fast anyway, and All For One doesn’t attack. In fact, when Kyuubi looks over Himiko’s shoulder, she only sees him laughing uproariously.
“You were wrong, All For One!” All Might says, smile spreading across his face.
All For One laughs and laughs, until his breath wheezes and hitches into a coughing fit. And finally, his arm begins to twist and grow again. “Well, that wasn’t Mirko,” he chuckles.
All Mi-
-Eight
Is going to
Die.
Himiko sends another wide, fanged smile at Kyuubi as they get far enough to be mostly safe, but her face turns to a small, open mouth in surprise. She turns, watching as All For One’s arm swells, massive, even larger than it had been before. Spikes twist out of it, and rapidly duplicating arms layer over each other until it’s bigger than the rest of All For One’s body combined.
This is the attack he saved to kill All Might, and All Might is out of time.
It doesn’t go off right away, though— There’s a glow of orange as Endeavor’s attack is blocked, and a glow of blue as Dabi lashes back. Kyuubi pushes herself out of Himiko’s arms, stumbling back towards the battlefield. She’s not close enough. A distant glimpse of red slashes at All For One, but Edgeshot is blasted back just as easily.
“Just a few seconds,” Kyuubi wheezes, clutching at the wounds in her gut with her unbroken arm. “Just— it has to be okay.” She’s so scared she can’t breathe. But she can stumble and stagger, just a little closer.
All For One bats away some of the top heroes in the country as if they are particularly annoying flies. Between Endeavor’s Hell Spider and Edgeshot’s Spiral Spear Hand, he blasts Shigaraki and Dabi away and through the portal. Neither of the attacks phases him.
“I’ve got you.” Kyuubi turns, and Himiko is there, holding her up as she staggers closer. The disguise of Mirko drips away. She’s bruised and scraped, but not wounded, and the warmth and comfort of her body is deceptively firm and strong. Himiko helps her closer, over the crest of crater, where the wind buffets them. Himiko leans her shoulder out ahead of Kyuubi, baring her teeth.
Without the League to worry about, All For One unleashes another shockwave. It’s not enough to keep any of the top heroes in the country, but it slows them down. And all the Demon Lord of Kamino needs to do to end the Symbol of Peace is extend his arm. Kyuubi isn’t close enough. She screams, she feels tears burn at her eyes and Blackwhip sear under her skin, but she’s not close enough.
Mirko’s kick occupies his off hand. His head even turns a little. He blasts Mirko away, and she’s crushed into the concrete and dirt like Kyuubi had been. But then, he looks up, and seems to realize something. Kyuubi takes another step forward, Blackwhip starting to dig into the ground ahead and tug them. Still, the blast that had hit Mirko makes them stagger, and Himiko barely keeps her straight.
Tsutsumi’s gunshot buys one more step, as the sound echoes through the night. Endeavor’s Prominence Burn buys half a step, and Kyuubi blinks and wheezes against the heat of the air. All For One is singed at best. All Might grows, his hair flaring up into the air, his arm swelling, but it’s not even his whole body.
It’s a last stand. He passed on One for All.
Kyuubi’s eyes burn with tears. But something else within her isn’t scared, or despairing. It roars.
Fourteen hands reach out.
Eight will not die like they have.
Nine is young— she needs him.
Blackwhip crackles and snaps and wreathes around All For One in furious black. All For One laughs, laughs at all of their efforts, laughs at the top heroes of the country who could not save All Might himself. Kyuubi roars, at his cruel laugh and his unabashed evil. She roars, and cries, and Blackwhip tugs, just a little harder. She can’t hear him through the wind and distance, but she can feel the deep vibration of All For One’s voice through the tendrils.
All Might steps forward with conviction that shakes the earth. All For One tugs against Blackwhip once before he wrestles out of it, but it’s a half-second that All Might presses. The uppercut he looks prepared to deliver is a feint, and he twists out of it, letting his other arm swell furiously. His right arm falls to the wayside with cracks that carry along with the shockwave, and a ruby red spray dances in the floodlight of the news helicopter. All Might’s left hook slams into All For One with enough force to scatter Blackwhip into loose, gnarled strands. He barely flinches. Then, his laugh booms out.
“Petty tricks. How unlike the Symbol of Peace.” His other arm swells with power and fury. “But weak, always too WEAK!” All For One’s voice is punctuated with a shockwave that sunders the ground and tears up a wave of dirt. Kyuubi only stands her ground because of Himiko’s arms on her back.
“You’re surrounded by heroes, All For One!” All Might’s transformation ripples up his back and down his right arm— the tension in it straightens out the mangled injuries, but the blood sprays and heaves from his mouth. “And I AM HERE,” All Might roars, “PUTTING MY BACK INTO IT THIS TIME!” He smiles, bright like a thousand suns, brighter than the floodlight, despite the blood smearing his costume, staining his teeth, and running down his face.
“UNITED STATES OF SMASH!”
Himiko holds Kyuubi tight, furiously protective, as they tumble back. She cries out as she’s battered through concrete, and Kyuubi curls her arms around her, not allowing Himiko to take the blows for her. She won’t let Himiko take the blows for her.
As the winds billow on, the floodlight paints the twisting wall of dust and debris. It glows like a thousand fireflies, spiraling out until it finally thins. From here, Kyuubi can’t see anything. Finally, the floodlight finds All Might.
He stands with his left fist in the air. His form is deflated, his costume sags off of him— except for his right side, which is tattered, and leaves his bare, mutilated arm open to see. His hair is a mess that hands around him. Steam billows from him, like an old engine sputtering to a start, and then the flame of One for All flares. Kyuubi can feel it, feel the golden light of Eight shift and warp, one last show. One last ‘I Am Here.’
Countless heroes, medics, and police descend on the area. She can hear them before she sees them. Himiko helps her stand, then morphs into Mirko again, and puts her identifying scarf around Kyuubi’s neck with a weary smile. Kyuubi clings onto her as she starts to move.
“Be— be safe. Take care of yourself, Himiko, please.”
“Hey!” Himiko shouts in a perfect imitation of Mirko. “This kit needs attention. Now.” Kyuubi is handed off to medics with her hand still gripping Himiko’s forearm. Kyuubi leans towards her, against the medics, despite her wounds. “I’ll text. I’ll be okay. Now go get medical attention before you bleed out, Kyu.”
At that, she feels the fight start to leave her body. Everything happens quickly— she’s taken past reporters and police lines and doesn’t even get checked at the trauma station before she’s taken straight to an ambulance. She blinks, and the painkillers are working and she’s been bandaged up, she blinks and her mother is in the hospital. They hug very very gently with one arm to not disturb the bandages and casts swathing her body. She winces a few times, at her old name, but she just blames the pain each time.
She realizes, as late night turns to early morning and the painkillers and adrenaline melt into almost-tiredness, that her phone is probably a melted, crushed, buried mess in Kamino Ward. Her mom lets her use Line on her phone, though.
There’s messages filling her phone, individual texts and groupchats, words of worry and wishes of safety and a few dotted messages about the whole lighting and black tendrils on live TV thing. Oh, that was all live around the time All Might arrived. The helicopter.
“████? Honey, are you alright?” Kyuubi turns toward her mother again, mouth open to talk, and finds that no words will make themselves form.
“I— I’m tired. But, um, I wanna talk more. Tomorrow.” She explains, putting her face back into her phone to end the conversation. She digs through her contacts, finally finding Yaomomo.
Notes:
Ooh this one’s fun. Oooh im so excited for the next one. (secretly, ive rewritten the end of kamino based on comments ive gotten over the past month. dont tell anyone that i steal my plot from my own readers. /j… /hj)
There’s a few dialogue changes from canon, and a few interactions that just didn’t make it in— no way to really make Spinner, Shigaraki, and Compress vs. Edgeshot show up, nor was there time or motivation to stick “that’s nana shimura’s grandson, lmao” in there (it happens between Kyuubi being knocked away and the league being warped in close, just… didn’t happen on screen.)
Chapter 31: Bencher I
Summary:
Last time: Kamino ended as every hero (and a few villains) present threw their best attacks at All For One, each giving just another moment-- and it was enough for All Might to gather his strength, and Kyuubi to lash out with Blackwhip. In the hospital, she asked for a press conference, knowing how much had to change about her image.
Now: Kyuubi contemplates her image and tries to dance the dance of being herself and being a Hero.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
She's not sure when she got backstage-- it doesn't feel real, even for a second. There's fog at the edges of her vision, the corners behind the curtains not even bothering to exist.
She steps up to the table and lights flash against her eyes. Nedzu and the agent take their places on either side of her. The cameras shutter and the voices rise, and she smiles awkwardly.
Nedzu speaks first, hopping up to the mic in front of his chair. “Please hold your questions. First, we would like to make a statement.” She glances at an agent, who nods, and then Nedzu, who smiles politely.
“You know me as the second place student in the sports festival, and the one who was able to struggle against the Kamino villain,” she says clearly, her usual stutter ironed out. “I am a transgender woman, and my name is Kyuubi.”
Cameras flash again, and there are shouts, before a reporter comes out clear. “As in the graffiti artist in the Musutafu area?”
She swallows, sucks in a breath, and lets it out slowly. “Yes.”
The cameras flash. More yells. “A vandal in the hero course?”
“An artist with a powerful statement!”
“What is your intent with your art?”
“Principal Nedzu, justify this!”
“Principal Nedzu, did you know?”
Nedzu smiles politely while he arrests her.
Kyuubi sits up quickly as the nightmare ends with the abrupt click of handcuffs clasping. She only makes it about half as far as she usually does, and then the pain hits. A few cuts and a few bruised or tender ribs, she can tell in a moment. She can still (barely) move her left hand, while her right arm is in a cast. On the plus side, her legs aren’t visibly injured. Only half my body! The fact that she shouldn’t be excited as she is is not lost on her, but it’s an improvement from how she sometimes is.
The morning sun is just starting to filter into the room, and she almost wants to open a window and let in the morning air. Stuck in bed, though, she flicks the TV on.
“Yokohama Morning News, starting your morning off right,” A plain-looking anchor says, “last night, a large villain attack destroyed multiple blocks in Kamino Ward. The villain responsible has since been taken into custody, and early reports say he has already been moved to Tartarus as a serious threat.” He adjusts his glasses, and footage moves to pictures of the wreckage under early-morning light. “Estimates are of roughly twenty-seven missing, with over two-hundred injured and seven dead.” Staring at the images of the rubble across that expanse of Kamino Ward, Kyuubi mutes the TV.
All those people… That bastard. Her teeth grit against each other before she even realizes. She wishes she could just tear her IV out and run to help, but when she adjusts in bed there’s a twinge of pain that practically makes her see white, and she runs out of breath. Exhaustion settles into her like a weighted blanket, forcing her to settle back down. The pain levels out into a bit of nausea sitting quietly in the back of her throat.
She doesn’t keep track of the time— she thinks the morning sun has shifted across the tile, gleaming up at her— but Kyuubi doesn’t think much or look away from the TV until there’s a gentle rap and the door slides open.
“Goodmorning,” A nurse says, moving in quickly. “Midoriya?” She nods in small motions, to try not to tug on anything. She tries to say ‘yes,’ too, but her mouth is dry and her voice is weak. The nurse’s face pulls into a tight smile and she nods with practiced empathy. “I’m just gonna check on your vitals, then I can bring you something to drink, and breakfast, if you’d like. Finger?” Kyuubi smiles awkwardly and raises her limp-ish hand for the pulse-ox sensor.
“Yes, a drink would be nice. Perhaps tea?” Kyuubi and the nurse both practically jump in the air. “Am I a dog? A mouse? A bear? Who knows! More importantly… Visiting hours have begun!”
“Y-you’re very, uh, punctual. M— Mr. Principal. Why are you, um… Here?”
Nedzu laughs, smiling his politely. It’s uncanny, but whether it’s clearly false or not is unhelpful. Either way, he gives nothing away under that mask. After a perfectly appropriate time laughing, he sips at a paper cup. The nurse wastes no time before leaving.
“I am here,” Nedzu explains, “because you are going to speak with the press. And although he is an excellent teacher, Aizawa Shota is on a two-week grace period before I can put him on another panel. Because he is horrible with the press.”
“Oh,” Kyuubi says, “well, um, I—” She forces herself to breathe. “After the Sports Festival, my name was out there, so I know that’s how this is all being reported. Because I was—” Images of the expanse of rubble under moonlight, and the concrete digging into her back, and the force of All For One’s attacks come back hard enough for her to wince.
“You were there,” Nedzu finishes quietly. “Yes, that was a failing on our part. I’m currently working on something that should improve the safety of all students, I’m sure you’ll be made aware sometime soon. But to the point, you want a rebrand?”
“Yes,” Kyuubi says eagerly. “I didn’t really like my hero name when I picked it, a-among other things. Related to my image, I mean, just— Every time there’s a report about me, or— or my name is mentioned, I just—” Kyuubi winces to demonstrate, although she knows better than to tug her shoulders up.
“I see.” Nedzu rubs his chin for a moment, thinking. “You want to use the media’s curiosity about you to put forward a new face? Minors don’t often speak directly to the media, but they don’t often have your sort of publicity, either…” Kyuubi doesn’t feel like she should interrupt as he drifts off into thought. The silence is beginning to become awkward when the nurse returns with breakfast, a large glass of water, and of course, tea. Nedzu remains silent while she smiles awkwardly and stammers out thanks.
“I think we can agree that there’s a lot on your shoulders after last night.” Kyuubi narrows her eyes at him, and he looks back with a slight raise of his eyebrows. Yet again, he gives no hint of truth. “It… may be significant, for you to put your best foot forward. UA’s soon-to-be graduates,” he says, pausing to sip. Then, he gestures to Kyuubi. “...and the next generation, both.”
Oh, he definitely knows.
Yet again, the door slides open. Through it marches Aizawa, scarf hanging ragged around his neck, tangling with his oily mess of hair. He takes a few deep breaths, like he’s been running, before standing to his full height. His eyes are more sunken than usual. “You better not be signing my student up for a media parade, rat.”
“Ah, but she asked herself! I’m sure that you’re here for that same reason!”
Aizawa glares tiredly. “I’m here to make sure my student seriously considers all options before deciding to talk to the vultures.” It sounds like he would’ve just cursed Nedzu out, if not for the fact that he’s an employee of the principal. Aizawa pinches his brow, taking another few deep breaths before they even out. Then, he pulls his hand away from his face, a new look of confusion on it. “Did you just say ‘she’?”
Oh, he did, Kyuubi realizes, half wanting to turn bright red and bury herself in the covers, half gaze snapping to Nedzu in confusion.
“Ah, I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself. Midoriya, now that we’re both here, is there anything you’d like to clarify about your intent with the media?”
Kyuubi stares at him, still flustered, before finally sputtering a sentence into existence. “A-ah, well, um, I guess— I guess. Yeah. I— I’m trans.” Aizawa opens his mouth, then closes it. There’s something in his gaze, and Kyuubi can piece it together easily enough. Toga Himiko. It’s probably not hard to connect those dots, if he’s become informed of her case. He opens his mouth again, and Kyuubi starts before he can. “I— I know that coming home from a kidnapping saying that isn’t— it just, it is true.”
“We don’t doubt you,” Nedzu says easily, with a paw raised placidly. “So, I suppose the question is; who is the hero who helped All Might at Kamino?”
“W-well, honestly, Lady N-Nagant…”
“Don’t say that,” Nedzu chuckles.
“I’m certainly not versed in media strategy,” Aizawa drawls, “but I believe we could stave off the press for a few days, especially with the promise of a conference soon.”
“Two days,” Nedzu nods. “Two days to construct a statement.”
“Knowing them, they’re going to badger you about your time as a victim of a kidnapping,” Aizawa points out.
“But I’m a minor,” Kyuubi replies, “so if need be, I or— or maybe a second? Could step in. I-I can answer a few questions about it, but cut it off just as easily.” She looks up with a questioning gaze, and Nedzu nods with an approving smile. There’s a glint in his eye, an eagerness.
“No media circuit,” Aizawa warns with a glare.
Nedzu wheels on him in an instant, suddenly seeming less cheery and more businesslike. “One conference, and I will be alongside her representing UA staff rather than you.” Aizawa purses his lips.
“One conference, you’re representing, a third to counterbalance, and I get priority over Kan for a month.”
“A week.”
“ She picks the third. Two weeks.”
“Deal!” Nedzu smiles brightly. Aizawa sighs with a suspicious glare. Despite the compromise they’ve gotten to, it doesn’t feel like Aizawa won, and they all know it. “So!” Nedzu says, cheery again, and clasps his paws together. “I suppose you must pick your third. For today, you can think on it and begin preparing yourself. Tomorrow you should be recovered enough for a supervised trip, at the least.” Nedzu smiles, and then nods to himself. “Ah, but while we’re scheduling… Midoriya, would you like to speak with any of your classmates?”
Aizawa sighs. “About all of them are waiting for the all-clear on visiting,” he adds, a soft smile gently pulling at his lips.
She gives it some thought, but she shakes her head. “I don’t have a phone, so, um, please just tell Yaomomo I-I’m alright.” Aizawa looks at her with more softness than she’s ever seen before. As if asking ‘are you sure.’ Kyuubi looks down at her hand, and sees him nod slightly and start texting out of the corner of her eye.
“Now then, Miss Midoriya,” Nedzu smiles politely. Beside him, Aizawa puts his hair up with a quiet grumble. “Let’s get to work!”
She smiles awkwardly and nods. She doesn’t say it, but the casual affirmation from both of them makes tears swell in her eyes.
Kyuubi finds herself outside the apartment by golden hour. She raises her hand to knock— it still feels odd, a mix of tender and numb and sensitive— since Recovery Girl had come by and she’d been out for a few hours. But now, after waking up groggy, she’s finally reinvigorated. She takes a deep breath, pleasantly feeling that her ribs aren’t a bruised or broken mess, and the scrapes left in her shoulder and gut only ache slightly at her full lungs. She steels herself, and knocks.
“I swear to god, it is my off day! ” Its occupant shouts. Despite the anger, she’s almost sing-songy, in a ‘I’m-gonna-lose-it’ way. Kyuubi gulps. “If you are another god damn reporter, you better be GONE when I open this door!” There are footsteps approaching, and then the door swings open.
“H-hi! I’m n-not a reporter,” Kyuubi explains awkwardly.
“Mm. Would be a pretty significant career change.” Mirko chuckles a little, falling back from the balls of her feet to rest on her heels. She jerks her chin out in a nod, then continues, “what’re you here for?”
“Oh, well— Well, um, I’m sort of doing a press conference to deal with the whole Kamino thing head on,” she stammers out. “Since, um—”
“Yeah, you hate your image. I remember. Come in.” She steps back, letting Kyuubi pass her, and Mirko stays quiet for a while. Slowly, she takes a breath, then says, “are you okay, kit?” Kyuubi shrugs, flexing both of her still-weak hands slowly. “No, I mean—” She sighs, then laughs humorlessly. “You were always a bit of a strange one. I mean facing down the big guy, and the lightning and the painful-looking tendrils. And the being kidnapped bit.”
“They’re violent terrorists, but there wasn’t— They didn’t do anything, until the big guy was throwing me through walls.” Kyuubi can’t really get herself to look up as she speaks, until Mirko lets out a overdramatic groan. She squeezes her hands into fists, and opens her mouth as if to yell before just hissing air through her teeth.
“I sorta— ugh. I sorta figured, actually,” Mirko sighs. “I volunteered for the raid, since I knew you were the hostage,” she says, as if she did not place her life in danger just for Kyuubi, as if it’s just as easy as helping an old lady cross the street. “Priority was given to Lady Nagant, who…” Mirko pauses, face twisting in confusion and some other emotion Kyuubi can’t place.
“Yeah, Tsuts—” Don’t say her name! “Nagant was weird. I— I didn’t talk to her too much? She was mostly just… happy to not be in prison.” Kyuubi pauses, looking down at her hands as she twists and fiddles them into her skirt. “I think— She thought she was rescuing me from a system that failed her.” Nice save, she thinks, almost laughing at herself.
“Is that a skirt?” Mirko says.
“...Yes,” Kyuubi says, unclasping her hands and then hesitating before moving to fidget again. “I… I want to deal with the image, and stuff, but also… The name, they’re reporting me as. Because…” Why is this so hard? It must be something about the apartment. The hub of that week spent working happily with Mirko, the place they sparred, the place that still sort of smells like takeout. Where she felt free. It feels a lot longer than a few months ago.
“Take as much time as you need,” Mirko urges, slowly setting a hand on Kyuubi’s shoulder. She must notice that it doesn’t really get to her, because Mirko softly shakes her shoulder. “Hey. Listen to me, kit.” Finally, Kyuubi meets her eyes. Like always, that ferocity is infectious. “You’re like me. You’re tough stuff. Yeah?”
“Y-yeah,” Kyuubi sobs, then “oh, I’m crying,” and she lets Mirko tug her into a hug.
“You’re gonna go places,” Mirko says with softness mixing into her grit. “You’re a kit, but you’re growing fast. I can’t help but be proud.” She pushes Kyuubi back, one hand on each shoulder. Kyuubi finally sees the tears budding in her eyes, her grin a little softer but just as toothy. “I will be proud, no matter what. ” After a moment, still teary, she adds, “and if anyone gives you shit, you have my permission to kick their ass.”
“Thank you,” Kyuubi whispers raspily. She sniffles and chokes a deep breath between sobs.
“Have you picked a new name?” Mirko asks. “Hero or not.” Kyuubi pauses for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright, kit.” She’s about to say it, but Mirko gets close enough that their foreheads almost touch. “Don’t whisper it out, kit. Yell!”
“B-but—”
“Don’t hesitate!”
“Kyu!”
Notes:
Bencher— Someone who photographs or appreciates graffiti. Comes from the artists and non-artists who would sit in train station benches waiting for painted train cars.
And so she cleverly maintains the separation of the persona by only using the first syllable
We’re coming up on Switcheroo’s birthday! Maybe I’ll release an extra chapter, or a drawing, or a oneshot in the same universe (iida perspective? ochamina? who knows?) PLEASE comment suggestions!!!
Whew, long endnote. Lastly, I’ve been cooking up some other fics! This is still my main piece, and the only one on a strict weekly schedule, but I’d appreciate it if even a tenth of the people who like this fic take a peek at the others.
Doodles in Margins, a General-Education Department story that has a few 1-A kids in 1-C for various the-children-need-hugs reasons.
all my classmates are snacks, a dark comedy about 1-A Midoriya whose quirk makes them a cannibal. (Rated M)EDIT (8/29/23): for clarity in Kyu's "nightmare" scenes.
Chapter 32: Bencher II
Summary:
After discussing strategy and branding, there's only one thing left to do, really. Get parental permission, and then... announce herself to pretty much all of Japan at once...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Come in,” Inko says stiffly. She’s seemed tense this whole time, but now she’s somewhat cold. It’s not a face Kyu has ever seen her wear, really, she’s always been soft. Sooner to say ‘sorry’ with tears in her eyes than to fight relentlessly for her child. Kyu can’t blame her, and yet, seeing this almost makes her upset.
All Might, gaunt and bandaged but still barely held-together, obeys. He sits and smiles politely while Inko pours tea and the moment drags out forever because Kyu doesn’t know how to say everything she needs to. There’s so much.
“I’m here today for two reasons, Ms. Midoriya,” All Might says. “The first is a press conference your child would like to do. Everything that happened in Kamino… I deeply apologize, but of course, young Midoriya was there. As a hero, the image the media creates matters… But as a minor, of course, we’d need your consent. You can be present, if you’d like.”
Inko considers this, a little less cold and a little more thoughtful. She sips on her tea and frowns. “I hate that— that that all happened. I hate it.” She turns to Kyu, and there are those Midoriya tears. “I’m happy that my baby’s so strong, but I hate that my baby’s in fights like that.” She grabs Kyu’s hand, running a thumb across her knuckles. “I want you to have a future in this… Shaping that future is important, too, but— but I want you to have a future in this, understand? I know I can’t— I can’t stop you from being a hero, but I’m still your mother. You’re still my s—”
“The second thing,” All Might coughs, “Is that, ah… A system is being put in place for students’ defense, and it’s mandatory for UA’s Hero Course students. Dormitories.”
Inko’s lips set in a pursed line. “No,” she says. “I can’t… I can’t bear to. Everything that’s happened… I can’t entrust my ████ to you.”
Kyu startles. “Mom, I—”
“Call me a helicopter parent, if you want, but the constant failings… You had a responsibility to my child, and then ██ broke ███ bones over and over, and— and ██ was kidnapped, hurt by that villain, and— this— ████, I can’t stand to █et you be █ vict█m to t███.” Inko is crying now, but everything feels distant and underwater, and— when did I become so weak that I— this isn’t— She stumbles back, out of the chair, and…
“Young Midoriya is my successor,” All Might says, rising into his muscle form until his hair bends against the ceiling. “T█ey are… I believe █hey can be the next ‘Symbol of Peace’. But, I could never allow another to walk the bloody path that I did. I will be by ████’s side. UA is doubted, but we are doing everything in our power to change that. And I, I will █o everything in my power, for y█ur ███. Even if it costs me m█ life, I will pro██ct and nu█ture ███.”
It feels like forever away that Inko is smiling sadly as she bends down and says something to All Might, and All Might says something back, and it’s all a mess of roaring static in an instant. She wants to crawl into a hole somewhere, she wants to run and hide, she wants to go back to the way things were where she had no idea what she wanted but it wasn’t bad. It feels so bad, now.
She marches out of the apartment and squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to grasp at her phone and text Himiko, but she can’t calm down enough to get her hands to obey— they just shake and she digs her fingers into her hair. Dammit. I hate this, I hate all of it. She thinks she might lose her hospital-scrambled-eggs breakfast.
“Young Midoriya?” All Might shuts the door gently, then kneels at her side slowly. His skeletal form has always been like this, but seeing his knees strain like any other old man’s is sobering. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Midoriya. I am here. What is— may I ask what’s wrong?”
Kyu opens her mouth, and then chokes out a sob. He leans forward, offering a half-hug. She practically jumps at him, clinging to his too-big shirt, and her Midoriya tears soak into his shoulder. She’s not sure how much time passes with him letting her cling onto him, but eventually she leans back, the tears slowing for the moment and her breath coming slow but wobbly.
“I-it’s, um,” she starts, then takes a deep breath. She evens out her voice, then, “...It’s not about the way my mom was acting, or anything… Well, not really, I just—” she laughs a humorless, nervous laugh. “I’m doing a press conference tonight about this and I can’t even tell her, or you. I feel like I might go crazy.” Kyu tucks her knees into her chest, eyes barely showing between her knees and her bangs.
“...I can demand nothing of you. No legacy, no duty, nothing but that you— you be true to yourself. You have a heroic heart, one that wishes to save and protect. I can’t— I can’t ask anything more than that.” They stay like that, for a moment, and All Might settles a gentle hand on her knee. She knows her face is red and her eyes are puffy, but she does, slowly, calm down. “If you’d like to leave now, we’ll be a bit early.”
“That’s alright,” Kyu says, standing. All Might follows suit. “I… I think I need to do this, before anything else.
All Might’s car, she finds, is very comfortable. As late afternoon sunlight washes over her body like a blanket, it’s easy to sleep.
It's the same nightmare again. There's nothing behind her, she thinks, although she doesn't have a moment to look back.
She steps up to the table and lights flash. The stage lighting practically burns her, and she can barely make out the silhouettes of the media. Certainly, she can’t while all their lights are click-click -ing. They’re already yelling out questions while she sits down.
“Who is the hero who helped All Might in the Kamino Incident?” They yip, like dogs on the other side of a too-flimsy too-short fence, “who are you next to him?” They bark viciously.
“I don’t need to compare to him— expecting me to do that at my age is silly. But I hope to grow to a level like his one day.”
The crowd explodes with questions again, and it’s too much. It’s all too much. They ask about the League, and she stammers and stammers until the walls close in and they’re going to arrest her and she can’t take it and tendrils of darkness crush everything.
She wants it to stop, but instead they lash around, spreading like wildfire.
“I shouldn’t have agreed to do a press conference,” Kyu groans backstage. “Oh, god, I don’t even— I sort of planned what to say, but—”
Mirko grabs her shoulder firmly, and shakes her. Not enough to jostle any wounds, but enough to get her attention. “Kit, you’re just telling them a new name. Think of it like a cheesy commercial.” Kyu whines. Mirko’s eyes narrow with intensity. “Who’s the kid hero of the Kamino Incident?”
Kyu looks at Mirko with a pout, but is only met with her fierce red eyes. Her confidence is half contagious and half forces someone to meet it or sink into the floor. Without the second option, she takes a deep breath. “I am.” It feels a little more true when she says it. “My Quirk is— is Superpower, and the energy in my body behaves in weird ways I’m trying to get a handle on, like— like—”
A woman with a headset and a tablet taps her shoulder and she jumps about a foot in the air.
“Midoriya?” She looks at the other two, almost cowed by the presence of heroes. “It’s time. Are you ready?”
She looks down at her hero costume. It’s undergone a lot of changes over time, and it still feels a little strange. But the tight undershirt with the baggier jumpsuit feels sort of comfortable, like a well-fit glove. She feels the makeup that was put on her face. It feels weird, light but also clinging like humidity. But then, it does look good. Probably.
Kyu looks up at Mirko as she straightens her hair and stands. She wants to say no, but she forces her mouth from a wobbly line to a set, terrified, determined line.
“Now, it’s your turn!”
Mirko bumps her shoulder as they walk towards the stage. It’s light enough to not jostle the still-healing injuries across her body, but it’s firm enough to feel. “You look like you’re gonna kill someone. Think happy thoughts.” She nods, and takes a deep breath. She lets her shoulders fall as she exhales.
Happy thoughts. Himiko’s giggle. The soft fuzzy bed beneath her and the warm familiarity above. Her smile is a little thin, but how bad can the press be? A needle isn’t so bad, either.
She takes another deep breath, letting just a touch of One for All come to life. She squeezes her hand, then lets it fall away as she exhales. She looks up, and Mirko almost looks soft, like she so rarely does in quiet moments with Kyu.
Mirko is the first onstage, with Kyu behind her and Nedzu after that. He smiles politely as they walk up the steps, and she forces herself to look forward, even if her smile is nervous. The lights aren’t so bright that she can’t see the reporters swelling in front of her, but their camera do make it rather hard to look at any of them. She glances at Mirko, who is proudly smiling with a set sort of distant look. After a moment, Mirko glances back, and they sit at the same time.
Nedzu climbs on the chair next to her, and approaches his microphone. “We ask that you hold any questions.” He smiles, in his polite, placating way. “I am here representing UA, along with one of our students who was recently involved in the Kamino Incident.” He smiles at her in a way that is almost kind, enough that he even closes his eyes in a chipper way. “I believe it would be best for you to introduce yourself?” He says it in an almost teasing way. Still, he pitched, all she has to do is swing.
“You may know me from my placement in the Sports Festival. I was a silver medalist. You probably also saw me at Kamino— I was kidnapped by the League and taken there, of course, so…” She shakes her head. “I-I’ve made a hero identity before, but I’ve been shown over and over I have to be— I have to be true to myself, if I want to do my best to save others. So, uh…” She squeezes her eyes shut, and glances at Mirko.
Mirko gives her a beaming smile and leans away from her mic to whisper. “Scream it out for the world to hear.” Kyu almost laughs, if not for the nervousness in her body like ice in her veins.
“I am th-the everburning hero, Nightlight!” She feels a sort of infectious joy as she stammers out the words, until they become confident and clear. “I’m still trying to understand myself, and my Quirk, but, um…” She takes a deep breath. “I’m a trans woman.”
Cameras flash. Whispers move amongst the crowd like flies buzzing ear to ear. She doesn’t quite make out any of them, but Mirko’s ears twitch. She clears her throat right into the mic. “I’d like to remind all of you here that you’re in a very special case of interviewing a person of interest, who is a minor. If you are not respectful, this will end quickly.” Despite the clinical language, she makes it sound like a threat.
Most of the crowd is cowed, but that only makes the next question reach her easier. “Tell us more— when and how did you realize?”
Oh, well I sort of had help. “Ah, well,” she says awkwardly, “I think it was mostly the sort of thing that… That never occurred to me, but in hindsight it explains so much. Why I disliked certain things about myself, or my image.” She shrugs, and says, “it was like… It was like having a stomachache, and not knowing why until someone asks if you ate breakfast. And you realize, ‘no, I slept so bad I didn’t get the chance, because I was so stressed last night,’ and the whole picture suddenly paints itself. All those aches and issues come from one place. I only realized recently, though”
There are shouts, overlapping, until finally a clear voice yells out, “what were the four days you were with the League like?”
Mirko opens her mouth, but Nedzu raises a paw and looks to Kyu first. She chews her lip a little, then says, “I was kidnapped. They thought— They thought, b-because of my general… Because of the bone breaking, that I was somehow vicious or villainous enough to join them. They gave me medical attention and food— I wasn’t tortured, just lectured, really.” Her smile is much less steady, now.
“What sorts of things did they say?” and “So none of them hurt you?” and “Do you think you were malleable to them?” and more and more questions bounce around. She thinks she sees Nedzu turn to her, and then a moment later he picks one journalist out of the crowd. “What is your relation to the blonde girl, Toga Himiko?”
“I-I, uh, well—”
“You each protected each other several times in that battle, and I want to know what made you go to that extent for her?”
“She— She might be a villain, but she’s a teenage girl,” Kyu finds more bite in her tone than she expected. “I had the ability to save her, and— and what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t save her? What kind of person?”
The cameras flash again. She glances to each side of her. Mirko’s not smiling as much, but her face is still set and confident. She turns to Nedzu, and finds him staring right back, appraising her silently.
“But your relation to her. Did you know each other before this?”
Kyu’s face twists. “I just— I didn’t know her, and I still don’t. I think— I think that she needs help, and I can help her. I’d rather see her alive than dead, either way.”
“Ms. Midoriya, then, what kind of hero saves villains?”
“That’s enough of that,” Mirko says, but it’s too little too late.
“Why do we draw an arbitrary line when someone breaks the law? What hero has the right to decide who lives and dies?” Kyu is appalled and exasperated and feels like her eyes might bulge out of her head or she might jump straight into that crowd. “I remember Stain being pretty heavily disliked for that.” There’s a stretch of silence, again. This one feels satisfying.
“So what kind of hero do you want to be?”
Kyu’s eyes widen a little, and she controls her eagerness. Don’t give them something to spin against you, now, she thinks. “Nightlight is the kind of hero who stands out as a beacon. A beacon who shines so that anyone can be saved, like a lighthouse guiding ships to shore. So that, when you see her light…” She takes a deep breath, and lets the cyan sparks and glow of her Quirk come alive slowly. Cameras flash like wildfire. “You know that you’re safe.”
Notes:
Now, ‘Nightlight’ is technically an ‘english’ hero name ANYWAY, but I’d like to state for the record that I overthink names for fun. Night (よる/夜) ‘yoru’ is fun and the よる form also means ‘dinner’, meaning Himiko probably petnames Kyu ‘yoru-chan’ for ‘dinner (affectionate)’. I’d just like that to be known, really.
Apologies to everyone who asked for good mama inko last chapter. Kyu struggles to come out to someone who’d probably be entirely supportive, half because of the panic budding in her chest. The same thing is extended to allm— their heart to heart was almost really similar to the one with Mirko, but I rewrote it to highlight what allm says to Inko— that Kyu will be the ‘next symbol,’ but allm will continue to shoulder the burdens and path of suffering of a symbol (really poetic. Allm is such a good guy. Love that guy.)
Switcheroo's birthday is today (8/30)! I've made this part of a series, and included the side story collection "the way it starts (the way it spreads)" Please enjoy!
EDIT: for clarification of Kyu's "nightmare" scenes.
Chapter 33: Landmark I
Summary:
Last time, Kyu finally had that press conference— and all things considered, it went well.
Now, she swallows her nervousness as she tackles all the changes it brings, with an eager preparedness for the Heights’ Alliance Dormitories.
Chapter Text
The moment Kyu— newly “Nightlight”— steps offstage, she’s ushered back to her dressing room. Kyu knows the conference went well, and Mirko’s proud (and forceful ) pats on the back affirm that. Still, with her heart still pounding in her chest, Kyu feels the leftover energy and adrenaline turning to antsy anxiety in her chest. She squeezes her hands and takes deep breaths, but there’s still nervous energy in her chest as she tugs her costume off and carefully puts it away. She chews her lip, alone in the room, anxieties starting to burn in her chest like bile in her throat.
No. She shakes her head out. It’s fine. She finds that she really misses her phone; she’d kill to search ‘Nightlight’ on social media. Or permanently conquer the irrational fear that her classmates will be transphobes. There’s no way they are. Mina and Kaminari are both openly bi. Unless they’re transphobic gays, which, like, there’s no way. But her mind is caught in an anxiety spiral despite herself.
Happy thoughts, she thinks. Deep breaths, and all that. They come, at first just filling her lungs, then measured in slow counts of four. Finally, she lets her eyes relax shut, and cards her fingers through her hair. “It’s fine,” she tells herself, “no use worrying about it before tomorrow, anyway. All I can do right now is relax and pack at home.”
She opens her eyes, tugging on a pair of tastefully ripped, high-waisted jeans and a bomber jacker over a tight, deep-green undershirt. It’s sorta like a muscle tank… she tugs at it, and blushes a little. It’s definitely padded, though. The clothes are sort of exciting, as she stares in the mirror. It all looks nice, but the top… Well, if it’s designed to look good, it’s working, even though Kyu’s face only gets redder at the thought of this being her ‘civilian look debut.’
A few third-years in the business course had basically pounced on the opportunity Nedzu presented and the chance to help create her image— even the one that left the conference and got into a car not ten seconds later. The amount of planning involved in a popular hero’s image seems like a lot of work. And like UA’s business course are basically unpaid interns, unless this goes to their tuition.
Well, they’re already sorta odd, aren’t they. Kyu barely even had more than ten minutes to talk to them, and it had been practically as urgent and fiery as the hero course got about the Sports Festival. She’s hardly ready to bump into one of them when she opens her dressing room’s door. The girl on the other side is Kyu’s height, with a cropped turtleneck and blazer along with a pencil skirt. She’s wearing dark sunglasses like always, and her warm amber goo hair is tied up in a bun with a hair pin that looks like a honey dipper.
“Oh! I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here, Natotomi,” Kyu says. The girl stares at her, her brow furrowed in unspoken concentration. That, or she’s upset. “Did— did I do something wrong?”
Natotomi just stares, eventually tucking a string of honey dripping down the side of her face back up over her ear. “Nope,” she says plainly. “I came because, unlike my classmates, I prefer to gauge stories worth telling in person. Most of them will have seen this on TV.” Then, she reaches out, and smooths out the collar of Kyu’s jacket. “The other reason is that I never trust a hero to do good publicity on their own,” she adds with a teasing smirk. “I get I underestimated the pecs you’d already have, but it’s not bad. If you ever feel like paying less money for designer, let me know.” With that, and one more gentle tug at Kyu’s collar, she struts right off.
I might actually consider it, she realizes, contemplating her wardrobe of casual-exercise clothes. She looks down at the clothes she’s wearing— On UA’s dime, yeah, but they had to fit her and it’s not like someone else could go out in the same clothes another student had worn. So it’s hers, this unfamiliar but pillowy-soft jacket and this top that fits like a hug.
She’s already been told where to go, so she finds her way to the staff door before the exit pretty easily. Nedzu smiles brightly at her as she approaches. “Good job out there. You remember what to do?”
“Smile, give them a photo opp, and then get in the car,” Kyu nods. She forces herself to take a deep breath, sinks her hands in her pockets almost-casually, and nods. “I’m ready,” she says brightly, and the door opens not a moment later. The cameras flash closer than before, and questions are shouted at her, but she’s dealt with villain attacks before. Still, by the time they’re in the back of the car, she’s letting out a deep sigh.
“Splendid. Yes, that was splendid, Ms. Midoriya,” Nedzu nods contentedly. After that, they ride in silence. Kyu stares out the tinted windows of the backseat. It takes time; the ride to UA is only about ten minutes, then the switching cars to go home without being seen, then that ride takes closer to twenty. She’s left mostly with her anxieties, but watching the city as night takes it is still nice. There’s been more and more graffiti recently, and there’s a glimmer of hope that it’s not just her getting good at spotting it. Hope that Kyuubi is making lots of people care.
Finally, the driver comes to a halt outside her apartment block. She zips her jacket halfway, one part against the night chill and one part still embarrassed about the top. I mean, it looks really good, but… Mom probably doesn’t like it, she admits to herself. On the landing between the second and third floor, she laughs a little deliriously. “Oh, or she’s more bothered about other things,” Kyu laughs to herself. Then, she groans wordlessly, the ironed-on smile she’s been wearing finally falling away. She screams internally, pausing before setting her hand on the door.
No. Does this train of thought help me? No. She takes a deep breath. It’s mom. She’s not going to be like that. She’s going to be overflowing with Midoriya tears. With one final deep breath, Kyu opens the door and walks in before she can hold herself back for another second. As she closes it behind her and steps out of her shoes, she meets her mom’s eye, on the couch. “Hey, mom,” she says, voice soft. Unsure. Like a baby’s first steps, towards open arms of her mother.
“Oh, sweetie,” Inko says.
“Mom! Oh, don’t cry, let me get the tissues,” Kyu stammers as her mom bubbles up into shaky breaths in an instant. She always gets teary when her mom cries— even as she sets the tissues in front of her, her eyes turn watery.
“I— Oh, sweetie, I— I’m sorry I didn’t know earlier,” she says through the tears. “I worry about you so much, K-Kyu?”
Kyu laughs, a little nervous and wet with almost-tears. “Y-yeah! That’s it. But you don’t need to worry, mom, I— I wouldn’t really expect you to have known. I mean, even I didn’t know.” She reaches out, gently wrapping her arms around her mom— we haven’t hugged like this in a long time, she realizes. It’s strange, holding her own mother; Kyu is taller than Inko now. Her arms wrap around her mom as she shudders with shaky breaths.
“I—I just… I do worry about you, sweetie. I— I don’t know if it makes me a bad mom. I always wanna grab you up and keep you safe and do what I think is best, but that’s not always what I need to do.” Kyu nods along, sniffling as she rubs her mom’s shoulder. “Sweetie, are you— are you safe?” Kyu goes stiff. Inko pulls back with a sniffle, then blows her nose shakily. It takes her another deep breath before she speaks, still not quite touching Kyu. “I don’t like… the way they talked to you, up there, but all these questions and articles about this girl, and how you’re always in the wrong place at the wrong time, and— I just don’t like it.”
Kyu swallows thickly, and the tears that usually come when she sees her mom cry are overlapped with a mess of other emotions. She opens her mouth, then closes it, then forces herself to start speaking. “Mom, I— I know that you might be worried, but I’m fine, promise. The girl is… Sh-she was at Hosu, and kept me safe. But, now, the League’s big leader is gone, a-and… It’s still scary, but I’m safe now. And there’ll be really good security at the dorms.”
Inko keeps staring blankly ahead, but she nods and smiles sadly. “I just… Sweetie, I worry that you’re falling in with the wrong crowd.” She still isn’t looking at Kyu— no, she’s intentionally looking away. Kyu is about to ask why, but then Inko speaks again. “And now you have this new attitude towards heroes, and your own training. And you go on national TV and say you’re a whole different person, and it’s all… Sweetie. Talk to me.”
She won’t look at me. “Whole different person.” She won’t look at me. “Sweetie.” She won’t look at me.
“I know you’re tired, sweetie, I know you’ve had a long day and you— you probably don’t think I’m helping, but I wanted to clean your room up, since everything’s already shipped off. And I looked through your closet, and there was your old All Might hoodie from the start of middle school, and then— then there was this bag, tucked away.”
Kyu goes pale, but finds herself speaking anyway. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’ve heard that it’s becoming more popular but I didn’t think— I don’t know why you’d do it!” She’s still crying, but her quivery voice is sharp-edged. “Do any of this, it doesn’t make sense!”
“Mom, I— I’m not who I am because of a little graffiti,” she says, trying to make her voice sound lighter than it is. Trying to believe that Inko isn’t saying what it seems like she’s saying
“I— Sweetie, couldn’t you take it a little slower?”
“Please say my name,” Kyu urges quietly. Her voice barely scrapes above a whisper. Her mom looks at her, hearing the ache in her child’s voice. And then she looks away. “Mom,” Kyu says. I hate how I cry. I always cry. “Mom, please.” Her voice is warbled and wet with tears that burn in her eyes and trace lines of heat down her face.
“Sweetie, I—”
“I’m going to bed,” Kyu stammers, already standing. She holds a hand over her mouth, sobs pushing against her hand as she sniffles and cries. She snatches the All Might nameplate off as she walks in, dropping it in the wastebin. She plops staring at her jostled closet and her duffle bag left open on the floor. The thought of exerting more effort than changing out of fancy outerwear right now sounds insurmountable. So, a few minutes later, she collapses in bed in joggers and a t-shirt. Absently, she remembers that makeup should be wiped off before bed, but she can’t even bring herself to turn the light off before shutting her eyes.
Inko said ‘good morning’ after they were already eating, and ‘how are you feeling?’ after that. But concerned though she was, she didn’t apologize. Kyu barely finished her breakfast before her lower lip started to wobble, and she returned to her room without doing the dishes like she’s used to. It’s strange, not having something to do with her hands. Last night, she had been too tired for them to even ache, but now, there’s nothing. She doesn’t have much more energy than careful packing away clothes and merchandise worth taking. It’d be crazy to go wall to wall. But then again, she has a duffel bag full of spray paint she’ll never use once she moves in. Unless…
Well, Inko’d just throw it out, and besides the fact that the bag is the same one Kyuubi has been seen carrying, it’s not conspicuous at all! Of course, there’s too much sentimental value to the scrawlings, stickers, and patches she’s put on to just cover them up. Eventually, she decides to just keep the most full can in each color, fold and squash the bag and hoodie away, and put what she can where it’ll fit. The boxes were sent in advance, but she’s pretty sure nobody will be upset about her bringing her new clothes and the last few things.
Her hands buzz and ache, every fine movement of folding and arranging slowly wearing her down. But she’s finally ready to leave and be just about on time to the arranged meeting time— which Kyu hopes is just Aizawa being strict about the dorms. Just as Kyu’s finished changing into her new UA uniform and takes the backpack out to the den, her mom steps into the apartment again. She looks around at how empty and final it feels, lips pursed. And then, finally, she sets a small box on the table.
“I’ve been thinking,” her mom starts, and then sighs. “I’ve been thinking that dorms are still the best option for you. Your teachers can keep an eye on you, and you can be surrounded by good influences. And I can’t bring myself to hurt your big, big dreams, but even if I don’t tell them what you do you won’t get a chance to do it. However,” she says, steel in her voice, “if you have some kind of infraction, or bad run-in, or… something that worries your poor mother’s heart… I can’t promise you’ll stay at UA.”
“No more shady stuff. No more slip ups.” Kyu states it plainly, not letting herself sound annoyed or eager. Not letting some emotion make Inko act in some strange way. Just like Nedzu, empty behind the eyes.
“And this is a phone,” she says. “Insurance covered it. I talked to the store about setting up some protections, and you can use it at home. If you use it responsibly, I'll let you take it to the dorms in a few weeks." She went to the store to set whatever parental control she could have, Kyu realizes, she went without me even though I’m fifteen and could never buy a phone alone. Kyu frowns at the box as Inko sets it on the table.
“Eat three square meals a day,” Inko says tearfully.
“I left some stuff, but it’s all packed in my closet. You could rent out my room, if you want.”
“I still don’t like this.”
“Mom. I’m going.”
“I love you, sweetie.”
Kyu skipped her morning jog. That’s the only reason she starts running from the apartment as soon as she leaves the door. That’s what’s easier to tell herself.
“Oh my god, it’s huge!” Mina shouts. Kyu’s a little late, but comes up on the voices of the class. They mingle and wash over each other easily. Talks about whose parents were reluctant and brief, tiny mentions of the attack. Everyone seems to be able to acknowledge it, but not think about it. Kyu can’t blame them. She’s also not the only one with a bag, which saves her that embarrassment.
Iida makes a disapproving tut, having already caught sight of Kyu coming. “You’re late. I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up,” he sighs. He almost sounds wistful. Kyu only has a moment to glare at him, though, because his loud disapproval is heard over the whole class’ small conversations. Heads start to turn, looking wide-eyed at her. She can feel every question. What happened with your Quirk, how long have you known, tell us more about Himiko, do you like, know Mirko now? She already feels tired and it’s still ten hours until she usually sleeps.
“Thank you for joining us, Midoriya. Now everyone listen up, I’m going to give you a little briefing on the dorms before you go inside.” Aizawa scratches at his stubble as he speaks, his drawl leaving no time for questions. Like always, Kyu can’t tell if he intentionally guarded her from questions or just hates idle time. Aizawa starts walking towards the door, and the class stumbles after him.
“Every dorm has one class. The first floor is the common space. There’s a full kitchen. Don’t burn the place down. There’s also laundry and showers, separated by gender. Second to fifth floor are the dorms, left side is girls, right side is boys. Four on each side. The arrangement’s been posted inside, any boxes sent ahead are already in your rooms. Don’t. Burn. The place. Down. That all clear?”
There’s a chorus of “Yes sir,” and then Aizawa opens the door.
The common area is pretty huge, with big enough sofas and loveseats and chairs to fit at least half the class at once. The kitchen is pretty expansive, too, with four tables for eating. The wide open area of the common room is both a blank slate and just furnished enough to feel like a place to spend time. There’s a courtyard with a few chairs, too.
“God, it’s huge!” Mina shouts, overlapped with Uraraka’s sound of pure awe. “It’s a mansion!” Sato and Sero are already investigating the kitchen, cooing over whatever ovens and stoves are there. Kirishima loops an arm around Bakugou’s neck, somehow not dying for doing that, and they walk towards the courtyard.
“Hey!” Aizawa raises his voice, and everyone goes quiet. “You’ve got today to unpack and settle. Tomorrow we start working on the ‘from-now-on’. Dismissed!”
Kyu watches everyone start to meander or filter to their rooms, looks of awe and excitement and eagerness shining. Feels better than home already, she musters, and it’s just enough to get her moving to her room. In the girl’s wing, where she belongs.
Notes:
Landmark— A piece (or usually, tag) in a place that is hard to remove/hidden. Often signed with the date it was made, and usually a ‘landmark’ after a few years.
“Natotomi” (名と富) is basically just a kanji off from the direct translation of “Fame and fortune” (名 声と富). She was originally going to show up in 31, but it turns out when you write aizawa and nedzu bantering for hundreds of words you sort of run out of time. Oops. Anyways, if the honey hair and shade-covered eyes don’t give it away, she’s got a bee Quirk!
VERY COMPLEX and also BAD MOM INKO! Sorry to all the good mom inko enjoyers. That’s a woman with severe anxiety and a poor understanding of her daughter.
PS: This chapter is over 3k. The outline included the whole first day in dorms… crazy. 34 is planned, at least, I guess.
PSS: Go read the way it starts (the way it spreads) if you haven’t. It’s just Switcheroo side stories I promise they’re fun and silly and Iida gets screentime but Bakugou is in the room.
PSSS: how's it only been a week. my life is kind of insane rn. should be a chapter next week though! probably!
Chapter 34: Landmark II
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu takes a deep breath, setting her backpack on the white, perfectly-pressed bed sheets. She takes off her uniform quickly, hanging the shirt and skirt in the closet. It’s bigger than her closet at home, she notes, realizing just how much of it will be empty space. She considers digging through her well-folded and organized clothes to find something to wear, but decides to put the spray paint under the bed and tug the tangled outfit from the previous day out of it. In jeans and the high-collared sleeveless top, she gets to work.
It’s only a couple minutes later when the low buzz of music starts to permeate the walls— She only feels the hum, and a tiny hint of the rhythm. Everyone else is getting excited about their rooms, she acknowledges. Being next to Jirou probably isn’t helping— but imagine all the instruments and posters she has! Kyu’s decorations have always been ninety-nine percent All Might, so that’s probably more than half of her boxes. It feels a little mean to put up all that stuff after he just retired, too, she thinks.
“One wall of All Might won’t hurt,” she says to herself. She shakes out her hands, then forces motivation into herself before tugging open the first box. Simple, nice-looking furniture for assembly comes out— And after twenty minutes, with the shelf up, she carefully places every figurine, and the even, careful posters. Her favorite from when she was a kid, and then her favorite limited ones. They fill the wall like a collage, just overlapping, just not lined up.
Still, after just that long, Kyu’s hands ache from all the finger-screws and the careful pins. The posters have to be handled delicately and placed carefully, after all. It’s all so difficult, and summer break has her much less practiced with writing. With a sigh, she decides to go downstairs for a break.
She opens her door, and a severed head flies through the air in front of it. Kyu stumbles out of the door yelling. In motion, that long green hair looked like Tsu’s, but she realizes it’s curlier as it floats to a stop, hanging telekinetically. The floating head turns, flashing a shark-toothed smile.
“Heya.”
“You’re a floating head,” Kyu says. She feels a little bad that she blurted that, though, so she then says “hi.” It’s all painfully awkward. The floating head must think it’s hilarious, though, because it laughs
hard.
“I figured if there was an addition to the class, we’d know—”
“Setsuna, stop— She’s not an
addition to the class,
Midoriya,” Jirou calls, quickly coming to the door. “She’s helping me move in. And she has a body, but her Quirk is just that it splits and floats around. And she
keeps bothering my classmates.”
Jirou urges this last sentence with a jack poking playfully at Setsuna’s cheek.
“Aw, you love it,” she replies, fragments of her body whizzing through the air past Jirou and forming a full upper half.
It must be pure self-Transformation, not matter manipulation, since the segment with her tank top is fully put together, presumably to keep it on. Besides that, it still fits loosely over would-be missing sections.
“Woah. She
does
talk a lot.” Kyu looks up at the girl’s face and smiles sheepishly.
“A-ah, sorry—”
“Hey, it’s fine!” Setsuna smacks Kyu’s shoulder playfully. “Tokage Setsuna. Pleased to meetcha.” She holds out a hand, which Kyu happily shakes— and it detaches from her body. Kyu looks at it, curiously. Its hand is missing the ring and middle finger. Then, something occurs to her.
“Wait, did you call her— are you— you’re both…” It feels rude to just ask.
“I’m in 1-B, but you probably didn’t see much of me at the training camp,” she says, laughing a little. “And yes, we’re dating,” Tokage adds.
Jirou blushes a little, then takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m going to finish decorating my dorm,” she says. “How’s yours going?”
“Oh, I was just going to get water, I think. Hard to do the smaller adjustments with my crooked hands,” she admits, flexing her fingers in front of her to demonstrate.
“Let us know if you want help!” Tokage says, the parts of her body floating in front of Kyu breaking off of each other and slinking away. Before the door shuts, Kyu catches Tokage add “wow, she’s not scary at all.” She flushes, staring at the closed door. I guess I did have a reputation, though… with the Sports Festival and then just pissed at Iida.
She shakes the thought from her head. Dwelling on the fact that he’ll… continue to be a problem, to say the least, is not what she wants to do. She considers the elevator, but it’s up at the top floor. Her legs aren’t the achey part, so the stairs are fine. Unfortunately, it’s easier to run into someone in the stairwell, especially when they live on the same floor.
Iida doesn’t even say a cold, holier-than-thou greeting when they meet eyes. Both of them glare, and then the moment ends. They pass each other on the landing, and Iida is going up and Kyu is a few steps down.
“Might as well burn the place down, for all the disrespect you’re giving it,” Iida growls, not even looking her way.
“What was that, Iida?” She stomps back up to the landing, and Iida’s still going up. “Look at me!”
Iida turns around, glaring down his nose. “Look at what you’re wearing. Look at— Midoriya, I knew you weren’t made of heroic stuff, but there’s a point I’m just impressed.” Kyu glares up at him, feeling the way grimace tugs her skin and her brows dig into each other. “The clothes, the makeup, isn’t it— aren’t you embarrassed?”
“UA’s Anti-Discrimination policy is pretty harsh,” Kyu growls, “maybe you should refresh yourself, since you do usually have a stick in your ass about that stuff. I guess not when it serves you to ignore the rules.”
Iida takes a step down the stairs. Kyu knows she could fight him, and yet— and yet her side aches, as he looms with his tall, bulky stature. “I wonder what their rules would think of you,” he sneers, “vandal. Villain sympathizer.” He smiles, and it looks wrong on his face. It looks cruel and gloating. “They might hate me, Midoriya, but they’ll always know I was right.” His finger is digging into her chest, in the space between the padding, right into her solar plexus. She wishes she could just glare, but—
Angry tears burn in her eyes like acid. They threaten to boil over for a moment before cascading down her cheeks like white-hot lava. Iida doesn’t stay to watch, and the look in his eye shows no guilt. A moment later, he turns and marches up the stairs.
Kyu sits at the back wall of the landing. She’s not really sure how long, or when it is that she gets up and plods down the stairs. Apparently it wasn’t long enough for anyone else to walk by.
The common room, at least, is so alive that it feels electric when she walks in. Or that’s just because Kaminari is tumbling over couches, tables, rugs, and chairs, and the static electricity is starting to make his hair float. He raises his hands pacifyingly, and stammers out of breath. Unfortunately for him, Bakugou doesn’t seem pacified whatsoever, and lunges right after him. Kirishima, who usually intervenes about ten seconds into these interactions, is watching with an eyebrow raised. He’s the one who notices the door, though, and gives a nod to Kyu.
“Hey,” Kirishima says, smiling his usual bright (and sharp) smile.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Bakugou shouts. Kirishima’s smile doesn’t even twitch.
“...Hi,” Kyu says, “what did Kaminari do this time?”
“Look, Bakugou, it’s really not a big thing, just, ah, y’know,” Kaminari huffs, “sparks fly, and all that. Wow I am out of breath.” Bakugou glares incredulously at him, rage seeming to peak into new heights of ‘how are you so stupid’ and ‘how are you so annoying.’ Kaminari is the first of the two to notice Kyu, though. “Oh, hey Mido!”
“H-hi.” Now Bakugou’s looking at her too. The elevated rage is gone from his face, replaced with one of his two normal flavors— this is more on the brooding end than the annoyed end. He doesn’t say anything, except for a clipped, quiet “hey” that sounds like it scrapes out of his throat. It feels cold and distant, almost. What changed? She thinks, because the one answer she could think isn’t something she wants to think about.
Kirishima, despite his lack of helpfulness between the two boys, does notice her in her head— He nudges her to get her attention, then explains, “Kaminari decided to play matchmaker again.”
“Is that a thing he does?” Kyu asks, furrowing her brow. “I thought his thing was Kaminari Hot Takes Time.”
Kaminari gasps with excitement. “You do care!” And then, he pouts at Kirishima. “Y’know, I don’t ‘play matchmaker.’ You all just have very obvious relationships developing.”
“I’m gonna—”
“Yeah, Bakugou, kill ‘im,” Kirishima encourages with a hint of sarcasm. Kyu stares at him. He can do sarcasm? And then she looks back at Bakugou lunging over a recliner at Kaminari. “Oh, you two like each other,” she says. Kaminari snaps as he points at her excitedly, and gets tackled for the distraction.
Kyu can’t help but feel a bubbly laugh push up her throat. She even snorts a little, before it dissolves into giggles. UA might be stressful, but her class is full of so many weird people, it’s almost like… It’s like the League, in the bar, she thinks, and there’s a weight off her shoulders. That the dorms will be fun. Himiko would probably call them all ‘cute,’ then.
“Sero— Hey, Sero! You’re gonna burn it, earth to Sero—”
At the yell, Kyu and Kirishima both look to the kitchen. Bakugou is still assaulting Kaminari, obviously. Sato and Sero are both behind the counter, but Sero is mostly just frozen with a wok in front of him and the hint of a blush on his face. Sato waves his hand in Sero’s face, which finally seems to do the trick. He fumbles for the wooden spoon and shuffles the wok around loudly. “Sorry.”
“I’m gonna destroy you, Dunce Face!”
Kyu and Kirishima look at each other. “I should…” And then Kirishima is jogging back towards them. She shrugs and makes her way towards the kitchen. It’s sort of awkward, she realizes, since she’s never really talked to Sero or Sato before. And yet, here she is. Maybe I can just… Make friends? I mean, I got along with Dabi, I can get along with anyone.
Before she can open her mouth, though, Sero opens his. “You’ve got a nice laugh,” he says, then clears his throat and tosses the contents of the wok again. It’s pretty big, but it’s also pretty full. Kyu slips between Sero and Sato, grabbing a glass to fill at the sink.
“Thanks,” she finally answers. “Are you two making dinner for everyone? Shouldn’t you get unpacked?” At that, they both smile sheepishly.
“My room’s pretty simple,” he says. “I haven’t hung every decoration, but all the furniture and blankets and stuff are set.
“I just like helping,” Sero shrugs awkwardly. “And also, Kaminari was working on this and talking about how he likes to cook and bring people together, but, uh…”
“Ow— hey, a lot of my allowance goes into this hair!”
“...Yeah.” Sero rubs the back of his neck. Kyu passes him, giggling, with her full glass of water. “I’m pretty sure this is all gonna be ready in, like, two hours!” Sero calls to her back.
“I’ll be here!” Kyu smiles.
She takes the elevator back up.
The hum of music filters through the wall as Kyu puts all the furniture in place, and hangs all her clothes, and puts the extra All Might merch at the very top of the closet. The Mirko poster goes next to her bed, which is a little empty, but she doesn’t mind. She looks at the blank white wall that the desk is set against. The one that would take to paint perfectly, way better than any surface on an open street. I shouldn’t, she thinks, opening the balcony so that the room gets circulation. I totally shouldn’t, she chews her lip, digging through her stuff to get her respirator, pink compression gloves, and hoodie, all coated in paint and stickers and patches and marker.
She spreads wildstyle across the wall, streaks of vibrant, shocking color. The biggest words are ‘PLUS ULTRA,’ which feels pretty fitting. Then, when that paint is mostly dry, she lays out a black silhouette. Big, and dynamic, and jagged. The black drips over the still-drying words, until red and yellow fill the black, and white fills those. Like a neon sign, almost, glowing out of the darkness. A jagged scarf and a beautiful dress painted in red and accents of yellow, and yellow for her golden hair and golden eyes. A princess of gold dressed in jagged, dancing scarlet.
Kyu wishes she could send a picture of it to Himiko. In the just-right eyelashes and blush, she got close to painting a perfect portrait. The eyes would never be as alive and beautiful as the real thing, though.
There’s a knock on the door. “Midoriya?” It’s Mina. “Hey, Midori. You in there?” She tugs at the finicky straps of the respirator, yanks off the hoodie, and tosses them both in the closet. She scrambles to the door at another series of knocks, tugging it ajar. Mina looks up at her face peeking through the crack as she takes heavy breaths. “You okay in there?”
“Uh, y-yeah. What’s up?” She leans against the wall, in a failing-to-be-casual way.
“Well, first, dinner’s almost ready. Second, we’re doing a girl’s night, so obviously I gotta invite you since I can’t just text you. We gotta get Yaomomo to make you a new phone.”
Kyu stares down at her, then belatedly notices how there are tears in her eyes. “O-oh, really? Thank you.”
“Of course,” she says, smiling a little softer and a little more sincere than her usual grin. “Now unless you’re hiding a bunch of pinup posters, I’m coming in and giving you a hug.”
“Don’t do that, it smells like paint in here,” Kyu stammers quietly, choking on the words a bit. She does leave the door a little wider when she steps outside, though, sinking into Mina’s hug. She gives
really
good hugs. Kyu feels a little like she’s melting, even though her shoulders and muscular frame eclipse Mina. When it finally ends, Mina is giving her an eager, encouraging look.
“That’s a nice top,” she says.
“I know, right? One of the management students got me it for the press stuff.” She can’t help but feel a little giddy, hand-talking excitedly. Which is when she notices the paint on her fingers and the well-decorated gloves she forgot to take off. She looks at Mina. Mina looks at her. Mina clearly sees past her into the still-open door and the massive portrait of her ‘secret villain girlfriend.’ “Mina, it’s not—”
Mina sets a hand on Kyu’s shoulder, stopping her. Her other hand reaches up and makes a zipper motion across her mouth. Kyu breathes a sigh of relief. Mina unzips the side of her mouth. “You do have to pay me in spilling all about this. But otherwise…” She zips it again, mimes locking it and throwing away the key. Kyu watches her go back down the hall, nervous sweat still forming on her face.
“See ya at girl’s night!” She shouts, skipping back into the stairwell.
Notes:
If you’re wondering why jirou and tokage are dating go read the other part of the series. I will not stop promoting it until it gets 1k hits (/j)
(PS: the fingers are redoing her ceiling. Because, y’know, Jirou’s room has CUSTOM CEILING TILE??? HOW DID SHE DO THAT??? anyway)Sero heard 1 (one) giggle and immediately thought a lesbian was cute. unlucky. honestly, I sort of just had the idea and realized it was a silly fun thing. might as well bring the characters to life because who wants flat characters? it’s the dorms the point is forcing everyone to be relevant
hey remember when we didn’t finish the outline last week. well it’s STILL NOT FINISHED. Help. Me. We were supposed to do girl’s night this chapter.
NEXT: girl’s night and please GOD can we GET TO SPECIAL MOVE TRAINING i have to post my OFA IS WEIRD PROPAGANDA
Chapter 35: Girl's Night
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
There’s sixteen seats in the dining room-ish area, and nobody is about to eat on the crisp, clean couch. Tables scrape around, chairs are brought in from outside, and Sato and Ojiro both eat standing by the counter. All told, there’s more than enough room for all nineteen members of 1-A to gather. There’s plenty of laughing and chattering while everyone gets together for food, then lots of “this is actually pretty good” and one very upset (and still slightly ash-caked) Kaminari. But now, with everyone sitting down, conversation turns to the twentieth student.
“Fuck Iida,” Jirou says, mouth still a little full. Next to her, Yaomomo balks a little, but there’s nobody around to scold her for her impropriety.
“Fuck Iida,” Kirishima agrees sagely. That turns far more heads. “What? Talking down to other students and disrespecting romantic feelings isn’t manly.” Kaminari says something, but Kirishima immediately cuts him off. “And that’s just not because of my own feelings, I don’t like anybody talking to any of you like that.”
“Just,” Mina points with a chopstick. “That means you do have romantic feelings.” Bakugou’s hand crackles and pops, sending a spurt of hot sauce into his food. His glare snaps from the bowl in front of him to Mina.
“F-fuck Iida,” Kyu says before Bakugou can derail the conversation with explosions like a train robbery in a western movie. It surprises her, a little bit, and she finds most of the class turning towards her— Uraraka turns to look at her with a full mouth and wide eyes, and on her other side Mina cheers. “Hell yeah!”
“Let’s not agitate her for fun,” Yaomomo says placatingly. “I can’t speak for Iida’s… Behavior, but we don’t need to discuss it further.”
“A-ah, it’s fine, I’d rather talk about it than…” she trails off. She’s never really had conversations with peers much before, and even with Mina and Uraraka… it’s Mina and Uraraka. She never initiates that.
“So, Midoriya, I have to ask,” Tsu says. Oh no. “How’s Toga?” Kyu blanches, looking quickly at Uraraka and Mina. They both wear shit-eating grins. “Not that you have to answer, but I just have to ask,” Tsu clarifies. As if that makes the eyes in the room turn away. Even Bakugou is staring, which creates an intense, uncomfortable feeling inside Kyu’s gut.
“She’s alright,” she decides on. Nobody looks away. “I— I don’t know what you want me to say!”
“Did you do anything?” Uraraka asks. “I mean, in the woods you—”
“No!” She interrupts, blushing. “Th-the kidnapping was just to indoctrinate me, they didn’t torture me,” she says. “It probably went the best it could’ve.”
“Uraraka,” Kaminari whispers, somehow at Kyu’s table now. “What happened in the woods.”
“Oh, they—”
“Shush!”
“—Kissed.” Kyu’s hands press against her face, hiding it as best she can. Uraraka pokes her shoulder. “Tackled her out of my Quirk, landed with her on top, and then she said—” Kyu finally decides to just clap a hand over her mouth. It works, but she’s already beet red and it’s already too late.
“Four days of indoctrination, huh,” Mineta says. Sero tapes his face to his bowl.
“We— We didn’t do anything!” Kyu insists, so flustered it squeaks out like a tea kettle whistling. Her mind still moves to Himiko’s bedroom, and the injection, and the bite, and—
“Woah, Midoriya, I didn’t think it was possible for you to get more red,” Mina says.
“If you all keep talking about Himiko, I’m not going to girl’s night,” Kyu says. It’s an empty threat, since she really wants to go to girl’s night, but she’s been asocial enough that it might be good bluff. A few of her classmates sag, but most of them laugh at that and return to their food.
Bakugou’s eyes are still fixed on her, as the room breaks off into chatter.
–
By the time Kyu gets to Mina’s dorms, Uraraka is already there. She’s in the habit of being more punctual than she really needs to be, anyway— but after a briefly awkward greeting, Mina smiles and laughs and invites her in.
Mina’s room is almost painful to look at, narrowly staying in the range of a heavily themed, very colorful place. It’s all pink and black, and most of it is soft and fluffy; from the shaggy carpet to the throw pillows and blankets to the two fuzzy bean bags. “Woah,” Kyu says, tracing her hand across the black dresser and the stuffed animals making the bed a nest of softness.
“I could be a designer,” she says confidently. “Although your room is pretty cool too!” She giggles, with that, her tone full of I-have-a-secret smugness. Uraraka looks at her, and then Kyu. “I’m missing out on something.”
“Not really,” Mina says casually, which seems to shove the issue under the rug for now. “Anyway, do you have a preference for snacks? As long as it doesn’t make a mess on the furniture I don’t care what it is.” She sighs wistfully, then. “So many crumbs, so many fluffy things never again clean. I can vacuum the carpet, but you’ll be careful or you’ll face my wrath.”
“…I don’t usually snack,” Kyu admits, “My fitness plan has gotten more lax, but if I eat after dinner it’s only nuts, cheese, and fruit.” That doesn’t include the nights she’s up late from joint pain and graffiti work, but it’s true enough.
Both of the other girls narrow their eyes. Uraraka nods, then says, “I’ll make popcorn, and— I think Hagakure said something about making cookies?” Mina nods back, clipped and military. Kyu stammers a little at their new intensity, only to be cut off by a knock on the door.
In just another few minutes, Kyu has a paper plate piled with cookies and popcorn. She tried to “oh, I’m alright, thank you,” out of it, but she was forced to give in. She feels rude, anyway, since her classmate made the cookies. What if I offend her? She chews on one a little bit, and it melts in her mouth deliciously. She sinks deeper into her bean bag in satisfaction. Mina and Uraraka are on the bed, Hagakure has the other bean bag, Yaomomo is on the ottoman, and Jirou has claimed some blankets and pillows and made the ground look comfortable.
“So, bad TV,” Mina says, “are we feeling Next Top Model or 90 Day Fiance ?”
“Oh, Top Model is good… but then there’s Before the 90 Days ,” Hagakure points out.
“Before?” Mina says, already frantically pushing buttons on the remote of the small TV that’s sitting on the dresser. “Ooh.”
Uraraka laughs a little, nibbling on a cookie. “This is just for background noise. Mina might react to it a lot, though, it’s like a baby sensory video for her.” Mina blushes a little while the girls start to giggle.
“No Tokage?” Kyu asks, nudging Jirou with her foot.
Jirou clicks her tongue, but her face still turns red. “She’s not in our class. She was only here to help me move in!”
“Sure,” Mina says, eyes fixed on the TV. Jirou throws a pillow at her. Uraraka catches it, a glower crossing her face. Apparently, her competitive streak has awoken. Kyu pulls her paper plate closer to her chest, tucking her knees up defensively.
“These cookies are really good,” Kyu says to Hagakure as Uraraka lunges off the bed.
“Aw, thanks!” Hagakure coos, pressing her sock into Jirou’s back when she nearly falls on them.
“You’re a [bleep]ing [bleep]hole!” The TV says.
“Get his ass, bitch!” Mina cheers at it, before Uraraka’s wayward pillow smacks her across the face. She looks stunned, for a moment, before she snags up a pillow in each hand and swings her legs off the bed. Chaos and giggles erupt, and Hagakure quickly joins. Kyu tries to finish her cookie quickly, but by the time it’s done pillows and flying. She sets her plate further aside, hoping nothing hits it.
“This is… A lot,” Yaomomo says quietly, watching the pillow fight with wide eyes. She glances to Kyu, who can really only shrug weakly.
“I—I didn’t grow up around a lot of this stuff,” Kyu admits, “but if they’re having fun, we might as well try, right?”
“Who the [bleep] is
that!”
Yaomomo smiles, a sort of shaky, determined thing, more heroic than giggly and friendly. But she still stands at the same time as Kyu. Someone throws a pillow that hits Kyu in the gut. She stumbles back and falls into her bean bag again. She grunts as she forces herself off it and nearly tackles Uraraka.
-
“So, do you think we’re gonna have to do, like, insane training already tomorrow,” Mina says, victorious on a mound of pillows.
“Ew,” “Shut up,” Jirou and Hagakure say at the same time. Uraraka nods astutely. “I don’t want to think about that. Besides, the boys are boring, we have like all of 1-A’s gossip here.” Kyu narrows her eyes from where she’s sprawled upside down with her back on the floor and her legs stretching up against the wall. “Or we could do makeup,” Uraraka mumbles to herself.
“Ooh, are we invading Midoriya’s privacy again?” Hagakure asks excitedly. Jirou snorts.
“I can’t be the only interesting thing in this class,” Kyu sighs, “I was gone for like a week and Jirou found the one first year more lesbian than her.” Jirou snorts again, then scoffs, affronted.
“You’re one to talk about lesbians,” Hagakure says. Kyu frowns under the weight of inescapable attention.
“To be clear, and because Mineta said—”
“Fuck Mineta,” Yaomomo says. There’s a brief silence, and then most of the girls quietly agree. There’s obvious woah, Yaomomo just swore across their faces.
“W-we really didn’t do anything!” Kyu explains, “like, sh-she did my first injection? B-but, that’s it…”
“You’re bright red, we know you’re lying,” Uraraka says easily, sitting on the pillow-mound with Mina with a handful of thin black cases and makeup tools.
“Estradiol valerate injections are usually done into the thigh, right?” Yaomomo says contemplatively. “It’s intramuscular, which means thigh or glutes.” She has a hint of a mischievous smile on her face. I never should’ve encouraged her to be like the rest, Kyu thinks. She can feel every other gaze in the room move to her, even Mina’s eyes look up from her palette.
After a moment, Kyu feels herself blush harder, if that’s possible. “It— It was the thigh,” she stammers quickly. “It’s really not a big deal,” she laughs nervously.
“You’re so bad at hiding stuff,” Uraraka says. Jirou snorts.
“I am not— hey why was that snort worthy?” Kyu asks. Yes. Attention on Jirou.
“Bold coming from her,” Jirou says simply. Her jack curls up in front of her face. “Super hearing.” Hagakure coos excitedly as all heads turn towards Uraraka, and next to her Mina, who looks a little more wide-eyed than suspicious. She and Uraraka make silent eye contact, and then Uraraka nods.
“We’re dating,” Mina says. “Also, star, my skin is literally pink, I don’t need makeup.”
“Since camp,” Uraraka adds before the question can be asked. “Hon. You can’t futch your way out of eyeshadow.” Mina grumbles a little, but a smile still plays across her lips as Uraraka eases closer.
“Why ‘star?’” Yaomomo asks. Mina opens her mouth, but Uraraka shakes her head. “Shut your eye. And we’ll tell that story if Kyu stops lying.”
“I’m not lying,” she urges, “And the fact that you’re all so much more interested in Himiko than, like, any of the other stuff is still crazy to me.”
“We’re not asking about being stuck with villains and nearly killed and out of contact for days,” Hagakure says. There’s an intensity in her voice, and when she says it, it’s clear they’d never ask for those details. “If you’re not comfortable sharing, then don’t.”
Kyu feels her expression soften a little bit. She rolls away from the wall and scoots closer to the other girls. She can’t really find many words, so she settles for a quiet “thank you.”
“Of course,” Hagakure says. “Do you want a hug? Or, like, me to braid your hair?”
Kyu nods, and a minute later she’s wrapped up in blankets and there’s a big, round stuffed animal in her lap, and fingers and a brush are running pleasingly through her hair. “…Okay, so, she’s kinda vampiric,” Kyu says quietly. Uraraka and Mina both gasp a little. Jirou coos, which blends into a giggle.
“Not beating the lesbian allegations,” Yaomomo says, nibbling on a cookie.
“So, after the injection, there’s a little… W-we didn’t do anything, I just, u-um, let her—”
“Oh, my,” Yaomomo says. A wave of giggles breaks the tension across the room.
“And then, uh, I offered, y’know,” Kyu says, squeezing the stuffed animal into her chest. It’s even more embarrassing in hindsight, she finds, and she nearly buries her face in the thing to hide.
“Oh my god, she bit your neck,” Jirou surmises.
“Down, girl,” Mina says. “Also, Tokage’s teeth are sharp, what are you all envious for?” At that, Jirou looks pointedly down at her lap.
“Okay, now why star,” Hagakure says excitedly.
“At camp, you could see the stars so clearly,” Mina says, tone dipping into wistful. “And I remember seeing them, and understanding so perfectly why Ochako loves space. And that’s when I knew I had to confess.” It’s a quiet, adorable moment, and Kyu isn’t the only one to let out an “aww.” In just another few seconds, Uraraka finishes Mina’s makeup. Everyone coos at the gold over Mina’s eyes. And then…
“Why is everyone looking at me,” Kyu says quietly.
When girl’s night ends, she leaves with a warmth in her heart, a full face of makeup, and a new phone. She’s still not sure how Yaomomo managed the software, but it works. By the time she’s back into her room, she’s already signing into LINE, because how can she not.
Kyu smiles down at her phone, warmth spreading across her face and filling her gut, embarrassment but also something more full and encompassing.
Notes:
This one doesn’t follow the usual title pattern because it’s more fluffy (and I only have so much slang). Some of this is stuff we’ve seen before, some of it comes from the side story from a few weeks back. Ultimately, this chapter ended up being me playing with the characters in the world more than anything else.
NEXT TIME: special move training, and at the pace we’re writing, nothing else
Chapter 36: Bulls
Summary:
Last time, Kyu went to girl’s night. She felt similar to Yaomomo, but managed to get them both excited to participate. She also got words of encouragement and acceptance from the girls, and Hagakure made it clear that they wouldn’t press about Kyu’s ‘awful’ experience with the League. There’s gossip about all the lesbians who go to this school, and Kyu walks away with a phone, happy to have friends.
Now, Kyu wakes up with a familiar ache in her hands and person waiting on the other side of the phone, but a swath of still-unfamiliar experiences in the dorms. And the looming threat of summer hero training…
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu frowns as she drops her phone on her still unmade bed. It’s not really a surprise, since she hasn’t gotten around to her usual morning exercises to wake her hands up. One hand isn’t used to moving for the first time in so long, the other has suffered breaks over and over.
She takes a deep breath, starting to bend and push and pull in all the ways doctors have been advising. With her hands already hurting, the slow process hurts a little more than usual. Despite herself, her alarm is now set for a nice early morning, with a run and a shower before class. She yawns, moving her tongue around in her sticky, morning-tasting mouth.
She doesn’t have to change, since she sleeps in workout gear. This time of morning is really pretty, she finds, when the sky is still changing colors as the sun rises. Running doesn’t distract her, but it clears her head enough for her to take it in without her mind darting to every worry or goal she has in mind. She runs until the sky stops shifting, baby blue and full of sunlight.
It feels a little more strange to dress in a girl’s uniform. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to skirts. She doesn’t dislike them, though. It’s better than suffering the summer heat in slacks, and she giggles a little. It was all worth the social stigma and my mom turning on me to not get a little uncomfortable in the five minute walk to class! Her breath hitches as she remembers the pill bottle sitting on her nightstand. It’s just one pink tablet a day to deal with her whole body going through a masc puberty.
Her mother gave permission for blockers, after some insistence, and the word ‘reversible’ being said a lot. Kyu’s still not on injections, though.
She shakes the thought out of her head, damp hair tickling at her collar. Her hands still ache a bit, and it pains her that she can’t wear the gloves sitting in the duffel in her closet. She thinks about wrapping her hands, but she needs to get started on an American Dream Plan level breakfast before class. She’s used to her mother cooking, but there have been plenty of mornings where Inko leaves early or is sleeping in.
When Kyu gets downstairs (in the elevator. Always the elevator) she’s one of the only students there. She has to slide past Bakugou, who grumbles wordlessly with a steaming mug of coffee, still in his tanktop and shorts. “Good morning,” she tries. He looks back, squinting for a moment at her, and then walks off.
She tries to brush it off, grabbing eggs, sausage, dashi, miso paste, and tofu. She decides she’ll make some extra soup, but she already eats six eggs each morning. She’d rather not run out immediately. She starts cooking, grabbing a protein shake out of the six-pack in the fridge and downing it while the soup starts and the eggs and sausage sizzle in the pan. The eggs crackle and pop, and Bakugou is in front of her, again. Staring, contemplating, offering one word answers and eerily not furious glares.
“Damn,” breathes Mina’s voice, snapping Kyu out of her spiral. She stirs the soup and looks up at her. “Is that— do you eat like that every morning?”
Kyu blushes a little, but nods. “I need a lot of protein, since my thing
is
sort of pure muscle,” she shrugs, “and the shakes are for dairy fats, too.” At Mina’s confused look, she stares back down at her eggs. “I’ll probably work through it with Quirk and Hero training, but that can help develop fat in— in places I’d prefer it,” she says.
Mina giggles a little, but from then on Kyu tunes out. Eventually, Yaomomo and Sero come down to the kitchen, and Mina fills the silence guessing at what the rest of their summer is going to look like. It is a reminder that they’re getting their provisional licenses soon (hopefully), and Kyu manages a soft smile thinking about a license that says ‘Kyu’ and ‘Nightlight’. And her face sours when she remembers that government ID will not say ‘Kyu’ without a parent’s permission.
She goes to class with that steely sort of look she knows she has more often than a shaky smile. She realizes, distantly, that she’s been doing this same thing for a long time. When it was camp, she just dealt with it. Just kept pushing. When she was Quirkless, and a junior high full of bullies told her to give up, she just told herself they were wrong. It’s denial.
She doesn’t sit on that for long, though, before the chatter of homeroom dies out and Aizawa announces what they’ll be working on.
“Your first objective, and what we’ll continue to work towards, is all of you earning Provisional Hero Licenses,” he explains. “A provisional license means full Quirk allowance in an emergency. Obviously, that means it’s difficult to get one. The pass rate is five percent.” He pauses to let that sink in, and the class lets out scattered mutters and groans. “In your first semester, you improved your precision and skill with your Quirks. At camp, you pushed their upper limits. Now, we’re going to grind technique into your skulls.” The class glances between each other. We?
The door slams open, and Cementoss, Midnight, and Ectoplasm all step up next to Aizawa. “You’ll all need at least two—”
“Of your very own special moves!” Midnight cries, cracking her whip. The class roars to life, and is quickly silenced by Erasure. “Meet at Gym Gamma, in costume. Go.” The class quickly files out, plenty of them rushing ahead with cheers. Midnight says something about a ‘disciplinarian’ that earns her a glare from Aizawa.
Kyu’s costume isn’t any different than it was before, but she examines it carefully before she puts it on. Because this costume is Nightlight’s now, but also because she’s looking at it carefully in a stall away from the rest of the locker room. It’s a little awkward being in the girl’s locker room all of a sudden, and she doesn’t want to make them uncomfortable. Or more likely, get teased for the whole three and a half minutes it takes for her to change. Even with her bangs, her hair tends to fall around her face and get stuck in her hood as she moves around, and each time she’s sort of annoyed.
“Hey, does anyone have a hair tie?” Kyu calls. “Or, um, want to tie my hair back?” It’s embarrassing that she doesn’t know how to do it, but her hands already hurt just imagining fumbling around behind her head. Besides, judging from the excited “of course” she gets back, Kyu imagines Hagakure is happy to. While she ties it up, Kyu busies herself wrapping her hands before she gloves them up.
“Couldn’t you ask Support to make your gloves better?” Mina asks. Kyu frowns back
“I have to change handwraps nonstop since my output is a lot, but the gloves are already meant for compression. If I don’t want to mess up my joints more, I need all the help I can get.”
“…More?” Uraraka tries, and even if Kyu can’t look towards her, she can hear the girl’s worry.
“I broke the fingers in each hand often. I, um— I had to get surgery, after Todoroki,” she explains. The girls let out a variety of gasps, raised eyebrows, and even an affronted hand over the mouth from Yaomomo. “Mirko taught me how to wrap them, and every time I do it the doctors insist on more and more physical therapy…” She lets herself trail off from rambling, just shy of but they still hurt. Hagakure finishes putting her hair in a ponytail, and pats her shoulder.
The locker room is silent for an awkward bit, full of convenient shoe-tying to look at the ground. Finally, Jirou says “metal,” and it strikes up enough laughter to get them all marching out the door. Mina explains something about an old fighting game and fireball hands, and Kyu lets the cheery conversation wash over her.
The teachers explain the point of special moves pretty clearly— they can be simple and even not a literal attack, but they’re decisive, distinctive, and significant in a fight. They point out Iida’s Recipro Burst as an example, and Kyu is forced to think about him again. She chews her lip, struggling to pay attention as Cementoss warps the floor into different pillars for each student to practice on.
Kyu keeps worrying at her lip as she bounds up to a pillar, starting a few stretches absently. Her full-body move with the green lightning feels more like ‘power on’ than a special move. She should probably name it, though. ‘One-Hundred Percent’ could be a special move, but just about everyone she knows would rake her over the coals if she counted that as ‘part of her arsenal.’ She considers the way OFA reacted to All For One, but she’s not sure she can (or should) replicate that.
“C’mon!” The ectoplasm clone that’s been standing next to her for a few minutes now cries, kicking out. It glances against her thigh, and she frowns. “No ideas? None at all?”
Kyu looks down at her hands. Something decisive. Fighting with thrown weapons isn’t exactly decisive, is it? I never know what could be most effective. She looks around the room— Already, ice and fire flare, explosions shake in her gut, and just about every other Quirk in the class is active.
She tries to call on the dark tendrils, but they aren’t eager to come out. Not like they were before. Maybe calling on them when she’s not being threatened by her destined archnemesis takes incredible focus. She tries to focus on the feeling of Himiko being in danger, but it just creates a nauseous stew of worry in her gut. She’s always in danger, Kyu thinks, and winces at the thought. An explosion— one that sounds different, almost more like fwoom, forces her mind back to Gym Gamma.
Concentrating is hard, with so much happening around her, and so few ideas. Letting it wash over her is hard, when anxiety and fear sticks to her so eagerly, and she feels incapable of letting go of it. Her deep breath is disturbed by a flare of Engine. Her exhale shudders at Sato roaring.
“There’s too much going on,” she groans at the clone in front of her. “Too much everything.” Her deep breaths hitch. “Too much everything,” she repeats, slow and careful. She calls on OFA again, pulling energy from the massive well. But it doesn’t fill up a limb, or shine in every cell. She lets the pressure build in her skull, this time. She’s grateful for her decent understanding of biology, because it’s hard to envision and empower the inner ear. She can’t really empower her brain, but what about her senses?
An explosion goes off, and Kyu shouts. It doesn’t hurt, but everything is horribly loud and her ears ring. It’s overstimulating and awful. She dry heaves, quickly feeling Ectoplasm crouch down next to her, and Aizawa is there in a flick of his capture weapon. There are more voices, but the ringing isn’t gone, and she shrugs them off, standing despite the new pit in her gut. The teachers only look a little relieved to see her stand up, but she does have a reputation for overdoing it.
She closes her eyes, and focuses. The ringing in her ears makes most of the noise blend together, even as she can tell it’s fading. She holds a hand out to each side, as if to balance herself. She furrows her brow, imagining OFA settling into her body and pressure building up in her eyes. Blossoming from pinprick pupils to glow in her irises and fill her sclera like pools, back into her retina and optic nerve. She breathes out, calling on more air, and looks at Aizawa. She cocks her head, a little confused.
“Problem Child. Are you alright,” he insists, for what does not sound like the first or even second time.
“…My eyes are closed, right?” Kyu says. Aizawa doesn’t look enthused to hear that.
“Yes,” he grumbles back.
Kyu smiles. “I can see you.” She takes in his confused look before slowly opening her eyes. She can feel the way they hum and flare, and can see the glow of her own eyes in Aizawa’s tired eyes. In fact, she can see the exact details of her eyes, where her irises make bright four-pointed stars and her sclera blaze like a bluish-white plasma. She can also see the damaged blood vessels in Aizawa’s eyes, and the pores of his face, and the almost-invisible marks of healed cuts. She can see the way his eyes widen, too. Slow realization filling his face. But she can see every step of it. It’s like a slideshow of each frame, instead of an animation. She can see every detail.
The rest of the gym is a lot to take in, but it’s still only an eyeful. Kyu’s eyes dart to Uraraka’s pillar, and see her pushing the bounds of self-floating, but not doing any crazy special moves yet. She sees Bakugou arrange his hands in a particular way— maybe to conduct a blast in a more unique way? It’s smart. Then Todoroki, who is working on using both of his halves in a sort of sustainable rhythm.
In less than a second, she sees what every person in the room is doing. Her eyelids start to twitch, and she feels herself squint, so she cuts the power off. She blinks, but her eyes still sting oddly. She squeezes her eyelids shut and groans, rubbing at them. The texture of her gloves against the thin skin of her eyelids is rough, but worse it doesn’t seem to provide any relief.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa’s stern voice says, and she opens her eyes. Her vision is blurry and stings, so she squints. The ectoplasm clone makes a surprised grunt, while Aizawa sighs and steps forward. “Look up, and try to keep your eyes open,” he sighs, and she stands dazed for a moment before she obeys. The lights at the top of the gym are harsh, and she blinks at the light before adjusting. An arm— probably Aizawa’s— reaches over her face, and a few drops of cool relief hit each eye, sending them fluttering.
“Everything alright?” Midnight calls up from the ground. Kyu can hear a few others around, but she’s still blinking from the eyedrops.
Aizawa grumbles. “It’s all fine, you can all stop worrying. Midoriya overexerted her senses.” There’s more confusion at that, but less tension in the air. Kyu just smiles, because she just figured out heightened senses. The fact that Iida doesn’t have the senses to keep up with his speed helps make that warm feeling a little sharper, but she won’t be sharing that.
Notes:
Bulls — security around an area, particularly to keep an eye out for vandalism.
Yeah, we’re only seeing one special move this chapter, but it’s RELEVANT. In canon, it’s explicitly stated that Iida goes too fast for him to perceive many details, while Midoriya is often shown planning and predicting opponents at incredible speed (and extremely agile/capable of shifting movement in an instant). Really, all she’s doing here is separating her star-iris Not-Holding-Back mode (like when Mido beats on Overhaul) into the sense enhancements, without blowing herself to bits. It also explains why her sclera are made of plasma and her irises… do that.
I listened to death metal while writing this chapter in order to actually get myself writing. It was nice. Unfortunately, I had to be a little mean, and we get a little bit of Kyu’s depressive range of emotions — honestly, I wasn’t expecting to hit 2k NEARLY as soon as I did. I guess I just… got there, in the end.
Sorry for the wait! In typical AO3 author fashion, an honestly wild amount of shit has happened in my life recently. It feels a little weird to sit down at the same desk and write the same story, honestly, but it’s also grounding! (The short break is also why the summary is more detailed than normal.)
Chapter 37: Hollows
Summary:
When she’s stumped for super moves and on orders to ‘not put massive strain on her eyes’, Kyu heads down to the support labs. Of course, over the summer, only Power Loader and his most dedicated students are in.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Aizawa glares at Kyu. It’s his calculated sort of glare, but it’s disconcerting how long it takes for him to decide how to move forward. She already knows it’s going to suck, even if it does make her a better hero. Plus Ultra, and all that.
“You alright up there?” All Might shouts, waving from the bottom of the pillar. Aizawa’s glare moves to him, and finally the man just sighs and grumbles something Kyu can’t make out. Then, he turns to her, crossing his arms.
“You’re not doing that again today. You’ve never done it before, and we need to make sure you won’t go blind.”
Unfortunately, Aizawa has a habit of being right. Kyu’s Electoplasm clone takes her to Recovery Girl, and she doesn’t really pick up on most of the woman’s muttering. She can parse that if she went any harder she’d have to be put in dark sunglasses if not blindfolded for her retinas to recover. She’s a little annoyed, but mostly just hopes her body recovers. Recovery Girl shoos her out, and before she shuts the door she says “and don’t come back, two visits in one day is two too many.”
Kyu doesn’t plan on being back, but she doesn’t exactly have her hopes up. She does spend a few more minutes in Gym Gamma, but ultimately decides she needs a break more than she needs to throw herself at this over and over. There’s some other connection she has to make, she decides. Maybe her brain can work better if she focuses on something else for a bit. She finds Aizawa to ask permission to leave, for now.
He grunts in acknowledgment. “Support aren’t all back in the labs like they are in the school year, though. Try Power Loader’s lab.” So she does. The halls around the Support Department are still unfamiliar, and she almost heads the wrong way, but she’s eventually able to find a big metal door with sounds of machines and heavy equipment behind it. Then, of course, comes the KRAKOOM!
The metal door flies into the hall, warped, although it clips Kyu’s shoulder instead of hitting her full-on. She calls on OFA, too, managing to take the glancing blow with a bruise instead of a broken bone. She’s still not ready for it, though, and it sends her sprawling. She looks up, blinking through billowing smoke into the labs.
“That’s strike one,” Power Loader coughs, stepping into the doorway. He has to stretch higher than his typical slouch to keep his head out of the smoke.
“I still think that’s a dumb system. I’ll be done in the labs when Support Equipment can defy physics.” Hatsume pops up from the ground, quick as she can. She’s got coveralls on, although the top half is scorched, covered in soot, and is about half holes and cuts. Then, she looks down at Kyu. “Ah! Midoriya! Do you want a baby?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, already stepping over and hauling Kyu to her feet with unexpected strength. She considers the arm in her grip for a moment, her other hand traveling up it and squeezing at the bicep. Then, her eyes whir and she looks right at Kyu’s face.
“Oh, y-yeah,” Kyu stammers, “I have a few basic ideas in mind.”
“Great,” Hatsume replies immediately, “follow and explain.”
Kyu wastes no time in following her into the labs, even as the smoke swirls around their legs. “Well, recently I’ve gotten a grasp on, um, keeping energy up? So the Iron Soles aren’t bad, but they’re heavy. I’m mobile and, um, I was thinking—” as they get to a table, Kyu is cut off by Hatsume wheeling around and quickly patting her down and going at her with a tape measure. Like the last time she was here, Hatsume isn’t the best at personal space.
“Interesting,” she murmurs as she grabs the same arm again. “This is the arm you broke during the training camp attack, correct? Interesting. Oh, and, I’ve got the perfect thing for you. Light, strong, and still able to enhance and protect kicks, right?” She digs through some drawers and lockers before eventually finding a thick pair of boots. Metal coils around them, and their design is knee-high. “These don’t have a cushion mechanism, since they’re combat-oriented, but the alloy is fairly springlike and—”
“I was thinking something like Mirko’s metal shoes, actually,” Kyu interrupts. It takes a few tries, opening her mouth before immediately being steamrolled over. Hatsume stares for a moment, and her eyes whir and adjust as she does.
“Right. You interned with Mirko. Trained your Quirk and went on patrol and got caught in the Hosu Incident. I see. Mirko’s shoes are very springboard-like, although they’re mostly metal augments to durable fabric. You need a full shoe, with proper protection built in. It’ll still be light. I can make small edits to this.” Hatsume pounces on the boots, already beginning to pry at and change them.
“A-and, um,” Kyu says, “I was thinking maybe— for, um, image stuff really, I want to keep the bulk of the gloves and hoodie but maybe not the pants?”
Power Loader hums, stepping forward while Hatsume hyperfocuses. “We can do that… I mostly know general costuming, not style and image like Midnight. You should probably brainstorm with or run ideas by her.”
Kyu looks at him, suddenly confused. “Most of my classmates don’t go through tons of steps for their costumes…”
Power Loader shrugs. “They all have pretty clear designs. Yours is a bit more muddled. It also helps that you have more media presence than most third years.” Kyu raises her hands to deny that, but he scoffs before she can even speak. “Nightlight’s been trending, kid. You ever see Stormshot or Suneater trending?” He shakes his head. “Anyway, you’re clearly All Might inspired, but if you’re tightening up the costume and adapting Mirko’s shoeplates, we can work with that.”
“Try these on!” Mei shouts in Kyu’s ear, shoving the boots into her chest. “The Knightriders.” Kyu sputters, but hops onto the worktable to take the Iron Soles off and put on the Knightriders. Mei is practically vibrating as Kyu puts them on. Like everything else from Support, they have a snug-but-comfortable fit. It’s a little awkward to walk in them, since they add a few inches.
“I think they’ll work.”
“There’s a splendid prototype that didn’t blow up at all,” Mei says, smugly pressing a finger into Power Loader’s shoulder.
“They’re boots,” Power Loader says, exasperated. “Nothing should blow up! But! Especially boots!” His fingertips screech against the worktable as his grip tightens. “Midoriya. Image design talk with Midnight. Mei. Go with her. Don’t come back for half an hour.” Mei sighs and pouts out of the room in full-swing moody teen, and Kyu scrambles to follow her.
Mei is already marching down the hall pretty quickly. Kyu has to do a strange sort of jog to catch up, each step just a little bit springy. She can only imagine the power, speed, and control she’ll have if they can handle OFA. Even with her mind occupied, though, the silence is still uncomfortable. “I-I’m excited to try these out.”
“Of course. They’re highly experimental and I just adjusted them and you’re easily the strongest student in this school. We’ll try them lots.” she replies. Always chipper but matter-of-fact, even when she’s saying things that everyone else thinks are crazy.
“I’m— I’m not the strongest,” Kyu says, letting out a sheepish laugh. “That’s— I mean, I can’t—”
“I’m sure other people have compared you to All Might before,” she says, then shrugs. “The fact that you’re willing to work with the Support Department helps, but there’s still nothing we can do to handle the upper limits of your strength.” Kyu opens her mouth again, but Mei’s head snaps towards her. Her eyes whir and fixate. “I understand that you’ve fully recovered from your injuries?” Kyu nods. “Any complications?”
“My hands have lasting damage. I, uh, wrap them before I put my gloves on.”
She nods. “I understand. But nothing with the arm you broke in the middle of the woods?” Kyu shakes her head. “Good.” Mei looks ahead again and keeps walking. Kyu gets the sense that she’s missing something, but she shakes it off. It’s not like she has anything to do except to follow Mei. The rest of the walk is quiet and a little awkward, and Kyu struggles to focus on costume changes. Mei’s eyes glance down at her boots, or parts of her costume, but never linger, and she never speaks. And Kyu is left looking back, confused, until Gym Gamma is suddenly in view.
Even with the noise protection in most of UA’s training areas, Gym Gamma is still big and open, made of cement and metal. The bass rumbles of explosions, glaciers, and impacts still reach the pair. Mei’s eyes suddenly whir in, focusing on what she probably thinks of purely as vessels for her babies. Kyu scrunches her face, because Mei’s poor phrasing must be rubbing off on her already.
Mei stops, suddenly turning towards Kyu in the middle of the PE field. “Hatsume Industries will be happy to support you in any future endeavors.” She says each word more carefully and clearly than usual— a weight and significance that screams secret double meaning. She’s still rolling it around in her head as Mei jogs off and shoulders through the gym’s door.
“Who wants my babies!”
Kyu sputters and trips over her feet running after her. Mei is smiling brightly at the room full of students. Most of them pause their training to stare or snicker. Midnight is cackling. “She means support equipment!” Kyu shouts, cheeks still hot. Most of her classmates laugh it off and turn back to their Ectoplasms. Mei’s giddy look turns towards Midnight and focuses in. It’s a little scary.
“Midnight!” She grabs Kyu’s arm and yanks her towards her, never taking her zoomed-in eyes off of her. The woman wipes a tear out of her eye and stands up straight.
“…I thought the Support kids were still on break,” she says, then cracks a grin. “Well, kid, what’s up?”
“We are on break! I just didn’t leave!” She yanks Kyu forward, and gestures at her. “Nightlight wants to work on her costume. And Power Loader insists she needs an image so I can’t make her a pet project and I have to be here for another twenty minutes. So.” She gestures at Kyu.+
Midnight’s grin widens, and she puts her whip over her shoulder and cocks her hip. Her eyes are already pinning Kyu. It’s a little scary, and sort of calculating. It’s the gaze of UA’s first-year Management Department teacher, and she sees value in Kyu. Oh I’ve gotten myself in deep, haven’t I. “I see.” Midnight turns to the other teachers. “Aizawa, I’m taking the media darling! Cementoss, can we get some chairs?” Aizawa grumbles, but the sound blends into a rumble as the ground shifts under them, and suddenly they’re ten feet up with three cement chair-shapes.
“Now then,” Midnight says, lounging back into one as it forms and crossing her legs. “The new boots?”
“Lighter than the old model, with no double-impact feature. More like Mirko’s, meant to be springy and mobile. I’m calling them Knightriders,” Mei says, perching on the seat of her chair like a gargoyle.
“Ooh, nice,” Midnight coos, “keep the names punny, or make references to light. Good.”
Kyu nods awkwardly, worrying her lip. Finally, she says, “I-I’m thinking I’ll call the sight thing Searchlight, i-if I can do it consistently.” Midnight doesn’t shoot that down, so she continues. “Anyways, for the image changes, it’s mostly just that— changing my focus to mobility and leg strength, too, and the longer boots, my pants kinda… g-get in the way? I— I wanna keep the bulk of the upper half, and the hood, I just don’t need… All of this? D-does that make sense?”
Midnight nods slowly, eyes narrowed in thought with her hand over her mouth. “If you’re going the Mirko route, you could have a unitard.”
“Oh no! Uh, n-no thanks, I mean, th-that’s—”
Midnight laughs, leaning forward with hands up in surrender. “I thought so, kid. I figure you
are
gonna want spandex, though, like your undershirt now.” Kyu nods eagerly, cheeks still a little red. “Well, we’ve got a couple days to think on it before we get support working—” Distantly, one of the Ectoplasms yells
“Kayama!”
She chuckles a little, standing. “Well, that’s me. Think on it while you test those boots, yeah?” She bounds off the platform, and Kyu lets out a breath.
Only to be practically tackled off the platform, just so Mei can see how the Knightriders take the landing. She barely orients her feet under her. The metal is still vibrating from the impact when she hears Mei yelling “cannonball!” Even with OFA 10%, she takes the collision more than catches Mei. While she cheers, Kyu staggers back and lets out a sigh.
It’s gonna be a long week…
Notes:
Hollows — a throwup without a fill color, often just black on concrete.
The Knightriders are a reference to Knight Rider, which is basically about a detective-spy named Knight and a go go gadget ass sentient car named KITT (the k stands for knight). Also because her hero name is Nightlight and they’re metal shoes. And Night sounds like Knight.
… geeetttt iiiiit??? (my brain is a maze of pop culture garbage and i am at its mercy)In the original run of this fic, Midnight and Ms. Joke are a bit more relevant to Kyu as feminine role models (and I have never written a fic where Ms. Joke is cis). So even though I love Rumi and My Wife Tsutsumi Kaina, it’s fun to write Nemuri, too. Kyu probably has a long conversation with her and Haniiyo where 90% of what they say flies right over her head, but I don’t think we’ll see that.
…and that’s because NEXT is: jumping into the Provisional License Exams! Kyu’s Costume Delta, and a yet unseen Super Move!
Chapter 38: Roll Call I
Summary:
Last week, we saw Ultimate Move training and discussion of new gear and a costume more fitting for the new and improved Nightlight.
Now, we jump ahead to the Provisional License Exams, where Kyu will be forced to use all her new tricks to succeed.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I’m telling you you have to marry Hawks. Your other options are Endeavor and Jeanist. Endeavor and Jeanist!”
Hagakure’s collar moves like she’s shaking her head. “Right, but if you marry Jeanist—”
Aizawa stands as the bus lurches around a turn, and the chatter quiets immediately. He looks over the silence for a moment, savoring it. “We’re almost to the drop-off zone. Be awake and aware.”
A few of the students look out the window of the bus again. The stadium is beyond huge, and its massive spire glimmers with late morning sun.
“Alright, girls,” Mina says, “this is where we make it or break it. But we’re all gonna make it.” She looks at the other girls on the bus, and most of them nod back. “Ochako your steely face is
so
cute I
cannot
do this right now—”
“Up! We’re getting off.”
The class clambers for their costume cases, filing off one by one despite the urge to tumble over each other. Kyu thumbs at the big ‘18’ across her case, her aching fingers just starting to wake up. She’ll have to make sure to warm them up and stretch them again before she wraps them, now. Sitting on a bus for two hours will do that, unfortunately.
The stadium feels all that much bigger when they’re standing on the concrete path leading up to it. The tension in the air is palpable, like the mood of the bus has been left behind. Now, they’re just nervous. Murmurs about failing or worrying over other applicants start to spread. Aizawa looks over all of them, then clears his throat.
“Don’t question whether you can pass. Go and do it.” He stares until everyone is forced to take that in. “This is it— The threshold between incubation and hatching. Do your best.”
“Yeah!” Kaminari shouts. “We’ve got this, guys! We’re gonna be hatchlings!”
“Woo, hatchlings!” Kirishima shouts back. The tension breaks as laughter and eager excitement bubbles up. Yaomomo lets out a real laugh, not hidden by a ladylike hand, and smiles. “Yes, let’s gather round.” Iida lingers behind. Kyu almost wants to, but she’s shouldered in between Kaminari and Hagakure. “We’re UA students! Ready?”
“Plus,” the class responds,
“ULTRA!”
“Yoarashi, stop injecting yourself into huddles,” a teenager says, marching up behind the ridiculously tall and built student in front of them. The student screams an apology and slams his head into the ground with a full 180-degree bow. It’s a wonder his beret stays on— but his whole class is wearing them. The class starts to murmur as they recognize the uniform.
“Shiketsu’s here, huh?” Bakugou grins. “Good. My win’s gonna be indisputable.”
The student laughs, and it’s just as booming and a little scary as everything else he does. “I like your spirit! It’s an honor to compete! I wish you the best!”
“Ah, Inasa, you’re bleeding,” one of the Shiketsu girls says. The Shiketsu crowd moves towards the stadium, tugging him with them.
“Yoarashi Inasa,” Aizawa says, sounding thoughtful. “Hm. He took UA’s Recommendation Exam and got first place, but he didn’t choose UA.” Half the class makes the next logical step and turns to Todoroki— who Inasa was apparently more capable than.
“Oh no,” Sero says quietly. Aizawa grins.
“Eraser!” Aizawa stops grinning. A woman in a simple teal and orange hero costume approaches, a bounce in her step. “Eraser! Is that you! It’s been so long since we met face-to-face!” The class watches with bated breath… “Let’s get married!”
“No thanks.” The woman laughs, and Aizawa just drags a hand down his face. “As always, you have an awful sense of humor.”
“And you don’t have one at all. We’re a perfect match!”
Kyu tunes out the rest of her banter— Her students walk up with a sort of starry-eyed excitement to see UA, but Kyu’s thoughts are already half an hour ahead, when the exam starts. The first event has to wipe out most of the applicants at once, so most schools will probably stick together. Massive fights with unpredictable opponents are a given. I can handle a crowd if I need to, but if I want my friends to pass…
Suddenly, there’s a student in her face. “Oh, and you’re Midoriya Kyu, from the Kamino Incident! Nightlight! You’ve got an exceptional spirit!” She nods, surprised. It takes her another moment to notice his extended hand, and she shakes it with a sheepish smile. “Shindou Yo,” he says, with that same eager smile, and then he squeezes.
“Ngah!” His grip stays tight as pain sears up her arm, but after another second he loosens, and she snaps her hand back right away. Twinges of pain dance in her joints like bolts of electricity, or knives, or electric knives. She blinks tears out of her eyes as she cradles her hand with the other. Shindou looks surprised, but there’s no regret on his face.
“I guess your body is pretty fragile, though… All that bone breaking, yeah?” He surveys 1-A again. “I’m eager to see the strength of your spirits,” he says. Then, the smile drops off his face, friendliness sliding away like rain off a windshield. “And to prove mine.” Bakugou grunts at him, and tells another girl to fuck off. The other hero and Eraserhead start to corral their students, and Kyu happily leaves. Mina practically rips her case out of her hands, leaving her a lot lighter and with free hands to stretch and fidget. Her brain is already rolling the upcoming test around in her head, so she doesn’t even notice the way the girls keep her surrounded by bodies, away from Shindou or Iida.
Checking in is a pretty quick affair. Their costumes are all pre-approved, apparently, so it’s as simple as scanning the little ID barcodes they’ve been given for the exam. Stepping past the entry point and into the open lobby has Kyu’s heart in her throat, though. It all feels more real by the second. I have something to prove, she tells herself, swallowing. I have One For All.
“I believe they can be the next ‘Symbol of Peace.’”
I have— I have friends: I have people in my corner. And I have people at my side.
“ But, I could never allow another to walk the bloody path that I did.”
Warmth swells in Kyu, for the first time in a week— a deep reassurance, like she’s five again and coming in from the snow and wrapping her hands around a mug of hot cocoa. It almost feels like ten hands at her back, comforting but strong as steel. Everyone has their eyes on me. So I’ll show them.
Everyone sets off to the locker rooms, twisted up in both rigid, tense fear, and jumpy, active nerves. Mina is rigid and Yaomomo is energetic. It’s strange, but also funny enough to lighten Kyu’s mood, if only a little.
They change in the lockers quickly— the facility is huge, and so is the room, although there’s no stall for Kyu to hide in in the back of the room. She makes ample use of the corner, kicking her shoes off and dropping her blazer next to them before kneeling down and cracking open their costume case. Hopefully it’s not too stiff, even if it’s new. At least the boots are broken-in.
Nightlight,
Given your detailed specifications, we hope we’ve created something to your liking— and something that solidifies your image going forward. Your utility belt is much the same, and the colors of the suit are largely the same despite minor patterning changes.
Thank you for your business,
Gyou-Yokai International and Foyell Support Technicians
Kyu is about to set aside the note, but she also sees the machine oil smudges on it. Furrowing her brow, she flips it over, to find a messy scrawl on the back.
Kyu,
I told you the modifications to the respirator-brace wouldn’t be ready in time. I lied. :) It’s designed to slot on easily, and the inhalation filters also act as dials. Have fun turning them up higher than can be advised for safety reasons ^-^
Your favorite technician for ALL your needs,
Hatsume Mei of Hatsume Industies >:3
A giddy, mischievous laugh bubbles from low in her throat as her eyes light up.
“Midoriya… you alright?” Uraraka asks, apprehensive.
“Please don’t turn on us, kero.”
“N-no, I’d never do anything like that, I swear, I-I just…” She takes a deep breath, and runs the fabric of her new costume between her fingers. “New costume.”
“You’ve spent too much of the last week around Hatsume,” Uraraka declares. She loses intensity, though, since she giggles a moment after she stops talking.
“I’ve spent the right amount of the last time around Hatsume,” Kyu murmurs, running a— her bandolier between her fingers.
The costume is snug, but she doesn’t struggle to get it on. The spandex makes one piece that goes from a high collar down to mid-thigh, like bike shorts. It’s a dark green, with stripes of bright sea glass and scarlet cutting through it. She practically leaps into it the moment she gets her skirt off, and manages to get the zipper on her own. She’s a little worried that it’s so tight across her whole body, but there’s some kind of compression and padding between the legs that smooths things out. She breathes a sigh of relief for that, at least.
Over the bodysuit, she sets the utility belt at her waist and the bandolier across her body and over her left shoulder. She slides it up, so most of the pouches are across her chest. Then, she puts on the hoodie. It’s cropped around her first abs, but despite the durable material it’s still loose on her— it looks nice and comfortable, and it also swallows her chest and shoulders and scarred arms in folds of colorful fabric. The suit is mostly dark, but the hoodie is covered in stripes of color that make her look bright and shining. A beacon. She smiles brightly, tugging on the Knightriders. It takes some fidgeting with the hair tie she always has on her wrist now, but she manages to get her hair into a (almost too) tight bun. She tucks her gloves into her belt to take a look at the respirator.
Mei’s changes are… interesting. It looks a little more bulky before, and a little like it might kill Kyu. It also has two parallel inhalation filters. Just like the respirator she uses as Kyuubi. The whole thing is more high-tech than before, and doesn’t look as much like a metal grin. It’s also segmented now— A brace fits snugly around her neck and chin. She hopes it doesn’t make her jaw super square-shaped. The second piece clips into the metal with the distinctive thunk of magnetic locks. Just like Mei said, the filters twist with dial clicks. It covers her ears, too, the metal flaring out from there in sharp fins along the side of her head.
She turns to smile at her classmates as they finish changing— most have simpler costumes, but she’s watched Sato struggle with full-body spandex before, so it’s not surprising most of them finish around the same time. A few are staring her way, though. “I-I’m—” she stops, collecting her thoughts, and then winces a little. “Did I do something?”
“Oh, no, you’re totally fine! It’s just— uh, well—”
“Your thighs are almost as big as mine, kero,” Tsu says, blunt as ever. “I’m impressed.” Kyu can’t help a dusting of pink across her cheeks, but she blinks a couple times and it’s mostly gone. Within a minute, all the girls of 1-A are marching out of the doors of the locker room, and making their way to the main floor.
The crowd is so huge that none of them can move without jostling against people, mutations and wild hair jutting into the air over a sea of heads. 1-A’s examinees all squeeze into the same area, and Kyu barely has enough room to wrap her hands. Then, there’s an earsplitting buzzer, and the roaring chatter in the room dies down.
“Ah. Erm. Let’s begin this Provisional License Exam. Thing.” The man at the podium looks sickly and dead-eyed. “My name’s Mera, I work for the commission, and I like REM sleep, nice to meet you.” He shudders a deep breath that raises his hunched back. Poor bastard looks like he hasn’t slept in ages.
“With that out of the way, an explanation: There are fifteen hundred forty people here for the exam today. The first portion of the exam is going to whittle you down to a reasonable number.” He sniffs, lurching forward onto the podium. “Today’s society is said to be ‘hero saturated’. After Stain’s arrest—” Kyu can feel Iida bristle, and there’s practically a ripple in the crowd as people shift and squirm. She’s close enough to hear Iida snarl, too. “—public opinion of heroes has shifted— and the public eye is more derisive. You must rescue at any cost. You must save and stop villains. You must be fast and efficient, beyond every precedent of the last generation.
“Therefore, we’re testing your speed. The first hundred who achieve the conditions pass.” The crowd bristles, eyes widening. A few students yell in shock or outrage, despite the fact that they’re yelling at the exam administrators. “Oh, these are bumpy times. Just think of it as the hand you’ve been dealt. So, the passing conditions. They’re simple.” A massive projector shows a figure with three circles stuck on their body. “Every examinee gets three targets. Put it somewhere exposed, not under an armpit or the foot. Every examinee also gets six balls. Any target hit by a ball will turn red. Get all three of your targets hit, you’re out. The last hit on a target is a takedown. Get two takedowns, and you’re one of the hundred. Simple.”
Murmurs start to spread through the crowd. So few balls to a person, such simple conditions, it’s just like Mera said— Pure efficiency and speed. One mistake could stop you from making that hundred. And heroes can’t make mistakes. They’re just doing it because of societal pressure, but it’s a step in a better direction, so long as they have some way to weed out brutality…
Kyu doesn’t notice the walls are falling until sunlight spills across her face. The whole room, deconstructed like a cardboard box, and suddenly they’re in the massive arena. Everyone moves quickly to get to attendants and get their allowance of balls and targets. Class 1-A ends up gathered around a nervous-looking blonde intern in a suit.
“It’s just about speed,” Kyu says, “We know each other too well to try fighting each other. If we want to succeed we need to work together to take down as many as we can.” A bunch of her classmates nod excitedly. Bakugou and Todoroki both run off, but they still have overwhelming numbers. Kyu is much faster than her classmates, but she sticks with them as they run across packed dirt to a region of cliffs, mountains, and canyons. “Good cover, and it can force engagements,” she says.’
“You have one minute until the targets become active!” A loudspeaker announces.
Kyu bounds to higher ground, but keeps near her class. Her mind races. Students from the same school know each other, and will avoid engaging with each other. The whole test is going to be a wild brawl, since engagements will have to be made with no previous knowledge. Except, Shindou greeted half of us by name, didn’t he? It seems so obvious in hindsight that UA would be a target. She opens her mouth to call out a warning, but arms stretch over her shoulders and hold her tight. “W-what—”
“Hey, Kyu.” It’s the voice and face of the Shiketsu girl who dragged Yoarashi off. But the inflection, and the warmth of the arms curled around her chest…
Kyu swallows thickly. “Himiko, you shouldn’t be here…”
“Relax, I won’t get caught. ‘Sides, I wanted to see you! And maybe nab some red-red blood from our friends.” Then she giggles. “I would’ve texted you, but I wanted it to be a surprise!”
“Cute,” Kyu murmurs. “Oh I said that out loud— I’m sorry—
“It’s fine, cupcake.” Kyu goes tomato red, and doesn’t protest as Himiko pulls her in for a kiss— and the Shiketsu girl’s face melts away for this tiny, secret moment. The fact that it’s just between them makes it that much more embarrassing. She pulls away, face morphing back into the girl’s. “I say you could skip the whole license thing, but I support you unconditionally!”
“Five. Four.”
“Oh, uh, I have to— They’re gonna target UA first—”
“Go get ‘em, Nightlight,” she says, in her true voice, and Kyu can feel her heart slam in her chest as she leaps off from the cliff. I knew that was a good name.
“One.”
Before Kyu can warn anyone, she realizes they are surrounded by figures with balls at the ready. Because hundreds of applicants are in the same boat— even guided to it by their teachers.
The crushing of UA begins at the moment the buzzer blares.
Notes:
ART
Roll Call— graffiti, usually in a series of small tags, that lists every member of a crew.In a lot of ways, this chapter is a retelling of some parts of canon— getting off the bus, the informational segment, and the setup for UA crush are all the same. But it’s a long one! That affords us all the buildup AND the ability to kick it into high gear next week.
Chapter 39: Roll Call II
Summary:
The crushing of UA begins, with Ketsubutsu Academy’s students attacking ruthlessly. Will UA succeed together, or fall apart…?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Students of Ketsubutsu Academy lunge out of every hill, cliff, and corner they can. Some of the other students scattered or panicked, but Ketsubutsu is one of the groups that’s kept themselves together as a well-oiled machine. Kyu grits her teeth— With the semicircle bearing down on 1-A, a single crack in their defense will ping a few targets.
Shindou spots Kyu leaping through the air, and lets out an excited laugh. “A chaotic power, that your own body can’t handle going wild? Ha! The nail that sticks out gets
hammered down!”
The first volley of balls fly, targeting in on 1-A with fastball throws and Quirk-amplified speed.
“Hey. Look at me, Problem Child. You can use Searchlight sometimes, but not as a crutch. You’re still fast— You have to be fast and sharp without it. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Kyu murmurs to herself, kicking off from the cliffside over the crowd of 1-A. She slams into another cliff, momentarily pressed into the rock as it buckles under her Knightriders.
“So you’re refining your kicks, then?”
“Yes, Ectoplasm-sensei. I— I can’t practice my other techniques often, unless I do them at a low level, so, I should work on my kicks.” Kyu kneels down over the notebook she left open on the ground. “I draw inspiration from All Might, but my mobility is closer to Mirko’s, even if it’s…” Kyu mutters, jotting down some notes and checking what she’s already written. “Stockier. Tighter movements… Mobility and impact.” She writes impact and underlines it, then hops back to her feet. Ectoplasm doesn’t hesitate to attack.
She rockets from the wall, and the rock shatters under her feet from the force of her launch. Mirko makes huge arcs that curl into her kicks, All Might tucks in and spins in his California Smash. Kyu is already small, but she tucks her upper body forwards as she frontflips through the air, almost parallel to the ground. The balls fly in, but Kyu’s body uncurls and she slams her heel into a ball. The shockwave and air pressure sends them all wide, but only a few go back towards the Ketsubutsu students. She lands harshly, but the Knightriders absorb the impact, leaving her crouching in front of 1-A.
“UA’s a big target— everyone knows who we are!” She can tell that the students behind her don’t gasp in surprise; they fall into defensive stances.
“Not an easy target, though,” Shindou replies, “Nightlight is the hero that stood with All Might!” He smiles fiendishly as he drops the halfhearted praise. “We’re still gonna tear you down.”
A few off Shindou’s teammates step forward, too— Many are hanging back, but not all. A blue-haired girl with a staff, a boy in a red scarf, and a boy with heteromorphic blue skin. The blue haired girl lets out a battle-hungry smile. “Yep! You won’t last!” Behind her, the blue-skinned boy does something to five balls and the red scarf one channels some Quirk into them. It’s a combo that looks dangerous, and Kyu doesn’t hesitate to lunge forward. “I won’t let you!” Again, the Knightriders break the earth.
The blue-haired girl does a handspring and then frontflips forward, whipping her staff after her. He’s got the strength to barrel through her, but the staff glows blue and hits his shin like a sledgehammer, knocking him back onto the floor of the canyon. Next to her, a boy steps forward with frost creeping up his fingers. “You’ve gotta get through us,” he snickers, tightening his hands into fists with a glacial crack.
Kyu doesn’t let herself stay on the ground, spinning around and digging her metal toes into the earth. She lunges forward at a horizontal angle she couldn’t manage before, and slams a ball into a target on the boy’s chest. He slams a fist across her jaw while she’s close, but she takes it on the chin— The segmented respirator helps her take the blow, but it still makes her blink. More than that, she feels the metal at her chin turn icy cold, and a wintry bite across the side of her face. Anything he touches cools down?
The blue-haired girl closes in, and Kyu shoves the boy off before leaping away from her staff. It glows blue as she moves it, and Kyu watches her closely as she dodges the staff— the girl is fast, and with the reach of the staff it’s hard to just leap back. But she’s twirling, and holding the staff much closer to one end. The glow builds whenever she spins, or squats before leaping, and she never stops moving. Some kind of movement stockpile Quirk, Kyu surmises, She hits hard, but not if I stop her from moving. She lunges in, raising her arm to take the blow of the staff while she slams a foot into the girl’s side. The blue energy slams into her painfully, but the girl twirls back— she doesn’t stop moving, though, just takes the impact and spins like a deadly breakdancer. She’s storing my impacts, too. I have to hit her head on.
Kyu leaps forward, but the frost boy gets in her way, grabbing onto her leg. With her kick not formed yet, he manages to take the gut blow, and she feels her leg freezing up. She leans into him, raising her other foot and stamping against his head. He stumbles back, dropping her, but her leg is still half-numb. If he grabs me, I’ll get sloppy, and he might make my gear brittle. I have to get him out of the fight. But she doesn’t have time to follow up, because blue-girl swings her staff down and Kyu narrowly rolls away from a blow that craters the ground.
They’re tough because I’m on the back foot, but I know what to expect now. And they don’t. Kyu leaps up, lunging at the girl before she recovers, but the boy reaches out to intercept. Kyu expects this, though, and kicks off of him, high into the air. They get ready to capitalize, but Kyu grabs at her bandolier.
“I’ve always been able to attack at range by throwing stuff around, but I can do more damage with a good kick, like I did with the car against All Might…”
“Hyper-density darts like Nighteye, then?” Mei offers, still messing with pieces that will become a prototype respirator.
“No. Those would be lethal. I want to distribute the force, like I’m kicking someone at range.”
“Ha! Kick. Range.” Mei shoots up excitedly. “Kick like gun. Shotgun. Follow.” Kyu obeys, even if she’s a little worried.
Kyu flicks out the white pouch from her bandolier, and still spinning in the air, slams her foot into it. Its seams burst at the impact, and loose buckshot flies through the air. Both the girl and the boy tumble back, and the girl loses her momentum entirely. With a snarl, Kyu lands and punts the girl back towards her team. She grabs a ball to attack the boy with, but few tendrils of fabric coil around him first— a lot like Eraserhead’s capture weapon, but Kyu notices the zippers as the strips yank back to a girl with a heteromorphic zipped-open mouth.
“Midoriya! Jump!” Kyu jumps without hesitating at the voice behind her. She’s left somewhat open in the air, but as the ground hums and shakes under her, she sees why. The blue boy and the red-scarfed boy both scoff as some burrowing attack is diverted by Jirou’s earth-breaking defense. Kyu lands at the front of her team, next to Jirou.
“Much stronger than you used to be, then!” Shindou shouts, arms up wide with bravado. “Well, your defenses are great, but let’s see how you do on your own! Tremoring Earth!” He roars, slamming his outstretched hands against the ground, and there’s a hum and quake magnitudes more powerful than Jirou’s— Like his Quirk is vibration or earthquakes specifically. It sunders the cliffs and hills, and 1-A is forced to scatter.
Ochako taps her fingers together and says “release” under her breath, taking the little bit of the fall with the shock absorption in her boots. Mina and Sero both hit the ground next to her with combat rolls, although she didn’t manage to get anyone else in her class. Or stick with them. They’re left in a crevice, with a steep hill on one side and a raised ledge about two Ochakos high on the other. All three of them stand, not letting themselves be exposed while they catch their breath.
“We need to regroup,” Sero says.
“Yeah, no engaging unless it’s just one or two to pick off,” Mina nods. “But it’ll be hard to find anyone unless we just go back towards Ketsubutsu, and that’s risky…”
“Yeah, that school is super intense!” Ochako almost nods in agreement, until she realizes it’s a fourth voice, and yelps in surprise along with Mina and Sero.
“Aww, that’s no way to say hi,” the voice says, coy and girlish. Ochako looks up and sees the Ketsubutsu student who grabbed Yoarashi sitting over the side of the ledge, swinging her legs back and forth. “Don’t you remember me, ‘Chako-chan?” She leans back, and as her legs snap up over the ledge she disappears entirely. Ochako is left staring up in confusion, right up until a hand caresses her shoulder and an arm follows it, curling around her neck like a snake.
“When did you—” Ochako is cut off by the dull hum of a target getting hit.
The girl giggles. “Do you think it’s my Quirk, O-cha-ko?” She’s clinging to her but not incapacitating her, and Ochako doesn’t hesitate to flip her harshly onto her back with Gunhead’s martial arts. The girl twists up onto her feet instantly, kicking up a ball. It’s not close to any of their targets, but all three dodge away from it— and the girl is gone.
“Ngh—” Ochako whips around to see Mina with a syringe stuck into her bicep. It only sucks for a moment before Mina shouts, “get off!” She shoves the girl back and melts the syringe off of her with her other hand. Her blood still disappears through a tube. Wait, is this—
“Thanks!” The girl smiles from the top of the ledge again. Her face is flushed bright pink. “You can even keep two of these,” she giggles, dropping two balls down to them. “Hope I see you again!” She sing-songs, before leaping away. This time, Ochako can hear the sound of her running off, and she’s certain the girl is gone.
“What was her deal?” Sero mumbles, already tearing open a pack of gauze from his utility belt. He holds it on the puncture on Mina’s shoulder before wrapping it with tape from his Quirk. Ochako swallows thickly.
“Well, I— Okay, she didn’t look the same, but she acted like Toga.”
Mina and Sero’s gazes both snap towards her. “Toga? Like Toga Himiko. Like Midoriya’s girlfriend?” Mina asks, snapping off the tape and securing it herself. “That’s— I guess it’s possible, but…”
Sero nods. “But it could be her. The syringe, it’s like Kaminari said. Knife G.F.”
Ochako shakes her head. “It’s— I don’t think we’re in danger, for some reason. She left us these, too.” She grabs a ball with four fingers, and grips it with steel determination. She looks to Sero, then Mina. “Let’s pass this test.”
Mina whistles. “You’re hot when you get intense.”
“Alright,” Sero groans, “can we just go?”
Himiko played nice with the cute girls. She knows the girls are nice to Kyu, anyway. She’s more interested in taking down Iida Tenya, but he could be anywhere, and she doesn’t have long. She does hear another voice in the rubble, though— “You’re all so bad at hiding,” she giggles to herself, before descending on the next trench. This one has a girl with a big ponytail and two boys, one with purple ball-hair and one in a gi with a tail. The girl’s chest glows, and the purple boy watches excitedly. Creep.
Himiko keeps watching for a while, while she pulls out a staff, a flare gun, and a few earpieces. One of my classmates can make things, Kyu had said, and this definitely fits the bill. Clearly, she’s in Kyu’s good graces, and the tail-boy murmurs something about “finding our class and making sure nobody’s hurt.” He can stay, too.
She descends on the purple boy. He’s too small to space his targets out, even if one of them is uncomfortably close to his weird bowl-diaper thing. She manages to snag two, but tail-boy knocks her back and staff-girl gets dangerously close to following up. She feels a wide, sharp grins spread across her face.
“That hottie got two of my targets already! Why didn’t you protect me, Ojiro?” Both of his classmates huff at his language, even as they try to attack Himiko.
She just giggles, weaving around them. “Wow, he’s really a piece of human trash, huh?” She says. They all look a little taken aback by how she says that in the same girlish voice. It’s cute. They’re all good students, but she’s got a trick for that. She lets a knife catch the light, and tosses it at them, following it with a ball. They think the knife is a feint for a ball, they take their eyes off her, and she ‘disappears.’ It takes some effort and timing against an organized group, but she has practice. She ducks along the side of the hill, rolling back into the trench as the ball and knife are both deflected. She dances gracefully around the balls the boy set as traps, and hits his last target. It tolls like a church bell and they all change colors.
“What— How did you get close?”
“A lady never tells, you slimeball piece of shit,” she giggles, before leaping out of the trench. “Good luck, you two!” She sing-songs. Staff-girl and tail-boy both scoff, but don’t chase her as she runs off. Alright, well, I can only snag two, and that’s one. So the real question is, who next… Himiko thinks, sending a look up the hill, where she can already see more applicants trying to ambush and lash out, Quirks flaring. I know who I want, time investment or not…
Himiko giggles, transforming into… Well, Mina could work, but Kyu will do an even better job, and she feels so warm and fuzzy when she’s Kyu. She feels her fangs dig into her lips as a blush spreads across her face and crawls over her nose and ears, followed by a wave of warmth, and freckles, and curly green hair. “Now, where is he,” she purrs, smiling at the sound of Kyu’s voice coming from her. The new boots are all springy, too, so she skips and bounds along the shattered rock.
Kyu catches her breath with her back against a massive rock face jutting up from near Shindou’s epicenter. The rock here is much more jagged, but it’s not pulverized until near the center— meaning huge outcroppings and walls form. They’re way more unstable than the canyons from before, but make for a tight space to fight in, full of pillars and obstacles.
She looks around, bringing the smallest amount of power she can to her eyes. It’s harder to be particular with them, more like working with a dial of one to ten than percentages. Still, with some concentration, she brings a glow to her eyes, and scours the area— The canyons and mountains have mostly become jagged mounds and trenches, and plenty of classes are swooping in— mobility Quirks and ambush tactics are king when there’s so much around, and it’s difficult to keep track of— but like king of the hill, Kyu can get a good look from up here.
She grits her teeth when she realizes how much of 1-A is engaging with other classes— some of them are going into the city zone, some of them are in the path of an encroaching class (that probably won’t hold up to them, but still). From her scan, though, Kyu is pretty sure she’s one of the only ones this close to Ketsubutsu. Away from the oncoming tides, sure, but she has to be on guard.
She hears a few people behind him— but she doesn’t want to give away her place in the shadow of the outcropping, if she can avoid it.
“C’mon, it’s downhill from here. We’ve gotta move fast.” It’s a feminine voice, but not one Kyu recognizes.
“We can’t afford to just move fast, Nakagame,” another voice says, low and full of vocal fry. “There’s a lot of hiding places around here.”
“Oh, shut up, Nayoro.” Kyu knows that voice as the blue-haired girl. “We’ve gotta be fast to pass. And besides, we have the high ground, and the greatest ability to control our engagements. If anyone’s sticking around for an ambush, there won’t be enough of them to protect themselves.”
Kyu evens out her breathing, slowly moving in the shadow to get to a better attack position. It takes some effort to keep herself stealthy— Don’t make a Mirko entrance, don’t make a Mirko entrance, don’t make a Mirko entrance—
“Jiang’s right, ice prince.” Shindou! “We can crush those first years into the ground while they’re scattered like this. We’re experienced, not that easy to catch off guard.
Kyu’s body is moving before she realizes, leaping up the outcropping. She twists in midair, giving her the angle to snap her legs out and ‘land’ against the side of the tip of the rock. There, she lunges straight towards the Ketsubutsu students like a missile. She twists her body as she falls, ready to deliver a hard kick. “You sure about that?” She shouts, with a wide, feral grin.
Oh, I made a Mirko entrance.
Notes:
Several students seen here are my OCs— blue-energy girl is Amaya Jiang from Firestarter, (Quirk: Ripple) and cold punch guy/zipper girl are Nayoro Ren and Fasuna Hakibi from Doodles in Margins. (Quirk: Cold Snap/Zipper)
Kyu’s “mobility and impact” thing is kinda inspired by ITSV/ATSV Miles Morales! I really like the way he moves and fights, with a lot more intensity and impact than other spiders. They’re all graceful swingers and he’s got this more speed-oriented street runner style. Chef’s kiss.
Himiko’s voice staying in the same girlish area while insulting people is very fun. She definitely snarls when she’s really upset, but her normal level is kinda… “onion reporter”, yk?
Chapter 40: Roll Call III
Notes:
CW: A paragraph towards the end of Himiko’s section of the chapter contains some excessive pain/violence, and a misogynistic slur. It starts and ends with bold text.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu hits the ground hard — That is to say, she spins and her heel follows, whipping downwards in a dangerous arc. The metal heel hits the ground hard, and stone buckles into a crater and explodes in pebble-shrapnel. It’s an axe kick that’d probably crush skulls, but the Ketsubutsu students scattered away— None of them landed on their feet, but Kyu did.
She twists, going from her crouched landing to a lunge in one lightning-fast motion. One For All dances across her skin eagerly, sea-green lighting buzzing across the dust and rock fragments in the air. She got one of the frost boy’s chest before, and she dives for him again. He must be Nayoro, then, Nakagame’s the girl I don’t know. His eyes widen as she dives onto him— Not expecting an opponent who knows his Quirk to be so head-on. No hesitation. She slams a ball into the target on his thigh. The last one is right at his solar plexus.
Kyu doesn’t take him with her when she lunges over him, though, and instead rolls into a crouch a few paces from where he lands. Shindou and Nakagame are standing, while Jiang is already spinning and twirling over Nayoro. “Oh, not you again,” Kyu murmurs, adjusting her footing. It takes focus, but Kyu twists the Searchlight dial to three. Her eyes feel like they’re buzzing. She watches the blue glow spark in Jiang’s feet, and race across her body— Most of all, it hums around her arms and coils up her staff. It looks like she has some control, but the power gathers most easily at the point of greatest potential energy. Kyu grins. That means she can’t dodge from standing. Tough, but predictable.
Kyu still has six balls. She lets power flow into her hands while she grabs one. With OFA in her eyes and hands, she’s got speed and aim that Jiang can’t slip away from. Kyu looses the ball with the force of a cannon, and the force of OFA echoes in her hand and leaves it a little numb. The ball hits the target on Jiang’s shoulder. It’s a well-placed target, though, because she twists with the impact and suddenly her staff is looking very close and very dangerous. But it’s also gleaming blue much like a sword gleaming in moonlight, and it’s being held in a lopsided way that favors Jiang’s Quirk.
Kyu does something that she doubts Jiang’s opponents usually do. She raises her arms, somewhat like a boxer’s stance, but lunges forward with her body tucked in— she only barely ducks under a swing of the staff that was more probing than attacking, and suddenly, she’s up close. Jiang seems surprised, too, but a small grin forms on her face at the challenge. Like she’s excited to have her weakness pushed.
Kyu rockets up, going for a nasty gut punch, but Jiang moves to respond— She drops the staff entirely as she twirls, and her whole body glows a little brighter as she twists faster than before. The blow still hits her good, but now it’s on the side instead of direct. She grunts, but spins with the blow. She doesn’t absorb all of it, but most of it spins along with her, until her foot whips out in a nasty kick that’s spun all the way up to Kyu’s head. I need space. I need to use my mobility and fight her in bursts she can’t avoid. I need to immobilize her, but she’s too slippery like this, and has her teammates. She can just twist away from the blow.
With a snarling smile, Kyu puts both forearms between Jiang’s foot and her head. The blue glow of kinetic energy hits her painfully, but she lets herself be knocked away— rather than planting her feet and playing too her stocky nature. It’s unorthodox for her usual style, but it works. She’s flung back, and crashes against the top of a protrusion of rock, which breaks before her body does and sends her tumbling against the top ledge. Her back feels scuffed, but OFA is tough. She pushes herself to her feet and holds a ball in each hand, then shakes her head to right herself. Kyu grins, and takes a running start to leap over the ledge.
Iida could’ve passed the test already. He’s fast; fast enough to lunge at opponents and take out targets without having to worry about poor ranged abilities or losing balls. He’s tagged targets, but he was careful to only get one student out. Because he’s a prick.
Himiko lets the shape of Mina wash over her. Iida is about a block away, anyway. She runs down the street, and is surprised to find a small group of Ketsubutsu students. They all start to go on the attack, and she shifts back into Camie. “Hey, slow down! It’s me!” They all look suspicious, since Camie’s quirk probably has tells that hers doesn’t, but she says some made-up explanation about the 1-A girl being a heteromorph.
She ‘disappears’ right after moving into a building, just to make sure she’s not followed. And then she hears the chugging of engines, and takes her chance. She changes into Kyu as she gets a running start, and then bursts out of the front of the building and into the street. There’s a bunch of students out here, with balls and a few stragglers licking their wounds scattered across the asphalt. Iida is running towards her— she makes sure to get his eye, and she sees his stupid righteous glare.
He flings himself at her, arcing widely to slam a harsh kick across her body. Himiko dodges enough to avoid arm, but Iida is fast. She doesn’t mind where the kick sends her, though— tumbling right back into the mock building, that has light fixtures, but the only light comes from outside. Making it deliciously shadowy. He follows quickly, but Himiko launches herself up in a handspring and then lands in a crouch. When he kicks at her again, she dives out of the way like a matador. She throws a ball while she’s rolling. Iida doesn’t even glance at it. Ugh, damn. Iida is too full of righteous fury to get with easy tricks.
“That was nothing.
You
are nothing, Midoriya,” he growls, and runs, engines screaming. He’s fast, even in the relatively small quarters of the building’s lobby. Himiko lets herself be cowed back towards the wall, but it’s also the wall where the stairwell is— and she ducks into it as soon as she’s close enough. Iida’s boots slam into the wall behind her, but she manages to get up the stairs. Iida is much less graceful, shouldering through the door and barreling up the stairs. “You can’t run forever!”
Still, the sightlines are tight, and even though he’s fast, she ‘disappears’ faster. She tucks herself into the darkest corner of the stairwell and goes still, and Iida is going so fast he slams into the landing’s wall before twisting and going up. She pounces, tapping the target on his back. His leg whips out, and she crashes into the side of the next flight of stairs with a cry. She keeps her grip on the ball, though.
“You’re sloppy, Iida,” she growls. It makes him angrier, clearly, because he cuts his engines entirely in order to stop at the next landing, twist, and lunge back. Himiko is far more agile than the visage she wears, though; Kyu’s body is muscular, and that makes it big. Himiko dives, and feels the swinging kick gouge through grey slime, but it doesn’t hit her back. She doesn’t roll forward, instead pushing herself up and doing a backflip. It’s fancy, but it works.
Meanwhile, Iida skids to a not-so-fancy stop, and hits the landing wall again. Himiko tries to hit a target on his chest, but he flares his engines to life again— he’s not good in close quarters, but his legs still move with deadly speed. She flips and leaps away, but she’s on the backfoot for real this time. She’s cornered, now, and Iida kicks her hard. The foot in her gut hits so hard she feels bile sputter out of her mouth, and she crashes through the wall of the next landing— and slams out of the building at the third story. Iida dives after her.
She grins, fiendish and fangs bared. He either knows it’s her or hates the look that Kyu’s face is wearing, because his legs rocket him forward with a roar of “Recipro Burst!” Himiko finally uses her Quirk again, morphing into the shape of Camie for a tiny instant— a instant that covers for her— before morphing into Mirko. She only has three seconds as Mirko.
One.
Iida slams into her. Mirko is Himiko’s height, and that means his kick hits her right in the chest. It’d probably hit Kyu’s solar plexus. Iida twists with the impact, using the jetlike exhausts of his Quirk to shift his descent from ‘rocket’ to ‘slow’.
Himiko isn’t as lucky, but she does have a hint of Mirko’s strength. It’s enough to twist around, alongside her mobility, and she gets her feet under her instead of her head. She hits the ground hard, though, the impact jarring even as she manages to roll backwards and tumble safely into the middle of the street. Two of her targets activate because of the balls left on the ground.
Two.
Himiko twists into a leap, and Mirko’s leg strength is kickass. She can’t help a cheer and she arcs forward and meets Iida’s kick with her own— hers is weaker, but she’s far more flexible. Even when she loses the contest, she’s able to twirl around him and reaches out. The ball in her hand barely grazes his second target, and its light dings on. She lets out a very-Mirko triumphant laugh, and it feels good. Both her and Iida twist into squats, facing each other from two lanes away. Both have one target left; her on her left thigh, him on his gut.
Three.
Iida flies first, of course, his engines blaring at max power. Himiko leaps back, which she normally wouldn’t do with the hand she’s pushing, but even false-Mirko doesn’t compare to Recipro Burst. Iida follows her easily, whipping out a leg to capitalize on the fact that she’s in the air, but she’s not exactly caught off guard. His armor is too lightweight to be very protective, probably.
She slams a knife into his shin as it slams across her. She can feel that she probably has bruised ribs, maybe one’s even broken, but she uses the knife like a handhold to tug herself forwards and hit Iida’s last target. With a toll, he’s out.
False-Mirko turns to sludge, and she lets the shape of Camie emerge from the gray slime, giggling. “That was a close one!”
Iida winces , but Recipro Burst still has five or six seconds to go. “How’d you know my name?” He scoffs, and then bursts forward. Himiko senses his intent as he lunges, but she can’t react to his kick except to raise her arms. It slams into her with a crack , and she’s tossed down the street like a ragdoll. She sails the length of a building before tumbling another few paces. “You’re that whore villain Midoriya fraternizes with!” His boot is already there, crashing into her side hard. There’s a splitting pain and she feels nauseous as pain blazes like fire from the kidney blow. “Aren’t you!” Another kick. Himiko vomits, scrambling away, but his foot slams into her stomach and digs his heel in, engines keening out in strength for a final triumph. Then, they sputter out.
Himiko sobs, but each breath comes out in a growl. The boot on her stomach is heavy, but it doesn’t have Recipro behind it anymore. She can feel that her transformation is losing shape, and she’s so dazed and nauseous she can barely think about it. But she squeezes her eyes shut tight and reaches deep into her Quirk.
The shape of Kyu washes over her, feeling warm and comforting. She twists her legs, getting Iida’s in a lock, and squeezes his boot in her arms while wrenching her legs forward. His head hits the ground with a satisfying smack, and she limps to the arena’s exit as fast as possible.
Kyu hits the ground running, and crosses the last few paces between her and the Ketsubutsu students in a blink. She leaps and spins, turning the telegraphed kick into a California Smash as she nears the group. Wind whips around her fist as she brings it down in a dangerous haymaker, but it only serves to knock them back and ruin their footing. Kyu digs her fist into the stone and throws herself forward. It’s reckless, she knows, but I have to be faster.
She goes for Nakagame this time— she doesn’t have any visible heteromorphic features, and her pink and blue costume gives no clues about her Quirk. Kyu doesn’t expect her to be able to react when she’s on the back foot either way. But when she swings her leg out in a kick, Nakagame’s arm disappears into her body in a flash. Transformation. Can pull in her own body? Comes in fast. Nakagame throws a ball out with her other arm, but it’s sloppy and slow. Kyu slams her foot down and twists around to deliver a strike to Nakagame’s center of mass. Instead, Nakagame’s arm springs out of her body, catching the bad throw and slamming the ball into one of Kyu’s targets. Kyu leaps back, and Nakagame doesn’t press the offense.
“Careful, Nightlight,” Shindou says, stepping into her space. His hands are already thrumming in a way that implies his Quirk doesn’t just break stone. He fights a lot like Shigaraki— lunging, five-point touch motions with some speed. But he’s built the same way Kyu is, and he leans into a style closer to boxing to go for quick punches. His Quirk is clearly dangerous, but he’s not nearly fast enough for it to catch Kyu. He probably won’t do that Tremoring Earth move again with his close-quarters teammates. She ducks around another swipe, and springs away from another jab, before hitting him with a ten-percent ball-slam into the target on his chest. He does a combat roll backwards.
“I’m careful enough,” she huffs, fists raised. They stare at each other in the lull of fighting, and despite her sweat and heavy breathing and the dirt on her skin, Kyu feels a rush. “I know all your Quirks now. And one hit to four, right?” She knows she’s smiling like Mirko, or maybe even like Himiko. It feels good to wear a toothy grin, though.
“Let’s see your stamina, then, Nightlight.” Nayoro steps forward, rolling out his shoulders— there’s a few pops in his joints. Creepy. “You can’t bend forever.” He closes on Kyu, quickly followed by Jiang. Just like last time, it’s hard to put pressure on either of them while the other is around. Kyu tries her buckshot move, but Jiang closes too fast. She shifts to planting her foot against Jiang’s center of mass, more of a shove than a kick. It launches her away, but Nayoro gets in close and hits her with a shoeshine. Two boxers. Kyu grits her teeth, feeling the frost spread across her core, but pushes OFA’s limit to land a punch across Nayoro’s jaw. The boy staggers back, and Kyu moves to hit his last target.
Shindou dives in front of Nayoro with outstretched hands. Kyu grits her teeth, forced to disengage, and Nakagame pursues her. She catches Nakagame’s kick, but her leg disappears into her body. She tries to grapple, but Nakagame shrinks and pops out of her grasp. Kyu is on her, ready to hit her targets in the window that she’s vulnerable, but Jiang’s staff whips through the air and Kyu has to do a handspring to avoid it. It’s only because she touches the ground that she feels it— the frost. The ground is subzero. She has to slam her Knightriders into the stone to avoid slipping, but it’s still a rushed movement that makes her slip.
Nayoro tackles her, gripping her wrist in one hand and hugging low around her gut with the other. She wrestles against him, easily stronger, and wrenches out of his grip. But before she can get him off, the butt of Jiang’s staff comes down on Kyu’s shoulder. The force pulverizes the stone under her, and Nayoro grabs her arm again. Nakagame practically tackles her, pressing a ball against her second target. She feels her body temperature dropping fast, hands numb and body feeling sluggish from the hand near her core. She grits her teeth and flicks her jaw up, moving the second part of the respirator.
“If I can enhance my eyes, there’s a chance I can… Well, probably not any brain functions, since those are so complicated. Even if I could somehow target that, it’s dangerous…”
Kyu worries her lip, sitting at the edge of her platform. Her notebook is in her lap while her legs dangle over the edge, the second go at the Knightriders feeling comfortably snug. And then the gym’s door opens.
It’s a blond teacher, but not All Might— This time, Present Mic comes in. He looks across the students, but mostly seems interested in talking to Aizawa. Before he leaves, he turns to the gym and shouts “PLUS ULTRA!” A chorus of students shout it back.
Kyu puts five-percent of OFA into her throat and vocal cords, down to her lungs and diaphragm. The resulting roar crackles out of her throat with ozone and lighting and sounds almost like an overloaded speaker buzzing and peaking, despite being her own voice. Her throat aches, but Present Mic and Eraserhead both look at her in surprise.
Mei wraps her rambling to Kaminari up and immediately finds her.
The second half of the respirator, with its directional speaker planted in the center and two dials on the filters, clacks into place with the lower half, and hums to life. OFA: Night Howl, twenty percent.
“PLUS ULTRA!”
Notes:
Yeah we’re regularly breaking 3k now, I guess. I used to avoid breaking that number, but… well. Fight scene brain.
if you're binge reading: stop and get water! you've read over a novel atp. if you're reading normally: also stop and get water! i'll be sad if you don't.
Chapter 41: Roll Call IV
Summary:
Last time was a double upload-- Kyu battled Ketsubutsu students until Shindou used his Tremoring Earth move, and then ambushed Shindou, Jiang, Nayoro, and Nakagame. They got the upper hand on her, pinning her down... When all of a sudden, she unleashes a new move, One For All: Night Howl!
Now, Kyu stands to fight the Ketsubutsu students and (hopefully) move on to the second portion of the test...
Notes:
oh hey i fixed my spacing finally. i will not be editing the previous chapters that'd be so much work and i love y'all but not that much
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“PLUS ULTRA!”
Nayoro, Jiang, and Nakagame all tumble off of Kyu. She stands, and the respirator hisses. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to explode, but it’s definitely a prototype. Kyu wastes no time pushing herself to her feet. Still, even with OFA buzzing across her skin, she’s cold. Her Quirk warms her some, and it’s probably the only reason Nayoro didn’t take her out in one hit. But she’s sluggish, and knows it. I have to end this.
“That’s a neat trick. You’ve made that enhancer pretty versatile, haven’t you.” Kyu staggers as she stands fully, facing Shindou, who has barely moved. “Sound waves— Y’know, vibrations? They don’t do much.” He lunges, and Kyu has to recognize that he’s fast for a normal person. She barely ducks and weaves around his hits. He’ll break my gear if he touches it, I’ll probably be out if he gets organs or head. Shindou is relentless, and Kyu barely protects herself.
She whips out a kick, and he doesn’t manage to catch it, but he does block. He shoulders her leg aside and moves in on Kyu, and she’s forced to raise her arms as he extends both hands to use his Quirk.
The vibrations move through her arms, and she screams. She can’t engage Night Howl involuntarily, thank god, but the pain roars through her arms— through her freezing hand, whose joints are entirely unprepared, and her less-freezing hand, that Shindou squeezed earlier. It hurts a hell of a lot more than the squeeze, though. OFA arcs off of her skin and blazes in her chest painfully, but Shindou’s Quirk keeps going. She roars, staggering into him, and does the only thing she can think of— she slams her forehead into his face.
Shindou lets go immediately, falling back. A blow to the face like that will make his eyes water whether he wants them to or not. OFA doesn’t change the strength of a headbutt much, but she might’ve still broken his nose. She doesn’t feel as bad as she probably should. Kyu’s arm muscles still spasm painfully, but her joints only throb. Her arms hang in front of her, curling in a little. Her feet are firmly under her, but her back is hunched. She glares at the Ketsubutsu students as they finish dusting themselves off and start slowly moving in. They all know it’s going to be the last clash, even if Kyu is like a caged animal.
Nayoro runs in low on her left, Jiang twists and leaps high on her right. The best she can do is leap back, and she even staggers a little as she puts a foot back. That’s the mistake.
And yet, the blows don’t come. With two simultaneous thwip sounds, Jiang’s staff and Nayoro’s arm are yanked to a stop by thick strips of tape. Jiang’s Quirk fades at the sudden stop, while Nayoro twists towards the tape. Kyu looks up to the far hill, and spots Sero, elbows pointed at the pair. He grins. “Plus Ultra.” Nayoro grabs the tape with his other hand, making it brittle, while Jiang is in a tug-of-war with Sero. Shindou moves to break Sero’s footing, but a ball slams into a target on his abs. “What the hell!”
On the hill, Yaomomo comes into view, with a sort of grenade-launcher-ish ball gun. She takes aim at Shindou again, but he protects his targets.
Uraraka appears on the hill next— she’s covered in dirt, her costume has gashes, she has a scrape on her forehead, and a dark smear of blood down her cheek. She looks like a warrior woman, despite her bubbly pink costume. She leaps from the top of the hill and attacks Nakagame, who scrambles to dodge.
Next, a concussive blast hits Nayoro and Jiang, and they both move back to a more defensible position with their classmates. Kyu looks to the left for its origin and finds Jirou. She roars to the whole group, “let’s go lesbians! Let’s go lesbians!”
“You guys…” Kyu says affectionately, over the sounds of brutal combat.
“We were hoping to regroup, and that’s the perfect beacon!” Yaomomo calls, eyes pinned on the Ketsubutsu students as she lets off another thump ball. “Nightlight fits you!”
Uraraka tries to grapple Nakagame’s shoulder, but her arm snaps into it and twists her body with the force. She keeps twisting, sending a kick at Uraraka, who catches it at her side and grips it tight. She tries to hit Nakagame’s head with her Quirk, but her neck and part of her upper body snap into her ribcage area. She kicks her other leg into Uraraka’s chest, pushing off and rolling away before her limbs spring back out— but Uraraka is a grappler and an unstoppable force, and she pursues Nakagame easily and hits her center of mass with five fingers. Nakagame goes down right after.
Sero abandons Nayoro once he snaps the brittle tape, launching a second strip at Jiang. She drops her staff, but the second strip traps around her upper arm. Sero tugs closer to her, and she tries to move with his pull to get her Quirk going, but he’s an artist when it comes to takedowns. She gets a kick in, but he binds her legs together right after, leaving her wrapped up with her arms pinned to her sides.
Nayoro steps towards Kyu again, but Yaomomo hits him with a net gun. He’s bulky enough that it barely slows him down, despite the weights on it, and he easily starts to lift it aside and rip out of it once his Quirk hits it. But she wastes no time in aiming her launcher again, and she has scary aim, because she hits his last target with her first shot. He finishes shrugging off the net and backs off from the fighting.
Shindou moves in on Nightlight again while all of that happens— She’s at more of a disadvantage than she was at their last engagement, and he could probably just go for the target on her back shoulder. Even if he doesn’t have any takedowns, she’d be out. “Grouping together again, eh? Should I remind you prep school shits what a real hero is!” His hands hum as he lunges towards the ground, face twisted in a snarl. It’s almost like Bakugou, really.
Jirou slams an Amplifier Jack fist into Shindou’s jaw— She’s got less close combat experience than him, for sure, but he doesn’t notice her in his anger. Kyu can hear the vibration from where she stands, but he doesn’t take it much harder than any normal punch with his resilience. She looks taken aback for a moment, but sets her jaw. She glances over, catching Kyu’s eye, and they attack together— in a flurry of kicks and punches that keep him on the defense, they press him against a small boulder, and Kyu pushes the limits of OFA for an instant to kick him into the rock as hard as he can. Jirou gets him out right away.
“That’s my second. I passed,” Yaomomo says. They’ll congratulate each other when they make it out.
“Sero and I have one each,” Uraraka says.
“That was my first,” Jirou says. Kyu shakes her head, still catching her breath.
“Alright, then,” Uraraka says, “one of us has to pass, and you two can be at one.” She looks to Sero.
Sero stares back flatly. “Don’t look at me like that. You look like shit. Your face is bleeding.”
Nakagame sighs. “Yeah, seriously girl. Get me out.”
Sero, Jirou, and Kyu all stand together while Uraraka helps the Ketsubutsu group out of the arena. Between them, they have seven balls. Jirou tenses, looking at the hill Sero just came up. “The third parties are here. Something like a dozen.”
Sero grits his teeth. “I don’t have time to set a trap for two people, let alone twelve.”
“We don’t need to. We need three takedowns.” Kyu reaches for a buckshot pouch.
“Can you scream again?” Jirou asks, smiling nervously.
“I can push it, yeah. I’ve got cough syrup in my gear now, too.” She already hears that her voice is a little raspy, but if it’s with Jirou she can dial it back to fifteen percent.
“Sero, tape as much as you can once we get them.” Jirou pushes one jack into the ground. “Three… Two…” Her jacks move into her boots, and their speakers whine as they come to life. “Now!”
The students who crested the hill never had a chance. Kyu’s throat feels like she just swallowed glass, and her arms hurt to move, but she lunges and gets a boy with heteromorphic scaled skin out right away. Sero and Jirou move in a moment later— Sero wraps one student up and taps her targets, while Jirou punches one with a sonic gauntlet before getting her out.
“M-ask,” Kyu rasps, staggering towards Jirou. She reaches up and touches it with shaky hands, taking a moment to find the latch and detach the upper half. She tugs it away from Kyu’s face, letting it fall on her collarbone again. She spits up a mouthful of blood, which hurts, but is better than swallowing it. She looks put off.
“You’re crazy,” Jirou sighs, letting Kyu lean into her and leading her to the arena’s exit. “Did you fight those four by yourself?”
Kyu nods. Sero and Jirou both sigh, but don’t look surprised. She wants to argue her case, but she’s too tired, and honestly, they’re right. Oh well.
She gets her name on the list of the one hundred at a nice seventy-eight. Sero and Jirou are eighty and eighty-one. The first is Yoarashi, forebodingly, and she only spots twelve 1-A names when she skims— Bakugou, Kaminari, Kirishima, and Todoroki all pass, as well as Ojiro, Mina, Momo, and Koda. She sees Tsu appear at ninety-one before Jirou and Sero shove her away to see a medic.
The medic starts to bandage her up right after putting a weird lanyard on her— It’s just a piece of pink construction paper in a plastic sleeve with twine to go around her neck, really. She discovers pretty quickly that it’s the ‘needs the healer Quirk’ notice. They give her some somewhat strong pain meds, lots of water that is difficult to swallow, and some warm blankets. Jirou comes back with tea and honey.
“It helps me with a raw throat.” She shrugs, and then explains, “I had a screamo phase in junior high.” She doesn’t elaborate— looks at the floor to avoid it entirely, really. After a moment, she looks up, though. “Oh, and Tsu passed with a bunch of our classmates that were together in the city zone. Everyone but Mineta and Iida made it.” Kyu’s eyes widen in surprise and a smile, but the Quirk healer shows up and shoos Jirou away.
Her Quirk is strange— everything it heals hurts, but also tickles. Kyu giggles and whines, making her throat hurt more, but the Quirk does alleviate most of the pain— and definitely stops the bleeding. The medics were pretty concerned about her coughing up blood. When the Quirk healer sees her spit the last dribble out, she says, “Is that because you’re pushing yourself far too hard, young woman?”
“All Might coughs blood too,” she rasps with a shrug. The healer looks unimpressed, to say the least— and a lot like Recovery Girl, she seems sick and tired of heroes who go a little too Plus Ultra.
The first phase finally ends around twelve-thirty in the afternoon. There’s apparently a fair amount of setup going into the next phase, but the examinees are urged into the next anteroom. Kyu doesn’t have any reason to stick around the first-aid station after one last look-over anyway. She’s endured broken bones, a sore throat and typical joint pain isn’t that bad— especially with cough syrup soothing her throat.
Kyu files into the anteroom, which is a lot more open with just one hundred examinees. She spots a clump of 1-A students, too, and she smiles when she sees they all passed. Kyu moves towards them, and even though she doesn’t dare shout out for their attention, Bakugou spots her. Curt nod. Looks away. Kaminari spots her a moment later and waves. “Hey, Midoriya!” Plenty of her classmates turn to greet her, but are interrupted by a wave of explosions. Everyone’s head is on a swivel, and as the monitors in the anteroom flick on, showing the destruction, people crowd towards them. Kyu stands at the back of her class.
“The second phase of the exam,” Mera’s voice explains over loudspeaker, “is a rescue phase. As heroes on standby, it will be your job to rescue civilians from immediate danger, blah blah blah. It says here I’m not supposed to tell you exactly how you’re judged.” There’s a few snickers and a few sighs. Then, there’s a gasp.
“Those are— there’s civilians moving in!”
“Professionals are moving onto the site. They’re acting as your civilians, and all of them have lessons on protecting themselves— not that that’ll make your jobs easy. You’ll have to rescue these members of the Help Us Company.” Faces in the crowd shift, getting nervous or excited. “I’m not supposed to give you an exact time, either. You’ll roll out soon. Let’s see if you’re up to snuff, heroes.”
The monitors are still going, and the second years immediately launch into discussions of how to respond to the danger. Kyu notices a tug at the hem of her hoodie before she can try to step forward. She looks to her side and sees the Shiketsu student Himiko is disguised as.
“Heya, Nightlight,” she says, smiling up at Kyu. “I only barely passed, but you’ll never guess who I got out.”
Kyu’s brow furrows for a second before she blinks. “W-wait, that was you?” She leans in with a hushed voice. “Himi— Y-you have to be more careful than that! Did he know it was you?”
“He had his suspicions,” she sighs, “not that people have listened before. I’m more worried about Ochako, honestly.” Kyu gives a chiding look. She pouts and leans up against Kyu. “God forbid women do anything.”
“Well I might have to stop you from doing anything if this is your average day out!” Despite her barely-a-whisper, her voice is practically a desperate whine. Himiko’s eyes flutter, momentarily flickering to catlike between blinks, and Kyu’s face twists into concern instantly.
“Your— Your breath smells like blood,” she sighs, a little wistfully, but shy.
Kyu blushes, then points at her speaker. “I can direct my power into my voice… but my throat isn’t, uh, used to it.”
“Yeah, the raspy voice does something for me,” she breathes. “I’ll be safe, promise. I’m even gonna run away instead of kissing you in front of electric boy! Good luck, cupcake!” In an instant, she disappears into the crowd, waving goodbye with waggling fingers.
“W-wait, electric—”
“Midoriya, you lucky bastard!” Kaminari whispers urgently in her ear. She spins around to look at him. “What is with your pickup skills? Leave some for the rest of us!”
Kyu shrugs, laughing a little awkwardly. “I don’t know, Kaminari, it just happens…”
“She’s a second year in a catsuit, dude! A catsuit!” Kaminari groans, clearly not satisfied when he turns back around to try to follow 1-A’s conversations again.
The destruction is expansive. It sort of looks like… Blood. Death. Screaming. Tendrils of burning darkness. A skeletal black mask hiding a face of a cruel smile and gnarled scar tissue. All For One rips into her and everything hurts and All Might is moments from death, and Himiko gets tossed aside like a ragdoll.
Kyu knows she’s hyperventilating, but she just can’t get herself to calm down. Not even when there’s a steady hand on her shoulder from a classmate, a hand that feels so far away. “W-we don’t have the rescue training for this,” Kyu breathes, shuddering. “W-we can’t.”
“Don’t be so down on yourself,” Hagakure says— she must be the one holding her shoulder, she realizes. “We’ve gone through a few lessons, we even got into the USJ after it was repaired!”
“But destruction like this…” Kyu shakes her head. “N-no, I, I can’t— I-if you’re confident, I’ll defer to you all, but if not, we have a better chance of passing b-by working with the second years who have experience with th-this.” She forces a shaky, deep breath into her lungs. Calm down, Kyu.
“Hey, you’re all UA students, aren’t you?” A masculine voice comes from a humanoid-shaped mass of fur in a Shiketsu hat and pants. Plenty of other Shiketsu students stand behind him. Talk about timing. “We know a few of you ran in to Shishikura. He can be… Zealous. Or maybe provincial is the word.” Bakugou barks a laugh. “Despite his behavior, we’d like to have a good relationship with UA.”
Nobody answers, for a moment, and then Yaomomo steps forward. “Well. We’ve had rescue lessons, but we’re first years— we’d… we’d probably be far more helpful if we differed to those with more experience.” She bows. “As our Class Rep, I’d like to offer our manpower to you.”
A warm chuckle comes from the fur. “Well then. It’s good for a hero to know when to differ to their elders. I’m Mora Nagamasa, hero name Chewie. We’ll be happy to take care of you— won’t we, Shiketsu?”
Most of the students nod. Yoarashi is unmoving, glaring daggers at Todoroki. That’s not promising.
“Alright!” This time he raises his voice, in more of an organizing shout. “Priority is triage for civilians to be rescued to until first responders arrive. Any healers, anyone who can set camp?”
Yaomomo raises her hand. “My Quirk lets me create any object I know the composition of with my body fat.” Mora’s smile is visible, making his hairs stand up. Sero follows her, and Aoyama does too— since his Quirk is already almost entirely exhausted.
“Alright, rescue’s a tough job. We need strength.” Plenty of hands go up. “Any tracking Quirks?” Jirou, Shoji, and Koda raise their hands. Kyu’s stays up. “Great! Who can safely carry civilians fast?” Uraraka, Tsu, and Tokoyami raise their hands. Kyu’s stays up. Mora eyes her, then recognition makes his back straighten. “Nightlight. Do you have control of those tendrils?” She shakes her head. “No. So just strength?” She shakes her head, and points to her eyes and throat. “Super-sight and enhanced voice. That’s why you’re not talking, I understand.”
“She’s a jack of all trades, yeah,” Uraraka says. “I’ve done a lot of specialization towards rescue— Tentacole and Earphone Jack can find people under rubble easily. Plenty of us can break through, enough to stabilize structures, too, and my Zero Gravity can make rubble weightless.” Mina coos, watching her step up to bat in a situation she’s trained for.
Mora nods, shocked. “Alright. You’re all— You’re all very useful.”
Mera’s voice crackles back into the speakers. “Twenty seconds until go time.”
Mora nods, then looks back at the Shiketsu squad. “Retsudan! You find other triage groups?” A boy with a black plate mask and a costume of a huge black coat with shingled ceramic plates nods eagerly. “Great. You’re taking these three. The girl’s a 3D printer.” The cartoonish whites in the mask’s eyes go wide open. “The rest of you, with me! We’re going to move into the worst damage as soon as we can, since we have the manpower and Quirk-force to manage it.”
“Terrorist attack! City in ruin, damage to roads severe, first responders have no way in.” The speakers crackle as the anteroom walls fall away again. The voice is blared throughout the stadium. “All rescue efforts are left to heroes! Save as many lives as you can! Start!”
Notes:
oh my god we're already on roll call FOUR??? okay,, , ,okay...
(Next one is the end of it. I swear. It also has quippy Ms. Joke dialogue.)This chapter was on the tail end of my fight scene writing spree, and I feel like 40 is still the best in that regard, but this one has a lot of great snippets now that "the pieces are all laid out," as it were.
Yes I gave kyu a soundwave attack and had her fight shindou. He's a minor antagonist let him cook or whatever.rip kyu, they're simulating her most traumatic experience. at least she's got someone telling her how to not fail (?)
Chapter 42: Roll Call V
Summary:
With the help of the Shiketsu students' guidance, Class 1-A begins rescue efforts- and Kyu throws herself into them entirely.
Notes:
i caved it's an M-Rated fic now
(This is a slight improvement for themes and discussion of trans bodies and a large improvement for me getting silly and whimsical)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The combined might of the top hero schools in the country is nothing to scoff at. It’s enough to make Ms. Joke shut up and just watch open-mouthed, which Shouta is more than thankful for. Still, he doesn’t get a chance to relax— he’s watching like a hawk.
I didn’t tell them about the Crushing, but the second round is something I couldn’t have warned them for…Still, they’re taking the perfect approach. There’s something to be said for the strength and versatility of hair-kid, who’s making stable paths into (and more importantly, out of) the worst of the destruction. But it’s his orders and delegation that kick off the rescue efforts into something resembling field heroism— each squad with its own ability to locate and extract civilians. They’ll have to be creative and push themselves, but they might all pass.
“…I didn’t expect your kids to be that smart,” Ms. Joke remarks. “You really are good with kids, huh? And you’ve got that little contented smile. We could have kids, y’know? Little curly, teal haired—”
“Aren’t you infertile?” Shouta says flatly. And he definitely doesn’t twitch his lips up.
Ms. Joke stares at him. He keeps looking ahead, but her stare has some intensity. He looks back at her slowly when her gaze never drifts, and she looks upset. He opens his mouth to apologize—
And she bursts out laughing, clutching her gut. “Oh my god Eraser,” she wheezes. And then she looks right at him. And smirks. “You haven’t been thinking about what’s in my pants, have you?”
“Shut up.”
“Silencing trans voices, too,” she giggles.
Shouta looks back to the rescuers. Most of the students look like ants from here— both in size and in their organized efforts. “I didn’t expect this, either. Not that they’re usually too prideful—”
“I’d imagine not, They all still had student IDs after the first day,” Ms. Joke snickers.
“And yet none of them are waiting here with me,” Shouta says shrugging towards the Ketsubutsu students further up in the stands.
“Hey, just because I invited my students to spectate doesn’t mean Tensei’s kid didn’t make a real mess of himself down there. Your influence didn’t drain all of that certain something these first years so often have, huh,” she teases.
“Right. Don’t worry, some of them are still … colorful…” Shouta trails off, watching, as a series of firecracker snaps and pops goes off.
“That’s the one who won the Sports Festival, isn’t it,” Ms. Joke sighs.
“Yeah.”
“He doesn’t have good bedside manner, huh?”
“Not a chance.”
Bakugou, Kirishima, and Kaminari split off as soon as they can, and Kyu pushes concern for them out of her head. It’s not hard; rescue is backbreaking work.
“Nightlight!” Kyu bounces off to the origin of Mora’s voice. He’s directing Jirou and a few of his own classmates to deal with a collapse, and he needs Kyu’s strength. She’s caught glimpses of his hair constructs, and though they’re strong they need some time and space to set.
In other words, Kyu only has to lift a building for long enough for Mora to fill it with hair. She squats low, getting the mass of concrete as even across her back, shoulders, and palms as she can. And then, she heaves. The strain of OFA and thousands of pounds of building heave back, and it all crashes into her body like a tsunami. She doesn’t let up, even as one of her Knightriders starts to crush the concrete underfoot.
Those really are durable, she thinks, forced to look down at the strain the metal is taking. She grits her teeth and pushes up one more time. It takes letting more of OFA in to do it, forcing the last few drops of an ocean to the brim of a cup without having it all spill over . She’s trained for this, and as the power hums in her bones and crackles in the air, Mora’s hair starts to form supports and strengthen the structure. Other students step in to stabilize, and more still stand at their backs ready to move into the structure as soon as they can.
Rescue is backbreaking work, but it’s nice to be a cog in a smoothly-running machine. Her job is to be the pillar that lets all the more technical, experienced, or rescue-oriented heroes get to the work. People don’t bat an eye her way as they run by her trembling form and into the building with minutes left in its lifetime. It’s lonely in the good way, the way of the unnoticed help, not the unwanted presence.
The ‘civilians’ with the HUC start loudly criticizing her fellow students, shouting about all sorts of things as the building creaks and moans above them. Moving civilians with head injuries? Minus five points. Not safely getting them to the triage area? Minus three points. They’re also laying it on thick when their bedside manner is bad, like when Todoroki looks at a civilian for a few seconds and then just says “what.”
Kyu loses twelve points. Most of them are because she gets overeager moving an unstable structure, but she thinks she would’ve lost more if she didn’t compensate by kicking a chunk of rubble and shattering the unstable parts before they could do any damage to people. She also loses a few when they find a particularly difficult rescue (seriously, how did that old man get that far under the rubble) and she starts muttering about how few extraction plans work.
But that’s why she’s with the Shiketsu group. Mora says lift, she lifts. She doesn’t focus on how similar everything is to the Kamino Incident, or how much one of the volunteers sounds just like how Himiko did when she screamed. She doesn’t talk, because talking scrapes in her throat, and the deep sound she’s been working to elivate stings a bit, even if Himiko seemed to have liked it. A blush runs up her face at the memory, but she blinks and refocuses. Eventually, she stops tuning down OFA— She just lets the cyan lightning crackle freely across her body, and the hum in her bones fills her body with a singular ache that tightens her focus. Uraraka looks concerned when she notices, but she focuses on floating another group of civilians for Tsu to carry. Kyu hustles to move on, partially to avoid her getting to ask about it.
She’s fine when she’s moving. Mora tells her to follow him, says he’s been making safe roads into the city, but in the thickest destruction there’s too much rubble everywhere, with a huge tower fallen across the main road that blocks the path. So Kyu jumps up atop it, and scours the city with Searchlight burning her eyes.
Destruction. Blood. Danger. Her heart seizes taking in the worst of the destruction and only able to compare it to one thing: A hand burgeoning with power, wrenching the dark tendrils and every other power Kyu’s held in its grip because he’s just that strong.
There’s no civilians close enough to be in danger of her newfound adrenaline. Kyu obliterates the middle of the fallen tower with a Luna Fall so hard it leaves her leg burning, but not broken. The Knightriders are chipped in spots, but not cracked. She makes fists so tight she feels her jagged, bitten-down nails through her gloves and handwraps. After a moment of feeling the sting across her body, she grabs for her eyedrops.
“A block and take a left,” she rasps, already looking straight up to put drops in. Mora makes a hair-path and leads a squad of students past Kyu wordlessly while she takes a moment to breathe.
Is this what the heroes at Kamino felt like? She thinks. Just one sentence has her tasting iron again, if only a little. There’s so much destruction— she just added a drop to an ocean, because the explosives did what hundreds of OFA -empowered kicks could do. Kyu sighs, and she feels it catch in her torn-up, inflamed throat. We’re being trained to handle the worst incident in years— Decades, maybe— because All Might is gone.
She feels a hand, tight around her wrist. She’s not sure if it just got there or it’s been there for a while. It feels firm, but uncalloused. Far more lithe than her own crooked hands. She doesn’t pull away when the person attached moves a little closer, and Kyu lets OFA fade from a screaming blaze to a low crackle-hum.
“Kyu.” It’s Himiko’s voice, not Camie’s, and suddenly Kyu’s back to the present— to the exam, with lots of shouting orders and moving rubble. With fake, light gray smoke, not the real dark stuff.
“Himi,” she breathes— she doesn’t even bother trying the ‘k’ sound, with the throbbing pain in her throat. Himiko’s other hand comes up, steady and comforting across Kyu’s chest, before she starts to gently move Kyu. Of course, she lets Himiko pull her, raising her own half-numb hand to the one on her chest.
The smoke is bad, but Kyu can feel how much cooler the shade is as soon as she steps into a ruined building. It’s dusty and broken, but mostly open and upright. When Himiko rests her against the concrete, she slides down the wall, sighing at the soothing cold behind her. “You’ve done enough,” Himiko says quietly. “I can’t believe their big test is recreating this.” She pauses, then growls. “That’s a lie, I can believe it, and I’m pissed.”
“Himi,” Kyu rasps. In a blink, Himiko goes from tirading over her to crouched against the same wall— and it is Himiko, her lips are parted just enough to show her fangs. Her body is still the Shiketsu girl’s, but Kyu can see Himiko in the way it sits, in the way it moves, she sees nothing but Himiko in the costume of a stranger. “We shouldn’t—”
“What? So you can go overexert yourself again? Rack up another permanent injury?” She says instantly. It’s harsh, too; somewhere between accusation and fact. “No. Stay here, Kyu. Just for now. I can’t let you do that. Not when I’m close enough to stop it.” Kyu opens her mouth again, but Himiko quietly adds one more thing. “…Just us… Please, Kyu…” This time, it’s Kyu that leans over to put a hand on Himiko’s chest. Himiko’s second hand curls around the back of her neck, resting where the neck meets the shoulder. “I missed you, cupcake,” she says— still soft. Still vulnerable.
“Me too,” Kyu says, raspy. The spot in her voice where it’s least painful is a little lower than usual, she notices. “But—” She gestures at the wall behind her, towards all the rescue efforts. “They’re all looking for people, they could hear us—”
“Oh?” Himiko says. It’s not as soft as before. “We’re just having a little talk, Kyu.” She adjusts, tucking into Kyu’s body, curling against her chest until her entire frame is engulfed by Kyu’s larger body. Himiko's hand slides from the side of Kyu’s neck up to her nape, fingers teasing where the bodysuit ends at her collar, letting the spandex meet Kyus neck with a snap. “Unless you’re worried they’ll hear something else…?”
“Wh—” Kyu stares into Himiko’s eyes, so close, and tries not to focus on the teasing in her girlfriend's voice. “Oh,” she rasps, turning red as a tomato.
“I don’t bite,” Himiko lies.
“W-wait,” Kyu stammers. Himiko’s fanged smile doesn’t fade one bit, but she does raise her eyebrows. “Y-you’re… wearing… that girl’s body,” Kyu says, at about the same pitch as a tea kettle whistling.
Himiko giggles. Giggles, that beautiful angelic giggle. Kyu just about passes out. “Remember how I kept my scarf when I became Mirko?” She says, then carefully watches the wheels in Kyu’s head turn with her catlike eyes. A few seconds later, Kyu’s eyes narrow.
“Your clothes carry over, with their…” Kyu sees the catsuit. That would not hide any other clothes. “Oh,” she rasps, turning red as a tomato (again). The ache of her throat intensifies, aches in a way that’s not just overuse, and begs her to lean forward to the beautiful solution.
Himiko’s eyes flutter, and her eyes dart bashfully away, just enough to break eye contact. “I wasn’t kidding, Kyu,” she whispers, faint of breath. “A-about the raspy voice, or the taste on your breath.” Kyu looks at Himiko closely— Feels the hand on her nape start to tighten a little, feels Himiko’s other hand fall from her chest and plant itself on the floor oh-so-close to Kyu’s waist. She moves her gloved hands in tandem, the one on Himiko’s chest letting its fingers grace along before settling on her shoulder the other finds its place caressing Himiko’s face.
Kyu is caked in dust, and her gloves are rough and durable, but there’s still something that feels distinctly like Himiko under the catsuit and the false body, when Kyu touches her shoulder. Himiko’s blush spreads— It’s a beautiful thing, and like the final layer of paint it accentuates and contrasts every detail, soft red making the golden eyes stand out and shine brighter.
Here, so close, Kyu doesn’t back off with the thought of the exam or examinees. Kyu kisses Himiko— She tastes like shoplifted cherry lip gloss shoved into a cardigan pocket, and she makes a sound of pleasant surprise far better than cliche hero themes or a crowd cheering her name. Kyu is embarrassed, but she is eager. Her hands pull away for a moment, shaky and already missing Himiko’s warmth as she rips her gloves off, leaving damaged but tight handwraps. Her crooked fingers, now bare, curl around Himiko’s head and the tufts of frayed gold sticking out from her buns. Every sensation feels every bit more electric.
Himiko kisses back, and once she gets a taste of the blood and still-fading ozone buzz on Kyu’s lips, she pursues it, pulling Kyu tighter to her until her other hand slides up Himiko’s sides until it finds the small of her back. Kyu's breath stutters into Himiko's mouth as her fingers explore the gentle locks of her hair, and Himiko presses her entire body into her as fiercely as she can when Kyu's hand stops caressing and instinctively begins to grasp.
“I missed you,” Himiko breathes quickly as they part. Kyu pants for breath before answering by pressing her lips into Himiko’s again. There’s a hunger to it, a fixation on every aspect of her muse, with an intensity beyond any fixation with Quirks or Heroes, only ever reserved for art. Her art. Every moment between them is a flood of emotion; I missed you, I want you with me, and a little bit of tongue, all flowing into one another.
Himiko’s hand grabs at Kyu’s waist while the other digs its nails into the mess of hair fraying around Kyu’s bun. Himiko pulls at Kyu’s hair tie, tugging her hair free and pulling her back in one motion. Kyu falls easily, back hitting the cold concrete. Himiko chases her down and lays on top of her, warm and soft and kept close. With all the strength her muscular body allows her, Kyu holds her where she is, hands clutching at the small of Himiko’s back and digging into her hair.
Kyu feels a smile spreading across Himiko’s face, and fangs nipping at her lip. Before she can do anything more than gasp, she feels Himiko’s hips roll into her. The world disappears, and any worry of being overheard is overwhelmed by Himiko. A masterpiece, a muse, smiling as Kyu groans into her.
—
“Examinee Seventy-Eight seems out of line of sight.” One of the HPSC suits looks down at his tablet, before scouring the destroyed city again. “She’s been a massive asset so far, though. She must be deep in the city. I haven’t heard anything about penalizations, either.”
Shouta frowns. Midoriya not being seen is sort of like losing a baby, or nuclear launch codes. In circumstances besides ‘The HPSC’s Provisional License Exam’, Shouta would probably leap in there himself.
“You look like you’re going to leap in there,” Ms. Joke says.
Shouta sighs. “Are you familiar with Nightlight?” Shouta says.
“Of course I know Nightlight. I’m too young and beautiful to be senile,” Ms. Joke says.
“Do you see Nightlight?”
Ms. Joke turns back to the arena and narrows her eyes. Then she holds her hands up to shade her eyes, squinting and leaning forward. “Nope.” She sits back, and then her eyes narrow in thought. “Ah, that would be bad, huh.” Shouta doesn’t justify that with a ‘obviously,’ but he does give her a glare with the same sentiment. She glares back, pouting dramatically. “C’mon, Eraser. Lighten up!” She nudges his side. He does not uncross his arms, nor does he ‘lighten up’ after losing track of his baby nuke. “It’s the HPSC. Nothing bad is gonna happen!” After a moment, she adds with a wink, “if these kids are stressing you out so much, you do have my number. I’m always willing to be the mom who stepped up.”
Shouta sighs. “Kill me.” Ms. Joke cackles.
And then Gang Orca blows up the arena.
Turning back to watch, Ms Joke sighs. “Talk about a mood killer.”
A rumble and roar of wind rushes through the arena. An explosion, Kyu knows in an instant. She rolls Himiko off of herself, starting to be very thankful for the tactful padding of her new, tight suit’s lower regions. She keeps a hand on Himiko’s cheek, but springs up into an alert crouch.
“Aww,” Himiko whines. Her makeup is a little smudged, and Kyu turns a little redder when she sees that. Try as she might, it’s not easy to refocus when she’s actually with Himiko for the first time in what feels like forever.
“Himiko…”
“Heroes, Villains have appeared with another act of terrorism!” The speakers carry even into the ruined building they’re in. “You must both suppress the Villains, and continue rescue efforts!”
“I guess you’ve gotta go deal with that,” Himiko says softly.
“I—” I have to choose getting my license over another few minutes with you, but I don’t want to. I have to be a hero here and forever instead of being yours in this moment and I hate that. I hate having to choose, and I hate having to leave you to get better at protecting you. “…I do. But I’ll be in touch, I’ll— I’ll be yours.”
A soft smile spreads across Himiko’s face. Her adorable fangs just barely show. “I’ll see you around, Nightlight,” she coos, slipping back into the guise of Camie as she disappears. Kyu doesn’t stick around either— She darts out of the building, slamming her Knightriders into the ground as she bounds off of walls and roofs. Mora’s roads aren’t a straight shot to the point of incursion, and they might not handle her leaps anyway.
The point of incursion, she realizes, is only about one-hundred meters from the triage station. The smoke is still billowing from the arena’s fresh hole, but there are already people pouring in with black and white suits and navy arm-cannons. Gang Orca’s sidekicks, she thinks, which means… Stomping over the rubble and glaring towards the triage station is Gang Orca himself. There’s a small squad of Shiketsu students already engaging with a group of his sidekicks— but he’s got a lot of sidekicks.
Kyu pushes more power into her legs, leaping from the city to the ruined mountain zone and moving at a dead sprint towards the villains. Gang Orca’s strong, and with this many sidekicks, even I wouldn’t take him down… Hold me back enough, and I’ll get hit with those cement guns. One of the Shiketsu students goes down, encased from the neck down in just a few shots.
Todoroki stands in the way of the triage station. Gang Orca’s eyes narrow as a massive tide of ice is sent his way, but he’s not a top hero for nothing. He meets the ice with equal force, then lowers his head— His sonic blast shouldn’t reach Todoroki through all that ice, but the ice is shattered entirely.
“Fly away!”
Yoarashi roars, and wiind upends the sidekicks entirely and forces Gang Orca to raise his hands in a block. Now, two top students stand in his way. Both powerhouses, for sure, even if Kyu barely got a look at Yoarashi’s Whirlwind. And then, Todoroki attacks with fire, and Yoarashi attacks with wind… And each blows the other off course.
Their voices overlap as they yell at each other, and then die as Gang Orca sneers. “Please! Your schoolyard fight is embarrassing. Why don’t you go out smiling like good little heroes!” With that, he levels his head again. Kyu grits her teeth. They gave him time to recharge? Idiots!
Kyu’s respirator snaps back into place— and if the action is a little clunky because of someone tossing it aside to caress her face, that’s for her to know, and no one else to piece together please god— as she leaps in between Orca and the bickering pair. She doesn’t even have time to afford herself a gentle landing, but the speaker is in place and already live. Kyu has to push her Night Howl, feeling ozone rip at her throat and muscles blaze until they pour over into failure. But it’s enough to match Gang Orca’s hypersonic blast, overpowering his frequency with pure decibel level.
Her voice, screaming like a blown-out mic, roars through Gang Orca and his sidekicks. Orca winces and staggers, while his sidekicks stumble or barrel over. Kyu pushes herself up, but she doesn’t have time to celebrate. There’s a very angry ‘villain’ in front of her and a lot of blood in her mouth. She reaches up, wrenches the respirator off, and spits.
“Get your shit together!” She snarls at the pair behind her, teeth stained red and voice tearing in her throat like a demon. She doesn’t wait for them to speak before she bounds forward again.
Needless to say, Gang Orca gets nowhere near the triage station before every civilian with the HUC is rescued.
Mera talks for a while after the exam; big speeches about what it means to be a hero and why they were graded as they were. Kyu is… less than entirely present, given that she’s sore all over— especially in her throat— and every healing Quirk in the world can’t get rid of a full day of exhaustive, nonstop exertion.
Iida and Mineta didn’t make the second phase, and Bakugou and Todoroki both ended up failing at the finish line with points just under the line of fifty. Kaminari got off with fifty-eight, as the lowest passing student in their class, and Kyu got an eighty-nine.
As a government ID, her license should have her legal name, but the HPSC isn’t above skirting the law for their own PR. There’s some wiggle room in stage name laws, that’s what the attendant said. There’s big text with her hero name— Nightlight— and then the smaller text with her civilian name— Midoriya Kyu.
It feels unsatisfying. It feels like in a way, it’s still not her name. She tells her brain to shut up and that she’s lucky enough to get her chosen name there.
She shoves those feelings away, and texts a picture of it to Himiko and Miruko anyway— She’ll show it to All Might later, instead of sending it through a semi-secret phone.
Notes:
This chapter was jokingly “the making out chapter” in my docs and then uh.
Well let me just say there was a first draft and it wasn’t all that different than what you read but. I felt it had to be changed for the sake of a T Rating.
…anyways, thanks to ToolAssistedRat for beta-reading this chapter. Now it's M-Rated.Shoutout to eraserhead and ms. joke interactions i love writing these two
Chapter 43: Punition
Summary:
All Might visits All For One.
After the exam, 1-A's mostly-provisional-heroes head home tired but happy-- but a few are left unsatisfied.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The buzzer is harsh. Just as harsh as the LEDs painting the cold gray everything.
Tartarus is not a place people visit for a reason, never this low. Unless they have the sway of the Number One Hero.
…Ex-Number-One-Hero.
“You know, this place’s security is quite something.”
And on the other side of the glass, the Ex-Lord-of-Evil.
“If I were to move, every gun in the room would be ready to fire. My brain waves are being monitored, too. If I even think to activate a Quirk—” He wheezes out a laugh. The guns snap to point at his gnarled mess of tissue that might liberally be called a head. “Well. You can see. Here I am, deep underground, behind so many layers of security. Tartarus, it’s called. The pit of the lowest hell, were the titans were left beaten and bleeding. The scorn of the gods— fitting, don’t you think?”
All Might frowns. “You’re never going to get out of here, you know.”
All For One hums, still wearing his cruel smile. “Oh, well, assuming that’s the case. What do you want from me, hm? No Gran Torino, you came here of your own will. Still in that pathetic spandex, don’t tell me you’re continuing hero work?”
“You talk too much.”
“Forgive me… It’s been a long time since I’ve had an actual conversation, you see.”
All Might sighs. “Where’s your successor— where’s Shigaraki?”
“I don’t know,” All For One answers instantly. “Mine is flying free. If you don’t thrust them from the nest, they may fly off with what’s yours, you know.”
All Might stares through the thick, thick glass, if only for a while. All For One’s smile never shifts, nor does it leave his ‘face’, the hissing and buzzing machinery all around him far more alive than he is. Then, All Might sighs. “You bastard. What does that even me—”
“Has your successor come forward?” All For One chuckles. The guns snap to him again. “I’m sure it must be strange. That I knew her far before you. Do you know, All Might, that you still have no idea the girl you’ve chosen to be yours?”
All Might knows that he’s taking the bait. And yet, he’s been a hero for decades to conquer any evil in the world— even slights he could overlook. “You don’t know a damn thing about my successor. You don’t have the capacity to understand heroism or people, both of which are fundamental parts of her.”
“Perhaps,” he says, “and yet, we are the same. You and I, simply reflections. You aspired to be the Symbol of Peace, and had the power to bring justice. I aspired to be the Lord of Evil, and I certainly have the power to live through these ideals. So long as my ideals and power live on as themselves, I am fulfilled.”
“Why a successor, then?”
“Because you crushed my skull like rotten fruit,” All For One chuckles. “Because— ha ha— Because the one who rends apart everything won’t be me. All people, in the face of an end, pass something forward. As every farmer has entrusted food to your plate, as every politician policies to the law… So do you build a stage for your successor. I’m doing the same as all people do. You want to call me this force of evil that does not understand people, but that’s not quite right. I am the ultimate evil any person could become. And my successor will carry the torch.”
The buzzer blares again. Harsh.
“You have three minutes.”
All Might’s gaze stays on the speaker for a moment. He sighs, forcing as much tension from his shoulders and gritted teeth as he can.
“Your successor, on the other hand… Do you think she’s going to carry your torch?”
“She is a hero, through and through.”
“She is heroic, and damnably so. Even worse than you are. Though I suppose you’d turn to a more dire form of yourself, rather than a logical choice. You’ve always been something of an oaf.”
“And yet, she and I defeated you, as one.”
“And yet,” he nods, agreeing. “Well, I suppose that’s true, but now is when she must become a symbol. What is her hero name?”
“The prisoner is cut off from any events of the outside world. Please refrain from disclosing anything imprudent.”
“Ah, well,” All For One sighs, like he doesn’t mind much. “I’m sure it’s something like ‘Northstar’, or ‘Beacon,’ or perhaps ‘Nightlight?’ Ah— you’ve gone straight. It’s Nightlight, isn’t it.” All For One chuckles. Guns snap.
“Prisoner, stop moving. The guns will do more than aim next time.”
“You see, All Might, I could guess because she aspires to be a Symbol, yes, and a hero, of course, but one that… Rescues all from their situations.”
“And she—”
“What do you think, All Might?” All For One bulldozes over him. “You must’ve experienced inequality in your youth. Do you think she’s going to pull everyone from the dark without tugging up the roots?”
“Speak like a real person, if you are one,” All Might growls.
“Your successor isn’t going to continue your peace. She’s a utopian dream, or a force opposing both Peace and Evil.”
All Might balls the loose spandex of his costume in his hands. “I understand your thinking— That the blood of my master will kill me— me and the girl.”
“Yes,” All For One says, “All Might and Nightlight.”
“That girl will never die while I can still throw a punch. That girl will never suffer when I have a say. Every bit of joy and security I’ve brought, I will fight tooth and nail to keep. I will not die. Nor my successor. Your future will never come, and you have ‘entrusted’ it all to nothing. You will simply sit and waste here until your days end.”
The buzzer blares again, deafening and final. All Might doesn’t look back once as he walks out.
“Here until my days end, hm, or just until you can no longer throw a punch?” All For One calls to him, a moment before the massive metal barrier slams shut.
–
Kyu’s hands hurt too much to type, so she sends a thumbs-up emoji and turns her phone off. She sets it on her lap— she’s still not used to having no pockets, even if she likes her skirt. Her crooked hands linger on the fabric for a moment. When the bus bumps over something, Kyu winces at the slight jump and the aches it sends back into pain. Still, the healing she got after the test is nice— even if the medics basically encased her in compression sleeves before letting her go.
“We should do a celebratory dinner!” Kaminari says.
“I’m too tired to cook,” Hagakure groans, slouching. “Or think. Or exist…”
“Yeah, both sections of that test were… a lot,” Sero says. “I mean, after Ketsubutsu broke us up, we were kinda all fighting for our lives.”
“Not the first time!” Mina points out, with a laugh. “We have… uh, Plus Ultra training. I think I’m going to sleep for fourteen hours when we get back.”
“Yeah, it must’ve been rough out in the mountain zone,” Tsu says.
“Rough— You all barely made the cutoff!” Ojiro turns, grimacing at the way it makes his body ache. “At once, which was crazy— How did you even do that?”
Together, a few of their classmates start talking about how they fought parts of Seiai Academy and Shiketsu High School in the city area. It does sound like they were caught in a corner by a good plan, but one that didn’t account for a lot of the natural chaos of the first phase of the exam.
Kyu finds herself a little detached from the conversation. Part of that is because she doesn’t even want to think about talking with her voice as torn up as it is, and part of it is because her mind is stuck wandering. As she watches the street blurring by outside the window, eyes eagerly drinking in patches of cement and graffiti, she thinks about the Ketsubutsu students. About talented potential heroes losing their chance because Kyu fought like a cornered animal. Shindou was mean to his competition, sure, but would Nakagame brutalize villains? Would Nayoro do his damndest to use his Quirk safely?
Most heroes don’t, she thinks. Most heroes fixate on takedowns even when a Villain’s escape might protect people, or when the villains are only using a Quirk because they’re caught and think they have to escalate.
Graffiti has been getting more common, Kyu notices: She sees less easy-to-reach alleys and walls left entirely unmarked. And even though she doesn’t get a chance to read most of it from here, she smiles, seeing that it’s not the shape of Quirkism or hate symbols. It’s something else, spreading and multiplying.
Someone taps her shoulder, and she looks away from the window, blinking a bit in surprise. “Hey, Midoriya,” Tsu says, “what about you? Sero said he caught you in the middle of a fight.”
“Can she talk? I don’t know if we should—”
“Can,” Kyu interrupts, “hurts but won’t get more injured.” It still doesn’t feel good, but she knows better than to try to back off when the class drags her into stuff. She’d feel bad anyway, with the way Mina and Hagakure are looking back over their seats like they’re ready to make puppy eyes the moment she hesitates. “Was hiding. They were looking for 1-A. I-I got the drop.”
“On four at once?” Tsuyu’s mouth contorts in confusion. “That’s pretty dumb, even for you, kero.”
Kyu sighs. It was pretty dumb, all things considered. But… “I felt encouraged! M-made a Mirko entrance.”
In the window seat next to Mina, Uraraka murmurs under her breath. “Felt encouraged, huh…?” But even Mina doesn’t overhear her.
When they finally get back to UA, everyone is glad to have dorms there. Aizawa doesn’t even make them carry their costume cases into the main campus and then walk all the way down to Heights Alliance. They all groan and grumble out their thanks as they wander back into the dorms. Kyu turns back for a moment, catching Bakugou’s calculating glare and Iida’s vitriolic one before they both look away. Unfortunately, Kyu is not above being petty, and she has two great bad influences to learn smug little one liners from. “Shame about your license,” Kyu says to Iida. Iida looks close to engaging Recipro right there.
Kyu collapses into her bed happily. It’s only after laying there for a while that she actually gets up to take her uniform off. She drapes it over her chair, too tired to hang it up, and puts on some plain gym shorts and a hoodie. She almost itches to sketch or write something, but her hands ache too much from Shindou’s Quirk. I hope I’m able to at least sleep tonight, she thinks.
So, texting is out, because it hurts, and notebooks or blackbooks are out, because ouch, and graffiti is out, because everyone probably already knows. Kyu knows she’s spiraling into some anxiety— this is the kind of thing that’d normally get her excited to march out of the house and find somewhere to leave her mark. But now, in the dorms, she’s mostly stuck where she is.
She pushes herself up, leaning against the wall her bed’s against, legs just barely dangling over its other side. She can see some of her hero posters, but right across from her is the crimson and yellow piece of Himiko.
God dammit, she thinks. Why couldn’t I have been, like, normal. She chuckles at the thought, knowing she wouldn’t give any of this up for a thing. And yet, she wishes it was different. If everything about society could be right, and Himiko could lead an honorable life, and everything went how it should, they’d be together.
Instead, Himiko is constantly threatened by heroes. Besides that, with AFO in Tartarus, being a villain is probably even riskier than usual. And from the dorms, which Kyu can’t leave without permission, there’s not a thing she can do to reach Himiko. She almost feels silly, worrying so much when she saw Himiko mere hours ago. But that encounter didn’t help things, really. Kyu wants to kiss her and hold her, to make her safe and to share in her warmth. Even though her hands hurt, she can’t help but send a text to Himiko.
Kyu drops her phone entirely, face bright red. The picture Himiko attached is— it is very nice, Kyu has to admit, and Himiko’s skin looks so soft, tender and almost shining in the light of her camera flash. But Kyu is also pretty sure she didn’t see clothes before promptly dropping her phone— hence all the soft, gorgeous skin. Kyu’s face is aflame when she reaches for it again, slowly, like it might lunge out at her.
Kyu tosses her phone aside, but it doesn’t even hit the bed before it starts buzzing— and not a text tone, either. A call. She scrambles to grab it up. A call from Himiko. She answers without a thought. “H-hi!”
“Heya cupcake!” Himiko’s voice comes through the phone. Kyu thinks she can hear Dabi groaning something about ‘obnoxious lesbians’ in the background. “Fuck off, gayboy!” Okay, she definitely heard Dabi in the background.
“Dabi’s alive?” Kyu almost laughs. “Didn’t he go up against Endeavor?”
“Kyu says Endeavor should’ve killed you. No— Hey, you fucking—” It sounds like the phone’s being yanked away from her.
“What the fuck is the big deal, you piece of shit?”
“I-I didn’t say that— Himiko totally misconstrued— I-I mean—”
“You don’t fucking remember, do you.” Dabi laughs a little deliriously. “You were on painkillers, and they totally fucked you up. Okay. Okay!”
“—me the phone back or I swear to god I will stab you!” More rustling. “Hi!”
“Hi!” Kyu answers, smiling.
“Sorry. We’re kinda split up, but I’m supposed to hang with Dabi tonight, like, buddy system style. Oh! Your voice is super messed up, though, isn’t it?”
Kyu shakes her head— and then blushes, realizing that means nothing. “Y-yeah, but, it’s not gonna get any more hurt… It’ll probably suck tomorrow if I talk or not.”
“Oh, okay,” Himiko says. “You’ve got a really pretty voice.”
“Himiko…”
“What! It’s true. And I mean, right now, it’s— mwah. It’s kinda fucked that you sound all husky, since I bet you’re bright red and embarrassed right now.”
Kyu gets a little more bright red and a little more embarrassed at that. “Y-yeah…”
“Cute. so, anyway, how’s private school?”
Kyu pauses for a moment. “H-Himiko, I think I want to hear about you. I’m worried about you.”
The line is quiet, for a bit. Kyu wonders if she’s hit a nerve, asking that. But then, Himiko answers, “it’s bad, but that’s temporary.” When Kyu says nothing, she continues. “We’re laying low, and we don’t have much. I was getting sick of eating rice when it was two bowls a day, and now it’s like, a half-bowl a day.”
Kyu, who eats a half dozen eggs every morning, finds herself fraught with worry.
“Calm down, it’s been worse before.”
“That’s not a good thing!”
“But it’s true. Accept it.”
“…You’re right. But— but I worry, Himi…”
“I know, cupcake. You’re basically in the hornet’s nest, you think I’m not worried? What if they find out just a little more and— and there’s not even a thing I can do before they get you?”
Kyu sets her jaw, staring at the art of Himiko across her wall. “No. No, nothing is going to keep us from each other when it matters. I’ll rip apart a thousand fancy robots and hero teachers before they keep me here when you need me.”
Himiko is quiet for a bit. “Thank you.” She says. And then, “damn, Kyu, you’re dangerous with that rasp and that intensity, I’m—”
Kyu sputters, already bright red again. Himiko giggles at her, but when they both go quiet again, Kyu speaks first. “Talking and texting hurts… I wish I could— could be with you in person again. I w-wish things were simpler.”
“…Me too.”
They sit there, in each other’s company, for a silent moment. Having Himiko there, even on the other end of the line, helps. Her heart aches for more, but it also feels tight in her chest just hearing Himiko through the receiver.
“So, what did you think about your reward, huh~?”
Kyu’s face turns bright red in an instant. “It-it’s, uh, v-very, um, very—” Someone knocks at her door. Furrowing her brow, she shakes the image out of her head. “S-someone’s at the door,” she says to Himiko. Then, she pulls the receiver away from her face. “Who is it?”
“Midoriya, it’s Uraraka. A-and Mina.”
“I’ve gotta go,” Kyu whispers into the receiver.
“Mwah.”
“Oh, we’re such a couple,” Kyu groans, but her voice is filled with her bright smile. “Mwah. Bye-bye.”
Himiko hangs up first. Thank All Might, since Kyu probably wouldn’t do it until Uraraka got impatient. She hops out of bed, quickly moving to the door and opening it a crack just wide enough for her head to poke through. And not, of course, show the graffiti.
Outside, Uraraka and Mina both wait in simple tees and shorts. Mina stands further back, her conflicted expression mostly focused on Uraraka.
“We need to talk. Now.” Mina puts a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to take a deep breath. But she looks up at Kyu with the same intensity. “Can we come in?”
“A-actually my room’s kinda a— a mess, so maybe we should—”
“Midoriya.” Mina raises an eyebrow. “I think you know why we’re here, and I think you probably shouldn’t try to skirt the issue.”
Kyu sighs. “Why’s it your business? Y-you’re fine! Everyone’s fine! She didn’t do anything!”
Uraraka steps in closer. “Because we want to know what’s going on. And— and we are fine, but she stabbed my girlfriend. I don’t know why or what she gets out of hurting people—”
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
Uraraka lets out a frustrated groan. “Midoriya, I don’t get why you’re so… so defensive here, you don’t tell us anything. What if this girl who’s a villain and you don’t know anything about is manipulating you?”
“She’s not,” Kyu growls, anger burning at her face. It doesn’t stop there, burning across her body, under her skin.
“Or— Midoriya, I just don’t know… I can’t know unless you tell me, and if you refuse to, then I’m going to think you’re a villain too. And I know you’re not a villain—”
“Oh please, the definition of villain hardly discriminates morality.” Kyu spits, swinging the door open. She doesn’t really want to argue with the girls; it already feels like something swelling up inside of her that she just can’t deny. She stalks into the hall, feeling dark anger form burning coils inside her. They burn and blacken through her, and push angry words from her lips before she thinks better of it. “Himiko is a good person. She cares for me and she’s hurt you before but she’s the one working against the odds to— to not hurt people, and when she attacked you, she was lashing out—”
Uraraka doesn’t back down, getting in Kyu’s face instead. “Okay, but— Midoriya, I just want to know, okay, I want to be certain that my friend’s not with some monster—”
“Don’t you dare call her that!”
Tendrils of darkness blaze from her skin painfully.
Notes:
Punition - Graffiti of the same word/phrase over and over, named by similar punition lines in schools.
Nightlight is the Symbol of… well, who knows!
She’s also Kyuubi and dating a villain and sort of struggling. Get well soon, Kyu.
…and hope Blackwhip doesn’t ruin anything.
Chapter 44: Blackwhip I
Summary:
Class 1-A's dorm is rent apart by Blackwhip while Kyu fights to restrain it and understand her anger.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Blackwhip roars down the hallway, ripping through drywall violently and gouging through the carpeted floor. It tears like a wild, dangerous monster.
Kyu cries out, tugging uselessly against the tsunami of darkness tearing apart her home. Even when she calls on One For All, the darkness blazing along her arms is stronger than she is. Her arms are splayed out, each lashing deep into the walls and tearing apart the lights.
Mina dives, taking Uraraka to the ground and shielding her body with her own— Kyu sees the fear across her friends’ faces: Like she’s a beast or a villain. Wild and destructive andd unstoppable as a Nomu. She grits her teeth and tugs harder , but it’s fruitless. “St-stop…!” But the tension in her body goes off again, like she’s forced to take another step forward in tug-of-war. “Th-this— This isn’t supposed to happen!” She growls, but Blackwhip doesn’t care about that.
She remembers Kamino. Control your anger! But how could she? Again and again, she’s not in control, and people doubt her, and she just proves them right. You can control them! But to do what? This power blazing across her arms just hurts, and there are no targets here.
“I-I’m… Sorry… Please!” Kyu yells, tears burning in her eyes while Blackwhip burns across her skin. But it doesn’t listen, it just roars out like static and fire and power. One For All was hard enough to harness without a will of its own. It rips Jirou’s door of its hinges, and tears apart the ceiling and the walls enough to see the third floor and the courtyard.
Blackwhip lashes out into the courtyard, spilling through the wall like an overflowing dam. Its angular, black-glow tendrils stand out in the dark of the night like an oil spill in the sea of stars. It coils around anything it can grab hold of— lampposts, trees, shrubs, and outdoor furniture are all crushed and ripped apart by the lashing whips. They dig into the ground, and Kyu is yanked out into the courtyard, tumbling across dirt and broken stone path.
How could they call her that?
Blackwhip slams into the wall, back near Mina and Uraraka. Kyu’s body is yanked up along with it, inertia throwing her around behind the agile whips and leaving her hanging three floors off the ground.
How could Himiko be a monster— I’m the liar, I’m the one who was born wrong, I’m the one without self control! I ruined it, All Might!
The whips go wild again, crashing against everything. An unfocused, apocalyptic force. Kyu falls, tumbling into the middle of the courtyard, as not-darkness envelops her like a shell.
It’s fueled by anger…! But— Gah!
Destro’s eyes. All For One’s scarred lump of flesh. The judgemental glares of Iida and Inko— of the good guys.
How couldn’t I be angry? Why is everyone so— so set in their ways! So cruel! So harsh!
Blackwhip ’s cocoon swells and stretches out in angular, violent shapes. It wants to rip apart and tear it all down. Like Shigaraki wants, like she’d let it if it just made things right! To her own horror, she almost lets it.
“N-no!” OFA roars through her body, crackling cyan lightning swallowed by darkness but tangible and powerful . Her voices blazes in her throat, and she tastes blood as she re-injures it. “Y-you— you can’t just— destroy!” Of course the way things are makes me angry! But since when have I just ripped things apart in anger! That’s not what I want! “My anger is— is MINE!”
The angular, thick darkness of Blackwhip coils tighter around her body. It rips through her top and her compression sleeves, and then it coils around her so tight she feels sinew shift and her whole body bruise. Maybe she breaks a rib— she’s not sure. It all hurts.
“Of course being angry hurts,” she whispers, pained and half-choked with blood. “But I don’t want to hurt others. I don’t want to.” The darkness tightens around her. She can barely feel her arms and legs, except for the awareness of OFA filling them. Resisting Blackwhip ’s endless rampage.
Suddenly, something wraps around her— she can hardly see it, until the darkness unwinds from her face and starts to coil around pink skin.
“M-Mina, don’t—”
Mina’s arms press into Kyu’s back as Blackwhip wraps around her with its crushing grip. “Go ahead and stop me from hugging you, Midoriya.” She screams out in a wheezed, strained sound. Blackwhip is crushing her. I’m crushing her, Kyu realizes.
Uraraka’s arms wrap around her and Mina next. “I’m— I’m sorry, I just— I’m scared, Midoriya.”
“I— I’m scared too,” Kyu admits. She coughs, ripping apart her throat and spitting the thick mix of blood and phlegm from her mouth. “I’m just— I don’t want to have to pick a side when— when she’s not a monster. Why— why do I have to choose—!” Blackwhip grows and tightens, swelling in angular protrusions.
The single remaining lamppost on the courtyard is slightly askew, but it still flickers on. The door to the common area bursts open. A few stray tendrils claw towards it, even as Kyu winces and tugs back.
“Shit,” Kaminari’s voice hisses. “Hey, Mido. Hey, you’re okay.” He moves forward first, despite his panic. and Kyu can see some of her other classmates behind him as he gets close. “I—I don’t know what’s got you like this, but we’re not going anywhere. So come back to us!” His voice breaks as he practically tackles her in a hug. Hagakure’s firm arms join right after.
Hagakure shudders, even as Blackwhip starts to pin her. Her voice is soft but firm enough for Kyu to hear. “This is about— about Himiko, right? Uraraka said… But we saw her— saw her protecting you, a-and helping you…”
“Just— Don’t go villain on us,” Mina wheezes, “you’re way too strong.”
Hot tears leave tracks down her face, and painful sobs burst from her lips. “I—I’m sorry—”
“I’m sorry I was so aggressive,” Uraraka says, “I just want to— I want to know what’s going on. With her and with you. I want you to be okay.”
Hagakure grunts against the strength of Blackwhip, even as it slows down. “Y-yeah, I mean, the way you get embarrassed when we bring her up is kinda adorable— ngh— It really drains the intimidation factor.”
“G-guys…” Kyu sobs again, starting to be able to feel her arms again. Blackwhip finally starts to curl back into her body, her anger tucking itself away with as little thought from her as it took to get out. But the panic returns as soon as she hears heavy footfalls on the torn-up path of the courtyard.
Kaminari’s face twists in a grimace. “Iida, don’t, we’re having a mo—”
“Shut up,” Iida hisses. “Look at what— ‘she’ did!”
“We see it!” Uraraka shouts. “Clearly, what worked was saving her, not punishing her for it!”
“You of all people can’t seriously be defending— Oh, please.”
Kyu follows Iida’s gaze up, where Bakugou is twisting through the air. He slows his landing with small explosions, landing harshly and standing up to get right in Iida’s face.
“Shut your fucking mouth, four-eyes.” He glances back at Kyu, catching her eye with a look of— something besides anger, she can’t tell what. “…Some of us are trying to sleep.”
Iida laughs, almost deliriously. “You can’t— oh, you can’t be serious. That’s the side everyone takes? The villain empathizer?”
Blackwhip coils like a viper ready to strike, but it doesn’t even get the chance. Aizawa’s capture weapon curls around Iida’s arm— not necessarily an actual restraint, but a warning.
“I would like to know exactly what’s going on here. And why I wasn’t alerted. Did you all seriously try to rectify this situation without me?” Aizawa’s tone manages to break from stoic to incredulous shock for the first time in his many years of teaching.
Bakugou’s glare never leaves Iida. “Well, you gonna rectify this shit, or am I gonna have to do it the old fashioned way?”
“How about you all think twice before starting fights and getting expelled.” Aizawa’s eyes shift to Kyu, and in a flash Blackwhip is gone. She can still feel it aching to lash out when Aizawa drops Erasure, but it’s controlled.
“Young Midoriya!” All Might marches into the clearing quickly, right past Bakugou and Iida. “Oh, my dear girl. Are you alright?”
Kyu nods, rather than trying to speak again. She pulls her arms away from her classmates, latching onto All Might as he gets close. They let Kyu go reluctantly, with squeezes on the arm and tender looks, passing her off from one hug to another.
“Aizawa, I’m taking her to Shuzenji. Handle your students.” All Might’s tone is biting, but he manages to hold Aizawa’s glare instead of glancing pointedly towards Iida.
“Yagi…” Aizawa pinches his brow. “Fine. Go. None of you will be accompanying her— it’s past curfew, and several explanations are in order.”
“But—”
“Hagakure,” Aizawa warns. “This is final.”
Kyu spits more blood. It leaks from her mouth onto All Might's shoulder. She pries her face away from All Might to look back, chin still messy with blood. She thinks she hears Mina say “oh fuck, they’re identical.”
“I-I’ll be okay,” Kyu says, managing to smile back at them. She’s a maelstrom of emotion, but the smile helps steady her, just like it did for All Might. On the other hand, her teeth are bloodstained, earning a few winces from her classmates.
All Might looks down at the smile she’s giving her classmates; at his earnest, dauntless successor. She’s not like me, I know that. But… All For One, she’s more than just me. That’s a good thing.
It’s a short walk to his truck, in which Kyu mostly just leans into All Might and matches his pace. She feels him set her gently into the passenger side. Exhausted, and sheltered in the dull quiet of All Might’s truck, she starts to relax. It smells like memories of training and jogs through the park in autumn.
By the time the truck rumbles to life, it’s just a quiet, distant thrum that rocks her to sleep. Beside her, All Might smiles softly, and brushes a few loose curls out of her face.
“You really care about her, don’t you.”
The figure’s eyes glare harshly down at Kyu; he’s a head taller than her and looming with all of that height and twice as much authority. His hair is a dusty pink, with scars running across his brow in an X-shape.
“What will you do if it turns out you’re wrong?”
She wants to speak, but it’s impossible— it’s not there at all, her lips, mouth, throat, or lungs. And she can’t call on any power to fill her when she’s not really here. In a way.
She resolves, then, to meet the man’s glare with one of her own. I’m not wrong, she thinks.
“All For One nearly ruined everything, once again. His successor is preparing to do the same. You can’t afford them mercy, you know that?”
Kyu glares— but nods, cautiously. All of her classmates who just enshrouded her in care, Eight, who can’t stand on his own against AFO now or ever again, Mirko, Tsutsumi, Himiko. They need to be protected. All Might crushed AFO’s skull, after all, she thinks.
“Five told you about Blackwhip,” the man says. “So why haven’t you harnessed it? How will you ‘defend’ everything so important to you without strength?”
I’m going to get stronger, Kyu wants to say. Everything I do, I do to save everyone.
The man sighs. Dark fog swirls around him, buffets Kyu until the fog that consumes her and the fog that comprises her blend together and she is only an observing set of eyes.
The fog tears away, and she sees light pour into a dark, dark room, through a heavy bunker door. It illuminates sparse furniture and a single worn-down plasticky book. Sitting, oily white hair hanging over his face, is a sickly man with a shocked expression.
“You’re his treasure,” a voice says— She can’t turn to see who it is, but stepping through the glowing doorway, emerging from that swirling fog, is the man with the scar and the pink hair. He’s got a nosebleed and a smattering of ugly purple bruises and cuts. But the blood on his shoes probably isn’t his.
“…You… Did you come for me…?”
“I came to fight. That evil bastard should be eradicated.”
Kyu’s eyes start to widen. A— a sickly younger brother. And… is that First and Second?
The white-haired man nods. “His evil must be stopped.”
Fog begins to rip away the edges of the room— leaving only Second in the light and First before him.
“I wish I was able to show you more,” First says.
Second scoffs. “I don’t like this. I don’t like her savior complex.”
Kyu glares at him. Power crackles through the fog of her not-there voice.
“I’ll save her. She deserves that. And however Shigaraki’s been manipulated by AFO— I’ll save him, too. They’re not absolute evil, because they’re people. So don’t you dare talk about her that way.”
Second’s glare isn’t pure contempt. It’s like he’s studying Kyu. “…And if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not.”
Kyu shoots up the moment she wakes up.
The room is in chaos.
All Might is standing at the edge of the bed, gripping the rails of the medical frame. But around him, all the furniture and medical equipment attached to Kyu is toppled over, broken, or both. Recovery Girl stands cautiously in the doorway.
Kyu opens her mouth to say something, but her throat aches painfully, and her mouth is dry as a desert.
Gingerly, All Might reaches out, gently grasping her arm just below the shoulder. “…Young Midoriya…”
“What’s going on!” Aizawa bursts into the room, only stopping short a moment after he passes Recovery Girl. He glances to Midoriya, then to All Might. “Did she lose control again? Shuzenji—”
“She was using her strength Quirk in her sleep— Blackwhip never appeared.”
“… Blackwhip,” Aizawa says.
All Might nods. “I think I’ve matched it to a Quirk that’s at least very similar, albeit a distant relative if it is one.” At Aizawa’s glare, he rubs the back of his neck. “I can do research myself… B-but, in this case, I did work with Nedzu…”
“It’s too early for this,” Aizawa declares. “If everything’s fine, I’m going back to the dorms.” Kyu leans forward, despite the ache in her core. Her throat rebels against the question she triest to ask, and Aizawa levels her with a look. “They’re all… well as can be expected. Iida and Bakugou are both facing some house arrest given their… Unbecoming behavior. The rest have probably had enough time to come to an understanding of what’s important.” He steps back into the doorway, and sighs, full of a much more real and emotional tiredness. “…I’ll see you in class, Midoriya.” She nods, and he’s gone.
Kyu takes a ragged breath, but a moment later, her brow furrows. Before she can ask the time, Recovery Girl hobbles forward. “It’s about five in the morning, dearie.” She holds out a plastic cup of water in one hand and a few pills and gummies in the other. Kyu takes them with a weak smile; her whole body feels stiff and sore. She can’t help but wince at the ache in her shoulders as she raises her arms.
“You’ll be sitting out of exercises until I clear you, you understand?” Kyu pouts, but she doesn’t protest. Even after she takes another few sips of water, just swallowing makes her throat throb. Recovery Girl’s hand shifts on her cane. “Understand?” Begrudgingly, Kyu nods.
“Young Midoriya…” All Might sighs. He raises his arms, like he’ll hold her steady again— and then, suddenly, he’s hugging her. Her face is pressed into his bony collarbone, but she finds that it’s not as uncomfortable as it could be. Despite his injury, he’s warm, and his arms are long enough to stretch around her and hold her firmly. For a moment, he still seems supernaturally strong. It takes her another moment to hug him back, and another to feel all the weakness where OFA once blazed. But when he pulls her back, and musses her hair, the shining blue of his sunken eyes is still the same.
“Young Midoriya, we’re all— I want to help you. You’ve… been through a lot, but I will always be there. You understand that, don’t you? Nothing you could do could make me— make me care any less.”
“I…” Kyu grimaces at the rasp of her voice. She nods, instead of saying yes, but she doesn’t stop there. “I don’t want to b-be a burden with this new power, l-like I was before…”
Recovery Girl taps her cane against Kyu’s shin. “We are here, as UA staff, to support you. The manifestation of another Quirk through One For All…” she tuts. “It’s an incredible development.”
All Might nods. “So, my dear girl, pace yourself. Stressing over what could be while you’re already at an incredible pace… If you overwork yourself like you did during Aim to Pass, your mother is going to kill me.” He laughs, which changes into a hacking cough. Still, with a sincere smile, he grips her crooked hand in his bony one. “You have never ceased to amaze me. I’m proud, whether or not Blackwhip is around or not. It doesn’t change this.” His other hand presses against her chest, just over her heart.
With tears burning in her eyes and already making her throat ache, she smiles. “Th-thank you, All Might.”
When school starts again— real school, with Nedzu’s ceremony speech and Mic’s english classes and Ectoplasm’s algebra all hitting full force— Kyu is thrown into some strange blend of regular routine and the irregular.
Namely, the seat in front of her is empty, because (in Mina’s exact words) Bakugou went full right hook across Iida’s temple. And then (in Ochako’s sing-songy addendum) Iida kicked him across the courtyard, but Iida got a black eye and a split lip and all Bakugou got was a minor concussion— hooray for Recovery Girl.
But it’s not just her seat neighbor and the class rep’s absence that’s strange. It’s the newfound friendliness of her classmates, it’s Midnight calling her ‘Miss Midoriya’, it’s the confusion around Blackwhip. Since the first time since she became Kyu, her days are normal, and yet she doesn’t understand anything.
Plus, on top of all of that, there’s the mention of Work Studies. Programs that are more representative of actual hero work than the internships, apparently. They have to scout them out themselves with their own connections. But luckily, Kyu already has that part down. Even if Mirko is a little scary. Aizawa slips out, putting off the full explanation of the studies, in favor of English.
After a mere few days, Bakugou is back in class, and Iida has another day to go. As the first day being a class of nineteen starts, Aizawa introduces three students to help explain the work studies. “These third years rank among the top of all UA students,” he says. Bakugou barks out a laugh as ‘Amajiki’ turns to face the chalkboard, and barks again when ‘Hadou’ starts asking rapid-fire questions.
“Completely illogical,” Aizawa grumbles.
“Alright, hold on!” The third boy; tall, blond, and coated in defined musculature and scars interrupts. “You all must be confused, huh? A bunch of third years coming in to try to explain why these unnecessary work studies might interest you… Here, let’s get back on track: The future is…?”
Silence.
“…Grim! Wow, you really are bad at following the conversation.” The boy laughs. “Oh! But I’ve got the perfect way to really get this across. It’ll be super logical, Eraserhead, don't worry. In order to show the experience a work study gives you’ve gotta see it in action! So how about you’ll all team up and fight me!”
The class balks at the prospect of taking on a third year, but a few of their faces twist into confident smiles. Bakugo is the happiest anyone has seen him look all semester.
“That’s okay, right, Eraserhead…?”
“Do whatever you want,” he grumbles, “although, Midoriya. You’re still not cleared.”
Kyu pouts, but the fire in the blond boy’s eyes is infectious. She wants to see exactly how skilled he is— even if she can’t fight alongside her classmates. Mirio marches out of the door, and the rest all follow excitedly.
Notes:
Protective dad might i love him. All of Kyu’s classmates have to cope with blackwhip AND the fact that she and all might for sure know each other on a personal level
Anyways, this one’s a couple hundred over 3k. Blame my beta for like 300 extra words istg (love u TAR)
Of course, with Mirio’s appearance, that can only mean one thing: WORK STUDIES!! FUN!!!!!Also, I’ve written a LOT of oneshots recently. Some of them are smut, some of them are just fun little things (or fun 12k word things). If you like this fic, I’d really appreciate you checking those out! <3
Chapter 45: Wildstyle I
Summary:
Kyu prepares for her internship, with her eyes fixed on Mirio Togata's... shining example...?
Mirko prepares, too. Osaka is just like she remembered.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Be careful, Mirio…” Amajiki turns away from the wall, glancing to Mirio. He presses his forehead against it and sighs. “I-I still think this is a bad idea…”
“Mhm!” Nejire nods cheerfully, “yeah, it’d kinda suck if you hospitalized them and they missed out on Work Studies because you tried to show them how cool Work Studies were, and then they got depressed and frustrated and dropped out and—”
“It’ll be fine!” Mirio laughs. “I know how to dial it back!”
“You do?” They both ask simultaneously.
Aizawa hums, and Kyu looks at him. “You have my permission to use Searchlight.”
Kyu squints at him, and then at Mirio. Does that mean… His Quirk and experience will make him hard to even watch? Kyu watches carefully, looking for any sign of a Quirk as Mirio finishes stretching.
“Here we go! Who’s gonna come at me firs—”
“Eat this, Tintin Bastard!” With a few crackles, Bakugou is already on top of Mirio. Kyu doesn’t even get a chance to activate Searchlight before the ground is blown apart by a huge explosion that sends up enough dust and smoke to completely obscure Mirio.
“You really don’t hesitate, huh? You almost got me!” Mirio chuckles, just the same playful upperclassman that he was before. The smoke clears as he shimmies his pants up to their typical resting place, but his jacket is gone. His clothes fell off…? And he’s unharmed.
Bakugou’s brow furrows. “I didn’t even touch you, huh? Well—”
“My turn!” Mirio says, and then he’s gone.
Kyu calls on Searchlight as Mirio seems to vanish from existence. She didn’t see exactly how Mirio disappeared, but it seems like some kind of warping. That’s confirmed— sort of— when Mirio appears behind Jirou. Not just ‘appears’, though; it definitely looks like he’s rising out of the floor, angling his body to emerge at the right angle to capitalize. Some sort of earthswimming?
The way Mirio moves is stunning. He never stops falling, really. It’s almost like he’s skating, letting his calves disappear into the ground and pointing his legs to jet out the other way. His fist goes straight through Yaomomo’s shield, Hagakure’s invisi-block, and Shoji’s web-armed defense. Can he pass through objects? Where’s the speed from, then? After half the class drops, clutching their stomachs, Mirio falls into the ground. An instant later, he pops up across the gym floor. He… He can’t coexist with the ground!
“That’s the long-range fighters and strategists,” Mirio says, leaning forward again.
Kyu lets Searchlight fall, closing her eyes against the sting and strain. “He’s intangible— the warping comes from overlapping with something of greater mass!”
“So the intangibility can be used to warp, not the other way around.” Bakugou sneers. “We’ve got you figured out, Tintin!”
Kyu catches parts of the rest of the match. Mostly the wheezes of her classmates as their guts are punched in. While Bakugou does slightly better than the rest, He still gets punched in the end. It just takes an extra second and a ‘Blinder Touch Eyeball Crush!’
“So!” Mirio claps his hands together. “Think my Quirk’s strong…?”
“Obviously,” Kyu’s classmates wheeze.
“It’s called Permeation. It makes me intangible, yeah— Aizawa’s Problem Child was right about the displacement too! When I overlap with stuff— especially thick, hard ground— It just sends me right out.”
“Invulnerability and instant movement, though… That’s really powerful, kero.”
“No.” Mirio says, harsh and sad rather than playful.
“What do you mean ‘no’,” Kyu scoffs. “You’re impossible to attack or pin down, and it’s not strong because it’s highly technical? Is that what you’re saying?”
Mirio’s jaw sets. “I can’t see: light passes through my eyes. I can’t breathe, either: Air passes through my lungs. All I know is I’m falling. Even just moving through a wall has so many moving parts it took me years to learn.”
“But you can move through a wall,” Kyu sighs. It feels like a mild offense, to have to explain that a Quirk is a Quirk. It’s not like being born with power is a shot in the foot. “You can move instantly, and avoid any attack— Fist, poison gas, heat, anything. That’s strong. You have power, you’re usef— You have a useful Quirk.” Kyu’s tongue feels big and unwieldy in her mouth, so she swallows thickly. “You’re skilled , b-but— Mirio, you didn’t get the short straw.”
Mirio meets her stare, staying quiet for a while. “Yeah, I get it,” he says. “Everyone always mentions that example of changing eye color. That’s less strong than this. However!” He stands tall again, regaining the class’ attention. “Without experience, I’d have messed it up non-stop. Without hours and days and years of training, I’d be slow and sloppy. And instead of having access to all this strength that comes with mastery, I’d barely be strong enough to be a hero. But you all want to be Plus Ultra!”
Despite their aching stomachs, the class agrees wholeheartedly.
“Exactly!” Mirio laughs and spreads his arms. “So, the Work Studies are how that happens. How you go from good form to fluency, and eventually, mastery. So take that to heart! The way to strength, and being the best heroes you can be, it’s through these Work Studies! Especially starting as early as your first year!”
A small round of applause comes from the class. “That’s so manly…!” “And in only two paragraphs, too!”
“Yes, yes,” Aizawa says, stepping away from the wall to take the reigns back. “Most of you will probably choose to pursue Work Studies— As first years, you definitely don’t need them, but I highly recommend them to those whose coursework is good.” Aizawa sends a pointed look to Kaminari and Mina.
Kyu clenches and unclenches her fist. Having seen Mirio fight, having seen his contingencies for those who predict and counter him… She wants to, too. Aizawa says he’s the next Number One. He’s practically as fast as All Might, with how he took entire groups of students out in seconds. Could Himiko deal with that? Clench, unclench. Would Tsutsumi get caught and shipped off to rot, again? Clench. Her white-knuckle grip makes her nails bite into her hands painfully.
“Sir, how soon can we start?”
Aizawa regards her. “Next week. You can look on the weekend, if you want.”
Kyu’s nails dig into her skin a little less. Two days. That’s all I have to wait for.
“Ooh!” Nejire springs up in Kyu’s face. “Where’re you so eager to work, huh? You’ve got somewhere in mind, right? Do they have heroes as strong as you? Or maybe it’s a super-efficient team, or—”
“It’s Miruko,” Kyu says, “I interned with her.”
Nejire nods excitedly. “Gotcha! Was she stronger than you? Is her tail real? Does she really eat carrots— Ooh, wait, I gotta go talk to those two!” Nejire leaps off, floating on waves of golden light, and lands in a handspring before starting to hound Uraraka and Mina. They both glance back Kyu’s way, and she shoots them a thumbs-up, snickering at their misfortune.
Each day of the week feels agonizingly slow. Kyu needles the teachers for as much in-advance work as she can get, and ends up writing and typing as much as her aching hands can allow. Most Heroics classes are shifted, so Work Studies students can basically ditch campus by lunch. Kyu goes for work acquired earlier, politely requests a recorded version of any lecture, and does all of the textbook assignments for Biochemistry and Algebra-Geometry.
All that to say, the effort is practically mind-melting. It’s exactly what Kyu needs to keep herself from going stir-crazy. She practically pulls out her hair with the tightness of her buns, she pleads Yaomomo for a pair of compression gloves just to write, and she presses the buttons of her calculator so hard it breaks twice. Two days later, she doesn’t have to show up for about a week’s worth of classes. The absences shouldn’t mess with her credit that badly.
“Yo, Mido.” She looks up from her nest of loose-leaf paper and textbooks to see a good chunk of the 1-A girls looking at her expectantly. “You alright?”
Kyu sniffs, glancing at the messy writing and empty energy drink cans scattered around her. “I’d be better with a slurpee machine…” It takes her tired brain a second to connect two wires, but something lights up. “Yaomomo, could y—”
“No.”
“Aww…”
“Kaminari and Hagakure would spill everywhere,” Mina points out.
Kyu sighs. “I promise I’m fine. It’s been— a little rough, juggling so much, but I’m throwing myself at this so I don’t have to worry about…” She snatches up a paper. “…Marimana’s Theory of Quirk-Energy and Cells. Yeah, this is all sorts of obnoxious, and ugh, Biochem.”
“Fuck Biochem,” Uraraka nods sagely.
“But next week, I’m gonna be spending most of my time with Mirko. Figuring myself out, working on Blackwhip and improving my ability to patrol and fight! I— I’ve figured out a lot of moves and ways to use what I have, but I still h-have so much to learn, a-and to learn how to really use!” She smiles excitedly, the sort of smile she doesn’t think she’s worn in a while. “A-and that’s exciting! It’s going to be a lot of work, b-but the good kind. If— if that makes sense.”
Most of the girls smile, but Hagakure (or at least, the shape of her sweatpants and t-shirt) still steps up closer to Kyu’s table of infinite tedium. “You’re watching a romcom with us.”
“Oh, but I was just finishing—” an invisible hand grabs her wrist.
“Romcom. We’re taking over the common room. Do your boring schoolwork after.” Kyu glares in the general direction of Hagakure’s face. “I’ll braid your hair. Girl’s Night is non-negotiable.”
“…Fine.”
Twenty minutes later, Kyu finds herself buried in a very soft nest of blankets (mostly from Mina) and all of the 1-A girls, plus Kaminari, who ‘doesn’t feel like studying but Kyu thinks is just here because he’s worried about her, but minus Jirou, because she’s at the 1-B dorms. Gay. They’re sort of watching the movie, but Mina is speaking quietly with Yaomomo about something, and Kaminari is playing a phone game.
“So, Midoriya.” Kyu glances away from the screen, suddenly discovering everyone (sans Kaminari) looking at her. She swallows thickly. Uraraka leans forward, narrowing her eyes. “Is All Might your dad?”
Kyu freezes in shock. She opens her mouth, but shuts it twice. And then— “W-what?”
“He, like, gave you a fatherly hug. And argued with Aizawa, which he never does.”
“Yeah,” Hagakure nods from behind the couch with a hand in Kyu's hair. “If you don’t wanna talk, it’s fine—”
“No, I can—” Kyu sighs, a soft smile spreading across her face. “W-we, um, met before UA. He gave me my training plan. B-but, we weren’t…” Her face scrunches, trying to think about how to continue. “He was just occasionally around, for a while. It was only after— after the L-League, and everything, that we really… b-became closer? Part of that’s my Quirk, but part of it is that— h-he had a mentor, a lot like I do have him, and… And we both have shoes to fill.”
Kaminari hums. “He sounds like a good dad.”
“W-wait, no, he’s not my dad!”
“Sure.”
Kyu tries to sit up and glare, but the nest of softness only swallows her more. She sighs, sinking into it. “L-let’s just watch the movie,” she grumbles.
Hagakure stiffens. “How’d your mother even survive that?”
Buzzing cyan static prickles up Kyu’s body and jolts Hagakure. “Let’s watch the movie.”
Prey animals have an instinct to freeze around predators.
When they’re caught, they freeze up, too. But predators see what moves, and rip apart what runs. ‘A still rat is a safe rat,’ as is sometimes said.
Rumi’s foot bobs as she crouches on the balls of her feet. Her ears twitch at noise, her eyes dart around, and she loudly sucks on the straw of the paper cup from her fast food dinner.
Despite all her mutations, Mirko is not a helpless rabbit. Rumi is not prey. Her senses are better than any predator’s, her tail isn’t ‘cute’, it helps her balance, and her legs are strong enough to overcome the tensile strength of steel. She’s a hunter, lone and powerful. She stalks and she wins when she pounces.
“It’s been a while, Osaka.” Her words ride on the wind, disappearing off the rooftop and fluttering into the city. As dusk turns dark, all of the lights come on: Electricity hums all around to fill buildings with yellow-white-orange light, and colorful neon buzzes to life. She’s been around plenty of districts, but she doesn’t care for the residential or the rich. She’s here for the downtown chaos.
Just like she always does in a new city, her first patrol is a slow, fine-toothed nighttime overview. She’s in costume, except for the workout hoodie tossed over it to deal with the wind. It’s cold, for summer. Or maybe she’s just not used to the breeze near the bay. It’s a good city for crime— Tokyo and Musutafu are crawling with heroes, Fukuoka has Hawks, and Sapporo has Crust and Yoroi. But Osaka is densely populated, and it’s stuffed to the lid with groups that are growing off the winds of Kamino.
For example; the Resevoir Dogs. They all name themselves after colors, or something— Mirko hardly cares. She just dropped an axe kick on the bed of their truck when the wheels were still squealing away from a bank heist. They hardly had a chance to defend themselves.
Something bigger is going on here. Mirko’s pretty sure larger villains are tucking themselves away under the cover of these itty-bitty groups that get shit on as soon as they run into a hero with some real experience. Like needles in a haystack. Her nose scrunches like she’s smelling some particularly nasty shit. Always the worst creeps in fucking Osaka.
Of course, she has experience. Some good heroes work here, especially the detective-types. But her unimpressive hero school was here. It didn’t teach her shit compared to what she learned as a crazy piece-of-shit kid kicking anyone she could get to fight her. Experience and instinct and a good fucking kick, that’s what’s putting her in the top ten this year.
Experience and instinct and the ability to sense a battle blocks away just from the blood and adrenaline. And yet, when Kamino was going to shit, Toga Himiko still snuck up on her. Whether or not she’s going soft hardly matters, because that shit can’t stand regardless. The options are that Toga is that skilled, or Toga knows how to imitate her kit that deeply.
“Lepóridos Luna for life!”
Toga Himiko seems to know a lot of things. But, that name was on one form, that got shipped out to one student. Toga could be anyone, she could silently replace anyone in the kit’s life. And yet, at Kamino, she fought undisguised to protect and help the kit, and the kit did the same thing back. Because that stupid, anxious and emotional kid has a core of driven, dangerous steel. No hesitation, Rumi told her. Not just strength, but intensity and purpose.
“Motherfucker,” Rumi growls, pressing the ball of her foot down until it crushes the cement at the lip of the rooftop into pebbles that crumble away and fall, fall, fall. She knows villains. She’s dealt with every type. She’s spared a few of the less immoral ones and prettier ladies a Luna Tijeras.
She told Punch-Crazy that, years ago, and now she’s standing a minute or two (at Mirko speeds) from that old lot. Where the Underground Masquerade ran, and she bit off something so big she should’ve choked then and there. O’Clock and All Might are basically the only reason the asshole in the hood didn’t take her out.
She’d be able to fight him, today. She’d match his kicks, today. Her ears still stretch up, and her pupils still tense into dots, and her leg still stops bouncing. Because prey animals have a freezing instinct.
“C’mon, kit,” she says out into the city. “I swear, if you’re doin’ something stupid…” The idea makes her stomach twist in a weird way. She’s never felt— felt like she’s defending much, before. Just fighting and getting hurt for mistakes. But now she’s got this other thing she’s watching for. She’s got more on the line, somehow, even though she’s the same Mirko.
And yet, when she says “I hope you’re making the right call” out into the night, she scoffs right after. Rumi knows there’s no way the kit is defying everything that made her set her jaw and fight Todoroki, or Stain, or the fucking Demon of Kamino. There’s a fire in her that will never change, and that’s the exact thing Rumi picked her for. The thing that they share.
She rises from her crouch, ears straightening and eyes widening and nose twitching. “Nothing’s gonna stop Nightlight blazing bright.” She thinks her self-reassurance sounds stupid, but it works.
There’s a hooded man that almost put out Rumi’s fire, and then slipped into the dark and never showed up again. There’s a man with a broken respirator who’s chuckling from Tartarus. There’s a man who destroys everything he touches that has boundless hatred and one girl to aim it at.
“Not while I live and breathe.”
Notes:
Wildstyle-- Writing so stylized and exaggerated that it's illegible, often in many colors
Shoutout to the manga for the 4th wall breaking bit from Yaoyorozu. “Only 2 paragraphs” refers to that, lol, I don’t think it’s done in the anime whatsoever. (I almost always just use the manga for referencing canon, lol)
In other news: Rumi discovers maternal protectiveness. She doesn’t really love it, but her feelings have her musing in… hm, the city detective types and Fatgum work in… curious.Mirio: my quirk is WEAK actually :/
Kyu, sighing bc emotional labor and microaggressions and whatnot: dude seriously
Chapter 46: Wildstyle II
Summary:
Kyu sets off towards her Work Study on the first morning of the weekend.
With her track record, it's not surprising that she runs into enough problems to nearly miss her train.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu sighs, but it’s a happy sigh. She moves to slip her phone in her pocket, and it instead slides against the pleats of her skirt. I’m never gonna stop doing that, am I, she thinks, grumbling. Now where do I…
She’s got her backpack on her back. That has all her coursework, textbooks, notebooks, some assorted toiletries, her laptop, and now it holds her phone as well. She has a suitcase, too. It’s a small thing that’s a little overstuffed with more clothes and extra socks and styles than she needs. On the other hand, it feels good to be so prepared, and her heart swells a little at all the clothes she didn’t use to have. She’s not sure if she should show off the suitcase or just start sending outfit mirror selfies to Himiko.
All the new outfits are courtesy of Natotomi. Despite her air of always being the busiest, most important person in the room, she made time for Kyu. From the way she subtly bragged about a couple of recent projects, it was more like Natotomi making time to secure a valuable client, but… All the same, that supportive voice was there. It was there when she had no idea where to look, very firmly urging her right into a dressing room and getting her everything to try on. It’s all unusual, but Kyu can’t help but love her new clothes. Most of them are casual, since she’d just be in her uniform otherwise, but they feel like her. Not as much as graffiti tees, but it’s something.
Kyu finds herself drawn to flannel, denim, and tough materials. Things that feel practical and tactile. Things that feel tough without being a difficult chafing mess. The clothes she has now are some of the nicest things she’s ever owned. Even if it’s all meant to look good if she’s making a ‘civilian appearance.’ As she sets off campus, she’s wearing a light denim jacket with a soft gray hood over her summer uniform.
Her costume case is sitting on top of the suitcase, leaning against the long rolling handle. It’s easily the clunkiest thing she has, too: With all of the changes that she’s made to the costume, her case has ended up being the largest out of her class. Her eyes linger on that metal case. Oh, Mirko’s gonna see the Knightriders. Maybe she won’t tease me endlessly about it…? No, she definitely will. Maybe I can distract her with the bandolier?
“Problem child.”
Kyu looks up to meet Aizawa’s eye. He has a harsh, cold glare. She feels like she’s being dissected. “Y-yes, sir?”
He sighs with a worried warmth. “Don’t do anything stupid, and try not to be a villain magnet.” She nods and takes a step away, but he clears his throat one last time. When she looks back, she can see the way his shoulders are just a little hunched, and a slight discomfort across his face. Hardly expressive, but almost… awkward. “And— Midoriya? I… I hope you can see Heights Alliance as a place that it’s safe to be, so—”
“W-with all due respect, Sensei, I-I…” She takes a shuddering breath. “Don’t we both know why it’s not?”
Aizawa doesn’t glare. His face is just expressionless. Kyu thinks that feels worse, somehow. “Please be safe on your internship,” he says, “and remember, you’re representing UA and all of your classmates out there.” His eyes drift over her things again.
“…You can’t seriously— No, I’ve been a little too busy to do 'volunteer work’.” She says around air quotes, not letting him hide in his pretense, “Y’know, because I cover up hate speech.”
His eyes widen a bit before focusing in with an upwards tick of the mouth, “I think I’ve been clear that I don’t have a problem—”
“No, but you still draw your stupid arbitrary line,” she sighs, “I don’t want to defend myself to you— and you can’t just… Just bond with me to make it go away, or whatever.” She shoulders past him, suitcase clunking down each step away from the dorms.
Kyu doesn’t let herself turn around, but she wonders what sort of silent glare he’s giving her. Is he glaring at her with those villain-stalking, ready-to-pounce eyes? Or is he staring after her confused, conflicted, and sad?
She shakes the thought out of her head as she leaves campus. There’s a few other students on their way out too, since it’s a weekend, but no one she knows. The Work Studies aren't really ‘starting’ until next week— That’s when most of her classmates are heading off. She feels a little guilty for not waiting until they all woke up to say goodbye, but she is trying to make the morning train to Osaka. With that in mind, she hikes her bag up on her shoulders and picks up her pace.
Musutafu isn’t nearly as lively on a weekend, but there’s still plenty of people out on the streets. Kyu weaves past students out with friends, always-busy salarymen, and parents out with their children. Her suitcase rumbles along the concrete the whole way. But even through the crowd, Kyu has an eye for more; Every wall and overpass are decorated with a sprawling renaissance of graffiti. Kyu can’t help but wonder whether she just notices it more, or it really is everywhere . Either way, what Kyuubi started has become an ecosystem that fills the streets with life and color. She can almost smell the paint and hear the hiss.
Unfortunately, while she’s been staring at walls, her loud suitcase and recognizable uniform have drawn eyes to her. She doesn’t realize their are phones and stares pointed at her until she’s right in the middle of the crowd at a particularly large crosswalk.
“Oh, my gosh,” a girl in a middle school uniform says, “you’re Nightlight, right?”
Kyu lets out a bashful, worried smile. That is a lot of cameras… “Y-yeah, that’s me.”
“Can I get an autograph?”
Kyu’s eyes go wide with surprise, and she points a crooked finger at herself. “You want… my autograph?” The girl nods, shaking with excitement. Kyu laughs nervously. “I only just got my Provisional License.” The girl nudges one of her friends, and yanks the pen from her hand as soon as it’s there. Meanwhile, Kyu grabs her Hero Analysis Seventeen notebook from her bag and rips a page out. She takes the girl’s pen— “Who am I making this out to?” —then bites the cap and tugs it out.
“U-um, Furuko Yukimi!”
Kyu puts the pen to the page— but then pauses. I’m not just gonna sign my name, so what do I…
A beacon who signs so that anyone can be saved.
‘Shine your light, Furuko,’ she writes. ‘-Nightlight.’ Her smile widens as she rereads it, a little more confident. She hands it to the girl, capping the pen again. “That’s my first autograph,” she says sheepishly.
“Th-thank you!” The girl stammers, bowing.
“Of course.” The walk signal changes, and Kyu smiles to the crowd, hoping to step away. The crowd has other ideas, because people are coming closer with questions and things for her to sign. She’s apprehensive, but keeps a smile and a lax energy up.
“Nightlight! Where’re you going?”
She chuckles, still looking down as she signs a cast. “Work Study! I-I’m working with Mirko.”
“Woah, it’s Nightlight?!” More people shove into the crowd. Awestruck kids, teenagers eager to take pictures, and adults with nowhere to be all seem to pause. “Can I get an autograph, too?” Casting another glance towards the street, the walk signal is blinking three… two…
“My purse!”
Kyu calls on a modest five-percent Searchlight. The voice is coming from an older woman at the edge of the crowd, and she can easily see the man bolting across the street just before the walk signal changes. He doesn’t seem to be using any Quirk, just running. But, given… “Wait— my purse!” Kyu makes the split-second call.
A few of the members of the crowd have eased off, seeing her eyes glow. When OFA crackles along her entire body, though, they back up. Or, most of them back up, and some others gasp and watch closely and take videos. Kyu ignores them, since she has the space to take off. She squats, and then leaps. She hits the wall of the nearby building harshly, but her fingers dig into the crevice of a window. From that hold, she kicks off, leaping over the street with trails of cyan light behind her. She lands in a roll and springs up a few paces ahead of the purse snatcher.
The man stumbles back, dropping the purse and raising his arms. “Shit.”
Kyu narrows her eyes. “Not using your Quirk, are you?”
The man shakes his head, eyes widening with fear. “N-nah, I don’t— I’m not a villain, I just need to eat.”
Kyu swallows thickly. “…I wish you hadn’t stolen an old woman’s purse. I could—”
“Oh, I bet you could, I know what a UA uniform looks like.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Shit. I’m gonna go away for this. I never had a chance.”
Kyu worries at her lip. “Only if the woman presses charges. Just— don’t run.” She leans down, grabs the purse, and leaps over the street again, giving it to the woman. She thanks her with tears of joy, near to fainting.
“Hey, you didn’t even restrain him!” Kyu’s head darts towards a grating, angry voice in the crowd. She sees all of the cameras and wide eyes pointing at her very differently, now. And she knows that as Kyuubi, it’d be easy to try to help the man and go on her way. But Nightlight has an image. Nightlight is a beacon, and a symbol. There’s a weight on her shoulders.
“He didn’t use his Quirk; I don’t have to,” she points out. “I don’t want to escalate the situation, either.”
“What if he runs? Just do your job!”
Kyu sighs through gritted teeth. “What about what you just saw says ‘I can’t catch him’? Fine. Here.” She turns to the old woman. “Look: He’s still standing there. He said a few things to me, so let’s go speak with him.” She tries really hard not to show her disgust to the cameras when she adds, “if you decide to press charges, I can hand him off to the police.”
They cross the street, some civilians and their cameras following close behind. Kyu doesn’t use her Quirk, because it’s definitely not an emergency situation.
The purse snatcher drops into a dogeza position. “I’m— I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— I need to eat, b-but I got priors, I can’t go back. I’m begging.”
The old woman’s face twists in confusion and anger— but also in empathy. “You didn’t have to steal my purse,” she growls. “What would you have done if this young woman didn’t stop you?”
“I-I swear, I— I was gonna take what I needed. I’d leave your phone and ID and stuff, I just— I needed a couple thousand yen, that’s all. I swear.”
Please, Kyu thinks. Please, hear him. Please don’t send him through a punitive justice system that’ll grind him down. I don’t think I could sit by while such an easily-complying man was sent away. So please. She knows her fists are tightening enough that her nails sting her palms, and it makes her fingers ache.
“Get up,” the woman says. “It feels wrong to just have you walk away,” she murmurs.
“You can be a character witness if he does something like this again,” Kyu offers. “O-or use a lawyer, b-but come to some other agreement about community service, or the like.”
“Why'd you do all this?” The man asks.
She shrugs. “I want to do what’s right— And that means what’s best for everyone, not always punitive justice.” She smiles brightly, even as her nerves make her rub the back of her neck. “Besides, you’re not a villain— my responsibility to intervene ended the moment you dropped the purse.”
The old woman grabs her sleeve. “Thank you, miss.”
She nods. “Of course.” She looks up to the crowd, after that. There’s still lots of phone cameras, but the faces are less riled up. “Alright, everyone, s-sorry about all those signatures. I gotta make the train, or Mirko’s gonna kill me. Be safe, be good, and shine your light!”
Knowing the pace she’ll need to make, Kyu lifts the suitcase off the ground with one hand and holds her costume case in the other. She sends a smile to the crowd before scampering off. She sees, when she smiles back, the way the purse snatcher looks after her.
“Besides, you’re not a villain,” Kyu had said. The man’s face is still fraught with fear. His eyes, wide and fearful, as if to reply: And if I was a villain, what then…?
It makes her stomach twist.
She doesn’t stop running until she makes it to the train— which is nestled in the station when she arrives. She’s only barely ahead of the doors closing, still out of breath. It’s there, when the doors ding pleasantly and slide shut, that her nausea catches up to her. She stuffs her luggage into the cabin over her head hastily, and then stumbles into her seat. She was going to do more work on the train ride, but… She feels a lump pushing at the bottom of her throat, and hot saliva filling her mouth.
If I was a villain, what then?
Kyu swallows. It’s easy, but the rush of saliva down her throat doesn’t do a thing to make the nausea disappear. Her eyes fix on the back of the seat in front of her as the train starts moving.
Some monster—
To her horror, she almost lets it.
I ruined it, All Might…!
If I was a villain, what then?
Her phone buzzes, making a tinny noise against the backpack’s contents. She feels the way she’s still panting, unable to catch her breath. She feels the rising force in her throat, and the way bile burns. But she forces herself to breathe, and fumbles to get the phone.
When Kyu glances out the window, away from her phone, she finds that she’s less nauseous. Her hands do ache a little, but that’s okay— she decides to read her pages for Literature instead of writing line after line for Algebra.
She has more of an eye for modern issues than the overly introspective writing of classics. Despite that, the allegories and critiques of government never seem to age poorly. A book written half a century ago still describes the suffering countless people go through. If I’m not careful, I’ll reveal my secret identity in my book report, she thinks. Wait, is this how Spinner… Became Spinner? Is he just a nerd? The thought makes it a little harder to commit to finishing a chapter before her stop.
Osaka is just as busy as Musutafu, but the streets are a little narrower. Musutafu’s a much newer city, so Osaka’s age and aesthetic projects show through like layers of chipped paint. The little trees along the sidewalk are a little more gnarled, and their roots distend the concrete just a bit. There’s graffiti, but it feels less like the ecosystem and more like decor, acquired the same way dust and knickknacks appear on the shelf.
Kyu’s barely down the stairs from the train station when someone tackles her into the shadows underneath it. Tumbling, her knees scuff against the well-worn asphalt. Her body floods with OFA. She springs to her feet, flinging the attacker over her head and pinning them on the ground.
She looks unremarkable, with deep red hair and brown eyes. But her smile, and the fierce blush blazing across her face— Those are anything but innocuous.
“Himiko, shit, I—”
“No, that’s— I shouldn’t have just shown up, no warning. Sorry.” she says quickly.
Too quickly, Kyu notes, feeling the tension in Himiko’s body. Seeing it, even through her disguise. Her smile is still fierce, though.
“Can’t say I’m upset you can pin me so easily, though. I mean… Right here, a couple meters from the whole crowd—”
“Himiko,” Kyu interrupts. She puts a hand on Himiko’s cheek. “I’m… We are not going to do that.” Kyu shakes her head, but the redness on her cheeks stays. “L-looks like, we— we’re both in Osaka, huh?”
Himiko nods. “I’m not sure for how long,” she breathes. It’s an urgent, quiet thing, almost a whine.
“I’ll be here,” Kyu promises, “I won’t be far. Just— Just be careful, okay?”
“Yeah, you too,” Himiko says, finally. The look in her eyes is still distant, and fraught with worry, but it’s at least fixed on Kyu now.
“I wouldn’t worry about Mirko.” After a moment, she snorts. “My mother would hate her.”
Himiko smiles. She sits up, disguise sloughing off as she does, leaving the sludge on the ground as she rises. “What about me…?”
Kyu’s snickers. “I’m afraid we’re gonna have to elope.”
“I can live with that,” Himiko decides, wrapping her arms around Kyu’s neck.
“W-wait, I have to be at Mirko’s in—” She pulls out her phone, stopping when she sees the time. “Oh, I did leave early, though…”
“I’m taking that as ‘as long as I want,’” Himiko says. Kyu smiles back at her right up until their lips press together.
Notes:
...And then Kyu walked into Mirko's apartment with hickies.
I swear to god, I’d write patchnotes for this fic if I could do so without spoilers. At this point, there’s basically a rewrite lodged between every chapter. The outline is super vague from here on out, in my defense.
Thank you again to ToolAssistedRat for beta reading this chapter.
Chapter 47: Wildstyle III
Summary:
Kyu finally arrives at her Work-Study. Unlike her Internship, it'll push her until she bends or breaks.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Mirko opens the door before Kyu even knocks a second time. Kyu tries to meet Mirko’s eyes with all the fierce determination she can muster. Mirko, however, snorts. Kyu furrows her brows as Mirko looks to the side, then back at her— and laughs uproariously.
“I don’t—” she gasps through laughs— “I don’t know who it was— and to be clear, I don’t care— but they were wearing lipstick.”
Kyu stares in confusion for a moment. Then, realization hits with a wave of dread. She slowly raises a hand to her quickly reddening face. There, smeared across her chin, she feels patches of sticky, waxy pink on her fingers. “O-oh.”
Mirko chuckles again as she reaches out. Kyu is too flustered to react as the Pro grabs her by the backpack straps and yanks her over the threshold. Kyu’s suitcase and costume case clatter in after her, and Mirko kicks out a leg to catch the door with the top of her foot and pull it shut. Meanwhile, Kyu trips over her own things and falls on her face. Mirko grins. “So! Lightning and shadow tentacles?”
Kyu stares blankly up at her for a moment, then scrambles over her own luggage to stand and dust herself off. “Y-yeah. The whips… are a work in progress.”
Mirko nods. “I figured by the whole violently lashing out thing. I’m not gonna force you to overextend in a life-or-death situation, but we’re figuring that out before the month’s out.” Without leaving room or time for questions, she steps closer conspiratorially. “And then there’s the lightning.”
Kyu smiles, eager to explain. “Yeah, I figured out it’d work best to fill my body with a low percentage. I don’t think I could’ve done it at the start of the year, when my body was weaker, but now I can bring my body up to about ten percent.” She recalls straining against Blackwhip as it sundered the walls. “M-maybe brief moments of pushing it higher than that?”
“I see.” Mirko bends over, plucking up Kyu’s costume case. “I’m looking at this. Keep talking— what happens if you push your limit?”
“W-well, I’m not entirely sure? But probably fever, muscle strain or tears, and if I push it past that it’d cause bone and joint damage.” She thinks for a moment, and then adds, “I haven’t had overuse near my torso, but I guess my organs wouldn’t keep up either. So moving my muscles at full power would be instant death, if I even managed it.”
Mirko’s eyes narrow as she cracks open Kyu’s costume case and sifts through the contents, but she can still see the way her ears twitch and straighten at the mention of ‘instant death’.
“I-I mean, it should be fine. I don’t know what out there could demand Full-Body One-Hundred-Percent.” Kyu laughs nervously, gripping at the fabric of her skirt even as she tries to dissuade Mirko’s worry. Her mind wanders to a shattered city, and danger, and Himiko nearly dying, and Evil Incarnate.
“Hey, Kit, you with me?”
She realizes just how far she slipped when Mirko lowers herself, putting her face between Kyu’s eyes and the ground. Her red eyes are wide with concern. Kyu thinks for a moment she should be worried of what’s to come— but there’s no overprotective coddling in Mirko’s gaze. She’s not like Inko, who would probably prefer Kyu as a bubble-wrapped preteen. There’s something in Mirko’s gaze that seems so much more like genuine care.
“Oh, shit, kid, don’t cry,” Mirko stammers. It’s a little hilarious to watch Mirko stumble through whatever this is, and the first hiccups and sobs wheeze their way out alongside laughs. Mirko just watches, wide-eyed.
“I’ll— I’ll be fine,” Kyu says, rubbing her eyes with the base of her palms. “I just— I mean, I came early, obviously, j-just— it’s been so much.” She doesn’t know why she’s letting herself break open so easily in the foyer of Mirko's messy apartment, but as she begins to try and reign her gasping sobs in, Mirko nods slowly, gently leading Kyu to the couch.
Mirko still has her self-assured look in her eyes, but she clears her throat and twists around her mouth as she chews on her words. “Okay. Do you need to talk about it? Do I need to hit someone? I told you you could hit someone.”
Kyu giggles. “Tempting.” She slumps into the couch, tugging Mirko in next to her. “I— I don’t want to dump all of this on y—”
“You think I can’t handle it?”
Kyu’s eyes go wide. “No, that’s n-not what I meant, just—”
“Kit.” Mirko squeezes her shoulder— not painfully, just firm, like she’s saying I’m right here. “It’s okay. So tell me.”
There’s a moment Kyu wants to keep all her secrets, and make up something basic, but it’s already swelling up from the weight in her stomach to spill out. “It’s just— I-I’ve never gotten along with Iida, and he just… He’s so much worse now, and now I’m anxious w-when I’m just in a stairwell, and my mom is being overprotective ‘cause she thinks it’s just a thing I’m doing because of— of friends she doesn’t like, a-and I love her but I just—”
Mirko wraps her in a hug. Kyu stiffens, but after a moment she clings back, gently rocking with sobs and shaky breaths— they stay like that for a while, long enough for Mirko to slowly (and a bit awkwardly) start to rub Kyu’s back. They stay like that for a while more, time forgotten. Eventually, she’s crying a little less, and Mirko’s hand feels a little less awkward. Kyu relaxes into Mirko’s warmth and lets herself match her steady heartbeat.
With a softness that still sounds wrong coming from her mentor, Miruko gently sighs into Kyu’s hair. And then, relaxed, but with a familiar edge: “‘Kay, so I’m paying Mrs. Midoriya and Ingenium a vist—”
“Mirko, p-please don’t fight my mom,” Kyu says. She pulls away from the hug, laughing as the already starting to smile despite the tears smeared across her face.
Mirko squints at her. “Fine. But, we’re going full throttle. You’ve got a lot to work out.”
Despite the budding anxiety at the thought of Mirko going full throttle at me, oh my god I’m going to die, Kyu laughs and squeezes her hands into fists. “I wouldn’t want it any other way, Mirko!”
Mirko huffs. “Call me Rumi. Or at least Usagiyama.” And then she grins, wicked and fierce. “Now, we aren’t fighting in my apartment. We’ve gotta go somewhere we can’t destroy millions in infrastructure!”
Four minutes later, Kyu has a glove in her teeth and is hastily tugging her curls into a very messy bun.
“Nice costume,” Rumi grins.
Kyu’s cheeks turn a little pink, but she shrugs. She gets the glove out of her mouth and onto her hand a moment later, and decides to say, “t-take it as a compliment?”
Rumi laughs. “Maybe I will. The bandolier isn’t quite my style, though.”
Kyu hums, tugging her Knightriders on. “I’ve been using my strength for projectiles for a while. If I have the opportunity for a good kick in a fight, these are basically meant to be beanbag and buckshot rounds.”
“Clever.”
“Well, the projectiles were my idea, and I knew darts or anything like them could be lethal. Mei came up with shotgun-style rounds, and the Knightriders, too.”
Rumi nods as she assesses Kyu’s costume. “For a strength enhancer, your costume is a lot more tactical than most. Whoever Mei is, she’s clever. Glad you didn’t stick with the baggy pants, at least.”
Kyu springs up to her feet with her Knightriders on, grabbing the last part of her costume— the utility belt. “Mei’s the support student from the festival. Pink hair, sales pitch.”
Rumi whistles. “Well, then all this must be good.” She swings open the front door and does a few stretches. “Your respirator covers the hickies, so wipe your face and let’s get going!”
As it turns out, ten percent isn’t even close to Rumi’s speed. Her Mirko-style bounds were more sluggish, but even adapting bursts of pushing the OFA percentage in her legs before landing at full-body ten is slow. Still, pacing herself by Mirko’s speed makes adrenaline and endorphins sing in every cell of her body. The wind breaks her hasty bun into curls billowing behind her. It makes her hoodie dance in the wind, and feels both soothing and exciting against her skin. Using the Knightriders at full-speed feels unfamiliar, but right. Every part of her is built for this.
…Well, road rash burns across the left side of her face, but the wind soothes it with cool, whip-fast kisses. Rumi’s toothy grin (always from ahead, tossed over her shoulder) only eggs Kyu on more. They sail over water towers, roll under billboards, drop off the rooftops to run along the wide streets and leap back up to run as fast as they can down the bullet train tracks.
Kyu was pushing herself when they started, and now Mirko is speeding up. Kyu watches her carefully. She pushes up the dial of Searchlight, feeling OFA thrum in her eye sockets. The wind whipping at her eyes agitates them faster than usual, and she drops the power after a few more bounds. It’s like Aizawa said. Searchlight isn’t a crutch, so I have to do something differently…
Ahead, Rumi stretches her feet forward, lands in a crouch, and explodes back to the rooftops. She springs over a ventilation unit like it’s all natural movement and avoiding the obstacle is just a coincidence. Kyu springs after her, lunging over the thing and barely touching down at the other end of the rooftop before pushing off for the next one.
“What’s wrong, slowpoke!” Rumi calls over her shoulder, so not out of breath she deigns to laugh. It’d be insulting if Kyu wasn’t so dedicated to learning from her betters. Rumi twists around in the air again, and then she’s springing forward. Kyu narrows her eyes against the wind as she follows.
You’ve never needed Searchlight before, you don’t need it now, she tells herself. You can’t lean on every tool in the deck to move. You need to refine this. She watches Rumi’s feet kick up sparks as the metal at her heels scrapes the ground, and then she leans forward, slamming onto the balls of her feet and soaring again. Her Quirk changes the way she moves, but the principle of it… Kyu thinks. She lands, lunges a few strides forward, and then crouches and takes off. And then, just when it’s starting to feel like she’s getting nowhere, it clicks.
The principle of it is natural movement. Agile, minimum energy wasted. It’s all potential or forward energy. Heel-kick leaps and feats of acrobatic and athletic confidence fill everything Mirko does.
Kyu knows she can plain run with OFA, or spring forward, but neither are the efficient way to use it. One is typical of much less power, and the other is a style designed for someone else. Even while fighting, the movement she used was mostly inspired by Mirko. Unfortunately, the only other hero she can take inspiration from is All Might, who crosses cities in one leap, so that’s unhelpful.
She shakes her head, curls lashing at the sensitive skin of her cheek. The thing All Might gave her is strength. It roils in her like a stormy sea, and it fills the air with zapping cyan light, and radiates presence and power. It says I Am Here.
Nightlight says You Are Safe, and I will be strong and bright and Here until you are. It’s not acrobatic like Rumi, but it bares its teeth the same way. It’s not strong and overwhelming as All Might, but it fights tooth and nail to earn the same attention.
Kyu’s not sure the moment she starts gaining on Rumi. It’s certainly not easy, but in an instant she goes from watching like a hawk to just moving. She lunges and darts and springs forward in huge strides and hands grasping over any obstacle and tugging her forward faster, faster, faster.
Kyu’s metal shoes slam on a tin roof and a whole fire escape rattles when she vaults it, and the noise is what finally makes Rumi twist around again. Kyu is close enough to make out a few acne scars, and for that she grins like a maniac, like steel and danger, almost like Himiko’s wild smile but a little more lopsided.
Rumi laughs, and they race towards the edge of the city just meters from each other.
When the buildings thin out and their feet start to pound against dirt, the pacing changes all over again. Rumi hops over the underbrush, never losing speed between every landing. Behind her, Kyu tumbles through the unusual terrain. She doesn’t even stop before she’s pushing herself back to her feet, though. She grabs at branches and kicks off rocks and trunks, lunging through the thicket like a pinball.
“Your Quirk comes with tethers!” Rumi calls over her shoulder. “If you’re gonna move like that, then use it!”
Kyu grits her teeth. She wants to protest, but Rumi is right— this is the perfect use case of Blackwhip, if she can just manage to maintain control. What was it that he said? “Blackwhip uses anger. Harness it. Control it!” Kyu thinks it’s pretty hard to direct her anger, but she’s only just starting. Her Knightriders chew through dirt as she launches herself forward. Her hands already ache, but they spark with OFA and yank her forward. There’s a pain that comes with the tug on her fingers and the force on all her joints.
“Just what’s right in front of you,” Kyu reminds herself breathlessly. She pauses for a moment as she crouches, focusing on the tree she’ll have to tug herself forward by. “I’m angry that my hands hurt.” She imagines the tendrils snapping taught around the trunk, whipping her forward, and then dissipating into curling shadow as they go lax.
Kyu lunges forward, thinking about how it’s harder to sketch now, and she can’t sleep after taking notes all day, no matter how exhausted her body is from training. It feels like everything drains at her— if she can only make Blackwhip pull its weight, it might all get easier. “This better work,” she hisses. She extends an arm, willing the frustration forward.
Cyan light crackles up her arm, and a wave of itchy, antsy, fiery darkness follows it. She forces the feeling forward, and it feels like the relief of a good stretch. The darkness surges forward, and focusing it is near impossible. She manages to get to ‘grab tree,’ but it only barely tugs her forward, and the timing of the release is all off. She’s sent off course, loses speed, and rolls across the ground. Still, she manages to get Blackwhip to curl up inside her instead of lashing out everywhere.
“Huh,” Rumi says, leaning against a nearby tree. “That was… interesting.”
Kyu beams. “It worked!”
Rumi narrows her eyes. “You ate dirt.”
Kyu springs up off the ground, twists around, and gestures at her (covered in dirt and grass smudges) body. “I-I’m not tearing down the whole forest!” She pumps her arms up victoriously. “Progress!”
“This whole river clearing is way prettier when I can actually enjoy it,” Kyu says, standing at the top of the cliff.
“You ate lunch up here,” Rumi brushes her off.
“I ate lunch up here so exhausted I was lying down!” Rumi snorts. Kyu squints at her. “That was a suspicious snort… What’re we doing that’s going to exhaust me?”
“Well, I need a gauge on your power,” Rumi shrugs. “And Blackwhip is strong, but you need control and utility. So…” She looks over the edge of the cliffs at the rocks in the river— some of which Kyu can see are split cleanly from her training earlier in the year. “Try to grab one of those with Blackwhip.”
Kyu extends her arm, focuses on just grabbing one rock, and thinks about how showing her work for Algebra makes her hands ache for hours. She tries not to close her eyes or get lost in the thought. Blackwhip is feeling a bit more familiar, so it’s easier to draw out. There’s no cyan light and barely an itch before a tendril extends down and curls around a boulder.
“Great! Now lift it.” Kyu takes a deep breath, and Blackwhip twitches and snakes. It’s annoyingly responsive, sort of like how Aizawa’s capture weapon responds to tension. Any shift across her body disturbs it. Still, tugging something is easy. She keeps that tendril as taught as it can be, keeps her body in nearly the same way, just pulls it all back. The rock lifts, water splashing around it and other rocks grinding against it as they slide apart. And then she hears Rumi snicker. “Think fast!”
Kyu is pretty sure there’s no such thing as overkill when it comes to Rumi, so she doesn’t even bother twisting around to look at her before diving away entirely. Her focus on Blackwhip slips, dropping the rock back down with loud clack-splash sounds. At nearly the same time, Rumi’s heel crashes into the dirt where Kyu had just been. The edge of the cliff is cleaved off and starts to fall into the river.
Kyu tries to push herself to her feet, but Blackwhip is still lashing around. It’s unfocused, and it burns up her forearm and to her bicep as it harries the cliff face. With a roar, she draws it back in, forcing it to coil tight around her arm before disappearing entirely.
She lets out a sigh of relief, then takes deep gulps of cool air. Sweat is already slicking her forehead and hair, and Rumi is only wearing her standard fierce grin.
“Do it again.”
Despite the burn of exertion, Kyu smiles back.
Notes:
I've been writing less because of 1) Holiday business, 2) seasonal depression (i always write less in the winter, and 3) I got Baldur's Gate 3. I am also in the 0.1% of people to have the Foehammer acheivement. easiest game of my life.
ANYWAYS, work studies are in full swing!!!! This is basically my favorite arc in Switcheroo; parts of this have been in the plans since day one. we got mom rumi. we got weird shit with the league. we got the shie hassaikai??? Also, bc my beta, ToolAssistedRat, infects me with ideas constantly, we may just have a fun little shigaraki scene sometime soon. :3c
also. 40,000 hits. forty,, thousandnd,,, , we're like top 80 izutoga fics by kudos. we hit 600 subscribers to this fic recently. thank you all so much. the love and attention Switcheroo has received is the greatest present of all. im kinda a holiday birthday girlie so im taking it as my birthday present and christmas present that i have all of your love and support. mwah. mwah. mwah. ty for reading.
Chapter 48: Wildstyle IV
Summary:
Last time, Kyu started her Work Study with a heart-to-heart and some intense freerunning.
Now, far from Osaka, Rumi works her to the bone. When they head back, Rumi shows a little more of herself and her home.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu sprints along the edge of the cliff, wreathed in cyan light and flickers of not-quite-shadow. Blackwhip stretches, distending the air— It never has any slack, because it’s all intent, but it curls like vines on old brick, choking the air.
The barely-kept volatile shadow flays into thin wisps as soon as Rumi kicks her once. Kyu tumbles, and her Knightriders chew into the grass and dirt to slow her down and keep her on her feet. She lunges out an arm, grabbing for a boulder from the stream. Again, Rumi is there before it’s halfway up, and Kyu gets kicked into a tree with a resounding thunk.
As the sky turns to autumn-dulled golden hour, they finally stop. Blackwhip leaves Kyu with aches and raw skin all along her arms. She can feel muscles that aren’t usually there— she even feels an unfamiliar soreness when she bends her wrists forward, almost like wrist hyperextension.
She’s not all that surprised. She always thinks she has a grip on the tendrils and her hands on the controls. But just when she thinks she has it, it twists and writhes and suddenly, like a snake in her grip, it’s free.
It’s not like fighting to control OFA. It’s not an enhancement Quirk, or a unique way to apply super-strength. It’s not like chasing Rumi or sparring Mina. Blackwhip is a wild thing to which she has no comparison and no mentor. All she has is frustration wrapping tightly around her skull. She knows she must be missing something, but because she just doesn’t know, all she can do is set her jaw and try again.
“Kit?”
Kyu looks up at Rumi. Her face must still be in that intense, steely look, because Rumi smiles softly and raises her hands. Kyu looks back down at her lap. Cyan sparks dart around the spaces between her fingers, and tendrils of not-quite-shadow squeeze in the crevices of her palm. She yelps in surprise, and it all dissipates as she loses focus.
“I said we’re done. Try not to overwork yourself.” Rumi offers a hand to help her up. “Playing it over and over in your head might not work for this. Try to step back. We’ll do it again tomorrow.”
Kyu smiles back at Rumi. It’s weak, and wavers as she stands on sore, shaky legs. But Rumi lets out an endeared huff and claps her on the back.
“So. Your pick of food, where’re we going?” Rumi rubs her hands together.
“I’m on a diet, you know,” Kyu huffs, “I’m surprised you eat like you do.”
Rumi just rolls her eyes. “Do I look like I need a personal trainer? And you? You don’t either. You were kinda a twunk who didn’t know how to use your mass in the Sports Festival—”
“I don’t think you can call me that.”
“— But, now, probably ‘cause of that light show trick, you’ve got a lot more mass. More importantly, how spent do you feel?” With a shrug, Rumi adds, “no idea what Blackwhip uses as fuel. No guarantee of an old diet plan working with new applications of Superpower, or HRT, or—”
“O-okay fine! I get it…” Kyu sighs, right before her stomach grumbles. Before Rumi can say anything, she snaps out a “shush.”
“Such a party pooper,” Rumi chuckles.
“I think you probably bruised… all of my ribs.”
“Ooh, ribs.”
Kyu’s stomach, the traitor, grumbles again. Rumi snorts. Despite being tired and sore, Kyu finds the laughter infectious. “Ow, my— my whole torso—” she hisses out between laughs, “—Fine, how about KBBQ?”
Rumi’s eyes light up. “Ooh! I know a place. C’mon, we’ve gotta get back to Osaka.”
Kyu’s face drops. “Wait… How far are we from Osaka?”
Rumi scoffs. “I didn’t measure the distance, kit. Let’s go!”
Kyu gets back to Rumi’s apartment fully exhausted. Despite all the wind she faces running at top speeds, by the time she’s stumbling through the foyer, there’s sweat caked across her forehead and slick curls clinging to her face. Rumi is already inside, at least a couple minutes ahead of Kyu. The shower’s already running, and Kyu doesn’t want to get her sweat all over the furniture, so she just sets herself down in a heap on the floor. After sucking in a few breaths, she tugs her gloves off with her teeth and peels off her hoodie. When she feels her phone buzz against her thigh, she winces before shifting to grab it.
There’s no more typing-bubbles from Himiko after that last text, so Kyu stares at the screen for a little longer before she moves on to check out her other notifications. She usually has a few texts— a groupchat she hasn’t remembered to mute, or Mina texting about homework before it gets bad enough to ask Yaomomo. There’s one from her mom, which she just decides not to open. She hasn’t been giving daily updates, and she’s not going to start now. There’s a few from Mei, which Kyu decides will be a problem for Not Exhausted Kyu, and then a couple from Hagakure.
There’s a clunk in the pipes as the shower stops running, and Kyu begrudgingly pushes herself to her feet. Her muscles struggle to get running again after settling down on the floor, but the weakness stretching down to her bones is familiar and comforting. Maybe it was the ten months of intensive training that gave her a six-pack in middle school, but she’s a bit of a gym rat. Combine that with Rumi, and she’s probably going to be as much of an adrenaline junkie too.
That’s probably fine. I mean, I’m sorta following up All Might, but he smiled while punching people. It’s basically the same thing. Kyu huffs a light laugh as she thinks about All Might grinning like a madman. It’s definitely not fitting with his big personality, or the kindly man behind it. With a soft smile still on her face, she looks down at her phone one last time.
“Yo, kit!” Rumi marches into the kitchen with her hair up in a towel, with a bathrobe and bunny slippers. “Shower’s free. I wanna leave in around thirty minutes, that work?”
Kyu nods. “I can get cleaned up in five minutes.”
Rumi narrows her eyes. “You’ve got a lot of hair to take care of.”
“I… usually put it in a bun?” Kyu tries, but she already hears how that sounds. It’s not like anyone sat her down and told her about hair product, or whatever. All she knows is that curly hair can be harder to take care of, which is nothing if not promising.
Rumi grumbles. “At this point, I’m gonna have to take you through every department store in town.” She looks back at Kyu, and her face sets into that thinking-face that Kyu knows is mildly dangerous. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. We’re gonna go around to a few places. For now, just go use your two-in-one or whatever.”
Kyu stares blankly, but nods. “…I didn’t expect you to care so much about hair…”
“I have thigh-length fine hair that I don’t let get tangled, you bet your ass I care about hair.” In her begrudgingly-emotional way, she adds, “and you’ve gotta learn it from someone. What am I here for if not teaching you stuff your school can’t, right?”
Thirty minutes later, they’re out in the streets of Osaka. Rumi is dressed in camo joggers and a tank top. Her ears are out, but she’s wearing sunglasses and has her hair pulled into a ponytail. Kyu walks beside her. She’s wearing a bit of a compromise between Natotomi’s vision and what she likes— her black jeans are splattered with orange-ish bleach stains. On Natotomi’s advice, they’re a little high waisted, and her flannel is tucked loosely into them, so her frame looks a little less boxy. The scars and muscles of her forearms are in plain view past her rolled-up sleeves, but she doesn’t really mind that. Her arms are signs of strength, and her gnarled skin is a mural painted across those pillars.
She notices, then, that her body feels a little more like art than just her body. It’s a strange sort of thing to notice— she wonders what look would be on her face in the mirror, and whether she’d manage to see her whole body as more than just a thing that she’s attached to.
“So…” Rumi starts, “what do you think?”
Kyu takes a closer look at the streets now that they’re deep in the city. It’s unfamiliar, but alive, and the things she noticed at the train station start to paint a more energetic picture. Kids in school uniforms mingle around, people fill the streets around tiny booths and small restaurants. Each generation of restoration and updating fills over the last, but it creates a mosaic. She can spot the graffiti around the place, mostly throwups and tags. Starters who just want to have a name of their choice be heard.
“It’s beautiful,” Kyu decides.
“Well, I don’t know about that. But I went to school ‘round here, I know everything that’s good.” She points across the crowd, to a building Kyu notices is seeing a little more attention than the others. “Fat Gum’s restaurant is pretty good, we’re getting that sometime this week. Oh, and do you see that stand next to it? Yeah, that’s been there for ages— I have to give tips when his back is turned, Murakami doesn’t let me pay.” They walk along for another couple minutes like that. Kyu is happy to let the city wash over her and listen to Rumi, since she’d probably get overwhelmed if she kept trying to take every last bit in.
“…And here’s the spot.”
Kyu takes a good look at it. It’s not like the place is in disrepair, but it’s clearly lived-in. The sign is faded, the lighting is just that little bit dim, and the walls are covered in decor that Kyu doesn’t really get. All in all, it has the look of a place most people's eyes would usually drift over. She feels a little closer to Rumi, taking in the history and life soaking through the building.
“Y’know, for a Top Ten hero, you have much less expensive taste than I expected.”
Rumi grins and elbows Kyu. “D’aww, you think I’ll be in the Top Ten?”
“Approval is shifting towards younger heroes anyways, combine people like Hawks or Kamui Woods’ popularity with All Might becoming a teacher and discussing the next generation, it’s pretty much a given that your popularity rating will spike. The exact way the HPSC measures the rankings is hidden… And probably pretty stupid, too, but your takedown rate is great even if you don’t work on a lot of longer-term cases—”
Rumi ruffles her hair, gently urging her out of rambling. She only realizes how out of breath she is after a beat. “Sounds about right. They’ve certainly got eyes on Nightlight.”
“W-well, I wouldn’t— That’s— Y-yes, they do, but there’s only so much they can say about a minor who’s not an official Pro yet…”
“You’ll get there, and then you’ll suffer the media circus like the rest of us,” Mirko sighs wistfully. “Now, let’s go find a table before I get so hungry I start kicking things.”
Notes:
(chestburster entrance) IM ALIVE I JUST GOT A LITTLE DISTRACTED
As always, thanks to my beta ToolAssistedRat for checking over this chapter! She also wrote a great work inspired by Switcheroo (it’s very cool to feel like I’m in media res in my own fic.) Check it out!
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Somehow, despite being Wildstyle 4, it feels like this is the real start of the work studies. I hope you all enjoy it!
Is it fair that canon mido harnessed Blackwhip almost immediately? I don’t know, I guess? But given that it starts so wild, and Switcheroo mido is… dealing with a little more angst and anger…kyu, exhausted, continuing to struggle with blackwhip and, relatedly, teenage angst: id BEAT SHIGARAKI UP
shigaraki: (sneezes for the fifth time today) himiko your girlfriend's talking shit again
Chapter 49: Wildstyle V
Summary:
Kyu and Rumi’s adventures in local eats, brand twitter, and The Shopping Episode.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Rumi’s right— The food at the restaurant is pretty good. The homeliness helps, but Kyu can’t really tell where that comes from. It might be in the food, or the staff, or it might be in the way she feels free to laugh with Rumi. Her laughs a little bit of an odd sound, and it’s annoyingly difficult to try to adjust. But watching Rumi manage to drop a carrot perfectly through the grate and onto the heating element? She can’t quite help it.
“Shut it,” Rumi huffs. She aggressively digs her chopsticks into the beef tongue and lays it on the shimmering hotplate between them. Kyu can’t help the taste she’s developed for pork and lean meat, leaving Rumi to gobble up most of the red meat.
Kyu shuffles in her seat, leaning forward to grab up some more, and winces at the soreness throughout her back. “Ugh. Do you have tomorrow planned? So I can at least be ready for the anguish?”
“Well, if you keep up, I got a plan, yeah.” She flips the beef tongue, and drapes its other side back across the heat. “Your priority right now is learning to use Blackwhip. I think you could use it in a city setting without property damage, now.” She pauses, tilting her head this way and that as if considering and conceding a little. “Well, outside of a combat situation, anyway. But handling you with kid gloves at this point would be stupid, considering how quickly you grew from bone-breaking to your use of Superpower now.”
Kyu nods. “Th-thank you. I— I feel like there’s so much more to learn, too. It’s not a simple strength enhancer, you’ve seen me use it in my eyes, and I’ve used it for my voice, even! There’s a lot of potential applications, even if most are redundant—”
Kyu pauses as her phone buzzes across the table. She only has notifications on for a slim few people. She shakes her head, ignoring it.
“Like, I have Night Howl, which is basically just super-shouting. But even All Might, who's mostly known for punching stuff, also has Mighty Sense. I guess he also uses his breath as well? He’s blown out fires like birthday candles before. O-or, like, the way he moves in midair or underwater, he uses a lot of the muscles along his back and spine! Th-the only limitation is really that I want to know everything that I’m doing. L-like, that Bruce Lee quote about practicing ten thousand kicks once, or one kick ten thousand times. But still, I wonder, could I—”
Her phone buzzes a few more times in sequence, until it almost clatters off the table. Rumi has to reach across the table to grab it while Kyu is distracted with her mutterstorm. “…That’s a lot to work with,” Rumi says slowly, clearly giving it thought. “If it can enhance your hearing, there’s a lot more I can teach you, but that’s further down the road. We’ll get your volatility sorted out before your senses adjust too much.” The phone buzzes in her hand again. “Jeez. Someone’s popular.” With a grin, she adds, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, with the lipstick—”
“She has a custom notification sound!” Kyu says defensively, before blushing bright red as she realizes what she’s said. “B-but I, uh, only have notifications on f-for a few people, s-so, uh…” Kyu promptly looks away from Rumi and at her phone.
The series of texts is mostly bloat she’d think was spam if not for who it’s from— Natotomi. There’s a lot of words, a series of characters that she realizes is a password, and something about @RealNightlight. She groans.
“…What’s up?” Rumi asks around a mouthful of beef tongue as the silence becomes awkward.
“Natotomi is—” She reconsiders, realizing Rumi doesn’t know the first thing about her. “A third-year in the Management Course sorta swooped in and became my agent? I-it’s a little weird. B-but she’s half the reason for my wardrobe overhaul.”
“Thank god.”
“Rude, but I can’t disagree. A-anyways, it seems like she wants me to have a social media presence. That does make sense, since it’s hard for there to be staying power or lasting attention on a minor who can’t readily do interviews or be filmed and questioned on patr—”
“You’re muttering again,” Rumi says gently.
“R-right. Anyway, I don’t really think I’d use it…”
Rumi shrugs. “Almost all of my posts are PR nothing-burgers. It’s kinda whatever, but it’s five minutes out of your day for that side of heroics, is all.” She looks as unenthused as Kyu feels about the situation, but at least she just makes it sound boring, instead of complicated or stupid.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll just post when necessary. I don’t really care—” Her phone buzzes in her hand.
That, Kyu can understand. She’s enough of a hero fan to know that a hero’s Twitter account tends to be cluttered with replies and unnecessary quote tweets. And she doesn’t love the idea of dealing with public response to her either. They’re probably over her and Himiko, and are now just sticking to being obnoxious about her transness.
“So?” Rumi asks.
“She’ll manage it, just wanted to let me know and ask for pics. I don’t really mind, as long as I’m not running it, but she says stuff of both of us would be good for popularity?”
Rumi snorts. “Kit, half of what the media asks me is about you. It’s better material than wondering about my relationships or ‘Mirko kicked ass a fifth time this week’.” She stands, stepping around the table to sit on the same side of the booth as Kyu. “C’mon, let’s take some selfies, yeah?”
Kyu sends the pictures over to Natotomi as they leave the restaurant. She gets a few texts back full of publicity buzzwords and something about metadata— It doesn’t seem important, so Kyu mostly focuses on following Rumi back to the apartment.
She finds that the mess is sort of homely, now. The smell of takeout and Rumi’s hair oil has just barely seeped into everything, and it’s easy for Kyu to relax. Rumi sets out a futon in the living room and then goes down the hall to get changed. By the time Kyu tugs off her jeans, pulls on pyjamas, and sprawls out on the futon, she’s already half-asleep.
“Hey, kid.”
Kyu startles. She tries to sit up, but she feels that she’s already standing— somewhere in familiar dark fog, again. One For All.
She recognizes the man in front of her. He’s the one who carried Blackwhip, a gift she now holds.
“It’s much more powerful for you,” he says. Then, he scratches at his stubble, clearly struggling to pick words.
“Whether that’s anger or OFA — probably both, heh— You’re dealing with a different beast.”
Kyu’s brow furrows as she considers that. Blackwhip seems so volatile. Did its original holder not struggle so much to control it, or was it just smaller? Simpler?
The man sniffs, considering her, and holds out a hand. A tendril of not-shadow curls through the air. Her eyes go wide.
“Yeah, you can’t quite— I can direct it like this. You’ve gotta give it some real intent. Something to act on.
“But Blackwhip isn’t a thing that you devote your whole brain too, sprout!” He jabs a finger into Kyu’s chest, lower jaw jutting out in a very gruff-masc way. “You gotta let it guide you, too! Stop guiding every inch of it! Guide the idea!”
Kyu considers this with a confused expression, and tries to open her mouth to ask a question. Yet again, she doesn’t have a mouth. Weird.
“You don’t throw a ball factoring the rotation of the earth. You got that application of power with OFA, and Blackwhip ain’t any harder! For me, it’s easier, but for you, it just wants to grab shit. Let it! You can look away from a pot without it boiling over, dumbass!”
Kyu wakes up with a very dry mouth, and the word ‘dumbass’ reverberating in her head like a memory, or a ghost. A dumbass haunting.
…Well.
She shuffles herself out of the futon, tugging her sprawling hair back into the general shape it should be. She’s used to muscle aches, but the ones she feels as she moves are a bit less familiar and a lot less easy to handle. Still, she stretches for a while, puts on joggers and a hoodie, and leaves a note on the fridge before going for a jog.
Her legs ache at first, but it’s better after stretching, and once her blood starts moving and the stiffness leaves, she feels much better. The morning sun starts to hit the upper floors of buildings as it peeks over the horizon, and the chill of early morning starts to fade before she even turns around.
Now that she’s alone and unhurried, she can take a bit of a closer look at the less sightly alleys, where spray paint scrawls up and down the brick. Without the crowds, she can spot more along the walls, even little things like flyers for a missing cat (she frowns) and flyers for a local drag event that seems just punkish and unusual enough to suit her tastes. She smiles, and sends a picture of it to Himiko.
When Kyu gets back to the apartment, her note is right where she left it. At the least, she does hear shuffling in Rumi’s bedroom when she closes the door and toes her sneakers off. With hunger settling in her stomach, she decides to try to cook before Rumi drags her off to eat out again— KBBQ isn’t that bad, but she’ll die before she eats pancakes to start off a day of Rumi’s training.
She tugs the fridge open to find more vegetables than she’d expect. There’s some meat, but a lot of green, particularly a lot of kale and carrots. Smoothies seem like they could be Rumi’s style. Still, she also finds a half-full carton of eggs and some miso paste, so she gets started on her typical breakfast, making a little mental note to get more eggs.
Rumi stumbles in right when she’s starting to crack eggs into the pan. It takes a moment, but her blank-faced confusion settles into a furrowed brow. “I di’n’t ask you to cook,” she rasps, voice still husky with sleep.
“I figured I’d get ahead of you before we ended up eating pancakes. ‘Sides, I already went on my run.”
Rumi stares at Kyu, for a moment. Then, she shuffles past her to get to the coffee maker. “…I like pancakes,” she grumbles, “but I also like not having to cook first thing in the morning.” She sets the pot in the sink, letting the faucet run into it, and turns back to ruffle Kyu’s hair.
“H-hey! Stop— don’t mess with it!”
Rumi snickers, peeling away. “Why? You don’t take care of it, remember?”
Kyu rolls her eyes, but smiles fondly. “Yeah, yeah. So, today—”
“We’re not training.” Rumi faces the coffee maker and Kyu faces the stove, but Kyu can feel the teasing grin on her face. “We’ll do some basic stuff later in the day, but you’ve improved your movement technique and at least gotten familiar with the whips. That’s a lot for one day.”
Kyu pouts, but preens a little at the praise anyway. It’s hard to feel worried about falling behind with a top hero’s advice. She lowers the heat under her eggs and stirs her little saucepan of miso soup. The kitchen is quiet, filled with the sounds and smells of breakfast, and the early morning sunlight. It doesn’t last long, but Kyu takes a deep breath. The girls would probably want me to take it slow like this, right? That serene moment even lasts as her phone starts to buzz.
Kyu can’t help but chuckle a little at the text.
“Who’s Yagi?” Rumi says, peeking around her shoulder before loudly sipping her coffee. Kyu jumps a little, quickly putting her phone aside and turning her attention back to the stove.
“H-he’s, um, one of my— He’s my mentor.” She pauses as she starts to slide her eggs from pan to plate, and can feel Rumi’s eyes on her waiting for her to elaborate. “He helped me get ready for UA— that’s pretty much the reason I could use my Quirk at all, but obviously it was still in rough shape until recently…”
Rumi pats her back just hard enough to make her stagger. “I get it. Although right now, I’m your mentor.”
Kyu scoffs. “You’re taking me out today for hair care.”
“Fuck yeah I am! Maybe we should go right now, get some hashbrowns on the way—”
“Thank you for being such a wonderful mentor, Ms. Rumi.”
“Attagirl.”
The last time Kyu was in a crowded shopping center, she was held hostage and interrogated by the most wanted man in Japan. The successor to the Demon of Kamino Ward, soon to bring biblical plagues when he rears his head again.
“You want to destroy, right? Because too many people are complacent? Then say it, somehow. I’m the only one of these ‘livestock’ who knows.”
Not that Kyu can mention that her anxiety in the mall comes from a chance encounter with Shigaraki. She never reported it, after all. Something about everything happening then made her hide the forming bruises under her unkempt curls, made her keep quiet.
She stares up at the centerpoint of the mall. She can see the skylights and colorful ceiling far above, and the second floor above that. It all connects to a central spire covered in a mural full of heroes and happy faces, and at the bottom a carousel twists around it.
Kyu’s shoulder knocks against a passing body. She barely manages to turn over her shoulder and sputter an apology before Rumi yanks her out of the way of a group of passing highschool girls.
“You alright, kit?” Rumi asks. Kyu looks at her blankly, brain lagging behind in a maze of confusion. “Don’t like crowds, huh? Look, we’re almost there, ‘kay?” Kyu follows Rumi easily, like a baby duckling. “Do you want to get it cut?”
“Hm?”
“Your hair, kit,” Rumi says, affection and concern bleeding together in her voice. “Do you want a haircut?”
Kyu blinks, and gives it some thought. After a moment, she shakes her head. “N-no, I— I have a friend who cut it last time.” Magne was more delicate than any stylist she’s been to before. And despite being on opposite sides of the law, they have more in common than they do apart. Thinking back on it, Kyu finds that she wants to spend more time getting to know her.
“Then we’ll just talk to the stylists,” Rumi shrugs, “I don’t really know ‘em well, but my friend likes this place.”
Rumi’s friend must be an extrovert, because the stylists are very talkative. They fawn over Kyu’s hair, running it through their fingers and loudly bickering about different products for it. Then their voices ring out from the back room, something about a brother’s sister-in-law’s husband’s drama. Kyu barely has time to glare at Rumi’s shit-eating grin before they’re back again, running fingers and washing and drying.
Kyu leaves the salon with a bag full of products. Special shampoo and conditioner, and then a hair mask (she still doesn’t really understand what makes it different than conditioner) and hair oil (that she does really like. It smells like strawberries and vanilla and a touch of copper that’s just enough to make her think of Himiko).
Rumi stares out at the crowded mall next to Kyu, surveying the stores before they move again.
“Wanna get your ears pierced?”
Kyu thinks about it for a moment. “Well, I— Maybe, but don’t I need parent permission…?”
Rumi’s lip curls up as she huffs out a small laugh. “I mean, if you want to get it done by a piercer, sure. But I’ve got steady hands, and can absolutely buy a piercing kit. That is, if you’re fine skipping around the ‘parent permission’ part.”
Maybe Inko would be fine with it. But probably not— and Kyu doesn’t care all that much what she’s fine with these days. A piercing isn’t that big of a deal anyway, really. She finds herself grinning like an idiot.
“Let’s get that kit.”
They take two steps into the crowd before all hell breaks loose.
Notes:
thanks again to ToolAssisstedRat for beta reading this chapter. it's not 3k, but it's not cripplingly short either.
I think this is the last Wildstyle chapter? From here, we’re certainly in more interesting territory, at the least.
Place your bets! A villain attack never seen in canon… Could it be the Shie Hassaikai? The League? Something unrelated? Or something more sinister…? (will kyu make out with her gf in an active combat zone again?) (find out next time on dragon ball zee!)
Chapter 50: Topping
Summary:
LAST TIME: Kyu found herself enjoying Rumi's company outside of the whole 'training like she's going to die tomorrow' situation, and Rumi aggressively helped(?) her with social media and hair care.
NOW! When things in the mall go sideways, Kyu and Rumi are off like darts to handle the situation. Even if it gets out of hand, Nightlight will shine like a beacon. And when there's a mildly concussed lesbian...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
If Kyu had been paying attention when it all started, she probably could’ve pinpointed where the attack started. As things stand, she can only hear display windows shatter, feel the impact in the tiles underfoot, and hear the screams. They’re not the loudest sound, but they fill the air in every pitch. Varying degrees of fear and pain roaring like a choir from hell.
Suddenly, the crowd goes from ‘anxiety inducing’ to ‘death trap.’ Kyu stumbles backwards, towards the salon. Her chunky red hightops hit against each other and send her falling.
Rumi barely catches Kyu by the sleeve of her jacket, tugging her back on her feet. Then Rumi’s hand is holding her face firm, forcing her to make eye contact. Kyu sees the intensity in Rumi’s eyes, and the way her ears twitch and strain to listen.
“Alright kit, you’ve got that license for a reason. Sounds like— it’s three villains, I think. Stick behind me, try to ensure civilians are safe before fighting.”
The ground rumbles again. It’s reminiscent of Shindou’s Vibrate, but has the feel of an impact. Some sort of seismic Quirk, or reverberation somehow…? Kyu doesn’t have much time to study it since Rumi is already leaping through the air, and Kyu fills her body with OFA and takes off right behind her. Right behind the power of the Quirk, a wave of adrenaline fills Kyu.
Rumi touches down on the second floor railing, then makes a massive bound towards the other end of the mall’s central plaza. Kyu’s shoes kick off a standing screen, then she grabs a store sign and yanks herself past it in a fluid motion, and then stretches out towards the second floor with Blackwhip. She yanks herself forward, and stumbles over the railing. She runs a few paces along the balcony as Rumi reaches the scene, and then calls on OFA to scan the mall with Searchlight.
It’s a weekend, and there are a lot of civilians wandering. There’s probably one-hundred people on the carousel and the tables surrounding it. Past the central court, the crowds are thinner since the people are tucked away in the stores. It’s only because of her enhanced senses that she notices the figure lurking near the edge of the crowd, at the store Rumi’s approaching. Himiko’s stealth technique is incredible, but just familiar enough.
When the figure looks her way and her head cocks like a curious puppy, Kyu’s certain. There’s no coy smile like she expects— Instead, Himiko looks away first, turning to sneak up on the store. Kyu would expect the League to be behind such a public attack, but going in quietly while it’s being robbed? Kyu’s brow furrows in thought. Maybe the League is swooping in on other villains? It might save them work…?
The ground shakes again, breaking Kyu’s concentration. She blinks dark spots and stinging pain out of her eyes, and it only takes that for her to be disoriented and off balance. She falls onto the railing in front of her. The whole second level shudders from the shake, concrete groaning and tile rattling. The cacophony of the crowd only grows— Footfalls thunder, bodies press against her, the ground isn’t stable under her feet, and she can barely see. Her teeth clench until she thinks they might break. Overwhelmed, she just forces power into her voice and hopes. “Exit orderly! Don’t trample! Heroes’re here!”
Just those few words tear her throat apart, surging out at something like thirty-percent. Her mouth tastes bloody and raw, and she gags on the sudden swelling and pain in her throat. After a moment, she’s able to stand, wipe the blood from her chin into a messy smear, and look around.
Between her Night Howl and the villains’ quakes, the chaos is about the same, but the people around her have gotten further away at least. The carousel is making a grinding sound as parents snatch their kids off of colorful horses. In fact, the whole central pillar is making low grind-groan sounds that rumble like a baseline under the sounds of panic.
A body flies out of a storefront near the central plaza, and Rumi chases it out, punting it into the pillar. The pillar gives, watermelon-sized chunks clattering out of an indent a few feet deep. The villain in it has huge hands, wild hair, and a toothy smirk with a few teeth knocked out. As Rumi bounds up to him, he slams his hands against the pillar, and the whole thing shakes.
Kyu is off like a dart, and pushes the villain and Rumi away with a tide of Blackwhip cast out of one arm. It’s messy, but she doesn’t have time to give the tendrils focus before she reaches the pillar. If Rumi had kicked him further in, the whole thing might’ve shattered— As it is, the gap is widened and crumbles away under her feet. Kyu has to scramble deeper into it to find footing. Rubble rains on her shoulders in spots she knows will bruise— One fist-sized chunk hits her head, making her feet knock against each other as her weight wobbles around like a stack of plates. She can’t push the dizziness away, but she staggers through it.
“Just gotta hold up a whole mall, Kyu,” she mumbles, panic making her voice buzz and crackle with a sliver of OFA. It makes her whole throat throb, it makes every gulp of air sting, but it’s enough to center her a little. “Time to be a hero, Nightlight.”
But then she plants her feet, squares her shoulders, and looks up— The pillar is going to fall, it’s already tilting, she’s at least fifteen feet into the thing, and remember that time All Might held up the Tokyo Sky Egg? She lets One For All fill her body, feels the dark, musty space fill with cyan and ozone, keeps her eyes on the target and it’s growing and it’s right there brace—!
“Go get ‘em, Nightlight.”
With a panic-fraught, toothy grin splitting her face, she feels the weight settle onto her shoulders, knees wide to take it on. She tries to ignore how suicidal this just might be— Which it won’t be, if it works.
The weight starts to shift from pillar to Kyu.
It’s bearable for a moment. Particularly with OFA, adrenaline and power come easy, and her body is definitely used to sudden pressure.
But then, it starts to settle onto her. What she’s doing right now is sort of like a barbell squat, and it quickly feels like one. Her muscles shudder, her knees and back want to snap like twigs, and she approaches failure. Approaches the entire pillar tipping and this mall being another Incident.
OFA burns under her skin— much more than she knows she can handle. It makes her body ache and strain and bleed, in a slightly less painful way than before, but one that still makes it impossible to breathe. That’s not unfamiliar. Pushing OFA means having to focus entirely on just letting the strength fill her, and straining to breathe or holding her breath entirely, and—
And she can’t move, but she doesn’t need to. She just needs to be strong. Her hands hurt like hell, all the weight distributed across her splayed fingers down into her gnarled palms and wrists. But it works. The crackle of OFA burns more, a vibrant cyan of pure light and lightning singing the hairs on her body and making her bunt skin shine . Her body feels hot, feels like every strand of muscle is blazing on the verge of snapping. Like it’s all full of fire, like—
A torch passed from—
A fire with the Quirk at its very core—
“KIT!” It’s Rumi’s voice, she thinks. She can barely hear it, muffled by meters of concrete and— and black spots in her vision. Oh.
“RUMI!” She yells back, clipped and warped. It’s a chunk out of the very limited air she has, and the pillar shifts just from the movement in her lungs. She tastes blood from using OFA on her voice. Another wave of throbbing pain and swelling and viscera in her throat— Her whole body shudders as she gags and her mouth fills with hot saliva and too-thick, tacky, iron tasting liquid, and—
“Shit, I— Everyone’s evacuating. You holding up…?” The question is so tense, rhetorical. Kyu can see something blurry moving at the edge of the pillar, but it’s barely visible around the dark and the cyan. Kyu struggles to think at all, and more than once a response dies as she grits her teeth against the weight.
“Minute—” The power brimming in her fingertips make her nails crack like glass. “Stabilize—!” The soles of her shoes melt into the concrete beneath her from the heat and pressure. “Can hold— f-for now!” The last of the air out of her lungs, and she has to fight to draw in another one, heady with ozone.
Rumi’s voice sounds further— Maybe facing away? “Kid needs support, any strength or rescue types?!” And then there’s a clink of rubble shifting as she hops away with a curse.
After another few seconds of straining alone, it starts to feel strange. It’s delirious, and isolating, and there’s no dip in adrenaline. She lets her anger seep out through her skin, but Blackwhip barely helps— It’s too wild to push consistently, only coiling around chunks of concrete and spreading the weight across the coils a foot or so from her body.
She bites her lip, and her teeth tear into it like paper. Hundreds of people, still fleeing the carousel, still running. The women at the salon, the kids on All Might-colored unicorns, and Himiko with that cocked head and wide, golden eyes, and—
Nightlight lets blood ooze her teeth and holds fast.
The whole mall is shaking— Something definitely didn’t go to plan, and a hero rearing their head in the mall and things escalating sounds about right. The villains that didn’t get nabbed are slipping away. Particularly, Toga is tumbling into their getaway vehicle wearing the guise of one of the goons. The cold metal of the back of the van rocks and its corners bump against her, but she crawls the rest of the way in and settles onto a bench. Not that she’ll be there for long.
The van is actually pretty nice, a sleek black thing, and it’s also the only ticket to getting the haul out of the city.
“Unnecessarily complicated,” Kaina murmurs to herself, settling her posture and lining up perfectly. “You all think this is easy just because I’m a prodigy and my Quirk helps me be steady and smart.” It doesn’t help that the mall is shaking, either. But any plan that can’t survive being flipped on its head is a bad one, and any sniper who can’t shoot their way out of a bind is a bad one, and—
Again, Lady Nagant.
Kaina tenses at the thought of her handler. “My name is Tsutsumi Kaina,” she growls. She lets out a long breath, keeping that sleek van in her scope. Traffickers getting this bold after All Might went down? They’re just plain stupid, and this was going to happen sooner or later. Better the League get enough to pay for food and medical supplies.
Kaina plants a bullet in the driver’s temple. She tugs at the tangles of her hair and weaves the putty into another bullet in one fluid motion, but she doesn’t even fire a second bullet before Himiko’s comms crackle to life.
“Clear,” she says, in her own voice. “I can drive—”
“No,” Kaina chides, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll be there in a moment— How you’re a stealth operative with no sense of patience is beyond me.”
Himiko huffs, and Kaina can practically hear her slouching deep in the passenger’s seat and putting her legs up on the dash. “I’m… On edge. It— It was Mirko and Kyu, in the mall.”
“I just fired a bullet right above Mirko the super hearing hero and you tell me now?” Kaina glances over her shoulder, wide-eyed, and then throws herself over the lip of the roof. For a moment, she’s hanging in the gap between buildings, but then she hits one of the middle floors of a parking garage. The impact jolts through her body, but she rolls with the landing, and pushes herself up with little more than a dull ache. “Shit. Toga, I—”
“I don’t like it either. Just— Hurry, I don’t want to see them, please.”
“I’ll be right there, okay?” She runs towards the stairwell, uninterested in trying a three-story jump.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” a familiar, cocky woman’s voice chides. Kaina smooths the fear out of her face and turns to look at Mirko— She’s in civilian clothes right now, but that mostly just means a tank top and pants that are ripped up from the strength of her own kicks. “Don’t think there’s a teenager to save you this time, either.”
Kaina looks her up and down a bit more carefully— No slash-resistant synthfabric, no padding or armor from that belt that protects her torso in her typical costume. Mostly just lithe muscle, thickened into powerful limbs built for fighting. In the sunlight, Kaina can see some of her scars too— She doesn’t have little marks from stray knives, she has ridged skin where she took powerful blows. Kaina could add to that number easily— Be another near-death taken in the gut.
She doesn’t extend her gun, even if Mirko is two bounds away. Even though she could.
“Shouldn’t you be helping evacuate?” Kaina asks. “I mean, it’s been a while since I was a hero, and they never had me doing rescue.”
Mirko laughs, a harsh, barked-out thing. “Your records sure make it sound like you were a lot better at takedowns. Or outright killing.”
“That’s what I was made to do,” Kaina hisses back, “I wouldn’t have done it if I had the choice. But we can’t all be lucky.” The heat fades from her voice, settling into dark, painful coals deep inside her. “Guess I should’ve just shot the damn President first chance I got.”
Mirko hasn’t lunged yet— She just glares, watching Kaina carefully. Kaina only realizes why after another moment of the standoff, when the mall quakes again and more civilians scream as they scramble outside. Mirko is leaving the situation because more heroes are coming.
“For the record, I might’ve gotten help from a teenager, but you got bitten by one.”
Kaina whips out her elbow, and Mirko lunges. It’s smart of her to close the distance, but Kaina is used to playing a bit smarter, to compensate for the weaknesses that come with her Quirk. It’s only after Mirko is on a collision course that Kaina lets Rifle extend out of her arm with all the pressure and force she can. It hits Mirko square in the sternum, knocking in the wind out of her sails. Knowing Mirko, that’ll barely buy her a second.
Mirko springs off the ground, colliding with the concrete ceiling above them in a blink, and launching right back down like the world’s most angry pinball. Kaina feels the kick hit her hard, the top of Mirko’s foot crashing into the front of her left shoulder. She lets herself tumble with the blow, since trying to withstand it would probably be worse, but her meeting the concrete earns her spots of road-rash and soon-to-be bruises.
Kaina doesn’t stop tumbling before she pushes herself away from the ground with her rifle. Her back meets a support pillar, and her head follows suit with a thwack, but she pushes herself off that a moment before Mirko kicks it. Dodging sends her off balance, and dazed from the blow to the head, she trips. Mirko is on top of her in a heartbeat, shoving Kaina into the ground by her rifle arm. Kaina fights, arms writhing against Mirko’s.
To her satisfaction, she’s gotten a lot stronger now that she’s moving and eating like she should, but Kaina is still far from strong enough to fight gravity and Mirko. Their limbs tangle, but then Mirko shoves her down in a tight grip, bruising her right wrist, and the other shoved into her hair and using it as leverage to keep her pressed into the ground. It’d be easy to concuss her a little more, knock her out with the right force… But Mirko doesn’t, for a moment.
“You could’ve shot me,” she growls, “you didn’t seriously think you could hold back and deal with me, so why?”
Kaina laughs, each sharp breath accompanied by a throb of pain in the back of her head and the spot Mirko kicked. She thinks of the nice belt with the thrifted buckle and the elegant dress that fits her just right that she’s wearing, the knee-high boots that are plenty tough but have a two-inch heel. She thinks of orchids and elegant, polished gunmetal, and long, well-maintained white hair. And then she shrugs. “I like pretty things,” she says, voice still breathy and husky from laughter. “Tartarus was just so boring. After dull gray for so long, I can’t find it in myself to mess up something so pretty.”
Mirko stares down at her for a moment in stunned silence. The look on her face is almost enough to make Kaina laugh again.
Kaina sighs, breaths coming a little harder under Mirko’s weight. “Y’know, not every ‘villain’ steals candy from kids and clubs seals, princess.”
Kaina feels the moment Mirko’s grip loosens, the moment her nails stop digging into Kaina’s scalp. She springs her rifle free, using it as a lever to push Mirko off her entirely. Mirko staggers up, but Kaina thrusts the barrel of the gun across her jaw, and it seems to actually put her down— Kaina takes that as ‘ten seconds tops’ and decides the three-story jump is, in fact, worth it.
She hits the ground hard, and the throbbing pains and definite concussion only spike in intensity as she tumbles and staggers to her feet in a much messier landing than her handler would ever approve of. “Hah, eat shit,” she huffs. She trips over the body of the once-driver on the way to the door, but catches herself on the door handle and tugs it open before hauling herself inside with a grunt.
Kaina takes a moment to push her hair out of her face, adjusts the seat, and then holds her foot over the pedal like a guillotine hanging over a monarch’s neck. “You ready?” She asks Toga, not looking away from the road. Toga doesn’t answer, so Kaina turns towards her, and finds— “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
Toga blinks, a look of confusion and awe starting to peel away from her face, turning into a red blush and teasing look. “Your comms were on, s’all,” she says, “Tsutsu and Mirko, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—”
Years of training would incline her to dismiss that— Maybe rationalize it away with the buzzing feeling of her concussion— But Kaina isn’t who she used to be. She’s insubordinate, highly-wanted, and dangerous; she is free. Kaina thinks of red eyes and tan, well-cared-for skin and silky white hair. The buzzing of her concussion only deepens. “You’re gonna need a lot more letters,” she chuffs. “Though I’d take her out first— I wanna see her dressed up.”
Toga’s fangs are toothing at her lip as she nods along, eyes wide, and Kaina just chuckles at the look on her face as she floors it. Toga squeals when her back crashes into her seat.
Notes:
Topping - To paint right above another artist's tag. Not over it, so more passive aggressive than straight-up disrespect.
This chapter forced me to dig through ancient Discord messages to find my mentions of Kaina-Rumi interactions. Because I don’t use my outline doc properly (Read: Ever). But looking back at the “who is the top” debate is very funny, with such bangers as “Bad news for the bottom kaina truthers: she calls mirko princess the next time they meet”
Kaina, freshly concussed: not so sure why mirko let up on me, maybe she understands that im not entirely wrong
(What actually happened: Kaina, strained for air, husky: (groan-sigh of dull pain) princess~)
Kaina: weird. Well, guess i cant ALWAYS be unlucky! haha!The big five-oh! Really happy to share this with all of you, and I hope you continue to enjoy despite my wildly varying pace of writing.
Thanks again to my beta, ToolAssistedRat, for both typical beta stuff and helping shape some of Kaina's character here!All in all, there's not much of a 'story' to me missing uploads recently. I still care about this story, though, and I try to work on it!!! My brain has just latched onto things like D&D and a variety of oneshot ideas (any of which may upload. eventually. who knows.) I'm hoping to update a little more regularly, soon-- hopefully the Very Fun Upcoming Chapters help!
(all that being said: NEXT TIME, Kyu's in recovery, and she's forced to (hrrk) spend time with some friends in Osaka since she can't work... :3c)
Chapter 51: Woodblock I
Summary:
With the robbers gone and the League getting away with murder (and a van full of stolen merchandise), the panic in the mall ends and starts to undergo a rescue response.
Notes:
TW: implied (minor) transphobia/inko’s bad parenting
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu’s muscles shudder, oh-so-close to failure, under the crushing weight of the pillar. It’s too much, she can’t hold it—
She forces her mind elsewhere, even to just the searing pain in her muscles. Anaerobic respiration only holds out so long, and then lactic acid fermentation supplies the muscles with energy, making them sore and shaky and desperate. Wisps of smoke and whispered voices fill in the black spots of her vision. Probably the vestiges, chewing her out or shouting encouragement. Whatever they’re shouting is… muddled by focus and deliriousness.
“NIGHTLIGHT!”
She doesn’t recognize the voice, but her heart skips a beat as she looks up, fighting the urge to dart towards it. She can’t manage a word out of her throat though, there’s no air and it’s swelled shut. She feels like she’s choking— don’t waist air gasping, don’t lose the weight gagging— But the ugly and strangled sound of her breath remains. She just grunts and heaves as best she can, hoping the voice hears.
“Alright, there’s help coming kid— I’m gonna try givin’ you a hand!”
A red glow pulses across the concrete above Kyu. It brightens as it stretches further, but starts to flicker in spots. The light brightens, then fades, and most of the weight disappears from Kyu’s shoulders.
She gasps for breath, taking in gulps air, cloudy with familiar live-wire and bleach taste. Blackwhip dissolves around her, making her body lurch as she adjusts to holding her weight on her own. The crackle of OFA falls back down to a manageable level. She has the feeling she’s going to pass out if she lets it go entirely, but five-percent takes little focus. She can still feel that there’s pressure, but she’s gone from the only thing holding the weight to helping support whatever Quirk is keeping it locked in place. Wait… Locked…?
“R-Rock Lock!” She shouts out excitedly. A wave of pain fills her throat, and then she heaves— Which hurts even more, but manages to force blood up into her mouth. It drips past her lips onto the cement.
“Y-yep, kid,” the voice calls back, choked. “My god, how did you hold all this with plain strength?”
“I’m r-really strong…?”
The man chuckles, but she can still hear the strain in his voice. “Try to get further out, kid!”
Kyu shakes her head, then remembers he can’t see that. “I have leverage further in!” Her throat protests again, and she spits blood, pushing the pain down under adrenaline.
“I don’t care,” Rock Lock bites back, frustration and strain mingling in his voice. “You are a kid with a provisional license, and I am ordering you to move out.”
Kyu is about to turn him down again, but another voice echoes into the crevice of concrete. “Kit, we’ve got it. You did good, now scram!” Despite her demeanor, her voice is tense, and Kyu feels worried enough to obey.
Kyu stumbles forward. It’s hard, after holding the structure for so long. Her shoes are stuck to the ground, and each finger is wedged into the concrete. She tugs herself free as delicately as she can, fearing the worst if she yanks something out of place and Rock Lock loses control of the situation. It takes her almost a minute just to take one step. The spot where she held everything is full of marks from Blackwhip and the pure energy of OFA, but once she crawls past that, it’s all just precarious cracks and looming weight.
Kyu gets to some point where things widen up, and there’s a rush of natural light. Before she can blink and readjust her vision, she’s grabbed up in a grapple. She panics, trying to wrestle the attacker down, but then she feels their chest heave with a familiar laugh as they easily resist. “Nope, I’m givin’ you a hug, kit.”
Kyu sags into it, sparks of OFA cut off the same moment she lets her legs give out. She can see the blood on her chin dripping down and smearing across Rumi’s costume, but the woman doesn’t seem to mind. With her head laid across Rumi’s shoulder, she can see more heroes and police arriving in the mall, and then she can’t keep her eyes open at all.
The routine of giving her statement in a small, sterile hospital room is easier than usual. It feels less lonely, this time, too. It helps that the detective isn’t someone she knows, isn’t someone that can rip the truth out of her. He’s from the Osaka department and she’s already forgotten his name, but he seems a bit starstruck, like he almost defers to her. Between his gratefulness to a new hometown hero and the speculative nature of the league's involvement, the questioning is really just more of a formality.
It’s been a few hours since the incident was resolved and Cementoss was specially flown out to the scene. Nothing broke, but she sprained a wrist and damaged almost all of her muscle, plus her flayed-apart throat. It’s hard to move or swallow, but she's stable. Kyu chews at her lip, heart beating at a resting rhythm but still tight in her chest. It’s not… Fear, and not quite like adrenaline, just budding anxiety. Waiting for Inko to show up and sign the release forms.
The time idles and passes one excruciating second at a time as an old clock in an older hospital ticks, and she has nothing to do but reflect on the one conversation she’s had since waking up. According to the report she got, which wasn’t much more than public information, there were six villains present. Two were Tsutsumi and Himiko, the one with the seismic Quirk was subdued by Kyu and Rumi, and… The other three robbers, who were part of a wanted group that moved illegal goods and trafficked people… Were killed. One with a bullet wound matching Tsutsumi’s Rifle, and two with a mess of lacerations matching a knife. Security footage showed Transform, but if it didn’t… Would she say she saw Himiko there?
It’s hard to reconcile everything she knows about Himiko and Tsutsumi with three premeditated murders. Tsutsumi was a hero made to do bad things, desensitized to them, maybe, but what of Himiko? Kyu grips the papery hospital sheets into balled-up fists. She’s known Himiko is a villain, and a suspect in a lot of crimes, but this is different. Maybe it’s that plausible deniability is gone, and she’s forced to wonder what her girlfriend is like.
Despite everything, Kyu still wants to understand her. Maybe it is all a bad idea, and Uraraka was right. But the earnest Himiko who cares about her so deeply? The girl who kissed her in the woods, and was so scared and human in front of Iida. Who kept her safe with the League. Who is, apparently, a walking contradiction: Unempathetic and dangerous, but irrefutably the same girl who cares about Kyu, and Magne, and the rest of the League. If she was heartless the whole time, Kyu would’ve died the second time they met, bled out against the visage of Endeavor.
Typing hurts as she pushes broken nails and aching fingers against the cold glass of the screen. It hurts, but she stares at her phone, holding it with shaky hands. She’s gotten a lot of texts, between well-wishes from classmates and others updating the class groupchat on their efforts to get a Work Study. But Kyu’s recent messages to Himiko make a wall of blue bubbles— Even good mornings and good nights. Read, they say.
Kyu looks through her other messages, updates the class groupchat with a selfie of her tangled-up hospital bedhead and a thumbs up, and starts reading what they’ve been doing. Uraraka and Mina are working with Nejire and Ryukyu, and say she’s really nice. Tokoyami goes with Hawks again, Kirishima goes with Amajiki and Fat Gum, and the rest are either staying at UA or working with more populated agencies like Gang Orca’s or Shishido’s.
She gets a couple replies to her update with well-wishes, and since Uraraka and Mina are in Kansai too, they offer to come by. Kyu promises she’ll take it easy, but lies that she’s going to spend time with her mom. Talking to Himiko is her first priority, and she’s not sharing that with anyone.
She swipes back over to her messages with Himiko, thinking of maybe sending the selfie. Read, her new texts say. Her breath catches, and she bites down harder on her lip. She’s too distracted to hear anything coming until knocks on the door make her jump. She shoves her phone under her body just before the door swings open.
“Oh, honey, I was so worried, are you okay?!” Inko is next to her bed in an instant. She drops a clipboard on the nightstand and snatches Kyu up in a hug without pause. Kyu tenses up in her grasp— Don’t flip your mom, she barely reminds herself. But despite the oh-so-familiar smell of Inko’s perfume and feeling of her hugs, Kyu isn’t able to relax into it. Not when she’s sitting on a phone she’s not allowed to have, and if Inko hears it buzz she’ll never know what Himiko is really like, will she—
Kyu wheezes, leaning away from the hug as much as she can without shoving Inko back. She points at her throat, trying to gesture that she can’t talk, but gives a thumbs-up.
“Oh. Right, of course.” Inko laughs awkwardly, stepping back. “I… I missed you. Can you come home soon…?”
Kyu stares at her incredulously. Her throat flares up as she sighs, scratchy like sandpaper. She grabs up the clipboard and scribbles ‘say my name, Inko’ in the hospital’s blue pen before flipping it around angrily.
Inko flinches back like Kyu just hit her. “I— Honey, hey…” Her face scrunches, twisting so quickly from being hurt to being concerned. Kyu feels a twinge of guilt. “I… I had hoped you wouldn’t still be mad. Don’t you know I— I am trying to do what’s best for you.”
Kyu grimaces. Nevermind, guilt gone. She swallows, and the taste of iron stays, but her throat is clear enough to rasp. “I know, but… You keep hurting me.”
Inko sniffles. “I know I made a lot of mistakes as a mother, okay? B-but right now, I’m trying to do what’s right. I’m really trying to be a good mom. I’m doing what’s best. ”
No, you’re trying to get around acknowledging you suck like nothing’s wrong— There are a million ways Kyu could fight with her, but seeing her tear up makes Kyu tear up, and that makes her throat burn with pain. “Then sign the release form, please,” she whispers.
Inko sniffles again, but doesn’t speak for a moment. “…I… I do love you, sweetie. Can’t you just understand that I love you? Why— Why won’t you listen?”
Sweetie. Honey. ‘My child’. She won’t look at me. Kyu points at the door, glaring right at Inko.
Inko fills out the form in the hallway, so Kyu can put on the change of clothes Inko brought. It’s just basic slacks, a pair of old running shoes, and one of her old shirts— this one says ‘kanji’. Kyu begrudgingly puts it on, resolving to get a septum piercing. Her fingers sting with pain as she deals with the zipper and button of the pants. Inko could’’ve at least brought joggers— maybe an eyebrow piercing, too.
Her phone chimes on the bed, and Kyu hurries over to turn it to silent before reading the message.
Kyu shoves the phone in her back pocket and takes a deep breath. Talking to Himiko is what’s important. She can deal with Inko for another ten minutes. She steps out into the hall, and Inko is just finishing the form. There’s a bit more processing, but it’s only a couple minutes before they’re free to go.
Inko shuffles into the elevator next to Kyu, and despite her discomfort it seems so petty to deliberately step away from her. “Are you coming home…?” Inko looks sheepish to ask. Sheepish, because she knows she asked earlier and Kyu set a condition, sheepish because she has the audacity but wants to keep acting like she cares, too.
She swallows, swollen throat lurching. “Don’t dote on me.”
Inko laughs that ‘you-silly-child’ laugh, “I’m your mother.”
Kyu’s whole body tenses. Her throat hurts to much that she chokes when she starts to growl— Instead, she can only scrape out a husky whisper. “Just stop, please.”
The elevator gently stops on the first floor. It’s deathly silent.
“I’m not going to stop caring about you because you ask, hun.”
Kyu wants to scream. She wants to punch sandbags until she’s knee-deep in a desert. She feels stupid angry tears— Midoriya angry tears— burn in her eyes. Her throat aches so much she chokes on the feeling. She opens her mouth, but can’t even choose words.
What would they do, anyway? Inko is staring at her, infuriatingly ‘caring’ and ‘concerned’. If she fights back too hard, Inko could tell UA about Kyuubi, or as a ‘softer punishment,’ take back her consent to T blockers. She meets Kyu’s eyes, finally, while she’s practically threatening her with her care.
There’s a soft chime, and the doors hum open. Even though her legs are still shaky, Kyu forces herself out of the elevator first, speedwalking down into the lobby ahead of Inko. Tears are burning in her eyes, but she can see the evening light pouring through the doors, even if she doesn’t see the finer details. She sniffles, then winces at how that makes her throat sting, then stumbles on her own feet.
Suddenly, there are firm arms supporting her. “Hey, k— Shit, kit, you alright?”
“‘M fine,” Kyu sobs. Rumi’s arms wrap around her and pull her into a hug, and Kyu lets her weight sag into Rumi.
“Alright, just rest your voice.” Rumi stiffly pats her back, and if she wasn’t crying Kyu would probably laugh at her awkward (but helpful) attempts at comforting her. “You wanna go back to the apartment, kit? I’ll call a cab, I’m not gonna make you walk like this.”
“Sweetie?” Kyu stiffens in Rumi’s arms, twisting around to look at Inko. The look on her face turns from concern to stone as her eyes shift. “Ah, you must be Mirko.”
“Yes, that’s me,” Rumi answers cautiously. She glances towards Kyu before meeting Inko’s stone gaze again. “Your daughter is incredible.”
Inko’s hands tighten into fists. “Is that why you thought it was okay for my child to have to hold up that— To be stuck there, for ten minutes?”
Rumi’s ears flatten back. Her shoulders are tight, and her hands are still in front of her, no wide stance or wild gestures. For once, Rumi really does look as short as she is. “Of course not—” It looks wrong, it sounds wrong.
“Then why did it happen, when it was your job to keep my child safe?”
“…Because I made a mistake.” Rumi bows her head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Midoriya.”
Inko’s eyes narrow, and she looks down her nose at Rumi. “How can I believe it won’t happen again?”
Rumi’s ears twitch, and her posture straightens. “I— I’m not going to let something like this happen to her—”
Inko scoffs. “Did you let it happen this time?”
“She shoved me aside! And— And she’d do it again, because she’s reckless, and— and smart until the moment she does something stupid, and never settles for less than saving everyone, and works hard as hell to be able to. I am going to support her in every way I can, because that’s— That’s what I can do!”
“If what you can do doesn’t include keeping my child safe, then don’t act like trying is enough.”
Kyu pushes off Rumi, staggering to stand between her and Inko. “Stop it!” They both stare. Everyone in the room stares, there are phones out, cameras pointed. Kyu feels hot tears race down her cheeks. “I keep telling you how important this is to me! That I want to save people!” She takes in a shuddering breath, and the hospital air is cool on her throat. “Just… Just take the train home.” Her voice is so much more quiet and shaky than she wishes she could make it. “Just go. Please.”
Inko blinks. “I— honey, I…” Her eyes shift around the room, like she suddenly feels the pressure of so many eyes, and she stills. With the wind taken out of her sails, Inko just sighs quietly. “Promise you’ll come back to visit your mother at home.”
Kyu’s brow furrows. Her voice is already torn up, like a reopened wound— It still hurts, but it’s easy to huff, “I’m working part-time three hours from home and studying, but sure.” She doesn’t wait for Inko to respond, or Rumi to guide her away. She turns on her heel— Stumbling over dirty shoes she hasn’t worn in ages and catching herself on weary legs. She hears one set of footsteps behind her.
Why did I expect something different? Kyu’s fingers ache as she squeezes them into fists. Inko finally looked at her and it was just more tearful concern blotting out what Kyu cares about and what Kyu wants. She nearly bites through her bottom lip, rolling it between her teeth until it hurts.
“Hey, kit?” Rumi’s hand settles on her shoulder, stirring Kyu out of her thoughts. “Let’s get that cab, huh?” Her hand squeezes a few times, and despite the tension in her face Kyu finds herself smiling and nodding. “Okay. And— Seriously, I’m so sorry that you were put in that situation. If— If you want to return to UA, that’s fine—”
Kyu shakes her head. “We both did what we could.”
“But if I didn’t kick that villain there, then—”
“Then he would’ve used his Quirk on the ground, surrounded by civilians. And the pillar was going to come down anyway— At least I was there to catch it, and the destruction let me get better leverage, instead of trying to just shove it in the least dangerous direction.” She smiles a little, and nudges Rumi with an elbow. “I may be stupid, but I am smart first.”
Rumi smiles at her, just looking at her face for a moment. Then, some realization seems to cross her face, and her ears twist forward. “A-alright. You can pick dinner, but if it’s too healthy we’re getting pizza.”
Despite herself, Kyu laughs— then winces. “Ow.”
“Oh, and my offer to fight Midoriya Inko still stands—”
“Let’s do ramen— Real ramen— My throat hurts.” She meets Rumi’s soft smile with a one of her own. It’s slow-growing and tender, but it’s there.
Notes:
Woodblock-- Graffiti done on plywood, then bolted to street signs (often with the bolts bent so it's harder to remove)
me, last time: yeah next time kyu will hang out with friends (himiko) haha!
me, writing this: ohhh mommy issues!!
thanks to my beta for helping me with this chapter, particularly figuring out how Rumi interacts with Inko here(checks notes, winces) ok folks now that momko’s all sorted(/hj) it’s time for this arc to become, like, a bit of an angst fest(/gen)
Next week, we’ve got Himiko Has Issues, but we might have time to fit in some other members of the League. Maybe Kyu will even work out some of her frustration! Depends on when i hit ~3k words, lmaoThanks for reading! Drop a comment, drink some water, and take care of yourself.
Chapter 52: Woodblock II
Summary:
LAST TIME: Kyu made it out of the mall with a successful rescue thanks to Rock Lock, Mirko, and other heroes on scene. When she woke up at the hospital, she discovered that Himiko killed two of the villains responsible, and decided she needed to meet Himiko to be sure of why the girl she knew would do that. Inko arrived to sign release forms, but ended up arguing with Kyu because she expected her to 'be over it,' and with Rumi because she 'failed her child'.
THIS TIME: Rumi makes awkward conversation over ramen, Kyu can barely eat with her anxiety... And a conversation a long time coming.
Chapter Text
By the time they get to the restaurant, Kyu’s throat is stiff, and she’s not inclined to tear it up again by talking. Maybe if she drinks the broth nice and slow, it’ll soothe her throat enough to really talk to Himiko tonight. The thought sets her body alight with anxiety that trickles out through each focused exhale, like she’s emptying an ocean with a bucket.
Stress mingles with the fact she needs to eat in her stomach— She feels nauseous and starved, enough that when the smell of the broth and katsu hits her, her nose curls and her stomach rumbles. She lingers by the entrance, but Rumi keeps moving forward, and Kyu stumbles into pace behind her a moment later.
Rumi’s eyes trail down the menu quickly, like she’s just looking for keywords— When she points out her choice, it becomes clear. There’s a lot of protein, between the egg and the meat— But it’s also greasy, with katsu-style fried cutlets in spicy broth. It’s called ‘The Hangover’ on the menu. Kyu orders the same thing.
“So,” Rumi says slowly, tapping her chopsticks together. She looks awkward, and Kyu can feel the emotional conversation she’s not ready for. “…Do you, uh, have any hobbies, kit?”
Kyu’s caught off guard enough to let her face scrunch up. Apparently that’s a pretty funny response to Rumi, because she chuckles a little.
“If it makes you feel better, I’m too busy to do much, either. I just…” She sighs, nose scrunching as she looks down and taps her chopsticks against the table. “I thought random conversation might help.”
Kyu meets her eyes, surprised, before looking away with a soft smile. After a moment, she nods. ‘I like to draw,’ she taps out on her notes app. ‘Sometimes helps when I can’t sleep. But it makes my fingers hurt :(‘
Rumi takes moment to read it, and then leans back. “Oh shit! You’re pretty multitalented, aren’t you?” She pauses, eyes narrowing. “We didn’t hit any craft stores at the mall… Do you wanna stop on the way back to the apartment? I’m happy to pay for colored pencils, or whatever you use.”
Kyu shakes her head. Then, she realizes she hasn’t told Rumi about any of her plans. She decides to keep it simple, though. ‘I have some friends here, was thinking of hanging out with them?’
Rumi reads that, then hums. “Given that you’re a danger magnet on orders to rest…” She sighs, face scrunching in discomfort. Kyu’s reminded of the way Auntie Mitsuki looks when Bakugou is asking to do something dangerous. “Just either text where you’re staying or be back by midnight.”
Kyu nods, quickly flashing a thumbs-up. That’d be easy. And she’d have to sneak out if Rumi flat out said no, so that's a relief.
“And knowing what I know of your… local friend—” She waves at Kyu’s face— “If you’re staying the night, use protection.”
Kyu’s confused until a moment after Rumi finishes speaking. She thinks of the kisses, and the warmth of Himiko’s body against hers, and strawberry lip gloss. Her cheeks are warm, but her chest feels like it’s been singed, making her lungs and heart feel constricted, stiff, and weak. It must show on her face too— Rumi looks concerned, with her brow furrowed and her ears turned back a little.
“Shit, I—” Rumi cuts herself off, and then they’re both looking at the wood of the table for a while. The silence is uncomfortable, especially among all the sounds of other patrons. It makes Kyu’s stomach curdle. “…Do you wanna talk about it…?” Rumi asks, head tilted back like the question might bite her if it gets too close.
Kyu chews her lip. It’s just so much more than she can talk about. All she can do is hope it’ll be clear, soon. She shakes her head, and Rumi makes a strange face before settling back into awkward, mostly one-sided conversation.
The darkness of night feels heavy in Osaka. It drapes over the light offered by sparse streetlights, and the thick of night is barely pierced by windows in the distance and traffic lights at the corners. The industrial district in particular is pitch black and lifeless— Kyu walked past the last of the apartments a few blocks back. The walls out here have tags in the darkest corners, but no posters or pieces.
There’s a woodblock attached to a street sign. It’s mostly exaggerated kanji written in marker, but there’s a bold english word at the end. What is the story of ‘YOU’? It asks. There’s a slap across the street label, turning it from a typical block number to say Paint Crossroads. Between the brick buildings, under the smog and darkness, Kyu can hardly see beyond the street light. The air is chilly, but it’s also dense, and tastes like all the worst parts of the city. It’s enough to make her nauseous— She peels her medical mask down and tugs her hood down with it. She doesn’t need to hide her face anymore. Out here, she’s completely alone.
And then, there's someone at the other edge of the streetlight.
The first thing Kyu notices about Himiko is her hair. Each strand is visible in the chill light, but it’s messier than she’s ever seen it— Her ends are dead and split, and her buns are barely kept together. Tangled strands curl all around her face, like a dead plant. Her messy bangs hang low enough that the way she stands, with her head tilted forward, keeps her eyes hidden. She’s in one of her knitted sweaters and a skirt, with knee socks and simple loafers. A familiar, doting part of Kyu’s brain worries that she must be cold, in the chill of a fall night.
“Hi,” Kyu says slowly. Her voice scrapes, and it comes out as a dull whisper. It stings and throbs a moment later.
“Hey,” Himiko says quietly. She doesn’t come closer, so Kyu takes a step towards the center of the light. Himiko’s gaze darts up, meeting hers like a nervous animal. Kyu finds that she can’t look away: She holds Himiko’s gaze while trying to find the words to say everything she wants to. In the heavy silence, under the heavy dark, she finds that her dry, wordless mouth feels the same as it did all those nights ago when Himiko tore down Endeavor. The girl she sees now looks so much weaker.
“You don’t have to do it,” Kyu blurts out painfully. She looks down at the cracks in the sidewalk. “…Didn’t.”
“Maybe not,” Himiko answers quietly.
Kyu’s head snaps up. “S-so why? I don’t— I wish I could get it, because…” She takes a measured breath. It stings her throat. “B-because it doesn’t seem like you.”
“I’ve told you villains aren’t always just villains,” Himiko whispers. “But… I am like this.”
Kyu shakes her head, taking another step, then two. She’s in the middle of the light. “N-no. I don’t— You’re not just—”
“I’m a monster!” Himiko snarls, stomping forward. Her face is all twisted up in an indiscernible mess of emotion. “Y-you shouldn’t look at me like that. I do hurt people, Kyu, it’s what I do.”
Kyu steps back as Himiko gets closer. “B-but you— You’ve helped me, and cared about me too.”
Himiko breaks eye contact, looking at the ground with tight fists. She lets out a sigh that sounds tired and bitter. That sounds unlike her. “So what,” she says, cold and low.
“Himiko—”
“I hurt people, Kyu. I have fangs, and I drink blood.” She marches up to Kyu, grabbing her hoodie and looking her right in the eyes. Kyu finds herself searching deep in Himiko’s eyes. They’re half-dilated slits, and they’re shiny with tears. “I’m rotten, got that? I’m a monster. A monster, okay!?” She shoves at Kyu, but as much as she’s stronger than she looks, Kyu is taller, stronger. She hardly budges, still searching Himiko’s wild eyes. “Why won’t you just run off! You know how awful I am, don’t you!?” Himiko’s hands tighten into quivering fists, and she beats them against Kyu’s chest. “I know you hate me, so just go,” she says, words breaking down in choked sobs and hiccups.
“…Himiko…” Kyu moves slowly, gently reaching to hold one of Himiko’s fists, and runs her thumb along Himiko’s fingers. “Everything about me, you helped me when nobody else did. You made me who I am— You make me better. Always. I’d save you over and over again.” She knows her grip tightens on Himiko’s hand as she remembers wresting Himiko away from AFO.
Himiko pulls away like she’s been burned. “You should just leave me alone . Don’t you get that?” She shoves off Kyu, backing off to the edge of the light. Even with her body shaking with every sob, her lip curls up into a snarl, like an animal about to run or fight. She wipes her sweater sleeve across her face roughly. “Don’t follow me.”
The moment Himiko starts running, Kyu does too.
Her legs protest every time her feet hit the sidewalk. Each time, there’s a jolt up her leg, through all the tender muscle and worn-down joints. Chilly air burns across her throat and aches in her lungs. She’s exhausted, and her body fights every step. She can’t even focus enough to activate OFA. In contrast, Himiko is quick and lithe. Kyu can hardly keep up, and pinpointing her through the dark is almost impossible, too. She’d probably be entirely lost, but she’s just familiar enough with Himiko’s movement to find the glimpses of her in the dark and the tap of her shoes on the ground.
After a block, Himiko glances over her shoulder. She grits her teeth when she sees Kyu keeping up, and ducks through an alley. Kyu follows, but as expected, she’s less graceful about it. When she takes the corner, she stumbles around a dumpster. When she barely sees a fire escape ladder in time to duck around it, she trips over her own feet and knocks her body into the rough brick wall. She forces herself to keep moving, even with fresh pain added to her ankles.
She bursts out into the street hot on Himiko’s heels. She bears the pain to force a pinprick of OFA into her eyes, and the spark is barely enough to keep them fixed on Himiko. She tries to go from there, but her worn-down body can’t take on the strain before her feet hit the ground again and tear it away. She grits her teeth. She can’t cut Himiko off in an unfamiliar city, she can’t catch Himiko in a Quirkless chase, and she can’t use OFA.
“I want to be certain that my friend’s not with some— “I’m a monster!”
Emotion roars in her chest— It makes her want to heave, and sob, and scream, whatever it is. It’s overpowering.
I’m the liar. I’m the one who was born wrong. I’m the one without self-control.
Himiko twists back, looking over her shoulder with tear-filled eyes.
And if chasing you into the dark is wrong— If failing when you need me is wrong, how can I call myself Nightlight, or the name you shaped, or an artist. You’re not a monster, are you?
Kyu grits her teeth even as she heaves every breath. How dare you call yourself that? How dare someone else see you— See what I saw, and call you that? How can— How can you hate yourself, out of everything worth hating in the world. The thoughts burn under skin, turning that churning emotion into a dark, tangible thing.
“Don’t insult Himiko, you fucking psycho! ”
Kyu watches Himiko duck into another alley, and Blackwhip unfurls from her skin like a blooming flower. It snaps straight and grips at windowsills like hungry vines, it entwines around streetlights and rooftops, and tugs her forward. Her feet pound the sidewalk for one, two, three more steps, but then her weight is surging forward on her own barely restrained anger.
The first tendril sent at Himiko nips at her ankle, but Kyu yanks it back before it can send her tumbling and likely break her nose. Another two snap out, one snatching her wrist and the other whipping around her body and curling around her neck to protect her. It feels right, and the harshness of Blackwhip and its movements settle around Himiko. When Kyu lets herself drop back onto her feet just a few feet away, Himiko writhes, snarling and twisting out of the shadowy whips. It’s only because of her training with Rumi that Kyu is able to keep up, binding her more and sweeping her leg— A motion that make her own foot throb, but does well enough to get Himiko on her back.
Kyu drops onto her, snatching Himiko’s arms up in the gnarled fingers of her left hand, while her right drops down to hold Himiko’s face. Kyu watches, chewing her lip, as Himiko recoils from the touch before letting her body fail and settling against it warily.
Kyu looks down at her tenderly— Where before, she could writhe against her, now she’s firmly in Kyu’s grip. Despite everything, it still feels secure and right. Her fingers ever-so-slightly digging into Himiko’s red cheeks, both of them panting raggedly, and the feeling that despite the intensity of their touch, this is the resolution to the chaos.
“Who told you that you were a monster,” Kyu says softly, concern showing through her aching voice. “There are people out there who— Who just hurt people. But you don’t just hurt people. You’re also kind, and your fangs make an infectious smile, and you light up a room, and… And I’m not gonna just let you run from me. I care about you, Himi.”
Himiko’s eyes widen into teary saucers, and then her mouth opens and she finally falls into sobs and wails. Kyu lets go of her wrists and face, and Blackwhip wisps away into the air. Himiko’s thin arms are squeezing tight around Kyu’s body in an instant. Kyu hugs her back, rubbing a hand up and down her back gently.
“I— I— I—” Himiko tries, breath coming in shaky, quick bursts between bigger sobs that don’t give her room to speak. Kyu can feel her tears smearing into her hoodie, and she only squeezes Himiko tighter. Neither of them speak for a while, holding each other until they can both breathe again. As Himiko’s sobs subside into gentle crying, Kyu’s body starts to protest the way she’s holding Himiko’s weight, so she shifts to sit back against a wall of the alley and lets Himiko’s head continue to rest against her chest.
With one last shaky breath, Himiko starts to speak. “My parents… Hated my urges. W-when I was little, I found— I found a bird, in the backyard. I think it flew into the neighbor’s window, but I smelled blood, and… When I showed them, father yelled at me.” She sniffles, eyes still looking somewhere far away near Kyu’s chest, instead of at her face. “I went to a lot of Quirk counselors and child psychologists. I was medicated and— and sedated and if that didn’t work I got punished, until it went away.”
Kyu grimaces, looking down at her. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Himiko, that’s not right—”
“When I was f-fourteen,” she continues, breath shaky with tears again, “th-there was a boy named Saito. He— He was really nice and cute. A lot of the other girls thought he got in too many fights but— Every time I s-saw him bruised or with a split lip or-or— I just… Felt like I was living, past the haze of haloperidol and lithium and whatever else.” She laughs humorlessly. “B-but I could repress that for a while. Until I just couldn’t and I—” She stops short with a sob.
“You needed to drink,” Kyu says softly. She keeps rubbing gently at Himiko’s back— She feels so frail like this. She looks disheveled, too, and… “Himiko… How long has it been? S-since you drank.”
“I… I had a few drops from Camie, to get into the exam. I— I’m sorry.”
“That’s not what I meant, Himiko.” She shifts, from slouch to sitting up straight. “You have a physiological need for blood.” Himiko keeps her eyes fixed firmly on Kyu’s hoodie. “You’re starving yourself, aren’t you,” Kyu breathes.
Himiko flinches like she’s been struck. “…It’s disgusting. I’m not right, if I just…”
“Himiko. It’s fine. Vlad King teaches at UA and he regularly eats blood. I— I think it might be synthetic or pig blood, but— Himiko, the point is, I—” Kyu stops herself. Himiko is so fragile, in this moment. It makes Kyu feel like she’s holding a glass sculpture. And yet… Two dead by severe lacerations. “…Your Quirk and its needs are okay. I just— There’s something I’m missing. Because it doesn’t make sense for someone as sweet as you, who’s— Who feels guilty enough to starve herself, fuck, Himiko— It doesn’t make sense that you’d also…” Her voice drops to a raspy whisper. “Kill people.”
“I put Saiko in a coma,” Himiko confesses. Her eyes are haunted, even as she speaks clearly. “I kept my school uniform when I ran, so I could lure men just by batting my eyelashes. I… I had to, I think, just suddenly off all those meds and so overwhelmed every time I… Drank. And then I did it to the wrong guy, I guess. He was one of Giran’s favorites, or something, and… I just did more and more. I’m a monst—”
“You are not a monster,” Kyu scoffs. She holds Himiko’s chin, lifting her head up to look her in the eyes. “Y-you— You were starved and sedated, and when you had a psychotic break, you were given no help and exploited and— Himiko, you didn’t deserve that. You’re a good person.” Himiko’s eyes dart away, teary, and her lip wobbles. “You saved my life, remember? You chose me over Stain, and made the League safe for me even though Shigaraki was— was himself.” At that, Himiko laughs wetly, and Kyu finds herself laughing too, both of them clinging to each other and exhausted. “Despite everything, you’ve been good to me, and I know you can be good to other people, too.”
Himiko buries her face in Kyu’s hoodie. “You should arrest me. Or— Or something normal. Something a hero does, since I’m a villain, Kyu, so— So—!”
Kyu thinks about Tsukauchi harassing Himiko for information and then getting her sent to Tartarus— Since the League is split up and has lost AFO’s resources, she wouldn’t have enough information to actually get reintegrated into society. She’d get locked up, and starved, and the mental image of Himiko in a Tartarus chair makes Kyu resolve that she will never let that happen.
“I don’t think so,” Kyu says, “arresting you now wouldn’t help you.” She smiles, and feels how lopsided it is— I must look like Rumi— “I’m gonna be a beacon that shines so that anyone can be saved, remember?”
Big tears roll down Himiko’s face. “You’re so corny, Kyu. Y-you really are gonna make a good hero, you should just move on from— From me.”
Kyu squeezes Himiko in a hug. “I care about you. If you want me to stop, then stop me.” Then, she peppers kisses across Himiko’s face— And with all her strength training, Himiko can only giggle and squirm as her tears subside.
Notes:
To everyone waiting for kyu to ‘tear into’ himiko you are real for that but consider: she’s so, so mentally ill, and this is basically the first mention of either of their traumatic backstories. the real slow burn is that we're 50+ chapters in and Kyu tells zero people about OFA/being quirkless lmao
Thanks to my beta, ToolAssisstedRat, for helping out with this chapter! She mostly ranted for like ten minutes about katsu, the romantic tension in Kyu pinning Himiko was all me this time i swear--
Chapter 53: Shotgunning
Summary:
Finally in each other's arms and with the question of who Himiko really is settled, Kyu starts to reach out through the remaining doubt and darkness, as she so often does.
Notes:
We're EARNING the M-Rating here. some serious "alright we're really stretching first base" going on
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There, in that dark alley, they stay for a while. The cement is cold and harsh, but they lean into each other.
“I still don’t really get it,” Himiko admits softly, with her head against Kyu’s chest. “Well, I do get it, but what if they were right about me? About me being a— a monster.”
Kyu cradles Himiko’s head, eyes on the sky above the alley. “That’s not true.”
Himiko twists, sitting with her back against Kyu instead of nuzzling in, now. “You said… When you were on all the painkillers, you said you had been Quirkless for a while. I just— Do you ever think they’re right? E-even if you end up not believing it, the voice doesn’t just leave.”
“…It was bad sometimes,” Kyu admits, “and that thought lingers, but I guess I mostly just…” She trails off. It feels dealt with when the thoughts fade, maybe not addressed, but still resolved. “It doesn’t change what I do. I just keep trying to prove it wrong, and when I do, it shuts up.” She feels like the conversation is moving away from Himiko, so she looks back down at the golden hairs tickling her chin. “So any time you’re not actively taking candy from babies, the voice is wrong, okay? You disprove it by being you.”
“The real me always wants to drink blood,” she snaps, sitting up.
“Himiko, you can always ask me.” At that, she stands up, backing away from Kyu. She looks afraid, and Kyu raises her hands soothingly and stands slowly. “You’re not a monster for it, okay?” She worries at her lip as Himiko stares silently. Kyu feels like she’s trying to reach through ice, and Himiko isn’t touched by what she’s saying at all. Kyu tries to think of how else to get through the thoughts making Himiko starve herself. A way to overwrite all those awful thoughts with everything Kyu finds important and beautiful about her. Overwrite…
Kyu stands, feeling blood start to move through her body again. It aches in her fingers and reignites the soreness in her legs, but she smiles anyway. “C’mon. I wanna show you something.”
Himiko watches her warily, and Kyu looks back at her kindly as she steps towards the street. Himiko follows timidly, like a stray cat. “Where’re we going?” She asks. Her voice is soft, but has some of her usual energy back in it.
It takes Kyu a few minutes to get away from the worst of the shady streets, the ones with nothing but empty warehouses and unused offices. She still doesn’t recognize where in Osaka she is, but she starts seeing a few stores. They’re all closed this late, and Kyu curses under her breath. With all the signs gone dark, it takes even longer to find the type of store she’s looking for— Which, it so happens, is having its sign flipped as she approaches.
She jogs, tripping over her own tired feet, but manages to knock on the door urgently before the man inside can trudge up above the shop— Where he probably lives. He narrows his eyes, pointing at the ‘Closed’ sign, and Kyu makes a pleading motion with her hands.
Himiko shifts next to her, staying out of sight of the store’s windows. “Why’re you so eager to get into a hardware store?”
“Paint,” Kyu answers, flashing a smirk her way as Himiko pouts at her vagueness.
The man opens the door, eyeing Kyu warily as she steps into the shop. “It’ll only be a minute— I already know what I need,” she says. It’s true— She knows that she prefers the second-cheapest brand and its bright, garish colors. She knows that the change in her pocket isn’t enough for a rainbow, which makes it easy to grab black, white, and red. She does hesitate when she spots a fat-nib gold marker, and grabs that, too. Then two cheap respirators. She uses all of her manners and gives the man an extra bit of change for his trouble, and then scurries out of the store.
Himiko appears out of the dark the moment the store’s owner turns away from the locked door. “Are you… Are you doing graffiti?”
Kyu shakes her head. “My nails are broken, and I proooobably can’t stretch to the higher points without pulling something. But we could go over something.” She sets off walking, looking for a blank, open wall. The streets are empty and they’re still surrounded by buildings made of brick and cement, so it doesn’t take too long. There’s a few tiny tags and pieces of gum on the wall, but otherwise, it’s a blank canvas. Kyu plucks a mask and the red can from the bag, shaking it up as she gets close. Even that makes her fingers throb awkwardly, but she puts on the mask and uncaps the can anyway. She takes a deep breath and writes out the kanji for monster, in a hasty, thin throwup.
When she turns around, Himiko’s eyes are fixed on it, like a deer in headlights. Kyu steps closer, between Himiko and the quickly-drying paint, and grabs her by her arms. “Look at me.” With wide, watery eyes, Himiko does. “When I started doing this, it was always about— Covering up stuff.” She tries to clear her throat, but it just hurts, and she still feels choked. “Quirkist stuff, usually. We’re gonna cover that up, okay?”
Himiko nods slowly. She takes a moment to center herself, and then gives a more firm “mhm.” Kyu steps around Himiko, giving her biceps an affirming squeeze, before sliding her hands down Himiko’s arms. Himiko shivers, so Kyu rubs her thumbs across her hands.
“Let’s start with black.” Kyu says. Himiko’s stray hairs tickle her face, and she has to shift to the side and a little forward to see around her buns. She realizes that her chest is flush against Himiko’s back when they bend down to get the can of black paint. She holds her position, and leans further into her warmth. It soothes her sore muscle and worn joints, and she hopes Himiko understands she’d never pull away.
“S-so why do you shake it?” Himiko asks, rolling the can around in her hand nervously, feeling the slow brush of skin as her hand moves within Kyu’s.
Kyu wraps her hand over Himiko’s, taking a feather-light grip on the can, just enough to guide it. “It mixes the propellant— gas— and the paint. The rattle comes from the pea, which is a little marble of metal or glass that helps mix it.”
Himiko stares at the can with newfound wonder. “Bead bracelet…”
Kyu laughs, putting one foot back and letting her hands ease up Himiko’s forearms. She shakes the can, hair and oversized sweater flailing. When she’s done shaking it, Kyu steps close again, still letting Himiko feel the anticipation and control in the can.
“It’s a little tougher than drawing, since you need to keep a steady hand and control your distance from the wall,” Kyu murmurs, stepping in close enough that their feet are next to each other and her cheek tickles Himiko’s neck. “I’ll help guide your hand, okay…?”
“Yeah,” Himiko says, breathy. It reminds Kyu that she’s not just talking Himiko through it, but is about to make a piece. She hasn’t really had a chance to get out and paint in what feels like ages, and now the anticipation crashes through her. Like the pea in the can, the act of being Kyuubi again kicks up a mess of feelings in her chest. Everything with Inko and the mall and Rumi doesn't leave, a melancholic choke always whispering its presence… But here with Himiko, she feels safer. She gives Himiko’s lithe hands one more squeeze, and then they start to paint.
The air fills with familiar particulate and hissing as the broad strokes take shape. Kyu feels how steady Himiko’s wrists can be, but also how she’s nervous about the gentle curves of the piece. Kyu guides her more at those curves, and when she hesitates to cut through the red kanji, Kyu helps her along. It starts to feel like a dance— Their bodies are close and move in sync. Sometimes Himiko leads, only following Kyu’s guardrails. Other times, Kyu leads, and Himiko drifts along behind her. Their feet shuffle in sync, just shy of tripping over each other, and Kyu stands straighter as they continue.
“Just like that,” Kyu murmurs. She can see the way Himiko shifts as Kyu’s voice rasps across her skin.
“Kyu…” Himiko breathes, and her grip falters. The hiss of the can falters.
Kyu squeezes her hand, leaning down again. She can’t smell Himiko’s perfume through the mask, so instead she nuzzles into the warmth of the crook of her neck. “C’mon, Himi. You see what we’re painting yet…?”
Himiko squirms deeper into Kyu, her eyes only half-focused on the wall. Still, when she sees the bigger image, she freezes, and then blushes. “Are we— Is that me?”
Kyu laughs, running her shaky, skewed fingers down Himiko’s thin wrists and demure hands. “It’s you,” she nods, guiding Himiko’s hands back on course, “beautiful, and important, and so much more than whatever tiny little word people try to call you.”
“Kyu…”
“It’ll look even better once we get a few layers going. I wanna show you why I love doing this so much, okay?”
Himiko sinks back into Kyu, and the dance resumes. There’s quick lines and long, steady curves. Kyu’s eyes are fixed on the image, but she murmurs quiet praises in Himiko’s ear as they shuffle along the wall. Their thighs brush as they step past each other, and her body at some points seems to overshadow Himiko’s smaller form entirely. They layer white into some of the line work, closer to the wall, closer to each other. Other spaces, like the angles of her cheek bones, are lit up with the color. Then, red fills in highlights and colors Himiko’s scarf. “You’re doing perfect,” Kyu murmurs.
They stare at the piece for a moment, together, thinking of one last touch it could use. Himiko’s head tilts like a curious dog— And then Kyu remembers the last thing at the bottom of the plastic bag. She puts the marker in Himiko’s hands, and then pecks kisses along her jaw. “I’m gonna spray black for you to leave a tag. You just use this wherever it feels right.”
The night air feels cooler as they step apart, even if Kyu is crouched on the same square of the sidewalk as Himiko. Her tongue pokes out as she scrawls gold accents along her eyes and mouth. Cute… She shakes her head, trying to dismiss the thought. It doesn’t go anywhere, but she doesn’t want to be overly affectionate when Himiko is struggling.
When Kyu has sprayed out a square-ish patch of black for her to leave a tag, she looks up, to find Himiko finishing with her accents. With one last mark, Himiko turns to Kyu, face still scrunched in a cute sort of focus and red with nervousness. Her shoe steps confidently on the ground close, between Kyu’s crouched legs, enough that Kyu could just lean forward and she’d be flush with it. She tries not to think about it, and how Himiko’s calves are so smooth and graceful while her thighs are—
“So,” Himiko says, tongue half-out in a mischievous thinking face, “what’s my tag, then?”
“W-well, uh,” Kyu stumbles, thrown off by the question and the closeness. “It’s partially just that we can’t use Kyuubi, ‘cause of… In— M-my mom, uh, found out. So you could use a tag, or your name, it’s u-up to you, I guess.”
Himiko’s face widens in a little surprise, before smirking softly. “It would probably be bad if people from Midoriya Kyu’s little heroic life found out she was making a portrait of a villain, hm?”
“So much more than a villain,” Kyu corrects earnestly. “B-but… yeah, it would be bad…”
Himiko giggles. “I’ll just do my name in katakana, then. Short ‘n sweet. Kanji’d be all long and muddled.” Then, smile growing just a little wider, she crouches, and her leg shifts forward. It rubs into the tough material of the joggers on her inner thigh and she very pointedly keeps her eyes fixed on the wall. Still, when Himiko shifts, her breath hitches, and she’s embarrassingly close to reaching out and kissing and squeezing her tight and—
“Yeah, how’s it feel?” Himiko says, pouting with half-false frustration. They’re both blushing bright red, as Himiko caps the marker.
“W-what— I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t mean—” Himiko blushes harder, somehow, embarrassment catching her and making her stop to chew on her lip. “You just— Held me and said all that stuff with your stupid low voice right in my ear for way too long.”
Kyu’s eyes widen in mortification. “Oh I’m sorry I-I was just caught up in the art I didn’t— I-I’m sorry that’s not— I didn’t—”
Himiko grabs the scruff of Kyu’s hoodie in one hand, and rips the mask off her face with the other. “I’m not complaining, but you did it, so— f-follow through!”
Kyu lets Himiko pull her to her feet, and steps forward with that momentum to pull Himiko in tight, quickly fumbling at her mask’s latch. Her broken-up fingers feel number and weaker than normal, useless against the sense of desperation she feels. Grimacing, she just squeezes the latch in her hand until it cracks and not a second later their lips crash together.
It’s messier than their… impromptu meeting at the license exam. Kyu thinks it’s mostly because she doesn’t know very much about kissing, and it feels like that when the initial kiss feels like pressure on her teeth. She leans back, worriedly, but Himiko’s eyes are just blown wide. “D-did you just break that without your Quirk?” Himiko stammers, more flustered than Kyu’s ever seen her.
“I am top of my class for strength brackets,” she shrugs. “W-well, Tsu beats me in legs and Shoji beats me in arms, but overall…” At the look on Himiko’s face, she stops. “D-did I say something weird?”
“You could fold me in half,” Himiko mumbles.
Kyu’s arms curl around her, one on the small of her back and the other on her neck, and she pulls Himiko closer. The air is charged between them— No ozone or cyan light, but it gives her a headrush all the same. And their bodies are so warm, with no space between them at all, Himiko’s chest pressed against hers and their thighs pushing against each other.
“I probably could, yeah,” Kyu breathes. And then she kisses Himiko again.
It feels softer, this time— There’s heat, and saliva, and when she pushes Himiko gives, And that alone makes her groan low and ripped-up enough to sound more like a growl. Himiko whines pitifully into her mouth, but her hands just grab at the back of Kyu’s hoodie and ball up the fabric. Kyu keeps her hand firmly on Himiko’s neck, holding her steady and close, but her other hand starts to wander, slipping quickly under Himiko’s sweater to feel at the skin and warmth of the small of her back— Here, her crooked hand digs in, feeling like it belongs on her, to her. She spreads her fingers wide across Himiko’s pliant body. She squeezes Himiko even tighter, until finally, she pulls away.
Himiko is left with a thin line of spit attaching her tongue to Kyu’s lips, panting. “You— I can’t…” Kyu’s hands ease off her immediately, and she whines.
“What’s going on,” Kyu says in a steady, low voice. That makes Himiko whine again, leaning in even as her brow furrows.
“I— You taste like— When you do the voice thing, y-you…”
“Taste like blood,” Kyu finishes, remembering the exam. Himiko nods, a breathy keening noise slipping out of her pursed lips. “Are— Are you worried you’re going to bite me…?”
Himiko’s eyes shine, and she looks up at Kyu. “I— Yes, and-and what if I don’t stop, or if— if I—”
“You won’t,” Kyu answers. She eases her hand on Himiko’s neck up, callouses rough on gentle skin before her fingers cradle Himiko’s head and turn it back towards the piece. “You’re so much more than that, remember?”
Himiko nods, face still blatantly doubtful. Her hands fidget together in the space between them. Kyu knows as Himiko opens her mouth what she’s about to say. “But…”
“You just tell me, and I stop,” Kyu says, “but I ‘could fold you in half,’ remember?” She’s both anxious and overwhelmingly eager, as her hand shifts from Himiko’s lower back. She grabs Himiko’s fidgeting hands together by the wrists, and with Himiko's thin, barely-malnourished form, Kyu’s thumb nearly touches her fingers. She moves slowly, and neither her nor Himiko break eye contact as she raises Himiko’s hands above her head. “Is this okay?” Kyu asks.
Himiko whines, eyes fluttering as Kyu’s voice drifts over her— She’s clearly desperately hungry, just smelling it on Kyu’s voice— And then, she nods. “Please,” she whispers, so quiet it’s almost inaudible.
They kiss again, less fierce but more desperate. Himiko shudders and whimpers as Kyu pushes further. She must taste that coppery taste when their tongues twist together. She must feel overwhelmed as iron lingers on her gums when Kyu overtakes her mouth, tilting Himiko’s head up to lean down over her. When Kyu catches her lip in her teeth, she can hear Himiko groan, trying to hold herself back from biting right back and biting hard.
Kyu’s concern only grows with how hard Himiko keeps putting up walls. She pulls away, giving Himiko a chance to say stop if she needs to. She squirms in Kyu’s unfailing grip, but doesn’t ask her to let go. She whines when Kyu pulls back, and whispers out an urgent “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know you don’t. You want to drink, and I want you to drink from me.” Himiko whimpers again, and Kyu moves decisively. She could grapple Himiko before, in the alley, and it’s even easier now— She forces Himiko’s wrists further into the wall, high enough that she’s left barely on the tips of her toes, with her other arm moving so her wrist is pressed against Himiko’s lips, gagging her with her flesh. Himiko hesitates, so Kyu pushes into her harder, one thigh sliding in to put pressure between Himiko’s legs. Her hips jolt against it, and she whines. She drools on Kyu’s arm, but even as her eyes flutter and go unfocused, she doesn’t bite.
“Bite down, Himiko.”
Kyu’s voice leaves no quarter. It’s harsh and raspy and has a dangerous edge that makes her hesitate— But before she can pull back and worry over Himiko, fangs sink into her wrist. There’s no numbing saliva or special agent, just sharp teeth digging in. Kyu’s felt a lot worse before, and given the nerve damage, she only feels the sting for a moment before it settles into a dull, throbbing pain. It’s nothing.
Himiko, on the other hand, moans around the flesh of her wrist, her saliva mixing with blood and dripping onto the cement below, hands squeezing into fists and feet kicking and curling wildly. Her eyes flutter, and she can barely even muster the focus to do much more than drink, drool and blood covering her chin messily. She looks a different sort of beautiful, falling apart under Kyu’s grip, eyes fluttering wild and unseeing. Kyu feels her chest tighten with an odd, flustering feeling, as she realizes that she made Himiko into this. She realizes that she wants more.
“Just like that. You’re perfect for me, Himi,” she murmurs, more low and intentional than how she spoke into Himiko’s ear through the graffiti. Her leg presses further up between Himiko’s thighs as she keeps groaning out praise, forcing her to feel the pressure and friction with every twitch and buck of her hips. Himiko moans and squeals into Kyu’s wrist. Certain words get more out of her, and Kyu just whispers them more, closer to her. “Good. You’re beautiful, Himi. Good girl.”
She’s not sure how long it takes, but Himiko eventually slows down. Her face is still flush, and her eyes mostly unfocused, but while she drinks eagerly, the rest of her body goes slack against Kyu. Kyu lets go of her wrists and pulls her thigh back, and Himiko’s arms curl around her as her legs practically give out. Kyu holds her by her back again, sinking down next to the still-drying piece and setting them both down softly. The cold cement grounds her, and slowly grounds Himiko, too, until she finally pulls away, gulping for air.
Kyu smiles softly as she tucks a few loose strands of Himiko’s hair behind her ear. “Was that okay…?”
Himiko looks at her like she’s grown a second head. “It was— it was way more than okay. When did you— You used to be all nervous, t-that was—”
Himiko is cut off as Kyu’s phone buzzes— And buzzes again, and again. She sits up immediately. “Shoot, shoot, ffffuck,” she mutters, pulling out her phone— Unsurprisingly, it’s way past midnight. “Rumi’s probably pissed, I— oh no…”
“H-how much trouble are you in?” Himiko asks slowly.
“I’m probably going to get trained into the ground for this…” She leans her head back, letting it hit the cement behind her. “So, I get an escort from walking you home, or I crash with you.”
“You’re not going back with fresh vampire bites,” Himiko says, and then squeals. “Ooh! Sleepover!”
Notes:
Shotgunning -- Blowing smoke into another person's mouth. Started very literally, with American soldiers smoking bowls out of shotgun barrels. (It can also be done with a kiss. As God intended.)
Shoutout to my beta for surviving this chapter despite “having a religious experience”. If there are errors past where the kissing starts don’t blame her it’s on me. Also, speaking of, she's demanded that I edit and post this immediately (read: 1:00 in the AM), because "the fact that this exists and is not available to other people is like a genuine crime"
there are two wolves inside of me. One thinks this is the most intense an M rating should really get. The other seeks to make the next one of these scenes even more tense and fun
NEXT TIME: Slushies, and whether to do fem stuff (girlhood) or girlfriend stuff (lesbianism) at a sleepover
Chapter 54: All City
Summary:
Himiko and Kyu enjoy their night together, after stopping to clean Kyu's bite.
With the walls between them feeling lowered, they might both enjoy being more confident and affectionate...
Notes:
my beta says this is as bad as the last chapter. i dont believe her but M rating/NSFW warning
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“How do you make Hellflame a Slurpee?”
Kyu rolls her eyes as she swipes her knuckles across the machine’s barely-working touchscreen. Given that it’s for Slurpees, it’s a little sticky. Gross.
Himiko giggles, kicking her legs from up on the counter. Her bitten-down nails dig into a box of Sanrio bandaids. “It’s not, like, ‘red-hot cherry’, or something?”
“Nope. It’s ‘ Hellflamin’ Sweet’.”
Himiko lolls her head to the side. “Maybe it’s like… Cinnamon?”
Kyu stares at her blankly. “He’s not even going to be officially Number One for months. Are you gonna drink the Endeavor Slurpee?”
Himiko stares back, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll only drink it before he’s Number One. Is it red?”
“Orange.” Himiko fake-gags, and Kyu turns back to the screen smiling. “It’s September. They have seasonal flavors. Maybe I’ll mix Ghost-White Gummi and Mtn Dew Pitch Black.”
“I thought we were doing character colors,” Himiko whines overdramatically.
Kyu steps into her space, getting between her legs. They frame Kyu’s sides but keep playfully kicking about. She leans towards Himiko’s face. “I’m a complex girl, Himi. I contain multitudes. Light and dark. A hero, and an artist… A dead gummi bear, and a darkness grape.” They both laugh, and then Himiko reaches out and gently holds her wrist. With one thumb on her pulse point, Himiko’s tongue pokes out as she picks out every Kuromi bandaid she can find— Given the spacing of the bite, Kyu needs four; one for each major fang. Then, she dumps some peroxide on Kyu’s wrist, and the mess of red washes away, leaving a stinging pain. Himiko quickly covers her wrist in bandaids.
“Thanks, Himi,” Kyu says softly. She leans just a bit closer, and pecks her on the lips. They stay close, for a moment, before Kyu steps back and pumps some of the Gummi into her cup— It’s worth at least trying. The flavors won’t be here forever, even if she knows that’s just FOMO.
Himiko snorts.
“What?”
“It looks like cu—”
Kyu and Himiko walk out of the store with their normal orders— Blue Raz and Mtn Dew for Kyu, and Cherry for Himiko. Her lips and tongue are bright red, although that could be the blood just as easily as the cherry syrup. Whatever it is, the bright red against her soft skin makes her even prettier. More than ever, her soft voice and gentle laughs feel warm in Kyu’s chest. She mostly lets Himiko talk, feeling the Slurpee cool her throat, sugar and syrup congealing the eternal wounds of her throat like a liquid bandage.
“So I guess we could start with The Magic of the Pegasus. That’s basically the best one. But I really like Princess and the Pauper. I mean, they’re all fun, but there’s a sweet spot between the early ones and the point where they ran out of ideas.” Himiko turns into a narrow alley, delicately sidestepping trash. Kyu is decidedly less graceful, and her foot goes straight through a trash bag. She grimaces, but shakes it off and keeps moving.
Himiko’s whole route is roundabout and confusing. She ducks through alleys pretty often, rambling about Barbie movies the whole way. If she’s trying to get Kyu lost, it’s not working, despite her lethargy— Himiko knows the area better, of course, but Kyu’s attentive eyes catch on the differences in each building. Osaka is foreign, and backstreets this abandoned and shady aren’t her usual haunt even in Musutafu, but the city still feels like it’s hers. Each block number fits into her mind like a file safely tucked in a cabinet. There’s a lot of amateurish scrawls and tags out here. She doesn’t see pieces, just a few names repeated. She finds herself imagining the type who’d come out here, some teenager grinning like an idiot and feel that little spike of adrenaline as they get away with leaving their mark.
“We’re almost there,” Himiko remarks out of the blue. Kyu comes out of her head, eyes scanning the buildings around them for whatever landmark Himiko might’ve spotted. She’s vaguely aware of the blocks they’re near, but the scrawls aren’t too different and the buildings are the same dusty things. Himiko laughs softly, enjoying the curious look on her face.
There’s soft silence for a while, and then Himiko sighs. “I, uh— Well, Tsutsu says we should avoid big sightlines, and nobody wants to get followed.” With a shrug, she adds, “When I was staying with Dabi it was less of a problem, since, y’know… Fwoosh.”
Kyu winces at the thought of Dabi’s Blueflame. She’s seen footage of him going against Endeavor and incinerating the concrete. By the time the shudder is done washing over her, Himiko is already approaching an abandoned two-story building. “Wait, ‘when’ you were staying with Dabi? You’re— Are you still doing, the u-uh, buddy system—”
Himiko throws open the door without knocking. “Big sis, I’m ho-ome!” She sing-songs, which is so cute Kyu almost stops panicking.
Does she have a big sister? I’d think she’d mention that with her family, though… If she said big sis, it’s probably not one of the men in the League. So does that just leave Tsutsumi and—
“Knock the pattern next time!” A familiar voice chides— Still, there’s affection in it, and it drops into an exasperated sigh. Himiko giggles.
“Oh, and I brought a guest!”’
There’s a thunk as something metal and heavy falls against the concrete, and Kyu leans into the doorway ready for a fight. The building is unassuming— Parts of it are gutted, but there’s some couch cushions and chairs around, along with a mess of thick-looking blankets. There’s a curtain up, and a kitchen with its sink and oven ripped out that has a dinky little electric burner on the counter.
Just across the tiny foyer, Magne stands, battle magnet unwrapped and held in a firm grip with its South end against the floor. When she sees Kyu, she leans back, rolling her eyes under her sunglasses. “Ah, hell, Toga— Don’t scare me like that.”
Himiko giggles. “But it’s funny!” Magne’s eyebrows raise in an unimpressed-disproving look. It’s a little reminiscent of Aizawa. Himiko just huffs. “I’ll stop if you start calling me Himiko, like I said!”
Magne snorts. “Nah, you won’t.” With a toothy grin, Magne steps past Himiko and pulls Kyu into a hug. Her arms are big and her chest is broad, so it feels firm. Magne’s thick flannel smells like pine and dollar store cleaner, and is resoundingly comfortable. After a moment, Magne pushes away, holding her by her shoulders at arm’s length. “Shit, kid, how’ve you been? You went public damn fast; you’re way more brave than I am.”
Kyu sputters. “I-I— I don’t know if I’m more brave. You helped me figure it out, so…”
“Cracking an egg is a moral duty. And I’m fighting oppression, but you’re taking it head-on, and that’s worth something.” Magne lets go of her shoulders then, hands sinking into the pockets of her crust pants and face turning from stern extremist to soft smile. “So, again, sister— How’s life as your true self?”
Kyu flushes, but the smile is contagious. It takes her a moment to gather her thoughts and take a breath. “Well… It’s good. It really is. Most of my class has been really awesome… H-honestly, I think coming out is the only reason staying at dorms has been fun. My teachers are all cool about it, too…” She trails off, and just closes the sentence with a shrug.
“Good, good. Been taking your meds? Eatin’ good?”
“My diet needs a ton of protein-dense stuff.” Her head bobs back and forth as she considers the influence of Rumi and dorm dinners. “I’ve had a bit more sugar and fat recently, too. My meds are pretty easy to remember, though, it’s just two pills.”
Magne’s brow furrows. “Two a day?” Kyu purses her lips and nods. “Kid, that’s under dose. What’re you taking?”
“Just, uh, blockers. Spiro— Reversible, and all.” Kyu’s hands hurt too much to fidget, so the nervous energy builds up in her legs until she’s scuffing a shoe back and forth. “…A-and that’s fine! My Quirk’s tough, and I don’t wanna mess with muscle mass too hard, or anything.”
Himiko’s face scrunches in confusion. “I— I gave you an injection, Kyu…”
“Yeah, w-well— Himiko, I need parent permission for stuff like that and— Inko already thinks I’m being tricked and keeping secrets, so… It’s fine.”
Magne snarls. “She thinks it’s social contagion? That shit isn’t real, why do they always— Fucker. ” She drags a hand down her face, massaging the spot where her sunglasses have pinched marks into her nose. “Kyuubi, injections are a weekly thing, so if you wanna drop by somewhere on a weekend, I know a few people. And there’s stuff here, too, if you want it. Okay?”
Kyu chews her lip. “It’s— It’s not a huge deal or anything, okay? And if I go behind her back and it gets worse, that’s on me.”
“No way!” Himiko reaches out, hand setting on her cheek somewhere between caressing and grabbing her. “Whatever she does doesn’t change anything, okay? You’re valid. And if my parents aren’t right, then your mom isn’t either.”
“I…” Kyu shakes her head, trying to realign her thoughts. “…I don’t like it, but she’s not that bad either, okay? She just… I’m avoiding her, for right now. A-and I hope she’ll get it eventually.” She purses her lips. “And if not, it’s two years until I’m eighteen.”
“Two years you could’ve been on E, kid.” Magne sighs, raising her hands as if to secede the point. “Just… It’s always an option, okay? I don’t wanna give you my number— It’s a burner, anyway— But I can give you a few people I know.”
Kyu narrows her eyes. Magne has a reputation as a criminal, even if she’s only actually a suspect to a few felonies. “What kind of people…?”
“Trans people.” At Kyu’s surprise, she continues. “Plenty of queer people see inequality for what it is, but not many have the Quirks or guts for being out, proud, and revolutionary. But the friends I made who are still in touch, and the ones who are— Who are still around… Well, since we’re not chained down by common thinking, we’ve got to stick together, that’s all. Make links out of pride held hand to hand.” She pauses, looking down at the floor through her sunglasses. “So, you have a place there too.”
Kyu’s fidgeting pauses as all that nervous energy swells tight in her chest. Emotion is tangled up inside of her like spiderwebs between her ribcage, messing with her heartbeat and making her lungs shudder. “Y-y-you’re always s-so nice to me,” she stammers, sniffling.
“Aw, kid, ‘course I am. We’re sisters, right?” She rubs Kyu’s shoulder and pats it a few times, which only serves to make the waterworks really start. When Kyu hiccups and sobs, Magne pulls her into another hug. “‘Sides, can you imagine how colorful it’ll be when all those outcasts hear that Kyuubi’s one of them?”
Kyu sniffles and gasps wetly. “W-whaddo you m-m-mean…?”
“Pigs already hate a popular graffiti artist starting to paint unheroic heroes and villains. Imagine their surprise when Kyuubi leaves another piece and people everywhere start shoutin’ that shit from the rooftops. I know a lot of people who wouldn’t go villain, but they’d absolutely bomb a traincar.” Magne chuckles a little, looking off into the distance like she’s envisioning it. “A Japan in vibrant colors for all the outcasts and the artists.”
Kyu wipes at her eyes with the back of each hand, pulling away from Magne as her tears slow. “A-alright. Yeah, that sounds incredible, Mag… Thank you.”
“It’s nothing, Kyuubi.” She runs a hand through her hair, pushing a few strands hanging over her face back. “Tissues’re in the bathroom. Are you hungry?”
Kyu shrugs. “I— My diet plan is pretty intense. A-and I don’t wanna take your food, Himi already said it was… Rough.”
“It was rough, that’s true. That’s why we’ve been doing street-level crime. Gotta feed ourselves first. The mall… Went south. Earthbreaker wasn’t even supposed to be there. Can’t count on shit from all these guys getting big heads after All Might retired.” She huffs a deep breath out through her nose. “Enough about that. Are you hungry.”
Begrudgingly, Kyu nods. “It’s not like I’m starving, though.”
Himiko waves her off. “You eat six eggs and a protein shake every morning.” She nuzzles into Kyu, half-hugging half-leaning on her, and giggles. “I can just snack off her plate, though. I ate while we were out.” She grins wide and her face flushes. Magne silently looks between her and Kyu.
“N-not like that! It was—”
“It was really hot.”
Kyu sputters to a stop. “W-was it?”
Himiko stares at her flatly, before bursting into giggles again. “Yes, you dork. We should do it again somet—”
Magne sets a pan on the burner harshly. “You can flirt, but please tone down the innuendo.”
Kyu, red as a tomato, flails her arms around and whines out a whistle-tone. “I-I— It wasn’t— It was b-blood, okay, it wasn’t like that!”
“Yet.”
“H-Himiko!”
Magne smiles, laughing, as she leans down to grab her battle magnet. Himiko cackles and flees deeper into the house, and Kyu watches with wide, embarrassed eyes.
“You’re a good kid, Kyuubi. She was in a bad place, before tonight, y’know— You were nice where a lot of other people were assholes.” Magne offers her a tender smile that says thank you, and then turns away. “You’re goin’ nowhere, Toga!”
In Kyu’s opinion, the Barbie movies are, in fact, kid’s movies.
They’re cute, and there’s enjoyment in the simple premises and awkward 3-D animation. Mostly, she enjoys how invested Himiko is, and the feeling of food in her stomach, and how close and warm she is when they’re cuddling together. It’s easy to relax now, even though her life has felt like a whirlwind for days. This bluster has easily been the worst, but it’s resolving like the final chord in a song.
Rumi was a little concerned at her red-ringed eyes, but Kyu explained that things had worked out. She didn’t even have to crop out half of her face to hide marks— Although she doesn’t mention that Himiko is the one with hickies marked into her skin.
Kyu’s eyes drift back to the bruise. It’s illuminated by the warm light of the TV, although Kyu sees it from behind with the way Himiko lays against her, sitting half on her lap. So Kyu can only see part of her face— The messy eyeliner, and the light of the TV bouncing off her golden eyes, and how gorgeous and alive the red of her lips and blush are.
“I’m really happy I met you, you know that?” Kyu says, hand drifting to trace and gently press the bruise. Her words come without thought. “You’re gorgeous. N-not just how you look, your laugh is so pretty, and you’re nice and g-graceful and you’re kinda angelic sometimes and—”
Himiko turns her body, so she’s sitting across Kyu’s lap and looking right at her. Without the TV’s glow, her catlike eyes glow with their own uncanny light. “Thank you.” She says it plainly, and it radiates her earnestness just from that. Then, she glances over her shoulder at the TV, and back at Kyu. Her grin bares fangs, and it’s the kind that narrows her eyes into mischievous slits. “It’s kinda rude to talk over a movie, babe. Is Barbie of Swan Lake just background noise to you?”
Kyu flushes. “I— I just—”
“It’s alright, hun,” Himiko giggles, her voice soft and airy. She turns her body the rest of the way, lifting a leg to straddle Kyu instead of sitting across her lap. Their faces are close now, and Himiko’s grin dissolves into an intense, unreadable look. Her hands cup Kyu’s face, one thumb moving back and forth along her cheekbone while the other grazes her lips. “I didn’t tell you to stop.” She swallows, then, eyes drifting down. “Keep complimenting me.”
The thumb stays on the edge of Kyu’s lips as she opens them, staring wordlessly. Her thoughts feel impossible to gather, and no matter how many breaths she takes, they’re still a little shaky. Himiko smiles at her, reveling in her embarrassment. “Y-you’re beautiful. Beautiful because you’re gorgeous, and so graceful.” Kyu stammers.
Himiko’s hands stay, and she pushes up on Kyu’s chin, forcing her to tilt backwards. She’s left blinking at the ceiling, overwhelmed by Himiko’s closeness and the warm breaths tickling her exposed neck.
“A-and your hands are so soft but I’ve seen you fight,” Kyu says, and swallows thickly. It’s awkward, with the lump in her throat and the angle of her head. She can feel the breath on her neck shift, wider and hotter, as Himiko’s mouth hangs open with fangs bared. “You’re graceful l-like a dancer, or an angel, a-and— God, even before we kissed I— Your beauty was there—”
Kyu’s voice cuts short as lips drag across the tender skin of her neck, and kisses are pressed under her jaw, and fangs catch her skin in play bites as they drag back down to the flesh on the side of her neck, just above her clavicle. With Himiko’s soft but firm hands holding her in place, and her warm body against Kyu’s, it feels like she’s caught in the overwhelming presence of a real vampire. But when her breath catches in her throat, there’s no fear or apprehension.
“My muse. My very own Eurydice. You showed me the p-prettiest thing in the world and then taught me how much more there w-was to see, and you overwhelm me and lead me and—”
Kyu feels like her thoughts are slipping away like sand between her fingers. The ceiling above her is a blank haze, her eyes glassy and her hands twitching like she’s in some religious reverie. For a moment, she feels absent from her own body— But the teeth and lips at her neck anchor her relentlessly. Kisses sucked into bruises and fangs nipping draw shuddering breaths and gasps. Her hands are too weak and weary to articulate, but her arms wrap around Himiko needily, and Himiko rocks back and forth into her lap.
Kyu whines between gasps. “I— I have w-work—”
Himiko is breathless, but responds in an even, teasing tone. “No mark left on our piece—” She plants a kiss on Kyu’s neck— “No marks left on your skin—” She grinds her hips into Kyu again— “I’m your muse, but you’re mine. Let them see.” Her hands brush a few curls away from Kyu’s eyes, letting her head loll forward to meet Himiko’s eyes. Her flyaways glow in the light of the TV like a halo, and her teeth glisten like a predator.
“Please,” Kyu breathes, nodding weakly, and Himiko bites.
Notes:
All City -- Being famous/known throughout a city. Mostly refers to being known in NYC's 5 boroughs, but slang spreads.
Barbie movies are timeless.
Switcheroo is a bit of a weird work. I’d like to acknowledge that Magne and Kyu talking about graffiti becoming less respected as queer people use it to unite is definitely intentional. However, I’d feel irresponsible if I failed to mention how graffiti culture was a heavily criminalized form of expression and artistic freedom among (particularly POC/black) people in NYC (There are other graffiti cultures but I’m much closer and more aware of NY). This story isn’t really comparing those two things, although art/graffiti as intersectionality is relevant. And, uh, go listen to Whole Train.
also, the Ghost White Gummi Bear Slurpee does kinda look like cum. it's kinda meant to be white-yellow like a clear gummi bear (that's what it tastes like, btw. one of those pineapple ones, or whatever those are. I don't like gummi bears so I wouldn't know lmao).
comment your favorite Slurpees and if they're weird enough they might cameo. (If I could I'd give Tsutsumi the GI Joe Promotional 'Liquid Artillery' Slurpee)
Chapter 55: Married Couple I
Summary:
Kyu wakes up with Himiko, more comfortable than ever in her warm embrace and sharing a quiet, domestic morning with her and Magne.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When Kyu wakes up in the morning, blinking open her glued-shut eyes, she feels a weight and warmth against her, and the sunlight feels less like a day to fight through and more like a whole day of possibilities.
Still, she lays there for a while longer, savoring the comfort and gentle light. She rubs circles into Himiko’s back with her hands as early morning aches start to fill her joints. They’ll be flexible again soon, she knows, and she tells herself the warmth of the small of Himiko’s back will help.
Her neck stings as the gauze stuck to it stretches, tugging at the blood that’s glued it on over the course of the night. The pain brings a gentle smile to her face, and something about teeth at her neck being a warm, fuzzy memory seems funny. Mina would probably say ‘that tracks.’
Himiko’s bangs flutter in Kyu’s huffed-through-the-nose laugh, and then her nose scrunches. Her eyes flutter open, quick and wary, but the gentle circles Kyu’s rubbing into her back keep her relaxed. Her cat pupils are wide, drinking in the early morning light.
“I’ve gotta get up soon, y’know,” Kyu whispers, voice raspy from the hours of healing and rest.
Himiko grumbles, nuzzling into Kyu.
“You can’t keep drinking my blood if I don’t get nutrients. Eggs and greens for iron and red blood cell count,” she murmurs on, making Himiko giggle.
“But the sun’s barely up,” Himiko whines.
Kyu glances around for a clock before fumbling for her phone. “It’s already eight,” Kyu says, “so I am sleeping in.”
“We were up until, like, two last night,” Himiko points out. She shuffles up on Kyu’s body, spreading out warmth and weight in an insidious plot to keep Kyu in place.
“And now I’m awake and need to at least stretch,” Kyu says, poking Himiko’s nose until her face scrunches. “I’ve got the joints of a middle-aged woman, Himi.”
Himiko nods sleepily. “Yeah, and your old woman bony hands are very strong and nice. And your raspy voice is really hot. And you’ve got the stamina of—”
“Returning to ‘I need more blood first.’ You’re very comfy, but get off.”
Himiko’s sleepy face sharpens into a grin. “Oh, I can definitely do that—” She squawks as Kyu lifts her by her underarms, easily standing and dropping Himiko back onto the nest of blankets and cushions they slept on. Kyu stretches, feeling aches in weary muscles and a number of cracks and pops that would give anyone hearing them arthritis. She kneads at the firm spots in her hands and flexes her wrists, starting her exercises as she pads over towards the bathroom. She doesn’t even look into the mirror until she’s over with washing her hands.
Oh, I cannot go out in public like this, she thinks, still-wet fingers trailing along the splotchy mess across her neck. I look like a piece of modern art. She considers the makeup on the counter, but she’s not sure any amount of concealer would fix this, even if she did know how to. She settles for fluffing up the collar of her hoodie and leaving her messy curls down.
Himiko and Magne’s squat doesn’t have much for utilities. The water runs, but they’re mostly using batteries and bulky portable chargers. The building is pretty cold, too, although it’s not enough to make Kyu’s joints ache as she wanders the apartment. Like Magne said, there’s a decent amount of food, at least. Kyu still feels bad, though, so she only takes three eggs and leaves some yen in the carton. From what’s in the fridge, it seems like Magne eats a lot of protein— Thinking of her bulk and her battle magnet, that makes sense.
She’s weighing whether Magne would be mad if she stole a little protein powder when the woman steps into the kitchen, wearing a loose band tee and sweatpants. Kyu steps back, and Magne nods to the container. “You want some? I can make extra coffee, ‘r just milk.”
“Oh, i-it’s fine,” Kyu mumbles.
“Mm,” Magne hums, setting down two mismatched mugs on the counter anyway. She turns back to Kyu, sleepy eyes trailing down her neck, and then around her shoulders. Kyu knows the bruises aren’t really hidden, so she avoids eye contact. “You need a haircut,” Magne says, turning back to the tiny coffee maker. “If y’want, I can—”
“N-no, that’s fine!” Kyu squeaks. “I, uh, have work studies, so I gotta be out of here pretty soon, is all…”
“Th’ hell are you doing in here, then?” Magne rubs at her eyes with one hand, and waves towards the room Himiko’s still dozing in with the other. “I’ll make food, kid, go spend time with ‘er.”
“Oh. Uh, thank you,” Kyu says, with a nervous nod and smile.
Magne just nods.
The morning is almost domestic, with Magne making food and Himiko leaning into her even as they eat. Despite her sleepiness, she apparently doesn’t drink coffee, so she’s still clinging to Kyu when they finish eating. “You don’t usually wake up this early, do you?” Kyu asks teasingly.
Himiko smiles softly. “Mm… I wake up with big sis Mag a lot, just tired… I feel like… Y’know when you eat a big meal, but it’s not so much it feels gross, it’s just enough you’re sleepy…”
Kyu rocks her head back and forth. “Yeah… Maybe it has to do with your Quirk? You were a lot more on edge, but now that you’ve drank more, you’re less subject to instincts or wariness due to hunger. It could also be a more specific sort of instinct around your Quirk, though, but I’m not sure. That’s good, though— I like that you’re comfortable around me.”
“Kyu, y’mumbled again, I got, like, half of that,” Himiko giggles sleepily.
Kyu ruffles her hair. “You drank my blood, so you’re less hangry.” When Himiko’s face scrunches at that slightly-derisive description, Kyu giggles. “Thank you, seriously. I do have to go, though.”
Himiko pouts, but this time she relents, letting Kyu stand and move towards the door. “I… Sorry I wasn’t texting. I’m gonna do that more.”
“Shit, yeah.” Magne stands up, grabbing her wallet out of her pocket and pulling out a folded-up notecard. “These are all queer people on the ‘doing what’s right’ side of the law. None of ‘em are mixed up in felonies, as far as I know.”
Kyu looks down at the card, and she starts putting the contacts into her phone— It takes some effort, but her hands are awake and warmed-up enough to manage. She doesn’t send them texts or anything, letting her hands rest and her phone sink back into her pocket, but Magne ruffles her hair anyway.
“See you around, Nightlight,” Himiko says, fangs showing in her grin. Kyu can’t help but smile back as she steps through the door, tossing a wave over her shoulder at Magne and Himiko.
Kyu knocks on the door three times, and waits. Then she knocks on the door another three times, and only after a few seconds does the door open. This strikes Kyu as strange given that Rumi has super hearing.
Kyu can tell there’s something off with Rumi as soon as she opens the door. Her undereye is dark and she looks a little manic. If Kyu hadn’t just left Himiko on the other side of Osaka, she might think this was an imposter. Unfortunately, by the toothy smile and dangerously firm hand on her shoulder, Kyu is certain this is the real deal.
“Hey, kit! I’m making coffee, if you want any.” Her nose twitches as she turns back into the apartment, dragging Kyu the first few steps. The apartment is more cluttered than usual, with boxes and disposable chopsticks littered around in an obvious sign of takeout. However, the most noticeable part is the evidence board, complete with sticky notes and red yarn pinned over pictures, dates, and news clippings. Does Rumi get the newspaper? Did she print articles? “Been a little busy, actually, since I can’t train ‘ya into the dirt if you’re already fucked up, and all. And so I figured I might as well throw myself at a case!”
Kyu nods nervously at Rumi’s excitement. She seems like she hasn’t slept but is also wide awake, somehow. “I thought you didn’t do detective work,” Kyu murmurs.
“Not usually,” Rumi shrugs, “I’ve got good instincts and tend to be on call for fights, not this sort of thing. I mostly ignored those classes in school, when I could be spending my time getting work study hours in.” At that she grins and raises her eyebrows towards Kyu, which feels enough like Rumi to soothe her panic. It’s still weird, though. “Besides, it’s usually a waste of time— I don’t need to worry about a gang overwhelming me or setting up a raid. But a manhunt, that’s fun. And unlike police investigation, I have field experience and hunches to work off, so—” Rumi stops in place.
Kyu busies herself toeing off her shoes and trying not to squirm under Rumi’s gaze. That doesn’t really work when she doesn’t look away, though. “…R-Rumi…?”
“That’s what you meant by ‘worked out,’ huh?” Rumi grins, gesturing towards Kyu’s neck. Kyu flushes, opening her mouth and failing to say anything. Rumi snorts, but she continues. “You were upset last time I… brought up a relationship. You… Uh, you aren’t— You aren’t doing that sort of thing with just anyone, right?”
Kyu sputters, mortified. “N-no, that’s— No way!”
Rumi rubs the back of her neck. Neither of them are meeting the other’s eyes. “Right. I just— Well, at your age going full limelight rockstar would be bad. And, y’know, you look like it was a lot. Is that gauze?”
“I— W-well, yeah, but—”
Rumi’s awkwardness morphs into a teasing grin. “Did you use protection?”
“I— We didn’t do anything like that!”
The coffee machine beeps in the kitchen. Luckily for Kyu, that means Rumi looks away, shoving messy strands of hair out of her face as she ducks away. Kyu is ready to peel off her day-old clothes and take a shower, but she stops in the den to grab her schoolwork and clean some of Rumi’s mess. She stands to turn, but then her eyes catch on Rumi’s board.
There’s a lot, and like the rest of the room, it’s fairly disorganized. Kyu is more familiar with Rumi’s chaos than most people are, but she’d need time to parse the connections. But there’s things that stand out against the red thread and clippings. Rumi’s own chicken scratch is stuck under a report of what seems like gang-on-gang violence. Then there’s older articles and notes, clearly filling out a profile of a person. And dead-center, a woman with hair of vibrant blue and violet. Kyu blinks to double check and furrows her brow. “She’s… After Tsutsumi?”
“Yup!” Rumi says, stepping into the room with a steaming mug that looks huge in her hands. “Not many people get out of a fight with me on their own two feet.” Rumi’s ears curl back, and foot thumps against the ground— I should look up rabbit body language— “And she’s weird. Was a hero, then she’s in Tartarus.” Thump. “Kills a career criminal, and refuses to fire at people fighting her.” Thump-thump. “‘Sides, if I find her, I find the League.”
Kyu cocks her head, skimming a few of the recent clippings and connections. “I… Aren’t they laying low right now, though?”
Rumi grins. “Sure. But when they wanna get power, or a more steady source of income, all that shit that’s gotten them nasty rankings from the Commission is gonna come back.” At Kyu’s curious look, Rumi points to one of the notes on the board. “Nagant and Shigaraki are both S-Rank, Toga Himiko’s an A-Rank, and the rest are B-Rank. You probably haven’t gone over this, ‘cause it’s more of a ‘Hero license’ thing, but the rankings generally designate S-Ranks as risks to civilian districts that Heroes can’t engage with regularly. And I hate to say it…” Thump-thump. “If Nagant ever actually fired at me, she’d be dangerous to me, too.” Thump. “But she doesn’t.”
Kyu nods, then turns back to the gang-on-gang clippings. “And what does this have to do with it…?”
Rumi takes a long swig of coffee. “I think she might be involved. It’s hard to say. But again: She doesn’t shoot at me. I’ve engaged with her twice, and she’s an excellent fighter, but never fires on me. But then she shoots the driver from the mall heist in the head. And her— Her mind games never explain whatever moral she’s actually judging by, but that’s what it seems like to me. And if I figure that out, maybe I can actually bring her in, or find the whole League. Just gotta follow up on some of this.”
Kyu’s eyes widen. “So that means…”
Rumi claps her back with a sleep-deprived lack of restraint. “Rest while you can, kit. You’ve got basic control of Blackwhip, so experience’d be more useful to you anyway. And beating you up is only fun for so long.”
Kyu sighs, stepping away from the board. “For some people.”
Rumi laughs loudly. “Yup. Don’t worry, though. You can dodge me when I’m messing around, so you’ll do fine with street-level villains. League’s probably messed up your idea of the average, though. Just don’t run off and fight some S-Rank again, yeah?”
Kyu snorts as she walks away. Calling over her shoulder, she replies, “I’m not that bad, okay? I had to fight Stain, anyway, he was about to kill my classmate.” She drops her socks and hoodie in her room, leaving her in a tee and sweats. “I mean, Iida might be an asshole, but I don’t want him dead.” She grabs a towel and the basket of new products she’s going to have to look up directions for. Eyeing a hair mask — That sounds weird— she murmurs under her breath. “If only the reverse were true.”
“Oi! Super hearing!” Kyu can hear Rumi’s frown. “The hell does that mean? Do I need to call someone? ‘Cause I will call someone. I could at least finagle his brother, or whoever.”
Kyu grimaces, dropping her things near the shower and turning back into the hall. “It’s— Rumi, he’s been an asshole for a while. He—” Her mouth feels a little drier as she continues, and her fingers grace across the marks on her neck unwittingly. “He never liked me, but then… Hi— Toga showed up while I was fighting Stain. I… Was about to die, and she stopped him. I didn’t know her, then, just— We were fighting to survive, and I took the knife for her, and Iida went ballistic. I guess that’s where it went from disdain to disrespect and hate. A-and now, he…”
Kyu’s fingers dig into her neck, scratching at the gauze, while her other other tightens around the doorframe. Her broken-short nails mean the pressure hurts in the skin of her nailbeds. Kyu finds her voice choked up by stinging tears, Midoriya tears. “I mean—” She laughs humorlessly— “You could call someone, sure. H-he’s past listening. Th-they won’t expel him, either. And… If they did, he’d just take it as ‘nothing left to lose’. Rip me apart to any journalist who’d listen, and then rip me apart in person.” For once, the tears don’t come out with a painful sob or shuddering breaths, and Kyu is silent as hot tears flow.
Before she can think much further, Rumi’s arms are wrapped around her. Kyu locks up, but then her hands relax. Finally, she gives in and drops, sagging against Rumi and shaking gently as she cries.
“I won’t call if you don’t want me to,” Rumi says, clipped short with how much she clearly wants to. And then her fingers are carding through Kyu’s curls, running along her scalp in soothing, even motions. Kyu nearly falls over from the weight that carries, and from how she misses it. How Inko used to do it. Rumi hesitates, but then keeps going, gently shushing her. “It’s alright, kit. If you— If you wanna stay here, or you wanna talk to me, you can. You should.”
Kyu sniffles. “Y-you don’ have to do that stuff for me, Rumi.”
“Kit, I’m not doing it ‘cause I have to. I know… I know I make light of it, sometimes, and I get mad at people a lot, but that’s ‘cause they hurt you, and I care about you. That is protectiveness and care. Not out of obligation. Not even because I’m a hero. It’s because I care about you.”
Kyu’s arms wrap around Rumi, and she lets out a heavy, shuddering breath into Rumi’s shoulder. She feels a little guilt when she realizes she’s getting tears and maybe her runny nose on Rumi’s hoodie. “…Thangs.”
Rumi grins. “Hey. Anytime.” And then Kyu hears a sniffle. “Ah, fuck, okay. You got me too.” Kyu peels her face back, and a smile cracks across her face like light through a barely-open door. Rumi’s nose is twitching as she starts to cry, too. But her ears are the same as ever and she’s smiling, even as she cries. “S-so I’m not just gonna b-beat up transphobes n’ stuff. ‘M also gonna hug you, n’ all that.”
“Thank you,” Kyu says, tears still falling but weak breaths turning to weird, shaky laughs.
“Don’ fuckin’ laugh,” Rumi says, no real heat climbing into her smile. “…Really, Kyu, I’m here if you need me.” She rubs the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Fuck, I’ve barely slept. Alright. I’m gonna finish my coffee and get myself a little more put together— We’ve got a nice casual work day ahead.”
“Mhm,” Kyu hums teasingly, “with your conspiracy board, right?”
“It’s not a conspiracy if I’m right.” Rumi steps back from the doorway, but pauses and narrows her eyes. “Did you eat breakfast?”
Kyu rolls her head back and forth. “Less than usual. But if you’re gonna make pancakes, I will not eat them.”
“I’d order pancakes,” Rumi murmurs, “fruit smoothie with protein powder, take it or leave it.”
Kyu nods with a smile, and it never quite goes away for the rest of the morning.
Notes:
Married Couple - two traincars painted as one/connected by graffiti
I have no idea when the next chapter will come. Maybe we're back on schedule. Wouldn't that be crazy?
In the words of my beta “this is the plot” also shoutout to my beta!! I’m starting to think her computer exploded again, and this one’s going up without her feedback :(
Love some cute little character interactions. There will be lots to get through next chapter though. Momko is real in all but name!! She’s even making a smoothie instead of bullying(/hj) Kyu into eating her preference in sugary and greasy stuff!!
Chapter 56: Married Couple II
Summary:
A few things the mall interrupted, and a few days to get over what the mall did to Kyu's body. She's going stir-crazy in Rumi's apartment, though...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu’s bun is always messy— She likes leaving her bangs out of it, and even though they’re getting longer, they’re still too short to really fit. She does laugh through her nose when Rumi’s nose twitches and she brushes a few curls away. With a sigh, she grabs a bobby pin and sticks Kyu’s hair above her ear, with the pin cool against her scalp.
They’re both sitting on the couch together, knees practically touching. Rumi’s hands aren’t really calloused or marred, since she fights with her legs so often. They feel firm, but not rough, as they hold Kyu’s head and rub at her ear with an alcohol wipe. Then, she rubs a needle with it.
“Are you sure this is safe?” Kyu murmurs, eyeing the needle.
“I looked it up,” Rumi says with a shrug. “Home piercing guns are basically like using a stapler. And I’ve got steady hands, probably.” Kyu purses her lips, leveling Rumi with a concerned stare. Rumi stares right back. “Look, you wanted the without-parent-permission piercing, kit. You don’t have to do it, but I’ll be right here, and as long as you’re good about cleaning it there won’t be infection.”
Kyu glances back at the needle, where Rumi is still holding it between them. Even though a lot of this decision has been made with spite, she realizes she probably wouldn’t have gone through with it on a whim. Rumi is able to soothe her and help her through it, and Kyu realizes how special that is. Himiko could do it too, and maybe Magne, but not one of the 1-A girls, and it’s not the sort of thing All Might does either. She finds herself smiling softly as she shuffles closer, until their knees are just touching. She takes a deep breath, and then nods. “Let’s do it.”
Rumi leans forward, and there’s a moment of awkwardness where Kyu is left staring over her shoulder. This close, the smell of Rumi’s earthy-sweet hair oil hits her nose, and she blinks and shifts awkwardly. There’s a tug as Rumi holds her ear in place, and then a pinch. Kyu waits for the other shoe to drop while Rumi’s hands fidget around her ear a bit.
“Done.”
Kyu sputters. “That was it? Is it—” She reaches up, poking at the stud in her ear. It’s tender, but barely hurts. “…Huh.”
Rumi shakes her head. “There is no good reason for your pain tolerance to be that good,” she murmurs, already cradling Kyu’s head and turning it. “It wouldn’t hurt that bad, but still. It’s a stabby thing.” The butt of Rumi’s hand lands on the gauze as she readies the next ear. She makes eye contact with Kyu. Kyu looks away and makes sure the sleeve of her hoodie is pulled over the fang marks on her wrist.
“That’s… It’s different.”
Rumi snorts, and shuffles around to get another wipe. It’s cool on Kyu’s ear, then she wipes the needle. A tug, a pinch, and some messing around with it. Now that she knows that’s the piercing, she can feel the discomfort of the stud going in more, but it doesn’t really hurt. Piercings, she decides, aren’t too bad, and Rumi does them really well. The same part of her that felt comfort and encouragement beyond spite is starting to feel a sort of eagerness— This is easy, and it’s something she finds she wants.
Rumi raises an eyebrow. “You’re making a thinking-face. What’s on your mind?”
“…Could I do another one?”
Kyu cleans her new, shiny piercings every morning and every night. The sting of saltwater feels satisfying, like stretching a sore muscle. She starts by rubbing it around her lobes with a Q-tip, then she does the same with the piercing through her left eyebrow, and finally dunks her nose into the cup to clean the septum piercing. They’re all small steel things, because that’s what’s body-safe and least likely to reject. There’s a little voice in her head that practically always wants another one now, but she pushes it to the side and lets Rumi work on her investigation.
She sent the first selfie with the fresh piercings to Himiko with a stupid grin on her face. She barely set her phone down before it started to buzz like crazy, and she cackled as she read through Himiko’s small panic. That also inspired her to send the selfie to the class groupchat with a completely normal caption about her recovery, although she had to put a scarf on for that one. There are a few thumbs-up reacts before Hagakure points out her piercings and her phone blows up.
Despite the new piercings, it doesn’t take Kyu long to go stir-crazy in Rumi’s apartment.
She goes on runs in the mornings and evenings, when the air is bitter cold and the sun’s warmth can’t soften the chill. But the way the wind stings on the way down her throat isn’t freeing. Neither are her stretches, or the light exercise to aid recovery and maintain muscle. She can’t do high-intensity work with every muscle, not quite up for it.
She has schoolwork to do, too. She sits in the den with Rumi, playing back recorded lectures at higher speeds and jotting down a few notes. Her hands are starting to settle, but the mall made it much easier to overwork them. She takes sloppier notes so that she has more left in her to tackle worksheets for English, Math, and History. Literature is the worst, because she’s getting to the point of short written responses that require her to write a lot or grit her teeth and type. Rumi will always distract her with little breaks to review whatever evidence she pulled, or force her to come close to the board and offer her thoughts. Kyu notices her watchful eyes on her, sometimes, and the way she awkwardly interjects just to save Kyu the pain. Those little caring actions make her smile even as she sits back down to work again.
By the end of a day, her wrists ache, her hands are shaky, and her fingers feel like she stubbed all of them, over and over. She takes ibuprofen before bed on most days, hoping it’ll be enough to sleep. It probably wouldn’t be, but her body yearns for rest enough to steal her into dreamless nights instead of leaving her awake and aching.
The worst of all of it, though, is the Quirk buzzing around in her chest. Her hands always hurt a little, but One For All feels pent up every time she pushes herself when she jogs or does an extra few reps. It’s like she can feel her ribcage rattling, bones screaming with energy like a kettle left on the heat too long. Just like how she had to be strong to take on the Quirk, using it while her muscles are all holding on by a thread is a bad idea— At least, that’s the advice of medical professionals, and Kyu isn’t excited to test that out.
By the third day since leaving the hospital, Kyu feels how she's running out of away-from-UA time. She’s sprawling across the couch, too antsy to do schoolwork. She's so eager to do something that she’s spending her morning texting Natotomi more, despite her low-level hatred of all things media.
Kyu groans, letting her phone fall against her chest. The fact that Natotomi is right doesn’t change the fact that it feels unfair, and thinking about the complexities and unspoken rules of social media makes frustration settle into her mind like a dull headache. When her phone buzzes against her chest, it spikes, but she checks it anyway.
Kyu lifts her legs and twists off the couch, springing to her feet. Natotomi is all but forgotten as she stretches a little and packs her schoolwork back into her backpack. If the train forces her to be productive, then she’ll kill two birds with one stone.
“What’s got you so excited?” Rumi asks, smiling above a series of articles and unresolved cases in Osaka.
“I, uh, think I’m gonna take the train back for today. Catch up with Yagi— I-it’s been a while since we really talked. And I might say hi to the class… Probably not, but it’s an option!”
Rumi laughs, nodding. “Yeah, stay safe. And kit?”
“What’s up?”
“Wear a scarf.”
Kyu shuffles into her outfit quickly, and throws her hair into a messy bun, in the forever just-presentable look she’s used to— And then pauses, because she has time before the train, and it’s All Might. She can’t just half-ass being femme if it’s All Might. She uses one of the fancy lotion-things for her face, puts on lipgloss, and tries eyeliner. It’s even harder than it looks and her hands are shaky, so she ends up wiping it off and leaving a slightly dark smear around her eyelids. It almost looks purposeful, but she pouts at it anyway. She surveys herself in the mirror, fixing her curls and scrunching her nose.
After changing her plain coat into a put-together looking brown bomber jacket, she tucks her tee into her artificially ripped jeans, and throws on a scarf that’s sort of garish with the more relaxed outfit, but it’s trans colors, so it quells some of her annoyance with Natotomi. She nestles the ribbed collar of her jacket up around it, tosses one end of the scarf over her shoulder, and toes into her red high-tops.
“I’ll be back tonight!” She calls into the apartment.
“Mm,” Rumi says, thumbtacks held in her mouth while she looks at her conspiracy board.
“You should probably take a nap. And don’t eat instant ramen.”
“I don’t need to be parented,” Rumi says, rolling her eyes affectionately as she hops away from the board and looks at Kyu. Her nose twitches, and she smiles affirmingly as she steps a little closer to flatten Kyu’s collar. Her eyes narrow, and she brings her thumb to her tongue before rubbing at a stray spot of eyeliner.
“Now look who’s parenting,” Kyu grins, hoisting her backpack up onto her shoulder. She snickers at the lemon-sucking look on Rumi’s face, then tugs the door open and crosses the threshold. “See you!”
Rumi clears her throat. “Yeah. See ‘ya.” She stands stiff in the doorway, but Kyu is already looking away, down the hall. She unwinds her earbuds as she pushes into the echoey stairwell, taking the steps down two at a time. She passes over Himiko’s playlist, this time opting for a pop-punk album Jirou sent a while ago. By the time she reaches the ground floor, she’s got a bit of a skip in her step, and she sets a light jog for the station.
Luckily— In a sense that says a lot about Kyu’s average day— There are no villain attacks or public disturbances before she gets there. She does drop a couple hundred yen in a guitarist’s open case, picks up a handful or two of litter, and offers to take a picture for a couple. They act very shocked about it, which is weird until she gets asked for an autograph. Not this again, she thinks. She doesn’t repeat the mistake of last time, instead escaping after a few autographs and mentioning that she has a train to make.
The express trains are as comfortable as ever. She sinks into the plasticky not-leather seats and sets her backpack next to her— There aren’t that many passengers at midmorning on a weekday. She ends up shuffling through most of the artist behind the pop-punk album while she knocks out a few days of chem work, but switches to Himiko’s ear-destroying hyperpop to knock out math and a very dragging chapter of her history textbook. By the last half-hour of the ride, her brain is putty, but she’s gotten a step ahead of the work she needed done. Her productivity is probably from the natural light and the city-smell.
Instead of plowing into the roadblock that is Lit, Kyu pulls out her blackbook for the last section of the ride. She knows, even as she sets her bargain-bin mechanical pencil to journal paper, that her hands will probably ache from overuse later. But for the moment, her joints feel fine, like the way a runner’s high makes exercise seem easier. She sketches out faceless action poses, and rough, scratchy lines approximating Himiko’s wild halo-hair and her pretty eyes with cat pupils and thick eyeliner. She doodles Magne and Tsutsumi too, and then Rumi, whose flowing hair and proportionally large legs make her fun to draw in movement.
When the train’s robot voice says her stop is coming up, Kyu texts Yagi and puts away her things. She double-checks her backpack and tugs at the scarf to make sure it’s covering her whole neck.
The station in central Musutafu is a little bigger, and a little more crowded, than the one in Osaka. She’s gotten a little more used to Osaka’s buildings, with their layers of paint and refurbishing and public works projects. The clean, sky-reaching glass and smooth cement of Musutafu is striking. — Now that she’s been gone for a while, it strikes her how much more there is to see here. Even in the middle of the train station, there are scrawls and caricatures of heroes speckling the cleanliness of the city. Kyu thinks about what Magne said, and of everywhere looking like this, full of expression and art and individuality.
Yagi is parked half a block down the street. She hardly needed him to text her that; his old imported american pickup stands out even if he’s not waiting outside of it, falling apart yet twice the size of anything else on the street. Maybe cars really do reflect their driver, she thinks. He smiles and waves when he sees her, and she finds herself returning it— It helps that they’re not being swarmed by fans or recorded. It’s easy enough to pull open the door and tuck her backpack between her legs, like she did a million times at Dagobah.
“It’s good to see you,” Yagi says, smiling right into his voice. He turns the key in the ignition with an almost childlike glee that Kyu matches easily. He clears his throat. “I didn’t realize you’d, ah, gotten piercings, young Midoriya.”
Kyu finds her smile fading as her thoughts curdle at the name. She plays it off, though, tucking herself closer to the window.
“…Ah,” Yagi grimaces, “I’ve been a deadbeat dad…”
Kyu snorts at his flat tone, then sputters. “Wh— All Might, that’s not…!”
He turns back to the road, smiling bashfully. “Ah, well, you see, most of the staff is… Somewhat teasing, I suppose.”
Kyu huffs. “Yeah, my classmates are the same. I have tried to explain that that’s not— I wouldn’t lie th-that you’re my father—”
“I know, young— my girl. Better to be teased than have them suspect something closer to the truth, I suppose.” As the truck chugs up to a red light, they sit in silence. It’s awkward, but Yagi doesn’t reach for the radio. Instead, eyes on the road ahead, he opens his mouth and shuts it once or twice. Quietly, he says, “I do mean it, though. I… Have not been keeping up with you.” The light turns green, and the pickup chuffs into motion. “Since my retirement, I’ve mostly been focused on teaching, and… And you’ve changed quite a bit.”
Kyu twists one of her earrings. She’s supposed to do it occasionally while it heals, but it’s becoming a nervous habit. “It’s… My mom and I aren’t getting along,” she admits. It’s easy to just say. Maybe because he’s been helping her for so long, or maybe because she’s already told Rumi. “She’s… Not malicious, but… She doesn’t trust me, and because of that she doesn’t respect… my decisions.”
“I would imagine the piercings were without her permission, then,” Yagi smiles. It’s still a contagious thing, even though Kyu’s eyes are already wet with tears. He huffs out a short laugh. “You know, when I was about your age, I did the same thing. My father was quite the disciplinarian, and so I got an ear pierced, as a little rebellion.” He chuckles. “Oh, he did not like that. But I kept a ring in that ear, right up until the time it got caught on my first cape.” Kyu winces, and that makes Yagi laugh hard enough to cough some blood. He sombers, fumbling for tissues from the center console.
“…Yeah, I think it’s rebellion,” she admits, “but it’s also about… I have control over my body. But then it’s— It’s also scary. I don’t think she would, but if I push back, what if she takes more?” Quietly, she adds, “she could pull me from UA, if she wanted to.”
Yagi’s bony fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “I… I’ve said my piece to her, of course. If she’d see you taken from UA, I’d write any letter of recommendation it would take, or extra training.” He purses his lips, unusual tension settling in his brow. “If your mother is leveraging control of your body and education, then—” He sighs. “Even when I was Number One, I couldn’t punch all of my problems. You have my full support, understand? If there’s anything I can do, just tell me.”
“…This is enough. Being able to talk about it helps, and— I have friends who can help too. I… I can’t really push her on it.”
Yagi swallows thickly, but nods. “I understand.” He glances away from the road to her, watching with concern but also a softness and care. “We’re almost to the place. If you’re hungry.”
“I am,” Kyu admits, voice quiet, the emotions in her chest still settling. “B-but you can’t handle too much solid food, right? I-I don’t want to just eat in front of you,” she stammers.
Yagi smiles wryly as they pull into a parking lot. “Oh, but they have a killer milkshake.” The building in front of them is a flat-top building of chrome and red— An American-style diner, it looks like.
Kyu rolls her eyes, smiling. She doesn’t even notice Yagi crossing around the front of the pickup until he opens her door and pulls her into a hug. His arms are bony but firm around her back, and holding her head to his chest. She hugs him back tight. She minds his injury, but she can’t help but cling to him, and he rubs her back soothingly.
They talk for a while once they get into their booth. Kyu sips on her iced tea while All Might talks about what the other Heroics classes are like, and how 1-A has been improving. When her burger and fries come, she blinks at the size of it before digging in. It’s only then that she realizes how long it’s been since she shared a giant American meal with Yagi. She smiles, even though her chin is becoming a mess between the sauce, tomato, and grease.
After a lull for her to eat, he starts to ask her questions. She answers with an earnest grin as she talks about working with Rumi and mentions visiting friends in Osaka as nonchalantly as she can. Finally, when they’re both done with their food, having each shared a few laughs and a few stories, he brings up her Quirk.
“ Blackwhip was the Fifth’s Quirk. I’ve managed to compile information on most of the others, too.” He itches at his chin. “I don’t want to overwhelm you with all of that at once, though.”
Kyu nods, understanding. She’s hungry to understand all of OFA, but it hardly makes sense to her. “I did figure out Blackwhip, with Rumi’s help. It’s… Finicky. It’s more like a physical thought than a muscle, and it always wants to grab something, so it’s tricky sometimes…” Her nose scrunches as she talks. “I wish I could talk to Fifth about it.”
Yagi hums in understanding.
“But even when I do have those dreams, they’re sporadic.”
Yagi chokes on air. “Wh-what was that?”
Kyu sputters. “S-sometimes I get dreams, or these weird visions. But I’ve only had three or so. I guess there was always more going on, and they’re fuzzy when I try to remember them. I’ve barely ever talked to them, but it’s like… They get a short window, and try to talk to me about OFA , or about the League.”
Yagi leans forward, his smile hanging half-open in curiosity and wonder. “…That’s incredible, my girl. Whom have you spoken with? Is there anything that… That stands out…?”
Kyu tucks her chin into her scarf, furrowing her brow in thought. “W-well, at Kamino, Fifth told me to ‘use my anger’. I figured it out from there, since Blackwhip is… keyed to emotion, I guess. And… I think after I manifested it at the dorms, I talked to Second. I don’t think he likes me.” She tilts her head back, looking at the ceiling to think. “Yeah, I think he said something about ‘her savior complex,’ which…”
She shrugs. Yagi’s eyes widen and he takes a deep breath… And he shrugs too.
“And then First was… Trying to show me a memory. It was when Second found him, and then he said he wished there was more time.” She droops forward, letting her head fall into her hands. “I think… The previous holders are there, and it’s like… When I’m ready, and I need it, I can manifest a new Quirk. But I have spent a lot of time injured and learning recently. Maybe that’s why there hasn’t been a new one? Or, maybe it’s like Quirk Awakening, and there hasn’t been an event with the stress and demand of a new expression of power, and that’s why. It could be a combination of both, too, or—”
Yagi starts to laugh from his core, and he reaches across the table to ruffle her hair. “You’re rambling again— Though from what I did catch, you have better guesses than any of mine.”
Kyu smiles, following him as he stands to pay at the front— He doesn’t let her pay, and she caves to his stubborn smile. Soon enough they’re driving through Musutafu in his truck again. He talks on about paperwork and teaching and the UA staff’s silent prank war. They visit Dagobah together, sitting at the end of the boardwalk as golden hour comes behind them.
Where she was antsy before, Kyu feels inspired to return to hero work tomorrow. Yagi’s hearty voice and holding her to his chest as they look over the ocean is a huge part of that— Even if she’s a bit too shy to say it, she has a feeling he knows.
Notes:
this chapter was going to go up earlier today, and then i had to go to the dentist. traumatizing. also i have a few tiny cavities but one of them is on a wisdom tooth so that's cool i guess
PLEASE NOTE: alcohol wipes don’t sterilize stuff. If you’re going to do an at-home piercing, get a clamp and buy prepackaged/sterilized needles. this fic just has a bit of a parent trap vibe even if the apple is basically the opposite of safe
AND ITS ALL MIGHT COMING BACK WITH THE STEEL CHAIR! Hes not done being a parental figure. i swear i didnt forget about him
Kyu: I feel reinvigorated and inspired! I can’t wait to do hero work!
her absolute fucking bad luck: hey girliepop, there's someone at the door :)On an actual author-side note: given that my texting skin is a bITCH and also doesn't facilitate groupchats, it may be phased out At Some Point. idk. kyuubi's discord/telegram experience:tm:
Chapter 57: Ghost III
Summary:
”Just don’t run off and fight some S-Rank again,” and what happens when you take your kit hunting for S-Ranks.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tnk, tnk, tnk. The Knightriders, combined with a steady ten-percent of OFA, send Kyu loping after Rumi at a comfortable pace. Her hood dances in the wind, and her respirator is firm against her neck. Her hands are held in red handwraps and Mei’s gloves, sheltering her awkward fingers like a blanket swaddles a baby. Kyu feels alive. The power that’s been buzzing in her bones for days is finally free, crackling through the air in blinding arcs.
Rumi is a rooftop ahead, also in costume. Right now she’s Mirko. She looks the part too— She’s confident, but hyperaware in the way her ears twitch and her narrowed gaze sweeps the street below. She makes a shorter hop to the next roof, and lands in a graceful crouch at the end of the building.
Kyu lets her pace drop, coasting on the springy movement of the Knightriders. She’s a little out of practice, but manages to brake with the metal. It scrapes against the cement rooftop and the torque forces her forward into a messy roll. In the end, she’s crouched just a few feet behind Rumi.
“Nice recovery,” she says, still looking out over the street. They’re pretty much smack in the middle of Osaka, so it’s full of cars and pedestrians. Kyu shuffles up beside her, trying to follow her gaze, but she can’t see whatever Rumi sees. It’s easy to spot when Rumi’s ears twitch and she twists on the balls of her feet to face another direction.
Kyu leans the same way, but faces Rumi. “So, are we gonna look into any of those leads you were looking for…?”
She replies with a noncommittal hum, still staring out. Then she blinks and settles back onto her heels. “Most of that stuff would be better to check out after dark. Less civilians, more organized crime, ‘n all that. This patrol’ll be shorter, and we’ll come back out at… Eh, ten or so.” She adjusts her posture, squaring up her shoulders. “Imagine that. I’m teaching you heroism shit for once!”
Kyu matches her grin. Then it fades. “Ah, I— I got so bored that I was talking to Natotomi again. She’s expecting something from us now.”
Rumi shrugs. “Do what you need to do.”
She can’t complain about lighting if it’s a video, Kyu decides, already pulling off a glove with her teeth and grabbing her phone. She holds the glove with the other hand while holding up the phone to record with the selfie-camera. It feels a little weird to see herself and be Nightlight, but here she is, with an awkward-ish smile and piercings glinting in the midday sun. “Hey, Japan! I, uh… Well, it’s been a minute. I bounce back quick, though!” She holds up a peace sign with her off hand, holding the glove in her other three fingers. “I’m glad to be your Nightlight again.”
“Kit. Four o’ clock, convenience store.”
Kyu straightens at the urgency in Rumi’s voice, and holds up a finger as if to say ‘wait’ to the camera. Then she stops, glancing at her own finger. “Why am I doing this, I’m taking the video—” She scoffs at herself, turning away from the camera. She can see the convenience store across the street, with a pickup parked half on the sidewalk and still running. She narrows her eyes, feeling them glow with Searchlight. Through the dark glass of the storefront, around shelves and soda fridges, there’s a man tearing an ATM off the wall while one takes the register and another harries customers.
“Three. ATM, Register, customers. I can probably get the two away from civilians—”
“I’ve got ATM,” Rumi nods, rocketing off the roof. Kyu pushes Searchlight until her eyes feel like they might burst, and throws back an arm. They’re doing this in broad daylight. They’re grinning like kids in a candy store. All their cruelty and trying to be top dog since All Might can’t stop them. Of course I’m angry at them. She thrusts her arm forward, fingers splayed, and two thick coils of shadow snap out, chasing Rumi and shattering straight through the glass. There are a few shouts as Blackwhip goes taught, and yanks both men out of the store. Kyu drops her phone onto the roof and leaps from the building as they come out, and pins them to the asphalt in the middle of the street. They’re still reeling when they realize they’re in cuffs.
Kyu lets her steely glare melt into a wide lopsided smile when Rumi tosses the third man, cuffed and grimacing, out of the store. Rumi pauses, ears flexing. Kyu blinks when she notices, and scans around with Searchlight. “I don’t hear anything else,” Rumi says.
“I don’t see anything.”
“Then we’re clear. Good shit, Nightlight.”
While small crowds of civilians start to close in, applauding, Kyu freezes. “I think I have to re-do the video.”
Natotomi prefers the first, much more awkward and interrupted-by-villainy version of the video. Apparently, any nervous and earnest energy Kyu has is ruined on a second take. Kyu shrugs, and decides that if Japan likes her being a camera-shy teenager, she’s happy to avoid them like the plague.
The patrol gets a little more spirited after that first encounter. Kyu and Rumi spend a little bit after the encounter on the ground, interacting with civilians. Then, Rumi will hear something, or Kyu will spot something from atop a building, and they’ll move out again. All Might’s retirement has criminal activity spiking everywhere, but for some reason it’s sky-high in Osaka. Maybe there’s some big underworld thing, and that’s why the League is laying low here too. Kyu doesn’t know, but it doesn’t exactly excite her. Rumi was right about one thing, though— Most of the villains aren’t that impressive, and even the ones that let loose with powerful Quirks are clearly more used to opponents being defeated. The woman who turns a car into a monster has a very funny shocked expression when Kyu wrestles it to the ground and captures her.
When they get back to Rumi’s apartment, she does cooldown stretches and puts her hair up, but she doesn’t take her white leotard off. Kyu considers keeping her costume on, but she’s a little sweaty, so she changes into lounge-y clothes to do a little homework and enjoy the well-earned rest time.
Kyu makes dinner, but hesitates before she starts chopping veggies. Before she can convince herself to just do it and overwork her hands, she manages to drag Rumi away from her beloved board long enough to work the cutting board, which saves Kyu most of the pain. Her hands are still a little awkward from overuse, but OFA has always made them feel more steady. The curry she makes isn’t too demanding, and it’s easy to make way more than two savings for easy leftovers. Besides, it also tastes good and has lots of protein.
Since it’s just the two of them in the apartment, they eat off mismatched plates in the living room, and Rumi points her chopsticks at different articles and threads on her board. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” Rumi grumbles between quick bites. “Still, we’ve gotta take a close eye to every block, so try not to overlook too much. I figure they’re not anywhere super busy, so we’ll start further in and work towards the shoreline over a night or two.”
Kyu frowns at the map, chewing slowly as she thinks. Eventually, she swallows and clicks her tongue. “I think we could split up and be much more effective. Stay in the same large area, but search separately.”
Rumi narrows her eyes, staring at Kyu for a while, and then at the map. Eventually, she shrugs. “I’d usually say no, but I’m treating you as a sidekick right now. You have a communicator and Night Howl, so security concerns are minimal. But you are not going to engage without notifying me, is that clear?”
Kyu nods.
Rumi’s nose wrinkles as she steps into the sixth building. It’s unimpressive— Some old flex space with lots of bare floors, making it feel like a warehouse with a low ceiling. The height is uncomfortable, it feels like she can’t jump properly. Of course, she took this building anyway, because she knows the route. She knows her gut and her investigation— This is the spot with the most red flags.
Her metal shoes tap softly against the cold ground. She evens out her breathing. She opens her ears. Maybe it’s obsessive, but Rumi refuses to give up a chance to catch Nagant a third time.
Every time we meet, it’s those mindgames. It’s those oddities. Rumi remembers chewing her lip, surrounded by the smell of coffee and takeout, staring at that board. I have to meet her again, to make sense of her. I have to find her again, to understand why. I have to know. Filling out that profile, she tells herself. The part of her that hopes it’s true is inconsequential— Nagant is a villain. But if she has a code like I think she does, is she that bad…?
What is the story of Lady Nagant?
Rumi hears breathing and urgent, hushed voices. She hears boxes moving and a louder “ah, finally.” She licks her lips. Time to wreck house. The easy part. The fun part.
It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before— Shady deal, A few boxes of smuggled goods and expensive support tech. She doesn’t recognize the man with it or the man in the purple suit buying it, but she recognizes Nagant. She decides the plan is simple: Start with the sellers, knock out purple, and then engage Nagant. To her knowledge, she won’t get shot, so there’s basically no threat. So she shrugs, bounds forward, and whoops. “Heya folks!”
Everyone in the room whips around. None of them are prepared. The sellers rev up some nasty looking Quirks. She kicks them; they go down. She hits purple and hears him crack against the wall. She hears them all drop like sacks of potatoes, already on the next before they fall. Finally, she lands in a squat and stares down Nagant.
“Isn’t this a little outside your wheelhouse?” She says, smiling. “Commission put you on little ol’ me?” Her eyes in narrowed in an unreadable tired-annoyed-something look, despite her teasing.
“Took it up myself,” Rumi grins back. “And it only took me a few days to find you. Imagine that.”
Nagant lifts her left hand, threading it through her hair. She tosses some of the loose curls over her shoulder. “Surprised I didn’t shoot you, princess?”
Rumi narrows her eyes at that name, in that husky, lilting voice. Her lip curls as she shoves down any reaction. Let her talk more, she thinks hastily.
Nagant’s eyes open, one eyebrow raising a little higher, in a voice both more sincere and more teasing. Rumi feels like she’s being let in on a secret. “I’m not gonna do it this time either. I told you, you’re a pretty thing. If you want to find me, you can have my number.”
Rumi raises an eyebrow. “Or I could take you in.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
It’s over in a second.
Rumi knows the rifle is coming this time, but it’s not like fighting a sword or a staff— It’s telescopic. So instead, she lingers, kicking at Nagant from middling range, and the moment it comes out, she’s leaning back and twisting around. Her foot slams into Nagant’s side, and she tumbles across the concrete. Before she can move. Rumi stamps on her arm and shoves a knee onto her chest, hard.
Nagant smiles. Their faces are close. Rumi’s hair falls like a veil around them— She smells Nagant’s jasmine perfume and watches the way her jaw moves and her thick lashes open up ever-so-slightly. She sees Nagant’s throat bob, so close.
“Find the real me, and next time will last longer,” Nagant says, low and husky. Her body starts to melt under Rumi. She sees Nagant’s hue start to fade into muddy brown-grey, and her smell and her warmth disappears in an instant.
Rumi snatches her communicator. “Kit, there’s League in the area!” The back wall comes down hard, and Rumi curses under her breath, leaping out into the street to deal with the chaos.
Kyu is creeping the last few steps of a stairwell when her communicator goes off. Not a second later, there’s a loud rumble-boom that rattles the building— Not one over the communicator, either. She takes the rest of the steps of the stairwell two at a time, bursting out onto the second floor of the building.
The Knightriders scuff and slam against the smooth concrete as Kyu ducks around a corner, forgoing stealth entirely. She twists on her heels, bolting around the wall. Blackwhip coils around her arms, snaking through the folds of her costume’s hoodie. Rather than latching onto anything to make the sharp angle, Kyu slams a foot down, braking with the metal as it screeches and tosses up glowing orange sparks.
Time slows in that moment. She feels Blackwhip tighten and shift with her pulse, like a blood pressure cuff. The shadows, thick in most of the building, are banished by orange sparks and cyan lightning. Her momentum catches, weight plowing into her brake-leg in pure potential energy. Kyu is a coiled spring.
At the edge of a comparatively dim light, crimson eyes wide, Shigaraki stands.
He shifts in that moment of glass time, shoulders shifting forward in a motion that seems to mirror Kyu. Potential energy. A spring, a leopard ready to pounce. A villain and a hero in a grimy hideout. They make eye contact, and Kyu feels adrenaline in her veins. Fight or flight, it says.
“…I’m guessing you’re not going to let me go,” Shigaraki says. His voice is clipped, even as his dry lips curl into a wry smile.
“Knowing what you get up to?” Kyu rolls her shoulders forward. None of the tension leaves her; it just crawls into a new position.
Shigaraki shrugs. “Just want you to know you have the choice,” he says, like there’s a meaning only he gets. The glint in his eye is calculating, but not cold— It’s mirthful, like he’s sharing a joke… Or pointing out a truth. “I’d pick violence too.”
Damningly, Kyu wants nothing more than to knock the smug look off his face. She finds herself struggling for words— She scoffs and runs her tongue along her teeth. Finally, she says, “I don’t like you.”
Shigaraki has smiled in cruel ways before— Ways that tug at the scarred skin of his face and tighten his eyes into glimmering slits. This is different. This is a smile with open eyes, not cruel, but smug.
He gestures down his torso with wide arms, “See a bit too much of yourself?”
Kyu launches herself at him. He’s fast, ducking around the opening right hook. She raises a knee to plant a mean kick into his center of mass, but one of his sneakers scrapes backwards and he raises two splayed hands. Kyu lets the adrenaline burn through her and focuses on the tight knot in her throat, and Blackwhip snaps out from her leg, catching his wrist. She stamps her foot down, tugging him forward, and he just laughs with the movement, tumbling into a close-quarters dance. She ducks around his clawlike hands in crackling cyan focus, all of her tight motions in combat just-so. Even then, when she untethers him, he shuffles back. He smiles as he does it. He knows that it feels like an insult.
Despite that, they’re both breathing hard. The space between them is just a few feet, and either of them could cross it in a blink, but it feels meaningful. All the fighting exists within two arm’s reach, and right now they’re at the edge of three.
“You’re a bitch when you’re mad,” Shigaraki huffs. Voice clipped. Face smiling. She wants to knock a tooth out. “You were much more agreeable smiling on my couch.”
“You’re a bitch all the time,” she snarls. He laughs. Like he wants her angry. She’s happy to give that to him.
They lunge again. Both of them are avoiding a direct hit from the other, but Kyu is bolder this time. Her knuckles catch one drawstring of his hoodie and it flies over his shoulder in scorched unwound threads. Three fingers catch on her loose clothing and she pushes in. She skips Blackwhip and stamps her foot beside Shigaraki’s, stepping into his space. He seems surprised this time, and he’s just a little too slow to react— He dodges and deflects, but scuttles backwards, smiling as his deflects turn into blocks that can barely hold Kyu, and blessedly she goes just a little faster than he can, slamming a fist into his solar plexus before he can Decay her.
He’s airborne for a moment, wheezing as he moves backwards. But his eyes are fixed on her, even as they widen for that moment. He doesn’t let himself fall over, curling forward and landing on his feet, but he slides with his backward momentum. Kyu is already there. He can’t dodge, he has to deflect, has to block, has no footing. She kicks out his leg, and as his balance is entirely lost to gravity, she kicks him straight through the far wall.
Kyu hears Shigaraki laughing before the dust even settles. She leaps through the hole, leaving behind still-crumbling cement, and lands on the sidewalk. Shigaraki brushes himself off on the yellow line in the middle of the street. He rolls his neck, a plain, watchful look in his eyes.
“What the fuck do you want,” Kyu huffs.
Shigaraki hums noncommittally. “I did give you the pitch, y’know.”
Kyu glares at him, and he’s infuriatingly unaffected. “I remember… The mall. I remember what you want. But what do you want from me?”
“Now you’re getting it.” He sniffles. He spits warm blood into the cool night air. “I want you to join up, Kyuubi.”
Kyu curls her lip at him. Not that he has to wear her anger on her face, given the way Blackwhip tightens around her arms so hard it curls out from the pressure. Agitation is plainly visible in the angular shadows flickering under streetlights. “Not interested.”
“Like you’re not interested in being Muscle?” He takes a step toward her, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands. “I can’t say much about Nightlight, but the real you seems happy to fraternize with my people.”
“I don’t wanna hear you talk about them.”
Shigaraki grins. “Who? Tsutsumi?” His voices lilts high and low, spitting the words mockingly.
“You really should come quietly.”
“You don’t want me to.”
Kyu bolts forward, and Shigaraki does too. She barely avoids catching a hand to the face while lunging with her foot out. Twisting in midair, she hits the building on the other side of the street in a crouch, staring at Shigaraki wide-eyed. He turns on a dime and runs toward her again, quick as lightning— But she’s made of more of the stuff than he is. She rises up to just shy of twenty percent. Her joints creak and her bones rattle. Her body is both rebelling and more under her control than ever. Her arms extend and Blackwhip snaps out— It catches street lamps and cement trash cans and anything else stuck to the ground, and yanks her forward.
Shigaraki and Nightlight collide again, in a twisting nether of Blackwhip and OFA . Shigaraki isn’t outmatched, though. He tears up asphalt and lets Blackwhip snag on his spindly limbs to tug against Kyu and catch her off-guard. Short glimpses, where she can’t pull back before he’s already capitalizing with splayed fingers and she has to banish the darkness away. She leaps into the air in a twist kick, and he disintegrates a Knightrider. She kicks the other off with Blackwhip ’s help, and he catches it firm and unmakes it in the space between them.
The anger Kyu feels isn’t the same fraught, awful pit as the anger she felt with Iida or All For One. It’s bitter and perfectly clear and she’s never felt less like crying. It feels like too-hot black coffee burning down her throat and leaving its taste in her mouth.
Blackwhip crashes out of her, winding in tendrils as wide around as basketballs. They coil, desperate for intent, for direction, but most chew through the asphalt and shatter the concrete. Street amps flicker and sputter and die. Shigaraki is battered backwards, tumbling half a block away. The tendrils barrel after him relentlessly, and he grabs the next one with ten fingers. Decay doesn’t turn the darkness to dust, but there’s an impossibly itchy, unfocused feeling as its edges bleed into the dark of the night, and the tendril fades.
Shigaraki laughs. Kyu isn’t used to moving with this much power without support gear on her legs— The balls of her feel pulverize the asphalt, and she leans forward with such force it feels like she’s pushing the world itself. She bolts towards Shigaraki, and he barely even flinches when they collide. It’s not a dance. It’s not graceful. He catches her sleeve, and her hoodie is unmade. She hits him and feels his rib snap like a twig. He tears through Blackwhip like it’s just a gust of wind, and claws at her wrist until her handwraps go slack, slowly sloughing off and turning to red tatters and dust on the wind. Her fist crashes across his jaw, and he tumbles backwards. The clatter of a tooth on the asphalt is distinct, a high tap in the midst of deep rumbles and crashes.
Kyu pants heavy. Shigaraki is on the ground for a second— An eternity— A crumpled, fragile thing she made, that she gets to stand over. Blackwhip curls into wisps in the wind as Kyu controls it. She visualizes all of her anger pouring out in one breath, hissed through clenched teeth. It fogs in front of her and it smells like ozone.
Shigaraki pushes himself to his feet with four fingers. The asphalt cracks, dust clings to his fingertips and dances away from them. He shuffles backwards into a low fighting stance. Wherever they are now, they’ve moved far enough to be around buildings in use. There are cars on the street and lights on in windows. People who might need saving, and who definitely need to stay inside.
Kyu wipes her face with the back of her hand— It feels strange, with no hoodie and no handwraps. She sees her scars and knobby joints. “I am never,” she huffs, “just gonna stop being a hero.”
“In spirit, maybe,” Shigaraki grumbles. He spits blood and phlegm. “And yet you broke your arm fighting your own classmate. You don’t get to pretend, Kyuubi. You could do it anywhere else. Even with your villain girlfriend, or your hero teachers, or your family for all I fucking care. But you don’t get to lie to me.” He smiles, knowing and smug, but not cruel. He takes a few steps closer. “You think you can stop me. You think I can come quietly.” He shakes his head. “You’re gonna fight me. All that spite in you, you’re always fighting something. Kyuubi started with Quirkism. With society failing you. ”
Kyu takes a step back. Shigaraki takes a step forward. “I’m not just spite—”
“Oh fucking please. You think because you got handed your little Quirk that you get to change what you are? Saving people might be in your heart, Kyuubi, but you and me? We’ve got hate in our blood. That’s what the world gave us.”
“Shut up!”
“You are a destroyer!” Shigaraki’s hands rise up, spread wide, bony fingers grasping towards every building around them. “Just. Like. Me!”
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
Blood rips free from her throat. Healing flesh ripped up again in an instant. The wave of sound shatters glass and cracks through the asphalt. Shigaraki winces, but is still smiling. Blackwhip solidifies into a gnarled mass, darker than OFA is bright. It pours out of Kyu, snatching up a car as its alarm screeches. She shoves her arm forward, and the tendril of darkness squeezing it whips through the air, launching it at Shigaraki.
He extends his hands, smiling as he reaches forward. The car is moving as fast as it might drive, but Kyu can see the moment his fingers touch it and it starts to turn to dust. It barely has time to shove Shigaraki, all the momentum annihilated as metal falls away into dust in the wind, and loose car parts clink against the road before crumbling away. Shigaraki stands, hands outstretched and head thrown back, laughing and laughing.
“There it is!” He shouts, ecstatic. Shadows as thick as tree trunks collide with his body, and even though each one knocks the wind out of him, he pries them apart in endless Decay.
Kyu is on him in a breath. He ducks around some blows and laughs as others bludgeon him. He reaches back and his hand almost touches Kyu’s face. Blackwhip coils around his bicep and wrestles him to the ground. Kyu follows him down, putting a knee on his sternum and hitting him hard. He grabs her arm and squeezes as the skin starts to be undone. The Decay doesn’t annihilate her, but his fingers in her sinew hurts like nothing she’s felt before. He heaves her off in that moment of pain, and rolls onto his feet.
“We’re nothing alike,” Kyu growls. Her voice tastes like blood and ozone. He doesn’t answer, panting and wheezing. She finds herself smiling, and savors the feeling of her lips peeling away from tacky blood on her teeth. She takes a step forward, Blackwhip rising around her. “Say fucking uncle.”
There’s shifting of broken asphalt as it settles, and drip-drip of blood oozing down her arm and off the tips of her fingers. Shigaraki’s smile is weaker— And missing his top rightmost incisor. Still, there’s a cruel mirth and wonder that’s at home, glimmering in his blood-red eyes. Kyu shifts on her feet, and—
FWOOSH! Blue flame blazes between her and Shigaraki. She stamps her foot, trying to plow through it, but the heat is unfailing, and she can smell the asphalt melting into tar.
“Am I interrupting something?” Dabi says, stepping out of an alley. Blackwhip snaps around him and yanks him through the air, slamming him on Kyu’s other side. She moves to pin him and finds his shoulder already melting into brown sludge. “Sorry, Kyuubi,” he says, “I’m just the distraction.”
The fire starts to die down as the clone melts, but Shigaraki is gone. Kyu takes a step forward. I can find him. She feels hot tar on her feet and her arm is covered in blood. Her costume is mostly gone. I can find him. She’s desperate for air after fighting like that, but her throat is swollen and full of blood. I can find him.
“Kit!”
Relief fills her. Blackwhip fades away, and with nothing holding her up, Kyu collapses. She’s out before she hits Rumi’s arms.
Notes:
EDIT: I forgot to line ART!
Kyu vs Shigaraki has a similar energy to Kratos vs Heimdall to me. Every collision, they’re both fast and skilled, but Kyu has the physical edge to get more bold and more familiar with his style until she lands glancing blows, then direct hits. And besides just the literal fight… They hate each other so much. I love them. It’s really fun to write Shigaraki laughing through a whole fight, and Kyu getting mad and trying to argue more. Sets up a very interesting ‘who leads this conversation // who leads this fight’ thing. I hope it feels like Kyu didn’t win, but Shigaraki is still kinda crazy.
My beta edited this chapter even though she’s busy and keeps having bad luck! Big thanks to toolassisstedrat for editing this chapter AND sending:
1.) Thanks for the intimate nemesis-ness of kyu and shigaraki in this work, since she helped me shape the dynamic. (and apparently the word for that is "kismesis". Thanks for reading homestuck so I don't have to.)
2.) Well-wishes, that her power may stop going out and her computer may stop blowing upKyu: SAY UNCLE. SAY UN–
Blackwhip: let him get up, let him get up
Shigaraki: …i'm still right
Kyu: RAAAAA–
Chapter 58: Insides I
Summary:
You’re a destroyer!
Kyu wakes up in the hospital, and like every time before, wants to move on and forget what happens. It doesn’t go that well.
Notes:
TW: This chapter focuses on Kyu’s mental state after fighting Shigaraki, and includes heavy discussions with Rumi and Inko. Prioritize your wellbeing, hydrate, and take a deep breath for this one.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu squeezes her fist, then lets her hand relax, then squeezes it again. It tugs at the still-adjusting skin graft, which feels tender and raw. It doesn’t look like a mass of scar tissue, really, but apparently it’ll always look a little off. Part of Kyu thinks ‘small price to pay,’ but it’s quashed by the bitter feeling in her stomach. Price for what? I didn’t get him.
She did spill blood and get a tooth. The satisfaction she feels at that is that of a small victory and a chance to identify Shigaraki… Unless he’s right, and it’s a violent, spiteful thing inside of me. She swallows thickly, nausea making its home in her stomach, as every moment of their fight replays over and over. All the screaming, Shigaraki’s laughter, and the air being so full of ozone and darkness and dust. Through the hospital sterilization, there’s still a hint of the brackish shadows clinging to her.
It’s in your blood.
She feels it thrumming in her ribs from her messy emotions. It’s not rushing into her arms or burning her skin, but it’s there. Maybe it won’t leave at all; a new, special sort of hatred pools in her skull like water in a basement. It’s not long before the mildew and black mold and
You’re a destroyer!
“Fuck Shigaraki,” she spits. The name sears on her tongue, bitter and burning like too-hot coffee.
This time, the hospital feels even more droning and pointless than after the mall. Whatever Quirk fixed up her skin is done, and now it’s just bureaucratic-feeling garbage. She knows the moment an officer walks in how long giving a statement will take. On the other hand, Inko has to hop on a train to get her out, and she’d rather not wait in silence. Begrudgingly, she asks for hot tea to soothe her throat and starts talking.
She explains the property damage, and the sequence of events and injuries, and the knocked-out tooth. She explains that she’s been forced into his presence before, and he was happy to push buttons and goad her. She mentions what he said about it being her decision to fight, and how he still wanted to recruit her. “…But I think my ‘no’ was pretty clear,” she grumbles, eyes moving down to where her still-raw knuckles clutch the bedsheets.
The officer reads her statement back, which she mostly gives absent ‘yes’es to. There’s a few places his report is a little vague, but he seems happy about the tooth thing and doesn’t comment much on her emotional state. She doesn’t bother to amend her statement with more detail. The idea of telling a cop that Shigaraki said “we’re the same” before she actually thinks about it on her own is… Harrowing.
The tea is nice on her throat, at least. There’s some artificial-tasting honey in it, too sweet and bitter under her tongue. She lets the warmth of the wax paper cup work into her hands. It stings her skin a little, but sinks deep into her rattled bones. The doctors say nothing’s broken, although her feet hurt from moving the way she did without the Knightriders.
She’s halfway through counting all the little spots on the floor tiles when there’s a few knuckles rapping against her door. She wriggles up into a sitting position, then clears her throat. “Come in,” she says tentatively— She’s used to seeing very little of nurses or doctors after she gets handled. The door opens, and there’s a very important-looking man in scrubs and Rumi, looking very conflicted behind him. Kyu frowns at Rumi, looking right past the doctor. Her tongue slides along her teeth before she speaks.
“I wouldn’t be allowed to visit, but I am your teacher, employer, and on the same case, in the sense of heroics.” She waves her hand around in a ‘so-so’ motion. “Your homeroom teacher has more… enumerated rights to provide. But I told ‘em I’m not leaving this room until you do, so here we are.”
Kyu glances between Rumi and the doctor. “Okay, so something’s going on. You know I just fought Shigaraki, right…?”
“Yeah, and Twice was active tonight. Duplicate Shigarakis could show up at any point— Or the real thing— If they know you’re here. Which brings us to the other thing.” She nods her chin out at the doctor.
He clears his throat. “Right, well, the tissue damage across your arm was severe and total, but not too deep. It also only changed organic material— There was intact debris that I believe to be from your clothing.” He glances down at his tablet a few times as he speaks. “However, in scanning and repairing your arm, we discovered inorganic material at the edge of the damage, just above your elbow in the inner arm.” He clears his throat again, then swallows awkwardly. “This was— It may have been damaged on retrieval, and its exact purpose is difficult to tell, but there was a small implanted device—”
“I was chipped,” Kyu states, a little disbelieving. The doctor nods, and Rumi grimaces.
“It seems invasive, but you’ve had intensive work in your arms before, correct? For it to go unnoticed, it’d have to coincide with some other procedure.”
Kyu chews at her lip. “And if I used maximum output up to my bicep, I’d have destroyed it, so it had to go in—” She stops short, mouth dry. “The League took me to a doctor after the camp attack. I was too out of it and they blindfolded me, I… I don’t even know who it was.”
“We’re trying to determine anything we can about what it is or where it might be sending its information to,” Rumi says, “but that’s not really an optimistic plan.” Kyu nods, but her jaw screws tight and she doesn’t reply. “Hey. It’s gonna be alright, kit. You’re safe, and it’s out, and we both kick ass. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, okay?”
Kyu nods. “I— Logically, I know, yeah. Just— Thank you for being here. Y-you don’t have to, but—”
Rumi snorts. “I mean, sure, but they want me for observation too. And my lead just went up in smoke— This is the most important thing right now. You are important, kit.”
Kyu blinks and sniffles, murmuring out a “thank you.” Then she narrows her eyes. “Wait, you’re here for observation?”
Rumi smiles that lopsided smile. “Like I said, Twice was around. I fought about thirty members of the League tonight. Mostly Dabi, actually.” As she speaks, she twists, showing off the big patch of gauze and medical tape on her thigh, a mess of bruises and welts on her arms, and a small boot-brace on one foot. Kyu’s face twists with worry and she opens her mouth, but her gaze meets Rumi’s smile when she looks up. “I kicked too hard,” Rumi says simply.
“I almost feel bad,” Kyu murmurs sympathetically.
“He’s got such a big mouth that he had to staple his lips. Not like he didn’t have it coming.” Her smile softens with a sigh. “Anyway, insurance should handle most of it, but I’m probably in trouble for the car you threw—” She grins as if to say ‘I don’t care; it was cool’— “And that my fight turned a building into an empty lot.”
The doctor checks on a few of her machines, pokes at her skin graft, and then writes something in his tablet and leaves. Rumi is mostly quiet throughout, sitting near the window but always in Kyu’s sight. She looks tired.
“What time is it?” Kyu murmurs.
“After one. Get some rest, they’re gonna keep you for a night anyway. Your egg donor’ll be by in the morning.”
Kyu snorts, lurching forward so suddenly that she almost spills hot tea all over her lap. “I-I don’t think she’d like you calling her that,” Kyu sputters, voice pitching up like it’s a question.
Rumi raises an eyebrow at her. “That is kinda the goal.”
Kyu laughs awkwardly. “Right. Obviously. J-just don’t piss her off so much she, like, pulls me out of working with you…?” Rumi looks like she swallowed a lemon. “It’s something she can do as my guardian,” she says softly. She shrugs, even though it really doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels shitty.
“Yeah, well, those rules exist to be used by good people in the interest of their children.”
Kyu frowns. “I… She’s misguided, but it is in my interest. I know she cares about me too, and if I went home with her she’d be the same sweet person and make the same katsudon.” Her throat feels tight and her vision is blurry and watery. “I miss the katsudon,” she rasps, half-whispered. “I was way less happy then, but I had—” She cuts herself short. “I could have that katsudon.”
Rumi approaches her, making slow, readable movements as she sits on the side of the bed and wraps an arm around Kyu’s shoulders. Kyu sniffles one more time, and then sobs and slumps against Rumi. Her piercings are still tender, so her brow and septum sting as her face rests against Rumi’s shoulder. The gentle sting is just a little grounding, like a sandbag is to a hot air balloon. Rumi doesn’t smell like she usually does, but char and jasmine are more soothing than hospital-smell. Kyu doesn’t even yawn before she dozes off.
Rumi, true to her word, stays there for the whole night. There are times the nurses pop in, but Kyu is attached to the same machines and they see nothing worth waking her up to check further. When the halls are quiet, Rumi’s ears peel back, twitching. She wills the rest of her body to stay relaxed, anything to let Kyu rest. Every ounce of anger and worry she feels fiercely and for Kyu stays in her furrowed brow and tense muscles in her face. It makes an ache stab through her temples.
‘I had a mom,’ Rumi fills in. Well, if she’s like that, then you’ve got me. She tucks Kyu’s loose curls and split ends away from her face. Her piercings glimmer when they catch the light. A smile wrestles with the expression scrunching up her face. In the end, her gaze is just tender.
Kyu wakes slowly, without any ghost dreams or bedside alarms. She blinks against the stiffness across her face and the glued-shut feeling of eye boogers. As she wrinkles her nose and adjusts to the midmorning light, Kyu realizes it’s because she never cleaned her face after crying into Rumi’s shoulder. Rumi is still right there— Although it seems like at some point in the night she pulled away, because she’s sitting in a chair right beside the bed, sleeping with her arms crossed and her chin against her chest.
Kyu shifts in the bed, just trying to get comfortable, but the papery sheets and papery gown crinkle loudly. She stills, eyes darting back to Rumi. She startles when she sees one of Rumi’s eyes has cracked open, and her ears are stretching into their normal position again. Her expression settles, and then her nose twitches as she scoots upright and awake.
“Sorry for waking you,” Kyu mumbles, voice full of morning rasp. In the quiet sort of morning serenity, Rumi doesn’t need to answer— She just shrugs. They stay quiet and close for a few minutes, but then Kyu starts to get antsy. Most of her mornings start with light stretching and a run, not all quiet and sweet. The hospital keeps it from feeling too restful anyway, since it’s too clean and the bed is tiny and strange. After another minute of starting to stretch and twist in the bed, she sighs. “Any developments…?”
Rumi’s eyebrows raise. “In the case, you mean?” She shrugs, tipping her head this way and that. “Nope. ‘We’re testing this,’ ‘we’re looking into that.’ Even if something does come of it, it was only sorted out late at night, so even if it’s priority, testing will probably take all day. Still, tooth’s useful. Lot of information in just a couple days.” It feels like there’s a ‘but.’ “But getting as injured as you did was a pretty big risk— Hell, the damage to your costume was bad enough, but getting your arm hit…”
Kyu tries for “it did help us find out I was chipped?” But Rumi levels her with a flat stare. Kyu caves first, of course, pouting as she turns away. “…Should I call the nurse, now that we’re awake…?”
“Hospital breakfast is better than no breakfast.”
She thinks for a moment, then presses the button. “I mostly just want to get told that it’s ‘technically okay’ for me to get up and move a little. If I get antsy, my hands’ll probably ache again.”
Rumi rolls her eyes and grumbles, “never meet anyone as stubborn as you are,” but she smiles softly. Before Kyu can come up with a reply, a nurse comes in. She does all the routine stuff, and Kyu raises her arm, sticks out her finger, and breathes deep like she’s supposed to at each step before the nurse even asks. Finally, the nurse steps away from the bed, but asks a few more questions like, “do you feel any discomfort or pain?” and “would you like breakfast? Any dietary restrictions?” She smiles, types a few things into Kyu’s chart, and then ducks out with a polite “I’ll be right back.”
While she waits, Kyu starts to stretch. She starts with a few full body ones, mostly just reaching for her toes and legs. Then she massages her hands and stretches her wrists and fingers. She’s starting to roll her shoulders and neck out from the stiffness of the hospital bed when Rumi perks up.
The tension in her body is different than the tension she had when they spotted the convenience store robbers, but Kyu finds herself falling into the same sort of silent communication and readiness. “Someone coming?”
“Just thought— No, she’s definitely saying the room number, and those footsteps are—” Her ears twist, and she cocks her head, before starting to nod slowly. “Your egg donor’s here.”
Kyu goes through the five stages of grief, plus a few more— She laughs sharply at Rumi’s… descriptor, then feels very awake, because she has to be ready, and then feels panicked, because “oh, wait, I— She doesn’t know about the piercings.”
“She was gonna find out eventually,” Rumi says, but it’s far too casual to be at all soothing. Kyu shoots her a glare, but then there’s a knock at the door.
“Ms. Midoriya?” The nurse’s voice comes through the door, muffled. “Your mother is here to see you.”
Kyu takes a deep breath, glancing back at Rumi again. She has a supportive smile, and Kyu tries to match it. It doesn’t feel incredibly successful. “Y-yeah, come in!”
The nurse opens the door, but she stays outsider, basically just peeking around the doorway. Inko steps inside, but her worried expression and fidgeting hands quickly pause, and then scrunch up. She stays there, just a step inside, for a tense moment.
“Do you need anything?” The nurse asks politely.
“No thank you,” Kyu smiles. It feels as fake and common-courtesy as it is, and then it flakes away.
Inko’s lips are pursed as she looks over Kyu, brow furrowed, and then glances back to Rumi. “Could you give us a moment?” She asks, a bit too clipped to hide her annoyance.
“I’ll leave if my kit asks me to,” Rumi nods, pretending politeness with much less effort.
Kyu reaches out to squeeze her hand, taking another deep breath. “Rumi… I’ll be alright.” Inko mouths ‘kit?’ brow furrowing into a squeezed face that looks confused and maybe a little offended. Rumi looks like she wants to argue, or maybe expected Kyu to basically tell Inko to fuck off. As much as Rumi’s anger is validating, her relationship with Inko is complicated.
It’s sort of a running theme. Sometimes she wishes she had more normal friends.
Either way, there’s a beat, and then Rumi is outside, definitely still nearby but leaving the door shut. Kyu pulls her knees up to her chest, rubbing the sheets between her fingers. There’s an odd ache where her chest meets her legs, and her face scrunches up at the… It’s like pressing on a bruise, but also an unfamiliar sort of tender. And then she realizes it’s more intense near her nipples and even spiro has its effects.
“Who gave you piercings?” Inko blurts.
Kyu shrugs. “Someone with a steady hand and sterile equipment.”
Inko frowns. “I… If you wanted your ears pierced, that’s fine, but you should’ve asked about those two.”
Kyu shrugs. “Call it teenage rebellion,” she murmurs, twisting an ear piercing between her thumb and index finger. “I like them. Rumi brought it up—”
“Is that her first name?”
Kyu blinks. “Yeah, I guess. She’d get annoyed if I called her Ms. Usagiyama or Mirko all the time.” With a sigh, she adds, “I know you two don’t get along, but she really is the best I could learn from.”
Inko sighs deeply. “Sweetheart, I know, but— If learning from ‘the best’ means the strongest villains and the worst crises, that’s different.”
Kyu shakes her head. “If I wasn’t at that mall, those people—”
“You are a teenager. My child. It shouldn’t have to fall to you to do that.”
“But it does!” Kyu glares, incredulous. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, and then tries to elaborate. “I— I agree, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? You worrying for me doesn’t change the fact that I save people!”
Inko purses her lips, eyes turning watery as she looks down at her flats. “Maybe it doesn’t change that, but the world is not entitled to you being thrown away for it.” She sighs and sits in the chair beside Kyu’s bed. “Look at you,” she breathes, “I’m worried you’re… Living so much like it’s all a bucket list.”
Kyu groans, letting her legs slink down the bed. “That’s— Maybe that’s what it looks like, but you’re taking it from the wrong angle. I figured out something about myself, and I’m changing as I settle into place again.” She massages her hands and fidgets. Quieter, eyes fixed on her hands in her lap, she says, “I know you care, but it’s like you don’t understand me at all.”
“I don’t!” Inko says back right away, with a joyless, nervous sort of keen-laugh after it. And she says it fast, like she doesn’t know how much it hurt to hear. Or like she just thought of it like ripping off a band-aid, said and then done stinging. Kyu crams down the voice that says that and the emotions rising up into her throat. “I want to understand you, but it’s like you… I don’t know when exactly it was, but then you were just different. Maybe after the first villain attack. And suddenly my child started being withdrawn and defensive.” Her voice warbles with teary-eyed worry. “Maybe it’s just because you’re a teenager, or the friends you seem to have, but—”
“I’m trans!” Kyu shouts, air shuddering in her lungs and squeezing through the tightness in her throat. “I— God, because I’m a teenager? Because of my friends? The friends and teachers I’ve found since starting UA have made me happy. I’m happy now!”
Inko frowns, and then her brow knits into an expectant but caring and wary sort of sadness and—
“Don’t— Don’t look at me like that.” Inko flinches back, like she wasn’t just looking… “Like you pity me. Why does there need to be something wrong with me? I’m telling you, I’m okay. I’m happy.”
Inko hesitates. “I don’t want to fight with you,” she says softly, “just… You’ve lied to me and kept things from me before.” She huffs through her nose, gesturing at Kyu’s piercings. “I’m your mother. I will always, always take care of you, before anything and everything else. And when you keep secrets and do scary things and these strange rebellious things behind my back, how am I supposed to pretend you’re okay?”
Kyu doesn’t have an answer to all of that. Her head is tight with pain, and she feels like she can’t understand how half of what Inko says is connected. “I wish you’d just listen to me.”
Inko smiles tenderly and shrugs. “I want to believe you. I want you to re-earn my trust.”
Kyu’s hands tighten, fingers intertwining painfully. “I— How did I lose it? I feel like everything I’ve kept from you is because I got burned.” She feels frustration burning in her, and she can’t keep it down like she knows she should. Maybe her anger is a soft spot after fighting Shigaraki. Maybe he was right, she thinks bitterly. “The same thing happened with my phone! It got broken by a villain, and you tried to, what, coerce me into spending time with you using it? Don’t you get how that would push me further away? You hold so much over my head. Like you’re trying to force me back to how I was under threat of losing what I like, and what I am now.
“I miss when you were just caring! Not caring enough to hurt me!” Sobs wrack through her, and she lurches forward as she wheezes for breath. “I miss talking about heroes with you, even if you were just humoring me. I miss homemade katsudon. But if I want my mom back, I have to give up Kyu. And if I do have to do that, then is my mom worth it?
“I don’t know. I certainly can’t decide while you’re still hanging everything over my head.” She breathes in and out as steadily as she can, fighting against her sobs to even out her breathing. It works, but she feels more tense. It’s like bellows to make the coals of anger burning in her roar into big fires. “But you’re not going to stop doing that. You said it— You don’t understand me, you don’t trust me, and you’re not going to act on what I say. So make good on the threat or don’t. Just don’t act like it’s care.”
Inko sniffles. Kyu feels twin surges of guilt and vindication. “That is hurtful,” she says. Kyu knows it was hurtful. She screws her face up, trying to think of a more productive, gentle way to communicate. She gathers up nothing, and drops her face into a frown with finality. She doesn’t want to blunt her edges and concede her anger to have a productive conversation.
You’re a destroyer!
Hot tears run down her face. “I’m not arguing with you. You’re not going to change. This is just putting it out there so I can move on.”
Inko shakes her head. “You’re my kid, okay? My—” She sighs. “I don’t think I can change and understand you like you want, but I will never stop caring about you. Because I will never stop caring about you. Even if your name changes and you grow up and you’re not the same little kid anymore. I love you.”
Kyu hesitates to answer, still looking down at her lap. Inko has moved closer, resting a hand on the edge of the bed. She still wears her wedding ring, a decade after Hisashi might as well have left. “I love you too,” Kyu decides. “But there are people whose love supports me and makes me happy. I guess I just… I’m done with the coddling. I’m done being— being treated like a kid.”
“You are a kid.”
“But I’m a person! You never, never, listen to me!”
For a moment, Inko looks guilty, at least. “I’m trying, sweetheart. But you also lie to me, and keep things from me.”
“I told you that I do that as— As a defense!” The shock and anger in her jolts a laugh out of her. “No, you don’t get to know a thing about me, or have a say in my piercings, or meet my friends! Not when you can’t be good to me.” Kyu tries to take in air, but her breaths come shaky and short. Each one fans the flames, and she feels incapable of calming down. Inko’s hand is still there, and Kyu can see her expression shifting in the corner of her eye, but she starts to feel far away.
Her thoughts are jostled, but not refocused, by a harsh knock at the door. Kyu’s breath catches in her choked-up throat. Apprehensive, she calls out, “Rumi?”
The door opens. There’s a nurse with a tray of food further out in the hall who looks very concerned. Rumi is there in the doorway, though. She glares at Inko. “She’s stuck in a hospital bed. You are here for parental consent, not to harass your daughter.” She marches into the room, standing a foot from Kyu’s bed and pointing back towards the door. “Get out.”
Inko looks at Rumi like she just kicked a puppy. “I have a right to be here. And that is my child, and you do not get to— to scare me off when I’m trying to talk to her.” She stands, glaring across the bed at Rumi. “My kid is staying in your apartment, calling you by your first name, and is now covered in piercings and fucking hickies, so excuse me if I—”
“STOP IT!”
The windows shatter and the IV pops like a balloon. The nurse in the hallway drops the tray.
We’ve got hate in our blood.
Kyu shakes, reeling at the anger inside her. It feels like Shigaraki reached in and changed something about her. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t think about the consequences when she—
“Are you kidding? I don’t come home when you disrespect me and you start calling people pedophiles!? Get a fucking GRIP!” Kyu throws off the sheets and stands. “I don’t wanna see your face again. Sign the forms you need to sign. In fact— Sign whatever form lets UA handle my hospital visits, and save yourself the fucking train ride!”
There it is!
“Get out.”
Inko runs from the room sobbing.
Notes:
Insides -- graffiti done inside a train/subway car. Used to be much more common.
Jeez. This chapter was rough. Writing Inko is always a struggle for me— I spend a lot of time thinking carefully and deleting/rewriting/etc. as I write dialogue. My mommy issues definitely help guide this one, but like everything I write, my lived experience is minor and carefully adjusted into the characters/world, mostly just to Make It Real:tm:.
This is a woman with anxiety whose daughter suddenly became disillusioned, is a famous graffiti artist, clearly bumps elbows with dangerous people, and every time they meet Kyu is further from the kid Inko expects. This does not justify her— She worries over Kyu to the point of hurting and alienating her, but it’s not malicious. I think that’s what makes her so difficult, and painful, and heartwrenching to write.
This is not canon Inko. She’s very close— A mother whose helicoptering JUST manages to win out over her earnest caring, in this sort of high-stress circumstance.NEXT CHAPTER: you’re telling me this outline had two other major character interactions?? Uh, shit. Next chapter is… Resolving a lost tooth and a lost costume…!
Chapter 59: Insides II
Summary:
The throb of Night Howl persists, and the world exists after the argument.
With another recovery period to watch over and a costume destroyed, Kyu prepares to return to UA Campus a day earlier than planned.
Chapter Text
Kyu collapses back into the hospital bed. Her head tips forward as her knees pull up, and her forehead meets her knee. It makes her brow piercing ache, and her chest stings from the pressure, and she feels like she might throw up.
There’s commotion in the hallway— Kyu curses herself, now that she can taste blood and see morning light glimmer off broken glass and slick IV fluid. She wants to curl tighter on herself until she disappears, but she’s painfully present for the chaos and voices around her. The clamoring aftermath of the argument is inescapable.
“Kit?”
The world is a little less loud and foreboding when Rumi draws her into a hug. Kyu stiffens at her touch, then relaxes. She’s still crumpled in on herself, but Rumi’s hands shift, and fingers sink into her hair and draw her face away from where it’s pressed harshly into her legs. Instead, Rumi tucks her against her shoulder, gently soothing.
“Kit, I’m right here. You’re okay.”
The nurse outside is still there. There are a few more, rushing into the hall and near the door. Even the fact that they have to clean up the mess Kyu made is mortifying, but she can feel them watching, and that’s worse. Kyu’s sight is blurred by tears, and Rumi closes her out from the world with a gentle squeeze.
They stay like that for a while. Kyu’s skin itches with every eye— Real or imagined— lingering on her, but Rumi holds her throughout. It’s barely enough to keep her grounded, but she can’t imagine what she’d be like if Rumi wasn’t there. She absently follows, half-carried, as the staff move her to another room without IV fluid and broken glass everywhere. She leans into Rumi in the next stiff bed with papery sheets. Rumi runs hot, soothing to her shaky hands when Kyu hugs her back.
Nurses come in a few more times, saying things that Kyu can barely hear over the static in her head. When Rumi eases her into sitting up straight, she listens closer. She should be watched carefully and avoid strenuous activity while the graft settles and her body readjusts. Since she got OFA, Recovery Girl has been her regular doctor, so the hospital is alright sending her back to the dorms for her recovery. It’s a day earlier than she planned to be back, but considering the state of her costume, she can’t complain.
The nurses disappear again, and Kyu slouches back against the bed. When she first woke up, all she wanted was to escape her bed while the hospital dragged its feet through bureaucracy. After fighting with Inko, she wants nothing more than to drown in the uncomfortable sheets. She feels more drained than the training camp ever made her.
“Hey,” Rumi says, hands squeezing her shoulders. “Kit, you’re almost out, okay?”
Kyu blinks a few times, breath stuttering as she comes back to the present.
“It’s gonna be alright.” her fingers brush through Kyu’s loose curls. “Do you want me to take the train back with you?”
Kyu pauses, taking a moment to gather her scattered thoughts. Rumi is really comforting, but the other people on the bullet train would probably stare… Kyu has had enough attention from strangers for the day. Slowly, she opens her mouth, settling on “no,” and then a hasty “thank you.”
Rumi’s lips purse, mildly concerned, but she doesn’t press the issue. It’s hard to stay present, but it’s not long before she’s finally dismissed from the hospital. Of course, she doesn’t have clothes to change into, but she convinces Rumi to go grab something while she answers a few more questions and gets one last vitals check before she leaves. The answers are all pretty rote, but they don’t stop at the usual set.
“Are you safe at home?” The doctor asks.
Kyu’s eyes widen. Her mouth hangs ajar for a moment before words stumble out of her mouth. “I— Yes, I just also… Inko— my mom, she sort of… She tries to be safe, she’s just controlling and rude and doesn’t listen.”
The doctor’s face stays impassive as he notes something down. “So you have your differences, but you’re not unsafe at home?”
“I guess not,” she answers. Blackmail probably counts, but I can’t just say that.
The doctor is on the way out when Rumi is on the way in. Instead of carrying something from Kyu’s closet, she has a large paper bag in her hands.
Kyu squints. “Did you buy me clothes?”
Rumi gives her a small smile. It’s lopsided as usual, but seems more earnest and soft. “Think of it like a get-well-soon gift. Besides, it’s… It’s gotten a lot colder. I don’t want you to have to visit her to get more clothes.” Rumi hands the bag over before Kyu can stop her. She feels a little guilty, but she still peeks over the lip of the bag.
There’s a soft-looking cream hoodie and thick, cargo-style army-green joggers. She reaches into the bag, fumbling through the clothes to see what’s buried under them. There’s a tough pair of red hightops, just like the ones that lasted her a year and got annihilated over the past week. There’s also generic-seeming plastic packs of boyshorts and sports bras— Two things Kyu has never worn— as well as some socks and undershirts. At the bottom of the bag, there’s a lightweight but warm-looking parka.
“This is way too much—”
“I am the most merchandised woman in Japan, besides, like, Uwabami.” She steps forward, one hand on her hip while the other flicks Kyu’s forehead. “It is a privilege. To make you comfortable. Comfortable with the money I have too much of. I donate most of it and there’s still too much… always too much.”
Kyu feels herself tearing up a little, but she keeps her eyes fixed on the clothes. Sniffling, she says, “you’d probably have less first-world problems if you ate actual food and lived in an apartment without mold.”
“Would you be more comfortable in an apartment with gleaming white countertops and shit? It’s unsettling. I’d die without the mold. People aren’t designed to live so close to a city center without a little bit of mold. ”
Kyu finds herself giggling, the last tears in her eyes squeezing out as her eyes crinkle.
“A healthy vermin problem is good for keepin’ you on your toes, and! Your immune system. And what the fuck would I do with a full kitchen?”
Kyu snickers until she’s curling over at the midsection, and her stuffy nose makes her snort a few time.
“I will never be a bitch with a jacuzzi for as long as I live.”
Kyu drags her feet, melancholy, as she gathers her things. Her laptop charger has been living in the same outlet for more than a week, and as she gathers everything up she pulls it out like she’s uprooting it.
Maybe that’s a little dramatic. Having to return to the dorms is more of a bittersweet feeling— And she does miss her friends, even if she’s sort of awful about keeping in touch. On paper, she’s ‘one of the girls,’ but that feels more like a stamp on her ticket to girl’s night than a part of her identity. She imagines her identity like a bird, flying free from Inko’s gilded cage, but whether she actually soars remains to be seen. Like she’s lived too long with broken wings, she’s not sure she wants to take off. She prefers her joggers to her school skirt, and even if she does wear one of the tight tops she has now, she feels seen when it’s not coupled with a hoodie.
Maybe one day, No-Surname Kyu will be femme, or at least the type not to pick at the tight fabric of her shirt. Today, though? She happily wears her new cream hoodie over her ribbed tank top. It’s not quite cropped, but it comes down just short enough to keep most of her high-waisted pants exposed. She threads the laptop charger through her fingers, winding it into a coil to tuck into her bag.
You don’t get to pretend, Kyuubi.
She wonders if Shigaraki’s voice will ever disappear from her head now that it’s stuck up there, hissing and rasping like a broken record. Every action she takes feels watched. If she gets angry, it boils over so fast, and so very much like him. Even her mundane anger tastes like his blood on her tongue. Perversely, if she exists away from the League, her mask complicates. Is she feminine? Is she heroic? Is she powerful?
She zips up her backpack, and takes her mostly-empty costume case and extra-full duffle bag. Thinking like that will get me nowhere, she reminds herself, move on. I enjoy who I get to be around 1-A. Maybe it’s a place she doesn’t reach towards often, but she’d be in the groupchats if she really tried. Too often, she makes herself busy, and nails the coffin with her aching fingers and distaste for texting. Maybe she can spare her fingers and get an extension on her Hero Ethics paper if she argues that sort-of dealing with the League twice in a week counts. Aizawa is unreadable; she has no idea if he’d agree in a blink or level her with a very knowing, very flat stare, unflinching.
She scans Rumi’s apartment again. There’s lots of clutter, which makes it difficult to spot anything. But her bags are as packed as she remembers, with all of her notebooks and her favorite pencils. She’s got an extra outfit in her duffle, and all of the product she’s opened so far (the facemasks remain untouched), and a bottle of saline. It’s strange how easy it is to pack her things up, because it feels like she’s been staying with Rumi for a while. In some ways, it’s just that Rumi’s apartment is ‘normal,’ but Rumi has also been a guiding hand, and she’s changed so much in isolation.
The last time Kyu was at the dorms, she was stressed about Iida, and unpierced, and aching for Himiko. It feels like her stress, and her identity, has changed entirely. Iida is still a problem, but Shigaraki’s outstretched hand is more pressing in her memory than Iida’s squared shoulders. She still misses Himiko, but there’s no desperation to go further and know more. In both the sense of helping her to be ‘normal’ and happy, and in ways that make Kyu blush. Himiko is very sweet, but neither of them are desperate for home base.
“Hey,” Rumi says, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. She gives Kyu a moment to shake off her thoughts, and only speaks again when Kyu looks at her expectantly. “I’m proud of you, kit. You’re alright.”
Kyu huffs a small laugh at the weight placed in such a tame statement. She meets Rumi’s eyes, smiling earnestly. “You’re pretty alright, too.”
Rumi rolls her eyes, strutting over and tugging at Kyu’s hoodie strings. Her stern mask melts into something startlingly genuine with a speed Kyu suspects Rumi doesn’t even realize. She’s not sure the last “Probably don’t need to assail the regular commute with your frankly horrifying amount of marks.” Her nose scrunches as she evens out the strings and fluffs up the hood around Kyu’s neck. Like an afterthought, she brings her thumb to her tongue and then smooths Kyu’s unpierced eyebrow.
“Mother hen,” Kyu teases.
Rumi grins her usual dangerous grin, but her joke feels genuine enough to be a promise. “Oh, I’m gonna do it so much better than your egg donor. Watch me.” Caught off guard, Kyu barks out a laugh, and Rumi devolves into giggling alongside her. As Kyu sighs, gathering herself, Rumi clears her throat. “So. You’re gonna do good out there, kit. And remember: Live without regrets.”
Kyu nods sternly, taking Rumi’s philosophy to heart. Rumi squeezes her in a hug before she can adjust her arms, and her case and duffle hit the ground.
“I’ll be back in a few days,” Kyu chuckles lightly, but she hugs Rumi back, as if to cement it as a promise. The feeling of finality lingers as she hoists her duffle up, resting the strap on her shoulder, and picks up the costume case.
“I’ll be back,” she murmurs. Her throat tightens around the words, and she grimaces as she looks around the apartment instead of meeting Rumi’s eyes.
Kyuubi, Shigaraki calls her. Never Nightlight or Kyu.
Are you the hero? Are you the artist?
She feels at home here. She feels out of place.
Kyu finds that the train is very boring, when she can’t distract herself with responsibility or a welcome lack of consciousness. No conking out and waking up in a warzone, since she’s not nearly exhausted enough. She’s in a slog, sure, from the physical and emotional repercussions of Shigaraki and Inko, but not enough to slump against the window. She has schoolwork, sure, but her general anxiety and lack of deadlines make that hard to tackle. Eventually, she decides on the weird, nebulous responsibility she’s been neglecting, and turns to her social life.
A while ago, Kaminari and Setsuna jointly convinced the girls and Bakugou’s friends to use some chat system besides LINE— Something about it being more organized for large groups, and having custom emojis. Kyu never joined up, because she uses her phone more like All Might than like one of her classmates, but she scrolls through messages and fumbles through making an account on… Discord? She’s really only ever heard of LINE and encrypted services used by Villains. Maybe this is Telegram for normal people. She tries a few names, but annoyingly, Kyu and its variations are taken. Same for Nightlight. She settles for ‘yoru-chan’ and then gets to set her display name as Kyu. What a hassle.
Kyu (@yoru-chan) has joined the group! Say hi, Kyu !
Kyu: this app is weird. i miss LINE
mina!: oh shit!! hi ^u^
jirou’s girlfriend: oh shit!! i thought u werent joining at this point lmao
Kyu: theres nothing else to do on the train. I figured id say hi
Kyu: btw im on the train. journeying back to musutafu a day early, dorm bed my beloathed
mina!: ??? !!!!!!!!!!!!
rock hard: you guys shouldn’t be texting in class
rock hard: wait you’re coming back rn? oh shit!
jirou’s girlfriend: i’m texting in a free period. you have like midnight rn right
mina!: yea ill get like mildly embarrassed if she catches me but. who cares KYU YOURE COMING BACK???
Kyu: yeah i cant do hero work and need Medical Supervision. recovery girl is gonna hit me with her cane, im gonna be an ass. we get along
jirou’s girlfriend: i thought you had a whole thing about not breaking bones anymore
Kyu: funnily enough i didnt break anything this time. property damage notwithstanding. MANY buildings were maimed but not me. by me anyway
rock hard: you dont have to talk about it if you dont want to
shock n awe: ^
shock n awe: yea it mustve been pretty bad if aizawa told us not to push you/mention any news coming out today
invisalign: kaminari dont say it like that omg
ocha!: if you maimed buildings last night those were the same ones some of Ryukyu’s sidekicks got pulled into, i got an alert
mina!: yep, same. that was a lot, you’re not too hurt right?
Kyu: if i broke my arms i wouldnt be texting!! anyways the supervision is more abt recovery/adjustment than injury. I mean i did get fucked up BUT: i didnt lose a front tooth
jirou’s girlfriend: you say that like the person you were fighting did
Kyu: ive learned so much from mirko :).
invisalign: omg you NEED to spill later the vids of your fights are insane
Kyu: there are... vids,?
Kyu: what do you meanthere are vids
mina!: girl you recorded one of them???
mina!: and ppl were excited to see you back on patrol after the mall thing
Kyu lets out a shuddering breath. Unless her classmates have suddenly developed an uncharacteristic level of social awareness, the videos online don’t include her fight with Shigaraki or Inko. Then, she realizes what is online, and flushes.
Kyu: PLS tell me you did not all see me address my phone like an actual person
shock n awe: in fairness it was funny
jirou’s girlfriend: awkward charm! also the piercing debut makes up for it
Kyu: oh right. i have to get another one
invisalign: girl sddgkjfhl oh my god for why
Kyu: well i was just gonna do ears but honestly ive broken bones and been stabbed it didnt hurt that bad. so brow and septum was easy
Kyu: BUT i have nothing to distract me from wanting more and was told to calm down with the piercings so
shock n awe: ah, the wonderful power of spite
shock n awe: @kingexplosionmurder she might have you beat
jirou’s girlfriend: no shot blasty checks his phone in class
mina!: he’ll feel our eyes. im sending phone checking vibes at him
Bakugou: Fuck off.
Bakugou: @yoru-chan if Mirko taught you anything worth knowing, let’s spar
Kyu: oh my god you’re on your phone in class. what did you do with the real bakugou
mina!: lmao he’s the one who got caught because he snarled at his phone
Kyu: @kingexplosionmurder i’ll find a free gym while youre all trapped in class. i have to go by the support wing anyway
Kyu minimizes Discord, digging through her contacts to find the number Mei gave her ages ago. She hasn’t had any reason to use it yet, although she figures it’d be good manners to let Hatsume know she’s coming— and good for her well-being to break the news about the state of her costume from well beyond Hatsume’s reach. Of course, that comes with it a sort of formality. She chews her lip as she tries to avoid going by her surname.
Kyu blinks. That was fast.
There’s a moment where Kyu tastes bile— But she pushes it down and forces herself to breathe. Kaminari said that thing about the news. Early reports are probably out and Hatsume isn’t famous for her tact.
Kyu smiles. For better or worse, Hatsume’s mania is often contagious, if only for her force of personality. Which is a bit like a car without brakes or steering, in that it mostly just crashes through anything in its way.
Her eyes linger on that one damnable line of text, though. ANY need. She’s always said that, with a bit of awkward emphasis, as if to say ‘not just your costume.’ Maybe not always, in retrospect, but it’s not like they really discussed her costume until she was Nightlight. Until she was Kyu. Hatsume is not subtle— She has no brakes and steering, after all— But Kyu’s thoughts fall to the most reasonable conclusion: Hatsume is queer, and implying it. Kyu has no idea what her hangup would be with pride, given that the rest of her personality is aggressive. If that’s the case, flat-out asking could be rude, or harmful.
Kyu sighs. It’s a very out-on-a-limb idea, based off a strange thing that a very strange person said a few times. All the same Kyu can tell there’s some hidden thing, more significant than daily support gear or a very strange way of flirting. And she has a bit of a habit of shoving her nose where it doesn’t belong. Take that, Shigaraki; heroism is part of her too.
Saving people might be in your heart, he had said. Like he’s acknowledging that. ‘Sure, Kyu saves people, but a downtrodden kid lives with spite.’ Maybe her urge to save is deeply ingrained by society, or maybe it’s just her, but either way it’s there. Could she ever be like Shigaraki? If AFO swept her up and aimed her at All Might and said ‘sic ‘em,’ would she be a good attack dog? How deep does her ‘save’ and his ‘destroy’ go?
Kyu scrawls angrily at her blackbook. Messy, half-removed eyeliner looks a little like scarred and scratched eyes. He’s gaunt, while her cheeks still have some baby fat, but they both have too-long, untamed hair. In scratchy pencil, red and green eyes are the same. A black hoodie and a hero costume are the same.
She stares at the page for a while, before the brackish stillwater smell of Blackwhip hits her nose, and she feels everywhere it itches.
“I’m not you,” she murmurs, slamming the blackbook shut.
Notes:
if you check the endnote to chapter 32 (throwback!) you’ll remember ‘yoru-chan’ is basically a shortening of nightlight and means “dinner (affectionate),” as himiko would absolutely call her.
On a metatextual level: Boy, it sucks when you get to the climax of a scene, and have to feel the aftermath. Writing it can be hard, but I imagine feeling it is worse. The most agonizing part of an argument gone too far is that aftermath where everything is overstimulating and awful— At least, imo.
Whew, boy. Due to a variety of social pressures, I’ve recently become invested in Homestuck. and The Sisters of Dorley. I have no idea if this will impact my writing. Maybe fewer >4k chapters? This story is fairly well outlined, but I’m becoming fixated on other things. There may be a delay on Switcheroo 60, lmao.
(as of upload day, I’ve fully read SoD and am on HS/1590/.)
Chapter 60: Insides III
Summary:
LAST TIME: After fighting with Inko, Kyu calms down and leaves the hospital with Rumi's help. She feels conflicted about leaving Rumi's apartment, and feels haunted by Shigaraki's words. She manages to reach out on the train, and talks to her classmates on Discord, ending up scheduling a spar with Bakugou and a meeting with Mei, who she thinks might be hinting that she's queer.
THIS TIME: Kyu returns to UA with mottled old hickies and words hissed on repeat in the back of her skull. But she has a spar and an appointment and friends, and struggles with whether it'll be okay.
Notes:
CW: Emetophobia – This chapter contains multiple mentions/descriptions of nausea.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu heaves her things up into her arms when the train stops, and no sooner. She’s not apprehensive; every other time, she’s just been nervous or excited enough to drag her bag up on her shoulders a few minutes early. Now, she gets her duffle through the doors in a lunging step that twists her at the waist. She smiles and mutters apologies to a few of the people who give her and her bag a wide berth.
Back to UA. She sets her feet for a moment, looking out from the station over the sprawling street, before she takes the stairs down to meet the asphalt. The tags and scrawls decorating the underside of the raised station greet her like old friends. She scuffs her new shoes as she goes down the stairs two at a time, and sets off at an almost-jog. A mechanical urgency to her steps, even with the unwieldy bags and technical recovery.
The cold is starting to set in, and Kyu feels it deep. When the wind comes, funneled through the tight streets. It makes her tear up a little and nips at her skin through the hoodie. She’s never really minded the cold before, but now it makes her shoulders scrunch up near her ears and her breath hiss in through her teeth. At the same time last year, she was a little more than halfway through the American Dream Plan. She can’t pinpoint why the cold got deeper. Is it because she’s not bulking, and OFA and her training has ironed out her lingering baby fat into muscle? Or is it the blockers, softening her up?
She’s not sure what the answer is. Either way, the wind makes her hands tighten up, and she shelters her fragile joints in her hoodie pouch, kneading them together. If the weather was any worse, she’d need the new parka, so she decides she’ll have to thank Rumi for it even more.
UA’s synthetic campus looks beautiful in the fall. Each perfectly-kept tree turning to full warm colors, and the smell of the maintained lawn and fallen leaves mingling into the sort of atmosphere that feels staged for a brochure. Even the infamous barrier is perfectly kept, segments of even-colored cement looking like the paint dried mere hours ago. Kyu remembers the time she worked with Nedzu for the press conference, and his well-kept manner. UA is a perfect thing, and it makes Kyu feel uncomfortable and seen.
A leaf crunches under her new sneakers. Kyu takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with the smell of manicured grounds. Her throat still tastes like blood and ozone, and she finds comfort in that discomfort. She trots the rest of the way across campus, feeling the straps of her bags dig into her shoulders. When she reaches Heights Alliance, she maneuvers awkwardly to press her shoulder into the door and heave it open without her hands.
The dorm is empty now, but it feels lived in. The foyer has a half-dozen pairs of sneakers strewn against the walls, and the common room has squished-down pillows and awkwardly draped blankets all across the couches. Someone’s novel is on the coffee table. A few pans from breakfast sit in the dish drainer. It smells like Kaminari spilled coffee again and Sato baked last night.
Absent-mindedly, Kyu opens the stairwell door. She tastes bile; feels the rush of hot saliva in her mouth and tightness in her gut as acid burns up from the bottom of her esophagus. It stings against her howl-raw throat.
She takes the elevator, stumbles to her room, and slams her door hard enough to make half her collector’s items clatter to the ground.
Classes go on for another few periods. Kyu takes a shower— She tries to remember everything Rumi said about products. Her mind stays blank amid the staticky, roiling emptiness of nausea. She stands under the hot water until her skin is scalded pink and her joints feel a bit less like hell, and the static melts into nothing.
You broke your arm fighting your classmate.
They might hate me, Midoriya, but they’ll always know I was right.
Kyu’s new parka crinkles as she pushes open the door to the Support Department building. It’s warm inside, but her still-damp hair and exposed hands suck up the outsides cold like a sponge. It feels like it ignores her muscles and sinks right to the bone. Her skin is still pink, but it looks a little more like flush.
Kyu can see the industrial door of the classroom. She eyes it for a moment, hesitating at the end of the hall. She shuffles closer, ears open to some shout or thunk before disaster. Kyu really doesn’t feel like catching a metal door today, or getting the fluff of the parka’s hood matted with smoke.
She opens the door with Blackwhip, keeping her body at a safe distance. There’s a brief silence as everyone inside looks up, and Kyu decides it’s safe enough to step around the wall and through the doorway.
She barely sets her foot down before a manic shout rings out. “Midoriya!” Hatsume’s voice is startling in the silence. Kyu tries to ignore the more caustic feelings that the name brings. Hatsume’s eyes whir, pinning Kyu under the gaze of her Quirk in a way that is both familiar and invasive. Her huge smile turns a little lopsided as she tilts her head like a dog and her crosshair-eyed gaze narrows on Kyu’s face. Then, Hatsume rights herself and smiles wide, and the discomfort fades as quickly as it arrived.
“So! Mid— Would you prefer Nightlight?”
Kyu’s jaw clenches. Nevermind. Am I really that readable? She swallows awkwardly, pushing the wet curls loose from her bun over her ear to give her tongue time to feel like it fits in her mouth. “Yeah. Uh, sure.” Then, remembering the more personal reason she’s visiting, she clears her throat. “Or Kyu, if you want.”
“Just not your last name, huh? That’s alright. You can call me Mei or Hatsume or your favorite support technician, whatever works.” Mei punctuates her one-breath babble with an advertisement ready thumbs-up. “So. Kyu. How’s that arm? Broke it and now it got messed up by someone else, huh? Shigaraki’s a tough customer, hard to make tech to deal with an opponent who destroys what he touches. Aren’t you pretty lucky it didn’t spread?” She practically lunges into Kyu’s personally space, delicately prodding the skin and moving Kyu’s arm around like she’s trying to see every angle of it.
Kyu stares blankly at Ha— Mei, for a moment after she stops talking. It’s hard to tell when she’s done. And then, when Kyu opens her mouth to respond, the meaning of each phrase seems to catch up, and she pauses. Just like the last time they talked, she feels like she’s missing out on some inside joke that Mei knows. Not in the way of a well-guarded closet either. Mei says everything like she could toss in an overexaggerated I-know-what-you-are wink. Or Kyu is paranoid, which seems very possible, given how shitty her day has been so far.
“I— I guess? Shigaraki really wants me dead, but he’s neurotic about it, or something.”
Mei hums, turning on her heel and darting back to her desk. Kyu stumbles after her, shutting the industrial door as gently as she can— It’s still loud. Mei stomps through the busy lab while looking back at Kyu, navigating the place blind. Her eyes whir onto Kyu’s arm. “Oh, and what about the skin graft? You have any problems with mobility or taking measurements?”
Kyu frowns, fingers curling into a fist that she tucks away in her parka’s pocket. “I’m fine. Recovery Girl is gonna give me a lecture, I don’t need it from you.” Mei looks away, shoving tools and blueprints to the edges of her workbench. Kyu’s arm snaps out, catching her bicep. She feels the soot and grease under her calloused fingers. “How do you know about that?”
“You fought Shigaraki. You got hurt. It’s my job to know those kinds of things, and we’re at a school full of very clever people, Kyu,” Mei says. Her smile looks a little more pasted on. Her eyes trail across Kyu’s arm. They don’t zoom in, giving the impression that she’s envisioning what’s under the parka, and the bandages, up Kyu’s forearm and inner bicep. Before Kyu can open her mouth, Mei’s smile returns with a tidal wave of babble. “Right, well we’re in the hero labs in the hero school, so let’s talk about your costume, huh? I’ve got the prototype Knightriders in storage; you can use those while I work on the new model. Any notes? Additions to performance data? We’ve got a few new toys around here, I’m probably going to change the alloy to something a bit less lightweight but better suited to your purposes. If your Quirk keeps increasing in capability, it’s only fair.”
Kyu blinks.
“Adjustment to your gloves? Bandolier? Winter model can just be a slight adjustment. Cover your legs if you want, but as far as I can tell your Quirk keeps your body temperature higher than average. If overheating ever becomes a problem, it’ll be a very easy limit to manage with my gear.” She smiles again, scrounging around her desk for folders and scrap paper on Kyu’s costume elements. Her breakdown of the respirator is especially illegible— Kyu isn’t an engineer, but the chicken scratch and messy diagrams seem like the sort of thing only Mei can read. “Hatsume Industries is here for all your needs.”
The spot where Kyu grabbed her is still splotchy red. It looks like it might bruise. Mei smiles anyway. Hyperfocused, sure, but wolfish. Kyu wonders whether she’s the only one to notice, or the only one who gets such genuine mania out of Mei.
You don’t get to pretend, Kyuubi.
Kyu doesn’t say anything. It’s a hero’s job to stick their noses in where they’re not wanted, but that rule feels less applicable with every passing second.
Mei’s fingers keep moving across her laptop’s keyboard, filtering through files and programs. But her eyes flit over to Kyu’s face and whir, gentle and quiet. In that moment, it seems louder than the machinery roaring throughout the lab. Then, she looks back at her screen, where it now displays Kyu’s hero license and costume information.
Mei sighs. When she starts talking, it’s at a regular pace that sounds out of place in her voice. “Not that you’re usually talkative, but you seem like you don’t have many notes. So I did right by you, didn’t I?”
Kyu feels like Mei is waiting for her to get that missing thing. Every second she doesn’t feels that much more agonizing. Something’s off, her brain says, the same animal instinct that knows fight and flight and uncanny valley. Her hands flex in the pockets of her parka, and she bites her tongue until she tastes the rush of hot saliva. Something’s off. The barest hint of Searchlight sparks into her eyes, setting her sclera aglow and her irises sharp with a sound like a fluorescent light buzzing on. The rest of the room goes about their business. They’re a world away.
Mei’s constant enthusiasm doesn’t give under finer eyesight. She’s the same manic girl whose fixation is all-consuming, but under the particulates of grease and soot she’s still the same girl. Kyu squints, as if her enhanced eyesight could see the thoughts in Mei’s head if she looks hard enough. She feels the tension in her eyes and feels ridiculous. It’s not like there’s a secret waiting for Searchlight to find. Her eyes stay pinned on Mei anyway, for the same reason animals have a freeze instinct.
Slowly, Kyu relaxes her jaw. Mei watches, unmoving. “I don’t have any complaints,” Kyu says slowly. Mei turns back to the workbench, hands gripping excitedly at her work. Whatever standoff they just had is left behind. Kyu can’t get it out of her head, even as she steps closer and leans close enough to smell the smoke on Mei.
Kyu’s eyes pin the back of Mei’s head, instead of the chicken scratch and complex diagrams strewn around. There’s no end, she finds, to the frustration of knowing there’s something to figure out and being incapable of it. It pulls her in like the gnashing mouth of a garbage disposal, ready to chew up every passing thought into endless guesswork. An endless circle of unanswered does she know? And as hard as Kyu might stare, there’s no answer that comes to her.
It’s not like enhanced eyesight is magic, Kyu thinks. She keeps thinking it every time she feels Mei’s eyes on her, and her hair stands on end. An old animal behavior to seem bigger to a threat.
In the end, she doesn’t pitch any unnecessary additions. Adjustments to gloves and the finer technology of her gear, thickening the hoodie for winter, and the small footnote of all that mostly being done from scratch and old notes, since her costume is mostly dust. Their conversation ends, and Mei might as well pick her up and toss her out for how fast she’s encouraged to leave. She’s handed early models for her respirator, Knightriders, and a whisper of “ any of your needs,” and then the door slams.
Kyu tosses her mildly illicit phone onto her bed. Like clockwork, her hand comes up to twist her earring around again. There’s some discomfort as she bends her elbow and feels the awkward synthetic graft go taught. It doesn’t have hair or integrated nerves like real skin, and yet she can feel it no matter what she does.
She grumbles, with half a mind to itch at it until the whole thing comes off. She tries to force her mind to wander; imagining the world where her medical reputation is worse than Aizawa’s and Recovery Girl starts giving her a dog cone. It doesn’t help much. She grumbles to no one harder and pushes herself off the bed. She falls into her desk chair, twirls around until she gets dizzy, and then marches over to the balcony and swings the curtains open.
Afternoon light blazes into her room. She winces and squints against it. The sunlight on her skin isn’t the warm and fuzzy made-whole feeling she expects. It’s just a reason to dig artificial tears out of the pocket of her parka and put a few in each eye.
Her eyes flutter, settling the fluid and gradually clearing away the blurriness. She’s left staring at her empty room. The closet stuffed with media-friendly clothes and a few cannons, the spots where the wildstyle dripped down the wall and tinged the floor, and the messy bedsheets.
Stepping over the mess, she puts on her winter gym uniform, with sleeves long enough to cover her arms and a high collar to cover her splotchy neck. Her skin still feels cold and sensitive from the shower, and the chill clings to her bones, so she puts on her parka over that. She shoves fresh handwraps in her pocket, laces up the Knightriders, and marches from her room to the elevator. Each step is deliberate; the way Rumi walks. Maintaining enough false bravado and certainty of where she’s going takes enough processing power to keep her thoughts from wandering.
She passes the empty common room hungry. The kitchen is just a few feet out of the way, with food she could, at best, steal from classmates. It’s not like she has anything waiting. Like a passive observer, she realizes she never ate lunch. Her stomach curdles, feeling more shriveled-up than empty. She chews at her chapped lips and keeps walking, frizzy curls blocking the kitchen at her periphery. I wouldn’t keep it down anyway.
Most of the gym buildings are pretty similar. Alpha and Beta are mostly exercise gyms, and they’re open without signing off most days. Gamma is designed to be empty and open, with Cementoss’ Quirk in mind. Delta is probably the strangest one— It has a rock climbing wall and raised arena, and the back wall is lined with dummies.
She sets a jogging pace across campus. It’s not just about beating the cold or warming up so she can do all of her stretches when she gets there. It’s less stifling than it was earlier, too. The feeling in her chest is different, but also the same type of thing that being with Himiko, or being out as Kyuubi, creates. It’s excitement. For the first time in days, it’s something that glows in her chest, like soothing summer sun instead of burning coals of spite. Or better yet, a street light buzzing on a cement canvas. The sun doesn’t seem like what she needs anymore.
For months, Kyu and Bakugou had some sort of unspoken rivalry. The Sports Festival feels like ages ago, but even then something had changed. No, Kyu amends, we both changed. She became an artist, and had a muse, and became Kyu, slowly but surely. And Bakugou saw that, and like it was the last piece of the puzzle, everything snapped into place. All that growing up together started feeling like a real rivalry. We were both only-children, but maybe this is siblinghood. But they never talked about it much.
It was always unspoken. Bakugou really looking at her. Bakugou standing between her and Iida at every turn. And in turn, she matches him. But now that they’re finally getting a chance to really fight each other again, Kyu can’t help that overwhelming, warm-glow of excitement.
Let’s play heroes and villains!
It’s been a long time since their last conversation, and Bakugou communicates most directly with the dance of combat. She’d get tired of fight-therapy, but it’s frustratingly good.
Kyu is just swinging open the doors of Gym Delta when the last bell rings across campus. She flexes her fingers and wrists while twisting around, stretching out her legs, and adjusting her whole body. They’re warmup stretches, but she still rolls through each motion slow enough to feel the extent of her range of motion. Her body starts to feel light, even jumpy, as she continues. When she’s at the end of her stretches, she flexes her hands again, and gets to work wrapping them. She feels more strong and steady with every loop around her hands. It’s a little meditative to go through the motions, even if she’s not nearly as good at it as Rumi is.
“God damn, how aren’t you sweating in that?”
Kyu looks over her shoulder, fingers trailing away from her secured wraps slowly. Bakugou is scanning her from the doorway. It’d probably be normal from everyone else, but the distance between them feels apprehensive. Kyu feels the same way, she realizes, now that she’s looking at him. He’s in a black tanktop and gym sweats, along with the wrist protectors from his costume. She figures he’s fresh from last-period exercises, with the fresh smudges of soot on his shoes and hair.
When they were kids, he was always shooting to be better than even All Might. Maybe he still is— But the untouchable saturated color that always meant All Might meant a lot to him, too. A lot comes easy to him, but he has the grit for this. He has soot on his shoes.
Across the expansive-feeling ten feet between them, Kyu clicks her tongue. “I run cold.” Then she blinks, and looks down at her hand. “Actually, Mei said my Quirk raises my temperature.”
“Your skin glows red. It doesn’t take a consult.” His lips curl into a shit-eating grin as he moves across the space between them. Kyu hops up on the raised arena and offers him a hand up. He rolls his eyes at it, but takes it anyway. They walk towards the center of the arena a pace apart. “Warmup round?”
Kyu shrugs. “Start Quirkless?”
Bakugou snorts. “Sure. You still know how to fight without leveling buildings?”
Kyu laughs right back. “I have some practice being Quirkless, you know.”
“But you were always too pussy to fight.” Bakugou holds out a fist for her to tap. She jabs it a little harder than necessary.
Bakugou starts with a right hook. She shuffles back, using the stiff springboard of the Knightriders to push herself out of range. “I had a few things to work through.” She swings her foot in a wide arc coming up to his side.
Bakugou catches her leg at the knee and shoves it hard. Then he steps into her space and brings an elbow to her gut, but she catches it a moment before it makes contact. The bony impact stings in her palm, but she’s smiling as she throws a jab. They trade blocks and deflections and fists. Kyu wonders if she’ll feel a bruise in her artificial skin.
“Fucking obviously you had shit to work through,” Bakugou sighs, throwing out jab-hook-jab-jab. “Our classmates are ride-or-die, but they’re idiots.”
Kyu shoulder checks him and tries to sweep his legs, but he plants his feet and hits her with a palm strike across the shoulder. “Last time I checked, Yaoyorozu is actually beating you in exam scores.”
He scoffs, shuffling into her space with a knee raised, like a Muay Thai pose. “I beat her in math scores, not that that’s the point.” He launches a few rapid kicks, but Kyu has been sparring with Rumi. It’s not hard to dodge and block.
“What’s your point then?” Kyu asks, shooting him a steely look and a kick planted on his chest that shoves him back.
He lingers a few paces away for a moment. She doesn’t close the distance either. He’s not looking at her; it would be easy to catch him off-guard. “I can give you respect and space and rock four-eyes’ shit. ‘Cause I know you pretty well, I think. But in the end, that doesn’t answer shit.” His eyes move from the floor to her. He’s moving in an instant, and she’s swinging her leg out, but he grabs it and takes her down in a grapple. “I’m all for self-improvement, but that doesn’t explain the Quirk or the girlfriend.” His other hand comes up and plants her wrist next to her head, and they glare right into each other’s eyes.
Kyu lets OFA burn through her body for an instant— One crackle of lightning enough to throw Bakugou off and roll to her feet. Her breath hitches, like an invisible blockage sits between her lungs and her lips, and she finds herself without words.
BOOM! Bakugou launches himself back into her face with an explosion, letting the force carry his knee into her sternum. She tumbles back, bringing OFA to a low hum to keep him from climbing on top of her again. She lets it linger, still buzzing along her skin as she stands and looks at him again.
“She’s none of your business.”
“Well it seems like just about everyone else knows. I just want a few fucking answers!” BOOM. He’s there again, and this time their blows echo through the expansive gym and rattle its tin roof. She manages to bicycle kick him, but he’s exploding into the air before he even rights himself. She snatches him out of the air with Blackwhip, and throws him even further away before he can free himself.
“I think she’s a good person in a bad situation,” Kyu says.
“Of course you’re trying to save her.” Bakugou runs a hand through his hair and huffs for breath. “But a year ago you would’ve beat the villain and let her serve her time.”
Kyu rolls her eyes. “Well the old me was naive. The prison system doesn’t ‘reform,’ she’d just be stuck in Tartarus. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s not a monster.”
Bakugou lunges again. They dance close, until one knocks the other back, and they’re on each other again with Quirk-enhanced moves. It’s a lightning-fast dance, ozone and saccharine smoke. “I figured. I saw Kamino.” he blasts her back, and she drops her parka off her shoulders. She feels warmth in her bones. “Y’know what else I saw in Kamino?” She misses a kick, but pulls herself out of the air with Blackwhip . “I saw a scarred old villain with multiple Quirks, who made All Might angry, and talked shit to you instead.”
“What’s your point?” He launches an explosion at her— A big one that pops and smolders up his forearm first— And she rips it apart with a California Smash. It makes her arms hurt, just like back in the Festival. But Bakugou doesn’t repeat mistakes— He launches himself low, skirting under the rush of air, and catches her chin with an uppercut that makes her jaw clack shut. She stumbles back, trips on the inflexibility of the Knightriders, and falls on her ass.
“Well, your old man’s never been around. So do we need a paternity test, or some shit?”
She kicks out his leg, and he falls down too. “I’m All Might’s successor. He’s an old asshole with a long grudge. That’s all it is.”
Bakugou blasts across the cement, tackling her before she can stand. “Who’s the Quirk from? Fucking maybe the shadow shit is a mutation of auntie’s Quirk—”
“No!” Kyu snarls quickly— And then realizes she’s shot down her way out. “I mean— Fuck—”
“So what then!” Bakugou growls, face twisted up in frustration and confusion. “Stop hiding shit from me! I wanna know who that nerd I grew up with became, and I’m not letting you fucking run!”
She wrestles him easily, OFA snapping through the air as she pins him to the ground. “The big bad villain had a brother who had a successor; hundred-fifty years later it’s me. My girlfriend is so kind and feels remorse and isn’t having a psychotic break anymore. My dad’s a piece of shit who fucked off to America, and he isn’t All Might or All for One or fucking Destro. My mom’s a piece of shit too, and she’s not secretly a two-hundred year-old villain either, she’s just a bitch. Are you happy!?”
She feels like she can’t breathe as soon as the words leave her lips. She waits for him to roar or laugh or spit, anything like the Kacchan from Aldera. Kyu just told him her biggest secret, and the most she’s said about Himiko to anyone, and that his favorite Auntie isn’t the kind little lady he’s always seen in her. Instead his angry face breaks into a feral grin, all wonder and exasperation and relief.
“That’s what I was fucking asking for, yeah!” He sets off an explosion hard enough to throw her off, even if Blackwhip is crawling down her arms, and then springs into the air and launches a barrage of AP-shot through her tendrils of shadow. They tear burning slices through her gym uniform, and singe her Quirk-toughened skin. “Good talk.”
Kyu’s scrunched-up face twists into a smile, no matter how much she stubbornly wishes she could stay angry at Bakugou. Her heart beating in her chest, the warmth in her skin, the secret off her shoulders… Isn’t this what she wanted? “You wanna see what Mirko taught me? I’ll rip this place apart!” She crouches low, letting Blackwhip unfurl, and then rips up bicep-thick cords of shadow that tear apart cement. Bakugou blasts around them, dancing through the air, snarling and snapping and barely dodging. Even in the midst of attacks from all sides, he’s twisting through the air in a circular motion. It’s harder to attack through the twister of air he’s generating. Kyu lets OFA flood into her back leg like a lead weight.
“Howitzer IMPACT!”
“Luna SMASH!”
Notes:
Apologies for the abrupt hiatus! I’m officially caught up on Homestuck now (and yes there is fic brewing, sorry :P) and back from *actual* vacation! I now own lots of funky thrift clothes and old books on witchcraft.
kyu walking into UA: smells like press release in here (hacks blood) (grinds leaf under her shoe) thats better
all might: (checks phone) this is weird she said she was at gym delta but there’s just a crater— OH SHIT—
Kyubaku moiraillegiance. She’s filling her quadrants
Chapter 61: Scratch
Summary:
After their fight, Kyu and Bakugou talk to Yagi in Gym Delta.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“You left your Work Study because you’re under medical supervision.”
“For one arm!” Kyu whines, “I used my legs. I didn’t get the graft burnt, I promise.”
“Any thoughts on that, young Bakugou?”
“Hey, she’s been on medical-whatever a thousand times. I was just responding in kind.”
Yagi offers a wordless expression of concern at the shattered arena and the blown-out windows. He opens his mouth as if to speak, and then closes it.
“‘In kind’ my ass, you started Howitzer.”
“You said and-I-fucking-quote ‘I’ll rip this place apart’ and then did your tentacle shit. And— Oh, sorry, I forgot, who used their Quirk in the Quirkless spar!”
“It was a warmup spar. It started Quirkless. Don’t blame me .”
Yagi drags a hand down his face. “This started as a Quirkless spar?! ”
Kyu looks at Bakugou, then drops onto her butt and swings her legs over the edge of the arena matter of factly. “We had a heart to heart.”
Bakugou sits down next to her, one knee closer to his chest. This fucker is doing cooldown stretches. “Yeah. Magic Quirk, mommy issues, etcetera. It’s cool that you’re here though, because I have questions. ”
Yagi’s gaze is steely, and Kyu would probably identify it as paternal concern if her father was in her life. “You told him?”
Kyu swallows, nodding sheepishly. “In about one sentence, yeah. That All for One has its intergenerational nemesis, and I’m…”
“Ninth,” Yagi says quietly, “and I’m Eighth.” His brilliant blue eyes move to Bakugou. “I trust that you understand you can’t speak a word of this to anybody. For our safety, but also yours and others.”
Bakugou nods, eyes shifting around his shoes like he’s looking for something. “I… I can keep a secret, yeah. I doubt our classmates could keep their mouths shut. So nobody else knows?”
“All Might has a few friends who know, but you’re the first one I’ve told.” Kyu runs her tongue along her teeth. “It’s not just my secret, it’s All Might’s. And… It’s a burden to tell a teenager about.”
“You’re the one who has it.” Bakugou sends her a withering stare. “Oh, shit. Aizawa would kill both of you if he knew. Does any of the staff know?”
“Nedzu.”
“Right, why the fuck not.” After a while, Bakugou takes a breath in and starts talking slowly. “So… How does giving someone a magic Quirk work, exactly?”
Yagi clears his throat and begins the story, abridged— “All for One, the Kamino villain, had a brother. His brother was sickly, and he tried to control him, but the Quirk All for One gave changed him. It gathered strength, and his latent ability allowed him to pass it on. Like a torch, One For All carries on, and the fire grows with every user. It’s a Quirk, so it’s contained in DNA.” He starts to chuckle as he continues. “I gave it to her by making her swallow a hair. Just like my mentor did to me.” Remembering her, he sobers. “Like her predecessors, she was eventually killed by All for One. Which brings me to why I’m here today.
“My mentor, Shimura Nana, was a brave woman with a heart too big for her own good.” He tips his sad smile towards Kyu. “She… Had a husband and child, and ended up putting that child in the foster system for his safety. He had two children, and…” Yagi shudders, choked by tears. Kyu reaches out a hand to steady him, and he takes it with both hands. “Their home was destroyed in an unsolved incident— Quirk accident, or villain attack, or— It… was dust. At Kamino, he said… To break me, he said that Shigaraki Tomura was Shimura Tenko. It was… shaky, at best, and cruel and haunting and not worth indulging.” Tears push past his paper-thin eyelids, and he looks Kyu in the eye. “But there’s new evidence. A tooth. And All for One didn’t lie.”
Bakugou’s body is rigid with tension. Appalled by cruelty, stoic with righteous anger. Just like his mom; like the get-his-hands-dirty person he is.
Kyu can’t gather a noble appearance to match him. Her shoulders hunch in, hot tears burning down her cheeks, but the despair chokes on the wrath in her gut. Too-bitter too-hot coffee, again and again. Rage and spite and how-dare-he. There’s pity, worry, and fear as a protective instinct swells in her chest for a man she hates. The feelings coil and knot to each other like rat tails in a cramped cellar.
“Raised into villainy… I knew that incel freak had issues, but that’s…” Bakugou looks like he’s about to bite through his lip.
Yagi’s lip curls. “All for One is remorseless. Obsessive. Evil itself. There’s no doubt about it.”
“And he made Shigaraki,” Kyu says slowly. Her voice grates in the back of her throat, lower than her ‘girl voice’, down low enough to keep the lid on her boiling anger. “The name, probably the fucking Quirk. Probably everything he thinks about it.”
You’re a destroyer. Just like me!
Kyu’s head feels like it’s lurching in her skull. There’s nothing to latch onto, so she just blurts, “why are you telling me?” Bakugou’s eyes shoot to her, surprised but not wide. He’s scanning her, looking for the source of that anger and impulsivity, and she sets her jaw.
Yagi sets a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Because One For All shares its secrets. Because if he’s going to target you I want to tell you everything I can. Because… If Nana can hear me, she deserves to know, too.” He sniffles. “I don’t expect you to act on it. But I don’t think it’s right to Shimura Tenko not to acknowledge he’s a victim of All for One.”
Kyu frowns. She understands what All Might says, but it doesn’t quite click, like a square peg to a round hole. “ Shimura is a victim, but we’re not dealing with Shimura. We’re dealing with Shigaraki. And Shigaraki is smart and dangerous and wants everything gone.” She paws at her collar with a still-wrapped hand, murmuring, “he’s wrong. He’s not naturally a killer, or evil. He was made to be that. Shimura was a kid and now only his name is left.” It feels like it might be a promise.
Hand-crafted or born destroyer, he’s still what he is. He’s still standing on crutches of spite and rage and formative years in agony. Tearing his family down to dust then taken in by the devil. And wouldn’t I be the same if I was swept up in years of bullying and despair or given Decay and let free to tear it all down?
Shigaraki was Shimura, Decay is a lie but the fury, the snapping of jaws and rending of claws to rip what hurt you from the world, that’s true. We’re the same.
There’s no getting away from that.
Kyu is really starting to hate the nuanced political Spinner-voice that says things like that; practiced, even, logical, and tearing an anguish out of her soul like a barbed arrowhead.
“Jesus fuck, what did the uniform do to you?”
Kyu releases the white-knuckle grip on her gym uniform collar and sets her hand down a little forcefully on the cement. Her vision is hazy with emotion thick enough to feel like an adrenaline high in her veins.
Bakugou huffs an almost-laugh and knocks his shoulder into hers. “I thought you had political extremist anger issues. Do you just hate this guy that much?”
“Usually when I get angry it’s… Like sneezing and phlegm gets everywhere. It sucks and feels gross and ruins your day. But I think I actually hate Shigaraki. It just burns a little bit, all the time. It’s not just me, it’s like part of who he is and my knowing him is a hatred. Like every word he’s spoken to me is part of this big tumor whispering in the back of my head.
“But the worst part is—” She coughs on the lump in her throat and laughs a little deliriously. “It’s like he feels the same way, but he’s all self-satisfied about it. Like he revels in it, and drags me down with him. I feel uncomfortable when I’m angry. I feel dirty when I hate him. Like an adrenaline junkie, guilty after her stunt freaks everyone out.”
Bakugou just stares at her, nodding a little. It makes her feel less crazy, so she doesn’t jump when Yagi squeezes her arm a little. “You’re young,” he says, “it’s not your fault if a villain incites violence. If you…” He pauses, hissing through his teeth in his this-is-awkward expression. “Do something strange, or feel strongly, or… Act out. We’re not here to shame you.”
“Not you,” Kyu says, too quick. “B-but even without—” Iida. inko. Uraraka at her door afraid . “—that, I still feel it. Feel bad. Like he dug up something I can’t put away.”
“Well, let’s see,” Bakugou says, like he’s about to count on his fingers. Then he starts counting on his fingers. Ass. “You’re a teenager, on blockers, without full HRT or the sprinkle on top my mom takes to keep her head even though she’s an old hag who gets hot flashes or what-the-fuck-ever, I’m sure your fitness diet and garbage hormone cocktail is doing excellent things for your mood. Oh, and don’t forget the villain attacks,” he’s on the second hand after that, “the kidnapping, the mommy issues, being famous even though you’re a shitty nerd who hates attention… I could probably keep going. Should I keep going?”
“Fuck off.”
“Bite me.”
Yagi laughs, hooking his big bony arms around both of them and pulling them to his chest. They both freeze awkwardly before remembering what a hug is. Yagi chuckles, which turns into a wheeze, until he has to pull away from them to gather his breath.
The rock wall fixture collapses away from the side of the arena like a falling domino.
Yagi laughs in a nervous way that fails to mask his concern. He still smiles when he looks back at the two of them. “I’m glad you were able to reconnect— No, to speak freely and leave behind the feelings weighing you down; you’ve certainly been in silent allyship for a time.” He clears his throat. “That being said, no more fighting. I’m escorting you back to the dorms before you kill each other or a second training gym.” His voice is gravelly, but affectionate, and he ruffles Bakugou’s hair as steps back. He snarls and snaps his teeth at the fingers as they leave his head, and Kyu feels a quiet laugh come, unbidden.
As soon as they’re on the front step of Heights’ Alliance and the door unlatches for his keycard, Yagi scampers off. Kyu can’t blame him, since her classmates are all watching the door like hawks. As soon as that buzz-click comes, they’re hopping up off couches and over counters. It’s a little scary.
“Alright, extras, calm the fuck down,” Bakugou snaps, kicking off his shoes lazily. “If you touch us you’re gonna smell like sweat and soot and I’ll kill you.”
Most of them back off, freshly showered after class and having a healthy fear of Bakugou. Kyu feels her lips curl into a genuine smile, the kind that squeezes her eyes with her rosy cheeks. Between her classmates’ pouting and Bakugou’s veiled protectiveness, she can’t help it. “Promise I’ll be back down. But I need a shower, yeah. Long day.”
Yaomomo nods. “I’ll make tea. I got a new blend this week that I think you’ll like.”
Sato flashes a thumbs-up from the kitchen hall. “Cookies’ll be fresh from the oven when you’re back down.”
“We’ll get the hairstyling stuff!”
“I’ll make you a shake so you don’t have to drink that chalky premade stuff.”
Kyu steps into the elevator with her feet solid on the ground and her head feeling screwed on right. Maybe, she thinks, I can make here home, too.
You can pretend, Shigaraki’s voice says. But as she smiles at her classmates and the doors slide shut and Bakugou nods at her, the grating voice slips away.
She takes care to scrub the soot and sweat from her skin under body temperature water, the kind that barely steams and blurs where skin ends and water begins. It’s nice. It soothes the worst of the patches of raw pink on her arms and back, and pours through her hair nicely. Once she fingerbrushes through the tangles and massages her nice-smelling products into her hair, it feels soft and looks like it’s hydrated and healthy. There are still plenty of split ends, but she pinches them under the water and pretends her dark curls are pretty like a commercial.
When she stops the shower, she watches the skin-colored splotch in the steamy mirror move as she poses, and then giggles as she shakes like a dog and everything becomes blurry and wet. She buries her face in her towel and massages it into her scalp, but she doesn’t blowdry it. If Mina wants to play stylist, it’ll be better damp. Wet curls cling along her neck as she splotches herself dry and hops into a clean pair of sweats, her fading ‘tough stuff’ tee, and a Natotomi-select cardigan over that. It’s amazingly comfy for something ‘press-approved,’ but the abstract-looking blocks of color do make it seem fancy enough to look silly with sweatpants. Kyu laughs, because fashion is stupid and she feels nice.
She toes on her slippers for long enough to dip back to her room and get a fresh pair of thick socks— She might feel more grounded now, but she still finds a coolness in her skin. If it were really bad, she might maintain low-level OFA, but raising her body temperature with pure Quirk-energy doesn’t sound very sustainable. At least she feels her heartbeat in her fingertips when she presses them together.
The elevator ride back down makes her feel the buzz of tension. It’s not bad, she tells herself, but knowing how her classmates are all happy and excited makes her feel pressure. And all of the nice gestures make her want to squirm. They’re all being really kind, not expecting anything in return, and just the thought makes her feel awkward. It’s nice to know her friends mean well. Even if, like Kaminari blurted on Discord, they’ve basically been told to coddle her. They’ve been in villain attacks too; it’s not patronizing or misunderstanding.
The elevator lurches to a stop and the doors slide open without waiting for her to take a breath and set her shoulders. The smell of Sato’s baking fills her nose as she steps into the room, and she manages an awkward smile as she moves towards her classmates in the dining area.
Most of them are using the tables to study and do homework, but a few of the girls are in colorful bean bags scattered along the wall next to the rearranged chairs. It feels lived-in, with everything they need gathered into the dining area. Even Tokage, another 1-B student, and Shinsou are there. A lot happened while I was gone. It’s an open space; not really cozy, but…
Everyone is staring. In a sort of concerned way. Yaomomo is doing her awkward concern face, like someone just told her the sky is purple, and Kaminari is making his pouty empathetic concern face. Everyone is in various similar states.
“…The cookies smell nice,” Kyu says, attempting a smile. It’s not really successful.
“Thanks,” Sato says automatically, “And Sero made the shake, just take as much as you want.”
She steps a little closer, not quite in the middle of the clustered students, but close enough to see Sato’s pillowy chocolate-chip cookies and the berry-flecked shake in the blender. She is hungry, but now she doesn’t really feel like eating in front of her classmates.
“So, uh,” Mina says, “did Recovery Girl check that out?”
Kyu is thankful for the silence being broken, but she can’t do much more than shrug. “I got discharged this morning, so it doesn’t need a checkup yet.” She cocks her head as she starts to wonder aloud— “Although I’m not entirely sure. Maybe I should’ve gone right to her, but I don’t actually know how versatile Heal is. Would it be that effective on a skin graft?”
“…Skin graft?” Hagakure says, voice almost a whisper and cracking with concern halfway through.
“Yeah, I— My arm got hurt. I don’t know how much you know, other than Aizawa apparently telling you not to press me?” Most of the stares shift to Kaminari, which is sort of a relief. Kyu takes the chance to get across the grouped-up students and hop up to sit on the countertop.
“…Mirko and Nightlight were investigating a low-occupancy industrial district at night and found the League,” Yaomomo says after a beat.
Kyu nods. “They’re split up to lay low, but usually don’t get up to shit alone. I ended up engaging with Shigaraki while she fought off Twice’s doubles.” Her face twists up at the thought, and she rolls her piercing just to do something with her hands. It takes her a moment to gather her thoughts again, and she puts the ghost of a smile on her face and the clinical report-style language back in its box. “The tooth thing was about him. You have no idea how good it felt to put him on his ass. I think I broke at least one of his ribs, too.”
“You don’t need to talk about this,” Uraraka says, looking up at Kyu with big eyes. She’s got a knowing-sad look on her face, that feels comforting and out of place at the same time.
“I do feel vindicated, though. And a little happy. I mean, I don’t like that he got away—”
“He hurt you, though,” Hagakure says, “and we’ve been hurt by villains before. It just… Seems like you’re putting on a brave face. And we’re all here and receptive because we want you to feel like you can just be whatever you feel.”
Kyu purses her lips. She’s choked up with the comfort of all her friends offering support, but it feels like she’s the one who doesn’t understand the full story.
Tsu clears her throat with a half-croak sound. “Your life was in danger, Midoriya. It’s a little disconcerting that you’ve compartmentalized enough to smile like you are. Kero.”
Kyu opens and shuts her mouth a few times, slightly less confused than she was before. “I mean, Mirko helped me control Blackwhip — With Shigaraki, my engagements were pretty measured. He touched my arm, but I hit him way harder. I would’ve had him in cuffs, but a Dabi clone showed up. And I destroyed that really quick, too.”
Her classmates share glances of concern. Tokage is the only one still staring at her, lips curling into a knowing smile. What is happening, Kyu’s brain says, figurative hand hovering over the brain fire alarm.
“…And he grabbed your neck,” Mina says gently, wary and soft like steps on a landmine.
“What? No.” Kyu shifts her hand down from her piercing to her neck which—
She’s wearing a t-shirt and cardigan. Her yellowish-brownish-reddish splotchy neck is fully visible. Her hand quickly darts from drifting fingers across it to grabbing her sternum, fingers sitting on her collarbones.
Her classmates, who seem to think she was almost choked to death or disintegrated at the windpipe, suddenly falter. Kaminari is the first one to actually open his mouth, shaking his head and blinking. “Wait, then how…”
Kyu meets Tokage’s eye again. She’s starting to look like she’s barely holding in laughter.
“Oh my god.” Mina pushes herself out of her bean bag, leaving Uraraka to squawk indignantly as she slides to the floor. “Oh my god!”
Kyu averts her eyes.
Hagakure shouts out, “Mina, what is going on!?”
“Midoriya has hickies,” she says, grinning. She’s looking right at Kyu’s neck now, mouth ajar. “Like, a lot. Oh my god, that’s so many.”
Kyu runs her hand through her hair. Her cheeks are burning furiously, which she tries to ignore. “If you don’t shut up I’m taking all the cookies and the whole blender and going back to my room.”
Jirou snorts. Setsuna laughs so hard she falls out of her chair. A few of her shyer classmates blush at the thought, but most of the girls are relentless— Gossipers. “Who?” “When?” “ Where? ”
“Oh my god, was it your mysterious villain girlfriend?!”
Kyu does not answer any of these questions. That doesn’t stop Mina and Hagakure from nearly tackling her.
“Damn, she’s intense.” “Oh, wait, look at those marks, it’s really dark there, it kinda looks like—” “Oh that’s a straight up bite! ” “With puncture wounds. It’s a vampire bite. ”
Kyu takes the pitcher off the blender and starts to shove them away with berry shake. It doesn’t work that well.
“Give her personal space,” Yaomomo says. Kyu almost passes out from relief. In the serene silence, she takes a very long drink straight from the pitcher, and follows it with a fresh cookie.
“She’s not a vampire just because she has fangs,” Kyu says carefully, to the relief of a few of her disturbed-looking classmates. “They’re an accessory feature of her Quirk.” Then, she takes a deep breath, feeling her blush crawl up her ears. As much as it’s mortifying, she probably needs to tack on the disclaimer to prevent another Uraraka-blackwhip incident. “She has compulsions and I wanted her to know I was okay with them. It’s not like I was… Caught off guard.” She frowns. “Just to be clear, th-that’s more of a ‘this isn’t unhealthy’ thing. I can bend metal with my bare hands, but I’m not hurting her or controlling her for it.”
Her classmates are in various states of giddy, embarrassed, and/or shocked. Mina giggles. “I knew you were a masochist, Midoriya—”
“Can we go back to talking about my fight with Shigaraki?”
“—But, like, really, that’s commitment.”
“This conversation is over.” She swings her legs over to the other side of the counter, hopping into the full space of the kitchen. “I’m going to shove my face into the fridge until it’s less red, and you’re all going to move on.”
An hour later, almost all of them are piled into the common room, squeezing onto all three couches, various beanbags, and the extra ottomans. Bakugou is on dinner duty— After cackling at Kyu’s neck for a few minutes— So he and Kirishima are at work in the kitchen. Iida and Koda are both away from the huge gathering, and Shinsou escaped as soon as it stopped being study-hangout and started being… Whatever it is now.
The TV plays absurd reality TV, with everyone alternating between talking over it and watching, enraptured. Mina, Uraraka, and Hagakure sit on the couch behind Kyu’s ottoman, pulling her hair into braids, curls, and a thousand other styles, before taking a few pictures and then letting it fall back to Kyu’s shoulders. It’s nice, feeling hands at her scalp. It’s nice getting compliments on the smell and feel of her hair. It’s nice being surrounded by cozy cushions and warm bodies.
Over a mess of snacks and sweets and very nice tea, the conversation has graciously moved on from Himiko. Her classmates ask about her Work Study, and she talks about training Blackwhip and getting used to moving and fighting with a higher level of full-body OFA. Some of her classmates are surprised that Rumi is just as intense off the clock, but they’re all surprised when Kyu talks about the mall, the piercings, and all the other times Rumi was compassionate.
Eventually, Kyu insists on learning what’s been going on with her classmates, and they start to go into detail. Kyu hasn’t really missed much in terms of academics, since it’s the first month of the semester. On the other hand, the drills and exercises have demanded constant, synergistic, and smart use of Quirks— The type of stuff that builds team skills and helps them reorient their Quirk use after first semester foundationals and summer physical training. Kyu’s happy to have fine-tuned OFA and gotten the hang of Blackwhip, but she still feels a burning determination to catch up.
Their work-studies are all really interesting, too. While Kyu is acting as Rumi’s sidekick, most of the others are at huge agencies that involve more balanced and organized work. Most of her classmates talk about more structured experiences, like Tokoyami’s work at Hawks’ agency, or Tsu’s experience with Gang Orca.
Uraraka and Mina avoid talking about themselves, but talk each other up. The complete picture seems like they’re a power duo, able to keep up with Neijire and Ryukyuu. They’re never in authority positions, given the size of the agency, but apparently they shut down villain fights and move in quick to rescue scenes.
Kirishima has been working with Fat Gum and Amajiki— The combination sounds a little odd, but apparently Fat Gum has taught him a lot about how to actually make use of his Quirk in real situations. He’s even been shot, which he seems very excited about. The bullet was actually a drug that temporarily shuts down Quirks, which he is more fittingly upset about. Kyu doesn’t say anything, but if the League is in Osaka, they could be in danger— Or dealing with the manufacturer. Kyu sends Himiko a text just before dinner, anyway.
Notes:
Scratch--- Graffiti done with keys/similar things, often on traincar windows. It's impossible to remove without replacing the pane.
my beta reader has long been armed with the spray bottle for my “, though,”s and now shes threatening to spritz me whenever I mention kyu’s throat. Which is tragic because all the conflict is stored there /hj
spent too much time outlining the thesis of the angst hell dark mirror of the self overhaul arc, current chapter "kyu hangs out with her friends" impossible to write
36 page google doc Homestuck fic waiting in the wings as we speak. I dont know how im doing this.
Chapter 62: Black Book
Summary:
LAST TIME; Yagi sat Bakugou and Kyu down after their fight, and revealed the nature of One for All and Shigaraki's parentage/identity as Shimura Tenko. Kyu remained staunchly hateful of him, but was able to calm down with some help from Bakugou in time to hang out with 1-A!! yippee!! She texted Himiko about the existence of Quirk-Erasing Bullets.
THIS TIME:
Kyu savors her first full day at the dorms in over a week, even if there are bumps.
Notes:
CW: this chapter has some more Kyu angst, mostly in the form of mild dysphoria. prioritize your own safety and drink water.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu wakes up slowly. Her eyes pull apart sluggishly, stuck together by something tacky. She rubs the heels of her palms into her face, and they come away dark. She squints at them for a moment, staring until her sleepy brain fires up. Mascara, clumpy between her lashes, and thick eyeliner wings. She never washed her face before bed, swept up in letting Hagakure experiment. She rolls out of bed with her eyes fluttering, but quickly gets used to the feeling.
It’s barely light out, and the early morning chill bites as Kyu climbs out from under her sheets. She plucks at her sweats and tee, unchanged from last night, and decides it’s good enough for a morning run. It’s not enough to keep the morning chill at bay, so she grabs her gym uniform jacket as well. She tugs on a pair of socks between steps to the door and pads into the hallway. The elevator is quick as ever, and her sleepy brain drifts through the ride and the walk across the empty common area. She toes on her prototype Knightriders unthinkingly, and only squints down at them after the laces are tight and she feels the spring in her own step.
Do I need to give these back? Are they a training tool or an unregistered support item? She chews her lip as she pushes open the dorm’s main doors and steps into morning air. The manicured lawn is pale with dew, tipped with frost. It’s a cold autumn, the kind that only bares its teeth every few years and nips with relentless cold long into winter.
Kyu starts to jog. She’s not going anywhere in particular, just like every other time she goes for a run at UA; most of the campus is made up of paved paths and trimmed trees. It blends together, so she fixes her eyes on the way the sky changes color. When pale purple turns to wakeful blue, painting the clouds in shades of rose gold and honey by the sunrise, she turns around. By the time the sky takes a more bright daytime shine, she’s back in Heights’ Alliance, unlacing the Knightriders at the foot of the dorm's stove, waiting for her eggs to cook. She’s always liked American-style omelettes, with the big curds just starting to brown.
A few of her classmates, the other early-risers, wander down to the common area as she cooks. It’s a sweet reminder of how nice the dorms can be, just like the last time she made her full breakfast here. She takes the leftover smoothie from the other day out of the fridge— It’s still in the blender’s pitcher, because Heights’ Alliance is a wasteland run by teenagers. Kyu doesn’t envy whoever will be consigned to scrub berry skin bits from the plasticky prison of sweet, delicious shake. She will, however, drink straight from the pitcher, and get a foamy berry protein mustache.
It’s only as she wipes that away and feels her piercing shift around (ow) that she remembers her actual morning routine. She scarfs down her comedically large breakfast, then takes the elevator back up to her room to do a saline wash on all her piercings and take her spiro. She runs a hand through her hair, feeling the sort-of-clammy sweat from her morning run. She decides to rinse before putting on her uniform. The voice of Rumi reminds her that she probably doesn’t need to do anything to her hair, besides maybe leave-in conditioner. She thanks the voice, because her hair sucks to dry, hair dryer or not, and only getting it damp sounds nice.
When she goes down to the communal bathrooms with her cheap slippers and small set of clothes, she discovers a fact that has long slipped her mind: Other people take showers in the morning. The shower stalls themselves are divided, but not by much— At the least, her calves and head would stretch above and below, and her body wouldn’t be hard to see from any other angle. Kyu can hear at least two showers running, and a petrifying fear stills her body at the entrance. She is left realizing her options are to actually take a stall, or to stare awkwardly from the entryway, which is objectively worse.
It’s more than a little mortifying to shower so close to Tsu and Jirou, in a way that makes her gut twist up. There’s a divide between their bodies, but she can see the tops of their heads in her periphery. More importantly, she is exposed. That forces her to notice every part of her own body. The aches and the scars, sure, the knobby hands, yes, but also the shoulders hormones caught half-broadened, and the waistless musculature, and the small pecs without mass on her chest.
She’s upset. It’s harder to place than she expects— The unfamiliar anguish with her body would be dysphoria, right? But instead, the feelings complicate themselves, clashing with the fact that she likes what her body does, as a mechanism to do what she wants, and that Himiko likes her body, doesn’t she? Kyu tries to shove the feeling away the same way she did to Shigaraki’s lingering words, but it sticks just the same. If she imagines herself changing, it’s a little better, but she feels that she’s missing something. She scrubs the shit out of her skin and pulls on her clothes before she’s even dry or the leave-in is actually in her hair.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Kyu darts back to her room, running in her shower clothes, and faces away from the mirror as she puts on her uniform. She’s still not used to dressing like this, being allowed to or being forced to, with leggings under the skirt and her parka over the blazer. Her shirt collar comes up over her bruised neck when she does the top button. She half-asses her tie into maybe the most presentable clump of fabric it’s been all year, and glares at it. The girl’s uniform includes a small gold button-thing on the tie, which Kyu fights with her fumbling fingers. After everything’s together, she grabs her backpack from its place against her desk and slings it over her shoulders.
It’s a little early to go to class, and most of her classmates are socializing over their first full meals of the day. Kyu sends them waves, but doesn’t have the time to stay; she’s back at UA for a reason, and Recovery Girl wants to look at her. Kyu knows that the graft is fine, and she’d really prefer not to get barred from exercises, so she’s compliant about the demand.
“Any discomfort?” Recovery Girl asks, prodding at her arm.
“It feels weird,” Kyu admits, “but I think it’s normal, for a synthetic skin graft.”
“Yes,” Recovery Girl tuts, “normal for a child with a skin graft.”
“Better than broken bones!”
“Marginally.”
“The point is, I’m sure I’m fine to run a few exercises. I won’t let it get damaged while it’s healing.”
“Very good understanding of the principles,” Recovery Girl says absently, still prodding. “Unfortunately, your track record of practice is very different. Any fever, discomfort, trouble breathing?”
“Nope.” Kyu adjusts so the Recovery Girl’s ice-cold stethoscope can slide under her shirt. “Well, do you see Bakugou’s Quirk on it? I didn’t think so.”
“Right, just the bruising. Glad to see that’s not creating any complications. Lucky brat.”
“Picky geezer.”
“You want those hickies healed?”
Utter silence. Recovery Girl lingers with that stupid stethoscope as if to say you’re stuck with me and I win. Kyu glares. Recovery Girl glares back.
Kyu leaves the nurse’s office with far less discoloration crawling up her neck.
She’s walking to class a little early, but she’s also taking the route from the nurse’s office. She passes by the Management classrooms and the entrance to both the second and third year wings. Stares and whispers follow her. She’s used to it when she’s in costume and with Rumi, but stares early in the morning and in civilian garb are unsettling. It’s not like UA has ever felt entirely like a safe haven, so she frowns while she tries to identify why this feels like a violation.
UA isn’t safe, but it’s supposed to be the same. Perfection defined by authority; chaos brought into order by the demiurge. It’s not a place that allows her to be fully herself, but it allows her a very convenient mold, and lets her occupy it freely. That’s always been the point, the reason Aizawa never reported her and Nedzu agreed to help her. The other kids are looking at her like she must be fragile or indestructible because of her fight with Shigaraki, but the Management students look like they want to pry her out of her UA shape and study her.
Kyu pulls the hood of her parka over her head on the way to class. The faux fur hangs over her forehead and tickles her eyelashes. She realizes as she approaches the looming 1-A door that she doesn’t know what her classmates’ routines are like. Maybe Mina and Uraraka wake up early to jog together, and they’re already in class. Maybe Setsuna is lingering in their classroom before the bell rings. She thinks of those things more like fun daydreams than the likely option. Pessimistic, maybe, but she’s sure when she opens the door…
It’s all the typical early risers; Yaomomo and Bakugou and Shoji, along with Koda and Aoyama. And, of course, Iida.
Kyu settles back into her hood and looks at her crimson shoes, because she’s not sure what she’ll feel if she looks him in the eye. Already, her fists tighten enough to make the joints ache. When she finally unwinds the tension in them, pain will throb through her joints. She knows that, but she can’t stop herself. It’s a feeling she’d forgotten, but one that’s familiar. In a way, she prefers Shigaraki, because at least hating him is cathartic. It’s a release of potential energy, a rubber band snapping, a hungry tiger finally pouncing. Iida just rips bitter anger out of her chest in a way that leaves tears and jagged edges.
She’s tugged out of her head when a fingers taps against her desk, which she realizes she’s been staring a hole through. Her eyes snap up, blown wide with pinprick pupils, and meet Bakugou’s gaze. He doesn’t look angry, but his flat expression still has his combativeness. There’s something grounding in the confidence about him, and Kyu breathes out through clenched teeth.
She lets herself zone out in her chair, head forward and present. Eventually, the classroom starts to fill up, with chatter and bodies clustering throughout the room. Aizawa rises from his sleeping bag, and most of them move to their seats. Kyu has a feeling that it’s going to be a long day.
“Dude, I’m just saying, Hawks is like— And Best Jeanist? You’re crazy. Pass the ketchup.”
Kyu sits at the cafeteria table, surrounded by a fair chunk of her class, but none of the others. She slides deep into the booth to hide from the Management students. It helps, but not by much. She can still feel their eyes on the back of her head. She throws herself into the conversation, anyway— It’s the sort of topic born from Mina soapboxing with total Girl Authority.
“Well Endeavor is, like, old.” Chopsticks float in invisible hands and point at Mina. “They’re both shaped like bad BL characters, okay? I’m picking the lesser of two evils.”
Kyu frowns. “Wait, is this an ongoing debate? Hasn’t it been, like, a month?”
“The truth never dies,” Hagakure says. At the same time, Mina leans forward conspiratorially. “I can never let Hagakure live this down.”
“I mean, I get that the Rankings are coming up before the semester ends, but…” Kyu scrunches her face up. “Come on, do you have to pick between a bunch of old guys?”
Hagakure leans forward. “Hawks is, like, twenty-one, or whatever.”
“Twenty-two,” Kaminari corrects, stuffing his face more before he can be dragged full-force into the conversation. When he meets Kyu’s eye, he grins at her misfortune.
Kyu’s playful glare moves from Kaminari, to Hagakure, and finally to Mina. “The point is, I refuse the question on principle.”
Mina narrows her eyes. “Hey, Jirou’s a lesbian too, but she answered. You aren’t getting out of this.”
“I’m not—” Kyu hesitates. Is she a lesbian? She puts a finger to her chin, trying to think of anyone she’s interested in. Definitely not any top-ten Pro men, even if they’re “only” half a decade older than her.
“Midoriya,” Uraraka says softly, “you’re muttering again.”
Kyu blinks, and flushes as she brings her hand down from her chin and back to her lunch. “My point is, uh, I don’t really know if I am. I guess I haven’t thought about it.”
“But you refuse to even entertain Hawks/Endy/BJ FMK,” Mina points out as if those words mean something.
“Please stop calling him that,” Hagakure says, “Yaomomo is going to figure it out sooner or later.”
“Putting aside the fact that I’m pretty sure Endeavor would stare at me in public and Jeanist would be a judgy cis gay guy,” Kyu interrupts, causing Kaminari to choke on his rice. “Well, Endeavor is a lot like a bounty hunter, so I’d take F for the free chance to hit him, I guess.”
That gives Mina pause. “You’re not gonna marry for his estate?”
“He’s already married, right?”
“It’s a hypothetical, Midori. Indulge me.”
“As much as being Todoroki’s step-mom would probably be funny,” this time Kaminari wheezes and pushes his food aside to lean over the table, “if I marry Hawks, I get a rich roommate and a beard.”
Uraraka pouts. “Wait, why not just kill Endeavor then?”
“He’s the Number One hero and I don’t think it’d be worth destabilizing villain activity again. It’s one thing for hero presence to escalate minor crimes, but it’s another for people to use their Quirks wildly because they don’t think consequences are possible.”
Mina drags a hand down her face. “I should’ve expected an answer like that.”
“Stop being such a political hobbyist, Midori.” Hagakure adds.
“Hey, I do praxis!”
Kaminari clicks his tongue. “Prove it.”
Kyu rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “There’s the skin graft from where I won in a fight against the most wanted man in Japan—”
“Showoff.”
The whole day is surprisingly normal— The same friends with the same jokes; the same lectures that Kyu saw recorded in her week away, even if they force her to engage more in-person. Ectoplasm’s class is as boring as ever, even if he’s very good at answering questions and fostering understanding. Now she’s at lunch, and it’s all just… Normal. Kyu chews her lip, poking through her curry.
She likes normal, but she’s struck by how alien it feels at UA. There’s no messy apartment or Rumi to match her routine with. There’s no Himiko around the corner either. She tries to think more forwardly, at least; she has friends at UA, and she can enjoy the time with them while working hard to be field-ready again.
Training exercises come quick after lunch. Kyu changes as fast as she can tucked in a stall, then wraps her hands and laces her Knightriders. She does the full suite of warmup stretches she can remember on the way to the grounds— The exercise is in the style of a game, like a lot of them are. This one involves the big-city features of Ground Beta, with dummies and robots spread throughout. Two teams of five start on opposite ends, trying to ‘rescue’ dummies in their endzone and take down ‘villains’. There’s mention of treating the other team’s dummies and robots and ‘hostages’ and ‘sidekicks.’
Kyu can see the idea, especially next to the stuff her classmates have talked about doing in class in the group chat she haunts. This is about strategic team engagements and Quirk use while actually planning for civilians. It even sounds a little fun. She ends up drawing lots to be on a team with Shoji, Kirishima, Mina, and Tsuyu. They’re up against Bakugou, Sero, Kaminari, Ojiro, and Tokoyami. She and Bakugou grin at each other in a way that probably freaks out her classmates.
They don’t have much planning time. Another feature that makes this scenario feel like a surprise engagement with civilian priorities. Kirishima and Mina help Kyu with the teamwork aspects that don’t come to her easily— Namely, the strategic value of having Shoji while Bakugou’s team lacks any easy recon. If they keep an eye and ear out, they can control the engagement. Kyu smiles, because it’s cool to see her friends get good at this sort of thing. Her plan mostly amounts to being on full rescue duty— She’s valuable in an engagement, but that means the other team will probably be trying to bait her.
The buzzer roars, and they’re off. Kyu is faster than her classmates, and her Knightriders are loud, but the distant explosions are definitely worse. Kyu snatches up dummies wherever she sees them, but it’s difficult to maintain blackwhip for long periods of time. She has to turn back to their ‘base’ with hands less than full each time, but with far more than most of her classmates could carry.
The first engagement is messier than either team probably expects. Shoji, Tsu, and Kirishima coordinate to ambush Ojiro and Sero. They end up being ambushed back by Kaminari, and the subsequent flash of electricity has Kyu darting in. The whole fight ends up being a four-versus-four slog, with Mina and Tokoyami darting through the city.
Kyu arrives while Shoji and Tsu are both disabled by the spasms of Kaminari’s shocks. Kirishima is barely standing, mostly due to his Quirk, but he doesn’t match up against Ojiro. Kyu kicks Ojiro away, and extends her arms to wrap Ojiro and Kaminari in Blackwhip. She’s slower than she needs to be— Sero tugs her off balance. He’s strong when he has leverage on his tape. And it comes out fast and forceful when he swings his arms…
Kyu doesn’t have any useful ability to cut the tape, so instead she raises her OFA charge to around fifteen percent and tugs back. Sero gives up the tape quick, and she rips it off her arms before it can get caught on anything. Her opponents are starting to recuperate. She gets ready to lunge and sweep them up in heavier lashes of Blackwhip, but then Bakugou’s thundering explosions and cocky smile are there.
The whole fight is a mess. She plays around with Blackwhip more than she probably should, trying to catch classmates who know her tells even if this is their first time seeing blackwhip in person, instead of knowing about it from Mina’s and Ida’s contradictory retelling of the night you broke the dorms. Kyu extends it from her biceps, grabs it, and slings it like Sero’s tape. When Sero and Ojiro work together to disable her arms, shes tarts to imitate Tsu. The feeling of Blackwhip in her mouth isn’t something she plans on repeating; it tastes weird for hours.
Eventually the exercise ends, and her messy engagement earns a fair amount of critique. Kyu’s classmates point out that her being on ambush duty might’ve been better, but there’s no way to know— She did save a lot of civilians, after all.
The whole thing doesn’t feel as good as patrolling with Rumi, but in a way, it’s better. It feels like she’s letting off steam, and even though her hands ache at the end of the day, she feels like the day of ‘recovery’ and ‘taking it easy’ was nice. Her class’ entire curriculum is enjoyable in comparison to the real word, but it’s still valuable practice, she can feel that much.
Kyu is lounging around the common room at the end of the day, taking a risk on socability.
It’s after dinner— Apparently, on school nights like this, there’s no ‘obligation’ for anyone to make food, but Yaomomo, Tsuyu, and Todoroki share the kitchen anyway. Kyu doesn’t even have to ask to know that little group is strange, but for once Mina withholds her assessments. Whatever happened is known only by them, she guesses.
All of 1-A, sans Ida, is in the common room tonight. Kyu has no idea if this is normal, but someone puts on bad TV in the background while they work on homework. The sound washes together with the rain outside, which falls harder and harder until thunder starts to roll and the starless night flashes with white lightning.
They take a break for food when Todoroki carries plates in, Tsuyu and Yaomomo proudly trailing behind him, but they’re back at it right after they finish, and Kyu watches with enraptured horror as a TV-wedding goes disastrously wrong in just about every way it could.
“Ugh, man, I feel totally lost. Midnight’s research project is, like deceptively hard!” Uraraka leans back, head thumping against the soft couch. “And the worst part is it sounds cool, and now I’m shooting myself in the foot!”
Kyu likes Midnight’s classes. Art History has never been her favorite subject, but Midnight uses it— Like a lot of valuable art does — to encourage students to think about what art means and the political or social influences behind it. She hopes that her classmates’ budding media literacy extends to graffiti, or even to her friends ending up out there joining the scrawls filling Musutafu.
Kyu smiles over her mug of tea, cradling it to keep the joints of her hands functional until she lets them rest in another hour or so. “I’m having more trouble with Mic’s class. Missing those in-person classes messed me up.”
Hagakure shuffles closer, her sherpa jacket rubbing warm against Kyu’s sleeveless arm. “If you need a hand just let me know. I’ve gotten up from a B to an A, finally, so now I’m just competing with Yaomomo.”
“Take second place, honey,” Mina says gently. Hagakure giggles. It’s all a little infectious. Kyu feels this place inch closer to a home, and the people around her grow into her heart like they’re setting roots. She smiles again, but it’s shaky.
“Is there something wrong?”
Yaomomo is closer than Kyu thought she was. The TV and the rain are still loud, but the couch Kyu is on, with Mina and Hagakure and Uraraka and now Yaomomo, feels like a conversation space.
Kyu feels at home, but there’s discomforts digging their talons in everywhere. The unfamiliarty she hates, sure, but the weights she drags everywhere. She finds her hand drifting over her other arm, and the skin graft on it.
“I… It’s sort of case information,” she says quietly. But she can’t stop a half-truth from slipping out anyway. “I knocked Shigaraki’s tooth out hoping, uh, it’d be useful for identification. And it was. I don’t know, he was… A victim in some ways, but I know him like a lot of people don’t, and it’s getting to me more than I thought it would.”
Mina’s hand sets over hers. Kyu digs her teeth into her tongue so that she doesn’t cry. Her brow is furrowed, but she ignores her curiosity to say “it’s okay” anyway. Kyu is surprised to find that she wants to explain— The closeness Shigaraki thinks is there, that he planted in her like a cancer, and how he’s like her in a thousand ways that make her want to scream and tug at her hair. How Kyu wants to be in the throes of combat again, just to beat him, just to know him. But she doesn’t get the chance.
There’s thunder outside, and Hagakure ducks a little closer at the loud noise. The sheets of rain hitting the wide-open windows doesn’t do favors to some of her classmates, it seems— Koda has a pet, Kyu thinks, and she figures it’s having a heart attack. She frowns for a moment, but manages to awkwardly linger between taking Hagakure’s hand and reaching around her shoulder long enough for Hagakure to grab her instead. Her white-knuckle grip feels like pins and needles on the skin graft, but Kyu lets her anyway. The rain really isn’t letting up.
Then it happens.
Kyu jumps a little when her phone rings. She wrestles it out of her pocket, and takes a moment to look at the contact before answering.
Why is Himiko calling? She never calls. Calls are easier to trace, or whatever. Kyu answers with her brow furrowing. She stands quickly, making Hagakure scramble back and Mina lower the TV’s volume. Maybe her concern is showing a bit too much on her face.
“Kyu, K-Kyu? Are you there?” Himiko sounds frantic. She’s scared, and Kyu feels a protective anger roar to life. “I— They, I’m—”
“Hey, it’s alright, I’m here, Himi.” Kyu springs up, making her way to the elevator. She’s definitely not inclined to have this talk in the common room or outside. “What’s going on? Is everyone okay?” There are a few murmurs behind her, a few footsteps, she just walks faster. The elevator is already resting on the bottom floor, so it’s easy to get in and hit the close door button. Mina, Hagakure, and Bakugou are standing a few feet away as they close, faces twisted in concern and confusion. Bakugou’s eyes are wide.
“Th-they got her, but Magne’s gonna be fine, fine, it’s just some blood, blood, FUCK!”
The elevator slowly climbs to Kyu’s floor. Inch by inch, moment by moment. “Himiko, what’s going on!? Talk to me, please talk to me—”
“I— Sh-shit. I l-love you, Kyu. Help me lift her you ASSHO—”
The quick, dull tones of a dead line scream in her ear.
Notes:
Black Book - A sketchbook kept by a graffiti artist to sketch or plan tags and pieces.
This chapter was a hard one. It's really difficult to expand on/sweeten Kyu's relationship with her classmates.
The question, really, is how long it lasts. I guess that depends on the events of next chapter...:
63 - Genocidal
Sorry about the impromptu hiatus. I highly recommend you read Homestuck if you haven't, and my Homestuck fic if you have. I promise it's pretty good I think.
Chapter 63: Genocidal I
Summary:
The events around last chapter's phonecall from Himiko's perspective, and what Kyu does in the crucial window of response time.
Notes:
CW: this chapter contains some intense violence. It's overhaul, you get it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu shoves her phone back into her pocket. OFA is already blazing in her crooked fingers, and she cracks the screen— Not that she notices. Her other hand is prying apart the elevator doors faster than they can roll open. They’re high-tech, like everything else in the building; they’re not slow, but Kyu is much, much faster. Right now, she has no regard for all these petty luxuries—they aren’t her home anyways.
She can feel where shadows itch under her skin as she moves towards her room— One bound to get to the girl’s wing, another to catch her splintered-short nails against the doorway and keep balance despite her speed. With it,`she pushes through the door like it’s not there. Like a beast, wild and imprecise. She drinks in ozone-thick air and feels idle pinpricks in her eyes while she starts to grab what she needs.
Himiko swings her legs idly, watching her worn-out school shoes move around. They’re getting small for her feet, but the League has been pretty broke since the old boss got canned. She doesn’t mind too much— Her clothes are still cute, and the sweater she’s wearing keeps out the cold as long as it’s not windy. Her cheeks get rosy no matter if she feels chills or not; she blushes easy. She hides her face in her old support gear and tattered red scarf.
“This is boring.”
Compress taps the crate she’s sitting on with his elbow. His blank mask is facing her— It’s the one with the dot and lines that Himiko thinks looks like a cyclops with a goofy smile. “I’m sure it’ll be over with quickly, my dear.”
Himiko pouts. “Yeah, but we still had to come all the way out to this dusty squat.” She leans around Compress to squint at the back of their fearless leader’s head. “I thought the whole deal was that we were split up!”
Shigaraki scratches at his neck. It’s just an idle motion, fingers rubbing without scraping through skin. It looks off anyway, because he’s using the wrong hand. He’s been avoiding his left arm since Kyu broke his ribs on that side. Sucker.
“This could be big,” Shigaraki says after a pause that says it’s more than that. Himiko looks down at her nails. They’re always a little bitten down, but now even her polish is chipping. She frowns at it, and glances back up at Shigaraki. With any luck, he’ll start monologuing, which is the only way he ever provides information without getting all annoyed about it. Any day now…
“His group took out a gang of villains.” Shigaraki makes a nasally thinking sound. “Small, not a big deal, but they got that loot. Plus, ‘his group’— The guy’s got manpower and more money than we have. Right now, those are the two things we need.”
“Obviously,” Himiko whispers.
“Oh, shut up,” Shigaraki hisses. “Yeah, I heard you. Maybe get your bitch of a girlfriend to stop making me fork over cash to back-alley docs.”
Himiko sticks her tongue out. “Don’t call her a bitch, Tomuraki.”
Shigaraki throws his hands up. “Well, she’s a fucking attack dog! She also did a press release about being a girl! Forgive me for adding two and two together.”
“Alright, alright,” Magne says, smile shining through her voice. “Look, we’re gonna have company soon. Shigaraki’s nemesis is also Toga’s girlfriend and it’s not new information.”
“Nemes— I’m insulted that— Okay, maybe she’s on my level in a fight, but ideologically—”
“Shut up.” Tsutsumi’s husky voice offers no recourse— How she manages to look so severe in a mock neck dress and winter cargo vest, Himiko can only aspire to. “Keep your heads on straight. We’ve hardly vetted this guy. And you’re giving me a headache.”
“Twice vetted him.” Shigaraki rolls his eyes, and starts counting on his fingers.
“Money, manpower, not being followed. If we fail at the dialogue, we’ll win the fight.”
Tsutsumi sighs, breath catching sound low in her throat, just shy of a growl. She kneads her brow for a moment before setting her steely gaze on Shigaraki again. “You’re playing this fast and loose. The point is that the discussion works. The fact that I’m showing my face at all, not hiding in the rafters, that’s a show of good faith.”
Shigaraki grins under his hand-mask. “You’re still not really getting the world of villains. With All Might gone, it’s even worse! It’s about strength. We represent that, with free hearts and—” He places four fingers on his chest— “The disciple of All For One himself.” He stands up straight, hands falling to his sides. With his slouch gone, he’s a little taller and a little firmer than Tsutsumi. “This guy’s coming to us. To the League. We’re a top guild, so stop acting like the pussy government agent you got trained as.”
Tension hangs in the air. Tsutsumi’s lips shift the tiniest bit towards a grimace, but she doesn’t snap or take a step closer, even if she seems like she might. She takes a deep breath and falls into a mask of focused eyes and set shoulders. Shigaraki is watching the door like a hawk, and there’s little to break the tension except the waiting.
–
Kyu throws the parka on over her tanktop. The synthetic jacket fabric clings to her bare skin, plasticky and awkward. She shrugs it into place anyway. Blackwhip whips out fast like a bullet and nabs her blockers off her nightstand. Her closet’s full of UA uniforms and stylish clothes, but she doesn’t grab any extras; not even a pair of socks. It’s a joke, even to her— She won’t be coming back, but she doesn’t need any of this. She forgets why she ever thought she did. Her life seems like a half-remembered dream, something she read in a book but didn’t live. If she hadn’t been so scared, if she hadn’t been so disconnected, if she hadn’t torn out her eyes to stop herself from seeing what was right in front of her, this place and these people would have always been a joke to her. She doesn’t need them, she doesn’t need the dream of the kid she never got to be, and she doesn't need socks. She needs Himiko.
She also needs the first aid kit and her Knightriders. They’re in the common room.
“Reeelaaax. The guys inside have been sick for a while!” That’s Twice’s voice, and not a moment later the big warehouse doors squeak and scrape their way open. Moonlight shines in. Where before, it only filtered through the dirty half-broken skylights, it now fills the building with dull blue light.
Twice steps in first, his flamboyant stride coming to a head closer to the League. He leans on his hip, and gestures to their guest. He’s got a weird parka; green with purple feathers at the collar, plastic and perfect. His black button up and slacks with a white tie are a little closer to normal, along with his wrist-high latex gloves and his simple haircut. But his giant red and gold bird mask is a little ridiculous. Himiko likes that in a villain.
Shigaraki’s eyes are burning holes through the guy. “Well, you brought us a nice catch, Twice.”
“That’s ironic,” the man says. His tone is relaxed, but his dead-eyed gaze is fixed on Shigaraki, and his consonants are precise. Himiko likes him a little less already. “Coming from the League of Villains themselves, hm?”
Magne’s face scrunches up. “What’s the deal. Is he famous?”
Shigaraki doesn’t even twitch as he answers. “I’ve seen his picture. He’s yakuza. Head of the Shie Hassaikai. Hmm…”
Magne grins, her arm that’s not hooked around her magnet coming up to her chin playfully. “Ooh, a bad boy then. He’s got an aura of danger, doesn’t he?” At that, Himiko giggles. The yakuza guy just sighs, which makes it a little funnier. He might be easier to antagonize than Shigaraki, and that’s saying something.
Himiko is still confused. Yakuza? Bad boy? “What makes him different than us?”
Tsutsumi is staring at the guy too, but her face slips into the slightest bit of a smug grin. “Oh, a long time ago, Yakuza groups were a big deal. They were more present than the government after early Quirk wars. But then along came heroes… And out went the Yakuza. Most members are known and highly supervised nowadays. They’re not sustainable anymore.”
The man raises an eyebrow at her, but when she finishes speaking, he just nods. “Yes… Unfortunately, that’s correct.”
Magne’s eyes narrow under her shades. “So you were barely scraping by, and you turn up now, after All Might’s retirement?”
The man shakes his head. His eyes crinkle, belaying the condescending grin under his mask. “No, it’s not about All Might. All For One, that’s the real motivator here. An urban legend, a guy the elders thought was dead and gone. But then he showed up and leveled a few blocks. Now that he’s in Tartarus, well…” The man gives a shrug. “Heroes and villains are both leaderless. The question now is… Who will step up and lead?”
Shigaraki’s posture falls into his more typical slouch. “You’re asking that? Knowing he was my master? What, are you raising a challenge? The next leader is me. The League grows in numbers and power by the day. The destruction of this backwards society is at hand. I’m at the helm.”
The man raises his arms placatingly. Like he’s tossing out a point of discussion, he says, “got a plan?”
The air shifts. Playing it fast and loose, playing by the rules of villains— Negotiations have changed. This man’s not a starry-eyed recruit. Himiko doesn’t show her hand— She’s deathly quiet when she wants to be, and she’s certain he doesn’t notice her drawing a nice combat knife.
“A plan?” Shigaraki’s head tilts. “You didn’t come here to join up, did you.”
“Having goals without a plan makes you a day-dreamer. A child. Day-dreaming children don’t make good pitches and they don’t make good leaders.” He walks forward, slow and confident. “What happens when you expand? How do you use your numbers, how do you manage your League? You’ve had plenty of members who got tossed out like trash— Muscular, Stain…! The USJ force, that I get, but please. You don’t know how to use a real asset!
“There’s no point in getting more unstable powerhouses you can’t control and let get caught. No point in numbers you can’t control and an organization you can’t direct. You need a plan to bring your goals to life, and I have a plan.” His eyes crinkle again, his whole posture flaring with pride. Preening like the crow he seems to be. “I didn’t come to join you, no. My plan, it takes a lot of money and presence. Nobody’s going to toss cash to some Yakuza dregs. You’re right about that. But your League, the infamy you’ve amassed? It’d be a different story. A beautiful future. So join me. ” He extends a hand, gloved palm facing up. “I’d put you to very good use.”
Himiko’s blood is boiling, but she doesn’t dare to move first. She’s sitting closest to the wall, and she doesn’t know what his Quirk is.
Magne’s a lot closer. With a tug and a billowing of fabric, her magnet frees itself. “I don’t think so, bad boy. None of us are here to serve anyone.” With a heavy thud that kicks up dust, the magnet hits the ground. The thing must weigh more than Himiko does. “The future of villainy isn’t the Yakuza of the past, or people like us bowing to megalomaniacs. We’re here because we’re done doing that.”
Magne steps forward, sweeping the magnet up onto her shoulder. The man stares at her, eyes cold and unflinching. At most, he looks annoyed, or maybe disgusted. Himiko is sick of people looking at her and her friends like that.
“I’ve got this friend who I meet with sometimes— She’s a good egg, on the right side of the law. I saw her recently, and she said ‘those who are bound together by society’s chains laugh at anyone who isn’t’. She said she’d never be brave enough to break free of it entirely.” Magne swallows thickly. Her breath comes a little ragged, and her voice comes thick with emotion. “But I also met another friend recently. A graffiti artist, an outcast herself, a figurehead for people like us, for sharing that bravery like breaking bread! And that is the future that will never fucking serve you!”
The man takes off his glove. Magne’s quick— This sort of back-alley brawl is what she’s good at, it’s why she never got caught. The man lurches forward, stumbling and then skidding across the dusty concrete. The opposite pole of her magnet comes right towards him at skull-cracking speeds.
“I’m here because I’m gonna live free! We decide where we belong!”
The man’s delicate fingers grace the magnet.
There’s no time for the elevator or the stairwell. Kyu throws her balcony door open, and it hits the end of its slide track so forcefully that it shatters. She hardly notices, leaping out into the pouring rain. It comes down like hammers; thick drops that she can feel through her hair and her clothes. The parka’s fur becomes matted and wet in an instant. She hits the mud of the courtyard in a crouch that absorbs multiple stories of impact, making it splash up and spray her calves and the bottom of her parka with muck. She leaps out of it and slams into the common room doors. They swing open and rattle with the stormy wind and the kickback of Kyu’s motion. She’s at the first aid kit in two steps, and rips it off the wall in hardly a second.
“Midoriya, wait.”
Her classmates are staring at her, all jarred from their nervous huddle to stand between her and the door.
“I don’t have time—”
“Just stop!”
Krreeak!
With a scream of metal on metal, Magne’s weapon turns into a jagged mess of shrapnel. Despite its momentum, its morphing shape flows backward, malignant growths of metal spikes shooting up to rip apart Magne’s arm and shoulder. She can hear the squelch of sinew stretching and Magne’s shoulder tearing away.
“Fu-fuck!” She staggers, unbalanced with her momentum turning into twisting around and falling at the man’s feet. He glares at her.
“Your side made the first move.” He sneers, cold eyes alight with anger and vein bulging in his forehead. “And you’re getting blood on my shoes.”
Himiko kicks off the crate and dashes forward, neck and neck with Compress. Magne staggers up, but the man is already stalking into her space. She throws a weak hook with her good arm, but his free hand slams into her stomach, and there’s a cruel shifting sound as he does something to her. Compress redoubles his pace, and Himiko dives for Magne.
Bang!
“My Quirk isn’t—”
“Don’t touch me!”
Squelch.
Flecks of Compress’ blood and what was once his arm splatter across the right side of Himiko’s face. Despite her usual cravings, it smells wrong; it makes her stomach turn. She tugs on Magne— She’s not strong like her or Kyu, and can barely drag her across the concrete. Like Kyu, arises out of her scattered, panicked thoughts. I need Kyu. She fumbles for her phone. Presses her top contact with shaky fingers. Kyu picks up on the first ring.
“Kyu, K-Kyu? Are you there? I— They, I’m—”
Shigaraki darts forward, quick like an arrow despite his broken ribs. The man’s eyes go wide— He backsteps, but with Shigaraki’s speed, there’s no way he can— “Shield!” A man steps between him and Shigaraki, and crumbles to dust. Shigaraki leaps back when the man’s hand comes out.
“Hey, it’s alright, I’m here, Himi.” Her voice settles Himiko, but only barely. “What’s going on? Is everyone okay?”
At that, Himiko whines, tugging Magne away again. There’s so much blood, trailing behind her. “Th-they got her, but Magne’s gonna be fine, fine, it’s just some blood, blood, FUCK!”
“That was a close one,” a voice says from the rafters. The one from the bang, earlier. Himiko’s wild-eyed look darts between all the too-close enemies. Not a moment later, the doors are torn asunder— No, the whole wall comes down— As backup storms in, dressed in bird masks and fancy gear.
“Himiko, what’s going on!? Talk to me, please talk to me—”
“I— Sh-shit.” Things are going south fast. Twice and Shigaraki are still standing ahead, unmoving, ready too fight. “I l-love you, Kyu. Help me lift her you ASSHOLES—”
Her phone disappears from her hand.
Bang! There’s another gunshot, this time from behind her. The man in the rafters falls with a high-caliber rifle wound in his gut. Tsutsumi tugs at her hair again, but it disappears from her fingers. Again, she tugs, again, it’s gone as she’s kneading it into shape.
“I don’t think so, Lady Nagant,” croons a blond man with two half-shapen bullets between his fingers, and a smashed phone at his feet.
The leader wipes blood off his brow with a shaky gloved hand. His skin is erupting with hives. “Perhaps,” he says, voice shaking with anger, “we might’ve understood each other better if things started like this.”
“I wasn’t followed—”
“It must’ve been a Quirk.”
There’s a moment of quiet. Only the clink of falling concrete and settling rubble interrupts it, like a standoff.
“This was supposed to be peaceful. No… No way we’re coming to agreements like this. One dead each. Better to end it there.”
Himiko bares his teeth. This guy doesn’t deserve to walk away, and Shigaraki knows it. He— He hurt Magne. She’s not dead, and neither is Compress, so he’s lying, he’s lying, she’s fine, just hurt, just some blood.
“Though I suppose we owe you an arm.”
“I’ll fuckin’ kill you! Right now! Nice and slow!”
Himiko feels so much angrier than she has in a long, long time. Her eyes burn with tears. “I wanna stab him. I wanna make him bleed.”
Shigaraki is glaring through his face-hand again. The man flicks a business card at him— He catches it with two fingers, then three, then four. Before five, he shoves it in his pocket. “I’m getting sick and tired of being told when to stop fighting. This isn’t even.”
“Shigaraki…” Tsutsumi’s voice comes. She’s standing further back, behind the cover of a pillar, hesitant.
“You’re behind the bullets, aren’t you.” Shigaraki grins. “You are, and you just used one— Bet that gun’s loaded with more. You want to leave ‘without further losses’, you give us the gun.”
A small puppet-looking yakuza sneers. “Don’t think you’re in a position to make fuckin’ demands, you snot-nosed punk!”
“No… He’s right. We did take an arm, didn’t we?” The man chuckles, hives already subsiding. “You’ve got a half-decent brain, day-dreamer. Put it to good use.”
“Are you fuckin’ with me?!” Twice snarls, stalking towards Shigaraki.
“I was wrong, earlier. We underestimated how they’d fight— But we’ve got the leverage in the dialogue tree. They can’t kill or be too against us, because they need us.”
The gun with its special bullets gets placed near the entrance. The yakuza disappear like the wind. Like they didn’t just maim two of the League, maim Himiko’s big sis and her Compress. The little puppet one crows more insults— She visualizes draining him dry, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. She’s surrounded by the smell of iron, of blood, but for once all she wants to do is puke.
“You’re gonna be fine, it’s gonna be fine, Just— I just gotta tourniquet the arm, right?”
Tsutsumi catches her shoulder before she can grab a cable off her gear.
“Sweetheart, it’s not about bloodloss.”
She wrenches her shoulder away from Tsutsumi’s hand. It’s not too late, just a messed-up not-really-arm. But then her gaze goes to magne’s stomach— Where a stray touch has twisted up the skin and musculature into a knot of tissue that looks all wrong. She’s barely wheezing— Breaths come quick and shallow.
“Big sis Mag, hey, it’s— it’s gonna be fine, fine,” Himiko says, too fast to sound reassuring. She probably sounds stupid. She is stupid. If she was the one who darted forward first, maybe—
“Hey, she’s right. To—” A wheeze, a cough. She can barely speak a sentence, and her coughing sounds wet and bad. Why isn’t everyone helping? “Tog— Himiko.” Himiko focuses, but she can’t swallow and she can’t move. She feels like a little kid again. Useless and confused and bird feathers stuck in her fangs.
“I’s alrigh, Himik’,” she slurs, breathy. “You’n Kyu are good kids. Good for each’ther.” Cough. Himiko can smell the iron on Magne’s breath, now. It’s all wrong. She can’t see Magne’s eyes, with her shades and the tears in her own eyes. “Don’ cry, kid. I’s alrigh, i’s gonna be— Be fine.” Her good hand holds Himiko’s wrist, but it’s weak. “Tsu’umi. Take care of… Both of’em.”
Himiko hears Tsutsumi’s voice behind her. It comes in a deathly quiet whisper. “I— I’m not— They’re children, and I’m—”
“I trus’ you, swee’heart, ‘kay?”
“No, no, hey,” Himiko shakes her head, “you’re gonna be here, you’re gonna take care of me—”
“She doesn’ eat as much as she shou’… But she likes pomegranate. ‘N pancakes, just the box mix is fine, so—”
“Magne, hey, Magne, w-wait, that’s, you’re gonna be,” Himiko stutters, she’s a little kid, a little monster, she should’ve just acted first, should’ve been the one with a knot where her guts should be because she’s a stupid kid who can’t control herself and everyone around her suffers for it—
Magne’s grip is weaker, but Himiko feels when she squeezes and shakes a little, and it recenters her. “‘M not, kid.” Her lip quivers too, not just from her ragged breaths and the blood on her tongue. She smiles sadly, even though she’s crying, even though she’s— “But tha’s okay. You’re the future, remember?” Her smile comes a little wider. And then she coughs, and there’s blood on her lips.
Himiko raises a shaky hand, pushing the hair out of her face and wiping the blood away with a thumb. “M-Mag, I’m sorry, I—”
“I’s not your fault,” Magne says, “i’s not your fault, ‘n I love you, kid. Alw’s.” Her teeth clench, face screwed up in pain for another moment. “I love you.”
Himiko is a monster and a little girl and the future and Magne loves her. She sobs, big messy tears rolling down her cheeks. She sniffles and shudders, “I love you too, I love you too, it’s o— I-I’m here, I love you, I love you.”
She stays by Magne until long after her eyes empty of light.
Notes:
Genocidal — refers to areas with zero tolerance/crackdown on/immediate removal of graffiti
I don’t know how so many of you commented that you were glad Magne was fine after a clearly distressed girl said “there’s just a bit of blood, blood.” but uh. sorry. I lied! That being said, I did make myself cry while writing it.
Next chapter is full Kyu POV.
Chapter 64: Genocidal II
Summary:
Mina’s shout fills the space like an echo through a canyon.
Kyu is stopped before she can leave UA to find Himiko. Where is the line in the sand drawn?
Chapter Text
Mina’s shout fills the space like an echo through a canyon. Quiet alone lingers when it’s gone, and Kyu feels her classmates’ eyes on her. A few of them are still on the couch or by the kitchen, observing with nervous eyes, but those she’d call her friends are firmly in her path. She blinks and adjusts her grip on the first aid kit, rolls the plasticky parka around her shoulders— She still burns with Blackwhip. The storm outside hammers the glass and whistles against the walls.
Yaomomo speaks first. “Midoriya, you have to tell us what’s happening.”
Another itch-burn-thorn sparks down her veins, buzzing into a twitching, crooked finger. She tightens it into a fist. Don’t call me that, she wants to hiss. Instead, she takes a deep breath. It comes out even shakier. “She might be hurt. Mag— Her friends are hurt too, so I don’t have time—”
“Midoriya, just slow dow—”
“Don’t call me that!” One For All dances around her, unbidden. She takes another breath. Again, it’s not calming. It makes her lungs burn numb and her adrenaline flow. “I’m— I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but… But you need to get out of my way.”
“ Mag? ” Uraraka asks, incredulous. “Are you going to help the League?”
Faces harden. Kyu tries to swallow, but she can’t. She makes to placate them anyway. “I— It’s not like that—”
Mina plants a foot forward, face chillingly serious. “You never got tortured, did you.”
“Mina…” Kyu’s jaw clicks shut. It opens again, but this time it’s wordless. Tears burn in her eyes, unbidden, and it all feels too complex. If they only understood— But they don’t. They won’t. Her friends have been so good to her, and yet their eyes are starting to fill with cold fury.
“Was the skin graft staged, too?”
“Raccoon-Eyes, shut your fuckin’ mouth.”
Mina wheels on Bakugou. “Oh, seriously? This isn’t at all odd to you? She knows where they are!”
“Please!” Kyu’s voice cracks. She sounds like a child. She cries like a child; like a Midoriya. “I— I don’t, but I need to find them, I don’t want to fight, I just—”
“Then don’t, ” Uraraka says. She’s crying too. Kyu feels like throwing up. “Are you on their side?”
“It’s— It’s not about sides, there are people in danger! Why— Why does everyone always say that!”
Hagakure steps closer. Kyu can’t see her arm, but she sees her sleeve raise and point at her. It still comes as a shock when her soft fingers touch Kyu’s shoulder, and shadows jump out like ink from a startled octopus. They flood out, growing like a tumor and blooming into crackling danger. Her classmates step back, and they look afraid. Hagakure’s falling over, barely caught when Kaminari manages to grab her.
Stop it! She can’t. Himiko needs her. Calm down! But she can’t; they’re in the way. “ STOP! ” With OFA burning across her body, she wrenches it all back into place. It’s like trying to put water back in a dam, but she manages to control it enough to panic less. She brings her arms up, hauling bent and barely contained tentacles over the spot Hagakure touched, and presses against it. When it writhes against her, her messy footing costs her, and she falls onto her side. She rolls over, using the leverage against her Quirk, and barely manages to cram the chaos back where it belongs.
“There it is!”
“Shut up,” she snarls, shoving to her feet. Each motion is messy. The first aid kit is left where she was standing, contents scattered. It makes the lump in her throat grow, and she fights down tears. It’s all too much, and her crooked, cyan-sparking fingers are too numb to grab up all the little components. Come on, come on, I don’t have time,
“Midoriya.”
“D-don’t touch me, it’s— It’s not good—”
“M█dor██a!”
“You don’t get to pretend, Kyuubi.”
“████████!”
Not anymore. It’s a little fucking late for pretending.
A snarling mess of whips flays apart the carpeting and haphazardly shoves everything back in the kit. When it’s done, it doesn’t fade; it can’t. It snaps up around her arms, squeezing until she feels the sinew shift. Tight and snapping like a hungry lion’s jaws, but knotted up in a parody of handwraps. She grits her teeth— Feels the tears and the runny nose against her lips.
“Someone get Aizawa!”
Kyu pushes herself off the ground, first aid kit in hand, with wild eyes. If Aizawa comes, there’d be no chance of her getting to Himiko. That leaves her with only one real choice— Get out, and get out now. Every second spent seems exponentially more crucial.
She makes for the door, and Mina raises her arms as if to contend with her, again. Kyu makes an effort to walk through her. Mina holds her ground and shoes Kyu back— She looks angrier now, and Kyu grimaces. Why won’t you just let me go?
“You don’t get to drop all this shit and just leave, Kyu?”
“Why?” She shoves Mina back. “Because I might save someone?”
“Because you might run off to the villains! Just like you did at the camp, right?!”
“Raccoon-eyes, shut the fuck up!”
“This is not the fucking time, Blasty!”
There’s scattered voices, billowing wind. Mina is shoving Kyu, Bakugou is getting in her face, Uraraka is halfway to fighting Bakugou. But there’s Kaminari, lingering like he wants to resolve this nicely, or Yaoyorozu, lifting a phone to her ear. “Aizawa?” She says. Kyu’s eyes go wide.
“That’s enough. ” She shoves Bakugou aside, casting him a troubled glance. This isn’t something he should get involved in just for her sake— He’s going to be a great hero, eventually. She should’ve known ages ago that she didn’t have the same chance. Her classmates square up, hands tense at their sides. Kyu’s eyes fix on their hands, raised against her. She knows they’re hurt, but don’t they know? She is the one being betrayed, she is the one being done wrong. Mina opens her mouth, but Kyu snarls before she can. “I care about her. If you want me to stop, then stop me. ”
This time, OFA flows free. She lets the cyan lightning crackle, and the heat of her words steam out of her teeth in the humid air.
“█i… ██d██iy█, you aren’t seriously…” Yaoyorozu swallows. Her arms are tucked close to her chest. Kyu is scaring her classmates; scaring her friends. They had looked like they might have been prepared to fight her, but not anymore; not when cyan shines freely and makes them squint at the light.
They’re scared of her, but they’re in the way. Does it matter? She walks right through the group, and they stumble to move out of the way. At least, most of them do.
“█████bro, that’s not cool.”
Kirishima’s hand is against her chest. Strongarming her with a statue’s splayed stone hand. It feels harsh and cold against the blazing power thundering in her sternum, and the stormy pain-fear-doubt tumbling around inside of her. But it’s Kirishima, now, raising his Quirk against her and saying ‘that’s not cool’ like it’s an anti-bullying assembly. What does he know? What does he think this’ll even do?
They’re all like that, croons the Shigaraki-voice, ignorant, cruel heroes. They don’t actually help anyone. “If they think they’ll get saved, there’s only one way to prove them wrong.”
Her hand is grabbing his forearm before she can think about it. He keeps a determined look on his face. Kyu can see why Bakugou respects him. Right now, she doesn’t care about respect. The Blackwhip coiled around his hands writhes and grows as she squeezes. She hears the cracking and feels the muscle under the stony skin shift.
“ I’m done asking. If this is what being a hero means to you, then show me you mean it. ” There’s blood on her tongue. On her raw throat, she tastes the storm in the air. She smells the memory of paint, and hears every idea the real her tried to show all these selfish students with veiled eyes. There are those in need of a savior who Heroes will never see. Heroes who won’t save anyone if it’s not for a fight. She never wanted this; she didn’t want to have to fight anyone.
“What’ll it be, Ninth? Are you a Hero, with a broken arm and an unbreakable will? Or are you an artist with a muse who doesn’t have to fight?”
She thought Shigaraki must’ve been an idiot to listen to a man like All For One. But oh-so-clearly, what makes his words wind their spider’s web is that he is so cruelly right.
“███—”
Kyu shoves him, hard, and he tears up the floor at each spot he bounces before getting embedded in the wall. She can see more of her classmates stepping up, breaking free from their fear and uncertainty after watching her hurt Kirishima so quickly. She can feel them moving in, and hear their tears threatening to spill and their gasps and shouts. None of them are fast enough to stop her from bounding forward and snatching her Knightriders from the foyer.
“I’m sorry, but none of you can stop me,” she says to her classmates. They’re all looking at her, so they don’t see the figure bursting from the stairs behind them, but they do see the way she glares.
Even though it’s off-hours, Iida hasn’t changed out of his uniform. He’s forgone the blazer and tie for a light Iidaten hoodie over his shirt and slacks. His hair and glasses are, as ever, pristine. His fists tighten and indignation spreads across his face with all the same high-strung righteous fury. His jaw is tight as he blinks twice, and then opens his mouth.
“If you’d just be reasonable for once, this might not be so awful.” Kyu ignores him. She can hear him getting closer with every word, but she’s still cramming her feet into the Knightriders. They need to be laced up, and she worries at her lip until she bites through it, fumbling with her impotent hands. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“You shut the fuck up too, four-eyes! None of you are fuckin’ helping by throwing around all this stupid bullsh—”
There’s a sound of flesh-on-flesh, too dull to be a slap. A thud follows it as Bakugou drops to the floor— Already, he’s sniffing and stretching his jaw.
“Mother fucker , you actually punched me— ”
The Knightriders are barely laced, but Kyu is out of time. They’re only done up to the ankle on her left foot when Iida’s hand falls on her shoulder and grips tight enough to make her wince.
“I don’t want to do this, Iida.”
“Then turn yourself in,” he replies harshly.
Blackwhip shifts, and it takes all her concentration to keep it in place. But then, she can’t. All her classmates are still behind her, with their empty sentiments and poorly-executed promises to save and to help. They never believed in saving everyone; ‘pick sides, pick sides,’ they say, and they were never on her side. And now, they’re watching Iida, who hates her, who hurts her, step in close again, and he’s touching her and she wants to throw up.
“Stop this, don’t try. I don’t think you understood, when I said none of you, that includes you,” she wheezes. Her lip shudders with silent tears, teeth clenched. His grip keeps her shoulders from hunching up to her ears.
“You are the least convincing person here, shitheel,” Bakugou sneers. The iron grip on Kyu’s shoulder rocks as Bakugou shoves Iida.
“This isn’t about convincing. It’s about principle, and it’s about an ultimatum. I mean—” He wrenches Kyu up, incredulous fury baring down at her face. “Use your head! No more lies! Even you should be able to see you’re out of options. I guess I’m the only one who realizes what you’ll do. ”
Kyu shoves at him. She doesn’t throw his grip off, but manages to lever herself onto her feet, thudding the heel of her palm against his shoulder. She can feel the tension in her face; her scrunched-up nose and brows tug at her piercings. Behind Iida, she can see her classmates, unsure where to step in.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean, four-eyes?!” Bakugou getting angry on her behalf is oddly comforting. And yet, this close to the stormy wind and the cruel indigo of Iida’s eyes, she’s escaped the orbit of comfort.
“Don’t act like this is my fault! You’ve all enabled h██ for far too long!” Kyu freezes, and Iida’s fingers dig in harder as he tugs her close and seethes through his teeth. “ You. I was always right about you, but nobody listened! And now, you can posture all you want— ‘I don’t want to do this,’ you say. But you could always stop , and every time you choose not to! Look around you! Look at your peers, and the way you terrify them! Admit that you like it !” He throws her before them, and she falls to her hands and knees. She’s snarling and pushing herself to her feet, but when she sees their faces, Iida’s words slide like an arrow through ribs and find their home in her heart.
“That’s— I’m sorry, but—”
She could probably dodge. She sees his foot coming, Engine isn’t enhancing it, and OFA is already active. But she’s sluggish, too scattered to even think of ducking away. A part of her thinks she deserves it, despite the fact that she needs to get out and save Himiko. In the end, the why doesn’t matter— The fact is, Iida’s indoor slipper slams against her nose and the cartilage barely holds. She feels the instant she gets a nosebleed.
Bakugou is shouting, but this time Ojiro and Tokoyami get in his way. Nobody stepping quite close enough to interfere, except to maintain stubborn bystandership. Iida stomps forward, until he’s standing right in front of her. “They foolishly offered you kindness. They had faith in a liar. Masquerading brutality and delusion as heroism. You do all of us, and our elders, a bad name!”
Kyu’s voice sounds blubbery as it fights past her choked throat and newly-congested nose. “ I’m not the shining fucking pustule of brutality, here, Iida! I— I never lied to any of you!” Kyu slams a fist against the ground, but her arm shakes before she heaves to her feet. She makes a guttural sound. “I only ever tried to— To show the truth. Ha, but as much as you all fell in fucking love with the little picture in your head, for all you thought me and Himiko were ‘cute,’ it all fell on blind eyes and deaf ears. You’re all fucking rats. Me and Himiko were only ever your exception, our friends? Our sister? They just weren’t as palatable . Were they? I— I have done nothing but hold the truth aloft like a torch before vermin.”
“And yet,” Iida says, breath labored with anger, “you are surrounded, without a choice. But you won’t turn yourself in.” He swallows, and Kyu can feel the warmth she’s emitting being matched by the heat of engines. “Because that thing, only you , are capable of doing? Look— at long last, everyone who loved the version of you that you pretended at finally sees that the truth about you. You’d choose to fight all of them to save a single monster. You’d sooner hurt them, than simply turn yourself in for the greater good.”
Fury sings in Kyu’s veins. She holds that ancient thing; fury itself, unkillable and defiant, and it roars all the way up into the scattered mess of thoughts that mold the very air and shadow around her. Everything is plunged into an anger that feels like flame; there is a dry itch at her neck, the caress of a knife at her stomach, canines near her clavicle. There is the promise of a life. Backed into a corner, faces of her lifelong dream staring at her with fear and hate like a shadowy jury. Faces that have never tasted the corners of the world she’s found a home in. “You’re right.” She swallows, and it tastes like blood. When she licks her lips, she tastes it there, too, running down from her nose. “Not about calling her a monster. You don’t fucking call her that.”
“Oh, please, you know as well as I do that—”
“ Shut the fuck up. ” She coughs. Blood, blood, blood. The rain outside is falling in sheets heavier by the second. She shoves herself to her feet, and Blackwhip lashes into the ground like spider legs, holding her hunched frame aloft. “But you’re right. I will fight my way out. The alternative is to lay down and give up when someone needs saving.” Kyu finds a knife’s edge of compassion piercing her fury. Not just someone. “ Himiko needs saving. My girlfriend. And Magne too, who helped me realize who I am. ” Kyu feels heady, brain full of fire, or maybe because she’s breathing in humid, ozone-thick air that feels as heavy as water. She throws her shoulders back, letting herself stand up straight and pour her focus and power across the tendrils of shadow stretching from her body.
Iida is the only one who steps forward. Everyone else moves back. “All this, and you’re still just lying. ”
“No, I’m telling the truth. And the truth is that even this—” She gestures to the classmates and campus around her— “can’t hold me down.” Iida’s looking at her with a curled lip, like she’s a moldy fruit he almost bit into. He shakes his head, and she sees in him disbelief and offense. Like she owes him something. She almost laughs at the idea, but after a moment she understands what he’s thinking. “You want the words from my lips? I’m leaving this place, and I’m saving the people I care about, and I’m not doing it under any false name. I’m not Midoriya Inko’s baby boy, and I’m not a blind agent of the state . I am Kyuubi! ”
It might be nice to say there is a moment of great and terrible silence, and Kyu lingers before her classmate’s terrified gazes, before she turns and dashes through the doors and into the dark and the rain. That’s not what happens.
The moment the words leave her lips, they ripple along the air, shattering glass and splitting wood where the vibrations travel. The entry doors to the common room fall to bits, and the foyer they’re standing in is lashed with wind that comes fast enough that the nail-sized raindrops sting like piranha bites.
Her classmates don’t stand in frozen awe, either. They’ve been in danger, and they’ve heard monologues, and when the shockwave comes and the lights flicker, they move quickly. Kyu has missed the teamwork-oriented classes, so she’s caught off guard by how quick Yaomomo starts shouting orders above the storm, how quick everyone is to follow her lead, and how quick her classmates are able to hold Iida back. Stopping Kyu, it seems, is a secondary priority. She takes the chance and launches herself into the night.
There’s parts of the campus and its main paths that still shine with streetlamps, but she shines brighter than all of them. All the power makes her burn bright, and she can feel her body start to steam where she’s soaking. It’s not just hot, either. Water doesn’t compress easily, she knows. She’s moving fast enough that each drop is about as powerful as a pellet from an airsoft gun. She uses searchlight just to maintain vision despite having to squeeze her eyes shut. It’s not good eyesight, especially not under such poor conditions, but it’s that or go slower.
Of course, her speed makes things hard to see. Especially things that are awash in shadowy colors and hide from lamplight like hawks in high branches. A bird of prey, Kyu thinks, is what Aizawa is like, particularly in the moment his eyes shine and her Quirk is gone before she even knows he’s there. In an instant, like a lightswitch, she is blind and tumbling across the wet pavement and onto the manicured lawn-turned-mud. She feels it matting her hair and sinking into every corner it can find in her clothes and under her nails. She digs her fingers in and heaves herself forward, but she’s barely on her feet before his capture weapon ensnares her.
“Problem child,” he starts, weariness sounding a little more heartfelt. She doesn’t feel bad for him.
“Shut up, ” she growls. “Let me go! ”
“Please, ████████, just—”
“ NO!” She staggers along at the end of the taught line, but stays on her feet and fights back, wrenching weight with her knees and her shoulders. It’s a losing battle. “It’s always this. Go on, try to connect with me, and then tell me to straighten my act, and then let me fucking go!”
His eyes narrow. In this weather, at this time of night, he can’t keep them open long. He might be pushing himself already. “This time I can’t let you go. On the way here, Yaoyorozu called, but I had already left the teacher dorms.”
Kyu falters, and Aizawa is still applying enough force that she gets yanked forward and slams her cheek onto the path. She looks up at him with confusion written across her face, but already a stone of anxiety is fermenting into certain dread in her stomach. His mouth moves, and she roars into the storm.
“████████, your mother just called.”
Notes:
this one was kinda fun to write. I think when I write a character in a state of panic, I can lose details, but I hope it all came out okay!
It was very fun to see all the various comments wondering whether/how Kyu would leave campus. shoutout to numismatist (also omg in my comments? xP) for digging through older chapters and finding the foreshadowing. This one’s been a long time coming, folks— the outline for this fic has changed a lot over time, but UA breakout predates nagant’s involvement as a character.
kyu's evil brain shigaraki: (moves on from quotes to just saying shit)
kyu: oh... oh no... its time to just go off the deep end i guess :/Hope you all enjoyed. Drink some water.
Chapter 65: Genocidal III
Summary:
Having fled class 1-A and left behind broken bonds, Kyu is confronted by Aizawa.
Notes:
CW: This chapter depicts violence, heavy themes, and a brief scene of vomiting.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
How could it all fall apart so fast?
Kyu doesn’t have much time to contemplate it, but the thought sticks in the racing cogs of her mind like tar. For too long, getting caught was a distant hypothetical. Having to leave was overthought anxiety, like batter stirred too much and turned tough.
Himiko might be in danger. Just like Kyu was worried about, with her close to starving, homelessness, and hunted by heroes and villains. And in a twist of cosmic irony that sits sour on her tongue, Kyu is stuck on campus.
“You’re basically in the hornet’s nest,” Himiko had said. Voice sweet like candy and drugstore makeup. Kyu had said she’d fight her way out, hadn’t she? Something like “I’ll rip through a thousand robots and teachers.” Now, all she’s got is a grim smile at the memory.
Incandescent rage dies with her Quirk, and it’s replaced with something hollow and smoldering. Like something went horribly and spontaneously wrong. She remembers a famous interview from a few years ago— A woman walking her dog during a catastrophic villain incident, and the way she didn’t even know whether to be angry or sad when his Quirk took everything past the leash away.
Rip through, rip through, rip through. Destroyer.
Fury is a fickle flame, and the gaping maw of despair swallows coal like candy. It all dies in the rain. It all dies before bright red eyes.
“W-what do you mean, Inko called. Th-that’s—” Kyu gasps for air. The capture weapon makes her wheeze, and she’s shaking, stuttering again. Like a little kid. Like a Midoriya. “Sh-she said she w-wouldn’t. And— And why… would you care?”
Aizawa grimaces. It’s hardly different from his resting face. “I hoped you’d find peace on your own, and figured pushing was riskier. Now I can see that your behavior is worsening and there’s only one logical course of action left.” The capture weapon tightens. Kyu squares her shoulders and flexes her biceps to keep it from squeezing her lungs.
“Y-you’re— I have to leave, you don’t unders—”
“Yaoyorozu told me you received a call from Toga Himiko. I understand well enough.” His stern face turns into desperate earnestness as his eyes strain more. “If you leave now, you don’t get to be a hero, or help thousands. You’ve got potential, it’d be illogical.”
Aizawa’s words hang in the air. Kyu can hear him, despite her heartbeat hammering in her ears and the rain dividing them. She’s even listening— But not enough to give him more than a sneer. “If being a hero means not helping someone, I don’t want to be a hero.”
Aizawa frowns. “Midori—”
“Shut up!”
“M███—”
“ SHUT UP! ”
Kyu feels OFA in the moment that it ripples through her body at full force. Lightning fills up her throat along with the swell of noise, until both are ripping out along the rain. Falling water dissolves in soundwaves and heat.
It barely takes Aizawa a second to blink. It’s still time she uses well; he squeezes his eyes shut and lets them rest for a moment too long. Maybe it’s most efficient that way. Kyu is faster than most of his opponents, and she’s ripping through the capture weapon in a blink. It wouldn’t be enough to get out of his line of sight, but Blackwhip darts from where it waits on the surface of her skin like vipers. One collides with Aizawa, another flings mud, and a third rips up the path. The rest are a cacophony, lashing themselves into a tangle of Aizawa’s capture weapon and body and crashing against the pavement. In the midst of the sensory chaos, Kyu leaps, hoping it’s enough to escape Aizawa. She hears him roll backwards below her, as evasive and efficient as he can be. He’ll probably see her— Probably— But she can outrun him if she just lands out of reach of his weapon. Blackwhip coils around a streetlight, ready to yank her forward.
BANG!
Her outstretched arm is the one with weakness— The one that OFA alleviates, but it’s not fixed. And when Snipe’s rubber bullet collides with her flesh, the impact makes it numb below the elbow, even if it barely manages to draw blood. Kyu falls hard, hitting her limp hand and freckled cheeks against asphalt, and barely manages to conserve momentum in a messy roll. It’s a lot like freerunning with Rumi, so she just throws herself forward blindly. Don’t stop. Not until I’m out, I can’t—
Kyu stops as soon as she hits metal. It makes a dull, heavy sound. Like she’s hit a living skyscraper. Its fist tightens around her— A four-fingered fist of greenish gunmetal, matte but shining in the rain. Lightning darting through the clouds illuminates its silhouette, twisting into the sky like an impossible behemoth. Its singular ‘eye’ shines red.
Click. The hammer on Snipe’s gun is ready. “Don’t move, missy!”
Kyu struggles against the metal fist, and she’s even strong enough to pry it open long enough to dart forward. But she’s midair when her Quirk dies, and she’s left a limp body flying through the rain and the dark. She collides with the second fist disoriented and aching.
“ Stop! ”
Kyu hears the voice, and it’s familiar, but she can’t see where it is. As she squirms, she realizes she’s upside-down. The Zero Pointer’s treads are half-sunk in the mud beneath her. It’s harder to find the voices and the threats.
“Yagi, what in tarnation are you doing!”
“This is insane! Do you not see what you’re doing?” There’s a clatter.
“I’m afraid it’s only the most reasonable course of action.” Nedzu speaks like it’s all diplomatic and smooth. Kyu hisses through her teeth and pushes at the metal fist harder. It creaks and almost gives. With a whir, its grip gets stronger, and she can’t breathe. Where are they?
“It’d be excessive in ordinary circumstances, Nedzu, and you and I both know her situation goes beyond that!” Kyu strains enough to shift the joints of the fist’s thumb, and it lets her twist around. Her arms are trapped in it, and her legs can only hang over her head, but it’s something. She can’t see much in the dark, but a fair number of UA’s staff are all on the asphalt.
“I’ve considered that, but we have to recognize that the alternative is—”
“The ‘alternative’?! The choice you made was to assault the girl! How dare—”
“Eraserhead,” comes Power Loader’s panicked voice, “you have eyes on her?”
“Obviously—”
“She’s pushing its safe levels with natural strength.”
Snipe whips around, gun absent from his hands. “Then turn it up. ”
“Are you insane? ” Yagi pleads, but he gets no response. His mane of blond hair is a mess in the rain and wind, but his bright eyes shine out of their sockets when he looks up at her. His hands and mouth hang half-open, like he’s ready to leap into action, but his days of that are over. He can’t do anything.
Nobody can. Nobody is saving you, why bother, you’re a destroyer, just like—
Rip through a thousand—
“Please!” Kyu feels the steel fingers tighten, and beats her limp hand against it like a club. “I can’t— You’re just going to— This isn’t right! ”
“Mr. Aizawa, it’s—”
“Iida, go back to your dorm.”
“With all due respect, sir—”
“You can put us in detention later, okay? We’re not done talking to M██o████!”
“Yes, you are— ”
“None of you get to talk! Let me go!” Kyu’s breath shakes in her chest. They come so quick, but there’s rain falling onto the roof of her mouth, and the fingers just keep getting tighter. She can’t do a thing. Helpless, she thinks, like I’m just a Quirkless nobody all over again. Her muscles give against the constant fight with stubborn machinery, and she feels sinew shift where it shouldn’t.
“You’re a hero in training! You can’t—”
Incandescent fury roars back, coming in and out of her throbbing skull like waves. “Nobody deserves— Magne doesn’t deserve to— suffer, or—” She tries to swallow, but it’s like lead in her throat and she’s upside down. Everything tastes like bile and blood and rainwater. “ Why d-do I always need to pick a side! Aren’t heroes supposed to help people?!”
Kyu squeezes her eyes shut and strains, but she’s still stuck and blinking tears away when they’re open. She can see the way polished latex shines anyway. Midnight is stepping forward, and her hand is on her wrist.
Not like this. She struggles, but it’s useless. Himiko called out for me, she needs me, but Kyu is stuck. I can still save Magne. I can save everyone, but they won’t let me. There’s movement and shouting, but Kyu is being crushed. There’s black spots at the ends of her vision, air choked out of her like blood squeezed from a slowly-yielding rock. I’m sorry, Himiko. I wish I could beat them all for you.
The memory comes as if from murky water. Below all the thrumming waves of anger and the burn of empty lungs.
Let’s play heroes and villains!
“Just like always,” Kyu whispers. It’s a breathless noise, lost in the rain. She can already see the mist beginning to spread. It moves so slow, with the weather fighting it on its way to Kyu’s lungs.
It’s not fair, that the villains always lose. I always need the burn cream, and the underdog never wins. But fairness doesn’t matter. The choice isn’t for people like me, or Himiko, or Magne. Sides are what they are because of us. My side got chosen for me a long time ago.
Purple mist coils up around her cheeks like an embrace.
Didn’t it, Kacchan…?
And then the world fills with light again, glimmering off every raindrop.
“ Stun grenade! ”
It’s brilliant, fiery yellow. Red subsides, and purple sways in the storm. Just that instant, and Kyu lurches back to life. OFA fills her again, and she breaks the fingers of the Zero Pointer like soda can tabs. Kacchan is on top of Aizawa, and the staff and students all hesitate for him . But with cyan sparks, they’re all looking at her again. They’re moving fast too. Kyu catches Yagi’s brilliant eyes.
I’m sorry, she wants to say, but he just smiles sadly and nods. His eyes hold all the same old fire, despite his skin-and-bones frame looking even frailer in the rain. And they hold so much— Trust, care, and support.
Kyu activates searchlight. Her eyes blaze like pyres, and she takes in everything from her perch upon the shattered metal limb. The other one of its hands is coming towards her, but it’s slow like nothing. Everyone else is too— Their frozen shouts and wide eyes, but also the straight line where Kacchan might’ve sneered or grinned. The smoke begins to leave Aizawa’s face. Somnambulist, still filling the air. All of it hangs like a still image. Raindrops freeze in glass time.
I need their eyes off me. I need to escape, with every inch everyone I care about has given me. It’s like the end of a relay race, barely keeping herself straight. If Aizawa looks at me, if a single classmate catches a hair, it’s over. She breathes in, and her lungs ache at the sudden fullness. In the instant before exhaling, she closes her eyes. So let it all go. Don’t let them touch me; don’t let them see me at all.
“I’m sorry, Yagi and Kacchan.” Her whisper is instantaneous, a crackle on the whipping wind. “I’m sorry for tossing you aside, 1-A. I care about you all, but I care about Himiko. You can’t change that.” She rises, and the plate metal under her Knightriders ripples like a shallow pond. “You can’t change me. ”
Kyu tightens her fists. They buzz, like her body is the variable and her selfhood is the firm, tangible and unmoving thing. Hair follicles coil in shadow, veins flow in jagged arcs of lightning. Where flesh ends and OFA begins is fuzzy.
She almost feels like she could just reach out and push it all away. Like she could stretch out her hands and—
—make all of it subside.
She can still hear the chaos.
She feels the rain, too.
But here, she stands in a lightless cloud of…
It smells like aerosol.
It sounds like it, too, when she realizes it’s pouring from her hands.
It’s…
“Smokescreen.
“Good luck, Nine.”
And Nine closes her eyes and—
Kyu closes her eyes and—
—Jumps, and the world is in motion again. The Zero Pointer lurches close to toppling. It barely takes a thought to send Blackwhip coiling around it. She tugs herself back into it, rubber-banding into the side of its head and kicking off like a springboard. The whole thing blows apart at the neck joint. She doesn’t hit it as hard as her one-hundred percent Smash from the exam, but the blow comes with more direct push force this time. The thing topples towards her classmates, and she winces—
She flattens her face. Cementoss and Ectoplasm alone could salvage that, nevermind Uraraka and eighteen other capable students.
With Smokescreen roiling out of her skin, she doesn’t need to even think about Aizawa. She’s far out of reach of all the teachers in that one bound— More robots would be a waste. Snipe can’t see enough to activate his Quirk. And none of them compare to her in speed.
There’s only one person at the ready who could do that.
Engines roar, but Kyu doesn’t turn around. She’s flying half-blind, launching with all the force she can apply to the Knightriders without them snapping— Which isn’t as much as she’d like. Still, her knees creak at the sheer power flowing within every bound, and she’s fast enough that Iida can’t catch up before they’re tearing through forested path and out of the perfect-paint gates. She plants her feet to make the right-angle turn down the road, and that’s when he catches up.
He’s faster than she expects. Much faster than he was when they last went against each other. He cleaves through Blackwhip with only a moment’s struggle. It’s not enough time for Kyu in such a blink-of-the-eye fight.
There’s a kick to her side, and she’s tossed down the road like she weighs nothing. She has to dig her toes in until they crunch through the pavement just to stop.
“ This has gone on for far too long! ” Iida roars. His engines sear rain into vapor as they sputter— Recipro, he can’t turn them off, and she knows that, but she can barely raise her arms before— WHAM! His foot tosses her further. She can feel the way her body almost gives. “I should’ve done this ages ago!” WHAM! She barely blocks; and this time her wrist was in poor form and something shifts, a sharp edge of pain slices up her forearm. Sprained. She shoves herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her arm, and—
Focus!
WHAM!
A better guard, this time. Her Knightriders stay planted, turning the asphalt into pebbles and flying sparks. She flexes OFA throughout every burning muscle just to stay upright when her momentum lurches into her head and every muscle in her neck screams , and—
WHAM!
This time, she grabs his shin. Half the force sinks into her gut, spread across firm muscles. It’s like trying to halt a moving train, and she feels the stabbing pain where muscles snap and her guts nearly pop. She grits her teeth and tightens her grip and declares “ enough! ”
Iida’s face betrays something beyond contempt, for once. Surprise is written over the disgust in his features, and Kyu presses the advantage to coil Blackwhip around him like a thousand constrictor snakes.
“No more digging my heels in and taking it! ” Kyu lunges forward, shifting his leg under her arm and stretching forward to wrap her hand around his throat. She takes him to the asphalt, where his head slams and lulls half to the side before his jaw goes tense again.
“You haven’t taken a thing, you coward! You’re too scared of any real consequences!” He howls, voice cracking where his throat strains against Kyu’s hand. She feels the way it quivers under her calloused palms. She knows how quick it’d yield. There’s cruel vindication in that power, to take life or give mercy.
“I know the consequences, Iida.” Kyu presses him further against the ground. She wrestles his free leg with one of hers, and digs her knee into his gut with the other. “And I’m done taking all of your hatred! It’s not my fault —” She lifts him by the jaw and hits him against the ground again. WHAM! “—That you didn’t get to kill Stain. It’s not my fucking issue— ” WHAM! “That you hate the look in my eyes, or what I wear, or who I am. Do you know why, you fucking asshole?! ”
When Kyu slows down, she sees the cracks in the pavement. When she lifts him by his collar, she feels something sticky between his scalp and the fresh pothole. He’s still strong enough to protest— if weakly. “Y-you aren’t a he-hero, y-you’re just—”
Kyu’s lip curls, and her hand snaps up. He’s fighting her, but locked on the ground together, his desperate struggle yields like crumpling paper. She grabs the side of his face, fingers in his hair and thumb across his cheekbone. She lifts his head up again. “Because you! ” WHAM! “Are not! ” WHAM! “Some great hero! ” WHAM! “You’re just a bully, and you’ve already peaked. ” Kyu sags, panting for breath, in the same moment Iida goes weak and his engines die. The side of his face is crushed into a muddy mess, swollen and out of place. His nose bleeds. Blood vessels in his eyes have burst from the strain, leaving him looking half-dead.
“In— In the name of Ingenium, I’ll… I…”
“You’re not my nemesis, Iida,” Kyu growls. But she can see the look on his face— The fury and desperation is barely holding him together. Tears blur his dilated pupils and his teeth are grit in rage, and he looks so…
Weak, not like you. Not like generational rage, not like unending power, not like what’s in your blood.
He looks lost.
Kyu heaves another breath, and the adrenaline eclipses any doubt. “Nobody can save you but you. Beating me wouldn’t save you— Not that you could do it.”
“I will —” He coughs. It’s a wet sound, and something in it makes his bruised ribs and messed-up face ache, because he groans pathetically. “I will— Heroes… Heroes al —always do. Against people like you. ”
Kyu looks down at him. Rain can’t get bloodstains out, where it gathers in the skin of her knuckles and the angles of Iida’s face. He groans again, like an animal caught in a trap, just waiting for a mercy kill.
Iida was a friend. At the least, a classmate who made 1-A feel different from Aldera. Safe and confusingly appreciative. Not to her, though. He was that to a scrawny mouse of a kid with nothing. She’s different now, parts of that old self burned and molted and leaving tender spots. But that kid, who she left behind? A Quirkless kid?
Iida doesn’t just see her as inhuman. That hate in his lidded, concussed gaze, deluded into feverish ‘heroism’, it extends to everything sickly, or useless, or out of place. Kids like Himiko, like Magne, Spinner, Compress, Dabi, Shigaraki. That spark of hatred that will never see its own hollowness and failings, that glow in his pupils, feels like something Kyu has painted a thousand times before— Not aspirationally, but as a warning that the eyes of a cruel Hero and a cruel system sneer down.
“If they think they’ll get saved, there’s only one way to change their minds.”
Kyu breathes deeply. There’s something besides adrenaline and exhaustion that’s making her head rush.
“He’s destroying what he hates, same as me. So what makes us different?”
Her eyes narrow.
“A difference in ideals. Well you’re an interesting one, what do you want?”
She could get up and leave him in the absence of an ending, alone in the rain. She could leave a half-conscious failure with nothing but lack. But what of every other villain he overcomes? What of every weak child, useless child, monster child? What of them, stumbling into adulthood half-alive, getting by with their heads down and their morals forsaken for bread?
“I did give you the pitch, y’know.”.
She could do it. She could keep him from hurting anyone else. How selfish would it be, to leave a hateful fanatic with some meagre punishment of self-reflection? Can a person like Iida be expected to see his failures? A hero, as so dictated by society and uplifted as a paragon?
When her hands take hold of him again, is that not the same vindication he’s been feeling every time he beats her, or Himiko? He’s a good little hero, trained like a dog to salivate at brutality.
““You think you can stop me. You think I can come quietly. You’re gonna fight me. All that spite in you, you’re always fighting something. Kyuubi started with Quirkism. With society failing you .”
The little molt that Kyu came from left some things with her. The delicate, pristine hands with their bitten down nails that once drew and wrote with frantic delight used to know know; Mutation quirks like Engine must adjust with the growth of the body and their own wear, but the process is usually similar to teeth. Usually more malleable in childhood, usually more dangerous to injure in adulthood, where healing or regrowth is much rarer.
It wouldn’t even take a Quirk to do it. OFA flickers and she clamps it down, letting the frigid rain sink below the skin and the fire in her veins hiss away in the steam. With its absence is a heady rush of nothing. No ancient fury, no kid, no Nightlight. Kyuubi stares down at Iida with a set jaw and a darkness in her eyes.
“Iida Tenya.” Her voice throbs in her throat. No heat comes to the words, or to abide her brittle vocal chords. “Who are you to pass judgement?”
He wheezes and sputters. Only a few syllables make it through the swelling and the blood. Close enough to ‘Ingenium’ to make her lip curl.
“You’ll never stop me, but if you just get away with this, what about the next witch you find to burn?”
“W-what are you— Stop. Stop! ”
“THERE IT IS!”
Kyu’s hand is wrapped around Iida’s engine, and the other is bracing against his calf— Like she’s ready to pull. The heat of the metal sears her hand. She recoils, clutching her hand close to her chest. It fists into her tanktop as the moment stretches on, and Iida hiccups.
She squeezes her eyes shut. She can still hear his cries, and how they’re warped by his broken, swollen face.
I didn’t— I don’t want to do that. She can still picture it, despite herself. The way it would give, and the mechanism within his leg would yield, and with tears and wet noises there would be nothing but spasming contractions where there was once an engine.
Iida falls fully limp, breath even, without adrenaline or shock to keep him awake. Kyu lurches away, collapsing and crawling barely a foot before she pukes across the cracked asphalt. She coughs up the last of bile and phlegm, and then there’s truly nothing but the rain. No shouting and no footsteps and no rousing phonecall. The puke flows away in the downpour. She feels precious moments slip by, but everything is so very cold.
Osaka, she reminds herself. I’m coming, Himiko.
She presses numb fingers to the chill shards of earth, forcing strength into weak muscles and surrendering joints. Her selfhood is stalwart, but her body nearly falls to its knees. She breathes as even as she can, despite the strain and the stitches digging claws in her sides. It takes twelve desperate dread-fueled breaths to get to her feet.
Yagi was yelling in her name, and Kacchan fought for her. Once they find Iida, they’ll leave her alone. But Nedzu will call every police station and every hero, and they’ll listen. He’s the principal of UA, and his words will be the stones of peine forte et dure. Kyu limps. When did she hurt her legs? Was it Iida, or earlier? Was it from falling to the courtyard? It feels like it’s been years since the phone call.
I can’t make the train, she realizes, and if I did, they’d catch me when I got off. But how to get to Osaka fast, without being traced the moment she’s there? Kyu screws up her face, and thinks as hard as she can. It feels like she’s been sheltered all her life, now that the rug has been pulled from under her. No hero systems, no public transport, no help. She staggers another few steps and calls Himiko.
The line is dead. This number is unavailable, the little robot-voice says, and Kyu ends the call. Her heart lurches into her throat. Another step, almost a slip. She plants a foot firm enough that the shock runs up her leg. Move. Keep moving. She thumbs through contacts— Magne, unavailable, anybody else in the League inaccessible, and all the numbers in her phone quickly becoming bitter reminders. Every groupchat and classmate is a needle at her flesh.
She scrolls until she hits Rumi’s number. Her teeth dig into the yielding skin of her lip and the taste of blood redoubles. Kyu can’t turn back to heroes, and she can’t drag Rumi into the trouble she’s buried herself in. There’s barely anyone else in her contacts— Just a few unnamed contacts she added days ago. The rest are all left behind.
She presses call on the first one. Nameless as the rest, but this one ends in 8302 . It rings once, twice, three times, and Kyu stutters to a stop forcing her legs not to give out under her.
There’s a crackle and a shuffle. Then, a soft “hello?”
“Hi. I’m, uh— I think Magne is in trouble.”
“Hold on.” The person on the other end is moving around, and Kyu hears a pen click. “Who is this?”
“It’s—” Her lungs shudder. Her throat aches, and the rain is settling cold deep into her body. The parka barely keeps it out. “I’m Kyuubi. And I think— No, I just do , I do need help.”
“Shit, is that right? She mentioned you the other day, okay, that’s— What’s going on, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” Kyu sobs. She doesn’t know when the tears started, but now she feels the salt and snot are hot on her frigid skin. “I’m stuck in Musutafu and she’s hurt in Osaka and—”
“Stuck?” More shifting. There’s a second voice, but Kyu can’t place any words. “Is it a bad home situation, or are you… Involved…?”
Kyu laughs and her breath hitches and hiccups. Fuck. “Y-yeah, I think— I think I sort of made it official, j-just now. Because— Because I need to get to her, and— and—”
“Hey, kid— Kyuubi— It’s alright. I’ve got a car, I can be in Musutafu in twenty minutes.”
Kyu takes as deep of a breath as she can manage.
“I’d be faster on foot…” She staggers forward and falls. Her free hand catches the ground and sings with pain. It’s the sprained one, and “fuck! This isn’t fair! It-it’s not right, I—”
“You’ve gotta do what you can,” the voice says, “cause those who are bound together by society’s chains laugh at anyone who isn’t.”
Notes:
add it to the "well adjusted" counter; Kyu imitates Shigaraki a little bit on accident and throws up about it!
this chapter is one of my favorites in the whole fic thus far. it's pretty heavy, but in that there's a lot of stuff I love. big thanks to my beta, ToolAssistedRat, for an alternate interpretation of Kyu that ended up working beautifully in the end of the Iida scene. The ideas at play here are largely cemented in my head, but she's keeping me more honest to the focus of the early chapters. :P
all that being said, this is pretty obviously a climactic moment and a conclusion, in a lot of ways. We won't be seeing Kyu's POV again for a while, as more focus is placed on the absence she leaves.
drink some water folks
Chapter 66: Hero Academia
Summary:
In the wake of Kyu's escape from UA, students and staff alike scramble to pick up the pieces, understand what happened, and move forward.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Too much shouting. Too much gone wrong. What could he have done different? Rain and a student gone in the space between moments; history doesn’t repeat, but it rhymes. Blood is still running hot— Shouta has spots in his vision, but there’s arguing and students amped-up on adrenaline. The rain and wind sounds through the shattered front doors.
“This is messy, and it’s delicate. Everybody better start treating it that way.”
Shouta’s voice carries a finality that falls over the room like a fire blanket. It’s not enough to stop the microexpressions in Nedzu’s face, or the fury in Yagi’s glare, but it shuts them all up.
“We… We need to take a step back.” He clears his throat and shoves soaked-heavy locks away from his face. “At the very least, we need to assure the campus and its students are safe.”
“It’s a bit late for that,” Yagi hisses. Shouta glares with all the severity he can muster. Yagi’s brazen heroic fury is more like what he’d see out of the Symbol of Peace, and it doesn’t flinch. Shouta is left listless with a too-dry mouth.
“He’s not gonna stay out.” Nemuri shifts Bakugou’s sleeping body. “But your class will be fine, Aizawa.”
“Do you count twenty, Kayama?”
Silence. Shouta massages his bloodshot eyes, but they still scream with pain down to the retinas. Damn problem children.
Most of the students are on the other side of the room. Shouta should order them back to their rooms, but they grew too close together after things like the USJ and the camp attack. I guess I thought it was more unanimous, but I was wrong, again. They’ve been through so much, and they deserve to be acknowledged…
“I— I struggle to…” Yagi takes a long, deep breath. “I don’t understand how you can carry that sentiment and have acted so stupidly.”
…But the students should not be here for this. Shouta wishes more than ever that Yagi Toshinori would just shut up. But when he meets those electric-blue eyes, his jaw clicks shut under the pressure.
“She was leaving campus. We were out of options—”
“You could’ve let her leave! Provide the safe harbor to return to, not— Not tried to fight an innocent girl! ”
The students are moving again. Shouta turns to dismiss them and finds Uraraka standing just a few paces away, fists at her side. Dammit.
“With all due respect,” Uraraka starts, “A-All Might, sir… I— innocent? Sh-she just… Everything she said she did, a-and everything that’s happened. She… Was always involved! ”
“I understand you feel that way, but—” He drags a gaunt hand down his face, frustration sinking back into his features quickly. “Young Uraraka, I can only say that this situation goes beyond that. You don’t understand.” He takes another deep breath at the way Uraraka’s face twists up and she steps back. More of his regular self fills into his skin and bones frame when that guilt pierces him and he tries to act calm in front of the students. Finally.
“I… Can understand that you were hurt, but the girl’s guilt or actions are being overestimated.” He turns, and anger reignites in his blazing eyes. “Aizawa, I think your actions were unreasonable. In fact, that goes for all of you. Even with what you knew and were trying to accomplish, foolishly. But you! ” His weary finger is jutting towards Nedzu. “You’re well aware of how ridiculous this situation was.”
“Or your relationship with Miss Midoriya is clouding your vision. I did not consider it a negating factor.”
“Well I know that, now that you’ve driven her out of every safe haven she’s ever known. You really think she’s some sort of leak? Despite every goddamn ‘negating factor’?” Yagi spits another swear in english.
“I know Miss Midoriya is volatile, and I think she is in the worst place she can now be: Out of our hands and gone to villainous individuals. Based on her words, she’d be in that place regardless of our actions.” He raises a digit. “But an attempt at engagement and deescalation shows our hand. She is aware that she is acting against reason and authority, and understands the importance placed on where she roams and how she is overseen.”
Yagi hisses through his teeth and lurches closer, but Nedzu does not shift. The other staff shuffle awkwardly, and the students ripple backwards like scurrying rodents from a light.
“If she gets on a train or another form of public transportation, we can subdue her with very little conflict. That will make it easier to find and contain her, even on foot. If she never leaves Musutafu, she will not be able to assist the League in Osaka, where they likely reside right now.”
“ Alright, ” Shouta growls. “1-A. You can share rooms if you’d like, but you can’t stay out in the elements and in a potential crime scene. You need to go, on both hero and school authority. Am I clear. ”
“B-but sir—”
“You will not add to this conversation and should not be subjected to it. Your statements will be taken tomorrow.” He glances to Hizashi, and finds his waiting gaze. “Mic will supervise you. If you leave Heights’ Alliance, you will be expelled. Go.”
For all of the bonding and bravery he’s seen out of these kids, the proper training and experience with bad situations is enough for them to keep their heads down. Uraraka and Ashido still look ready to argue, but their peers guide them away until the door swallows them up and Hizashi’s leather ensemble follows.
Yagi is glaring daggers. Nedzu’s cold language hasn’t done the quality of conversation any favors. Nedzu paws through his contacts, and Shouta has to grab Yagi’s shoulder just to give him pause.
Yagi glares across the hand. “Aizawa, I refuse— ”
Aizawa narrows his eyes tiredly. Getting angry and accusatory is illogical. “He’s rectifying the situation. All you’ll do if you argue now is destroy any chance of damage control.” Rain and a lost student. Glass crunches under Shouta’s boots when he looks out towards the doors, and the dark, dark night. “Push it all aside. We have to be logical. There’s nothing to be salvaged by dwelling on the past.”
Yagi pries his hand off, and wheels around so they’re facing each other. “Do you think you can just avoid responsibility by moving forward? You have to do both. You have to know that you failed.”
“I failed,” Shouta says.
Yagi doesn’t argue.
It doesn’t take long for the staff to move from Heights’ Alliance to the main building. Most of them are soaked and out of costume, but they sit at the same conference table as ever.
“Multiple angles of the situation have to be considered,” Nedzu says mildly, tea steaming up past his snout. “I’ve already established the situation— Importantly, the events that happened here do not amount to villainy. As long as nobody who can’t handle Miss Midoriya engages, the situation won’t balloon out of control.”
“There’s no way the vultures don’t flock to this,” Shouta groans.
“We’ll mitigate it for as long as possible. That’s why I’m here. Nightlight’s image has a lot of sway, even if Midoriya seems singularly interested in burning it to the goddamn ground.”
Shouta frowns. “Nedzu. Who is that.”
“Her manager. At least until the story breaks.” The girl massages her forehead, working out the vein forming over her compound eyes. “Third year, Management Course, Natotomi Haniiyo. Look, we can mitigate the situation, but the chink in her armor has always been how conservative demographics view her and her relationship with villainy at large. This ‘Kyuubi’ thing is good for publicity, but it’s not good publicity. Fuck.”
Nedzu bristles. “Language, Miss Natotomi.”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” Yagi says with his utter lack of respect plain in his harsh tone, “this seems like the least important thing we could be doing right now.”
“Law enforcement should arrive shortly. I’d prefer not to sit idle. What else is there to do?”
Yagi runs a hand through his hair. “She’s a teenager. This sort of pressure can’t be right.”
“She took the chance after Kamino to take a lot of your burden, All Might. She’s the keystone to the ‘post-Might age’.” Natotomi places her sunglasses back over her face. “This could cause a lot of issues for other students— and even pros.”
Shouta scoffs. “Only if you give the vultures that chance—”
“The media will come down on top heroes. They will ask what Endeavor thinks, and what Mirko knows, and how Hawks matches up to other ‘young heroes’. What we have is a chance to spin it. If we do things right, they ask easy questions and they don’t get angry and they don’t dig. ”
“Natotomi,” Nedzu says diplomatically, “is at the top of her class, and is entirely correct. This work is important to maintaining stability with or without Miss Midoriya’s… Endorsement.”
Yagi makes a guttural noise of frustration, like an angry animal backed into a corner. “I know. I know the crime rate is higher, and there’s not a thing I can do. But we can’t just spin— She’s a real person! Out there, right now. A passionate, capable hero. The fact that we’ve squandered that—”
“Is wrong, and we have to move forward. ” Shouta reminds him.
“Can we not take any responsibility? ”
“We take responsibility by taking the best course of action and by mitigating the volatility of the situation. We do not spin the next Symbol of Peace fighting through heroes by apologizing— ”
“She is not the next Symbol of Peace!” Yagi’s voice echoes to the conference room’s high ceiling. “She is not going to walk the same bloody path I walked. She is not going to suffer and fight daily so that she can save people. So that she can— Can make them smile. That’s all she wanted. That’s all she said. How can I… How can I fail her, and let her fall down that same path…?
“I knew she wasn’t my successor, not really. She’s going to be more than me. If the world of the Symbol of Peace is so— So volatile, that her attempt to save a life will ruin it, than she’s right to be more than me! Young Mido… No, Nightlight. Kyuubi. Has my full support. I will never stop caring for her, and I will always lay myself down so that she might walk in the light.” Yagi stops, forced to cough and wheeze against the ragged breaths making his body quiver like a feather in wind. His adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Her mother made me promise that I would not die for her; that I would live and support her instead. And then that woman betrayed her trust too— If I am all that she has, how could I abandon her?
“Maybe that’s why…” Yagi stops, smiling sadly. Then his lips peel back, exposing his pearly white teeth as he laughs from his stomach until there’s blood staining his chin. “All For One was right. What a hole you’ve dug for yourself, dear girl. ‘A force opposing both Peace and Evil,’ hm, old enemy of mine?”
With Yagi’s fire burned out of his eyes, there’s little left in the room but the ghost of tension. The false memory of ozone. Silence lingers, even spreading between Nedzu’s paws and his keyboard. It’s stillness, like Shouta has been dreaming of for hours. Yet there is no world in which he could rest now.
The door slides open, and Yagi’s wide, sunken eyes move to the figure in the doorway.
“Yagi. It’s been too long.”
“Thank you for coming, Tsukauchi.”
“Could you state your name for the record?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m really trying not to ask leading questions, Bakugou. Just answer me, please.”
“The old hag said If’m ever in trouble I call her first.”
“You’re not in trouble, Bakugou, I just want to have a simple conversation —”
“So do I! But that’s not what we’re gonna do, is it? Plain bastard.”
Katsuki looms forward, leaning across the desk as menacingly as he can. It’s not much when the most bland detective in the world is taller than him, and he’s in suppressing cuffs. It’s funny— He’s not sure who else they’d make these hand-blocks for.
“Bakugou, I don’t know what your even implying. I’m just here to figure out what happened— to help UA take the crucial next steps.”
“Yeah, sure, what-the-fuck-ever.” He stamps his foot, lurching back and leaning forward again. “Look, I’d love to just have a fucking conversation, but you’re all coming at this from an insane angle— You don’t know Kyu. She’s not out there trying to fuck us over. She’s trying to save a life. She’s just being an overeager thinks-before-she-acts idiot, as always.”
“Are you aware of any pesudonyms Midoriya Kyu might have?”
“Yeah we all fucking heard her shout that she’s Kyuubi. And as long as you don’t go doing stupid shit, she’s Nightlight, too.”
“So, why did you assault Eraserhead during a situation that intense?”
Katsuki’s tongue runs along his teeth. No two ways about it; what he did to Hobo-sensei is fully outside legality. “Because they had her strung up crying like a baby! It was pissing me off.”
Detective Idiot tilts his head. “Just to remind you, Bakugou, My Quirk is called Lie Detecto—”
“Yeah, you mentioned when you started the fucking recording. I’m not stupid.”
“Would you like to try again?”
“Fuck you.”
“Bakugou, you’ve already made quite the mistake tonight, but you’re a smart kid. If you explain yourself, maybe we can—”
“They were fucking crushing her. You know that? She was so strong, without access to her Quirk, that they had to crush her just to keep her still.” Tsukauchi nods slowly, but any discomfort doesn’t show on his face. It makes all the scrutiny Katsuki is under feel that much more intense. “I see that display of force on a villain, sure. But she isn’t a fucking villain. Everybody knows that, they just lost their shit when she panicked over— Let me fucking remind you of this, too— Her girlfriend called and said there was fucking blood everywhere! Does that sound like a time to chill the fuck out and come quietly? Of course when she got restrained she fucking escalated!”
Katsuki smacks the hand-block against the desk, and the impact jolts through his arms painfully. “That’s kindergarten shit! I’ve heard it a thousand times here and a thousand more times in license work! ‘Don’t escalate’! How fucking stupid can you be?!”
“Alright, calm down. You saw the situation escalate, and took action to…? What was your goal?”
“Well, I resolved the fucking situation, didn’t I. Dick.”
“Is that your earnest interpretation of the events?”
“Yeah. Fuck you. I saw a bunch of shit going tits up and I blew something up about it. Unsurprisingly, this solved the active problem and kept you from having to fight to subdue Kyu. You wouldn’t have succeeded.” Tsukauchi pauses, narrowing his eyes at Bakugou. “You’re all too stupid to handle her, clearly.” One eyebrow lifts.
“I’m going to have a conversation with your teachers. There’s still a lot going on, so you might have to wait for a while. Can I get you something to drink?”
Katsuki purses his chapped lips. “Nah.”
“…Alright, Bakugou. Thank you for your time.”
Tsukauchi stands and offers him a weary nod. Katsuki would offer him a finger, but with his self-expression limited, all he does is lean back and let his head rest against the smooth, cool stone of the wall. When the door latches shut, he’s left with just the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.
It fucking sucks. Everything going to shit? Of course a hero can deal with that. Bakugou Katsuki can deal with things going to shit in his sleep. But now, it’s the aftermath. Bakugo and co have thoroughly arrived at destination shit. There’s nothing here but silence, silence narrowing into ringing, before ringing blossoms into full on sound once again. An explosion, leaving its mark in burned retinas, burst eardrums, and radioactive fallout. A hell of a lot of fallout. And the solemn consuming ring is eaten up. It’s divided into agonizingly slow and methodical ticks.
They wouldn’t have gotten Kyu. That’s not a lie. What the fuck is in the water? Why did any of this shit happen? He doesn’t give a shit why an idiot made an idiot decision; they’re an idiot, end of story. Whatever the UA staff was cooking up, they jumped to eleven. Was it the Quirk? Nah, that’s a reason to be antsy, but not stupid. They had something else. They thought her leaving was a loss state. Katsuki knows a thing or two about total victory. What makes her leaving a loss?
Her and the League together. He groans and kicks his shoe against the laminated tile. It squeaks loudly. “Bullshit.” It’s a bullshit hypothetical, is what it is. Doesn’t mean shit. No ‘worst case scenario’ would come to pass. Idiots making idiot decisions. Of course she was pissed.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Katuski wishes he could punch something. He can’t even crackle his Quirk right.
He scuffs his sneaker against the ground. Dried mud squeaks against tile, an eek this way and an urk that way. And so fucking what? The whole class of extras goes full on hapless civilian. I bet they’ll be clutching each other and moping. I bet they’ll get all pissy with me. Well, fuck them. I don’t owe them shit.
Sixteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds after the detective leaves, someone comes by the door again. Katsuki knows the click of pumps, and it’s not the bitch who knocked him out earlier. He leans back into his chair, eyes expectantly on the door for—
“Bakugou Katsuki!”
“Hag!”
“Hah! Don’t talk shit when you’re in custody, brat. ” She sidles over faster than his dad can fret into the room. She’s still in work clothes, but the wine-red corduroy coat she’s wearing looks heavy and thrown-over her ruffled fancy shit.
“I’ll talk shit whenever I damn well please!”
“One of these days—”
“—And your mother and I are both very happy you’re well enough to. Er, talk… shit.” Katsuki’s dad is speaking softly, with his hand on the hag’s shoulder. Her expression softens as he very obviously cools the situation down. “We’ve heard a lot of… Strange things about what happened. Katsuki…”
“Dumbasses making dumbass decisions. They’re lucky to have me.”
“Have you in cuffs, brat.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t expect a dumbass to be grateful, now can you?!”
“Don’t I know it.” Before Katsuki can snap again, she sets down a water bottle in front of him. “So how’d it happen, huh? Did anyone try to talk to you without us here?”
“I can fuckin’ handle myself.” Katsuki gestures at the water bottle with his blocked-in hands. The hag snorts, but twists off the cap. “Fuck off, that’s not what I meant.”
“I sure as hell don’t trust you to have an actual conversation,” she replies with years of corporate blandness. “But I’m actually talking about how cops shouldn’t talk to minors without parents and a lawyer around.”
“Rest assured; I mostly just told him to fuck off.”
She sighs, a little less angry. Resignation pokes through the chips in her menopausal fury. “Yeah, I figured.” She lifts the bottle and tips it towards Katsuki’s lips. He drinks happily— The water is soothing and cool on his lips and tongue, unlike the unpleasant rainwater that’s left his hair frizzy and his throat full of phlegm. “And what the hell actually happened? Inko’s been saying weird shit the whole way here.”
Katsuki pulls away from the bottle. He shoves at the hag before she can set it down. “Seriously? She’s here right fucking now? That’s rich. Where—”
“Katsu-tsu, sit down,” his dad says. Katsuki scowls at the infantile nickname, but his parents’ bodies standing like a wall gets the point across. It’s not like he’s allowed to leave his impromptu-cell anyway.
“Don’t go badmouthing your auntie like that, Katsuki. She’s already worried sick.”
“Oh, I’m sure she is. She always is!” Katsuki rolls his eyes, and his whole body follows the movement to lurch around and face the far wall again. “Auntie and Kyu haven’t exactly been all smiles. I don’t know why, but I can think of one thing that’s happened recently.”
The hag narrows her eyes. “She developed a late-bloomer Quirk?”
“God fucking dammit, hag, she’s trans! ”
“Oh.” Her brow furrows. “Oh. Wait, are you saying—”
“It sure fuckin’ seems that way! You talk to her, you’re the one in her bookclub.”
She scowls. “I’m not in any fucking bookclub.”
“Yeah, it was rhetorical, illiterate hag.”
“Uncivilized brat.”
“ Really, you two!” His dad keeps them at arm’s reach from each other. “Katsu, what happened?”
Katsuki takes a deep sigh, the kind that makes his nostrils flare like a bull. “It’s a bit of a long story, ‘cause Kyu’s dating— Did you see the Kamino Incident?”
“Of course we saw the fucking Kamino Incident.”
“Right. The blonde fucker? She and Kyu are in… Some type of shit. I don’t care.” Katsuki waves his cuffs dismissively.
“Oi, she’s a criminal. My niece is a droplet of fucking sunshine.”
“She’s worse than me, fuck you. And don’t interrupt again. Are you telling me you’re surprised she’d consider nobody unsaveable, and everyone good at heart, and shit?
“...Well, actually, there is an exception to that, but it’s unrelated.”
“Wait, what?”
“I said don’t interrupt! I think she might kill Shigaraki if she gets the chance. Again; not fucking related.” Katsuki juts his chin towards the water bottle again. His mother raises her eyebrows, and they’re locked in an eye-contact battle of ‘what’s the magic word.’ His dad picks it up and gives him more.
“So anyway, Psych-ward calls and says somebody’s hurt. Everyone starts losing their shit, nerd books it to her room, and then bam. She’s back in the lobby with her goofy fucking parka and her Quirk running like budget FX. She says, ‘someone’s hurt.’ Extras say—” He clears his throat, to really nail the wavery notes only teenage girls can manage. “‘Hold on, we’re confused, and this is weird’. Nerd says ‘I don’t have time,’ they say ‘aren’t they the baddies?’ You following?”
“She was going to help villains? Help… The League? Wait, but you just said that insane shit about Shigaraki. Katsuki, slow the fuck down.”
Katsuki shifts forward in his chair, setting his elbows on his knees. “Right. ‘Cause she doesn’t like the League, but she’s too stubborn to let them die. The fact that she’s attached just makes it worse. She’s still the same idiot nerd who won’t let any one, even the real assholes, actually suffer.” Then he shrugs. “Besides, handfuck is a nutcase, but the rest aren’t so spoken for.”
The hag nods. “I believe you,” she says, voice a little shaky. “And her, I mean. I can’t imagine her mixed up in stuff like that, but… I can see that starry-eyed kid trying to reach out a hand no matter what.”
“Right. And they fought tooth and nail to stop her. I’m not fucking around when I say every teacher on campus was showing up.” He stares at the desk, and the shitty fake wood grain across it. “They had her in one of those money-shredder robots. Crushing her. Every last extra watching like they had the right to be all scared? How their atrophied synapses managed to eek out the fucking audacity is beyond me!” Katsuki’s gaze snaps up as he emphasizes with his shoulders where he’d usually use an explosion. His parents both look shocked— It breaks his mom’s professionalism and aggression, and his dad’s pacifying presence. She’s caught in the middle of an inhale, he’s rubbing his stubble with his gaze down.
“Excuse me, sweetie.” The hag’s ready-for-the-cameras smile spreads across her face like blood across a murder scene. Katsuki’s dad interposes himself, crouching at Katsuki’s side and nodding at her over his shoulder.
“Rip ‘em apart, hun.”
Her voice is unwaveringly pleasant. “Oh, I’m gonna make ‘em taste my shoe coming from the other end, sweetheart.”
“I’m still here; get a fucking room!”
The door clicks shut behind Bakugou Mitsuki. Tick. Tick.
“Do you want anything besides water?”
Katsuki huffs. “This is all fucking up my sleep schedule. I’m not exactly raring to exercise in the morning, though.” Tick. Tick. “Since I’m up, I might as well fucking eat. But not some sugary bullshit ‘comfort food.’”
His dad laughs softly. “I know, I know. We brought some stuff from home, expecting… Well, we knew you were in trouble, but they did a bad job telling us how much.”
Katsuki gives him an incredulous glare. “You think they’re gonna let you give me shit?”
“Food? I would think so, yeah.”
Tick. Tick.
Laminated tile and cool concrete carry the echoes of passing seconds.
The door slides open with a bang, revealing the spitting image of Bakugou, made presentable by well-fitting clothes and a pearly-white smile. “I’d appreciate an explanation for why my son just told me a student was assaulted by the entirety of the staff.”
Nedzu matches her smile. “This is a private meeting, Bakugou Mitsuki, if you’d please—”
“I was told the dorms were created as a measure of safety for students, who you’d be placing before anything else. It’s clear to me that that was a lie. I’ve already reached out to the Kirishima family. If you can’t include the parents of children you house and assault, I’d like you to say that plainly.”
She’s as much of a spitfire as her son, just matured into a precision implement. The room takes a beat to gather a response.
“Mitsuki, please, just slow down…! I— I don’t know everything either, but isn’t this a bit aggressive?”
A few paces back, another woman comes into view, hidden between the doorframe and the Bakugou matriarch’s imposing silhouette. She’s no spitting image, but her bangs and bun are like Midoriya’s. Her eyes are soft where her daughter’s are intense, her hair plain where her daughter’s is curled and wild, and she is soft in every place her daughter is carved into snappy muscle. She’s swaddled in a cardigan, and when she glances towards the room full of heroes, she seems to shimmy deeper into it.
“There’s a time and place where aggression is valuable.”
Notes:
Writing this chapter was a lot of fun. This next arc takes some time, and in that we’re going to spend some time away from Kyu, with what she’s left behind. I was left having to pick a POV– Rumi, Yagi, and Katsuki certainly seem more straightforward than Nedzu or Aizawa, right?
Well, Switcheroo is largely about people or systems of authority failing, moreso than a story about them struggling to do well. Inherent to the system— in a lot of the ways Nedzu displays— Are some glaring issues. But also inherent to the system are complex people! Hence, Aizawa POV, and the obvious contradictions between his attachments/minimal intervention and the lengths we see him go to.
If I let myself, I’ll type out an essay on the difference between fanon and canon and the way I think he should be interpreted and in what ways it’s valuable for this story. So… I hope you enjoyed. lmao…anyway that bakugou—tsukauchi conversation started with bender and dick vernon lines and became reasonable from there. switcheroo characters hate cops
Chapter 67: Fallout
Summary:
With their feet under them, the heroes start to plan and make their next moves. It's not without a few deeper-running conversations, though...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Wait, slow down—” Kirishima’s face sinks. It’s impressive that he can still show more despair— His hair is down, his eyes are puffy, and his hand massages his brow while the other holds his phone. “I know, mom. I’ve been here, and— Yes, I’m safe. I— Can we talk about this in the morning? Or, just—” Man, he looks like he’s at the end of his rope. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to get from Kirishima. His frustration is worked up from real helplessness. “Mom, I know, but you aren’t helping. ” He pauses while she talks, but his teeth grit together. “No! I don’t feel safe! But what am I gonna do? Midoriya was a villain! And everything went to shit fast! Of course I feel scared, but I’m a hero in training, alright? I’m not stupid. ”
If the room was silent out of politeness to a phonecall before, now it is paralyzed with a blend of friend-arguing-with-parents awkwardness and uncomfortable truth settling in like water in cracked concrete.
It’s not the first time the room has frozen. Mina and Uraraka are tucked into each other, Sero pulls his knees to his chest, Hagakure and Yaomomo both flinch, Jirou and Tsu wince, and Denki worries at his lip. It’s been coming like this— Between the not-quite-peace, words or memories will hit nerves like vicious waves. They make it hard to stand, make things not okay again, and yank people back into the infinite ocean of tension and fear. The moments between each shock of reality are barely composed, waiting for the next.
“I’m not trying to be— I’m sorry.” Kirishima’s voice doesn’t break the silence; it’s a slight surface tension on it instead. Things still feel wrong. “I— I do have to be sorry, though. I’m not mad at you, not really.” Nobody moves, except for the messy way Kirishima shoves his hair back again. He’s not used to loose strands, or the way they hang over his face. His voice is hoarse, all the pitch taken out and leaving a raspy whisper. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow… I know, but I’ll be alright. Even if I’m not right now.”
Denki fixes his eyes on the carpet. It’s a mess of patterning and fuzziness, emblematic of Mina’s questionable taste. It’s a weird platitude, Denki thinks. Even if I’m not right now. Maybe it’s just Kirishima’s natural bent towards affirmative language— Either way, it doesn’t resonate with Denki.
“Yeah. Thanks for telling me. I love you.” He pauses a few seconds for the reply, then hangs up. The room watches him with waiting eyes, and he sets his shoulders to answer. With that breath in his lungs, he sags instead, shoulders dropping and breath bursting out like he’s too weak to fit it right now. He sits at the foot of Mina’s bed, instead. Denki leans in. He’s close enough to rub Kirishima’s shoulder, but for now, he just lingers close enough to share warmth. To show eyes that say ‘I’m here for you.’
Kirishima has a pretty nasty bruise on his forearm from one of the places he bounced. He hardened his joints before he could break or sprain anything, but his forearm must’ve smacked against the hardwood like a club. He didn’t mention it to any teachers, clearly, because Recovery Girl would’ve been all over him on a night like tonight.
“Bakugou’s parents called,” Kirishima says softly. He swallows. “My parents, I mean. They might’ve been on the way with Midoriya’s parents or just got going fast when they got told Bakugou was—” He chokes on the last words, but his shrug gets his meaning across. Detained. For that thing he did.
Jirou frowns. “Already?”
Kirishima’s smile is small, but genuine. “Yeah. Apparently his mom is a lot like him, and very mad. She told my parents that the teachers attacked a student.”
Another wave. Yaomomo clears her throat first, but her voice is still unsure. “Wouldn’t that be about Midoriya, though?”
“Ribbit.” Tsu is tilting her head back and forth, shoulders in an awkward half-shrug. “Well… That is what happened isn’t it?”
Sero narrows his eyes. “It’s more complicated than that.”
Tsu pauses. “Yes, but…” She rubs her chin and croaks softly. “It’s bad for a parent, I think. If one of my little siblings were attacked by their school for any reason—”
“That’s different.” Mina speaks again. “Your siblings are little kids who aren’t working with villains.”
“No, it’s not. I would never be okay with someone hurting my family. And in the same way— Haven’t Bakugou and Midoriya called each other’s parents ‘auntie?’ I’m sure she’s mad. I would be. That’s all.”
“And, Midoriya isn’t— Well, I mean, it’s just—” Hagakure sighs. She doesn’t have to slump far to sink her face back into her hands. “Even if she’s working with villains —” She says it with a shudder, like how kids talk about Bloody Mary and Dictator— “The way she screamed. I— I don’t know if the teachers were all that right, either.”
There’s quiet for a while. Nobody can raise an argument against the echo of those wails. The crackle of her Quirk made every hitched breath and sob ring out like a gong. When she was under Erasure, her voice was devastatingly rough.
“I think they might’ve been.” Uraraka’s voice is quiet. She sits up, shuffling a little more separate from Mina— Though a pink hand still rests on her back. “I mean— I don’t know, All Might talking like that was… Weird. ”
“Ribbit. Like I said— Family is different like that.” Heads turn towards Tsu. “What? I know we joke about it, but… What else…?”
Denki feels a laugh coming. The feeling starts like a coming headache or a dizzy spell, and then his shoulders are shaking and he’s really not holding it in. He knows he’s a little delirious, a little hysterical— It sort of makes him laugh more. “I mean, I-fucking-guess. All Might’s biggest fan, famous graffiti artist, gone-villain kid of the Number One Hero.”
“The only Jedi to survive Order Sixty-Six,” Sero adds in a stupid voice, because everything’s gone to shit and they’re having a collective seizure.
It’s quickly cut short by Jirou’s jacks jabbing both of them. Denki feels a little more sane.
“…The graffiti is crazy, though.” Hagakure picks at the hem of her shirt. “Wasn’t most of that stuff political?”
Denki nods. “It started as coverups. Like, if a place had hate speech or whatever, she’d go over that.”
Yaomomo tilts her head in thought. “Transphobic hate speech?”
“Not really. It was anti-mutant stuff, I think.”
Mina shrugs. “Isn’t that pretty uncommon in cities?”
“Oh, less common, ribbit, but… There’s a lot of little things about powerful Quirks and attractive or ‘normal’ features. They add up.”
Jirou nods. “And then the stuff about villains. That whole ‘What is the story’ thing started with her, didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Denki agrees quietly. “With Lady Nagant. It was weirdly prescient, I guess. That was before she got out.”
Jirou leans back into Yaomomo’s shoulder, eyes glaring hazily at the ceiling in contemplation…
“Fuck.”
“Jirou!”
Jirou’s tired eyes meet Momo’s own, pinched in a false anger. It’s too tense a time for them to fall back on old banter. Jirou picks at her nails. “Sorry. It’s just… We were really colossally stupid about all this, weren't we.”
Ashido perks up. “How so?”
“Well, we celebrated her! We saw her prancing around crafting— eulogies and propaganda so effective that we bought into its aesthetics. All so she could— Promote these fucking villians in the public eye. The ones that have been trying to kill us since day one! I mean, no offense, Tsu, but how the fuck are you so understanding right now! She’s the PR for the man who tried to dust you.”
“…I’d appreciate an apology.”
“And… Was she always like this? From the start? Was all her art like that and we just turned a blind eye, or was there some turning point we were too enchanted by the ‘Romeo and Juliet story’ to notice?”
It’s the crash of waves and the sudden tense silence, again. Denki purses his lips, face twisting up as he tries to put words to his disagreement. It’s not really about Kyuubi. It’s about graffiti. “I… Don’t think it was coordinated like that.”
“How do you mean?”
“Graffiti isn’t just, like, muralism. And Midoriya always freaked out when we talked about Kyuubi, remember? It’s not like she was puppeteering societal views with her standalone art.” He smiles softly. She’s helped a lot, but still. “But the point of graffiti is expression! It’s about saying something too loud for normalcy to cover up. Usually a name; a want to be a free person and a known artist. But Kyuubi wasn’t doing that. Graffiti as a movement would never survive if it was that! Stuff like ‘What is the story of Lady Nagant’ was inevitable because of the subject matter, not a willful artist.”
“Damn, dude, I didn’t know you were so into the stuff. Manly, manly.” Kirishima nods in agreement, but then freezes. “Hold on, how’d she escape Tartarus, anyway? That’s, like, insane.”
Yaomomo explains, as easily as ever. “She was awaiting the death penalty. There’s very little information about the prison, but she was probably in a less ‘permanent’ block, with lower security. For Tartarus, anyway. Getting there would still be a problem— The public is well aware of the bridge and the DNA as well as retina scans involved in entering or exiting—” She pauses. She doesn’t freeze up; her eyes narrow, and glimmer with thought, but she doesn’t lock up like she used to.
Jirou leans forward. “Yaomomo…?”
“…Unless you could bypass entrance and exit via a teleportation Quirk. Kurogiri has been identified as coordinate-based.” Her voice shakes a little, on the verge of something like excitement. Solving a puzzle. Dreading the answer. “And then, all you’d need…” Her voice thins to a whisper.
“A disguise,” Mina finishes. Her voice is cold as ice. “Toga Himiko.”
“Toga Himiko,” Yaomomo agrees. “The public never got information, but— How else, really?”
Denki’s stomach lurches. It makes sense, sure. He’s not sure how Tartarus actually works, but it’s fitting to say you’d need the perfect set of Quirks to extract somebody. The problem is the next logical step— That Lady Nagant was chosen for the ideology she’d represent. The ideology Kyuubi proposed.
“What was—” Uraraka’s breath catches in the middle of her words, tension balling up in her throat. “What was she arrested for?”
Denki knows that. “She got into an argument with a hero. The details aren’t public, but she… Was convicted for murder.” Now he’s staring at his hands. What was going through Kyuubi’s head? What was going through Midoriya’s? “But it’s weird. Private trial, straight to Tartarus, and totally memory-holed. Her trial should’ve been a huge media scandal, one of those ones where every day of court gets another big tabloid article. But it wasn’t. She just disappeared.”
Tsuyu croaks. “People wouldn’t like hearing about heroes fighting each other.”
There’s stillness. Denki swallows.
“…What are they gonna say about her?”
“Midoriya?” Kirishima’s head tilts this way and that. “As long as they find her, they’ll probably downplay it a little. Or— Not downplay, but keep their dignity, like that press conference Aizawa did.”
“I mean, they’ll have to find her, right?” Uraraka is clutching Mina’s hand white-knuckle tight. “She’s one person with flashy Quirks.”
Mina nods agreeably, easing into Uraraka’s space and reassuring her. “Yeah, plus if she’s watching out for another call from the League, her phone’ll be on.”
“Oh dear.” Yaomomo sits up. “Oh dear, oh dear. Hold on.”
The girls all blanch, and then start sending each other Looks. Denki looks to Sero and Kirishima— They’re definitely confused. “What’s happening?”
“The phone,” Hagakure blurts, “Yaomomo made it.”
“Her mother wasn’t willing to provide one.” Yaomomo winces. “I… I can imagine why, now. She might’ve imagined some bad influence? But now…”
Jirou stands “You should go talk to the teachers. I’ll go with you—”
“Hey, I’m coming too—”
“So am I!”
“ Obviously we’re all coming, ribbit.”
Present Mic has his fist raised to knock when the door swings open. He eyes all nine amped-up teenagers warily. “ That’s why I couldn’t find anyone. C’mon, little listeners.”
“I can make a locator for Midoriya’s phone,” Yaoyorozu blurts.
Present Mic blinks. “Okay, little listener. That’s— I’ll take you up to the other staff. The rest of you are gonna stay in your sister class’ dorms for tonight, and you should head over there.”
“H-hold on!” Hagakure leans forward, evidently pleading in the way her sleeves shift. “Can you tell us what’s going on? I know we’re students, but… We have licenses, and it’s our class—”
“We’ll tell you what we can. C’mon, let’s walk and talk.” Present Mic heads toward the stairwell, and all of the students scramble out the one-person-wide doorway after him. “I’m not supposed to say this until it’s all of you together, but Iida was found pretty quickly and he’s with Recovery Girl right now.”
There’s quiet. The stairwell door swings open, and footsteps echo across the concrete. Denki is the one who asks the question. “How bad is it?”
“He’ll be right as rain, kiddo. Don’t worry too much, he’s in good hands—”
“Don’t just say that!” Uraraka’s face is redder than usual. She sounds offended, but her anger seems to run deeper. Denki isn’t sure where, but he sees her eyes water. “Don’t feed us that, please. What happened. ”
Mic looks forward, eyes hiding behind the orange sheen of his sunglasses. “He’s banged up. As far as I’ve been briefed, the worst of it is a concussion.” He takes a deep breath, quick steps down faltering. “Your class has been through worse, even if you should’ve been kept safe. Iida’ll bounce back.”
“R-really, they’ll hear you out, they’re just— Well, I’m sure they have very important things to do.”
“My family is important things. ‘Civilians aren’t privy to active investigations’ my ass.” Mitsuki crosses her arm and leans against the wall, glare still burning into the door.
“Mitsuki!” Inko hisses, soft but insistent. “That’s just procedure, you know.”
Mitsuki frowns. “Same procedure that attacked your daughter. I don’t like it, and you shouldn’t either.”
“I… I know that. It’s not what I had in mind, but…” Inko shifts, standing against the wall beside Mitsuki. Her body is warm, and she smells like her floral detergent. “I feel like I’ve been messing up for a long time. If someone else knows what’s right… If someone can help, even if I don’t get it, then I have to turn to that. To— To accept that I… I’m at a loss, Mitsuki.”
Mitsuki shifts. It’s hard to turn her attention away from the door. She holds anger easy, but it’s also that this feels like a thousand other conversations with Inko. Her relationship with her parents, then her first boyfriend, and her husband, and now…
“Well,” Mitsuki sighs, “you’re her mother. Your first priority is always to see her grow, right?”
“I’m not sure.” She sounds softly sad, like slow death in a hospital bed. “I— I’m sorry, I just realized how that sounds. Oh my.” A laugh startles out of her, but it’s not bright. “You know, Mitsuki, I always thought… I always thought my baby was like a hibiscus. You remember how Hisashi used to get me those?”
“Of course,” Mitsuki says. It’s only through years of discipline that she doesn’t grind her teeth.
“A hibiscus. A delicate flower. Gentle and sweet in flower-language. I raised my kid like one; careful or it’ll wither, get it right down to the minute of sun or it’ll die. I thought… There was always a risk I was there to avert.”
“Of course you did. That’s what being a mother is. ” When Inko blinks up at her, she softens, and fully turns from the door. “Look, Kats has never been the type to need fucking coddling. I do it anyway, since it makes that mama bear shit all warm and fuzzy. And Kyu? That adorable kid who cried ‘cause her baby teeth were gonna be lonely…?
“I mean, she went and changed the goddamn world, didn’t she. At Kamino, I mean. Kats was just telling me— Hmm. Well, he told me you an’ her weren’t getting along.”
Inko’s brow furrows. “Really? I— I know we aren’t, I just thought… Well, it’s not the sort of thing you talk about.” She shuffles awkwardly and takes a breath in the way Mitsuki knows means she’s mulling something over, so she just holds her tongue. “Our last fight— Well, we’ve had a few, but the last one was bad. And I said some stupid things, but I don’t think I was wrong to say them— Or, well, I think I was coming from the right place, if that makes sense…?”
Mitsuki keeps her face neutral. “I don’t know what you said or why.”
“R-right, well…” She laughs sheepishly. “Towards the end, it was a little out of hand. But I just don’t understand . I— I’m the same mother. I thought I was doing well, and then suddenly that gentle, delicate kid is saying I’ve done lots of hurtful things. I don’t understand, Mitsuki. I wish things were just like they used to be, a-and I could have some trust, but—”
“ What don’t you trust?”
Inko’s bottom lip quivers, but she manages to speak. “Th-the piercings. The— The behavior that’s just been s-so strange. There’s a lot of things I’ve discovered that I— I brought up, but I always thought things would— Would get better, and the school m-might be able to help like All Might said. My baby’s all—” Inko gestures fitfully with hands, as if she could reach out and grab what was. “Tied up in things. Things that nobody should be, especially not a person like my kid. Something happened and— And I don’t know what. You might hear it soon, Mitsuki, but I found a bag full of graffiti stuff in the closet. And coming back from— From that awful attack this whole new person, it just doesn’t— I can’t make sense of it. I can’t figure out what my hibiscus, my baby, became.”
Mitsuki shifts. She takes a deep breath, the kind that makes her nostrils flare like a bull. Then, she unbuttons her coat and sits down.
“Inko, a lot has changed.”
“…I know. But can’t— Isn’t there something? ”
“I think so.” A beat of quiet. “But y’know, it really is that way. Kats is a whole different person. Not in quite the same way, but he’s sort of… Becoming more himself. Not just an arrogant brat or anything. He cares, even if the shit he spews doesn’t sound like it. Being a parent is about your kids changing, isn’t it? And pruning the real bad stuff. Like a bonsai.”
Inko sits down next to her. “They’re both more of a handful than houseplants are, huh?”
Mitsuki laughs, real enough to stretch her facial muscles in a real smile and make her head tilt back. “Yeah, they are.” More silence. There’s thunder, but it’s muffled within UA’s windowless halls.
“When do you think it happened?”
“Hm?”
“Things changing.”
“Things always change, Inko, no matter how hard we damn well try.”
“Well, when’d it start, then?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, right? Was everything a sign, or a coincidence?” Inko doesn’t answer. “I think there were always signs. She was such a sweetheart, but she never bloomed until— Pfft.”
“What?”
“Bloomed. She’s a late bloomer— Maybe that was it?”
“I don’t think so. When I try to pin it down, it’s like it… slides further back. It’s like trying to catch water in a sieve.” Inko flattens her skirt. “You were saying?”
“She didn’t bloom until she . That’s what I was going to say.”
“Hm,” Inko says.
There’s a soft click, and Mitsuki looks back towards the door. It slides open gently, and Aizawa Shouta steps through and slides it shut behind him. Wet and dark with hair dangling, he looks like a ghost out of a well, with eyes dead enough to match.
“You have a lot to explain,” Mitsuki hisses.
“I have more to do. Your son will be placed under an academic probation. We’ll discuss this further in the morning; we’re still managing an emergency.” Mitsuki glares, but his dead eyes drift right past her, unphased. “Midoriya Inko. We are working with police to locate your daughter.”
Mitsuki scoffs, but stands demurely and straightens her coat with the mask of professional politeness back on. “It seems like you’re holed up in a conference room —”
Aizawa shakes his head. “The work is multifaceted. I am going to go find her.”
“C-can you?” Inko asks, at the same time Mitsuki says “and that’ll work this time?”
“We’re back on our feet, and haven’t lost too much time. She hasn’t been located on train or foot— It’s unlikely that she’s out of Musutafu, so I’m the best bet. And it’s my mistake— It’s only logical that I…” He tilts his jaw up, out of his scarf, and his adam’s apple shifts when he swallows. “I can’t undo what was done. I can only take the logical path to reduce harm and right things. I’m deeply sorry to both of you.”
Mitsuki frowns. “Well? You already said you’re not talking to me.” She sets her jaw. “ Find her. ”
Aizawa walks down the hall. Mitsuki has a good eye— She can catch the off-colors of his costume where the wet is redder, and the scorch marks from her son’s Quirk. Back on your feet— barely. Let it be enough.
“It’s not perfect, but I made the phone, so I can sort of… Reverse engineer a matching locator… But it’ll take time. The device was a generic design with an adapted OS, and I’m much better with mechanics than programming.” Yaoyorozu smiles bashfully as if she’s not a prodigy— It’s still unclear whether she’s that humble, or if she genuinely believes that to be a common sentence out of a teenager’s mouth.
Yagi blinks to clear his head. Pinning her location down with GPS is an extraordinarily useful tool— But only if they use it decisively. He casts a watchful look towards Nedzu, whose beady eyes are already looking right back.
“Well, that’ll be extraordinarily useful, Miss Yaoyorozu. We’ll coordinate efforts appropriately when that’s done— For now, my attention remains here.”
Yagi finds his lip curling in displeasure. Aizawa is out in Musutafu now, and his absence is felt in the way Yagi’s sparks of anger find kindling and slowly, assuredly burn. “What exactly are you doing?”
Nedzu glances up minutely. His digits dance along his keyboard just as fast. “Coordinating with MPD. Keeping an eye on points of interest myself. Alerting appropriate heroes without disrupting the balance of the situation.” He pauses to take a sip of tea. “You know, Toshinori, this is quite delicate. If I request help with too many details to too many heroes, the narrative will quickly come against us and young Miss Midoriya. I’d like to avoid spurring irrational or panicked behavior.”
“I’m starting to…” Yagi pauses to choose his words carefully. “ Grow displeased with your vaugery.”
Nedzu’s smile is a bit more genuine than his polite ones— It comes with a light chitter-chuckle sound. “Well, when you back an animal into a corner…” Yagi takes a step forward. Nedzu raises a paw in a placating gesture— Though the other continues to type. “I only mean to say that young Miss Midoriya will clearly escalate if she needs to. Any heroes involved should remain out of her awareness until they act and act decisively. Media involvement would only create a manhunt.”
Yagi grits his teeth. Managing perception has always been strange for him. It’s not really his strength or natural talent, but becoming the Symbol of Peace took a lot of social work. To be the forefront of ‘hero’, heralding safety for civilians and retribution for villains. He knows how things have begun to backslide since his retirement. He knows it’ll get worse.
“What about the parents?”
Nedzu doesn’t look up. “You mean their perception or statements on UA?”
“Word is probably spreading among them. Whether they decide UA failed or UA went too far or both…”
“Yes, I know. Bakugou Mitsuki and Midoriya Inko are still waiting outside that conference room— I haven’t forgotten. We will have to hold a forum for the parents at large… Though those two should be handled. What would you propose?”
Yagi scowls. “Me? I don’t have anything to say to them. Not if you’re keeping this ‘delicate situation’ intact.”
Nedzu raises one brow in acknowledgement, but otherwise remains unreadable. “Of course, Toshinori. I only mean to say, I am coordinating efforts to resolve the situation. I’m considering your advisement.” Before Yagi can finish contemplating his answer, Nedzu continues. “I believe that the proverbial mama bear is too aggressive to talk down, especially without bringing forward information that civilians should not be privy to.” His eyes glint. Graffiti art, association with villainy, and One for All all make a strange story— And one that would inspire panic. “Instead, it is important to her that she is heard. She believes that UA has broken its promise to her— But it should be clear that we were acting with the interests of our larger student body in mind. The line between school and hero academy blurs, but we were acting decisively as heroes.”
Yagi feels where his tongue sits in his mouth, ill-fit and tasting of bile. It’s all true and fitting, but at the same time irrational. “She’s mad because you acted as heroes. You have a responsibility to protect students— children — that came second to ‘peace’.” Nedzu is quiet. Yagi sighs. “Regardless, you’ll need to have a true discussion. This can’t be smoothed over with a carefully crafted apology.”
Nedzu hums agreeably. “Right. Thank you, Toshinori.” Yagi stands— He’s not sure what he can do, but he’s growing weary of sitting in this room. He should get in a car and drive to every spot he can think of. He should use the full force of his image regardless of the consequences to crime rates. It’s Kyu. She’s my— successor, ward, student, daughter I never had. A bitterness comes— The face of a black-haired boy, barely months old swaddled in Shimura Nana’s arms. And her son’s son, who now…
It’s out of the question that I failed. I’d do anything to succeed, now.
His body failing him before his greatest enemy and the whole of Japan was awful, but Yagi has never felt quite so powerless as he does now. He storms out of the room and paces up and down the hall. His bony fingers fumble to call Kyu. It rings and rings without answer. He wheezes and swallows tears and calls again.
“The number you have dialed is not in service. Please ch—”
There is a clatter, and then silence but for a muffled thunderstorm and labored breath.
Notes:
hello everyone. this doesn't have a note in advance, whoops!
Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It was a bit of a hassle to write-- Lots of scenes were different, or longer, or in different places, and things changed a lot as I wrote (particularly in the conversation between Mitsuki and Inko).
As always, this is beta'd by ToolAssistedRat. She helped organize some of my thoughts around the key points of Denki's POV, too. She also wanted to include a reference to Katanagatari so for the sake of curiosity raise your hands if you know what that is.Next chapter will see Shouta POV and a particular student...
Chapter 68: Those Who Defend
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“It’s not so bad, you know!”
Don’t offer me those platitudes.
“Wipe that grumpy look off your face! There’s nothing you could’ve done, alright?” He smiles. “And my nurse is cute. You’re gonna scare her off!”
Don’t put on that smile for me. You don’t need to be a hero for me.
“There’s still plenty that could work out in recovery. And even if it doesn’t, I’m still Iida Tensei.”
“But you’re not Ingenium!” Tenya’s grip tightens on his slacks. As soon as the words come out, he wishes he could swallow them back and stuff them down. But also… Ingenium is his idol. His hero. Ingenium can’t just end like a book with the second half torn out!
“Maybe not. But that’s the point: I’m still going to be me. I won’t let myself lose that just because I miss being Ingenium.” Tensei’s smile softens. “Besides, there is another upcoming Iidaten inheritor. I might not be Ingenium, but the world’ll always have a Turbo Hero, right?” He’s still weak, in bed. But his frail arm reaches out and bumps against Tenya’s shoulder. He moves with it, half-limp. Tense in his jaw and his joints but feather-light to move.
“I can’t— I can’t replace you.”
“Maybe not,” Tensei says, “but you can give a heroic hand to a lost child. That’s enough.”
Tenya’s eyesight is getting all blurry and warped by hot tears. His teeth are grinding and his head is still facing down. He’s in a whole different world.
Wasn’t I? Already thinking about an unyielding iron fist, instead of bringing armor to shelter all those lost children.
That was always what you said, wasn’t it? I admired you so much because… Your reputation, your sidekicks who respected you and your tireless work… Was as simple for you as thinking it was ‘cool’. I don’t think you were ever making light of that.
Tensei…
Eyelids open, but they don’t flutter. They’re tacky with hot liquid— Blood and tears in equal measure. There’s nothing but chill earth and buzzing streetlights and lightning jumping through the clouds. When’s the last time i’ve seen what this place was built with, or a sky that looked like that… Tenya tries to move, but his vision lurches and his head feels heavy as an anvil. Or I’m seeing double. No, wait— I don’t even have my glasses, do I? …What happened?
Tenya’s whole face feels hot, not just his tear tracks. Especially the right side, where his cheek feels swollen stiff, and his eye feels lopsided in some way or another. He squeezes his fingers— Those are definitely intact, but his whole body feels strange. He wiggles his toes— Pain slices up his left leg, but even if he couldn’t walk on it, it’s not ruined.
There are flashes. They come slow, in reverse— First, ozone and heat, matching all the power he can muster. Rain sizzling off sparking skin and chugging engines. Eyes burning with something his messed-up head can’t figure out. Then a step back; to see the figure in a stairwell. Twisting further away, to catharsis of certainty in a forest. It feels fuzzier, now. Back to all his anger leaping out of his body in whipcrack kicks and shouted words. Back to blonde and green, then back to before it all. Back to—
“I misjudged you!” He adjusts his posture. Midoriya clearly doesn’t understand what he means. He gestures with his right hand, patient but enunciated as ever. “You clearly understood the true nature of the Practical Exam, while I was blind to it! You are certainly a superior candidate.”
Did I misjudge you again…? Who are you now, anyway? So different. What remains the same? You’re so certain, now, and I’m so…
I’m lost, Tensei. Can’t someone take my hand? Whatever it may have failed in?
The light grows brighter. More than just the distant, silent lightning, or the luminescent streetlamps. Tenya doesn’t straighten up to glare into the light. He doesn’t have the strength for that. He just closes his eyes and waits.
He slips back into unconsciousness as the sound of an engine grows.
Shouta hates impromptu collaborations.
A plan never survives contact with the enemy— Or reality in general— So it’s unsurprising when heroes are forced to collaborate in the field, or caught off guard by a villain attack and forced to cooperate. Shouta doesn’t like the sloppy work then, but what’s happening now is almost worse.
“Eraserhead, we’ve got another.”
One thing he dislikes is the earpiece. Most of the time he refuses them outright. He needs all of his senses in a fight, or scouting, or manhunt. The fact that Nedzu chitters in his ear every three minutes as he has to organize the heroes to sweep the city is worse.
And that’s the other thing he hates— He’s doing the organizing. It’d be nice on paper, to have every hero Nedzu deems significant at his command, but managing them like chess pieces is distracting him. He’s not checking the hideaways and dens of dubious morality in dive bars, or informant offices, or clubs. Instead, he’s perched on the edge of a building, eyes on the street, while his mind sans body swings, dashes, and flies free throughout the city.
He’s got a map of it and its dark corners in his head, and he’s the one with the most information on the field. Nedzu could probably do just as well, but Eraserhead’s experience and instincts with nighttime heroics are what gives him the edge here. They’re what make him the focal point; the lever with which to pry Musutafu open and snatch Midoriya out of any hole she’s attempting to burrow into.
While Shouta hates spontaneous collaboration, and expending time and his left ear to take charge, the part he really hates, is that it comes down to him. Heroics is important, and what he does saves lives, but he will never take joy in gritting his teeth and getting muck on his boots. What he wants, though? That’s never mattered. In the end, when the chips are down…
“Go for it, Shouta!”
…Eraserhead is your man.
God, he’d give anything for a world where things never go so astray that someone needs to call his name.
“Eraserhead? Come in.”
He sighs. “I hear you. Another Underground?” So far, Nedzu hasn’t been inclined to notify most heroes. A wide alert would better catch everyone active at such a late hour, but it’d be bad press.
“Not this time. Keep the search up, he’ll come to you for a briefing.”
“What a hassle,” Shouta murmurs. It must be someone special if he has to look them in the eye when he tells them to do grunt work.
All of this is nearly pointless anyway. Yaoyorozu’s tracking device is the only real lead they have. Their efforts have no way to pinpoint a location otherwise, since there’s no way to gain access to civilian sightings. Besides that, they’re all working off assumptions. Granted, they’re informed assumptions and educated guesses, but Shouta is a pessimist and he takes the thin, uncertain ideas for what they are. Nevertheless, information is information, even if Shouta considers it near-useless for such a crucial manhunt.
Midoriya is damnably smart. She’s being pretty stupid right now, but she definitely knows how poor her odds are. She might be laying low, hoping to use unrest and morning shift-changes against them. The fact that he has to expect her to watch shift-changes and on-duty heroes is unusual. He doesn’t do that for even A-Rank villains. She’s certainly not going to take the train. That leaves Shouta with an extremely crucial assumption: She might be in contact with the League, but she doesn’t actually have access to the Musutafu underworld. He’s never heard about Kyuubi from information brokers, nor has he actually seen any evidence of her getting mixed up in those dealings.
In other words, he expects it to be extremely difficult to find Midoriya in Musutafu, and expects that her reaching Osaka would be extremely bad for the heroes. Yet again, it’s Shouta’s grasping hand that has to find her in the dark. Whatever might happen with Yaoyorozu’s tracker, he bets it’ll still place Midoriya in Musutafu— If she’s still here, she might have plucked out the batteries, or abandoned the phone entirely.
It’s too easy to overthink. It doesn’t help that he has to coordinate a dozen Underground heroes himself. There’s no way to form a true perimeter, either.
“This is Neck-Hanging Maiden. Sector ‘E2’ is clear.”
“Good work. Sweep ‘F2’. You should be approaching ‘Berserga’, you’ll rendezvous and call in.”
“Clear.”
Shouta grumbles. He doubts either of those two would come out on top against Midoriya, even if they find her. She’s probably not anywhere near the southeast sectors, but that’s why it’s important to check there. Shouta hates mindgames. This is the whole reason I don’t deal with Nedzu. It’s bad enough that his sectors divide the city like a chessboard.
That gives Shouta pause. If it’s chess, we should expect her to play like a swindler at a park. Speed-chess, plucking pieces with sleight of hand. Where’s the delicate touch? Where should our scalpel strike? Midoriya’s best bet is to duck away, and I have a bad feeling that she already has.
Shouta taps on his earpiece. “Nedzu.”
“Yes, Eraserhead?”
“There’s no way we’re going to find Midoriya like this. We’re already missing something.” Shouta sends his capture weapon out with a thwip. It anchors around a rooftop railing, which he tugs for security before swinging.
“If we’re missing something, the situation is worse than anti—”
“ Obviously the situation is worse than anticipated,” Shouta hisses, “because Midoriya is smart. We’re out of good chances.”
“We have Yaoyorozu,” Nedzu reminds him placatingly. Another tool in his grand arsenal. It might be the scalpel Shouta needs— But the clock is ticking.
“Tell her to hurry up,” he grits out. Nedzu doesn’t answer. There’s no need, and Shouta is swinging through the dark. It’s a full body exercise and doesn’t leave much room for breathing nor talking. He’s got a vague idea of where he’s going— But it’s mostly hopeless.
His shoes skid along the sidewalk, taking his momentum and leaving him with a numbing ache in his feet and knees. He squints, glaring into each storefront still lit— It’s after ten, so most businesses are closed. But never the corner stores and mini-markets. He doesn’t see a strand of green hair in any of them. Then he starts wracking his brain. There’s no way Midoriya went for home, but is there any other pattern to her art? Any other safehouse, or favorite part of town? If she has one, which is a big if, his best bet is to look there.
It was a mistake for him to assume Seven-Elevens would be the extent of her criminal contact points. He has to be more consistent, more thorough: Where was she storing her cans? Sketch Pads? Observation points or art rooms? A graffiti artist doesn't exactly need a warehouse the same way a gun dealer would, but was she really going about this alone?
“Eraserhead.”
He’s still standing in the half-lit canopy of a bus stop, watching the storefronts, but he recognizes the voice— Barely. He has to glance to make sure.
Edgeshot was part of The Big Three in Shouta’s first year. He was a little jealous and spiteful— As he always was as a teenager— But there was a glimmer of admiration that he refused to admit. A powerful, stoic stealth hero, and the respect he commanded… That’ll be me. They’ve ended up fairly different— And, in all honesty, Shouta doubts Edgeshot remembers him. But it’s still a little odd, standing two feet from him, both barely safe from the downpour.
“Edgeshot.” He nods minutely. “I assume you’re the one Nedzu sent.”
Edgeshot looks weary, but he nods. “With very little to go on. Something has happened with the big-name first year.”
Shouta blinks and clears his throat. It’s difficult to gather his thoughts. “UA is keeping the matter somewhat contained, but she left of her own volition. We’re concerned that she might rendezvous with—”
“Toga Himiko,” Edgeshot says, clipped. It doesn’t sound uncertain, but he’s definitely prompting confirmation.
“Correct.”
Edgeshot shakes his head. “The League has wormed their way into Osaka as of late, haven’t they? It’s unreasonable to devote resources here.”
“It’s barely been two hours. No signs, and no signs on major roads or trains.” Shouta tilts his head back. “She’s smart, but we don’t have any reason to assume she’s out of the city.”
“What of Kurogiri?”
Shouta grumbles. “It’s another possibility, but I’m familiar with the case on him— He’s been forced to lay low.”
Edgeshot nods. “Whether to give away oneself in order to protect an ally…”
“And whether or not that allyship has means to communicate and how strong the bond is,” Shouta says. He pauses, taking a moment to massage his brow. It’s the closest he’ll get to rest tonight— He refuses to sit on the bus bench. “I don’t like how much we’re counting on luck. But I will find her.”
Edgeshot hums agreement, but there’s something in his tone that sounds like it might be acknowledgement, or surprise. Taking notice, Shouta settles on. Do you see something in me, too? “It’s good for a hero to have conviction.”
Nedzu’s channel reopens in his ear. There’s a grim hum of consideration. Shouta waits. “Eraserhead, I’m afraid that the manhunt may have been too late.”
Shouta hisses a curse. “Explain, now.”
“Miss Yaoyorozu’s tracking device appears to be fully functional,” Nedzu says politely, “but the location is miles outside of Musutafu already.”
Shouta grabs a support of the bus station’s canopy to steady himself as the world spins. His mouth is dry when he croaks out a “How…?”
Nedzu makes a throaty sound. Shouta doesn’t hear it often, but it’s distinctive, even through an earpiece. Chiding himself. “Miss Midoriya did not have physicality on her side. Given the speed she’s traveling, she’s in a car.”
Shouta frowns. “That’s… We have to find out whose. It’s not Kurogiri, at least, so—”
“We can’t find out the car’s information without tailing it, and given the weather, that’s out of the question. I’m not putting an officer in that position.”
Edgeshot taps Shouta’s shoulder. It manages to startle him, but he evens out his breathing and eases his white-knuckle grip on the support. “What can I do?”
“Nothing right now. She’s out of the city.” Shouta nestles his head deeper into his capture weapon. “Edgeshot is on my location. Nedzu, what road is she on?”
“Oh, then be polite. Put me on speaker.” There’s a pause, and Shouta fishes the earpiece out. It crackles and Nedzu’s voice comes through, tinny in the little speakers. “E1A.”
Shit. “The expressway, then.”
“She’s past the three rivers. It’s likely she’ll be in Osaka in less than an hour.”
Edgeshot hums. “Or she’ll divert to Kyoto.” There’s a pause, filled by pouring rain and thunder. When he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, Shouta can almost hear the sky falling. “There’s not enough time to prepare a trap at both locations. I don’t know her well enough to be sure, but you’ve said she has a good head on her shoulders. I leave it to you, Eraserhead.”
“Fight on, Shouta!”
Nedzu clears his throat. “I… I can coordinate efforts at either location, but we’ll fail if we’re not thorough.”
“You can do it, Shouta!”
When all seems lost…
A deep breath. The rain becomes white noise. The sky holds, burgeoning though it may be. “Here’s what needs to happen.”
Eraserhead is your man.
Katsuki keeps his head down. His wrists ache— No, both arms do, right up to the shoulder. The cuff-block is heavy and awkward and forces at least one joint to be uncomfortable, no matter how he arranges it. It also means his dad has had to help him eat and drink. Katsuki’s gut shrivels up pretty quick, at least. It’s a sign of weakness that a bit of metal can hold Bakugou Katsuki back. His dad’s total lack of dignity isn’t helping. All this time, an old man who complains about his knees has been kneeling at Katsuki’s side doing handservant shit. If I’m this weak, let me suffer it like I should, he wants to growl, but he knows his dad would politely disagree and he’s too tired to entertain that shit.
There’s footsteps down the hall. There haven’t been in a while. It’s more than one set, slowly approaching. Before he can discern who, the voices come.
“My child is my greatest priority. Don’t mistake that for forgiveness— You still have plenty to answer for.” That’s the old hag, back again. Her voice has real bite, but not the rip-your-head-off kind. He hates figuring that it means good things without knowing or earning.
“I wouldn’t dare to, Miss Bakugou.” That voice is softer— A little wheezy, but hard to miss. It’s a baritone that carries, and belies a hidden grandiosity. All Might— Thin and sick as he is now. “I don’t regard my colleagues’ actions kindly— Towards Nightlight, and what Bakugou was forced to do in kind.”
The footsteps become faster as they approach the door. There’s a quieter voice, but it’s muffled into a dull hum that Katsuki can’t make out before the door opens. His old hag steps into the room pretty quick, but All Might is right behind, casting a look over his shoulder at—
“Oi, what th—” His glare snaps back and forth from Auntie Inko to his old hag. He tilts his head toward Inko. “You forget what we talked about?”
The old hag bumps his shoulder “Not a chance.” Her face softens, ever so slightly. “I’ve known her for longer than you’ve been alive, got that? Don’t go figuring I can’t get past shit.”
“S-sorry, what?” Inko looks away from All Might, searching the room with her wide eyes and furrowed brow.
“I’m talkin’ about how you treat your daughter like shit,” Katsuki grumbles.
The old hag bumps him less gently this time. “Don’t talk to your aunt like that, brat.”
“Oh, let’s see her talk with her daugh-ter, then!” He leans forward, still looking at Mitsuki, but meaning the words for Inko. “Oh, wait. There’s a minor goddamn issue in the way. No thanks to all the shitheads who made shithead calls and chased her off like a cornered goddamn animal!”
“Can it already!”
“Make me, hag!”
“ENOUGH!” All Might lurches forward not a half-second after he speaks, hacking up steam and blood. His voice is commanding, and it booms like living thunder. But even without that, the coughing and wheezing is the sort of display that’d make them all shut up anyway. Katsuki feels like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and judging by the way everyone else in the room shrinks back, they all do, too.
To his disbelief, his dad speaks first. His knees crack a little when he stands up straight. “Alright, can we get his hands out of this thing? I’m sure it’s not comfortable. And where’s he sleeping tonight.”
“I’m afraid young Bakugou can’t sleep in his dorm—”
The hag glares. “Oi! You—”
All Might raises his hands placatingly. “To— To clarify, none of Class 1-A will be. They’re staying with their sister class, just for the security and repair of Heights’ Alliance. He’s, ah, welcome to go there.”
His dad frowns. “He’s not allowed to come home? That’s—”
“No.” All Might looks at Katsuki, now. It’s hard to hold his gaze while he’s in shackles— He flares his nostrils and steels his face anyway. “To put it simply: Academic probation. No legal consequences and punishment through the school.” There’s a beat, and he purses his lips. “To be frank, I disagree with some of my betters’ decisions, but it’s been clear; young Bakugou does not have the benefit of the doubt, and he does not have permission to leave grounds. In effect, doing so would be spitting on the ‘olive branch.’ It’s…”
“Bullshit.”
Inko sputters. “M-Mitsuki!”
All Might laughs humorlessly. “It’s alright. She’s… Not so far off the mark. Though, regardless—” He looks to Katsuki again, smile crinkling his thing skin and bony fingers forming a thumbs-up— “Young Bakugou will be under my wing, regardless of the school’s actions, and I will do my best to encourage my colleagues to see his actions in the light I see.”
The hag’s glare doesn’t relent, but her voice is quiet. “What about my niece?”
“Nightlight is a fine young woman, and were it not that I must live to guard her, I would die for her sake.” He clears his throat, fingers fidgeting against each other. “B-but that aside, there’s little I can do with the situation as it is now. I… Do not like feeling powerless.”
Katsuki meets his eye easier when he’s stammering like that— A fidgety, awkward mess. It reminds him of… What Kyu was, at least. And below that, there’s a fire that will never die. It burns bright behind his electric-blue eyes, roaring SAVE and crackling FIGHT and spitting embers of life. When his breath comes labored, throat weak from emotion and from his own shouting, Katsuki feels a pang in his chest that speaks of sameness.
A thought hangs in place at the front of his skull, just like All Might’s— Why, at the time that it really mattered, did I have to be so useless?
Notes:
Title is a reference to "Those Who Defend, Those Who Violate" (both the volume and chapter titles/the suggestion of AFO's quote.)
guess what next chapter is titled :) lmao lmao we'll have to see :)Most of the time, my ‘random hero names’ are references. ‘Neck-Hanging Maiden’ is a reference to Suicide Girls, and ‘Berserga’/’Roboko’ are both references to Gushing Over Magical Girls.
As for this chapter itself... lots of fun stuff i think. Shouta-POV is always really interesting; I tend to sit down to write him and end up prodding at something interesting AS I GO. ie, the comparison of Kyu to Oboro, or the "ganbare shouta" throughline in this chapter. Also the gay tension with like every pro hero he's around, which is kinda just funny.
This chapter was originally going to feature some more scenes with Katsuki and 1-A, so look forward to those next week :3c between the other stuff, of course >:3c
Chapter 69: Those Who Violate
Summary:
Now on academic probation, Katsuki has little choice other than to return to Heights’ Alliance, where 1-A is sharing space with their sister class.
With Aizawa’s decision made, the heroes arrange the appropriate pieces to snatch Kyu.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Katsuki splits off from his parents before they can come into view of Heights’ Alliance. It’s not that he’s embarrassed of his old hag doting like a granny; that shit is on her. It’s all down to the fact that when he walks in, there will be looks. Whatever shithead teacher lets them know he’s coming in will say it like they’re waiting for a class of alligator jaws to snap shut. And Katsuki will walk in, and they’ll be on him like flies on shit.
“Oi, kid,” his old hag says, soft enough that he can hear how yelling has made her voice a little hoarse. Soft like a lullabye, humming gently under the pitter-patter of the family’s shared umbrella, cramped and close. “We’ll be back in the morning, ‘kay?”
“I can keep it together for a night,” Katsuki snipes back, but it doesn’t have any real bite. The chill and the rain swallow it up, like washing pseudo-nitroglycerin from calloused palms.
His old hag ruffles his hair. It’s always a mess anyway, but he doesn’t push her back, and lets himself feel her fingers along his scalp. “I know, kiddo.”
The umbrella starts pulling away into the endless light-dark-light-dark of waiting streetlamps. Rain meets him, and he lets it. He hates rain, and always has. He hates how clothes feel when they’re wet, and how hair gets in his eyes, and how he can strain and grit and barely come up with a spark. It washes his power away, and his scattered thoughts with it.
Then comes the sharp pitter-patter of another umbrella over his head. Higher than the last one, held in a bonier hand.
“It’s fucking two steps to the awning, All Might.”
“Let me walk you up the stairs,” he chuckles, “I’m not allowed to let you go unattended, anyway.”
“Good thing, too. I was just thinking I might run off and blow up an orphanage.” Katsuki shoves his hands in his pockets and takes the lead up the stairs. He doesn’t shoulder through All Might, with how frail he seems, instead forced to awkwardly and purposefully weave around him. The warm light of the common room lights up the front step, and Katsuki’s steps slow down as he passes the cutesy cement pillars and stands under the awning. The rain is distant and muffled in an instant.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” All Might says. His voice is quiet, and all the typical bravado and baritone are missing. He sounds old, this once, really old. He sounds his age. Like a man from a time Bakugo wasn't alive for, and vulnerable enough to sound broken from it. His sunken eyes are staring somewhere far away, kept low to the ground, and in the dim light it’s hard to spot his blue irises at all. “I’m sure you feel the same, young Bakugou, but I am an adult. I am a teacher. I am All Might. ” He tries to set his shoulders as he speaks, but he slouches up tight as his words soften and melt into the rain.
Katsuki’s jaw is tense, and he swallows thickly before he remembers to grind his teeth and unclench it. “Nobody’s holding it against you. I bet she’s out there thinkin’ ‘sorry.’ But you did plenty.” His fists knot into the thin fabric of his pockets. They’re weak from the cuff-blocks, sore and strange enough that tightening his grip is hard. “You passed the torch, and you burned enough coal to fight the stupid fucking Nomu and the stupid fucking immortal asshole. Toothpaste doesn’t go back in the fucking tube, right? You did everything. Down to the last goddamn drop.”
“Young Bakugou…”
Katsuki’s voice is heavy when it comes out, raspy like normal but choked and muddled by a senseless ache in his chest. “And all I managed were a few pointed words and a bright light in Aizawa’s face. You could do that shit with a flashlight! That stammering Quirkless idiot could do it— Did do it, before either of us were really on her side! She knew to go for the eyes!” He yanks his hands out of his pockets. He needs to move, he needs to grab something and turn it to ash, he needs to fight. His fist beats against his sternum. “What the fuck was I doing, huh?! If I’m just like Deku after all this time and Deku is— Is Kyu, now; with the goddamn chosen-one torch in hand and everything!” He tears his fist away from his chest and punches a pillar. “FUCK!”
There’s nothing but rain. No goddamn surprise that there isn’t sympathy, nor platitudes, nor argument waiting. His wrist throbs. Smoke threads through the fingers of his trembling fist.
“Young Bakugou!” All Might has him by the shoulders, and then the umbrella is on the ground and his back is against cool, grounding cement. The man’s bony hands squeeze insistently, as if to say I am here. “We… We’ve both made great steps and great failures on her behalf. To say that you did nothing is foolish. You acted when others could not or would not understand. You acted when you were expected to keep your head down.” All Might’s fingers dig in. “Do you hear me young man? Acting against injustice— Sticking your nose into nasty business, even and especially when you’re not asked? That is what it means to be a hero. You are a hero.”
Katsuki can’t hold eye contact, won't. He doesn’t pull away when he grits his teeth at the ground; he still feels All Might’s hands on his shoulders, and All Might’s gaze on him. It’s unyielding, until one hand wraps around his back and the other firmly holds his head and All Might is hugging him. He stands stiff for a moment. All Might is bony and uncomfortable, but he’s strong, and he’s warm. Like embers whose glow has faded but whose warmth remains.
“…Thanks.” Katsuki returns the hug. His hands are still tense, forearm muscles wound tight against the man’s back and fingers disciplined to keep from knotting into his suit. “I don’t have a license yet.” All Might scoffs. “I’m not fucking around. Probation or not, I’m working twice as hard. Kyu can watch while I blow handfuck to bits. I’ll get to him first, so she doesn’t have to.”
All Might pulls away, and the night air feels a little more harsh after his warmth. It’s sobering, either way. One final wave of heat comes when All Might jabs a finger into his chest.
“Keep that fire, young man.” He pauses there, arms firm and eyes alive with all the might of an old oak. Then the moment passes— He straightens and takes a deep breath. “Alright. Let’s rip the band-aid off, yes?”
Katsuki shrugs. “A and B class, right? At least I’ll get all the extras out of the way at once.” All Might steps forward to open the door, and Katsuki walks through with his chin high.
A few heads swing towards the door right away, and there’s a sudden awkward silence. Katsuki ignores it like he ignored the looks after the Sludge Villain incident. His wet sneakers squeak when he toes them off in the foyer, and all that exists in the world seems to be rubber, distant rain, and watching eyes. He keeps his gaze on the ground— Not because he’s nervous or some shit, but because he cares about their judgement far less than putting on indoor slippers.
The first voice that comes is pretty unsurprising, but it takes a moment for Katsuki to recognize it. “They really let the golden children get away with anything, don’t they?” It’s the down-the-nose crowing of the copycat extra from 1-B. Katsuki leers somewhere between raising an eyebrow and glaring. “I mean, I suppose UA knows best, but this really is…” He pauses for a polite word, pointedly letting his audience fill in his real meaning. “… gauche. ”
Katsuki sneers. He could at least have the dignity to insult him to his face. “Cry me a river, two-bit extra. Better yet, cry far away where I don’t have to listen to your nasally ass.”
“Well, I nev —”
“Bitch.”
His face twists up, like the shit on his shoe has taken to insulting him. It’s therapeutic. “You—!”
“What the fuck are you wearing? Do you dress like a shitty boring dad all the time, or are the cargo shorts and button-up for me?”
“ Alright! ” There’s a sharp nail jabbing into Katsuki’s chest, and he lets it, mostly because there’s no arm beyond its wrist. The voice matches the Quirk— That recommendation student Earjacks is dating. Most of her body is between Katsuki and copy-extra. “That’s enough dick-measuring contests from both of you. But especially you, blasty. You’re already on thin ice.”
“What I’m on is academic probation, and he’s on my dick, so how about you both hop off?”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Ears growls, standing up from one of the couches. She marches right up next to Lizard-girl, glaring all the way. Katsuki glares back. When she stops moving, he tilts his head, meeting a few other classmates’ eyes, and takes a nice big breath in—
All Might’s hand comes down on his shoulder. “Young Bakugou, maybe it’s best for you to restrain yourself.” His raised eyebrows are a lot like what Katsuki’s dad does— That ‘you’re right but sit your ass down’ look. “As for the rest of you, let’s keep cool heads and Quirks down. You’ve all had a rough night.”
“‘Young Bakugou’ didn’t exactly help, ” copy-extra snickers.
Katsuki rolls his shoulder, letting All Might’s hand fall away. “First of all, you weren’t there, so don’t you say shit. All you’d have done is stare like a fuckin’ toddler at the big flashy lights, like the rest of ‘em.” Before copy-extra can try to dignify himself with more whining, Katsuki gets sick of his face and spins on the rest of the room. Most of the B-extras are watching from the couches, but plenty of A-extras are glaring or standing up. “Oh, you look real serious now. I’m sure you mean business and shit, that’s cool. I understand you must all have gotten spines while I wasn’t looking. Should I applaud you? Real fuckin’ fighters now, which is real telling of your bitch-made biases and short-sightedness.”
Raccoon-Eyes blinks, and then she’s making a ‘I can’t believe this bullshit’ face. “Holy fuck— How dare you be self-righteous about this, Bakugou?! You attacked Aizawa! short- fucking -sightedness?! You— You just let her go free! You helped her!”
Katsuki’s glare narrows into a razor edge. It feels hot in his chest, burning against the inside of his ribs. His tensed hands squeeze to keep down firecracker pops. “Oh, I thought you were all ride-or-die. All ‘It’s like Ramona and Juliet,’ yeah, shithead? Don’t come at me because you were her friend until she acted on the things you pretended to like about her.”
“We did like her!” Roundface shouts. “We didn’t know she was happy to hang out with the League! You should be as mad as we are!”
“Don’t bullshit me, Roundface. Nothin’ changed about Kyu except a dangerous situation, and we’ve all been in plenty of those. She ain’t hanging out, dumbass! She wants Shigaraki dead as anyone, and probably some more. Did they mess up your brain in the spine insertion?”
Shitty Hair marches up barely a foot away from Bakugou. “ Stop talking to them like that!”
“Students, please, I understand you’re angry, b-but—”
Katsuki’s brow furrows so hard his eyes screw shut. “Stay out of my shit All Might!” He tightens his fists harder, and shoves them down at his sides, squaring his shoulders. “So fucking what, Shitty Hair! You’re all talking about Kyu like she kicks puppies for fun. So, I ask a genuine goddamn question: Did they fuck up your brain in the spine insertion?”
“Bakubro, come on.”
“It’s a yes-or-no question. This is why you did shitty in the finals.” Katsuki jabs a finger into Shitty Hair’s chest, because he can’t keep his hands held down forever, and if anyone can take a stray snap-crackle-pop, it’s him. “You all knew her. Hated Four-eyes for her, bit your nails at Kamino for her, cheered for her, checked on her. You all almost made her sit still, the goddamn miracle. And then Psych-ward calls and says ‘my friend’s bleeding’ and the line goes dead and you expect her to, what, sit, stay, roll over?! HA!”
There’s quiet, for the tiniest, blessed moment. Katsuki would grin and gloat his victory, but he can’t muster any pride around the A-B extras. He licks his chapped lips and lets his finger drop from Shitty Hair’s chest.
“Look, think what you want, and whinge and whine— It’s about what I expected. But at least have the dignity not to lie to yourselves and to her— You looked with rose-colored glasses, and when you took ‘em off, you pretended there was never anything good to see. I might’ve kicked Aizawa where the sun don’t shine, but you’re all dicks and assholes.” A beat. Katsuki scans each of their faces, and most manage enough coherent thought to look cowed. Icy-hot is as blank as ever, and… “The hell’s Ponytail?”
A B-extra raises his hand. “She, ah, made Kyu’s phone, so she’s making a tracker.” He glances towards the 1-A girls. “Right?” There are nods and murmurs.
“Fuckin’ A. Just like that, huh?”
Dunce Face clicks his tongue. “Don’t act like we’re jerks for trying to fix this, Bakugou.”
Katsuki scoffs. “I’m impressed. Miss Prodigy actually knows a thing or two, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for the lot of you.”
“She’s way smarter than you, ” Invisible Extra says. Katsuki doesn’t dignify that with a response. It’s her fucking power, let her worry about biochem. Match us up in physics, why don’t you. Shitheel. He just glares, and eventually he gets tired of leering at the space over her empty-looking shirt, so he turns his gaze on the rest of the class.
“Alllright, all of you, that’s enough.” All Might says it in a pleasant voice, but it’s clear he’s done letting the arguments go on and on. “Everyone needs to calm down. All you Class-A kids are gonna be bunking like the summer camp again, so no kicking and waking your teachers up. We’re old .” He leans a little closer, like he’s sharing a secret. “Bakugou, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
Katsuki surveys the B-extras. “I haven’t eaten in fucking ages. I’m making curry in your kitchen.”
“Wha— Hey, that food is ours , you pig—” There’s a very distinct thwack and very nasally oof behind Katsuki. He glances over his shoulder, and copy-extra is slumped in another B-extra’s giant hand.
“There are leftovers in the fridge; no need to go through the effort.”
Katsuki nods. He figures it’ll need a hell of a lot of hot sauce, but hand-girl seems at least tolerable. He makes it about three steps toward the kitchen before another door swings open.
“Alright. Mhm. I got it, boss. Er, Mr. Principal. I can talk to ‘em now. Catch ya on the flipside.” Present Mic pockets his phone, quickly surveying the room— and the tension, which is plainly visible. A sly grin spreads across his face, full of performance and personality. “Alright, little listeners—”
Tape Face sits up. “That was Nedzu? Where’s Yaomomo?”
“She’s on her way back now with Midnight. No cause for alarm, kiddos. They found Midoriya’s location a hot minute ago, so I wanna thank y’all for the helping hand.” There’s a rush of voices, all clamoring over each other, and Present Mic lets out his performance of a laugh and a lack of tension.
Katsuki eyes the TV. They’re playing some classic childhood animated movie. If Kyu gets found, though, it’d make news. Or rather, a scene, and whatever fun new kind of property damage happened would be news. Katsuki goes for the remote.
Click. “Oh, Akiyo! I could never hate you! Now kiss me!”
“Alright, alright, little listeners, I swear there’s nothin’ I’m keeping from you! It’s late, and we don’t want a panic, so things so far have been pretty minimal, but Nedzu’s got a good handle on things.”
Click. “Washa washa! Washa washa toothpaste wash-washa!”
“In fact, with Yaoyorozu’s help we’ve got her in ‘check,’ is what Nedzu’d probably say. So no big—”
Click. “We’re on the ground now on Route Twenty-Five into Osaka, where a crowd has gathered not around a villain battle, but a roadblock. This is very unusual, but there is quite the crowd of police and hero forces behind me.”
“Bakugou, what—”
Katsuki turns the volume up and steps past the couches. “Now, we’re in an urban residential area, but given the location, and the fact that the roadblock is on the raised freeway, there’s already some expectation that there’s hope to catch a runaway villain.”
“Not sure why you’re reporting on it from thirty feet below,” Katsuki murmurs.
“Wait, did she say Osaka?” Earjacks narrows her eyes. “Why’re we watching—”
“The League,” murmurs Roundface. “They’re in Osaka.”
Shitty Hair nods. “At least, heroes are pretty sure. Either way, they visit plenty.”
Lizard-girl pauses, like she’s doing mental math. “Route Twenty-Five meets E1A. That’s basically a direct route.”
“Now that we’re all caught up,” Katsuki faux-muses, “can you shut your mouths and watch?” Nobody speaks to disagree for a moment.
“I’m… Not sure it’s a great idea to watch this, little listeners.”
Katsuki sneers. “Are you enacting my probation shit over this? We’ll see it one way or another. If she shows up, it’s going viral.” That gives Present Mic pause. “Maybe not from this shitty angle. Damn.” He’s about to switch channels again, and then there’s a commotion and a murmur and a low, sweeping sound. Like a the way a tyrannasaur growls or planes start their engines or—
“Folks, it may have been tough to see that at night, but Dragon Hero: Ryuukyuu has just arrived at the roadblock. As of right now we’re still hearing no news about who this might be or where they might be coming from. There’s no state of emergency…” The reporter pauses to look over their shoulder at the red-blue lights and heroes in costume visible from the ground. “But I’d advise that Osaka residents stay inside until we have more information on the situation.” A beat.
The station caster fills in. “Shishara, I understand that we don’t have further information, but this is quite unusual, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Usually we’d be aware of some nearby villain activity or a villain in the area, but given the hour we could speculate that information hasn’t reached the public yet. I, ah, believe Ryuukyuu is here off patrol hours, which absolutely suggests this is unusual.”
Earjacks takes a moment to pick her jaw up off the floor. “Holy shit, Ryuukyuu? ”
Raccoon-Eyes nods sharply. “She’s a top hero in Osaka with a big agency. I bet some sidekicks are already there, too.”
The room goes from tense to grim as they take in the extent of the measures. Ryuukyuu isn’t in her dragon form, but heteromorph silhouettes still stretch above the rails. A lot of them. Katsuki isn’t going to call it easy or fair, but he can’t help but scoff at his classmates finding reassurance or awe. This is just another slaughter, with a dragon instead of a robot.
“The weather’s still too heavy for the drone, which is why our field reporting is still coming from this angle. A few cars have— Have gotten through, up there, but—”
A police intercom crackles to life on the raised expressway. “Approach slowly or exit the vehicle now. ”
“Shishara, I’m hearing now that— That the helicopter is currently starting. The weather’s clear enough to fly, so we’ll be having that bird’s-eye view in about a minute.”
“Well that’s good to hear, Iwakari, because it seems like the situation is developing. We’re hearing some orders from the blockade, but there’s been no response—”
“ We don’t have to do this. ”
The whole room freezes. Katsuki feels the hairs on the back of his neck straighten, and rolls his shoulders when the shiver comes. The extras lock up around him.
“…I’m not sure if the mic caught that, Iwakari, but—”
“We got it clearly, Shishara.”
“That was from the expressway, presumably a target interacting with the blockade.” She looks over her shoulder two, three times. “We’re not seeing any further signs of conflict just yet, but we’ve got close eyes.”
“Put your hands on the dash, now !”
There’s quiet, then a change in nothing noticeable to the ear. Katsuki knows explosions all too well— This is just the flash of light and the shift in air pressure before the shockwave comes. Even though Kyu is hours away in a different city, his muscles coil and his throat tightens.
“That’s not gonna work,” Katsuki murmurs.
Shitty Hair bumps his shoulder. “Hey, there’s plenty of good heroes there!”
Dunce Face knocks against his other side. “I mean, she’s strong, but…” He wiggles his shoulders noncommittally.
“So what?” Katsuki scoffs. “You think she’s gonna get scared straight? You think they’re all set to stop her from bolting? Last I checked, Hobo-sensei is in Musutafu.”
“ I don’t want to hurt anyone. ” It’s tough to gauge distance through the TV and the rain, but maybe one-hundred feet from the roadblock, cyan light crackles to life to match the police light flashes. “ You are making that difficult. ”
Katsuki finds his body getting more knotted with tension by the moment. There’s no catharsis; only dread. He finds himself hoping, like a kid crossing his fingers for the ice cream truck. Don’t do something stupid, or arrogant, or cruel. Don’t waste a second of that fire. Ryuukyuu’s silhouette becomes clear as she transforms and wings take shape against the dark clouds above. You’re better than this. Be better than this.
“This is your final warning!”
The smoke comes fast as an explosion, expanding past the ends of the expressway and roiling as high as Ryuukyuu’s wings in just a few seconds. It doesn’t have much power against the wind and rain, but for this moment, Kyu is invisible. There’s a pause. Whether there’s a civilian or a question of force, the roadblock doesn’t attack. They all watch the smoke, waiting.
It’s so fast he almost misses it, but within the dark of the night, there are sparks of cyan. Droplets burn to steam at the apex of her leap, and Kyu yanks on Blackwhip. The smoke expands as something big within it shifts, and there are scattered shouts and movement from the heroes… But it’s too little, too late. With a heave, Kyu tugs the car she was just in from the road, whips it around, and brings it down like a missile, destined for the roadblock.
Ryuukyuu shifts, spreading her wings like a shield, and she catches the blunt of the kinetic force. It’s still enough to make her stumble, and windows on the police cars beneath her shatter and blare their alarms. The crowd ripples with panicked gasps and shouts. The on-scene reporter is dead silent.
The car on Ryuukuu’s back groans and belches smoke, but it’s far from exploding. She can’t move at risk of raining two tons of debris on the other heroes at the roadblock, but her claws dig in and crunch asphalt to hold herself firm. She still staggers when Blackwhip meets her scales.
There’s a crack of cyan light, the TV’s resolution tanks as the air pressure shifts, and the dread comes sudden and sharp as a knife; a KRAKOOM of lighting peaks the televisions speakers, and half the room yelps while the other is frozen stiff. Katsuki shudders.
“We—We’re moving to bird’s eye view now,” the anchor blurts, and there’s a moment of silent video before the switch.
The tension of the room is turning both classes shaky. When the angle becomes clear— A perfect view of Blackwhip lashing wild, then going ramrod straight, tethered between Kyu’s glowing airborne body and Ryuukyuu below. They can see her now. He can see her. Her joggers fray at the seams. She’s rain-soaked through to the bone, her skin is cold and waxy; sanded down to something corpselike. And yet, her sharp face is set in determination. And her eyes… She is looking down upon the heroes with a fire he’s seen so many times— With the fire of every whiny stop it between Katsuki and some poor nerd in elementary. Her eyes burn with light, irises forming jagged stars like nothing on earth. They’re clear for all of Japan to see, set in her blinding-white sclera, all the way through the wind and rain. And they’re glaring coldly; not impersonal or cruel, but disappointed.
She moves, and sixty frames per second is woefully imperceptive— There’s a bolt of cyan, and then an impact. The air pressure snaps, like the curl of whip in slow motion finally passing the point of a sonic boom. Police roofs indent and streetlights flicker. The sound of vehicles groaning and shifting finally meets its apex when a police van skids into the rail and the whole expressway groans, metal lurching over the crowd.
The on-scene reporter lifts her ducked head, ready to say something inane— It has, after all, been nearly three seconds since the impact. Behind her, the crowd is beginning to scatter. Too little, too late. Damn extras. But above them, on the top half of the screen, is the starstorm of lightning and roar of dragons and Quirks and panicked heroes. Blue, red, and streetlamp-white all burn away where they meet the cyan glow. She’s not in frame, but Kyu is clearly on top of Ryuukyuu.
Even with super-strength, that’s risky. She could toss you further down; make you engage with the heroes on their terms. So there’s no way you’d take her head-on, is there…?
“The helicopter is on its way now; Shishara, if your safety is a question then get out of there.”
The on-scene reporter glances between the camera and the fighting. Whatever is happening on the expressway can’t be seen, but there’s another whipcrack ripple through the air that has glass raining from shattered windows and Shishara squeaking and moving away. The camera shifts in awkward hands, but never leaves the groaning expressway. The camera’s movement makes Blackwhip stand out from the faraway night sky, and there’s a sense of awe akin to watching a tornado rip apart a house in seeing trunks of shadow pierce the air like spider’s legs, for glimpses so short they almost seem like tricks of the light.
The extras around him blabber into the moment of bated breath. “Is that…”
“No way that’s Blackwhip,” Dunce Face murmurs.
Roundface grimaces. “Even when she couldn’t control it, it wasn’t like that…”
All Might is stock still. Katsuki only notices how close he’s drifted to the TV when he murmurs, “… ’Blackwhip responds to heightened emotions…’” It’s like he’s recalling a fact— From the original user’s Quirk registry, no doubt. The reality of the situation sets in quick without denial as a shield.
Soundlessly, the screen switches from ground-level to the helicopter. Police and their vehicles are strewn about like toy soldiers under grubby, destructive child fingers. Under a living storm and all her shadow-limbs. There’s unsettlingly little to see; no gashes in asphalt nor blood mixing with rain to demonstrate her destruction, like the unconscious, disarmed, or cowering bodies were placed on an intact stage.
A new voice, feminine and quick, picks up. “We’re seeing now from the helicopter that— There appears to be at least one villain assaulting the roadblock—”
The heroes put up more of a fight, with Quirk training and villain combat experience on their side. Some don’t have the tools to evade or break free, but the rest move quickly. Kyu is standing at the heart of the storm on Ryuukyuu’s back, half-crouched. A well-oiled machine might use that to put her on the back foot, but the plan is already in the wind, and the heroes go for the next step: Direct confrontation, with the understanding that their technique and power outmatches most opponents. It’s the sloppy sort of engagement that makes big news, big property damage, and little sense. A desperate grab at victory is liable to fail when it’s down to the likes of… Katsuki won’t even pretend to know their names.
A man with black fur is agile enough to escape the tendrils, and strong enough to bound onto Ryuukyuu’s back. He fights a little like Tail, but whatever his Quirk is, it’s not enough to disable Kyu. A lance of shadow pins his foot, giving her the space to deliver a vicious kick. The man is gone as soon as he jumped up. It’s the same story when a woman with a scorpion tail hops up. They’re recovering almost as fast as they’re getting knocked down, but Katsuki can tell that their bruised ribs and battered limbs are worse off than the scuffs on her parka.
“If I’m not mistaken, this is Nightlight’s Quirk, but— I’m afraid this raises more questions than answers. It certainly seems like the strength that matched up to the Demon of Kamino…!”
Ryuukyuu is the real threat, but by the time she shakes off the daze and starts to fight the weight on her back, Kyu has already tossed aside the first wave of hero assaults. Blackwhip and the smoke-power blaze out of her skin, creating a cloud of gray-purple that only she can move in safely. There are horrid metal groans and screeches like the cars and the expressway being ripped to bits. There’s a much closer THUD, like something has slammed into the underbelly of the helicopter.
“Woah, what was that?!”
Ryuukyuu’s roar covers the sound of the thud, and as her head rises above the smoke, she starts to flap her wings. Her eyes search the smoke, but she hesitates to walk when she can’t see if she’ll step on anyone.
Her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare, and she braces an instant before a car door crashes into her cheekbone. It still looks gnarly, and she rears back in a way that looks slow and dramatic with her sheer size and power. Blackwhip slings more tires and doors her way, but despite the blows sending up sparks and crashes where they meet her scales, she claws at the place in the smoke where it’s coming from. Her flapping wings dispel the smoke enough to make out a mass of shadow and debris swirling around in a defensive. Spires of shadow lash at streetlamps, railings, and the air. One even reaches up to the helicopter.
The camera collapses off whatever balancing device it was resting on. The view becomes an unfocused flurry of shoes in the helicopter, and the stormy night beyond that. Below, the screech of metal and supermoves continues as the heroes tear into the shadow-and-debris aegis. But above, Kyu’s gnarled fingers stretch over the lip of the helicopter, and slam down hard enough to buzz through the whole chassis. She drags herself over the edge, and the camera finds clarity as it focuses on her wild eyes and lightning skin.
“Oh, gods, it really is you. Nightlight, what—”
CLANG. The Knightriders fall heavy and meet metal with metal, and it’s a sharp enough sound to make the reporter’s breath stop in her lungs. CLANG. Her steps lope, clearly exhausted, but there’s menace in the power she conjures and shadows spiring out of her back despite that. CLANG. She stands barely in frame; only below the waist of her right leg. She’s clearly speaking to the reporter, because her husky, thin voice comes right through her microphone despite the helicopter rotor.
“Northwest.” Kyu shifts, leaning low first, and then lurching upward. It’s like she’s holding someone up by their collar. “Take the heli—” She wheezes in a breath, fighting the exhaustion in every inch of her. “Northwest. Industrial dis’rict.” There’s a gentle thud as Kyu straightens, and the reporter’s shoe scrambling on the floor comes into frame. She crawls out of view, frantic. The only sound is her panicked breaths and whimpers.
The angle of the sky changes— Or, rather, the helicopter tilts into motion. Tendrils of shadow thin and snap away, leaving the unseen heroes to discover the decoy. Kyu staggers back, as if to collapse against the wall, but she catches herself. Her hair hangs in a soaked, tangled mess around her face. Her eyes still glow, like a vengeful spirit, but they don’t spare a glance for the camera. Her shoulders heave with each breath, like she can’t catch it. The only sound is the reporter, like Kyu is the spectre sending her into panic.
The moment ends. Kyu shoves herself off the wall and stalks toward the front of the helicopter. The direction becomes clear when her strained voice comes against the mic again.
“Keep your eyes forward.” A wheeze. “You don’t want to know where I am. You want plausible deniability.”
There’s no verbal answer, but she must be satisfied, because with a few more footsteps, Kyu is back in front of the camera. Even exhausted, the lack of sound makes her seem quick as a viper, and just as unpredictable. Her arm snaps down, swirling with Blackwhip, and snatches the camera up. Her splayed hand covers most of the lens. Through its fingers, Katsuki can see the glower in her eyes. It is the last thing he sees before the shadows and the fingers tense, and the camera is crushed like a soda can.
Notes:
whoo boy!! Today’s 8/30/24, which means it’s Switcheroo’s second birthday. For two years (and a fair amount before) this story has meant a lot to me, and I’m glad I’ve been able to share 69 (nice) chapters with you. There’s no bonus story this year, but this chapter is like 1.5x standard length :P
Writing action from an outside perspective was pretty fun. Kyu is always focused on finding/making openings and the moment-to-moment exchange of blows, and that’s very fun to write, but sometimes takes away from the weight. I’m aware that Kyu’s power level might be tuned a little past canon, but if the Final War arc is about “someone as strong as all might,” 20% + BW has every right to be insane.
Chapter 70: Kazuho
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Shouta hardly has time to see Recovery Girl before his communicator lights up again— All buzzes and dings and check the news. Any news.
Heal’s dead tiredness and the rain’s chill numb his fingers, but a spark of panic lights up his spine as he surveys headlines. Heroes wounded, they say. Nightlight running rampant, or Nightlight gone rogue. Former UA student turned villain.
His boots meet the ivory tile of UA’s halls hammering on the stairs to take him up four flights in no time at all. To his shock, Nedzu is not squirreled away in his office. He’s walking hurriedly down the hall with a thermos in hand.
Shouta is out of breath, but words tumble out of his clumsy mouth anyway. “What the hell happened to a ‘carefully-assembled team’?!”
Nedzu’s ear flick and the fur of his nape ripples. “Nightlight happened,” he says summarily.
Shouta scoffs. “Yagi might be an oaf, but if you’re going to be this aloof—”
“If I had known the extent of her power— Known the extent of her will — I never would have let this come about, Aizawa. Do not disrespect me with such a notion.” His teeth show past thin lips when he breathes in, but no matter how his shoulders rise and fall like a full sigh, his hackles are still raised. “I need to… To reassess. Consider the predicament with fresh eyes.” He nods to himself. “I still do not believe Miss Midoriya has been the source of the majority of 1-A’s problems. Nevertheless, there is something I overlooked, or worse, underestimated .” He hisses the last word, ruffled enough to growl quietly.
“If it’s any consolation, I think we all underestimated her,” Shouta grumbles. He can’t help but be displeased with himself; all of the inconsistencies that made up Midoriya Kyu warranted different steps weeks or months ago. All of this has just been the natural consequence of the minefield they already walked into.
“I suppose I could find reassurance in our common failures, yes. Nothing changes the work to be done.” Nedzu chirps. “Ah, well, as they say, hm? Plus Ultra.” With another pause, Nedzu takes a long sip of tea from his thermos. When he’s done, and the sealed lid clacks back into place, he finally looks settled. His animal eyes are as beady as ever, but less wild.
“Now then, I need to think. While my office is often a good place for that, I fear I may be too cooped up.” His free paw rests behind his back, and his ears twitch; playful but polite. “I have nothing but respect for Haniiyo’s vigor, but there is a time and place for tactical retreat. My mind and my connections are better spent elsewhere.”
Shouta glances towards the Principal’s oak doors with a grimace. With a sigh, he turns away, dismissing them entirely. “You have something in mind?”
Nedzu hums. “I need to clear my head, I said.”
Shouta narrows his eyes. “Humor me.”
“We’ll have to wait for the kind Detective regardless, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to set out now, would it…? No, it would not.” Nedzu raises his snout, giving Shouta an expectant gaze. If the rat wants to nest on his rain-soaked shoulder, it’s his funeral.
“Where are going, exactly…?”
“Charter plane. We do have a case to connect with in Osaka, after all.”
Shouta frowns. “We wouldn’t go just for that— Particularly not with Tsukauchi. You want to talk to someone.” Shouta’s eyes flicker while thoughts spin through his head, but it’s useless. Still, the only real option is… “Her driver? I didn’t think any information about them was out yet. I don’t even know if they’re detained.”
“But they will be by the time we land in Osaka, I think.” Shouta narrows his eyes at that. It’s true, but strikes him as profoundly odd. Nedzu isn’t really fickle, much less… Whatever this is. Feeling his shoulder tense, Nedzu chuffs. “Is it so hard to believe that I wish to stretch my legs, and feel them touch down on the scene? As I said: Now is the time for me to reassess. I was wrong about Miss Midoriya Kyu. And isn’t that interesting! Answers await, and the hole in my understanding yawns and yearns for its missing piece.”
Shouta relents, boots making quick pace back down the stairs and towards the front of the building. He considers checking in with Hizashi, but places that inevitable earful at the bottom of his priorities. Beneath sleep, or rest at all, and beneath the ache of bruises and the pang of hunger. It’s been a long time since he lost a student, rather than seen their flaws with watchful eyes and pruning them early. He asks Nedzu, “how are the students?”
“Oh, quite unsettled. From what I hear, young Mister Bakugou pieced things together rather quick, and the first-years saw the event live. Though it should be said that there hasn’t been fighting.” A beat. “Beyond pointed words. Our probation case is rather staunch in his beliefs.”
Shouta hums weary agreement as he plucks an umbrella from the foyer— For his passenger’s sake— and shoves through the doors, into the death-whines of a storm, faded to breeze and drizzle as gentle as a kiss. “What do you think?”
“Hm. I don’t know that I agree with him, but his presence should keep 1-A’s students from working themselves into a frenzy, if nothing else. A bit of dissent and reflection is a fine sedative to rising tensions and groupthink.”
Shouta turns the idea around in his head. He hadn’t considered that his students might work themselves up into thinking or doing something stupid, but it’s par for the course. Maybe Nedzu is right— As ever. “Do you want to call Tsukauchi, or will I?”
“Do feel free,” Nedzu chirps.
Shouta pokes through his contacts with his free hand. Tsukauchi is near the top, where he’s been steadily since the start of the year. Shouta curses all the bad luck and the Boogeyman for every step they’ve taken. Every step into the middle of the minefield.
Tsukauchi picks up on the second ring. “What’s your report?”
“Nedzu and I are taking a plane to Osaka. You’re welcome to join.”
Tsukauchi clicks his tongue. “Ah, I might beat you there for once, Eraserhead. I’ve been on the road since you gave the order for a roadblock.”
Shouta sags at the idea of being stuck on a plane alone with Nedzu. “I see. Why?”
“Oh, I hoped it’d work, but this is the sort of case that demands my presence regardless.”
“With the overwork you’re prone to, one would think you’re too busy for a waltz four prefectures over.”
“Har har, Eraserhead. This girl has been on my radar for a while, and you know that.” Tsukauchi’s tone veers to joking, with the camaraderie of tar-coffee in paper cups, but the sense that there’s something more doesn’t disappear from Shouta’s mind. “What’s got Nedzu leaving his castle?”
“Same as you,” Shouta grumbles. After a beat, he sighs and forges on. “And he’s interested in the driver. Whoever they are.”
“I suppose we’ll see each other in an interrogation room, then.”
“If we’re lucky. Have they been detained yet?”
“…Don’t think so. Can’t be as hard as getting a grip on Kyuubi, though.”
“Then I’ll see you there.”
Shouta’s head doesn’t stop swirling with thought when he ends the call. He can feel the headache prodding at his temples and the tension of his furrowed brow. He’s being dragged around by three different parties, but none of them have answers, no matter how many questions appear to him. Not with Nedzu, Tsukauchi, and Yagi all having their eyes fixed on her. Not with the mask of heroism, and the respirator of art, and love, and whatever’s under that. Not with three disparate Quirks. All it points to is the unflinching idea that it must be interconnected. That Nedzu must have his paw in this pie for the same reason Midoriya is devastatingly powerful, and Yagi must be on her side for the same reason Tsukauchi’s critical eye lays her sins bare.
With the city lights dim beneath low, storm-dark clouds, the murky image of a gunmetal skull arises. Shouta cannot help but seethe that he has nothing but questions. That the importance of Midoriya has slipped his grasp, and that All For One has his baleful, eyeless glare on her too.
When the plane lands, Shouta is quick to stand. Not reinvigorated, but marching on with a certain sense of responsibility, or inevitability. With a sense that…
“Don’t look so sour. It’s a lead.”
… I am not a player in this game, and I am not a pawn. I am an unexpected element, and this conspiracy will not toy with me.
When the chips are down, and Kyuubi is in the wind, with the Symbol of Peace and the Devil fixing her in the center of their sights, Eraserhead is your man.
“They’re detained?”
Nedzu hums in affirmative, scaling Shouta’s shoulder. “She’s been in police custody for twenty minutes, now.”
The Osaka prefecture’s police headquarters glimmers in the night like an obsidian obelisk. Not only is it the hub of most police activity in the city, it’s better equipped for dangerous villains than any typical division. The centerpiece architecture of curving glass stands atop a foundation of cement like a fortress, And it’s here that high-ranking officers lord over heroes in a way that makes Shouta bristle.
With a fleet of patrol cars sitting empty and ready, and the swarming busybodies besides, Shouta has to park at the far end of the lot. The walk across rain-slick asphalt is both short and dreadfully long. His mind is still embroiled in its scattered thoughts, but he’s already squaring his shoulders to deal with an uncooperative suspect and an even less cooperative Commissioner.
Shouldering through glass doors into a granite-tiled lobby, Shouta is reminded of stuffy men in suits swarming at the feet of stocks and day-trading. The officers here dress finely, and their tender hands rest in their pockets. Every flaw in limelight heroism, but in an officer of the law. When he glares, they glare back right down their noses.
Nedzu gives quick directions, and Shouta barely has to look at where he’s going before they’re on their way from granite into concretel and fist-thick glass. There are metal detectors and pocket checks, but Shouta quickly decides it’s not worth his time. They can keep his utility belt and capture weapon, for now— He’s sent through quickly anyway. One of the officers there gives him a paper card for temporary ID and points towards the wing of interrogation rooms. “ DI-14, down the hall on the right. Chief Inspector Tsukauchi just went the same way.”
It’s weird hearing his official rank, Shouta decides. He gives the officer a short nod and walks on. This time, Nedzu remains at his side, instead of on his shoulder. Shouta marches along under perfectly-spaced fluorescent lights. Even with a far wall of concrete, the repetition makes the hall seem like it goes on for miles.
The interrogation room is a basic but secure thing, with a metal table meant for anchoring handcuffs, a bolted-down chair for the suspect, and a one-way mirror. There are microphones and cameras available as well. Shouta opens the door to the observation room for Nedzu.
“Ah, now that is interesting,” the rat chirps. Shouta follows him, shutting the door and taking a look through the mirror.
Tsukauchi’s back is to them, and it’s only because of the officer at the start of the wing that Shouta knows the black hair and trenchcoat to be his. Across the metal table, with her arms laid out as to be comfortably bound, is the driver. She has cat-eye gasses with mismatched lenses— The right is a thick thing that makes her eye look cartoonishly big, and the left is an impenetrably dark sunglass. Her hair is thick and pink, with ends fried by the dye and curls tangled in a still-damp mess that fluffs around her head. Her bangs fall towards her left eye, half-covering it, but the controlled chaos is pulled into a high ponytail. They must’ve taken her coat, because all she’s wearing is a basic gray mock-neck.
“Goddammit all.” Shota sighs, a sudden sense of I-should-know-you tumbling over itself and ballooning into recognition in his skull. It eats up thought, makes everything else freeze like it’s suspended in amber.
Nedzu chuckles in a decidedly faux -polite way. “Whatever is the matter, Aizawa?”
“I’d say déjà vu, but I don’t believe in coincidences. It has to be the same old story a decade over, ripping up everything I thought was left behind— And for some reason, there’s still a nagging feeling of orchestration.”
“Oh really. You overstate your age, you know. You’ll make a Principal feel old. You’re certainly dramatic as ever.”
“Special circumstances. I never thought I’d see her again.”
Nedzu chuffs. “Nobody was stopping you from calling.”
“Good heroes aren’t keen on keeping random kids in their inner circle. It would be for the best if I never saw her again; because she got a job and an apartment somewhere far, far away from business like mine.”
“And yet, despite that sense of sentimentality, the thought persists: Perhaps this situation was avoidable…”
“Perhaps,” Shouta says, disagreement plain in his tone. “I didn’t want to do that to her. It’s not my job to burden children.”
“All your worry, yet you still find her in a similar situation as the one you originally met her in. Just without information or familiarity. Really Aizawa, I at least send the occasional ‘holiday’ card.”
“ Nothing about this situation is similar.”
“Aiding a vigilante doesn’t ring any bells for you?”
“That’s…”
“Don’t be so glum, Eraserhead. I daresay she’ll be happy to see you, and you could stand to meet an old friend.”
Tsukauchi clears his throat and shuffles in his seat. “Could you, ah, state your name for the record, please.”
“Seriously, Detective?” The driver asks.
“For the record,” he repeats tiredly.
“Your sister says you work too much. I agree— We should get lunch.”
“ Your name for the record,” he corrects.
She leans past her elbows, laying her weight onto the metal table. Her face takes an unreadable polite quality, but the air of drama and sarcasm persists. Shouta is reminded of a bratty student, not a twenty-something getaway driver. “My fans and my friends call me Pop, but the record can call me Haneyama Kazuho.”
“It really is Pop☆Step again , ” Shouta murmurs.
Nedzu hums. “She certainly is. Though if records are to be believed, she has not been Pop☆Step for roughly six years— That is, since the events preceding the Naruhata Lockdown.”
Shouta grumbles, both at even the suggestion that she’s been squeaky-clean, and that, simply put, “I was there, you know.”
Tsukauchi nods. “Miss Haneyama. How familiar are you with Midoriya Kyu?”
Haneyama shrugs, then tilts her head this way and that. Her cuffs rattle at the motion. “I didn’t know her before tonight.” She pauses, and raises a finger to correct herself. “I knew of her. I knew of the student-hero Nightlight. I didn’t know anyone she might’ve associated herself with, and I didn’t know she was Kyuubi.”
Tsukauchi pauses to jot a few things down. “Were you familiar with Kyuubi at all?”
She laughs. “I wish. Well, our aesthetics don’t really match, but she seems like the sort of person I’d want to know.”
“Did you make any attempts to contact her, then?”
“Nope.”
“What led to your meeting on this night, then?”
“A little birdie.”
Tsukauch sets his notepad in his lap, and looks up at her expectantly. Haneyama grins back. “Miss Haneyama—”
“Oh, I didn’t know a thing about her, really. What I do know is that… Well…” She takes a deep breath, sitting up straight. “My insurance is not going to cover that.”
“Haneyama—”
“I am so boned, Tsukauchi. That car was, like, fifty years old and used. I will thank the gods if I get pocket lint out of that, but pocket lint does not a mode of transportation make.” She shakes her head solemnly. “I’m mega-boned, Tsukauchi. And I’m not going to beg your sister for money, despite the fact that she sort of keeps looking at me like I’m a sad stray dog.”
Tsukachi looks at her like she’s stupid, “Haneyama, Japan’s transportation infrastructure—”
“Have you ever tried lugging an entire band’s worth of equipment onto the subway! Legal? Yes. Makes you feel like an asshole? Also yes! Wheeling in a fucking hardware cart stacked with sound equipment isn’t exactly a grocery cart! I look to my right? Grandma with a two layer cart. I look to my left? Student with a fucking backpack. Me? I bring on two huskies worth of luggage and I’m just supposed to-”
Tsukauchi cuts in a little louder this time. “Well maybe there’s something to be done— Until we find Midoriya Kyu, we can’t do it. If there’s any information —”
Haneyama looks down at her nails. “Am I under arrest, officer?” Her eye flicks up, cold and watchful from beneath her glasses. “I do so appreciate the red carpet—” She gestures to the restraints and the facility— “But this doesn’t get my car back, and I don’t particularly care whether you find Kyuubi or not. She’ll lose you again.” She smiles politely. “So, for the record, why don’t you tell me if I’m free to go? Because if I’m not, it’s weird that I’m in handcuffs. Detective.”
Tsukauchi pauses. Nedzu chuffs. “Perhaps we should intervene.” Shouta moves in large steps, sweeping ahead of him to open the door and make his way to the other side of the mirror.
“You are not under arrest, Miss Haneyama,” Tsukauchi sighs.
“ But, perhaps you could be,” Nedzu chirps.
“Eraser,” Haneyama smiles broad enough to squeeze her eye half-shut. Something aches in Shouta’s chest. “Would be nice to meet in better circumstances. Who’s your friend?”
“Am I a mouse? A dog? A bear? What’s important is this: Haneyama Kazuho, you were pardoned on the understanding of working with an international hero and an altered mental state. However, if the peculiarities of his interactions with you were studied, or you were found to continue those activities with sound mind and body, that would be rather bad for you!” Nedzu climbs up on a chair beside Tsukauchi and steeples his paws. “So, Miss Haneyama, you are not under arrest. Do you mind if we ask as few questions?”
Silence. Haneyama narrows her eyes. “Shoot.”
Tsukauchi nods, looking down at his notepad again. “You hadn’t met Midoriya Kyu or any of her aliases before tonight, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“But you met her somewhere around four hours ago, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Could you describe that meeting?”
Haneyama frowns, but nods. “A friend gave her my number.”
“A friend…?”
Haneyama nods. “I have a lot of friends, Tsukauchi. We could speculate all night. But a friend gave her my number.” She pauses. Sighs. Looks down at her nails again, and her frizzy hair falls over her face. “She called and said she needed help. She said she was stuck in Musutafu, and needed to get to Osaka. At first— Well, I thought it was… A bad home. I know that sort of thing. I can get why my number would end up in those hands.”
Tsukauchi nods. “Could you elaborate? Is that what you believed of Midoriya?”
Haneyama huffs out a laugh. “My opinion hasn’t exactly changed.” She sits up a little straighter, but she’s left in an awkward position. The bolted chair is a little too big, and a little too far from the table’s anchor. “She said it’d be faster on foot, but that she was hurt. And she was hurt. I got in my car and went to find her, and she fell into the passenger seat half-conscious. Burning up, wheezing on every inhale. I wouldn’t call that a healthy home.”
“That was the first time you saw her face-to-face?”
“Yeah. Beaten up, needing out and to get to someone in Osaka. And whatever got to her, she got back. All bloody knuckles and air fried, or charged— Something you could smell . And I knew, y’know, that’s Nightlight. Except, not really, ‘cause I knew the second I saw her that she was running from Nightlight.” Her one-eye gaze does not glare or gleam with malice, but it is piercing nonetheless. “She was running from you. That was the price, that shitty beer or can soup can’t really fix. Stuff that left fleshy bits and purple-swollen broken bones. that was always the cost of getting away from you, and out to Osaka… So I drove. I couldn’t say no to that.”
Her eye doesn’t meet his, but Shouta can see it unfocus just a little as loneliness grips her like a vice. How could she ever say no? Guilt aches in his chest. He knows just as well as her that Crawler was all but exiled, and this time she got to intervene.
Tsukauchi forges on. “Knowing you were fleeing heroes?”
Haneyama’s exposed eyebrow lowers. “Knowing I was in arm’s reach of Kyuubi, sure. Police or heroes are a little abstract.”
Tsukauchi leans forward. “Did she threaten you, or make you feel unsafe?”
She bats her eyelashes. “Oh, well, Detective, she didn’t need to. I was just a civilian trying to do what I could, and felt quite unsettled on my own, and it’s sort of like how they say to hand over your money if you get mugged. I’d never put myself at risk like that.” She takes a deep breath, letting the sarcasm melt out of her body. “She barely spoke. I didn’t ask questions; most of them seemed pointless, and she was dead on her feet. I think she splinted her wrist using the first aid kit, and I know her injured leg was on the dash— That’s how I saw it, I mean.” Haneyama pauses, worrying at her lip. “I think— I think she was sleeping. But I don’t really know— She looked all tense and sunken-eyed the whole time. And every time the engine sputtered or I braked, her eyes would snap open wide like she’d never even closed them.”
Shouta grimaces. It doesn’t take much to imagine it; Midoriya was jumpy even when she’s dead on her feet, soaked to the bone like a stray cat in the rain. He remembers Crawler, for an instant— taking shelter from the rain with a wet little kitten. He remembers beating Crawler down with reality, that cats are expensive and intensive and one does not take on a life lightly. He remembers the Hotta brothers and the NL-Villains getting their act back together with a cat cafe. He remembers the dream of a joint agency getting washed away in the rain, and burning away Hizashi’s Voice before it could give him a second of pause.
Is Midoriya like Mittens the cat, or is she like me? Shouta wonders. The thought turns bitter— At the obvious answer, at the total failure, at seeing a kid act anything like Aizawa Shouta. What’s the point of Eraserhead, if there’ll ever be another one of him?
It’s always vigilantes making him sentimental. Shouta’s dry eyes sting with oncoming tears, but he crams the feelings back down and levels his gaze at Pop. She’s looking back at him, soft and with a stoic humor, like it’s just the two of them in the room. Her eye watches expectantly, as if to say “when are dumb and dumber leaving so we can really talk.” He understands it quickly— Gray-area groups are tight-knit, and outsiders are not welcome. It’s a little like the Hotta brothers, or a thousand others Shouta has met and known not to arrest. There’s a stinging in his chest, still, when he breathes out and feels the thorny realization waiting there: Midoriya is an insider now. She’s theirs, safe in the web and unyielding to the likes of a prybar or a plea deal.
“You said you didn’t care if we find her.”
Hanenyama’s eye meets his. With it fixed on him, he realizes why it’s so piercing— There’s no pink heart-shaped contacts masking her. Her eye is fiery amber-brownw. “Do you think it’ll matter if you do?” She leans to the side. “Well, it might if you do. But nobody ever caught Crawler, and he was being hunted by the Demon of Kamino and the likes of Endeavor.” She spits that name, and the hostility there is a clear end of any productive conversation with Tsukauchi.
Shouta leans over the table, past Tsukauchi and Nedzu. They fade into the background, out of the harshest light of the room such that they’re blended with the concrete behind them. “There’s a difference in public support, and Midoriya isn’t familiar with this city, like you two were in Tokyo. Even if she’s savvy enough to keep low, she doesn't have any local love on her side. The deck is really stacked against her, because Pop☆Step and Crawler were just kids doing their best who would be better at home. That’s not what Midoriya is facing. She’s out there, alone, and she’s my student.”
Haneyama’s gaze is unflinching. She’s still tilting one way, but goes still, half-leaned, like a predator all too close. “Alone? Eraser, if she has my number, she’s got others.”
“Any idea where she got it from?”
“Big Sis.”
Shouta shakes his head. “You don’t have siblings.”
“Oh, whatever. Not blood ones, but that’s what people call her. Simple as.” She pauses to let him play catch-up, then smiles and says, “humans are communal creatures. We make big, messy families.” She smiles, sort of wry and sort of sad. Skycrawler is an American hero, and Knuckleduster is back to being a solitary old bastard. Whoever she’s got now is new.
“Contact through her graffiti persona,” Shouta murmurs. “That doesn’t make sense. She was never all too connected, even as Kyuubi.”
“You knew.” It’s not a question.
“Heroes are sworn to respond to Quirk crimes,” Shouta says curtly. “But the point is that your support system fell into Kyuubi’s hands, didn’t it?”
“Oh, I’d bet it did anything but fall. I bet it was pressed into her hands like a promise, on the way out of a place she felt comfortable in. I bet she turned it down and found it in her pocket— Same old song, Eraser, of people who can’t help but reach out. That’s what it’s like, in a big happy family. We keep each other safe. You can hunt her through grimy squats and apartments held together with duct tape all you want, Eraser. But Kyuubi ain’t alone. Someone out there made sure that she wouldn’t be, no matter what happens.” Haneyama sighs, almost sounding wistful. “So Kyuubi calls me, battered and friendless, and I lend whatever I can, like I would any girl that called me and sounded like that. People like that are the reason I’m alive today, and I was paying it forward. The reason I don’t care if you find her is because there are a thousand tiny pushes at her back, now. There’s nothing you can do to hurt her.”
“This ‘Big Sis’ leads straight to the underground.”
“Way, way down,” Haneyama purrs, “and then some. But that’s why we made it to Osaka at all, isn’t it? ‘Cause you thought she wouldn’t have friends.” She clicks her tongue. “Big Sis mentioned that she gave my number to Kyuubi. That’s the big bow on it all, ‘kay? And she said, ‘this girl is gonna change everything. This girl does one throwup and Japan watches. She does a piece and Japan wakes up. She calls for help, and a million hands come up to help; every villain and every vigilante and every queer worth their salt.’”
Silence. Nedzu’s paws clap together. “Then I suppose it’s time we get to work, hm?” He laughs, chirping out his next thought like it’s a very funny joke. “We’re not getting anything useful out of a revolutionary.”
Haneyama’s eye slowly, finally drifts from Shouta, back to Tsukauchi. “That mean I’m free to go, officer…?”
“…Yes. But if you ever change your mind or— Or learn anything worth sharing about this family…”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got your number,” Haneyama says, smiling wide again. It catapults Shouta back years, to that smile persisting in spite of any heroes or villains coming for Pop’s hide. And then like a rubber band, he’s back in the present. Haneyama’s cuffs are off, and she rubs her wrists at the raw red circles around them. Nedzu and Tsukauchi both clear out, for whatever reports or duties they have in mind.
“I can’t believe it’s you again,” Shouta says after a pause. She doesn’t look up from her wrists.
“History goes a lot like a second verse. Keep the tune and rhyme pattern, change a few words around, and amp up the instrumental.” After a pause, she adds, “Kyuubi might be stronger than Number Six, but ‘far as I can tell, she’s not part of some brainwashing, Quirk-snatching terrorist scheme.”
“Low bar,” Shouta grumbles, “but she’s working with the League—”
“Not yet, she isn’t. Nobody’s escalating unless you hurt whoever she’s so desperate to reunite with in Osaka.” Haneyama smiles again. “Y’know, in a way, she’s a lot like you, Eraser.”
“I don’t get attached,” Shouta lies.
“It’s why you don’t let yourself get attached. Because you’d care so much you’d kill and die over it.” She hesitates, seeming uncertain for the first time since he’s walked in. “But you went and did it, didn’t you?” He doesn’t answer. His hands knit into tight fists within his pockets. “Never for people like us, huh? Could never look us in the eye. ‘Emotions get in the way of things.’ It was just that she got to you before she became who she is.” Haneyama’s voice is bitter and gravelly. Shouta feels her anger; takes her anger, but he doesn’t meet her eye. “Good luck, Eraser. I hope we don’t meet again.”
She leaves him there, in the interrogation room. An ache in his chest persists, with a thousand faces and names and unanswered questions. He knows not to get caught up thinking about Oboro, but he’s doing it anyway. Numb fingers pass through unanswered messages, all business and long-suffering friends, but he doesn’t even spare a thought for Hizashi or Nemuri or any of them.
Elsewhere, Tsukauchi files his report and delves into sludge-thick bullpen coffee and Osaka’s underground. Nedzu digs his paws into every hero contact and spins every headline and story as best he can. But Haneyama’s words linger— Along with the sense that it won’t be as easy or fast as they’d like.
Notes:
so i think at this point i'm not even pretending to have an upload schedule? anyway weekly with like five asterisks
Yet another characterization-as-i-write moment wherein I slowly move from “kazuho is friends with makoto tsukauchi” to “is kazuho fucking makoto tsukauchi?” but it’s ambiguous and my beta has pointed out that she’s more transfem cursed to be het than anything else.
She also helped shape the eraser&pop re-meeting, so thanks again to ToolAssisstedRat!At this point there are probably fewer Kyu-less chapters ahead of us than behind us, but we'll be seeing some more Mirko and 1-A before we see a thought in Kyu's head. No promises, because these chapters bloom as I write them, and they're some of my favorites
Chapter 71: Doctor Atl
Summary:
Last we left off, Shouta was left reeling after talking to Haneyama Kazuho and discovering that the past won't leave him and Kyu has an unexpected support network due to her graffiti persona. While the police force and Shouta's efforts try to track her down, Nedzu turns to address the media.
This chapter, Rumi learns what happened and addresses it her own way.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sunrise comes slow, but the first beams of light cut through the sky like blades. Stormclouds bleed into rivers of orange, and on the street, puddles from the night before burn away, slow and hot. There are a sleepless few who shutter their blinds and grit their teeth, but some are just waking up.
Rumi’s hair sticks to her neck, wet and shining like sugar glass, as the light of the day sheathes itself in the tangled mess. The light cuts straight through her eyelids, and has her blinking awake a few minutes ahead of her alarm. She doesn’t like to linger in bed, and kicks off her blankets to start stretching. She doesn’t do anything gently, but each stretch is just slow enough for her waking body to manage; each one just enough to burn sore muscles and wake up old injuries without re-damaging them.
She changes the dressings on the worst of the clone-Dabi burns. She brushes her hair and drinks her coffee. She is ignorant until the moment that she deigns to check her phone while brushing her teeth.
Rumi is used to springing into motion the moment her ears catch a fight coming. This is different; this makes something in her chest seize and her toothbrush clumsily fall to the counter. She narrows her eyes and blinks as if that will change what she sees. Then she checks headlines from other news stations. And it’s a headline on every news station. Each is a little different, but together they are a condemning horde. Rumi is not dreaming, and the reports can’t be lies. There’s no denying it.
Her kit’s split, and split hard. Bolted down to Osaka in the middle of the night and blown straight through anyone trying to stop her. She’s local— She could be barely a hop away. But despite that, there were no knocks on Rumi’s door to break the rain and the quiet. Rumi isn’t sure what to think. Instead, memories rise to the forefront of her brain.
She remembers the kit’s phone glowing when her voice was too weak to say the words. “I have friends here.” She also remembers Toga Himiko’s crooning voice, like a hyena’s laugh. Like freedom and a schoolgirl’s gossipy secret and her lovesick blush. “Lepóridos Luna for life!” Something twists in Rumi’s gut, because there’s a very simple explanation for all of it. Like a hammer to a nail. Like bandages on Kyu’s neck, over the hickies and the bites.
“Nothing’s gonna stop Nightlight blazing bright.” That sure worked out. I know I wasn’t lying to myself. It was something a little more than that. Rumi doesn’t know what to do. She feels the itch to suit up, bound through the city and chase Kyu out of whatever burrowhole she’s found. But for just about the first time in her life, she hesitates. She feels like she’s in molasses, worse than any concussion she’s had. Her fingers are getting cold. She’s paralyzed by… By…
“Dammit.” Rumi’s fingers squeeze the bathroom counter, but the laminate is unyielding. “Fuckin’ hell.” Her glare snaps up at the mirror, as if to say ‘what do you think you’re looking at,’ but her glare doesn’t scare her reflection off. She sees someone unfamiliar— someone clammy and a mess. Sweat glistens, and spitle and toothpaste hang to the bottom of her lip. She doesn't see her eyes glaring, like she knows they are. In the mirror, they’re wide and glassy.
Rumi tears her eyes away feeling helpless. Silly and ineffective. Damn good support system I made. Damn good job I did with a kit. I never take on kits, what was I thinking—
Rumi’s phone buzzes, a sharp sound across the cheap counter. She doesn’t know the number, and almost denies the call. But it could be a phone booth, or a burner. It could be Kyu. Her heart seizes and she’s already answering the call. “Hello…?” The quiet is just a brief instant, but hope is already blossoming in her chest.
“Good morning, Mirko. I’m glad I got you on the line— My name’s Kizuki Chitose. Director of Shoowaysha Publishing and— I hope— More of a friend than the rest of the press. Look—”
Hope wilts just like that. Rumi barely hears a word she’s saying. Her lips curl into a scowl, but the expression quivers on her face like the muscles are getting pushed to failure. She swallows thickly. “I’m not interested.” Her voice comes out weaker than normal, and less final than she intends. She thinks she hears “You have my number,” but she’s pulling the phone away from her ear, and a dull ring seems to fill the space.
“C’mon, kit…”
The parent’s forum goes poorly. It’s no surprise— Bakugou Mitsuki, mother of the Sports Festival’s decisive victor, fights tooth and nail to get accountability and guilt out of UA’s staff. Her husband and some management students work to keep the forum civil, but the tension of a screaming match still hangs in the air. A few students argue for the staff, but all of them are firm that they still want to study at UA. It’s Ashido Mina who ends up nearly ripping Mitsuki’s head off, surprisingly enough.
The academic probation that keeps Bakugou in UA and out of legal trouble also prevents his actions from getting to the press. It’d just be fuel to the fire of Midoriya Kyu making headlines, but it’d give his mother far more leverage.
Nedzu hopes to extend the same agreement to Iida, but he’s not quite available. Recovery Girl is perfectly capable of treating his injuries, but it takes time— Her healing has to be done in steps, and several minor surgeries done between them. Besides the danger of exhaustion, there’s severe orbital entrapment on the more injured side of his face, and his concussion can’t be entirely healed by her Quirk. Even the mutlitude of fractures in his legs go untreated for the first night, if only because his head wounds are more immediately dangerous.
Days pass with no sign of Kyu. Theories fly like a beehive between police, heroes, and media. Some think she already found what she’s looking for, others think that she’s gone underground to recover from her injuries, and more still believe she’s plotting. There’s a lot of that from the media— Stirring fear to draw out the story. Building anticipation, so that any glimpse of green curls and gnarled hands is front-page material.
It’s the worst media storm Rumi has ever seen. It blows anything she’s suffered out of the water, and eclipses scandals like the speculation on Best Jeanist’s sexuality when she was a student, or the double standard wielded against Ryuukyuu a few years ago. She feels a little like she’s stuck watching a train wreck, squinting at the news until late-night TV gives her red-eye.
There’s never much new information on Kyu, no matter what speculation they have. Ideas get tossed around a lot, and hero activity in Osaka is scrutinized. It’s pretty normal for some heroes to change their patrols seasonally— Both to catch villains off guard and keep national popularity up— But everyone coming down to Kansai Prefecture, from Yoroi Musha to The Fly, are ‘being brought onto the case’. It makes Rumi’s nose twitch from the audacity.
She knows she shouldn’t be wading in the muck of the media cycle, she can feel her mind lose its edge the longer she obsesses over it, and knows she’s close to really being useless. So she patrols more, taking up sporadic hours and hunting the League like a shark who smells blood. Despite the trail, every lead turns to wisps of smoke in her grasp. The League got caught in some territorial dispute— That much is practically public knowledge, since their fight knocked down half a warehouse— But since then, they’ve disappeared from the face of Japan. It’s possible that they’re actually gone, with Kurogiri on hand, but Rumi finds it unlikely. At the very least, Toga Himiko seems too obsessive to leave. Besides her, there’s also—
“Not every ‘ villain ’ steals candy from kids and clubs seals, princess.”
Lady Nagant, AKA Tsutsumi Kaina. Rumi still doesn’t know what she’s looking for from the League; no matter how much she flirts, it doesn’t make sense for Lady Nagant’s motive to be built on her ideas of beauty. Rumi is still as lost as she was during their first fight; still unsure why Nagant draws lines like she does and what beauty she sees out of her cold sniper’s eyes.
The woman from Shoowaysha— Rumi can’t be bothered to remember her name— Is only the first in a growing tide. It’s like she got the idea to interview the scandalous student’s former boss a day before everyone else. By the next afternoon, Rumi swats away microphones on patrol like it’s mosquito season, and fends off countless phone calls. That’s not to say she escapes all the questions. No, every time she’s done with a takedown and doing first-aid or waiting for police, her ears twitch to attention at the sound of her name from a civilian’s mouth. There’s always a chance it’s important, just like there’s always a chance the unknown numbers are Kyu.
The shape of the narrative is obvious in what kinds of questions they ask. She rarely ever hears “were there signs,” but instead, “how did you miss the signs.” She grumbles wordlessly and ignores them each and every time, but the words have their effect. Each one weighs on her. She complains, but the narrative they spread is more accurate than it has the right to be. There were signs. Of course there were signs. She just fucking missed them.
There’s no denying that Mirko is nothing if not strong in both will and body, but it becomes a burden quickly. “Are you taking responsibility for training Kyuubi?” She wants to snap that they should fuck off, but she tamps it down. “Will you be joining efforts to subdue Nightlight now that she’s using her Quirk against heroes?” Her fingernails dig crescent moons into her palms when she tightens her fists, but she turns the other cheek.
It comes to a boiling point on the third day. Rumi is at her wit’s end, tired of snatching at smoke and mirrors where every scrap of evidence pointed to the League gathering. The sun is setting, the sky darkening from a sea of color to a dying-ember red, and Rumi’s foot is planted on the back of some thug who was nesting in the League’s footsteps to keep himself hidden. There are civilians with their phone cameras out or their hands clapping together excitedly, and she twitches her nose at the noise filling her sleepless, agitated ears.
“Mirko!” A voice stands out, leaning far over the police line. “Mirko, Channel Eight. You’ve been on the tail of the League, haven’t you? If you were working this case with Kyuubi, how can you know your information hasn’t been sabotaged?”
Rumi stomps right over to the police line, shoulders already squaring up to her chin. “That kid did a hell of a lot to protect people from the League. She got scars and scrapes like you’ve got male pattern baldness.” He sputters to respond, but she scoffs. “Heroism isn’t gonna demand gratitude, but the least you can do is not lie. I’m looking for her, I promise you that. But it’s not ‘cause she’s some asshole,” she tosses a thumb over her shoulder, “like that chump behind me. Kyu fought at Kamino, held up a mall, and fought Shigaraki ‘til she passed out. Don’t forget that just because she split.”
Rumi glares at the man, and there’s murmurs and flashing cameras throughout the crowd. She’s firmly on the balls of her feet, in his face with a sneer that’s clearer than words; ‘open your mouth, I dare you.’ He swallows, but another woman behind him nudges closer. “Mirko! Are you defending Nightlight’s attack on Ryuukyuu?”
Rumi growls. She remembers the press release where Kyu came out, and her chest aches a little more. The media has a fierce disregard for her thoughts, and she might as well be digging herself a grave. But even then, she couldn’t possibly shut her mouth now. Usagiyama Rumi lives without regrets. “Ryuukyuu wasn’t a saint either.” She stomps over to the new woman. “You think it was a good idea to get in her way? It was a panicked, shitty plan. It escalated the situation and it drove Kyu away.”
“But Nightlight is the one who—”
Rumi jabs a finger into her chest. “Heroes who make stupid calls and create dangerous situations deserve to eat shit for it! We’ve all executed a dumb fuck plan, and we all got the scars to prove it, but Kyu isn’t at fault for Ryuukuu’s mistake!” Rumi gives an incredulous look to the woman, and then casts it around the crowd. There are plenty of unsure or disapproving looks, and Rumi groans in frustration. “Come on! I made a shitty call in that mall attack, and it caused an escalation of danger. I was the slightest bit careless in the heat of the moment, and boom! Shit goes sideways.” She grits her teeth, anger making her breath shaky. “But the attempt to stop Kyu? That shit was planned as a show of force, and she didn’t bite. That’s asking for trouble!”
This time, it’s a man in a suit, with the look of a civilian, who scoffs. “Stop trying to tear down other heroes! That brat was your intern, right?” He nudges a few civilians next to him, rallying them and squaring his shoulders. “ You’re the one who made a bad call!”
Rumi feels like tearing her hair out. Instead, she squeezes her fists until her gloves nearly snap at the seams. “Don’t you fucking talk about Kyu like that. You don’t know her, you don’t know heroism, and you don’t know me, either! You people keep asking your questions, digging for affirmation like blind, fuck-ugly moles. Of course I’m pissed and confused and just trying to figure out what’s going on in her head! Guess what: You don’t have a damn clue, and you’re letting these media freaks turn every good thing a misguided kid did into fear.” She wheels on the media man and woman. “This same shit happened when she came out. Demanding that villains be hated and beaten and locked away safe and tight. Real people can’t be ignored like that! You want a statement on Nightlight, here it is: A kid was freaking out, and the immediate response was force. Both are shitty, but tell me who is responsible!”
“I think that sort of hostile phrasing is what’s encouraged this move. Nobody’s stopping you from doing hero work, Mirko. The Rabbit Heroine will keep saving people.”
Rumi frowns at the saccharine polite tone. “You’re choking out my patrol hours.”
“We at the HPSC strive to do our best for every hero in Japan. Nothing about your patrol hours has changed—”
“I’m doing my best to save lives, and you’re ruining me!”
“All we’ve done is encourage you to seek work outside of Osaka—”
“Not. Gonna. Happen.”
Rumi hangs up on the agent. All that spite leaves quickly, and all that’s left is cool embers of bitterness, it’s hard to feel anger anymore. She knows, for the first time, the fuckers have a point. She’s not doing anything here, other than finding dead ends and starting trouble. It won’t be good for the kit to come back to—
She stops that thought as soon as it registers. Her arm flops onto the couch next to her, pathetic as a slowly-deflating balloon.
No matter how much shit she gives them, it can’t change the fact that they have the reins on the actual logistics of her heroism. Her paycheck is putty in their hands, which is annoying as all hell, but it wouldn’t do anything to stop her from getting hero work done. No, they’re really choking her out by sending her Support-tech through a hundred hoops of ‘review.’ It’s obvious they want her closer to the ‘best designer available’, out in Kyushu. Until then, her costume is trapped in limbo.
Of course, her outburst has her plastered around as front-page news and the scapegoat the media has ultimately come around to. Kyu is still tucked away from civilian eyes, but everything Rumi did with her is being studied with fresh eyes. She can’t help but get freshly angry just thinking about it. Thinking about everyone digging for confirmation of their biases, and of the kit’s egg donor feeling justified in hating Rumi. Justified in hating her daughter, and feeling oh so right in wanting to shove her daughter back into some mismatched box.
But there’s nothing Rumi can really do officially. She has a hero license, but between public perception and her lack of gear, she can hardly complete arrests safely. Without hero-grade cuffs and the like, another mall incident would be easier to slip into than ever, no matter how much more she tries to be aware. There’s always something she could mess up. She still fights and saves, but only with the low-level muggers and idiots hoisting ATMs. That means she never really shakes out her legs and feels adrenaline clear her head.
After arguing with the HPSC and finding the red tape endless, Rumi throws herself headfirst into investigative work again— and finds an even harsher wall than before. Unlike most cases of villain-on-villain fights, there’s no uptick of arrests or low-level cronies making anonymous tips. It’s like that dispute, that left a block in disarray and blood splattered across the cement, ended with some peaceful agreement. There’s a lot of blood too, but all forensics finds a match for is Hikiishi Kenji— Magne.
Digging into the files makes her sick. There’s three people’s blood at the scene, but the amount of it says it’d be a miracle if any of them lived. The other two aside, Magne’s history becomes a little clearer when all her charges and every bit of her criminal trail is stuck together in chronological order for the case. Roots in activism and bar fights, then gray-area bodyguarding for a brothel that got raided while she wasn’t there. Arson at a politician’s home, assault with a quirk on a hero. Things get messier from then on, presumably because she was sticking to the shadows away from cameras and civilians. That’s where the charges of robbery and attempted murder start.
There’s no way Kyu never met her. She’s a known actor in the League, but her rap sheet paints the picture of someone who would love the graffiti. And now there’s enough of her blood on the floor of a shattered warehouse to tell a very dark story.
None of it makes sense, and the stupid agents are making her life a living hell, and her kit is nowhere to be found. So Rumi gets antsy, thumping her feet hard enough to shake her floorboards, thoughts spiraling with no clear end. It’s hard to stop blaming herself, and impossible to find some other way of thinking that’ll turn up some breakthrough. She’d settle for a little fire back, something to burn in her gut long enough to make enough bad choices to make something change, but even that doesn’t come.
Rumi has never been one to go sniffing after leads herself— She’s a rabbit with legs of steel, not a mutt with her nose in the dirt. Besides, she’s recognizable, and doesn’t have the personality for keeping her head down and her ears pricked. Despite all that, there is one sort of place she could find something in. It’d take some luck, sure— But on the other hand, anyone in the legal gray will probably give up information on the League if they’re worried about a real shift in power. And the League being collaborative after one of their own gets hurt? That’s a very dangerous sort of weird.
So, at dusk, Rumi crams a beanie on top of her messy hair and ears— It makes her tangled hair and crammed-down ears look like a wild mane. Her tank top, flannel, and loose jeans still show some of her physique, but they swallow up her tan skin and tail. She considers a mask, but tying straps around the back of her head is a hassle.
It’s hardly a disguise. Anyone who looks twice is going to see Mirko, no matter what she does. Still, it’s enough that civilians and media won’t hound her. Where she’s going, she’ll need that anonymity. She heads downtown with her eyes on the sidewalk and her ears pricked, if dampened. More than anything else, she recognizes the sounds of a fight. A whap of a woman catching her husband cheating, a thwack of a hero takedown, a fwoosh of the villain’s short-lived reply. But she needs something that sounds like blood coursing with adrenaline and blows upon blows. She listens for something messy.
She probably should’ve set out later. Still, she eventually catches something among rows of dive bars and quack doctors. It’s a grimy place nestled into old pre-war brick, stairs set into the sidewalk leading down to the chipped-paint door. There’s no neon sign; There’s no sign at all, besides a few messy flyers that look like they crusted on months ago. But she can hear through the door, even with her ears muffled by their position. There’s some rough laughter and shouting, and some dull impacts, but the damning thing that sets it apart from a rowdy bar is the ding of an arena bell. Rumi grins as she reaches towards the door, but tamps down her energy. She’ll be spotted from a mile away if she swings open the door smiling like a maniac. Instead, she opens it enough to step in quietly, and moves on from the entrance fast.
There’s a pretty well-stocked bar close to the entrance, and a few sets of doors and curtains throughout the space. Rumi is certain the fighting is deeper into the building, but the bartender’s gaze flicks to her as she steps in, and a regular might slip around pool tables to the back room, but she doesn’t know if she can pass as one. So, bar it is. As much as she’d love to say she’s here on business, a beer is as tempting as the fighting.
There’s a few other people at the bar. Most are women, but there’s someone Rumi can’t place at the end of the bar with a buzzed head and a lot of odd-looking piercings. One of them strikes her as familiar, but she can’t place why before—
“What can I getcha?” The bartender asks, leaning onto the counter. She doesn’t stand out too much, but her eyeliner is heavy and she carries herself with toughness like she might be a bouncer too, not that there’d only be one here.
Rumi makes a noncommittal shrug. “Beer.”
The bartender hums and turns to snatch a bottle from the fridge. The bottle fogs up quickly, but she shoots Rumi an expectant look with her thumbnail under the cap. “Seven-fifty.” Rumi puts yen on the counter, and the bartender flicks off the cap with a sharp pop. It’s cool on its way down Rumi’s throat, despite the sort-of-shit taste. Rumi can’t really find it in her to care.
Rumi tries to imagine the best possible scenario. Maybe Kyu will turn up again soon, but she won’t just walk back into the waiting arms of people like Midoriya Inko or UA’s teachers. Maybe she’ll turn up at Rumi’s door. She can picture the scene. Rain pouring down on her hair that just soaks the stuff up, batshit crazy girlfriend hiding behind her, all “I have nowhere else to go.” Rumi shoves that idea and its simplicity away; it’s been nearly a week without her doing that, and Rumi is starting to feel like she’s trapped on the other side of glass. Here she is in a gray-area bar, and she still feels like there’s an uncrossable gap between them, and Kyu has gone from safe and close to Rumi’s reach to that impossible distance away. It hurts.
Admitting how much it hurts is hard. Admitting that makes her swallow down more of her beer and grimace at something besides the taste. It hurts, and she’s been shoveling away the blame and holding hot coals of hate in her chest, but isn’t she at fault, too? Her kit never came to her door, in the pouring rain or the cold. Did she not make it clear? What could Rumi have told Kyu to make her feel for even a moment that her guard could fall? And what did Kyu want? All those feelings in writing, all that care laid out from Rumi’s lips? She tries to muster that image, but no picture comes. She’s not that sort of sap, and Kyu could’ve waited a decade for that. But they didn’t have a decade. Even though Kyu came to her and kept in touch, they were only side by side for— what, two weeks?
Her feelings are a mess, scattering contradictory thoughts all throughout her skull. Rumi thinks she can understand, but doesn’t want to see Kyu doing what she’s doing. She wishes Kyu came to her, and wishes Kyu never needed to, and thinks about every time she failed. That Toga saved Kyu in Rumi’s image is a sore point, but that Rumi was on Nagant’s tail at the raid’s insistence makes it sting that much more. Kyu is right to run, but she’s not. Kyu is right to defend herself, but she’s not. Worst of all, Rumi can’t make a simple call on a ‘better way’ to get Kyu back.
The familiar woman taps her shoulder, which is enough to finally draw Rumi out of her spiral. She has one wide, curious eye, with the other hidden under her pink bangs. “You alright?”
Rumi tilts her head back and forth. She can’t muster much of an answer.
The woman snickers. “I’d buy you a drink, but I’m a little worried my insurance company’s gonna get slippery with me.” She lowers her eye towards her drink, where it stays soft and half-lidded. “Sometimes all you can do is tread water, right? But you gotta keep swimming.”
Rumi narrows her eyes. No matter how beaten down she feels, the thought of giving up and going home is practically insulting.
The woman finishes her drink, and sets it down heavily. “We’ve all got people counting on us, right? I’ve got this… Well, she’s practically a sister for me. Even though my life’s been sorta tougher for it, that’s also what life’s about.” She stands and nods to the bartender, then towards the person at the end of the bar. “Sometimes, the people you care about end up far away— But you can still feel them, and that means they can feel you.”
Rumi glares up at her. What she’s saying is touching, but the sudden feeling that they’re dancing around the same subject makes Rumi feel vulnerable. And there’s still that itching feeling. “I… know you, from somewhere.”
The woman smiles. “I just do what I can, where I can. But you might’ve heard my music.”
The woman and her… friend…? At the end of the bar both head out, and Rumi is left with more of a mess poured into her thoughts. Still, some of it levels out when she turns over the woman’s words in her head. As cryptic as some of it was, it also feels like it’s an ice bath shock over all the contradictions. The most important thing Rumi can do is keep trying— To care about Kyu, and to save her. It doesn’t matter what weight the HPSC or public puts on her back; she should’ve been the one bearing the burden of the mall, and she can take this.
After another moment, Rumi tears her eyes away from the door and looks back to the bartender. With pointed eye contact, she taps on the neck of the bottle, and another one hits the counter. With a deep breath, she leans forward and adds, “the back…?” and tips her head towards the fighting— And the door she figures leads there.
The bartender gives her a fresh look, eyes scanning down and back up Rumi’s body. She can’t tell what the woman is looking for, but she must be satisfied, because she points her thumb at a hefty-looking door. “The dyke club? Go ahead.”
Rumi stands with her beer in hand, masking the surprise on her face, but perhaps, not the surprise in her eyes, nor the color in her cheeks. Coming from someone else, it might’ve made her worried she was found out, or get heated enough to fight, but now that it’s been pointed out, it’s easy to see the lack of men, and the fact that she doesn’t really hear any gruff baritone voices. When she shoves through the door, she can definitely see it.
There’s a small ring, barely elevated from the floor, with two women circling each other. One is wiry and has her chest bound, and the other is bulky and topless. There’s more patrons back here than there were in the front room, most with drinks in hands. There are women and people with odd hair and tough-looking outfits all around her, and they cheer and laugh for, and with, the pair in the ring. It’s an odd thing to be struck by, but Rumi feels the excitement and enjoyment in the air is much different than places like the Underground Masquerade’s culture of bloodthirst.
It’s easy to keep an eye out and a drink in her hand as the place gets much, much busier. She’s tipsy by the time the night seems like it’s really alive— But she never sees a face that looks especially cruel or like a mugshot. There’s nobody who Rumi could hone in on to find a spot to dig into the League from, only a network of strangers who might keep their eyes out. Rumi decides she might be better off letting the bartender know to keep an eye out and letting information about the League or their team-up ooze out. When she gets back towards the entrance to the bar-side, there’s a hand on her shoulder. It’s hard to make out features in the dim light, but she can see the dark shape of painted nails.
“Hey, I recognize you.” Rumi can catch the scent of booze on breath, mixed with something flowery and earthy she fails to place. She can hear the smile on the woman’s voice, but the wires don’t quite connect. Rumi sobers up quick, but feels how much drink is left in her head. “I think you did a commercial for Huntress clothes once, right?”
Rumi scoffs. “I’m not in the mood.” She shrugs off the hand, but doesn’t get a step forward before it latches around her wrist. “This isn’t gonna go your way, y’know—”
“It’s gonna go yours, huh? In this room, with all these people?” The woman clicks her tongue. “I don’t wanna ruin your night; no need to worry. I just want to have a civil sort of talk, princess.”
A jolt of something rushes through Rumi’s spine, suffocating like adrenaline in her skull. She recognizes the flowery-jasmine perfume in a flash, and the smile of Lady Nagant, before she even twists around and sees her face to face. Rumi’s expression almost takes a different shape, but this is a better opportunity than she’s had all week. She breaks into a grin.
“Yeah, alright. Let’s talk. ”
Notes:
Doctor Atl --- Sort of the progenitor to the Mexican muralism movement. While it hadn't yet began, there were state efforts to create art and murals--- but Atl believed that Mexican art should reflect Mexican lives, and look less like European stuff. The first modern mural made by him was a series of nude women.
So now you know the real reason it was chosen for a Rumi chapter /hjWARFRAME CANNOT HOLD ME I YET LIVE
anyways sorry about the spontaneous hiatus. it will probably happen again. this is the true consequence of Kyu’s absence from the narrativeShoutout to my beta ToolAssistedRat. She has told me she thinks my writing doesn’t need to be processed but I still like her thoughts and advice so everyone send her love!
I’ll be candid that Overhaul Arc is probably my favorite out of Switcheroo’s story (and canon, frankly), and the ball is really rolling now. I’m a really big fan of how the story feels when Kyu is missing and everyone feels it. The only problem is just how many characters I want to take this time to expand upon, lol. We’re still a few chapters from the scene that’s been on my mind for weeks, but we’re closing in! ;)
Chapter 72: Pussy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Oi! Anyone got handwraps?”
Nagant’s eyes narrow into a severe glare when Rumi shouts past her, into the room. There’s a few murmurs, but pretty quick, a roll of gauzy pale fabric gets tossed her way. Rumi catches it and shoulders right past Nagant. It’s still a stiff shoulder. Nagant’s voice is harsh and husky in her ear when Rumi passes by; not loud or clear like Rumi’s. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What, you just happened to be here?” Rumi sneers. “You better have plenty to say, or we can forget this room and these people, ‘cause I’ll punt you right into the street.”
Nagant grimaces. Whether it’s the conflict, environment, or both, something’s getting to her. Well, good. Rumi’ll draw every thread of Kyu and the League out of her, like a magician with a neverending handkerchief. That’s useful, but the thing that Rumi fixates on is the way Nagant’s bluster fails. The woman under the mask is a little clearer, and there’s a moment of listlessness in her cold eyes.
Rumi nods, satisfied. “You wanna talk, we do it in the ring.”
Nagant doesn’t move from where she stands, but she cocks an eyebrow. Her flat stare is tough to read between amused and innocent— But it’s obvious where she falls. “You’ve never won against me in a straight fight, doll.” Before Rumi can snap again, Nagant starts forward. Now that they’ve drawn attention to themselves, other patrons part around them. A few clap hands on Rumi’s back or wolf whistle. One of the women who was in is stepping into the dark on the other side of the ring, while the topless one lingers and helps Rumi up.
The lights are harsh. She keeps the beanie, but loses the flannel. There’s a few new whoops at her muscles and the spattered scars and discoloration. Across the ring, Nagant neglects the other woman’s hand; slipping through the ropes like a snake. When she straightens in the light, her full outfit is clearer— A deep blue scarf is wrapped around her hair, obfuscating most of the lavender streaks, and for the first time Rumi has seen, she’s not wearing a dress. Instead, she’s tossing away a thick overcoat and leaving herself in a too-big tee and leather pants. She has a few rings on, and they glint in the light— But she doesn’t take them off.
“Hey.” A woman leans into the light, tattoo sleeves rippling when she curls her hands around the ropes. “I don’t got tons for you to worry about— If someone passes out or I say so, you stop.” Then she breaks into a grin. “But otherwise, you can go all night.”
Rumi dismisses the comment without much thought, but sends a glance to Nagant. Her expression is plainly sour, gentle lines forming between her curled nose and slight sneer. Rumi snorts. Nagant’s sour expression turns to her, but before she can open her mouth, the tattooed woman leans back and whistles.
“Alright, folks! It’s a surprise match, but we’re all about the throes of passion here, aren’t we?!” Around them, in the dark beyond the ring’s lights, there are cheers and whoops. It’s way different than a hero fight with an audience— There’s hunger here. A carnal sense of fight and warm bodies that everyone’s in on. “You got anything to tell your audience, dolls?”
Nagant grimaces. “No.”
“I got plenty.” Rumi tips her chin at Nagant. “I got kicks and punches and a lotta questions just for her.”
Nagant’s expression shifts. At the threat, she squares her shoulders, and she meets Rumi’s eye. They’re the only ones in the harsh light now, leaving a sense of closeness between them despite being surrounded by the crowd.
“Let’s see it, then!” The tattooed woman hops away from the ring and yanks on a rope.
RING!
RING!
Jirou takes out her phone with a furrowed brow. “Oh, hold on. It’s Set.” She steps away from the homework sprawled out between the group on the table, jabbing her jack into the phone’s port and tucking it in her shoulder.
Mina frowns. It already feels a little stifling to be back in their repaired dorm building, and the group doing school work in the common room is tiny. When Jirou steps away, only Ochako, Sero, and Tsu are left. Kirishima has been trying to reconnect with Bakugou, and Kaminari is plain distant, so ‘the squad’ is pretty much dissolving.
And that’s frustrating. Mina didn’t expect to keep her highschool friends forever, but she always imagined coming out of hero school with a deep sense of camaraderie between all of her peers. Instead, while most of them get along as well as any classmates do, some of them have gone off the deep end. She remembers thinking Iida was being clumsy and excessive, like a bull regulating traffic in a china shop. But with Kyuubi turning face and Bakugou going to bat for her again and again, she’s starting to feel like she’s in some nonsensical dream world.
On the other hand, Bakugou’s mom turned up and said some things that made about the same amount of sense. She had the same nasty temper as her kid, but with heaps of added mama bear fire. When she said UA should’ve gone lighter, Mina was stuck between yelling and picking her jaw up off the floor. Fighting Quirk-crime is all about the efficient and skillful use of force to subdue dangerous targets. Mirko was right that the blockade was a mistake, because they didn’t actually plan for someone as strong as Kyuubi. UA did— It was Bakugou who threw a wrench in that plan.
And now Kyuubi is out there. Maybe her track record suggests she wouldn’t hurt civilians, but people who get in her way aren’t subdued gently— The fact that Iida still hasn’t returned to the dorms is proof enough of that. Mina shouldn’t be stewing on stuff like this. It’s late; basically curfew, but Aizawa is too busy to enforce it and they haven’t trained enough to be tired. She’s gripping her pencil like a lifeline, and she can see Ochako’s worry out of the corner of her eye. She already knows what she thinks, and knows everyone else making stupid calls is missing how dangerous Kyuubi could be. That’s the beginning and end of it.
Jirou steps back between the couches, grabbing the tv remote from the side table. She flicks through a few channels. “What for?” A pause. “I… yeah— Oh.” She puts in a single-digit channel number. A news network. The screen goes dark for a second as the channel switches. Mina can see the worry in Jirou’s eyes through the foggy TV reflection, and her own squared shoulders. Ochako sets her hand on Mina’s. It’s sweet, but doesn’t change much.
The feed comes in. It’s from an on-the-ground reporter, but they’re standing at the side of the frame, looking further down the street. There are cars parked all the way down the sides of the street, but there’s a police line a few feet from the camera. Beyond it, there are streetlights and neon signs and electronic boards on the higher buildings. It’s a busy downtown street in Osaka. Mount Lady is standing further down the road, and in front of her there’s a writhing mass of shadow and oak— It’s dark in the night, but it’s pretty clearly Kamui Woods, especially since Lady is on a team with him.
A police helicopter passes overhead, low enough to make the reporter squint and have to speak up into the mic. He says something about developing situations and dangerous villains, but Mina isn’t really listening. From the helicopter, a floodlight beams down, illuminating Kamui’s Lacquered Chain Prison in searing white light. The wood groans and creaks as it curls around itself, looking like a ball of rubber bands. Whoever’s inside it is putting up a fight.
The creaking gets louder. Kamui waves the police line back with his left hand in a messy, frantic motion. His other arm is stretching out into a forest’s worth of branches, but even with his feet rooted in the asphalt, he’s still being shoved back. The asphalt cracks and there is a horrible yawning of wood, louder than the helicopter. Loud snaps punctuate every moment of the Prison warping and stretching to its breaking point.
The outer branches begin to shatter, sending splinters and chunks far down the street with the sudden release of tensile force. The floodlight sharpens the shadows within the wooden womb as something glints within. The wood gnarls and tightens, but the pause seems only long enough for a shift of posture inside.
Cyan light burns, and Kyuubi pries the gap apart further. The upper weight presses down on her hands and back, and the lower weight comes up to fight her knees, but she’s winning. Her face is distant, but the light fills in her eyes, wide and angry like a rabid dog.
“You are making me—” She grunts against the pressure and loses the power she gathered in her throat, but the crowd and reporter have gone silent. The Prison begins to sew itself together, thick branches suturing the wound like living stitches. There’s a snarl and sharper crackles of cyan lightning, and the sutures start to snap and give, too. It’s still a close thing, even as Kyuubi comes into view again, her feet trapped in branches and her hands sunk into the wood she’s lifting. Her back is straight now, and her heaving lungs are obvious. “—Making me do this!”
The wound tears wide enough for the floodlight to fill it, and Kyuubi is illuminated by cyan and white. Thick shadows swim along her arms and rivulets pierce the wood, standing against it like stilts. Her arms and legs shudder, muscles struggling a losing battle, but the shadows thicken. As the gap closes, the floodlight begins to narrow, only illuminating a strip of her chest where her tag is painted on her parka. Beside it, her tanktop stretches and warps, like a thousand snakes are swarming under it.
Ochako’s hand tightens around Mina’s. Mina squeezes back, easing closer so Ochako can curl up against her. They were front and center to Blackwhip’s most violent manifestation, and the swimming shapes and gritted teeth are all too familiar and dreadful, even on the other side of a tv screen. And it’s worse because… She’s feeding it. Letting it run wild to escape— She practically just admitted it, and she has a lot of anger to supply it with.
Tentacles burgeon from her collarbones, unfurl from inside her jacket, and force her tanktop to bunch up as they surge from her gut. Each is thicker than her arms, and they fan out and carve through the wood and beyond it. The maw tightens, but already Kyuubi’s shadows rip apart asphalt, batter cars through buildings, tear at concrete superstructures, and lash at Kamui himself. They’re untamed and uncontrolled, doing as much damage to the surroundings as they do to the Prison, if not more.
Kamui cries out, and the camera jolts towards him. It’s impossible to tell whether the noise was of effort or pain, but the tide of shadow batters his arm and forces him to let go of the Prison and disengage. The roots planting him in the asphalt make a quick escape hard, and he looks like a sitting duck as shards of the city scatter and dust kicks up.
Kyuubi wrenches herself out of the Prison with one final heave, shattering the wood and letting Blackwhip hoist it and tear it to shreds as she straightens her back and bares her arms out towards the sky, basking in the floodlight. Her parka opens at the front and flares out behind her, letting shadows claw around her like a lethal flower blossoming, like Scylla taking her toll.
Mount Lady shifts her footing behind Kyuubi, while in front of her Kamui escapes his own footholds in time to narrowly avoid a crushing slam of Blackwhip. Kyuubi’s eyes narrow, but blaze with her intent.
Rumi springs into motion, all the tension burst out of the balls of her feet as she crosses the distance between her and Nagant. It’s not as flashy as one of her Luna moves— The ring limits movement, so she doesn’t have the privilege of launching all of her momentum into a kick. Instead, she brings her knee up to feint a front kick and punches as soon as her toes slide along the ground again.
Nagant can’t compare in close-quarters combat, but she doesn’t move as Rumi approaches. When they’re in the same space, her stance shifts a hair. Suddenly, she looks dangerous, ready with the smallest amount of movement needed to be lethal, like a well-maintained firearm. One hand is shoving Rumi’s knee aside as she gets close, and she follows her arm’s motion to twist away from the punch. Before Nagant can lash out as her side, Rumi springs back to a safe distance.
“Clever,” Nagant says. Her voice is flat, but it strikes Rumi as earnest praise.
“Basic,” Rumi corrects, shoving the thought away and focusing on her stance. “Maybe standards got a little higher while you were busy, grandma.”
Nagant raises one eyebrow. “You seriously think my training was to standards? ” She chuckles, low and throaty but quiet enough to almost melt into the sound of the crowd.
Rumi dives forward again, already tired of keeping her distance. Nagant tries to catch her with a blow as she comes in this time, but Rumi shoves into her space and lets the blow glance off her handwraps. Nagant’s rings catch on the fabric for tiny instants. She swings a few more times, but Mirko quickly takes back the offensive and has Nagant stuck blocking, dodging, and shuffling back towards the ropes. Just when things seem in her favor, Nagant ensnares Rumi’s arm under her elbow, and turns the beating back on her with a series of bruising elbows at the jaw and chest. Rumi twists, using her low center of gravity and strong legs, and Nagant lets her slip out.
Rumi’s mouth is rushing with hot saliva, and pain pulses across her face. She rolls her jaw, but it hardly helps. Rumi grumbles out a sound a bit like a laugh and a bit like surprise. She knows how threatening Nagant is, but there’s always a surprise.
Nagant is starting to look phased, at least. It’s not as bad as when Rumi concussed her, but she’s still breathing heavier before she straightens her posture. “I take it by the…” She gestures vaguely at Rumi. “…State of you that you haven’t seen her.”
Rumi glares. “No— fuck do you mean, asking me that?” Before Nagant can shoot off another answer, Rumi bounds into her space again. She’s sloppier this time, and she knows it, but it feels better. Maybe a villain like Nagant is a threat she should handle with perfect efficiency, but there’s a part of her that wants this, and it’s swallowing the rest up like a spreading fire. Maybe it’s the alcohol.
“You’re sloppy,” Nagant hisses, quick enough to avoid punishment for clumsy breathing. “Drunk.” She redirects Rumi’s hook with plenty of force— Without full use of her legs and hero shoes, Rumi’s weight class is annoyingly relevant. Rumi finds herself against the ropes faster than she expects, but it’s nothing that can stop her from thudding fists against Nagant’s core. Each bruising blow makes Nagant lower her guard, and then Rumi snaps forward like the final pounce of a predator, right for Nagant’s jaw. A perfect shoeshine— But Nagant sees it at the last moment, twisting so that the fist slides along her cheek and she’s inches from Rumi’s face. They breathe heavily, neither disengaging nor grappling right away.
“Why do you think I asked you?”
Rumi’s stomach drops. “She’s not with the Lea— with you?”
Nagant’s voice falls into a husky whisper a bit more vulnerable than her banter. “How would she be? She has to hide, and so do we.” Something else passes across her face like the great shadow of a circling vulture, leaving a haunted look on her face. Before Rumi can do more than furrow her brows, Nagant’s gaze refocuses, sharp and cold. Rumi is suddenly aware that Nagant looks like this a lot, but this is the first time it’s been pointed at her. “There’s no way for me to extend a hand without state dogs snapping their drooling jaws.”
Nagant’s hand moves quick as a lunging viper, and she yanks Rumi’s ear while kicking out her leg. Rumi tumbles where Nagant tosses her aside like yesterday’s trash; away from the ropes, but left on the ground. Rumi is still for a moment, but she sees Nagant stalking towards her and springs up to her feet. “What do you expect me to do? You—” Remembering the crowd, Rumi catches herself. “ Your hands shouldn’t come anywhere near her.”
Nagant stops, barely outside of arms’ reach. Her eyes widen, and her voice is hushed. “I… I know that. But she found our embrace, no matter how bloody.” With a deep exhale that makes her nose flare, Nagant recenters herself and clenches her fists. She takes the last step into Rumi’s space decisively, stepping in to meet Rumi’s snap kick with her shoulder. Her next words are punctuated by back-and-forth blows, each drawing power out of consonants. “I know there’s good in the world, ‘cause I’ve seen kids too naive to know—” Rumi catches her in the side, disengaging instead of capitalizing to keep from getting trapped again. “To know evil’s right in front of them. I know she could— could drag the best of us from the blood and muck. But she’d never be able to do that in that fucking K-9 school.”
Apparently Sero texted the class groupchat, because more and more students rush to the common room and watch the TV in silent horror. Already, their group of five has tripled. Kaminari has a hand over his mouth, Bakugou is fully ignoring the discomfort he brings to watch closely, and Yaomomo is biting her nails.
The broadcast can’t get any closer than the police line, but its distance becomes clear when it zooms out to show the full scale of Kyuubi’s destructive wrath. She doesn’t wrestle Blackwhip with her own strength or will it to calm like she has before. All it does differently is move with direction, crashing through anything between her and Kamui Woods.
Behind her, Mount Lady raises a foot over the shattered Prison, but Kyuubi’s attention snaps to her, and Blackwhip lashes at Mount Lady to tug her off balance and down into the street. She fights, and her size gives her the leverage to win the tug-of-war, but in a move similar to how she fought the Zero Pointer, Kyuubi uses the whips to yank herself in the air and kick Mount Lady in the sternum. It’s a powerful blow; the kind All Might uses in minor attacks whose impacts make huge krakow! sounds.
Hagakure clears her throat. “Mount Lady and Kamui Woods are in Osaka? ”
“Midoriya is everybody’s priority,” Mina says.
“Everybody’s responsibility,” Bakugou snarks back. He doesn’t take his eyes off the TV, but Mina’s move just long enough to glare at the back of his head. He’s been even more annoying since Mirko tore into a crowd. She was right about Kyu doing good stuff, but what about all the bad? What about the League?
On the other side of the screen, Mount Lady staggers back with gritted teeth. Kamui takes the chance to sling himself closer to Kyuubi, launching another torrent of branches. This time, she wrenches an arm around a tire-thick mass of whips and slings them into Kamui like a wrecking ball. Despite the slow speed of all that weight, her aim is true, and it shatters Kamui’s wood like saltines. He gets tossed down the road, most of his arbor-armor cracked and broken, but he crashes into the hood of a car without being critically injured.
“Come on, Mount Lady!” Mineta hisses. Mina is ready to turn her temper on him, but the look on his face is genuine. He interned with her, even if he complained about it later. Now he’s watching—
“She’s staggering them so they can’t work as a team,” Yaomomo mumbles. 1-A aren’t strangers to hero teams with the lessons they’ve had. Kyuubi can’t target one without fighting both, but her chances improve if she juggles them like this. With any luck, they’ll keep her from turning the fight into a one-on-one until backup arrives.
“As a team…” Kaminari murmurs.
“Folks, I can’t believe it! We’re seeing Nightlight keep Kamui Woods on his toes— Osaka, you might not know him, but he’s a prospective top-ten hero from Musutafu— Oh, my!”
The on-site reporter turns away from the camera again when Kyuubi collides with Mount Lady. This is a bit more blow-for-blow; Kyuubi is faster but lacks the leverage and weight class of Mount Lady. They’re still about even in strength; Mount Lady’s swinging arms block Kyuubi’s big kicks and, in turn, Blackwhip catches her up in a web before her attacks can barrel through Kyuubi. There’s a moment where Kyuubi’s sparks fall away, leaving her rattling like a doll on shadow-strings, and then she bursts with that purple aerosol-smoke.
Mount Lady doesn’t see it, driving a fist through the middle of the cloud, but the camera has clear view to where Kyuubi swings around her, using Blackwhip to pull herself through the apex and come down with a falling heel in a brutal imitation of her mentor. This is the blow that will knock Mount Lady out and win Kyuubi the fight.
Kaminari gasps. “Mount Lady and Kamui Woods, they teamed up with—”
There’s no accompanying sound or sight before Kyuubi lets out a howling high-feedback cry and tumbles out of proper form. Cyan light crackles with static buzz against ruby red blood hanging in the air. She crashes against Mount Lady’s head and then to the ground below, leaving Mount Lady clutching at the site of the impact.
Kamui’s branches push him upright and out of the car he was embedded in. He pulls himself to a second-story perch against one of the buildings along the street, eyes fixed on Kyuubi’s still form. There’s a stoplight beside him— With a flare of red fabric, Edgeshot is atop it, beside him.
“That’s all three of The Lurkers! Are they in town to stop Nightlight? They might just do it! She’s not moving; that might’ve been Edgeshot’s knockout super-move!”
“Idiot,” Bakugou groans.
Kirishima frowns. “What do you mean, man…?”
“That move wouldn’t send blood anywhere. And it’s dangerous against someone fast or with enhanced durability.” With a wave of his hand, he indicates no way he could do that to Kyuubi. “He cut her leg. Probably through muscle.”
True to his words, Kyuubi staggers to her feet barely a second later. Her stance is messy, clearly preferring one leg and putting some of her weight into Blackwhip, letting it writhe and grasp at asphalt.
She’s panting, and facing away from the crowd. Her voice is still clear, though rough with overuse. “Widen… The evac zone.” Beside the camera, figures shift around and the low voices of officers are clearly urging people back. The news crew seems happy to comply, though they’re clearly staying at the front of the crowd for their angle.
Mount Lady is on her first, swinging in with a harsh kick that Kyuubi barely avoids. Another fist swings in, and Kyuubi lashes out to cushion with Blackwhip, but in a flash of almost-invisible deep blue fabric, Edgeshot slices across her arm. She ends up staggered from the blow, even half-defended, and Mount Lady kicks her straight into a building. There’s a lull, but the heroes are clearly not stupid enough to charge in afterwards.
Kyuubi leaps out of the building with thick masses of Blackwhip in tow, cradling civilians who range from frozen stiff to shouting obscenities. The heroes launch into action, clearly trying to use their combos and super-moves to disable her and rescue the civilians simultaneously, but she uses Blackwhip and her smoke to evade them. She looks like she’s taking them towards the ground, maybe towards the crowd? But when Kamui gets too close, she grits her teeth and tosses them his way. He scrambles to catch all five in his branches, leaving his attention and arms occupied.
Without that cushion, Mount Lady goes for another big swing. Kyuubi matches this one with her good leg, but in another flash, there’s a cut right up her good leg. This one isn’t oriented to slice muscle or tendons, but it’s still a big enough cut that it’d stop a school exercise right away. This isn’t so kind.
Blackwhip lashes out again, crashing against Mount Lady until she stumbles and smashes her chin against a rooftop. Caught in midair, Kyuubi only has her tethers of shadow to move on, and Edgeshot launches towards her weaker side. Right now, she has less mobility and less of a shot of stopping him when he comes. His red scarf is obvious this time, as he unfolds himself into a thinner, more intense thread, from toe to tip.
Kyuubi twists, bad leg twirling through the air as Blackwhip tightens around her shoes and shifts under her pant leg, and Edgeshot glances off her Knightriders. He flies like a ribbon towards the crowd, hitting a police cruiser softly before curling back into the man himself, crouched atop it.
Kyuubi is still watching Edgeshot when Mount Lady’s foot comes down hard. Kyuubi catches it, but when Kamui lashes wood around her bad leg and tugs, she becomes pinned— Relatively speaking. She’s still holding Mount Lady’s foot up, but it’s all she can do.
Edgeshot’s steely expression shifts. There’s some sort of acknowledgement in his sharp eyes, and he lifts a palm towards Kamui before he binds Kyuubi in a wooden cage.
Unwinding, Edgeshot darts over to Kyuubi like a slithering snake. It’s a less harsh motion than before, and—
“No way,” Mina hisses.
“I— I think Edgeshot’s reforming beneath Mount Lady’s stomp! That’s right, he’s not using his knockout move! Is he… Talking to Nightlight…?”
Kamui takes a few steps closer, his free hand lowering the slightest bit, and Edgeshot approaches Kyuubi like she’s a dog who doesn’t want to be at the vet. Mina feels like ripping her hair out— If they want to pacify her, they can do it with a takedown, or in custody! Still, when she’s proven right, her anger goes out like a candle getting sprayed by a firehose.
Edgeshot flinches back and Kamui raises his arm again, but they’re both too late. Kyuubi explodes with shadow and smoke, enough to smash Edgeshot through a car and Kamui into a building. The writhing mass grabs at Mount Lady too, overwhelming her with the sheer power to push her off. It snaps out at her, tugging her down, and Mount Lady falls into the street and goes still.
It’s an entirely different beast than how Kyuubi was fighting before, and it shows: Kyuubi is hardly in control, gritting her teeth against the unending tide of shadow as it systematically destroys everything around her. Like a malevolent god, it plucks apart asphalt and cars like pieces of a complete puzzle, stripping everything down to mangled chunks. Slowly, Kyuubi starts to reign her power in, but Blackwhip still swims around her skin and toys with her surroundings. She’s left standing in a crater, shoulders heaving with each breath.
“No way,” Sero breathes.
Yaomomo wrings her shaking hands. “I thought… I thought they’d be able…”
“They were able,” Mina says, “they just had to do it. ”
Bakugou finally turns, pointing a finger at Mina. “ No. They weren’t, ‘cause they didn’t.”
“Come on, Edgeshot!” One young voice cries from the crowd.
“Get up, Lurkers!”
“Please get up!”
“F-freeze!” One cop shouts. He passes the police line with his taser gun ready. Kyuubi’s exhausted eyes meet his, not glaring or flat, but simply passing over him. She turns, crouching and blazing with cyan sparks. She’s clearly about to leap away and escape her pursuers, and thin strings of Blackwhip clinging onto streetlights and rooftops like she’s in a slingshot are just further proof. Her jump is sloppy, but close to full power she moves fast, and Blackwhip keeps her trajectory.
Rumi catches Nagant’s fist, gritting her teeth at the feeling of rings biting into her palms. “God, I don’t get you!”
Nagant snarls. “What, was I not clear? Hero— ”
“Shut it!” Rumi snaps a leg out, imitating a kick to the neck but twisting around to catch Nagant in a triangle hold instead. Nagant claws and beats at Rumi’s thighs, but that’s nothing that a hundred villains don’t do in a week. “Like a switch, you go from flirting to this insane revolutionary shit. Do you even believe what you’re saying?! It just sounds like fucking buzzwords! Should we eat the bourgeoise, too?! Asshole!”
Nagant bares her teeth and bites Rumi’s thigh. Jaw strength against that tender flesh means intense pain, and Rumi flinches long enough for Nagant to suddenly break the hold and slip away. “I’ve shoveled a lot of shit, but I’m done telling lies. If the truth about all this is evil, then I’m evil.” She pants, circling Rumi and rubbing at her throat. A few messy strands of hair have gotten out of her scarf, falling over her forehead and in cotton candy threads across her face.
Rumi sneers. “So you are flirting!”
Nagant raises an eyebrow. “The flirting’s ‘cause you’re fun to flirt with.” She glances around, then straightens up and speaks clear and loud. “I was in the bin for years, princess! You don’t need to go looking for the reason.” There are wolf whistles and cheers, and Nagant turns a smug look back to Rumi.
She launches herself into the fight again, but this time she feels the sloppiness of her own body against the unflappability of Nagant’s. Their bodies are warm against each other when they grapple, hot at every impact site, cold where rings bite her skin and leave welts. Eventually, Rumi meets the cool rubber ropes, and Nagant boxes her in, pinning her wrists. She’s totally stuck— But Rumi is the hero Mirko, and she’s not about to lose to last decade’s villain, and pinned is the best place to win from.
She leans forward, arms still stuck but face inches from Nagant’s. She waits for a breath to pass, grinning like wild. Then, she clicks her tongue. “You wanna catch up on all those missed years, huh?” She draws out each word, until Nagant is stuck on them like a glue trap. “Maybe I’m your girl. But maybe you should back up.”
Nagant’s eyes narrow. “Why’s that, princess?”
Rumi kicks Nagant in the snatch. Leather pants or not, the full force of Rumi’s legs is enough to break concrete.
“How’s that for eight years,” Rumi grins. The fight bell rings. Rumi is reminded of just how much she likes a good fight in a place like this, staring down at where Nagant is on hand and knees, her free hand clutching at her newly sore spot.
“Is that fucking Mirko?”
The world returns like a tsunami to barren shores. All of this, but Kyuubi is more lost than ever, and Rumi is no less beheld to every expectation and fear she’s been avoiding. The adrenaline curdles in her veins, making her ears curl back and a jolt like ice fill her.
Kyuubi is moving until suddenly, she isn’t. There’s no dark-light against the night, and no cyan. She still has momentum, until she doesn’t, because there’s a tether of gray around her leg.
“Who’s that?”
The crowd doesn’t know, but 1-A does. Mina finds herself letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Aizawa might hate limelight heroes, but when he shows up, it’s instantly reassuring.
With a thwip, Aizawa leaps over the police vehicles and yanks Kyuubi, meeting her halfway with a flying kick. She raises her arms to block, but with her leg grappled in his scarf it’s still messy, and despite her strength she’s totally outclassed as he flips her onto her stomach and twists her arms behind her back. He’s left with his capture weapon still around her leg and his hair floating, side profile clear to the camera about twenty feet past the police line.
Her cheek is pressed against the asphalt facing them, though her expression is less clear. She’s got a wry smile on her face and her mouth is moving, but she can’t use her power to shout this time. Aizawa frowns at whatever she said, but then he readjusts his grip and says something back. Kyuubi’s smile disappears.
With the same sudden roughness Kyuubi was fighting with, Aizawa moves to wrench her back with her arms, making her back arch and her neck rise from the ground. One hand keeps her arms pinned while the other wraps around her neck fiercely tight.
“That’s a sleeper hold,” Ojiro says in awe, “she’ll be out in seconds.”
Kyuubi’s hair is messy and dust-smothered from the fight, and it falls over most of her face. It’s still clear when she manages, just barely, to move her mouth. Whatever words she chokes out are only for Aizawa. Whatever he hears, he flinches so hard his hair whips around like squid ink and he barely keeps his eyes open. Seeing him look so shaken makes Mina’s stomach drop, but Kyuubi can’t do anything but squirm weakly as the blood choke quickly makes her slip towards unconsciousness.
“Wha— Stop, miss! It’s not safe!”
Someone bounds through the crowd, quickly passing the crowd. She lands on a cruiser in frame, holding a police-issue megaphone, and leaps in a smooth motion off of it. Her pink ponytail bounces as she makes another three great leaps off the air, rising some fifteen feet up and then dropping diagonally towards Aizawa with her legs extended like it’s a pencil dive. She thuds against his head and neck, and he falls like a ragdoll.
The megaphone whines as she tugs Kyuubi to her feet and aerosol-smoke starts to slowly spread like a low fog. Then she brings it to her lips and turns around. She has fluffy pink bangs that fall over a domino mask with only one eye cut out, and a dark longcoat over dark clothes.
“That’s all for tonight’s show! I’m afraid I can’t let my old pal Eraser here hurt my family. I guess that means that you went and made me come out of hiatus! Pop☆Step, out!”
The police move in, but Kyuubi launches off like a rocket, taking Pop☆Step with her on a thread of shadow.
Notes:
this chapter had a lot of prospective titles (full metal jacket/jasmine and larkspur/those who violate II). ive settled on this for the big insinuation of "pussy (derisive; cowardly)" in multiple scenes of this chapter and the whole autocesarean xysection thing-- "pussy (lit; vagina)"
in other news, a lot of this chapter was written at once. there might be some issues in flow or typos (feel free to comment if you see something!) because i was just itching to post this and did so before my friend and beta TAR got to it :P She is still partially responsible as a huge Kazuho advocate :thumbsup:
I think that's all there is to say about this one! There's a bit of housekeeping left to do, but I dare say... It's starting to feel like Kyuubi orbits closer and closer to her place in the narrative again :3c
Chapter 73: Queen
Summary:
Rattle-rattle, tiss-tiss, and back to life again.
After weeks of searching and running and fighting, Kyu hungers for anything at all.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
vil·lain
/ˈvi-lən/
A stock character in film, novel, play, etc. whose cruel or evil actions are important to the plot; antonym of hero .
(Legal) A person who commits villainy ; a person who uses a ‘Quirk’ (Meta Ability) without license in order to perform criminal acts.
(Archaic) Alternate spelling of villein ; a feudal tenant of a lord or manor whom he paid dues or services in exchange for land.
It’s very hard to imagine death. It could be nothing, but nothing is not black nor gray nor white; nothing is nothing. It could be anything or everything, electrochemical signals that cease or a soul leaving the earth.
Life is very easy to imagine. It is the first gasp after resuscitation, feeling air nip and cold sear and a rib broken from the chest compressions. At once beautiful and horrible, pain within joy within pain. It is rattle-rattle tiss-tiss and back once more.
Kyu feels as though she hasn’t been alive for weeks. Each moment felt waking, but it disappeared when it was left behind, like footprints in a snowstorm. There were points of clarity, rare moments of heat and light, and she held them close like a treasure. Some burned her fingers, like the haze of combat fading when Edgeshot showed his face to her. Some were kinder, like gentle touches that brought her back to the present.
The present finds itself in these moments less and less. Her clothes are stained and scuffed, and there's a wrongness to them that makes her hairs stand on end. Blood and quick stitches, applied in gentle moments with hands defter than her own, speckle her pants and shoes. Edgeshot had cut them into her, and in that pain she saw a present, and in that present she saw a face concerned for her for all the wrong reasons. A face that buried her personhood further underneath stains that are not paint, and in that burial the breath of life was choked, and the sound of soul was dampened. She can tell, tell how those moments of clarity fade into a multicolored nothing through normalcy. Reprives of clarity fading away to non-affect, like moss and mud encrusting over the name on a grave.
Kyu lingers with her hand suspended in the air. She could reach for the next can, but for a moment she feels like she’s boiling. She needs these moments to think, a bonfire amongst heavy weeks of a wakeless sleep, but in order to conduct these reprieves, she must stop moving, and when she stops moving, she boils with impatience and guilt. Himiko is out there. Himiko needs her. She bends her toes to set her weight into the Knightriders and— She stifles the tide before it can overwhelm her. It has been weeks, and if all Kyu does is search, she will fall apart. There are no trails to follow with her nose to the earth, only a fine-toothed comb brought through an entire city. That could easily take months, but she refuses to be hopeless, because it is her only hope. So she can’t think of it forever.
Instead, she settles her fingers around the cool, matte metal, feeling the marble inside mix the paint when she lifts it. The paints are bare essentials, like everything else she has; black, white, and red. She doesn’t have a proper respirator either, but a thin medical mask is enough for her to be unafraid of irritating her throat while it heals. Most of her body is suspended in a state of healing, muscles worn by use and skin broken by violence. Neither has a chance to recuperate before more comes on. Recovery Girl or Yagi would give her a tongue-lashing, but that was a whole different world.
Kyu tries to think of it as lucky, and as learning, but the sides of Japan she’s been exposed to for weeks are not pretty. Ever since she met Himiko, she understood the existence of a sort of underbelly, but seeing it is different. There are communities who struggle ceaselessly just to exist, vulnerable women and neglected queers and those whose Quirks have ruined their lives— As well as those whose lives were ruined by their lack of Quirk. It’s relatable, but feels like it’s on the other side of waxy aquarium glass. They shuffle in squalor; beneath the shadow of the oppressed. Around her, hands softer than hers offer to break bread, but recoil from the touch of their lowest neighbors like that extra toe joint speaks of leprosy.
It makes her heart ache, because for every hero who gets in her way, there are hands that uplift her in any minor way they can. For every wound inflicted, there is a kindness returned. They should let their lashes harden to scars and rise, should be the ones riddled with spite like buckshot and marred with wounds and battle-scars. Instead there are tender hands—
“It’s my mother’s recipe. Oh— With a little extra sugar.”
They lift her up, for a night. When she has ruined every inch of her body, a friend-of-a-friend opens their door and calls themself another sister sheltering her close.
“It’s a good luck charm! Here, I’ll put it in for you.”
When she turns her head, she can feel the small jewel bounce against her jaw. Just another place to stand under the shower “we don’t have hot water but” another place to rest her head “if you can stand the chill” bites of a warm meal after going hungry for days.
“It’s Narcan— Do you know how to use it?”
Kyu brings the can across the wall in wide strokes, keeping her elbow straight while using her shoulder to guide and her wrist to taper the line. Most of the characters are black kanji on the concrete. Ever since she came out, she’s been using watashi and atashi, both of which felt flat— Even if she preferred them to just saying boku. But now she thinks of delinquents and Magne’s toughness and we’ve got hate in our blood. She uses ore.
“It’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm.”
The line repeats, running along the wall from her knee height to her chest height. I am not your— I am not your— it says. She picks white for the first word, but she expects to have to shadow or line it for legibility. In another few careful strokes, the first phrase becomes I am not your serf.
“It’s no big deal. Sewing was the only home-ec thing I was ever good at.”
Before finishing the phrase, she paints shapes and figures around it. Each begins in red, and starts to look like a silhouette when she layers black for details. There are arms that lift each other up, but they also pump fists and spread in cheer. Most are soft and thin, uncalloused despite the world’s weight upon them. Blackwhip unspools from her, creating a set of stilts that’s just a little shaky— They want movement, not stillness, but her intent stiffens them until her work can continue.
Above the hands, there are dreams. They are unstained by red, shaped from white cartoon-thought bubbles and black flowing shapes. The shapes look unreal, sculpted from the can held diagonal to the wall, making the nozzle shape unfurl. There are dreams that the interconnectedness and collective effort of the hands make something beautiful, or something strong to hold them all together. The hands have to stay strong enough to persist despite every other dreamer and all the world’s weight. So they have to have a guardian. She is done in long strokes far more experimental than the rest, but a woman in red guards the dream, both sheltering it in her womb, and taking it in muscled arms and holding it to her chest. Her eyes are dark with thick lashes, but also hidden in her hair, where that black paint could just as well be her ever-glaring eyes.
Kyu finds her hands unpracticed when it comes to such a full image. They ache long before it’s finished, but she keeps working anyway, not able to stop until it is seen. She finds the woman more abstract than intended when she sets her feet on the sidewalk again, but that’s okay. Her features are muddled, but they were never really meant to be clear. She is a bloody shadow over the comparatively blue-white dreams, but that’s appropriate too. The guardian is tangible in her suffering, but ethereal in her form.
I am not your villain, the second phrase finishes. The word is written in english, like its origin. Kyu finds that the finished piece is less fierce than she intended. There is no great banner, nor the rage of long-quashed anger. It is powerful and deliberate, but it doesn’t spit in any system’s face directly. It’s… Strange. But she wouldn’t change it; not when it has taken after everyone she’s met so well. Most don’t dream of spitting in faces. Kyu meets the eyes of the woman in red.
Another note would not be petulant; it would be a declaration. Kyu leaves her signature, and a smaller set of characters. I am the grit in your eye. You will not subjugate us.
Weeks ago, finishing a piece like this would have her distancing herself quickly, casting one last glance over her shoulder. This time, she lingers close by— The longer she does, the better of a chance she has of finding any lead. Maybe word will spread through underground mouths faster than cops can act on tips, and Spinner will pull up in a dinky old van and the League will be safe. Or maybe a hero will come looking, and end up showing their hand when they direct their search towards their estimate of the League’s whereabouts.
Kyu meditates on the cops and heroes on her tail, and the frustration that she’s left without the help or the knowledge of heroes or villains. Anger focuses in her palm, and then she launches herself to the opposite rooftop with a simple flick of her wrist, snagging Blackwhip like a grappling hook and pulling herself up in one motion. It’s nearly invisible when not accompanied by wanton destruction or cyan lightning.
While she watches the street below, Kyu surveys her mental corkboard. Without being able to bring anything larger than a notebook with her, she’s had to think carefully about how to record and organize information. Systems of memorization and ‘mind palaces’ have never done her well for studying or trivia, despite Yaomomo’s encouragement, but organizing something like a broad investigation is different. Most of her experience with investigations has been in Mirko’s style, so the mental image she settled on was of cork— Each thread careful, each piece of twine a different color or texture to lead into the next piece of information.
It’s a flimsy system, but the only one that she can use to keep track of what’s going on. She uses part of it to keep track of heroes in the city and their patrols, which she usually discovers through trial and error. Kyu’s been lucky enough to avoid some, especially lower-level heroes who haven’t changed their patterns or came to shove their noses into alleyways and find her for credit.
Unfortunately, plenty of capable and smart heroes work in Osaka. Those that are capable but stupid work with the police’s organized effort. Those that are smart but weak are entwined with the city’s big agencies. They’re capable of combing through huge areas in search for her, and their presence is a total shutdown— Fighting a whole agency at once would be stupid, so their presence is practically a deterrent, corralling her. All of that sets the stage for the most capable heroes to act.
The Lurkers and Eraserhead are among the most threatening of them, although she hasn’t heard even a whisper of Sir Nighteye’s involvement. He’s a highly capable man who by all accounts should be looking for her, but he’s not, and that’s… almost more worrying than the alternative.
Worrying, but promising— He’s got his nose on a bigger trail than her own, and if she can’t find the League, Kyu could find out what priority he has greater than the elusive Kyuubi herself. She imagines that they must know by now that she hasn’t found the villains, and that means they might have better luck springing themselves on the League when they eventually show their hand for Kyu’s sake. Assuming whatever horror struck Himiko hasn’t consumed them, that is.
“Th-they got her, but Magne’s gonna be fine, fine, it’s just some blood, blood, FUCK!”
“I— Sh-shit. I l-love you, Kyu. Help me lift her you ASSHO—”
Kyu locks her muscles to keep them from snapping out with enough strength to crush concrete to fine powder. She stops breathing to stop the urge to hiss out hopeless profanities. Think, she reminds herself, then act with no hesitation.
It doesn’t make sense for a big violent conflict to rear its head from a simple territorial dispute. Whether or not another group would try to shoulder out the League, it’s likely they’d fail. The stage is larger than just some gang in Osaka anyway— It’s how the whole underbelly of Japan is set to shift as a new status quo emerges. Things are still hectic, but when villains stop being brazen and heroes staunch the bleeding wound of All Might’s retirement, there will be a new structure to the underground, and more importantly, a new boss.
The Quirk-erasing bullets would make a great lead, but there’s too much to follow and no clear signs. Kyu doesn’t have the freedom or the time to track every building with any advanced laboratory or medical center. Even if she knew the process, there are probably plenty of elements being circumvented by Quirks— There’s certainly no big suspicious deliveries being made to shady warehouses. When forensics discovers the drug’s composition, Kyu won’t know, and she’ll have no resources to follow up on the information she doesn’t have.
Lots of thread weaves between faceless things— Stamped on headlines and drugs with no return address. Useless, for now; Kyu has to wait and watch.
On the street below, someone sees the graffiti and snaps a picture of it. They have a crocodilian snout and a nightguard jacket, but the emblem on it looks like the one from a department store a few blocks away. Kyu can’t be quite sure what sort of person they’ll reach out to— They linger there, drawing from a cigarette and typing out a text. They might be leaning against the concrete to wait for cops, or wait for a reply from a boss. Cops would be inconvenient, since Kyu is probably too tired to handle an all-out fight tonight. Her hiding spot is good enough to wait for another few minutes.
Alarms never come— Instead, there’s a sleek, pitch-dark car rolling to the side of the street. The guard leans over it, so Kyu can’t see inside the car when the back window rolls down. It’s certainly not the League in such an expensive car, but it’s something odd that she can’t place. Before Kyu can speculate one way or another, the window rolls up and the guard steps back. She leans onto the balls of her feet to get ready to follow the car, but then the door opens.
A man in a suit steps out, though he has a scarf rather than a tie, and his long-past five-o’-clock shadow looks rather unprofessional. He takes in the piece, then looks up and down the street, eyes narrowed over his small, circular glasses. Kyu racks her brain. A fan? No, he’s certainly got money, and he makes it an odd way if he’s up at this hour, coming out here personally. He could be behind the bullets, or the trigger uptick— But if he is, cornering him here is out of the question. My chances are slim enough without taking fights I don’t know I’ll win.
Kyu waits and watches as the man lingers before finally getting back into the car. It pulls away, and she squats with her knees up and her weight on the Knightriders. She watches it drive down the street for a long while before finally turning, and she leans forward to—
Blink. A beat. Something’s off. Kyu’s breath lingers in her throat, as if her diaphragm stopped for a second, and she takes clumsy, manual breaths. “I was—” She pauses, pants. “I was following someone.” She tries to visualize her corkboard, but it’s just the same as it was before. “Before what— What happened?” she hisses. She knocks the heel of her palm against her temple. “Get it together.”
She’s leaning onto the balls of her feet like she’s about to kick off— After who? There’s nobody on the street but a man with a crocodilian snout and a nightguard jacket. There’s an emblem on it that she doesn’t recognize, but it’s certainly not the same as the one on the building she’s standing across from. She came up to the roof to watch for a hero or villain to give her some sort of clue— She must’ve been ready to follow someone else, and then… “That has to be it,” she murmurs, but she’s already nipping at the tip of her thumb, ripe with uncertainty.
Below her, the nightguard grinds his cigarette under his heel and puts his phone to his ear. His voice is low, and she doesn’t make out all of what he says; only familiar words in the rumble. Words like ‘Kyuubi’ and ‘graffiti’ and ‘officer’.
Grimacing, Kyu kicks off the rooftop and lashes herself to a building across the street with the discomfort and frustration of cops coming to flush her out. It snarls in waves of black that tug her further than she expects, like a dog yanking at its leash. She reigns it in, surprised to find it slipping her grasp at such a mild fuel. She shakes her head, squeezes her hands into fists and out a few times. Whatever threw me off, I have to get it together.
Sirens come in, and Kyu slings herself another few blocks before dropping herself into the alleyways. She moves quick from there, removing the red and white spraycans from her bag so they can’t rattle against the black one, which she keeps. Without those, she’s quiet enough, despite her heavy footsteps. She lightens those steps and places weight on unspooling shadows when she comes up on odd voices.
“Shit, man, did they have a silent alarm?”
“Those sirens are blocks away. And— Hey, keep moving it, shitbird!”
They both sound worried and rushed— Like they’re stealing something that it takes two men to move.
She steps around the corner, but neither of the men spot her— They’re staring at each other, bickering in hushed voices across a complicated-looking machine Kyu doesn’t recognize. A server tower, or big computational hardware, maybe? It’s not her area of expertise, but it doesn’t look fancy enough to be worth stealing for the money.
The men are wound up; they’ll probably lash out if she speaks up now. Instead, she plies the shadows with thoughts of scheming villains like All For One, who would want to, say, steal the massive amounts of data kept in hardware locked away from his hands. She fuels them further with the knowledge that cops and heroes aren’t doing well enough to stop that sort of monster— They might, say, be more busy hunting down a mostly-innocent teenager for vandalism.
Blackwhip surges forward from each arm. Tendrils immobilize both men, and from her sides, shadows ensnare the machine. She sets it down as gently as she can manage— Which is not very, but it’s better than letting it fall— While yanking the men towards her. The one on her left meets her elbow jaw-first, and falls motionless. The one on her right meets her palm with his neck, and she quickly spins on her Knightriders to pin him against the wall.
“Who do you—” Kyu coughs at the thick ache in her throat, but takes another breath and continues. “—work for.”
“I— I don’t— Shit, you’re Nightlight, I don’t work for anyone! I swear!” He gulps a few breaths, though her grip makes them the slightest bit shallow. “I— I just got told to do this one job, an’ the pay is good, I don’t really even know what that is!” His hands come up to grab at her forearm. It’s fruitless, but she feels the clammy sweat on his palms, and the cool metal of a ring. She glances at his hands. They’re sausage-fingered, rough-palmed things, but a simple silver band shines around his ring finger.
Kyu drops him, letting him slide down the wall onto his jelly-legs, and slide down a little further from there. He wheezes, staring up at her. “You’re right. The sirens are pretty far— They’re for me.” She casts a glance towards the machine, then back to the man. “Does your wife know?”
The man looks up at her with saucer-eyes, then shakes his head. “N-no. But I’ll n-never do it again, I never should’ve, I—”
“She should know,” Kyu says, not quite meeting his eyes. “If you need the money—”
He shakes his head. “I— we don’t. Not that b— bad.”
“Then tell me where to find him.”
Kyu bumps against sturdy shoulders in a crowded, dim club that smells like bad booze and sweat. She’s not the scrawny five-foot kid All Might saved, but the crowd still batters her around carelessly. She doesn’t exactly state her presence, swallowed in her parka even when the plasticky material sticks to her skin with the humidity.
The hood is up and her hair is down— It falls in matted curls around her face, following the path of her bangs to prick at the thin skin of her face and neck. She wonders how recognizable she really is, when so much of Japan knows her from a media circus, and the identity emblazoned on her chest is so dull in the club lights. Each color is dim, but unnatural and saturated like a poisonous animal. Kyu can’t chide anyone for chasing late-night thrills, but a grimace spreads across her face at the discomfort of it all.
“What the hell does ‘you can’t miss him’ mean,” Kyu grumbles, popping up onto her tip-toes and stretching her chin up to scan over the crowd. She’s hardly taller than average, much less a tough guy or a tall heteromorph. There’s nobody especially unmissable— There are people in fine suits or designer streetwear with women on their arms, sure, but nobody looking down on their domain from a balcony or throne. In fact, when she looks around, she finds plenty of masks. The fancy patrons wear domino masks that hide nearly nothing, but others wear all sorts of masks from plasticky hero faces to leathery plague doctor beaks.
What is the point of ‘you can’t miss him?’ Clearly, the men weren’t going to wheel a giant stolen computer into this club. Maybe there’s a VIP wing somewhere; Kyu decides to look around herself before asking anybody. There’s some curtains and doors on one wall with bouncers dressed in tuxedos, but Kyu isn’t exactly sure what she’s looking at. She keeps an eye out, surprised at how little people come in and out. Eventually, someone does slip out, though she almost misses the man in his dark clothes.
This one makes two plague doctor masks. He’s wearing a dark longcoat that matches his mask and hat, and he scans the floor briefly before finding the other man in a mask. Kyu detaches from the crowd to see their exchange better— She can’t hear any of the details, but the man in black gestures at his watch, and the other man gestures slow and calm as if to say give it time. The man in black’s face is obscured, but the way his hands fist and his lungs fill, he looks like he’s going to snap a response. When he turns away to take a breath and pinch his brow… He’s looking towards Kyu— And then he straightens and looks right at her. The lights swirl around between them, and colors bounce across the name emblazoned on her jacket. He steps forward, and she ducks back in the crowd, using the chaos of sound and light.
“Folks, you know what time it is!” The lights go still, turning to dim orange. The music dies, and the crowd hushes, except for scattered cheers. So much for an escape. The announcer-voice crows out again, bellowing with all the hype he can muster. “It’s a title match! You know him, you love betting on him: It’s the Evisradicator!”
There are cheers. Through the thick of the crowd, on the other side of the club floor, the lights shine white. Title match? Kyu wonders, immediately before that’s a stupid name. She glances back towards the plague doctors, but they haven’t gotten closer. It can’t hurt to take a peek. She shoves through the crowd towards the lights.
“And yet, the odds couldn’t be more split! It’s our reigning champ! He meets God, he punches God!” There’s a heavy metal thunk, heavier than the Knightriders but similar. “He meets the Buddha, he punches the Buddha!” The crowd holds their breath, quiet enough to hear metal shift and air whistle— Shadow-boxing in big gauntlets. “He meets you? You’ll never guess! It’s the Rapper!”
Kyu squeezes around a broad-shouldered man, and finally gets a good look at what’s happening as the Rapper’s lights come on. It’s a club, but this half of the floor is sunk down maybe four feet into bare cement. Around that, a chain-link cage loops and glitters under the lights, which look placed for this just as much as the other part of the club. It’s a cage for an all-out brawl, one that almost looks like it could disguise itself if the fence was taken down. Clever.
The Rapper is probably more conspicuous than the cage itself. He has handwraps, but over them, giant chunks of metal are strapped to his outer forearms and guard his closed fists in a curved shape, almost like a boxing glove. He crashes his fists together and roars louder than the metal sound, “you better show me a good fight!” He also has a plague mask. Kyu is starting to get a sense of what unmissable looks like.
The Evisradicator is tough looking, tattoos creeping down his bare shoulders. He’s got growths on his arms like knotted, spiky wood, but they look sort of dull and keratinous.
“You know the rules!”
The crowd cheers back, “there are no rules!”
There’s a ding and both of the men lunge at each other. They’re both brawler types, but Rapper is brutally fast and has metal gloves. The other guy doesn’t do badly, but he’s outmatched in speed, and when a metal glove lands home across his jaw— Well.
“That’s match! Wow, folks! Could you even see that lightning-fast rush?! The Rapper really is something el— What’s this?!”
Kyu slams into the top of the fence, making the whole thing rattle even as Blackwhip latches to it. It’s a little stupid— Probably a lot stupid, but she’s probably going to have to run anyway. She pushes her bangs and hood away from her face. “Rapper! Your buddies seem annoyed that I’m here!” She gestures around her face to imitate the beak-shape.
The Rapper tilts his head, chuckling loudly. “You’re that Kyuubi kid!” He gestures with one big metal gauntlet. “Hey, you worked for that, uh, Rabbit Hero chick, right?”
This is a villain bar. Better to separate herself. She shrugs. “A while ago, sure. But I’m here in place of your delivery, see?”
“What’s this?! K— Kyuubi?!” The announcer sputters, but catches the reins annoyingly fast. “Once a hero-kid, now a hero-crusher! What’s she doing in the ring?!”
Rapper barks a sharp laugh. “That’ll totally piss the pansies out there off. You come to fight me, then?!” He crashes his fists together again, and she can’t see his face but she can sense the excited grin on it.
Kyu shakes her head. “I’m looking for someone. I’m thinking you can help.”
Rapper leans this way and that. His motions are beyond exaggerated— He’s playing up his indecision for the audience, and that makes frustration nip at Kyu enough that Blackwhip warps the links of the cage. “How’s about this? You can settle an old argument for me, and I’ll let’cha know where your pals with the League are.”
Kyu kicks off the fence, landing in the light a few paces from Rapper. She’s frustrated, but this, finally, is a lead. Now to tug and see how deep the roots go. “What’s the debate?”
“Between me ‘n that Usako chick! See, she’s tough ‘n all, but a real strike comes from the soul! ” Rapper shadowboxes a little, and then beats his chest. “So, Kyuubi! Which is stronger! A kick, or a punch!?”
Kyu frowns. “It’s not that straightforward—”
KRR-ACK!
Kyu’s Knightriders scrape against the bare cement, sending up sparks as she brakes like a scooter. Where she just stood, Rapper lugs his heavy metal gauntlet out of crushed cement. “Ha. I call that straightforward!”
Kyu spreads her stance. She saw him coming, but he’s still fast and strong— Enough that matching his blows with only worn handwraps is probably stupid. That leaves her Knightriders, so she scuffs them against the cement to get a feel for it. It’s a little powdery, but it shouldn’t crumple too badly.
“Outta nowhere, it’s an exhibition match! Punches versus Kicks! Rapper versus Kyuubi! I can’t believe what I’m lookin’ at!”
The crowd cheers, and Kyu casts a disdainful glare their way— That’s when she catches the man in the coat and mask from before. His fingers curl in the links and he rattles it furiously. “RAPPA!”
“Told’ya they’d get pissed,” is all Rappa says before he moves.
Kyu struggles to keep up, but she’s prepared this time. She can match his speed when she uses her Quirk, even though the sting in her eyes is painful. She needs it to see each blow coming— Rappa’s punches are all incredibly powerful, despite coming so fast. It’s not just his Quirk, either; his form is good, and each blow comes from his hips up to his shoulders and down to massive iron fists.
Kyu bats away blows, letting them glance off her arms and slide along Blackwhip, while she waits for an opening. Each time she pushes him away, the narrowly-avoided impact rattles in her bones. She’s in no danger of losing, but she finds that even as he goes on and on, there’s no opening. He makes mistakes, sure, but his blows are fast and come with total coverage. She can punish him in kind, but she can’t actually get through his wall of oncoming fists. It’s like trying to fight a bullet train: Nonstop, lightning-quick, and on tracks.
His Quirk is an issue too— It doesn’t have any clear signifiers, but it must be in his arms. His proportions are slightly gorilla-like, with huge, strong hands, but his sheer skill and odd punch obsession are just as telling. The weight of metal isn’t stopping him from being fast, and with that comes a lot of sheer power. It’d be bearable if it ever let up, but if anything, he’s getting faster. She’s waiting and watching for an opening, but every glancing blow rattles her more. Pretty soon she’ll be like a frog in slow-boiling water, caught out and totally screwed. She turns her attention away for a split second— I need room!
Tinnng!
Kyu feels her metal heel hit the fence, and that’s when she realizes she’s about to get hit hard. Rappa has no openings, but she can at least leverage from the wall to reply with a snap kick and brace—
CLANG!
Her knee strains, the blow resonating all the way up her leg with slow, thundering power. It feels like there’s an ice pick in her ankle, but Rappa’s strength gives after the initial blow, and Kyu heaves him back with her foot. He staggers a few steps, but it’s by no means a comfortable distance.
“Ha. Good, good!” He crashes his fists together again. Kyu is much worse off, gently placing weight on her now-tender ankle. “You got some nice metal there. But if you’re strong enough to match my Strongarm, what’re you waitin’ for?!”
Kyu winces and rolls her weight back onto her good foot. “I don’t get to take stupid fights when I’ve gotta fight all the time.”
Rappa scoffs. “Stupid? Fightin’s usually pretty stupid, but you’ve gotta have some stupid! Life ain’t worth livin’ if all you do is wait around. Man, that rabbit chick couldn’t get the smarts outta your head at all, could she? That sucks!”
Kyu blinks. If he didn’t call out the League by name, she’d expect him to be useless for an actual lead. “What…?”
Rappa rolls out his shoulders. “A punch is from the heart, y’see. The soul. All that talk about fightin’ smart or openings or whatever— That’s for pussies.”
Kyu frowns, caught off guard despite wanting to launch a verbal retort back. This guy doesn’t make much sense. Before she can say something snide, he’s already attacking again. She’s still surprised with how suddenly the attacks start, but compared to the flurry from before, he’s noticeably slower— For now. A windup speed? That means his Quirk is probably useless if I restrain him. But…
She matches a few of his blows, but she doesn’t get a chance to really hit him back before he picks up more speed. There’s no way Blackwhip can ensnare him while he’s moving, and she ends up pressed to the fence pretty quickly. The fence behind her gives her some leverage to work with, but having nowhere to go leaves her getting battered.
“I gotta say I’m impressed that you’re not like mincemeat yet, but y’ain’t gonna last long like this! Looks like punches are still better!”
Kyu hardly hears what he’s saying as she narrowly avoids his blows. His metal gauntlet catches on her stud earring and ow shit she doesn’t have a stud earring anymore. There’s no time to mourn because he punches her another five times in the first throb of pain from her ear. There has to be an answer in his Quirk, an Achille’s heel—
Oh. Pain pulses through her leg where the chain links dig into that still-tender wound Edgeshot gave her.
She doesn’t really have a choice. She pushes aside his right arm with her left, casting out a tide of Blackwhip. She blocks his next attack with her right arm, but then she’s blocking two arms with one and those gauntlets slam against her chest and shoulders painfully. They’re not all killshots, but if she took them at a slightly worse angle, they could shatter her collarbone like a twig. Meanwhile, Blackwhip tightens around his back foot. When he steps forward with his tide of punches, it’s easy to give him a greater tug!
A glancing blow across her face makes pain pulse across her cheek and blurs her vision— Maybe a concussion; hopefully tears— that’ll leave a black eye, but it’s all Rappa gets before he goes down with all that huge, muscular weight.
There’s a crash and there’s cheers, but Kyu doesn’t hear any of it. She pounces like an animal, tackling him ten paces towards the center of the cage and pinning him against the cement. Blackwhip’s thin threads tighten like tourniquets around him, while her bony fingers dig into him and crush him beneath her. She tastes blood and spits, breathes stinging air that smells like sweat and victory.
“Dammit, this ain’t the end of a good fight! A real fight ends with unconsciousness! A real fight ends with a real death!”
Kyu takes him by the forehead and crashes his skull against the cement. He’s got a lot of hair and a thick head, because it bounces with a dull sound and hardly stops his squirming.
“You aren’t getting the privilege of unconsciousness!” Kyu coughs, heaves a few breaths, and then growls out “because you have to talk.”
“Hm. Ha, alright, little rabbit.” He sniffs, stretching his jaw up. “You sound a lot like m’boss. You aren’t getting the privilege— I’ve heard that one before. It’s annoyin’ as hell, but I guess I ain’t complainin’ that I’m still alive.”
Kyu’s hair stands on end. This guy almost died in a head-on fight?
“Your pals and mine are buddy-buddy now— Well, sorta— So we know where yours are at, for now. It’s this shithole across town.”
Buddy-buddy. Scheming villains at the top, with power to throw around and moves on the board. “The bullets are yours.”
Rappa scoffs, like he’s ashamed to be associated. “It’s annoying! Bullets ain’t nothin’ like a real fight!” He sniffs. “But, yeah. I don’t really know the address, but you’re one’a those smart types.”
Kyu narrows her eyes. “How did you know I was looking for the League?”
Rappa scoffs. “Your girl can’t shut her mouth about you.”
“Where.” Kyu is surprised at the raspy, desperate sound of her voice, the ferality of it.
“Rappa! Stop talking, right now!” The man in the coat and the other plague mask man are scaling the fence and snarling like hounds of hell.
“Don’t think I can tell you our base, or they’ll really give me shit. Your pals, though? They’re hidin’ under the shipyard’s nose.” He tilts his head, looking like he’s earnestly trying to remember. “The, uh, artificial island.”
Kyu scoffs. In Osaka, that’s not very specific.
Rappa scoffs right back. “The big one, from the Quirk reclamation efforts!”
Good enough. Rappa’s buddies are over the fence now, and Kyu isn’t inclined to stay a second longer. She springs to her feet, biting her tongue to keep down a whimper at the pain in her ankle. She uses Blackwhip to help kick off and soar out of the cage.
I’m coming, Himiko.
Notes:
Queen – an artist with a strong reputation; a known and respected graffiti artist
She's back! Still good news for Switcheroo!
Rappa's a very fun character here. He's been contemplated on and off for a while, but ultimately he's too fun not to include. Also he's pretty narratively significant but like who cares about that
Growing up, I’d get a lot of “I still care about you and you should hold hope in your heart” messages from family on election nights— I was the gay one. They sort of annoyed me, but here I am, writing one.
Switcheroo is a story about authority failing and cisheteronormativity being challenged, and it is about queer community. Please find hope in each other. Reach out to local organizers and activists, failing that reach out to your local queers, failing that take each other arm in arm. We will yet live. We have lived through worse.
Death before detransition. Tooth and claw before my death.
Chapter 74: Berlin Wall
Summary:
After learning where The League is holed up from Rappa, Kyu's focus narrows. But crossing that wall-- That impossible gap-- Is a risk she has to calculate.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Most of Osaka’s artificial islands are half-sunk things from before the twenty-first century. They serve well enough as giant docks, but are practically uninhabitable. Out past them is a great plateau that stretches high enough to match Osaka’s coastal skyline. It’s a significant population center, such that Agon and Kuros make up two of Osaka’s twenty-six wards.
Kyu doesn’t know much of that, but she does know that it’ll be a bitch to get to. Surveying it isn’t worth much, so she lets down the set of coastal binoculars stationed at the pier. They’re old and squeaky, creaking as they tip back down to gravity’s pull.
There’s one big commercial bridge in and out— Ferries too, probably, but one land route. The sea mist is icy, forget actually getting in the water and trying to swim. She’d be exhausted and hypothermic. There’s only one route to the island, and it’s across that bridge. More to the point, it’s getting seen crossing that bridge. The heroes will have her cornered there.
That doesn’t matter. Himiko is there.
Kyu runs her thumb over the crinkled post-it note in her pocket. All she has is a few phone numbers, and no phone to reach them from. Payphones are a universal service. Ostensibly accessible to all citizens, but they’re pretty rare in the age of Quirks. More to the point, the existing ones are scuffed-up things with their green paint chipped and slapped over with stickers and etchings, and they’re in public.
Even though her body aches for a break, she could probably get across the bridge faster than a car. That’d be like sending up a flare, and if she had to fight Eraserhead or the Lurkers again, she might lose. With her goal so close, she can’t wait, but she has to be smart.
Like last time, she needs a ride— With luck, someone’ll have a car, but Osaka is a big city where few people own them. Because Kyu trashed Kazuho’s car and then had to be saved by her as Pop☆Step, that option is fully off the table. She runs her thumb along that crumpled sticky note again, chewing her lip and hoping for a miracle.
If I have to get seen, I’ll make it worth it, Kyu decides, squeezing her shaky hands into firm fists. I’ll probably have to go by the train station for a payphone, but with luck I can get a paper map while I’m at it. And… She pauses, thinking for a moment. Do I need to eat? It’s probably not worth trying to steal something, and it’s only been a few days. She’s not sure how long it’s really been, but the hollowness in her gut hasn’t gotten to the point of buzzing in her fingers yet.
She’d rather not steal at all, remembering all the villains who did it for their own sakes. Telling herself how important this is doesn’t really make it feel better.
Still beat the shit out of those heroes, though, huh? They just got what was coming to them.
“Shut up,” Kyu says. She tries for firmness, but her voice is gone from overuse and Night Howl. It comes out like a broken whisper.
Oh, but they ‘made you do it.’ Your words, right? Please. You can draw lines in the sand all you want but in comes the storm and you are a destroyer! JUST! LIKE! ME!
She grits her teeth and hits the heel of her palm against her temple. She refocuses, but it’s only in the immediate way— Heart rate going, endorphins and intensity, a wild feeling in her like an animal scratching at the prison bars of her ribcage. She grinds her hand into her skull there and forces her priorities to the front of her mind. Payphone. Map.
Voices are muffled on the other side of the door. Shouta lingers, letting the draft in the hallway sear down his throat and into his lungs, a shock against the steaming-hot bullpen coffee.
Most of the voices are dull buzzes that are hard to make out. Shouta’s got good hearing, but between Bakugou’s Quirk, the squealing feedback of Haneyama’s megaphone, and that of Kyuubi, it’s not what it was a month ago. Other voices are still clear, mostly the high registers that don’t meld into a low rumble through the metal door.
“We don’t have any good options,” one says, firm.
“What do you recommend, exactly? Giving up?”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” the first replies.
Shouta sighs and opens the door.
The meeting room is a windowless white thing with buzzing fluorescents. The chairs are lined with all manner of heroes. Ryuukyuu herself along with some of her agency’s organizers, Edgeshot and Mount Lady— Kamui is doing better, but rest is more important than this late-night juncture— As well as a few other Osaka locals Eraserhead isn’t familiar with, and underground heroes Kesagiri Man and Scourge who he finds tolerable, at least.
It’s a bit disjointed. Shouta has been in a teacher’s lounge with great names before, but those were coworkers in UA’s great halls of high ceilings and high windows. This place is all white walls, acoustic tile ceilings, and unimpressive decade-old carpeted floors. This is a meeting of a number of great heroes to find a highly wanted villain, but in an effort to keep things quiet and swift, it’s happening here.
The story is long since out and the cards are on the table. Shouta doesn’t see a point to this sort of practice anymore, but he can’t complain that they’re his hours.
“Do you know what the definition of insanity is?” Shouta prompts in his harshest voice. Hizashi calls it his teacher voice, because he’s an idiot. Shouta speaks in a deliberate way to communicate information and importance, teaching or not.
Ryuukyuu turns toward him. “What do you recommend, exactly? Letting her go?” With her eyes still narrowed, she looks him up and down. With the case file under his arm and a thermos in his other hand, he might well look like an underdressed officer.
“No. But you’ve all been taking careless routes to try to detain her. It’s like Mirko said— Shows of force and escalations, one and all.” With a bone-deep sigh, Shouta rounds to the head of the table and drops the file in place. “I organized the effort in Musutafu, and I will organize it here, but this case is hopeless without a proper organized effort. In the age of All Might, you all got used to taking down big-name villains like bounty hunters, arriving with showstopping moves.” Shouta looks them over. He’s older than most of the heroes in the room, with the exception of Edgeshot. They look confused and placid. Not good enough.
“Well, the age of All Might is over,” he says harshly, “and you’re all illogical. Midoriya will not be brought down by confrontation with heroes; she’s hardly slowed down, and there’s no observable pattern of where and when she rests. She’s taken down several villains peacefully, too— Better than can be said for some of the dopes out there hunting for her. They’re worse than useless.”
“What, exactly, do you recommend?” Edgeshot asks, voice hard-edged. “You recommended the roadblock, and it was your advice that led me to attempt deescalation.”
“A proper manhunt. An organized one. The heroes in the city have largely been sharing information, but there’s no proper team on the case. That means a breakdown in communications and— As we’ve seen— Failure to capture.” Shouta says this all flatly, but he can see the disagreement brewing before he’s even done.
One of Ryuukyuu’s sidekicks snaps forward. “Ryuukyuu agency is already making a large joint effort—”
Kesagiri Man clears his throat. “Wouldn’t an organized team demand full acknowledgement? I thought the whole deal was that this was kept out of full-light.”
Shouta looks down at the case file. Midoriya Kyu’s provisional license ID picture looks back at him. Even through the muddiness of the photocopied image, the fire in her eyes is clear. All Shouta can think about is how it has hardened into a singular pointed ruby of intent and rage. “It would demand acknowledgement, yes. As of thirteen-hundred hours, this case is organized under Osaka’s prefectural Commissioner Ibuta and the HPSC.”
Ryuukyuu tips her head down. “You’re serious.”
What Shouta gives her could generously be called a nod; one quick jerk of his head. “Besides the fact that we need to organize our efforts, the reappearance of Pop☆Step has established that Midoriya has access to at minimum a gray-area support network.” He nods to Scourge. “That’s part of why you’re involved in this meeting, despite its exclusivity.”
Scourge narrows her eyes, looking blankly over her glasses. It’s unsettling, watching her unfocused pupils. “I’m honored,” she eventually says. The room’s stillness lasts a single, leaden breath.
Clunk. The door handle turns hard and swings open fast. “Hey, I hope I didn’t— Oh, I’m totally late, aren’t I.”
Eraserhead clicks open his thermos. He hates new developments. “Hawks,” he greets flatly, before a long sip.
“That’s me! They call me the fastest, but so much for that, huh? Did I miss anything important?” He folds his wings in remarkably tight, slipping along the wall past the Lurkers and dropping into a chair close to Shouta. He makes a gimme-gesture at the case file.
“I… Wasn’t aware you’d be involved,” Ryuukyuu says all too politely.
Hawks shrugs. “Oh, y’know. I’m workin’ down at Kyushu, and then the suits call and they say ‘they’re organizing a group to track down Kyuubi.’ And of course, who better to snatch up a tough little hare than a bird of prey, right? So: Case file. Pretty please, Eraserhead?”
Shouta grumbles, but shoves it over. It’s thicker than could reasonably be skimmed, with tons of sightings and reports that Hawks couldn’t possibly have the experience to judge the value of. “Knock yourself out. The psych profile is—” Shouta shoves down the first few words that come to mind, because they’re inflammatory, if nothing else. “…It’s speculative.”
Hawks snatches up the folder without even taking his gloves off, but he loses the yellow visor to skim along it with his golden eyes. “I tend not to detain people based off what’s in their heads,” he says distantly. Late, then cocky, and altogether too nonchalant. He flips through the file to seemingly random pages, raising an eyebrow or huffing through his nose at a couple points.
“You’re worse than my students,” Shouta grumbles.
Hawks snaps the manilla folder shut and wobbles it around. “Here’s an inch of paper that says I’m not.” Then he narrows his eyes. “Sorry. Too soon? Look, We all wanna catch her, but she’s stopping robberies and rapists while out-of-towners scramble around snatching at burrowholes. It’s time to stop playing whack-a-mole and flush her out. Then we can get back to hero-business-as-usual.”
Shouta glares. Through gritted teeth, he says “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” It feels like a concession. With a sigh, he forges on anyways. “With that being said, ‘flushing her out’ is a concerted effort. There will be no more acting on a sighting.” He turns his glare on the Lurkers, chastising them with his eyes alone.
“What were we supposed to do?” Mount Lady snaps, defensive.
“Your motion to stop her failed, so as far as we know, all you did was cause significant property damage. Civilians were endangered, too.” Shouta has been trying to ignore Hawks’ hand-flapping, but it’s finally too much. With tight fists, he turns toward Hawks. “What?”
Hawks freezes with his hand open like a gaping mouth. He blinks up at Shouta, then grins affably. “Look, you’ve got the raven hair, but you sound like a parrot.” He mimes with his hand again, caw -ing out of the corner of his mouth. “This is the same thing Mirko talked about, Eraserhead.” Caw! “It’s the hero’s job to do everything right.” He leans back in his chair until it’s tipping onto its back legs. “Look, man, we all get it. They do too, even if they’re grumbling about it.” He nudges Mount Lady with his elbow, seemingly unphased that she looks moments from biting it off. “I don’t really like talking—”
Shouta doesn’t lift his chin from where it nests in his scarf. “You’re really giving that impression.”
“—so let’s skip to the important part, yeah? Time to do everything right and work together and win the day. As much as she’s slippery, it shouldn’t be hard to figure out which part of Osaka she’s in.” Hawks makes a circle with his hands. “From there, we close in at unified hours, use police and extant searches to limit the impression that we’re on her, and then…” His narrowing circle turns into a hand walking on index and middle fingers, and a second hand snatching it like, for instance, a hawk divebombing its prey.
“With a strategic mind like yours, we’ll be done in a day,” Scourge says flatly.
Hawks frowns. “I was under the impression that Eraserhead’s investigative cases fell off because of the teaching job, not some spontaneous decline. I mean, concussions in our line of work are pretty common, but…” He shrugs. “You’re the best and brightest. I’ll just be doing what I do best. And that’s fast.” His wings stretch out as he preens,standing with a grin.
Shouta’s brow furrows. “You shouldn’t show your hand by flying or fanning out feathers.”
Hawks seems a whole lot less readable the moment his visor is back on. He turns back towards Shouta and mimes zipping his mouth shut— Then a corner back open. “Is my quiet better than her paranoid? Or would you count on my speed?”
Shouta narrows his eyes. “You don’t have the level of experience for me to be comfortable—”
“Don’t take my confidence for foolhardiness.” Hawks fixes the collar of his jacket with two quick tugs. “I’m not planning to seal the deal with no help, but my control’s good enough to finish the job that nobody has managed: Detainment in spite of that shadow stuff that’s giving everyone the slip.”
Shouta takes a deep breath. “Alright, fine. That brings us to the next order of business— We’ll need to keep things well-oiled, so everyone will have communicators properly tuned…”
Kyu’s crooked fingers take a shaky grasp of the cold coins in her bag. There’s not many, buried along the seam at the bottom. Still, it’s enough that she can take one and feel its weight— It’s not really heavy, but there’s significance to the minute of phone time it represents. The payphone makes a heavy sound to match— The K-k-krick-ting of the coin sliding in, and then the kachunk of it feeding into the mechanism. The waxy buttons for each digit light up. Kyu smooths out the crumpled paper over the scuffed instructions printed on the side of the payphone, and punches in the numbers.
The first ring passes. She drums her aching fingers along the little plastic chassis, feeling the papery texture of weather-worn stickers. It’s not enough to keep her feeling awake, but she can’t muster the effort to keep her legs moving. She leans forward, hearing the hood of her parka crinkle close to her ear, curling over the payphone and keeping her face in shadow.
The second ring passes. What does the caller see, on a touchscreen or flimsy budget flip-phone? The number must be one they’ve never seen. One they might entertain out of simple curiosity. Maybe they’ll have a car to offer, but the chance is slim. Kyu will fall to her knees for that mile’s worth of gas in their engine and wanted woman in their passenger seat.
The third ring buzzes and dies half-formed, giving way to a soft “hello?”
“Hi,” Kyu starts, wincing at her lack of a voice. She forces a “Hello,” and it mostly comes out, consonants more air than sound.
“Hey, who is this?”
She licks her chapped lips. “Yuri gave me your number. My name’s Kyuubi.”
“Like…”
Kyu winces. “Like I’m her.”
There’s a sound like shuffling. “Oh, shit, okay.”
“Do you have a car?”
“No, sorry. I’m in Nishi ward. Do you, like, need a ride to a doctor?”
Kyu frowns. “No.”
“You just sound— Well, it’s fine. Heat from fire or whatever.”
Kyu taps her fingers against the chassis sharply, jagged nails dragging through sticker-pulp. “…I need to get to Agon-Kuros.”
“I guess the ferry and bridge are sort of no-goes. I— Look, I can call a few people—”
Kyu sighs. “Forget it. I’m at a payphone.”
“I’m sorry,” the voice says. A beat. “Good luck, Kyuubi.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Kyu doesn’t put enough force behind her words to get out more than that familiar airy whisper.
She stretches her fingers to the bottom of her bag again. The come across a few more coins, and she presses them against the coin slot shakily. K-k-krick-ting. Ka-chunk. She stamps her thumb against each digit carefully, checking twice each time. In the dim light, it’s hard to make out the scribbled pen.
The first ring passes. Behind her, a late-night train rolls into the station, all heavy sounds and high scrapes along the rail. She tugs at her hood, though it still feels suddenly small when anyone could see her and it’s making her whole head feel hot.
The second ring passes, then the third. Behind her, hydraulics hiss, pausing for a breath before each cabin will open its doors and let its passengers finally return home. At the forth, there’s a click and a live line.
“Hey, wha’s up?” A sleepy voice mumbles.
“Yuri gave me your number.” Kyu squints at the post-it note smoothed out across the plastic. In parenthesis, Yuri wrote… “You do DIY…? Like, furniture?”
Across the line, there’s a deep breath, like someone begrudgingly waking. “What? No, I— Who is this?”
How rude of me, Kyu thinks venomously, resisting an urge to look over her shoulder towards the train. “Kyuubi. Do you have a car?”
“Kyuubi like—”
There’s no time. Besides each coin being a painfully short minute long, each call measures out into ages for that ache in her chest. “I need to get to Agon-Kuros. Can you get me there?”
“Not right now.”
“Then it’s a no,” Kyu says snippily.
“…Yeah. Sorry.” After a moment, the voice adds, “DIY means HRT, kid. If you’re not afraid of needles I’ve got— I’ve got estrogen, long story short.”
Kyu stills. It’s not like she forgot about the blockers she’s running out of or the thought of HRT. She’s reminded of that again and again, but now she’s being offered something else. She has a choice at hand and could maybe, incrementally, become something new. Whatever she is now isn’t done, even if it serves a purpose.
The dull tone of the minute ending buzzes in her ear. She thinks of the sort of out-of-body buzz when she developed Smokescreen, and her body was less real than… Well, maybe a soul, or maybe the idea of her and what she wants to be. A lot has changed but her body is still more a vessel than a person.
She fumbles for the third coin. K-k-krick-ting, ka-chunk. Figures are passing her, in winter coats and suits that almost make her feel like she’s blending in.
One ring. Footsteps along the concrete around her. The train’s doors close. Two rings. The wind blows, sending a chill through the open front of her parka and right into her bones. The train starts to move away. Three rings. The bodies begin to thin out, leaving her and shuffling papery jackets. The train chugs, fully alive. Four rings. Something is off.
“Hello?”
Kyu doesn’t move. She doesn’t even shift the receiver towards her mouth.
“Is anyone there?”
Searchlight? No, that’s too telling. Smokescreen would give me away, but also get me away. What is it? What am I feeling? Something in the wind; in the air pressure? No, nothing too complicated. It’s simpler than that.
“…Hello?”
It’s someone behind her.
Kyu moves quickly, snatching up the post-it note and leaving her still-open bag slung across her front. The handset falls, caught by its short wire. She vaults over it and the railing it’s attached to, falling from the station platform to the street a few feet below. Right before line of sight breaks, she looks over her shoulder.
A figure, mere feet away. Or maybe even across the tracks, on the other side of the platform. Kyu expects to see something. But there’s nothing there, only the spectre of her own fear.
She falls into a sloppy roll, feeling the shock in her ankles and knees anyway. After the hell they’ve been through, that’s a fierce punishment. She can’t see the platform from down here, and is only left with the anxiety of jumping at the sight of her own shadow. Doubt comes in as quick as a beast of prey pounces. The thought of returning to the payphone is distant— Her breath quickens, suddenly overwhelmed.
Am I in danger, or imagining it? Is there someone there, someone who I missed? Or worse, someone who was there, and moves in shadow? Already I know Eraserhead and Edgeshot hunt me. When did I last eat? What about sleep? Hairs on the back of her neck stand, and thought stills. There is nothing but the thin veneer of quiet on the night.
Hunter-gatherer humans persisted by the endless chase— Even the mastodon yields when he runs and runs, but finds himself pelted by spears like toothpicks and exhaustion like cannonfire. Kyu doesn’t know if she’s faced with a real threat or not, but it comes to her that she is the prey in a long campaign of exhaustion.
Going down so easy? Get up off your knees and fight ‘til you’re bloody again. Best anyone’s taken from you in a fight is a tracking chip.
Kyu closes her eyes and lets the voice wash over her— That’s less distracting than trying to fend the thoughts off with disagreement, even if the smugness of it makes her twitch. Then she opens them and scans the street, without Searchlight or its burn.
There’s nothing out there, but her gut won’t let her pass on the idea just yet. She’s already made plenty of noise, so there’s nothing stopping her from setting the post-it in her bag, zipping it up, and slinging it around to her back. She glances up again when she’s done. There’s nothing around her, but before she can relax, she hears fabric whip and billow above her.
She dodges the figure by a narrow margin, and he dives after her in a quick flurry of karate strikes. She doesn’t know his name, but it’s that same furred hero from when Kyu broke the roadblock. With her on the backfoot, he exploits her surprise with an endless flurry of blows— She ducks and blocks and defends, feeling his technical skill threaten her even where he’s not nearly as strong as Rappa. Still, he’s outmatched when she uses Smokescreen and catches his wrist in an iron grip stronger than one-hundred men. She struggles to flip him; he’s bigger than her and knows how to be slippery, but she’s stronger and gets him to the ground.
Huffing, she leans her weight onto him. “You had to know that was stupid. I beat you before…!”
The man doesn’t stop struggling, but his mask-muffled voice is tinged with a grin. “I figured surprise would be enough.”
Kyu narrows her eyes. She looks through the thinning smoke and the man’s bag to see the tense expression on his face. He’s only keeping up the appearance of being nonchalant. She’s ready to knock him out, but then she sees the earpiece nestled in his ear.
“You’re not the only one,” she realizes. His face shifts, and he opens his mouth to say something meant to goad her. He never gets it out before she knocks his skull against the cement and springs to life. Twenty-percent makes her bones rattle and her Knightriders groan; the prototype-alloy too stiff for full power. She moves quickly anyway, launching herself away from wide open areas and into narrow alleys. Besides the lower visibility and her agility in tight spaces, she hopes it’ll make heroes more wary of property damage.
He’s not the only one. He probably decided to engage after realizing I was wary, hoping to keep me there for someone who could ensure the takedown. She looks over her shoulder, eyes blown wide, but finds nobody. For all I know, all of Japan could be coming around the corner.
Coming out of a web of alleys, Kyu takes a sharp turn with Blackwhip and slings herself onto the rooftops and machines. It’s hard to spot footholds— Good to keep from getting chased, she hopes— But that means she has to find them, too. She finds herself envisioning Rumi ahead of her, and all those chase lessons that taught her how to move. She forces the Knightriders to their limit, kicking off and tightening her body to roll or slide through tight quarters. Combining that with Blackwhip, she compensates for her style of burst movement and poor footing.
It isn’t quiet, but it’s fast. She can’t always tell which is more important, but the animal in her ribcage always cries to move when she thinks of threats closing in. They might not be on every side of her, but chances are hiding isn’t an option until after she moves.
Echoing through the night, police sirens cry out, more than three in sequence and all close enough that she thinks they want me. Police are annoying, but they’re rarely directly involved with her; she does Quirk crime, in the realm of heroes. They’re mobilizing faster than I thought. She vaults over a duct, tugs herself under a billboard with thick bands of shadow, and kicks off the roof. As she soars over the street, a woman on a motorcycle spots her— It’s the scorpion one from Ryuukyuu’s agency. Is it the same team? No, Eraserhead and the Lurkers are here too. Could it be all of them, together?
The motorcycle roars, guzzling gas and crackling in its engines, wheeling around to follow her. Kyu ducks through narrow alleys and side streets, but the woman maneuvers like a dancer even at Kyu’s speed. Escaping her isn’t an option, then, and taking her down would be yet more time for others to close in. Kyu grits her teeth and sends out spines of Blackwhip to bite into the concrete and yank her around a corner into a wider street. Her outstretched fingers catch on the wheel of a parked car, and she hoists it up as she slings down the street. It’s unwieldy, but she’s able to twist it through the air and kick it at the motorcycle. The woman on it twists the handlebars to kill its momentum, tumbling off the bike and scraping along the asphalt with a sharp cry. Her motorcycle and the car become a heap of metal behind her.
Kyu bounds out of the street and keeps moving knowing the scorpion woman can’t keep up. Her lungs are starting to burn from exertion, a long way from giving out, but making their discomfort known. The rest of her body isn’t far behind, already on its last legs. She runs anyway.
She knows she’s faster than the police cars, or maybe she’s just moving in a way cars can’t follow— The sirens never get closer, even as she flees for minute after minute. She must cross a great distance, though— She keeps the coast close, even as she crosses from industrial districts to grand towers and well-kept parks and then into poorer neighborhoods, feet stamping on sheet-metal roofing and Blackwhip slinging her through narrow, carless streets.
Her eyes sting from the overuse of Searchlight. If she pushes any indirect use of One For All any further, she’ll probably feel the tax on her body for weeks. So, she doesn’t see the feather.
It catches her through the same wound Edgeshot cut, reopening it and sending a pulse of pain worse than the initial injury through her. She tumbles off a rooftop and into an alley, and while she shoves herself up onto her elbows and scrapes her feet against the ground, she can hardly move before a weight crashes down on her. Blades, cold as the night air, nestle along her joints, and boots grind into her back.
“Damn,” Hawks huffs, out of breath but casual, “you’re not too slow.”
Under him, Kyu growls. She digs her fingers in, forcing full-body OFA to give her the strength to push back against his weight. Still, she can hardly make room for air in her lungs before the feather-blades at her neck and arms start to prick her skin.
“Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, “If you move, you’ll see how sharp those are. Oh, and that counts for your shadow-trick, too.”
Kyu’s not necessarily forged of steel, but OFA and Blackwhip both shield her from attack. “I’ll take my chances—”
A feather sinks into the meat of her forearm, just below the sleeve of her parka. It doesn’t hit the vein or go all the way through, but the threat that it could is levied with more severity than a firing squad.
Hawks clears his throat thickly. Miles of flight in thin, cold air must build up phlegm. “Generic strength and the shadows, I could believe that— I mean, kids are stronger every generation, right?” He needles the feather back and forth. Kyu grits her teeth.“But oh, man, the smoke. That’s a real wild card. But, y’know, your case file does include a few things— Changing your paperwork is all well and good when it’s your name or status or whatever, but your Quirk Registry? I mean, who changes that at fifteen?
“A lot of people tell me I don’t have experience to talk on stuff like this, but, well— It irks me. And when something irks me, I just can’t let it go. I’ve got to chase it all the way to the end. I’m a hunting animal. A little like you, I think.”
Kyu’s cheek is pinned to the concrete, so she doesn’t have the room to spit in Hawks’ face, but she gnashes her teeth. “I’m not like you.”
Hawks’ feathers press in, and he lets go of the one twisting in her arm to press his weight into her shoulderblades and lean close to her ear. “Oh, I’m not so su—” He pauses, scrunching his face. With a petulant eyeroll and a finger held up in a universal ‘one moment’ gesture, he taps his ear. “…Yeah, yeah. I think I got her. Well I’m a little— Busy, yeah, so— Just give me a minute, you negative nancy.” Turning his gaze back to her, he taps his ear again and smiles brightly. “Sorry. Your old teacher’s real abrasive, huh? He hates the psych profile they wrote up for you, which is pretty funny ‘cause you’ve been matching it to a tee.”
Kyu feels trapped. She is trapped; there’s no way out of this without losing at best a lot of blood. She remembers all the damage a single one of Stain’s knives through her arm did— Hawks clearly has both intent and skill. It’s so infuriating, then, so unjust. “Don’t laugh at me,” she says, that weak whisper coming again. She hates it. She wants to roar. “Don’t you dare end me and smile, you bast—” she falls into a coughing fit then, the swell in her throat finally too much to bare.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hawks says lackadaisically. He waits for her breathing to be a little less ragged, then continues. “I just have one question: Do you work with the League?”
Kyu sneers. “As if my answer matters to you.”
“And in the hypothetical world that I am curious and that’s why I, say, asked the question…?”
She lets her cheek fall, staring into the grimy corner of the alley, the fallen leaves and cobwebs and dirt beneath even the dumpsters. “I’ll die before I lose my compassion.”
Hawks is still for a moment. Then, his boots leave her back, and she gulps air that stings every inch of her raw body. His feathers come away, too. She has no idea what he’s doing, but he gives her the chance, and she launches herself off the ground and right at him, crashing her body into his before he can so much as move a blade. His wings are pinned between his body and the brick, with Blackwhip lashing in thick masses of gleeful rage, the snarling beast escaping its trap, the hunt reversed. Kyu doesn’t bother with words, her tongue tasting like blood, but she levels him with the worst glare she can manage.
Shakily, one of his gloved hands grasps at her wrist, where it stretches out to squeeze his neck, while the other moves for his earpiece. She lets him, savoring the fear in his pinprick pupils.
“She—” he wheezes, and she feels his windpipe as it struggles against her power— “She got away. Southeast.” His hand falls away from his earpiece.
She might not know exactly where she is, but the coast is west. Agon-Kuros is west. Her glare doesn’t soften, but it narrows, searching his face for any answer. Nothing is forthcoming, except for the smug look he still wears.
“Thanks,” she says, voice a hoarse whisper. Then she tugs him from the wall and crushes him into the dumpster opposite.
“Wait, shit, hold on—” Blackwhip keeps him down while she takes the metal lid and slams it down with a resounding clang. In OFA -charged hands, she squeezes the lid and body together, warping the metal and bringing one fist over the other to seal it shut. Tugging her hands free takes a moment, but the lid is sealed in a half-formed metal knot.
She takes stock of herself. Her arm and leg have bleeding gashes, but nothing that’ll kill her. Her whole body aches like it wants to fall apart, but it won’t. She’s hungry, she’s tired, and a hundred other things that don’t matter.
The window is slim— Maybe Hawks will tip the heroes off now that she thinks it’s safe to get across the bridge. Kyu decides to cut her losses. After all, they’ll be hunting her no matter where she goes.
She just doesn’t plan on being prey.
Notes:
Berlin Wall -- The west side has a lot of famous graffiti, and generally was painted back-to-back.
In yet another example of one-off OCs being inspired by other media you may have noticed Scourge is implied to be blind and named Scourge. that’s right get homestucked idiot
Wow, I’m really out of the habit of replying to every comment, now! The Despair didn’t help, but woof, huh? Thanks to all of you for the support. Every comment talking about a chapter drop making them feel better or rallying behind my soapbox made me feel like I DO put something into the world even when I’m writing fanfiction :P praxis matters but also art does too >w<
Also thank you to ToolAssistedRat for editing :3chawks is such a dick, i love (writing) him
Chapter 75: Dropsy
Summary:
Last chapter, Kyu fought to get away from the group of heroes chasing after her, way down Osaka's coast. However, after a strange interaction with basically-guaranteed Number Two hero, Hawks, she's able to escape with the heroes looking southeast-- While her goal is northwest.
Now she's in Agon-Kuros, and has a moment to breathe. But she's not sure what to make of it.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I’ve gotta hand it to you, kid.
I expected your girlfriend to lose it. Not you.”
A splitting headache breaks the world into uneven chunks. Kyu is pretty sure she isn’t in any of them.
“Alright, enough moping.”
Second looks over his shoulder.
When he turns back, there’s dark mist breaking chunks of him away.
“Up and at ‘em, kid. Surge et pugna.
Time to march.”
Kyu sits up, feels the bone-deep ache in her body, and then her sudden motion catches up to her. She leans over and throws up— Sudden, but not strong, her gut seizes like it’s being turned inside out and bile spatters against the bottom of a small plastic wastebin.
“Oh, hell.” Warm hands run along her clammy face, drawing oily hairs away and pulling them back into a clumsy ponytail. Kyu coughs, throat burning from where acid meets the rawest spots. Eventually, her stomach stops feeling so inside-out, even if the pain stays with her. “All done?”
Kyu blinks. She’s not sure where she is, but someone is holding her hair and letting her vomit into their trash. Her fingers are digging into the lumpy fabric of an old couch. She flexes her hands, putting some strength into them as she wakes. Then, she grabs the couch tightly and tugs herself into a proper upright position.
“Woah, woah, just lay down. It’s alright, okay?” The figure lets her hair out of their loose grip, keeping a gentle palm on Kyu’s shoulder. She shrugs it off, looking around. She’s clearly in a simple apartment with a few rooms, about the same size as the one she grew up in. There’s a few key differences; the light of morning sears through the balcony window, and Kyu can bask in the natural light from the couch. Outside is a more modern set of apartment buildings, off-white and shining glass of rebuilding and restoration closer to the age of heroes. They’re densely built, but there’s signs of dried-up money, all poor maintenance and the bruises of thorough use. There’s scuffs and marks of spray paint illegible from the distance and crust in her waking eyes, there’s strung-up laundry in the wind and the green space courtyard that unifies the buildings is cluttered with too-long grass and wilting foreign plants.
The figure hovering in her peripheral vision is of average height, with a boyish haircut and fair skin. Their face is wrought with worry, but she doesn’t back off when Kyu’s gaze moves to her. “I’m serious about laying down.”
Kyu slings her legs over the side of the couch, carefully avoiding the bin of sick. The figure stops her from standing, and she’s ready to push through them or tell them off, but when she opens her mouth, the air and the acid give her a nasty coughing fit.
“I’ll get you some water.” She darts away, and by the time she comes back with a glass and a few tablets, Kyu has gotten her lungs back in control. She sips enough of the water to soothe her throat, but pushes the pills away.
“It’s just tylenol and a couple vitamins, don’t give me that. You’re in pain, sick, and malnourished.” She brings the pills close again, and Kyu snarls. The water has woken up her throat, although it’s gone from dead and dry to thick with phlegm and that’s not much better.
The woman is clearly struggling to hold back laughter, and an anger pulses in Kyu that makes her want to snarl at her again. Instead, she holds her tongue and tightens her face, knowing that the snarling is probably what she’s laughing at. She has no clue what she looks like in the eyes of this stranger. She has no clue what she looks like, period . She’s been moving blind for a long while now. Like sitting down when a workout starts to get tiring, stopping makes it so much harder to start again. Her anger is suddenly hollow, spikes of annoyance that crackle and sputter like firework-tubes, instead of burning like an endless furnace.
“Where ‘m I,” she manages.
“You passed out on the roof. Keep a brick in the door up there in case any neighbors want a smoke, so you weren’t hard to find. That’s a good way to get stolen from, y’know.”
Kyu sits up. “Where’s my coat? And my bag. I need—”
The person nods towards the kitchen. “I’ve got everything, far as I know— Just the coat and the bag, right? I don’t see how you could carry much else with you.”
Kyu narrows her eyes. That’s an odd thing to say. “Why’d you help me?”
The person looks back towards her. “I’m a doctor,” she says with as much indignancy as her frame can muster, and then, “okay, med student. But still. I’m not going to just leave you there. It wouldn’t be right. I could’ve called the cops, sure, but…” She shakes their head. “If they started asking around or looking for any of your friends here, it’d suck. The Sousha boys need a slap on the wrist, not cuffs, and grandma Tenzen down the hall would get caught in that too. I guess it’s just not worth it.” She smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, you probably don’t care much about the neighborhood gossip. I’ve… grown up around a lot of people like you, though.”
Kyu shakes her head, and then winces at how the back-and-forth movement makes her stomach feel. “No, it’s alright. Thank you.” She wants to sink back into the cushions, worn into comfort from long use. Instead, she squeezes her knees and takes a breath. “...I don’t have a concussion.” She says with decisive confidence, and a thoughtful nod of her head to really sell it.
“Concerning way to phrase that. But no, the dizziness and nausea are because you’re sick.” She squeezes Kyu’s bicep while they talk, voice thick with you-need-to-listen intensity. Her face moves into Kyus personal space, a necessity of the somewhat intimate contact, but it’s the concern of a friend in a stranger. “If something breaks your skin, you wash it and cover it, bare minimum. You’re halfway dead.” Kyu gives her an unimpressed look, she sinks a bit into the couch and away from this lecture before she can catch herself. Suddenly self conscious at her own childish display and lack of guard around this stranger, she crosses her arms and she clicks her tongue. The arm on her bicep loosens, but the intensity of the woman's face doesn’t tamper down. “When you’re hurt and untreated , the site gets irritated and the germs run wild. You’re probably a few days from sepsis.”
That word, Kyu knows. She meets the person’s eye, but she doesn’t falter. “Is it still…”
The woman’s face finally softens, but only just. “Imagine a pot over a fire. I moved you away and took out some hot water, but you’re still gonna boil if you don’t stop being on fire or do the same maintenance I did.”
“You… Took out hot water? ”
She frowns. “I drained pus and other gross shit, and that doesn’t work with the metaphor. You’ll be fine, and you can get help with the stitches in a week or so.”
Kyu frowns. Stitches are not going to stay in for a week, which she doesn’t want to say so plainly. “Where…”
“Arm and leg. You’ll see them when you use my shower. I’d burn your clothes, but I don’t want to aerosolize blood and muck.” She knocks her knuckles against Kyu’s shoulder, but she’s grinning a little. It feels that much kinder than Recovery Girl’s hospitality.
“I’m glad you woke up. Your first aid kit isn’t awful, but I put a few things in— Including meds and vitamins. Seriously. I gotta go to work.” She cards her fingers through her hair and moves away from the couch.
Kyu swallows thickly, bracing herself for the ache of her voice. “What’s your name?”
She looks back and sort of winces. “Doctor patient confidentiality? Plausible deniability? I don’t know if that’s—”
Kyu raises an eyebrow. “I think that’s true this way around , but I’m asking your name.”
Her cheeks turn a bit pink and she nods. “Yeah, that’s fair. It’s Oguro.”
Oguro moves towards the door, in no rush to connect more with the criminal charge she’s keeping on her couch. Kyu blinks, and then blinks again, furrowing her brow. She’s crashed in houses where she could eat, sleep, and shit, but this sort of permissibility still feels odd. Most offer a momentary hand, not free reign.
“You… you’re just going to leave me here?”
“Hmm… Sadly, I don’t think we’ve got bedside nurse care here,” Oguro teases, smiling over her shoulder. and Kyu blushes a bit with the little bit of blood in her body that’s not infected.
“Not!- not what I mean… I mean, you just… You’re going to leave me unsupervised in your home?”
Oguro stares at her for a bit, then takes in a small sigh. “Ah, well, I want you to steal from me, really. Preferably something from my fridge and a shower, and not my books? There’s not much worth stealing for anything other than your health, honestly. If you’re still around when I’m back, I’ll cook, I make a mean gyudon.” she tips her head. “For the record, you need a week of bedrest before I’d consider clearing you, and I’d love if you stuck around for that. But you won’t.” She exhales, letting her eyes slide shut for a few seconds. Quietly, she continues, “like I said, I know your type. But I’m gonna make you promise me something, okay? Stop being alone. You’re spending too much time in a world of strangers tender to the violence outside or only serving as a shelter that you don’t attach to. That stupid tunnel-vision isolation made you tune out the scabs and the pus.”
She holds Kyu’s eye for another second, and then she turns on her heel and marches right out the door. The words and the look on Oguro’s face linger, but it feels like she doesn’t connect the wires, and the moment is left unfinished. The apartment is quiet.
A few minutes after Oguro leaves, Kyu feels gathered enough to stand. She pokes at each pill and tablet sitting on the side table next to the glass of water. It’s a little more suspicious than a home-cooked meal, but Kyu can’t imagine Oguro was trying anything. She washes down the small handful with some water, and moves towards the shower. Her stomach still isn’t settled enough to eat anything.
It’s strange to look in a mirror. Kyu doesn’t want to waste time on vanity, but she finds herself poking at the thin, dark skin under her eyes. Her hair is a tangled mess, and she fingercombs through that.
There’s a tanktop, sweats, boyshorts, and a sports bra left folded on the counter. Kyu is inclined to let Oguro keep them, but they look like they’d be too big on her. They’re old, too; the top is for a band that looks like it’s been through the wash hundreds of times, with the print on it cracked. There’s smaller text and designs on the back, but the front just says ‘NARUFEST’. Looking at the mirror, there’s only so much guilt she can feel. Her tanktop is littered with holes and stains, and her joggers are long on the road to patchwork— That’d probably be more passable if they were the sort of pants meant to be durable, but the fabric is starting to fray from being subjected to so many hack-jobs.
She takes off those clothes first. Her muscles ache when she bends down to get the elastic around her feet, and the same happens when her arms stretch up to peel the tank from her body. She hasn’t stretched yet, so she savors each motion, lingering with those back muscles burning just enough to satisfy.
In the mirror, she’s wrapped in bandages turned just a bit too old from being slept in. She expected the ones where Hawks stabbed her arm and cut her leg, but she’s caught off-guard by other places. There’s gauze pads taped where her knuckles split, and band-aids wrapping around her fingers. Most of that was mummified in her handwraps, but she sees enough discoloration to figure her skin was in worse shape than she anticipated. The same is true for a bandage wrapped around her abdomen, and a gauze pad taped to the side of her face.
She starts unwrapping the bandages. She keeps the finger band-aids on, knowing it’ll be easier to let them peel off in the shower than too meticulously pry at them. The same is true for the gauze under layers of bandages or tape— Frankly, she can only guess where stitches are, and tugging blood-stuck gauze is a good way to open them. So, the mummy wrappings fall to the floor beside her old clothes. After a moment, so do her boxer briefs.
Kyu takes a deep breath. It aches in her lungs, and as it pushes out her chest and back, it aches in those places too. Her body has hardened and narrowed, and while she still has a stocky build, her waist has tightened and her muscles have gotten more compact— Or rather, everything extraneous has eroded away. It’s not healthy; she looks like a bodybuilder dehydrated for competition. But the barest places that fat still clings to her body are the ones sculpted ever so slightly by the influence of her blockers. That’s reaffirming, even though…
“…I look like shit,” she hisses, voice a hoarse whisper.
The faucet starts running with a bit of a squeak and a thump, like old pipes. Kyu doesn’t mind, since it’s the sound of a working shower. She steps in without waiting for it to warm up, conscious of how much water and heat she uses. The cold makes her skin prickle and her muscles stiffen. Eventually, the cold soothes like the numbness of an ice pack, instead of stinging with shock. She lets the feeling soak into the roots of her hair, and the depths of her wounds under each bandage. When it reaches the ends of her arms, it runs along her crooked hands, the chill settling into her joints.
There’s grime in whatever corners of her body the water can find, with old sweat clinging alongside it. Kyu lets the water run across her skin, only half effective. She bends her head under the faucet, letting the water soak her hair. Her fingers work familiar patterns into her scalp, massaging the water into the base of her curls. It’s the same way Rumi told her to do it.
Coldness turns to lukewarmth, hot in comparison to the chill that's set into her muscles, and the warmth wells up to burn under her skin. She steps away from the stream, fingers finding the basket of products at the end of the shower. Shampoo lathers into her hair, fingertips driving it into her scalp, though her wet hair catches on her jagged nails and band-aids. Turning back to the warmth, the shampoo washes out, oil streaking through the valleys of her head until a crisp dry feeling remains. Remove the hair from the stream. Work conditioner into the mass. Oil and slick, and the scent of citrus and sweet, melt into the rise of steam. Her hair feels fresh, but her body is still just wet and gross.
With her head tipped down under the faucet, water runs along the angles of her face; down her brows and cheekbones, along her lips but not stopping her from breathing. She stays like that, letting the water run as her hands come away from her hair and reach out to lean her weight onto the wall.
“You’ve been matching it to a tee.”
“You’re a destroyer!”
“I l-love you, Kyu.”
“I love you too,” Kyu mumbles, half-whispered. The words buzz in her throat and then wash away, whirling down the drain along with the soap suds in brown-red muck.
She’s meticulous but not slow when she plucks off each bit of gauze and tape, the water helping to mitigate the sting. She savors the pain that does come, more narrow than the bruising most of her opponents have given her. There are stitches, and those sting no matter how delicate she is.
When everything’s finally off, littering the edge of the shower door, Kyu turns the water off, left in the cold of evaporation but the embrace of steam. She puts body wash into a washcloth, and scrubs into her skin meticulously. At first, it’s gentle, rubbing the tough cloth along her shoulders, but as she works down her arms, she picks up. If she tries hard enough, she can imagine the way Himiko’s nose would wrinkle. It’d be playful, though, and she’d follow it up with some silly remark about Kyu doing too much or Kyu getting dirty for her or something like that.
“I love you too,” Kyu repeats again. The consonants whistle out of her mouth, the vowels a feather-light whisper. It feels as raw from her heart as a scream. The washcloth rubs along the tender skin where her stitches lie, antagonizing it longer than she should. She rips the washcloth away with a soft sob, turning it to other parts of her body where she can scrub like she’s scraping away layers of herself. The task is arduous, not helped by the way she scrubs her skin until it’s pink. When it’s finally done, she turns the water back on, taking in the heat and bringing her face as close to the scalding source as she can manage.
Finally, when she’s done, Kyu turns off the shower and plucks up all the old bits and bandages. Knots and tangles of hair clog the murk at the base of the tub, and so she cleans out the drain, too. She knows she’s returned to zero; more methodical and a step removed than she was mere minutes ago. Still, it helps to reset her, and she feels a lower level of tension as she carefully places and tapes every important bit of gauze in place. She wraps the bits in stitches back up like a mummy, then reaches for the clothes.
They’re baggy and worn, burying her in fabric. The scent of old cologne and laundry are gentle on her clean skin. The steam-fogged mirror props her up, showing her someone that looks almost normal. There's a hair dryer on the counter, and Kyu takes it up in her hands and flicks it to life, feeling heat sear her scalp and her ears. It clears out spots of the mirror for tiny moments. Spots of a normal teen with a normal body. One without stitches and malnourishment clawing past her skin, nor state secrets and fire embroiled in her core— Just a really shitty looking girl. One who is alone when the steam closes up those spots like a healing wound. Maybe, when she steps away from the mirror, that girl could take up Oguro’s offer.
When Kyu is leaving, her feet find the same old battered-but-intact sneakers. She taps the metal toes against the floor, soft enough not to ruin it but firm enough to feel that they’re secure. She makes her way over to her backpack and parka, and finds her handwraps to start to wrap her hands. By now, the wraps are wearing down, but they’re still intact enough to be useful. Each motion is careful and methodical— But the building firmness and support around her wrist and fingers reminds her of Rumi. She gets through it fine, but the tension she feels thickens, just a bit.
The parka is next, and then the backpack. Oguro left a meal bar out with them, and Kyu finds hunger gnawing at her the moment she sees it. She plucks it up as she walks to the door. Then… Two wards. Under the nose of the shipyard.
Kyu visualizes the investigation yarn-board as she makes her way out of Oguro’s apartment and finds her way to the stairwell. She jogs up it quickly, scarfing down the meal bar on the way. She keeps any distracting thoughts at bay by focusing on her mental map instead of the way her footsteps echo. From the roof, she looks out across Agon-Kuros.
She got a sense earlier, from looking towards the courtyard, but from up here, it’s clear as day that while the wards were built to encourage economic recovery and give displaced people a home, something went awry. The buildings weren’t maintained after their grand openings, or the people in them weren’t the cash cows the builders expected— Whatever it is, for a more recently-constructed ward, the place looks uncared for, and the slim signs of poverty and unity stand out to Kyu. It’s much different than Musutafu, which had its construction and population boom around a similar time, but became the ‘capital of Heroes’ alongside Tokyo.
“I’m going to find you, Himiko. I don’t care about anything else.”
Kyu pulls her hood up in an alley, walks out onto a wider street, enters a conbini, and buys a paper map and as much protein as she can afford— Which turns out to be a packet of nuts and an egg sandwich. She’s got enough change left over for a payphone, but with any luck she won’t need it. So close to her goal, the thought of taking the time to crash on a couch is practically offensive.
The map is pretty much only divided by the two wards, but there’s tiny print and numbers all across it. Each one highlights things like monuments, shopping districts, or standout buildings. Kyu figures the area near the west coast with fewer, larger buildings is the industrial district she should be working in. Still, she’s careful to survey the map and visit a few points of interest.
She can’t get too close to things like the memorials during the day. She can look over them from a few blocks away though. Each civic structure rises in a lot of half-dead grass, whose empty space finally gives way to old discolored concrete yet again. At a statue left artistically half-unchiseled, children from the nearby apartments play. At a fountain honoring victims of the Osaka Floodrush, women sit and talk while their tired old hands knit winter mittens.
Other places, like the Hashiru District, were obviously built to be more traditional, but the neon signs and crowding banners that have taken up the streets give the impression of business tourists don’t see. Kyu isn’t sure she’d even begin to know who to talk to, but then she sees a car parked behind one of the buildings. She’s not sure why it gives her such a strong sense of déjà vu, but she follows her gut. Her gut says ‘I don’t care that the back door is locked; smash the handle.’
THUNK.
She shoves through the door, walking quickly. Her eyes dart around the place— There’s nothing immediately noticeable, but there’s an urgent conversation a couple of rooms away. Kyu blinks, wincing at the sting of Searchlight. Through the plaster, a man at a tea table directs three men with handguns. That won’t do. She moves to surprise them at the shoji door they’re approaching.
The first comes through, and she knocks him out with a punch across the jaw. The second and third both raise their guns, but she pounces on the second one while Blackwhip tugs the gun from the third’s hands. After the second goes limp, she twists around, tugging the third face-first into her fist with a coil of shadow. She hears breathing, but no groans, in the beat of silence afterwards. Through the next shoji door, one man at the tea table calls out, “well?”
Kyu slides the door open with one brow raised. The man facing away from her doesn’t turn to look at her, but the one giving all the orders looks livid. He stands so fast it rattles the teaset. “Do you know who you’re pissing off? Oh, I am going to ruin your life, tran—”
Blackwhip ensnares the man, but what cuts him off is how Kyu surges forward and slams him into the far wall by his throat. Mindful of the guns she’s seen, Kyu looks over her shoulder to the other man. He has gray hair, small circular glasses, and a scarf. She narrows her eyes— He’s the one that déjà vu is centered around. In fact, as she studies his face, she can’t help but feel more and more like she saw him before. His face breaks into a slight, smug grin.
“That’s the look of someone who thinks ‘I’ve seen him somewhere before.’ Name’s Giran.”
Kyu takes the man she has pinned and knocks his head against the wall. He goes limp, and she lets Blackwhip slip away from him and coil back into her. “Kyuubi,” she replies distantly, still trying to find where that familiarity is in his face.
“Come on, kid, sit. You like tea?” He gestures to the other man’s full cup.
Kyu’s gaze turns suspicious. “I know you, don’t I?”
Giran looks at her flatly. “Well, if you’re not gonna have tea.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Once he has one lit and takes a draw, he meets her eyes again. “My Quirk is called Muddied. Gets into your head like that, but it only works on memories of me. You don’t know me though, not really. Met me once when you were blindfolded. You recognize the car?” Kyu nods. “Probably saw me around that new paintin’ of yours.”
Kyu blinks. “You were the one I was following.” her face twists into a grimace as she thinks. “Because everything about you was just so weird that I thought… I thought you might’ve been connected to the bullets.”
Giran chuckles. “Nah, kid. I’m one hell of a middleman, but I don’t do product like that. Put your girlfriend in touch with the League— That’s the sort of thing I do.”
Kyu’s eyes narrow like they’re locked onto prey. She takes a step forward, leaning a little lower to be close to Giran’s eye level. “Do you know where they are?”
He purses his lips for a moment. “They’ll come to me if they want me. Unfortunately, their boss got canned and they’re broke.”
“What about anyone they’ve been in contact with recently? You’re a middleman, right? A broker, I bet.” Kyu hears the desperation in her voice, but she doesn’t really care if this guy twists her up to make a profit. She just needs to know where the League is.
Giran takes another draw and a long sigh. “They’ve been on the low for a while now. Now, I knew where they were, ‘cause Magne’s an old friend— and it’s not like I’m gonna go spilling The League’s business. But then half that warehouse fell down and nobody tells me anything.” Another drag, and then a sip of tea. “As for the ones who did it, they’re a bit out of my reach. Yakuza’s pretty insular; they do their business in-house. But I know they make the bullets, and I’m pretty damn sure they’re the ones who went and found the League.”
Kyu nods. “Is there anything you know that I can act on?”
Giran clicks his tongue, mocking ‘affronted.’ “Kid, this is all very useful information. But I’ll tell you what. Since I know you’re gonna knock down my competition, it’ll only cost you a favor. There’s a nice, shiny delivery in the back of my car. I’ll even let’ya make it.”
The thing is wrapped in rough, canvasy muslin, but Kyu can feel its metal weight, and hear the sound of its joints when she shifts it under her arm. She’s probably the most conspicuous person who could deliver this— She doesn’t care. Giran could only keep her until after dark by not telling her where to take it.
The building itself is in the industrial district, but it’s a small thing. By the squat two-story shape of it, and the stripped furnishings along its outer walls, it might’ve once been a store or a restaurant. The majority of the windows are intact, but they’re still shuttered and boarded up. Kyu knocks on the door exactly six times, like Giran told her to.
He could’ve tricked me. He could’ve set me up to take someone out, or get me taken out. But I don’t care. There’s a chance. Her eyes still sting, and she finds herself blinking instead of using Searchlight like she probably should.
The door opens. Whoever did it stepped out of line of sight after, but when she strains her ears, she can’t hear them either. She sighs, and steps through the door into the dark room. It’s still silent. She half-places, half-drops the metal thing onto the floor, letting the sharp sound fill the space.
“If this is an ambush,” she says, “you should really let me walk out, for your sake.”
“Kyuubi?” The voice comes above her— In the rafters. Clever.
“Yes.” It takes her a moment to recognize the voice. “…Spinner.”
He drops down from the rafters, landing in an impressively quiet crouch. His purple hair looks wild, and a bit oily. “Shit. That’s really good news.”
Kyu looks around. “Where’s everyone else?”
Spinner makes a sort of throaty lizard noise. “Shigaraki’s been obsessive, but even he and Dabi have to sleep. We do it in shifts, mostly. Kurogiri’s out on some important mission— I’m not sure Shigaraki even knows what it is.”
“Anyone else? ” Kyu asks, impatient and more than a bit snippish.
Spinner drags a hand down his face. “It’s complicated.” He swallows, and extends his hands in an excited gesture. “But fuck that, you’re okay. Your fight doesn’t let up. That’s a good thing. ”
Kyu grabs his wrist. “No, not ‘fuck that.’ Where. Is. Himiko? ”
Spinner lips twitch towards a grimace, and he makes another throaty sound. “Kyuubi, the only reason I’m even here right now is that the Yakuza wanted to share the League’s name, and their fame. That delivery you just dropped is a new arm for Compress. Kyuubi— Shit, you’re hurting me, kid, your grip— Fuck, Kyuubi, they took her, okay?!”
Kyu freezes. Spinner yanks his arm from her hand, and cradles it in his other hand. “What…”
Spinner can’t look at her. “They showed up, and they gutted us, and— Shigaraki was making the right call, but that doesn’t mean she’s not gone. She’s there, in their facility. So’s Twice. The Yakuza want to turn them, but the League isn’t that easy to break apart.”
Kyu blinks. Her breath rattles in her lungs, an unstable thing. Her ribcage quivers like a leaf in the wind. Her skin burns and itches with anger and the line between her and the world blurs close to invisible.
Half the lights in the room are broken or out, but they buzz to life and pierce the dark. The sudden shift is enough to jar Kyu, but not stop her Quirks from flaring up. Shadow wants to lash out from every inch of her. Smoke wants to flare from every corner of her heart. A four-fingered grip ensnares her wrist. She blinks, and finally sees what’s in front of her.
Dabi is lingering on the stairs and Spinner is a few steps away. It’s Shigaraki who has her arm in his grip, and he looks through the waxy fingers of the hand on his face to make eye contact. His eyes aren’t wide or wild like she’s used to— Instead, they look flat, firm, and somehow grounding. It might be the first time she’s been happy to see him. She takes a deep breath, and it’s like resetting her lungs.
He’s got a coat that goes down to his knees. It’s made of quiet, thick fabric, dark like everything he wears, though the bottom hem is tinged with blood and mud.
“You look like shit,” she says.
His eyes narrow. “Toga’ll be fine. Fretting over her is practically an insult— She made it sixteen years before you, you know.”
Kyu scoffs. “I’m sure she’s insulted—”
“Magne is dead,” Shigaraki says. Kyu feels her breath catch and her eyes unfocus, but Shigaraki squeezes her wrist and forces her to stay in the present. “Focus. She was dead before you even got to that shitstorm of a roadblock.”
“I— I could’ve—”
“You can’t save everyone,” Shigaraki snarls. His grip is iron, refusing to let her wander or thrash, but Kyu manages to waver in it. She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on him. “But we didn’t lose everything. We are alive. We are very well placed to take our pound of flesh.” His face tips back toward the stairs. “Compress is in rough shape, but he’ll be fine. Nagant, too, but that’s… Well. Unrelated.”
Kyu twists her arm back, tugging his attention back to her with his grip. “What happened to Nagant?”
Dabi chuckles. “She got kicked in the box so hard it fractured her pelvis.”
Kyu sends a disbelieving look at Shigaraki, but his eyes are as flat as ever. She tugs her wrist from his limp grip and looks to Spinner, and he doesn’t meet her eye. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’. “We don’t have an x-ray, but it doesn’t take a genius.” Dabi tips his head like he’s acknowledging a thought. “And it was your fuckin’ bunny. I’m sure she could manage to hit that hard.”
Kyu blinks. “Wait, Tsutsumi fought— I would’ve heard about that.”
Shigaraki scoffs. “Well, ask her yourself. Or don’t, because she’s resting to recover from a pelvic fracture. She says it happened in a ‘ladies’ club,’ and I’m starting to think it’s all just coded fucking innuendo.”
Kyu gives him a dead look.
Shigaraki’s head tips back exasperatedly. “Yeah, yeah.” He clicks his tongue. “So, your girl’s not here.”
Kyu tips her head. “As if you’re not plotting hundreds of incredibly violent solutions to that problem.”
Shigaraki places hand over his chest dramatically. “Oh, fantasizing, maybe, but plotting is much more involved. I wouldn’t do that to our newfound allies.”
“One of ‘em’s got a truth Quirk,” Spinner explains. “Half of what he says now is this semantic shit; it’s basically opsec.”
“Spinner’s talking bullshit. I always sound like this.”
Kyu rolls her eyes. “Anything I shouldn’t do to stay on track with your allies, then? Come on, do you really think they don’t know you’re working against them?”
Shigaraki steps into her space. “Oh, sure. Think you’ve got it all figured out and you can save the day now that you’ve found us after weeks on the run? My hero. Didn’t I just tell you, you can’t save everyone!”
Kyu snarls, matching him and getting in close enough to feel his body heat. “Why do you insist on that?! I’m doing everything I can!”
Shigaraki looks down at her, somehow matching her closeness but more relaxed. “Because every bit of propaganda you’ve lived surrounded by tells you you can. So does that pious fucking Quirk of yours, I bet. C’mon, ‘Nightlight.’ Save the day. Let’s see it. Let’s see you beat the bad guy.”
She catches the ear-to-ear grin under the hand on his face, and it’s the last straw. Kyu grabs his collar and throws him over her shoulder, crackling with cyan lightning. After weeks of doing it, it’s easy to slip right into the sweeping power of twenty-percent. Shigaraki crashes through a rotten wooden table and tumbles across the ground. Behind her, she hears Dabi’s Quirk kick up.
Shigaraki rises from the floor. “Stand down, Dabi. I don’t need help for this.” Kyu catches the smug glint in his eye through the fingers of the hand. “And you. Rising to the bait so easy, huh? I figured you’d be itching for it after dealing with all those heroes, on and on. Couldn’t bring yourself to make the scawy call and finish ‘em off, could you?”
Kyu’s lip curls. “Do you really think it’s so brave of you? All it is is— Is cruelty. And it’d be easy to break the people who hurt me. I don’t want to.”
Shigaraki walks towards her, each step slow and taunting. “I bet you tell yourself that. I bet every time you take someone down, you linger with your fist cocked back. Does it make you puke your guts out, that you think about it?”
“Shut up.”
“I scratched the itch. I struck the nerve. I could play you like a fiddle, because you’re not as different from me as you wish you were—”
Blackwhip lashes around him, pinning his arms to his waist. His eyes are wide, but there’s glee there. Kyu wants to stomp it out with the dismissal and certainty of one grinding a cigarette under their heel. Just as smothering and twice as violent. “You think I don’t know that?! God, just shut up!” She throws him through the door, blasting it off its hinges, and pounces after him into the street.
He’s up quicker than he was last time, catching himself from hurtling through the air in an awkward but well-balanced monkey-like crawl. He springs up to his feet and runs to meet Kyu. Where she collides with more sheer power, he twists around her, out of the way of her man blow and leaving her open. Three fingers come down on her parka, with the pinky and thumb nearly grazing it, before she plants a foot on his gut and shoves him away. From above her she hears, “Oh, finally admitting it, are we? Don’t ‘ya just love the slow march of progress?”
She huffs a few breaths. Her lungs feel the burn of cool air, her words come with growl and spit. “Don’t touch the jacket.”
Shigaraki raises an eyebrow, making a show of looking down on it. “What, did your mom get it for you?”
Kyu glares at him fiercely. She knows it’s more bait, to his own ends or his sheer enjoyment, but Kyu meets him with fire. Besides, she can’t give up the comfort it brings, or the name emblazoned on it in graffiti scrawl.
Shff. Kyu lets it fall off her shoulders, exposing her scarred arms to the chill night air. Her skin prickles with gooseflesh. Exposed and vulnerable. It’s probably the last thing she should be around Shigaraki, but all of the air feels electric. She hisses out a breath that fogs in the cold, smelling like ozone.
Shigaraki smiles, something sincere in the way he looks over her. With a delicate motion, he takes the hand on his face in his thumb and forefinger and pulls it off, placing it in his jacket pocket. His eyes drink in the slim light, things of intense pitch and blood-red. “Show me it,” he says, giddy but hushed like a kid looking for Santa. “That hunger you’ve been holding back.”
Notes:
Dropsy-- A bribe.
Lots of fun bits in this chapter. Firstly, that’s Oguro Tamao, for the record. Yet another bit of MHAI:Vigilantes padding, but I’d like to be candid that most of the Naruhata gang will remain cameo/unmentioned.
Secondly, given Second and Third’s use of military regalia and the implication that they or their group are the origin of the vigilante/hero movement, I thought it’d be neat to give them latin phrases like Plus Ultra. So, Surge et Pugna— Arise and fight.
Thirdly, worldbuilding?? In my MHA?? I’m mostly trying for “just enough to contextualize,” but when a character’s Whole Thing is being in touch with the beating heart of a city, it becomes pretty developed.Big thanks to ToolAssistedRat for help with this chapter! She had some Thoughts about Kyu's feelings towards Oguro's apartment and the awful shower she takes, a lot of which made it in. She's ALSO heavily impeding my progress with next chapter's fight, but that's mostly because she's forcing me to think about, like, themes and the stands that characters take, or something. So who knows, maybe it'll turn out real good!
Chapter 76: Ghost IV
Summary:
Kyu and Tomura beat the shit out of each other. It gets bloody, which should surprise nobody.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Kyu is the Ninth holder of One For All. The vestiges of its history whisper in her ears, and reach other their arms to extend a spark of their power. Within her body, empowered for a year to take it, the sparks catch and billow into sweeping flames. She is a burning stamp upon the world. The centuries-old Quirk, made hers, conjures such physical prowess that it renders itself inconquerable. She bleeds, but her skin is thick like elephant hide, and the flame passed to her burns like a great bonfire that howls through her veins and sears the air. How else would she stand, conquering dragons and demons? It’s been written into her bones with each fracture. She is the strongest woman in Japan.
If Shigaraki touches her, she is going to die.
The thought excites her, and she hates that it does. She can see the glee on his face, bare without the hand over it, and his smile is so broad it spreads into the shaggy strands of hair lashing at his raw skin. She knows that he’s getting his kicks; that he wants her to dance after him. And she’s doing it— She’s chomping at the bit like a slavering animal.
The shape of the fight is familiar, too. Kyu can recognize the pattern as Shigaraki stands down the street from her, feet spread and shoulders lowered. His stance could hardly be called a form, but she already knows the shape of his twitching fingers and viper strikes. She’ll be the one to close the distance, and bear the greatest might of her power within reach of death. Approaching that viper head-on, with teeth bared.
She leans forward, keeping her center of gravity low, and kicks her power to life, savoring the way it rattles in her ribcage as it pushes past safe and familiar percentages to that energy-in-her-veins twenty percent limit. Her Knightriders nearly buckle when she kicks off, and the dance starts.
He lashes out as soon as she’s close, but she twists under his arm, bringing a fist toward his stomach. She feels his pinky snag on her top as it slides down her back, and the way his fingers splay themselves and come down her spine. But she’s closer, she’s faster. His ring finger and thumb are stretching the fabric and her fist is bringing thunder and lightning to his stomach. It’ll probably pop an organ if he tries to take it directly. His middle finger catches. Then his pinky lifts as he aborts the motion, letting the tension out of her top and twisting his body up from that motion in his shoulder down to his twisting abdomen.
Her fist slides along his stomach, but the knuckles of her last two fingers catch his obliques. It’s probably the best he could’ve dodged, but that doesn’t mean he’s unscathed, the breath rushing out of his lungs with a jagged gasp of pain. His momentum has him twisting through the air, but the force Kyu delivered has him flung down the street. He lands on his sneakers, only barely managing to stand, but a four-fingered hold on a street light keeps him from eating dirt.
“You’re sloppy,” Kyu says.
Shigaraki looks up at her, the thin, dry skin of his eyelids peeling wide. His arm coils around the lamppost slowly, and he leans away while clinging to it, head tipped upwards. “You got pretty good at this.” Then he tilts his head. “But you still won’t hit a hero like that. Why?”
Kyu should get in close before he can recover, but Shigaraki’s words make her want to stop and correct him. “You think I’m holding back for fun—”
“Oh, don’t give me that sanctimonious bullshit. They kept you from us, didn’t they? They’re never going to let you turn around and go back.” Without his hand-mask on, his gaze seems more genuine. More intense. Before, she’d only see this sort of look on his face from inches away. Now, there’s something humanizing about how she sees him.
Kyu frowns. “I… I know that. I can live with that.”
Shigaraki straightens. Recovers. He’s able to walk back across the asphalt, slowly getting closer to Kyu. She starts to circle slowly, not letting him have complete control, but not wanting to move away. Knightriders grinding along, languid in their movement. “I figured,” Shigaraki says, “but you’re still carrying all the stuff they put in your head. The same people who are trying to squash you out now are the ones who gave you all those little propaganda pieces.”
“What, like not hurting people?”
Shigaraki scratches at his neck. “ Heroes hurt people all the time. And the rotten society of blind sheep they’ve created is worse. Don’t pretend you don’t know that— You’re not stupid, Kyuubi.”
Kyu steps closer. Goading him. Seeing if it’ll get a twitch out of his fingers, or make the hand at his neck shift. He flinches, barely. She feels a small grin pulling at her grimace, and her lips curl up. “I don’t know. Sometimes I am.”
Shigaraki shuffles into her space quickly, but it’s not like how he usually fights. Rather than lunging with an outstretched hand, he gets close enough for their shoes to scuff against each other and their elbows to touch. His hands linger close to his face, keeping his mass tight and low— Like a boxer.
She strikes out, knowing that even if she doesn’t have room for kicks, she’s faster and stronger than him. The closeness forces her attacks to be more telegraphed, and Shigaraki manages to duck her fist easily. Her knuckles shear wind, snapping past his ear and making the hair on the side of his head billow wildly like parting clouds. But there’s that grin on his face again, because she didn’t hit.
Kyu follows her punch, not overextending but using the momentum to spin around Shigaraki. He twists to match, keeping himself ever-present and their bodies closer than dancers. She tests his limits with a few more strikes, but he’s quick and dangerous when she tries to treat him like a normal boxer. When she goes for too many quick stinging jabs to the gut, his fingers slide along her bandages, and then her stitches are in the open air, dust twirling in the space between them. It’s got nowhere to go, and the scent of mildew and carbon mingles with the ozone-burn in the air.
Kyu must show too much caution after getting caught once, because in some hesitation lost in the heat of the fight, he gets the chance to go on the offensive. Shigaraki might be slower than her, with less sheer power, but Kyu is forced to move more to avoid lethal fingertips like they’re lingering hazards. Any time she might try to counter, the hands looming a moment from her death are reminders. And then, as quick as the wind changing, she catches his wrists in her grip, and leverages him onto the back foot.
“Stitches?” Shigaraki asks mildly.
Kyu almost laughs. A fucked up snarl of air out of her nose. “Hawks.”
Shigaraki raises his eyebrows, appraising her and finding something that satisfies him. She reminds him of the position he’s in by tugging his wrists towards her and digging her knee into his gut. He wheezes, spitting up. Droplets stain their place on her shoes alongside old spraypaint. She lets go of him with a shove, and he staggers back but keeps himself on his feet.
“Why are we out here?” Kyu prods. Maybe a bit of respect— A bit of power over him, that makes her chest swell— Will get him to actually say something useful. Compared to his manchild temperament back at the USJ, Shigaraki has grown way more competent, so there’s a part of her that hopes he’ll see the use of cooperation. That part doesn’t mean she expects it, though.
Shigaraki laughs a little, but alongside that gleam in his eye there’s an insistence and sincerity to the way his eyebrows raise. “I told you.” He wipes the back of his hand along his lips, and then straightens himself. When he stands straight, her eyes are about level with his chin. “You want to play hero.” She opens her mouth to rebut him, but he points a severe finger. “Don’t say shit, ‘Nightlight’. I’m not interested in a little argument where you draw your moral lines in the sand. It doesn’t get us anywhere important, and more importantly, it’s boring.”
Kyu lurches forward, almost to the point of launching into the rhythm of the fight again— But he’s answering the question, and she wants the answer. Instead, she limits herself to snarling back, “you caught me at a bad time for entertainment.”
Shigaraki doesn’t even treat her imposing herself forward like it’s a threat, just lolling his head back and letting his shoulders drop. “Oh, we’re both very busy people.” He smiles, entirely candid, and it curls his scratched teeth and eyes in all the creepiest ways. “But this isn’t about entertainment, it’s… An important lesson. Sort of.” His grin turns a little more mocking, and a snicker even wheezes out of his little twig-thin ribcage like wind through leafless branches when he sees her expression sour. “Don’t look so pissy, Kyuubi. You’re not gonna get anywhere without a bit of my advice.”
Kyu’s expression turns right past sour and into curdled, bitter hatred. “I got this far. And I’ll get right through your sorry ass too, without your lackeys around. How’s your tooth?”
Shigaraki smiles affably. The tip of his tongue wriggles in the gap. “It’s good. How’s your tracking chip?” Kyu stiffens for a moment, but she shakes off the similarity to— Well, to her own thoughts. “That bother you? I don’t see why, Kyuubi. All I’ve done is help, ” he says, drawing out the word and popping the ‘p’.
“It doesn’t—”
But you don’t get to lie to me.
Kyu draws in a breath through her nose, barely any closer to normal when she starts talking again. “You’re right.” She feels like her stomach is wringing itself out like a wet towel. “I catch myself any time I act like you, and I hate it.”
Shigaraki grins. “Still happens, though, doesn’t it. I bet it happens more and more recently.” His voice is tinged with glee, but he plunges it into sheer factual harshness. “Get used to it. You are a villain, after all.”
Kyu bristles. She didn’t expect the distinction to feel that important— But it does, and the words out of Shigaraki’s mouth after every time he’s used the title of ‘hero’ to mock her feel especially strange. It’s like dread dragging its claws straight down her spine. The chill feels like nails on chalkboard or sixteen years in a haze. “So what,” she eventually settles, voice less firm than she intends. Less firm than the voice of a wanted criminal should be.
He rolls his eyes. “So fight like one. You’re not fucking around with the law or in over your head; you’ve got no excuse to think like a cocky privileged kid anymore.” His eyes shine less brightly when his smile fades, and he concludes with a shrug. “Come on, Kyuubi. You might wanna hurl, but fight as hard as I do.”
Kyu grits her teeth. “The League counts on you—”
Shigaraki’s lip curls, twisting his nose with it. “The League will know its chance when it comes, and it’s going to come soon. The two with the Eight-B are family, and they are smart. Don’t discount that.” Diplomatically, he smooths his expression out and says, “your priority doesn’t need to be saving them or protecting our injured.”
“Then what should my priority be?” Shigaraki’s face is blank. Kyu rolls her eyes. “Or, for truth Quirks’ sake: What shouldn’t my priority be?” Shigaraki’s hand twitches. Kyu barely takes note of it, with how often he’s inclined to scratch at the poor, worn-down skin of his face and neck. But this time, it’s the slightest hint of a tell before he moves.
The first thing she realizes is that he’s faster than before— Maybe it’s the surprise, or the viper’s strike, but this is making full use of his spring-loaded lean body and sharp-angled muscle.
“Don’t die,” Shigaraki laughs, inches from her face, breath thin in his lungs.
For how casually he says it, he’s not making it easy. Her eyes are barely widening when his fifth finger snags on her top and it turns to dust, flaking the worn-out print as it goes. Kyu is already kicking back, forcing an abundance of power into the Knightriders, but even cut down to the most compact muscle she’s ever had, Kyu is stockier, with thicker shoulders and thighs. She has momentum, and feels it as his fingers push through dust without resistance and catch the bandages wrapping tight circles around her abdomen. Cracks spread through those, too, threads snapping and drifting into the air like ash and embers swirling away from a bonfire. It’s like slow motion, as his hands close that final milimeter between him and her guts. She can feel her heartbeat in that distance, pulse thick in her abdominal aorta. At least, it will be for the next half-second.
Except, Kyu is the strongest woman in Japan. Beneath all the sheer power, there’ a fist that tightens itself until its bruised-purple knuckles turn white. The will to use it. For a long time, all that writing in her bones and buzz in her blood has been held together by anger. Anger like—
Himiko’s gone. Magne’s dead. Don’t die. My hero. Stand down, Dabi. I don’t need help for this. Swirling like serpents in her guts, somewhere in all the blood-slick intestines, is a dark hot coal, just sinking and smoking and filling her with acrid hatred. It burns through her her chest and into her skull, to her capillaries, and itches across her skin, where gooseflesh raises bumps on every inch of her. They greet Shigaraki’s fingers like shadow-kisses. The first layer of the skin across her abdomen splits with a crack, as if just itching to let her dermis meets his fingertips. That only takes another few milliseconds. The serpents in her gut all spill out.
Shigaraki’s fingers meet resistance, but there’s already force behind his shoulder. He’s already pushing back. Ever-expanding tentacles of shadow batter against his palm and break into brackish air when his Quirk splits the surface-tension that keeps them coherent. Loose rage spills into the air like a burst balloon, but there’s no end to it. At the very least, there’s no end soon enough to stop it from pouring out, hot like glowing iron from her skin. Every exposed inch of herself billows black-glow; tendrils follow the course of her muscles and threads spill between her stitches. One strap of her sports bra snaps when the writhing pushes it too far.
Shigaraki’s hand is so close to the fat and muscle of her stomach that Kyu would feel his warmth if not for the sheer pain of Decay splitting her nerve endings like it has a personal hatred for each pain receptor waiting in her brain. But he’s not getting any closer— And then the muscles of his arm quiver as they approach failure, and he gives in under the tide of her power.
This time, it’s not a stomp or a punch that delivers him from her; Blackwhip is colliding with him in a slew of heavy blows that intersect with themselves and tangle across his front. Something gives, probably a rib. Kyu finds that the distant sensation isn’t enough, that she wants more. She wants to feel it break under her own gnarled fingers and might. Blackwhip pushes Shigaraki off, with a bias toward her right arm that has it sweeping him towards that side of the street. He crashes through a concrete wall like it’s styrofoam.
Kyu draws the power back in, but it’s not easy. She’s reminded of talking to Yagi, fingers digging into her collar— Hating Shigaraki is a bitter thing, and it leaves her nearly hyperventilating. She feels breath short in her throat, and pain burning across her stomach so intense that it makes her want to throw up. Blackwhip twists in viscous snarls of anger that want to chase Shigaraki into the building, they writhe and tug at her like a leashed dog, but she fights against them, straining and snapping most of the tendrils as they drag her into the open hole.
Across from her, a mass of plaster-and-concrete rubble shifts and clatters against itself. The biggest chunks split and shatter into thin dust as Shigaraki’s hands weave through and rise from the destruction.
“How are you standing?” Kyu breathes, reeling in the last of the shadow.
The room is dark, but the pale light of the city outside catches in his crimson eyes. In the dark, they’re the only thing about him that seem to have color at all. Like when he attacked before, his face is blank, but his eyes take her in hungrily. Is that how I look, staring down an opponent? Waiting for them to move? Is that what he’s doing?
Shigaraki draws in a breath through his thinly open mouth. Something catches it, making his eyes flicker shut and his chest shake. He grits his teeth and tips forward. Then he spits blood and phlegm into a dark mess on the dusty floor. “What, do you think I’m part Nomu?” he says, sarcastic but too breathless to draw out the words. “Does there have to be a Quirk involved?” Kyu goes rigid, and his smile reappears, thin and sly. “I didn’t expect that from you.”
Kyu takes a deep breath. It burns those split and snapped nerve endings in her gut when her diaphragm sinks, but filling her lungs and straightening her shoulders makes her feel unshakable. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
Shigaraki brushes dust off his shoulders, wincing as he brings his left arm up. “Only what we share.” Then his eyes trail down past what’s left of the polyester on her chest, to the bloody mess below it and above her waistband. Nothing’s spilling out, but her stitches are obviously split. It’s a bit like looking at a train wreck: The pain throbs worse and drowns out everything else in her skull, but she still stares at the exposed tissue weeping blood. Shigaraki’s words are dull in her ears, and then his grip is on her neck, as bony and angular and grounding as ever. She didn’t even notice him getting up. He holds her with four fingers, his forefinger twitching eagerly a hair’s breadth from her jawline.
He’s standing ahead of her, but only by inches, giving her the barest bit of height from the rubble of the shattered wall. They’re eye to eye, but she finds hers sliding across his face as the numbness of sheer pain gives way. There are his chapped lips red with his own blood, and his warm, gasping breaths. Kyu’s eyes snap back up to his when he hisses air in through his teeth, and she finds wildness in that crimson. She knows from the taught muscles of her own face that whatever snarl she must be wearing is just as beastly.
“What a mess.” His fingers tighten, squeezing her windpipe until black spots make her vision look like a Pollock piece. “Every footfall along a path that started centuries ago, and it’s this easy to kill you?” His fingers tighten, and his head tilts slightly to the right. “Do you think gritting your teeth makes you look less pathetic? You’re weak and beaten and limp. And I did that to you.”
Kyu’s vision burns into jagged lights and clarity that denies the lack of oxygen in her head. “I don’t want to fight,” she wheezes.
“Liar.”
She grabs Shigaraki’s forearm in a lunging hand as quick as lightning. Cyan fills the dark space, and while it has his blacks and pales awash, his eyes persist in their warm, dark color. Her grip is crushing; she can feel the muscles in his forearms shift and the blood meeting her thumb weakly, and failing to pulse through. She hesitates to snap his radius and ulna like dry wood, and even his hand, pitifully weak and limp in her grip, twitches with enough life to defy her. Blackwhip runs up her neck, swelling from her collarbones to burgeon against his grip. They push at his fingers unevenly, stretching his pinky to the limit of its movement— And then further. With his thumb against her pulse point, Kyu can feel the pop through her body when it happens. She forces his forearm back, rather than breaking it.
Shigaraki tumbles back into the rubble as Blackwhip whirls around her head like a flower blooming in timelapse. He rolls deftly to keep his head from cracking against the concrete, springing to his feet faster than Kyu can predict. He lunges at her again, bringing his uninjured hand towards her stomach again. He’s in her space before the threads of shadow are gone from the air, and in a sudden rush of panic and rage that makes her head throb, they plume into great tentacles like a deep-sea beast wreaking havoc. Shigaraki goes through another wall, and Kyu howls with all the air that the sudden itch-pain-shadow-rush doesn’t yank from her lungs.
It takes the full might of OFA to reel that anger back in, and she doesn’t have leverage on the rubble. Instead, she falls forward, shocks of agony coming with each shard of concrete digging into her stomach. Kyu skins her palms forcing them against the dusty, even floor— Only for Blackwhip to lash out further, and her fingers to crunch into the concrete, gripping it fiercely. Still, she can hardly breathe or think, and pain swirls around with rage in her thought-barren skull. Now, the world is ever-present. Pain and Quirk-presence make her hyperaware, with eyes twinkling like jagged stars. She can hear Shigaraki in the distance.
Between masses of shadow that even her enhanced sight can’t penetrate, she sees him raise his hand into a fist and grit his teeth as his bruised, dislocated finger shifts back into place. He loosens and tightens his fist, pained but satisfied. And then he meets her eyes.
“There’s nobody around but us!” He shouts. “No civilian padding, like Kamino! So let it out already!”
Kyu snarls, dragging herself forward with broken fingernails that claw into the concrete and metal shoes that dig into the footholds they leave behind. Blackwhip carves gutters of destruction through plaster and concrete as if they were fresh snow. Kyu gulps in air when the shadows aren’t crushing her lungs, and she barely manages to raise her abdomen off the ground, weight on her elbows and latched-tight fingers.
“Just shut up already!” Kyu pushes her chest out with the force of the words, and the volume makes her sternum buzz like it’s about to snap. She already prefers her comparatively uninjured right arm, so she holds on with that while she brings her left up to wrangle Blackwhip into a twisted mass, coiling around her arm with the force of one-hundred pythons. They make her skin feel like it’s going to be flayed apart by the friction, but her anger yields for her, a weapon back under her power. “You say—” She grits her teeth, fighting Blackwhip, and her breath catches. “To let loose, and that I’m a liar for not doing that. But if… If I do just let it all out, then I’m deceiving myself! Because I don’t want to tear down the world! I want to be angry and to kick and scream, but I want to have hope!”
Blackwhip thins into twine, and Kyu’s left arm falls back down. Rage and power both wane as her head struggles to place things together. Thoughts and feelings become words and conversation. She curls in, bringing her arm in and hugging her abdomen. Breathing hurts, but she does it. And a breath after that, and each one after that to supply life. She does it.
Shigaraki’s sneakers make loose shards of concrete crunch underfoot or skitter away like fleeing mice. They scuff to a stop in front of her, although she doesn’t have the strength to look up at him.
She can hear him shuffle, and though her eyes are squeezed shut she can feel as something in the air changes. Nothing made manifest by their powers, but just shifting air. Just the same as anyone could feel. He’s close, and his words are different, as if his sharpened edge has been corked. “I don’t have hope,” he says quietly. It’s a bit morose, and Kyu finally manages to tilt her head up to look at him. Stretching the skin of her neck makes the fingerprint bruises left there ache, and she finds his face darkened by shadow and split-ends of his matted hair. “I know that makes me different. But I just can’t find it in me to care. Hatred is a motivator like no other. And I know you know that, too.”
He looks down at her, not condescendingly. Their breaths mingle, and he continues to speak with that space. “I’m not asking you to give up hope.” He pauses, thoughtful, and then crows his next thoughts, more lifelike than his play-acting. “That phrase, right, ‘give up hope’? So many people act like it’s tantamount to suicide. I just don’t get it. ” His eyes narrow, focused solely on Kyu’s face, and his sneaker slides in close before his clothes rustle and his the dirty hem of his coat meets the floor. His fingers touch beneath her jaw, four gentle points bringing Kyu’s gaze upwards. She lets him, silent and watchful. “But when you hit me or use those shadows, what do you think that is? When you think about the Yakuza, or righteous vengeance, or you look down on me for the blood on my hands, do you know what the look on your face is like?
“It’s the one I know you hate on me. That smile of scratching the itch. ” He smiles down at her, a real smile, an itch-scratching wild-glee malovolence-in-his-eyes smile. “More than anyone else, I understand. No one else does, they all hope . That’s how they live, but not us.”
Opening her mouth hurts, stretching the muscles Shigaraki’s gentle touch is already pulling taught. Her throat is probably blood-thick enough to make Himiko swoon. The cool air and dust rest on her tongue, waiting with no words to come. She feels all the lesser for it. Eventually, she breaks eye contact, but speaks— Kyu barely manages a growl, and it sounds more like a groan. “What do you want, then.”
Shigaraki’s sneakers scuff back, and he reaches down to lift her up. His recently-injured pinky stays free of the rest of his fingers, like he’s being fancy while drinking tea. “Scratch the itch,” he says, “hope if you want, but take something you hate in your world-bearing hands and crush it. If you’re going to keep fighting, then hate.” At the blank look on Kyu’s face, he looms in closer to her half together body.
She lunges, ankles failing and limp behind her, but grip firmer than iron as she grabs his wrist. His other hand moves to catch her, but he’s already too late, and Blackwhip slithers all the way up past his shoulder, entangling his shoulderblades, neck, and collarbones. She’s not exactly wrestling with all her might, and Shigaraki manages to bring his arms close enough to claw away the shadows. Kyu disengages, but batters him with wisps of shadow as rapid as his clawing hands can rip them off.
Smokescreen hisses from her skin, quickly starting to fill the room. As soon as her line of sight breaks, she feels Shigaraki shifting and Blackwhip missing the mark. Rather than unfurling the tendrils, she opens her stinging eyes wide and searches through the smoke. She can see through it, and even if he’s running right towards her left side, she’s far from defenseless. She meets him with a kick to the gut, and he scrambles to catch her leg in his grip. He’s blown back into the blind smoke before he gets the chance, his back knocking roughly against the jagged edge of the hole they made in the building earlier.
Blackwhip snaps to the hole, hooking around and pulling her foot on a trajectory for a flying kick, but he swipes at it— Blind, but clever enough. By the time she smashes into the wall, he’s cleared away the whip and twisted away. His fingers graze her skin before she hops away. His head follows where he hears her land, and he lunges towards her. I’m not getting away with another surprise kick, she realizes, and decides to go for something short and brutal instead. His outstretched hands are deathly close to her when she ducks under them, planting a fist in his gut. He staggers, and she catches him around the wrists and knocks his feet out. The takedown is brutal, and she has him pinned on his back quickly.
“How’s that,” she hisses, breathless.
He blinks, squinting through the smoke to make eye contact, as if seeing the thin spectre of hers glowing. Then he spits a mouthful of blood at them.
Kyu tries to blink it away, but her eyes are already bloodshot and angry without something like that. She tries to make distance as soon as she’s blinded, but when her grip slips, Shigaraki catches her in a clawing four-finger grip and spins her around, so she’s the one pinned on the bottom.
He can’t see a thing either, right? Would it be best to just let Blackwhip out? But I could end the fight now, if I’m lucky! Kyu’s thoughts gather only long enough to splinter into thin shards in a storm of pain. She can’t see, and she hates how much that inhibits her, but she is intimately aware of four bitten-down-to-razors nails scraping against the exposed flesh of her stomach, and she can feel the floor disappear from under her when the pain has her spine curling upwards. She can feel the scream scraping through her throat and hear it buzz in her skull and catch in her ears.
STOP IT, “STOP IT!”
Kyu knows by the ringing in her own ears that Shigaraki’s must be nearly deaf. She can perfectly imagine the smile on his face, and that’s why she claws her crooked fingers into his mess of hair and smashes her forehead against his nose. It only takes a half-second, but the impact seems to drag on, frame-by-frame, as his comparatively squishy nose gives and breaks and gushes blood across her bangs. Her other hand finds his at her gut and snaps its grip around his wrist— She feels his hand crush in her grip; joints popping or bones snapping makes no different to her. Angular whips lash at him, living up to their name when they slice into the meat of his forearms and cut through his jacket. With a heave, he’s off of her, and she doesn’t hear him as she stands.
She breathes. It’s not easy, but she does. The pains thrumming down into her bones become injuries that can be compartmentalized— The friction-burns and skinned palms, the split stitches and concrete shard cuts, and the— piercing pain, head burns, tipping over, don’t think about it.
She’s going to need medical attention. And a shirt. She wipes the blood and spit from her eyes with shaking, weary fingers, and follows the gentle draft out into the street again. Then, slowly, with the Knightriders punctuating each step, she approaches her jacket. She makes sure not to touch the fur collar as she lifts it up and places it over her shoulders— She’ll mat it with blood if she does.
“Wait.”
Kyu turns. Shigaraki is behind her— Closer than she expected. He’s holding his wrist in one hand. If he attacks again, she probably has an edge over him. At this point, she’s more worried he’ll only stay down if she kills him. The thought stirs less nausea in her than she expects. But he’s not moving closer or attacking, just waiting a half-dozen steps away. He does smile, but one half of his face is a quickly-swelling mess, and his bloodied features have never looked worse.
“ Plotting is much more involved.” He wheezes. “Which is why it’d really fuck things up if you stole my notes on—”
Blackwhip unfurls with a thwip, needle-accurate with pointed anger as it turns out his pockets. Three things fall out. She leaves his stupid waxy hand where she finds it, but takes a notebook and…
“That’s not yours to take,” he hisses. He doesn’t step closer.
She narrows her eyes at him, and puts the gun in the inside pocket of her parka. “How many times have you demanded that I do what I want?” When she breaks eye contact and walks away, he doesn’t follow.
Notes:
Thanks again to TAR for editing this chapter! The fighting was less clear in my initial writing, since there was a lot of stop-starting in the process of writing this, lmao
sitting down to write The Kyushig Chapter: oh this is pretty basic yeah. some violence some possibly intimate violence while blinded. the commenters hate shigaraki but honestly hes kinda based
actually writing The Kyushig Chapter: and then shigaraki kinda savors how easy it is to kill kyu. wait, what?
In seriousness, their relationship in this fic is really complicated. And I have a lot of fun with it, obviously. Kyu dropping the parka was planned back in June, because it's a pretty significant visual/moment and kinda represents their dynamic in microcosm.This chapter is coming out a day early because my brain is totally fried and I figure if I can't write or think I can at least post it. No promises on next chapter coming next week, because I sort of have to make a lot of art for a calendar and also coin-flip whether I get covid (a fourth time? i think? It's in my house again is the point)
Chapter 77: Paste-Up
Summary:
Last time, Kyu fought Shigaraki after he pushed her to stop holding onto her moral ground while pursuing 'villain' ideals. After passing on a persistent idea that Kyu should use hate as much as hope, he let her 'steal' a notebook with information about/about his plans for the Shie Hassaikai. She also took the gun he received from Overhaul.
Kyu makes her way back to Oguro's apartment for medical attention, but her head's in a truly inconvenient number of other places.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The worst part of the pain isn’t the sting that comes with each step, or each heartbeat. It also isn’t how the blood loss makes her lightheaded, like swimming in a sea of torment without end. It’s knowing that there is an end, but she has to reach it.
Kyu walks close to the frigid bricks of buildings at her side, dragging her fingers along the rough texture to steady herself. But by the same token, she could so easily lean against that brick, and then slide down. She could let the cold fill her on some abandoned street. Let her eyes slide closed…
Kyu gasps in pain and scrunches her hands into tight, messy fists. They’re so cold, and the power has her bones feeling frayed into pins and needles. She is leaning against the wall, on the floor, leaking heat. Blood runs into pockmarks and cracks of the sidewalk. She stands, forcing herself to put weight onto her shaky legs.
The temptation to stop swimming. That’s what’ll spell her end, knowing that tomorrow she might not remember this walk. She didn’t remember the trip to Oguro’s apartment building last time, and she was less injured then. But she can’t let her eyes slide closed— Instead, she stares straight into the streetlights ahead, letting them burn into her retinas just to make them persist. Foot dragging in front of foot. Cross this square of the sidewalk, then the block, then enough blocks after that. Foot after foot.
It’s difficult to balance beyond that— If her thoughts drift, she’ll inevitably stop moving, but if she tries to quash all thought beyond the simple mechanics of her body, the pain will grip her. It’s starting to now; broken stitches and each specific inch of her Decayed skin. Her parka is zipped up over the bloody mess, and its plasticky fabric manages to both stick to and scrape at that mess as she walks. Each time she moves her right leg forward, the gun hangs in her inside left pocket, ever-present. It’s a few pounds; more than she expected and plenty to be impossible to ignore.
She imagines all the criminals and special forces officers who carry one. Who feel that metal close to their bodies, with its significance, and its cold metal that never seems to heat up. Its presence is impossible to ignore, and Kyu can’t help thinking that’s right, isn’t it? It’s a gun, and it’s probably loaded. Tentatively, she reaches into her parka and pulls it out. It feels awkward in her hands. Her knobby fingers fumble at unfamiliar mechanisms, like an animal scratching at a closed door. Really, all she knows is the trigger. Frustrated, she instead glares through the grip and the perfect right angles of the magazine, to the bullets within.
Her breath hitches in her lungs when she sees them. It’s no question at all; bullets are bullets. She blinks, and feels her mouth go dry. She’s holding a loaded gun. But there’s something distinct about them. She’s looking at them through solid metal, but she knows that it’s not right that their tips are made of oddly textured red plastic. The casings are that brass-like metal, but the bullets must be manufactured some other way. Maybe by villains. Maybe that’s why there’s a tiny glint of tungsten at their tips. A little delivery mechanism.
These are Quirk destroying bullets, Kyu decides. It feels a bit like tipping over the high point of a rollercoaster, and sends her stomach into her throat with the same speed. Which the Yakuza are making. She blinks. The gun she’s holding is three pounds that speaks to conflict between villain groups, untold violence, and the ambitions of villains who only want to hurt and steal. Kyu lurches with the next step in her thoughts: Shigaraki speaks of grand violence, but his League is a family. And the Yakuza, with all their traditions and loyalty and words of a bond, are far more cold and cruel.
She’s still staring at the gun, wide-eyed, breath not quite back in her lungs. Her feet aren’t moving. She doesn’t feel like she can put away the gun. Not until she swallows thickly and whispers a promise to the ice-cold metal.
“I want them to know that I have this.” Take something you hate in your world-bearing hands and crush it. “I’m going to shoot their boss before I rip him apart.”
Her head spins. Kyu gasps in her next breath, and it feels like she’s forcing rubbery lungs to swell to fit the air. She shoves the gun back into its place in her parka pocket, and jostling it around makes her stomach prickle and sting. Gritting her teeth, she keeps walking. Each step is slowly chiseling away at her willpower, but her new resolve makes her feel a bit more solid.
Finding Oguro’s apartment is hard. She carefully placed the memory of the address in her mind, but as injured and shaken as her thoughts are, she’s worried she’d lose more information trying to structure her thoughts right now. Instead, she works with the direction she knows and fuzzy thoughts of the street number, then works off landmarks. That park she recognizes. One foot. Or that tag, she saw that close to Oguro’s apartment, but is that one a different throw-up? Another foot in front of her.
She doesn’t have a way to check the time, but it’s probably been unreasonably long since she started walking. Thinking about the time makes her tired, and when she remembers that she’s tired, her fingertips start to feel numbly cold. Instead of anything like that, she thinks about reaching Oguro’s door. Kyu feels bad about coming upon her door at this time of night, especially after Oguro looked her in the eye and said she knew Kyu would do it. But she’s not coming back with her tail between her legs; her thoughts are actionable. A notebook. A gun. A left foot, a right foot.
Of course, actually getting to Oguro’s apartment will be difficult. The roof isn’t exactly reliable, and going through the building is a good way to get spotted by civilians or cameras and implicate a good samaritan. The one place Kyu can think of is…
She finds the place, eventually. For all the moving she’s done through cities since she broke away, it’s not often that she feels like a villain. But now, slinking through a residential area, she pulls her hood up and her eyes flit around, wary of civilians— witnesses. She moves through narrow alleys, but the apartment structure has its courtyard protected by a chain-link fence. She frowns at it and thinks a little carefully— Most of her means of motion are a little more visible and capable of jostling a wound.
Instead, she thinks about Blackwhip manifesting in dense darkness from her shoulderblades. It had been pointed and powerful when she used it on Shigaraki, and it still is. Maybe it’s in her mindset or some subconscious shift in her limit, but it feels a little more powerful and stable. Like the wild power is hers ever since she pushed it. Like the wildness has widened into an ocean now that she’s made her hate pointed and direct as the spindles of darkness.
They rattle the fence and stab small holes into the concrete as they lift her over. It’s still a bit messy, but the tendrils are placed so that they don’t jostle her body, and the Knightriders do help mitigate the foot or two that she does fall. Blackwhip drifts around Kyu like jellyfish tendrils as she walks forward, although they start to wrap around her arms and back when she stops at the edge of the alley, scanning the courtyard. She pauses to remember where the apartment is, relative to the courtyard, and the morning sun coming in means…
Thwip. Finger-thick but dark and strong, Blackwhip snags on balcony railings and catches in the wall of the building. Kyu tugs the shadows through her hands like a climbing rope, and excess dried blood flakes off with each careful grip of them. She’s pulling herself up with the Quirk itself, too, but keeping Blackwhip subtle and still means it’d be slow and painful to drag herself up. So this arduous compromise where she stretches upwards and her abdomen feels like don’t think about it is enough.
Through the glass, she sees a dimmed light on in the apartment, but she’s not sure if anyone’s awake. She sags against the glass, and it’s so soothingly cold. Unlike concrete, it’s smooth, and it happily drinks heat from her body as her cheek meets it. But really, she should knock. And so, languidly, her arm crests that last foot and her knuckles rap against the glass. The sound is loud and echoey.
Kyu’s eyes slide shut. She tells herself they shouldn’t— She’s not really safe enough to rest, exposed to open air. On the other hand, the pain of Searchlight is so narrow in her eyes, and she can practically feel the tension in her skull and burst blood vessels from how much she’s used it. So her eyes, at least, can rest. Through her eyelids, she can tell that a light goes on in the apartment by the way she sees just a little yellow-red on the back of her eyelids. There’s a moment of dullness. A lull where she doesn’t quite hear anything, and her limbs are cold and happily limp.
The door slides open, and Kyu blinks a few times as she shifts to stop leaning on it. Her muscles barely reengage, and she tips forward, making her stomach curl and her parka crinkle against it. She grits her teeth, wincing silently and rising to finally meet the person on the other side of the threshold.
“Fuck,” Oguro breathes. Her eyes are blown wide. It must be bad. “Kyuubi—”
“You did—” She staggers forward and trips over herself. She manages to catch herself with a hand on the doorframe, but it’s still a jolt that finds its way back to her core. “—Invite me for dinner,” she finishes in a pained whisper.
Oguro looks like that’s about to make her laugh before her eyes find Kyu’s features in the apartment lights and she’s back to fear. “You’re covered in blood.”
Kyu steps over the threshold, and barely has strength to get further. The couch is a couple paces away, but she’d be getting it covered in blood anyway. She forces herself to stand still instead, locking her unsteady legs as best she can. “It’s not all— It’s only mostly mine,” she says. This locked-legs thing is working pretty well, but she’s feeling pretty dizzy, and suddenly she’s certain she’s going to hit the ground. Oguro catches her in a messy grasp that’s sort of like a bear hug, and makes Kyu wheeze from the pain in her gut.
“Is that— Broken rib?” Oguro asks tentatively, but then shakes her head before Kyu answers. “We need the jacket off.” Kyu’s hands fumble for the zipper shakily, her shoes scuffing Oguro’s floors to try to find footing again. Both are clumsy affairs, but she eventually manages.
Kyu winces as she feels the parka hang free and stickily move away from her stomach. “You might want to do this in the bathroom.” Oguro’s eyes are fixed on Kyu’s stomach as she shoves the parka off Kyu’s pliable shoulders. “Sorry for breaking the stitches.”
Oguro meets her eyes, still looking shell-shocked. “Do you think you can get to the bathroom?”
Kyu blinks slow and breathes in. It’s hard to do, like it was when she had the gun in her hands, but the warmth of the apartment fills her lungs a little better. “Y-yeah,” she nods. Oguro shifts her grip to help Kyu move along the wall with her support. Oguro’s breath catches with each pause or wince Kyu makes. “It’s gonna— It’s okay. Take a— hah, ow— Deep breath.”
Oguro laughs, breathless and a bit hysteric. “Y-you shouldn’t be comforting me right now, that’s just— That’s…”
Kyu takes another step and winces again. “Why not? Mutual aid, right?”
Oguro blinks. Then she laughs a little more. Sweetly, she says, “you’re even worse than I thought.”
They walk further down the hall in a pattern of shaky laughs and sobs and wheezes. When they do finally make it into the bathroom, Kyu barely keeps herself upright long enough to get into the shower and slide down the tile. Really, she catches herself just enough to not fall over entirely. Oguro is scrambling to turn the lights on and find medical equipment, although her first-aid bag seems pretty extensive. Kyu figures Oguro’s are the best hands she could go to.
“H-hey, stay awake,” Oguro urges as she moves back towards Kyu.
“That bad?” Kyu grimaces, glancing down towards her stomach. It’s too bloody to make heads or tails of, especially when her vision is blurry with exhaustion and overuse. “It’s Decay, s-so the tissue’s gone, b-but I don’t think he got anything vital—”
“He got— Most of the skin of your stomach!”
Kyu feels her head going fuzzy. She knows it’s bad when Oguro’s words shut down her clumsy, muttery train of thought. “I— sorry, but I’m gonna pass out,” Kyu admits. Her tongue feels big and clumsy.
Oguro’s eyes snap wide, and she moves from her first aid things to get closer to Kyu’s face. “ No, you are not. You’re going to stay awake and right here and you are not going to bleed out in my shower—”
Kyu’s right arm snaps up, grabbing Oguro’s wrist, and she forces herself to gulp in a deep breath, even though it’s starting to feel like filling her lungs is a fight. “I’m going to live,” she says firmly, “And you’re going to take a deep breath and make sure I do.” Then, her head tips back and lazes against the tile, where she knows she’s too weak to move it from. “And… Gyudon. I’m holding you to… Gyudon.”
Kyu doesn’t pass out so much as slide away, drifting into a big, dark ocean. Oguro says a few things, but they drift past Kyu, less words and more the feeling of vibration— Though even that slides right off of her. Kyu imagines this is what one of those sensory deprivation pods feels like. Just dark, cool enough to make the edges of her body blur into a simple lack.
Light fills her vision in clear, rectangular shapes.
They shear the space like footprints, and Kyu melts away.
She’s in a nebulous non-place. Only a watcher.
It’s a diner. The light is pouring through perfectly-square windows, though as her eyes adjust, Kyu can see the dust and smog clouding them a bit. It’s dreary. Doubly so because the diner seems like it has no customers, only upturned chairs and ripped-up booths. One of those booths is mostly intact, though. That booth holds two figures.
“I couldn’t stop my brother. No matter how many times I tried, I failed. He— He only sees people as pawns and playthings.” The words rip out of the first figure like a wound, and shudder as they do. He’s hunched over, squeezing his shirt in his hand, but his brittle voice and messy hair are unmissable. First.
The figure across from him drinks his coffee out of a chipped porcelain mug, quick but not panicked. He sets it down loudly, and the world shatters into slivers of mirror-glass, bouncing light into the enclosing void.
It snaps into focus. A concrete tunnel. Bodies run past, bumping against Kyu’s shoulders, but none of them seem to see her. All their footfalls are heavy; thick military boots and rustling military garb.
“Why do you run?”
The crowd is thinning, and Kyu’s feet drift forward, across murky water that chills her ankles to the bone. It barely ripples as she moves against that crowd, towards the voice. She can’t see its source through the stampede.
“How dare you run?”
Her body feels so weary, enough that the bumps against her shoulders start to feel like wrecking balls and cannonfire. One collision knocks out her legs, and she falls, tumbling with the crowd and sinking into the icy chill. Deeper than a few inches. Bubbles of air swirl around her from the splash, flowing off her as she goes deeper, faster, darker, and the air chokes out of
She has no mouth. Her hand outstretched in the air above has no root, and only exists beyond her wrist.
First’s hand is all that is left.
Second reaches out to
Third’s back is broken over the spike in his back but
Fourth already hides away
Fifth’s limbs all rage when the demon reaches and
Sixth smiles as he pushes himself up with failing arms and no legs to
Seventh smiles, smiles, smiles
Not light this time. Stones jut from the swirling darkness like a mountain through low clouds.
They hit Nine’s back first, and the bone chill lingers with no sense of wetness.
She tries to cough, but she has no mouth, and there’s no water to cough.
Her body is crumpled in front of a tall chair. She reaches for its ornate lion’s-paw carving on its leg.
“Nine.”
Her grip is so weak. She can hardly feel the chair through all the numbing cold.
“Kyu.”
Her fingers tense, as if her weak, short nails could claw in some grip.
“Kyuubi!”
Her fist is tightening around ill-fitting slacks, and a bony ankle under them.
She looks up. It’s First.
Even inclining her head those few inches makes it spin. Her eyes start to roll back into her skull, vision going spotty and black.
“You walk a bloody path, child. But you must live.
“I know you feel you do as you must. But grant me this one wish, for all of us.
“My brother’s foul thumb still tips the balance. But it will not last. So, I speak thus:
“Do not die. I do not permit it.”
Kyu gasps awake— alive, alive, alive— Like she’s sitting on a live wire. She finds that all she’s on is cold tile, harsh porcelain that Kyu feels is brittle against the magnitude of her power, and her coldness, and the great numbness swirling in her chest.
She doesn’t puke, at least. Her stomach feels hollow and pained, and her mouth is so dry it feels like her tongue cracks as it adjusts in her mouth. If anything was left in her digestive tract, it might be lurching up her burning esophagus. For now, all she does is dry heave once, then twice.
The motions are weak and only half-done. With each comes pain, a bit like stretching in the morning and feeling soreness. Of course, this is far different. This is a hundred injuries, from papercuts to near-disembowelment, and a thousand thoughts scattered through her head. When her body starts to shift, she feels all those wounds shift— Along with the gentle sting of the stitches, medical tape, and gauze practically entombing her. There’s even an IV stuck into her left arm, although the crook of her elbow feels tender with mottled bruises.
Two thoughts spin to the front of her mind, a bit out-of-order. Was I out long enough for this many IVs? Or, could it be that Oguro was a bit messy? Then she blinks as everything starts to slot in with that name— Stumbling into Oguro’s apartment where she now is, the panic, and the woman who probably just saved her life.
Outside, she hears a shrill whistle, and her back straightens— It’s a painful shock at her core, but now she’s up, with her palms at the edge of the shower. The whistle dances around pitch and dies. It’s just a kettle being taken off the heat. The breath drifts from her lungs, but the stiffness doesn’t sag out of her muscles. Instead, she begrudgingly rises. Her sweatpants seem intact, although they’re rolled up to access the stitches on her calves and her shoes are gone. She’s still wearing the ruined imitation of a sports bra, too. That only leaves the IV.
It’s sitting in the shower rack, but it looks like everything else was cleared away. Kyu picks it up gingerly, careful not to mess with the fluid in the pouch. That’s clumsy; it makes the tube hang lower and demands either her good hand or her messed-up left arm, since she’ll need to open the door. Frowning, she tries to carefully reconsider.
Blackwhip was behaving oddly by the time she was done with Shigaraki, whether from exhaustion or something else. But there’s no better time to recreate it, right? The thinness and dexterity of a needle. Along with the constant simmer of frustration and a bit of intent, she adds the mental image of how it precisely targeted Shigaraki’s pockets, and the way it felt. A thin coil of coal-hatred.
It extends from her shoulder and twists through the air, ending in a gently oscillating curl. The whole thing seems to swell and shift with her heartbeat, like it’s running with veins and arteries. It’s strange to see Blackwhip behaving like that. Or, rather, strange to see it behaving at all, and how its shape oscillates moment to moment. It’s a messy place to put the IV, but still better than holding it.
Her feet pad across the tile, the cold making her own skin feel a bit like a cushion rather than part of her. Her hand rises towards the door, slow as if a sudden movement would make her burst. Her fingers are starting to curl around the doorknob, gently moving the latch in the knob’s mechanism. Then she hears something: Voices, with bright tones at regular volumes. If they were lower, she might feel the bass through the door, but instead, it’s nearly impossible to hear a word.
Kyu pulls the door open slowly and quietly, wincing a bit at the sound of metal in the door’s mechanisms and gentle shift of well-loved hinges that she can do nothing to curtail. When the gap of the open door is just wide enough for her head and neck to move through, Kyu peers around the door and down the hall. The couch is as she remembers it, though the sun must be high enough in the sky that the natural light doesn’t cut across the room like it does in the morning.
On the couch, Oguro is blowing across the surface of a teacup. Beside her are two people. The first is unfamiliar, a person with buzzed-down, bleached hair, and lots of piercings littered across their face. The second has her hair down, dressing down in a too-big shirt, but her bubblegum hair is unmistakably Haneyama Kazuho. The couch is a bit cramped for three people— Just enough that their thighs are crammed against each other, but they seem unbothered.
Unbidden, Kyu remembers the closeness shared in Height’s Alliance. In Oguro’s tense expression and Kazuho’s hand on her shoulder, she sees that common-room couch in a thunderstorm. The skin graft on her arm is settled, but it aches anew.
No, she thinks, as decisively as she can muster. Then there was a phone call. Then that faux thing ended. She quashes the thought of warmth under metal shoes. She takes it in her hands and feels it end. The warmth and ache lingers, but it’s more like a ghost or a bad taste left in her mouth. That system only hurts me, now. Just like it hurts every other queer, every one of my friends. Every villain.
“Kyuubi?!”
Oguro outright drops her teacup, staring wide-eyed at Kyu, but Kazuho snaps out a hand to catch it before it breaks and sends hot tea everywhere. Beside them, the person with piercings is wide-eyed, but doesn’t look especially startled.
Kyu pulls the door open the rest of the way, mindful of the IV bag as she steps around it and moves over the threshold. Her steps are heavy and clumsy, but the lack of feeling in her feet and the heady feeling of her scattered thoughts make her feel as if she’s a spectre drifting forward without touching the ground at all.
Oguro meets her before she makes it more than two steps down the hall, brow furrowed as she scans Kyu’s body and glances back up to her eyes between each injury. “You— You’re awake,” she breathes, awed. She blinks a few times, and her breath shudders as it passes over the mummy-wrappings across Kyu’s abdomen. “You cannot be on your feet.”
Kyu opens her mouth to speak, but the dry swell in her mouth is too much. She starts to cough. It’s just a bit of exertion against her rough throat, but it feels like knives in her stomach as pain pulses across her skin where it lacks. She grips at the walls, and Oguro gingerly takes her arms.
“Don’t hunch over, it’ll be worse.” She looks over her shoulder. “Get her some water. And there should be painkillers in—”
“Got it,” Kazuho nods, quickly slipping past Oguro and Kyu into the bathroom behind her. While the one with piercings fills a glass at the sink, there’s a squeak as Kazuho opens a mirror medicine cabinet. Despite the part of Kyu that just wants to keep moving, she squeezes her eyes shut to bear the pain and block out the sudden movement around her. When she opens them again, there are pills and water being pushed towards her. She takes the water and gulps it down.
“Drink slowly,” Oguro advises, and Kyu does her best, but her mouth feels like a desert that the water hardly saturates. A few gulps becomes half the glass before she stops, water dribbling down her chin. The pills are pressed towards her again.
The pain is still sharp, but the worst of it has stopped. Kyu squeezes her eyes shut again, pushing it away, and this time she can breathe fully and shift her dry throat without a coughing fit. “I need a clear head,” Kyu says, dismissing Kazuho. Before Oguro can tell her off like Kyu expects, she continues, “how long was I out?”
“You didn’t even miss a day,” Oguro replies quickly, “and your head is not going to be very clear with all the pain, so—”
Kyu frowns. “I need to think.”
Kazuho gently places a hand on her shoulder. “Can I at least get you to take a lot of ibuprofen?”
Kyu nods. She sips at the water more, then steps forward, pushing away from the wall. Oguro moves out of her way rather than making her stop, but she lingers close. “My things,” Kyu starts.
“They’re still in the kitchen,” Oguro says quietly. “I didn’t look through the notebook, but…”
Kyu shoulders past Oguro, making her way into the kitchen, where her parka is hung and the things in her bag and pockets seem to have been examined. By its lumpy shape, it’s clear the gun has been tucked under the parka, away from plain sight but not hidden beyond that. The three others all stand behind her now, and Kazuho approaches with a handful of orange pills.
While Kyu turns over her shoulder to take them from Kazuho’s hands, Oguro speaks. “Your blood pressure and heartrate dropped off hard. I got Kazuho and Kushi to get the IV, but… It looked like you were going comatose. Your vitals were dropping, and I wanted to know if there was anyone else I could call, but—”
Kyu turns fully to face them. “You said I was comatose?” She swallows the pills dry, and they’re thick in her throat. “I… My Quirk might have woken me up.”
Oguro nods. “Your body temperature is… Well, you have the symptoms of a low internal temp, even though it’s normal. Maybe if it kicked in as a critical measure once the bleeding stabilized… Th-that’s conjectural, though.”
Kyu doesn’t agree, but it’s not like she’s about to say no, my Quirk told me and paint a target on Oguro’s back. So instead, she grumbles a nonanswer and turns back to her things.
A hand tightens around her wrist. This one, with its pink-and-black nails, isn’t Oguro. Kyu follows it up the shoulder to where Kazuho’s curls fall. “You can’t be thinking of going out there like that, kid. You can hardly move.”
“The notebook should tell me where to go.” At their grimaces, Kyu sighs. “I don’t think it’d be safe if I was uninjured, but I’m not going there to fight anyone without being prepared.” That soothes the others, but not the hollow ache in Kyu’s chest. “I’m not going to be sloppy about this. I can’t afford to miss any chance to stack the deck if one person can do this to me.”
“One person did this to you?” Kazuho looks from her, to Oguro and Kushi, then back to Kyu. Her eye is wide. “Kid, you nearly died. These are those Quirk-destroying bullets, right? Who the hell had them?”
“They’re being made by the Yakuza. As far as I know, the same group is making power plays.” Frowning, she adds, “Like trying to bring the League in by force.”
“I knew it,” Oguro murmurs. “Shit, of all the times for my old man to be busy.”
“Shigaraki did this, didn’t he.” Before Kyu can answer, Kazuho’s shoulders square. “I can’t— God, he couldn’t even recognize that you’re on the same side?!”
Kyu laughs mirthlessly. It feels like a stabbing pain in her stomach. “Oh, he knows. He just wants me to be just as bad as him.” Twisting herself away from Kazuho, Kyu plucks the notebook from the table. It feels small, and almost precious, in her hands. “And I will be,” she says stonily, “so long as it gets me to the Yakuza. That’s what this is for.”
Tenderly, she flips it open, and finds chicken scratch handwriting inside. So, You Want To Kill Overhaul (A Guide To Villainy).
There’s a sick twisting in her gut, that she wants to beat Shigaraki bloody for making her fight for this, but also that she preens, knowing it was made to fall into her hands. Together, they form a dreadful weight of satisfaction, like a lump in her gut.
Notes:
Paste-up— A style of graffiti done with stencils/paper stuck to walls with (usually) wallpaper paste.
OFA vestiges all in agreement that Kyu’s runaway dark hero shit is fine I guess play ball, but they’re ready with the morally dubious defibrilators
Not only is what kyu does against medical advice, it is downright bonkers and it’s pure luck that she hasn’t died of infection or air embolism or like fifty other things. its that dirt-eating kid immune system or whateverSorry about the break! The holidays are always busy/less conducive to writing for me, and I’ve had to learn watercolors and my phone broke so it’s been weird.
Also, I watched RWBY! Which I highly recommend (the early seasons are rough but there are diamonds in there, and I’m not one to judge without considering artist intent and inexperience at the start of a project). If you’re interested, the beta of THIS STORY and I are cooking up a little something. Click here to check the Ruby Branwen AU out.
Chapter 78: Bomb I
Summary:
Last time, KYU left her battle with Shigaraki injured and delirious. She collapsed in Oguro's apartment, putting her trust in a med student to save her very at-risk life, and briefly entered a coma. After seeing several visions of the past users of OFA, the First told her AFO still needed to be fought, and "do not die. I do not permit it." She woke up to find Oguro, Kazuho, and their friend Kushi in the apartment, and quickly caught them up.
NOW armed with Shigaraki's notes on the Shie Hassaikai, Kyu begins to close in, with enough caution to land very narrowly on the better side of 'suicidal'. Regardless, the fact is, stakeouts take time...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Know thy enemy.
Dress shoes tap on the footpath outside the compound. It’s nestled in a somewhat residential area, but the traditional Japanese elements of its construction can’t hide its purpose. It’s too big and sees too much foot traffic to just be a mansion, after all. Whether or not they own the surrounding buildings, most are bought out and in disrepair— Much like the stripped apartment Kyu is borrowing. There’s a banged-up electric kettle plugged into an exposed outlet a few feet away, and a bulk pack of cup noodles next to it.
The notebook is a web of twisted words. It’s not illegible by any regard— Kyu finds that the longer she reads, the more she’s forced to admit that Shigaraki is clever. If she was anyone else, she might think I’d hate to be his opponent, but it’s a little late for that.
Curled up under the lip of the dust-caked windows, it’s easy to feel her heartbeat in her gut when the memory of pain comes. It beats into the divot-shapes of Shigaraki’s fingers, lancing pain into her and coming away blood-slick. Of course, it’s only a memory, but while there’s no fingers and no oozing blood, the pain lingers. It raises the question: What kind of group stares down the League, rips them apart, and grafts on the limbs? It’d take a lot of strength. And an egomaniacal idiot.
She flips the notebook open to the page in the middle she keeps staring at. The yakuza used a few tricks to keep Shigaraki from learning anything about the compound’s layout, so the only thing to memorize is profiles. Kyu drills them like nothing else. This one is titled ‘Chisaki Kai AKA Overhaul’, but crammed in beside the title is ‘he hates his name, so call him chisaki it’ll be funnier’.
…I hate being this asshole’s opponent. The notes are extremely detailed, and some of it is speculative minutiae, but it makes sense. Besides, all the assumptions just make his decisions make more sense. He’s got a dangerously lethal matter reallocation Quirk, and his control seems molecule-precise. It makes the timeline of bullet production more of a threat, since he’s probably involved and as versatile as plenty of expensive machines that don’t travel or hide in a yakuza base well. Kyu doesn’t know more than top-school levels of chemistry or biology, and besides a few terms she doesn’t recognize, Shigaraki is much the same. So Chisaki is smarter than her— He’s still an idiot. And still… She chews on her lip, carefully contemplating.
When she fought Rappa, she was nothing short of shocked that someone else managed to take him down, much less almost kill him. But Chisaki’s Quirk is a rotten swell of power, and he’s definitely woven an expert web with it: His sprawling network, his closely-held elite fighters, and his impenetrable fortress. Woefully, Kyu finds herself agreeing with a line Shigaraki seems to be proud of. Towards the end of the entry, which spans several pages and is scratched into its own margins, there’s that damnable line.
I’m deadly all on my own. He’s not as good in a straight fight, but his versatility mitigates that. Nobody can break through his fortress, but nobody can afford to wait for an opening in his armor.
The enemy of my enemy ;)
Dress shoes tap away, up the path of stepping stones through a very traditional Japanese garden. At the door, a hand clad in a tough pair of black gloves presses a buzzer, and steps inside a moment later. Perhaps the man is only here briefly— To check in, pay dues, and receive orders, above-ground in the common offices and mess hall. But, just as well, his shoes might tap coldly on similarly cold concrete, leading him into an expanse below the earth that Kyu only knows by the number of steps between turns in the hall. His path might well be different, given Chisaski’s mastery.
Kyu drags a hand down her face and looks out over the lip of the window. There’s a sweet ache, like hot chocolate in the winter, as it stretches at the fraught muscles and tender wound on her gut. It hurts, but it is good to move it. She has binoculars at her side, but doesn’t bother with them now. There’s nothing different about the view, the trees swaying in the fall air just the same as they did before. She watches until her eyes burn anyway, and a bit after that. Eventually, she lets out a long, low sigh, and eases herself back around and out of sight, plucking eyedrops from where they’ve nestled in the pocket of her parka, still warm from her body heat.
She’s mostly-through applying them when she hears boots touch down across the dilapidated stairwell. She finishes up, rather than snapping to her feet, but only because she recognizes the rustle of Kazuho’s coat and the way her boots very softly tap on the hard floors. She’s still sitting on the ground when the door opens, but she’s blinking the eyedrops out and readily meets Kazuho’s eye.
One eyebrow cocks. “I know it’s crummy, but you should use the couch.”
Kyu narrows her eyes. “It’s plenty comfortable here.” The couch, with its ratty holes and springs poking-through unnameable stains, is close to the window too. She doesn’t want to say it outright, but Kyu feels like it makes her stir-crazy. It’s too comfortable when she has work to do, and too still when her healthier leg is ready to bounce right out of her hip.
“Get up. I’m not giving you an IV on the floor. ” Frowning, she scuffs her boot. “Someone should sweep in here.”
Kyu gets up, though it’s a very begrudged motion. “You know that there’s a shot they’d notice.”
“Yeah, well, they’re gonna smell all the cup ramen anyway,” she says defiantly. “I brought real food.” She slings off an old backpack all in dark colors with a few cutesy charms dangling from the straps and zippers— Judging by the sewn-on patches and sealed-in polaroid charms, it’s been with her since before Pop☆Step’s hiatus. She starts rifling through it while Kyu lowers herself onto the couch as gently as she can. It hurts, using her core muscles and feeling the weight push up her forearms into her aching shoulders, but she just lets out a long exhale and sinks into the lumpy cushions. Kazuho sets out some medical supplies on the other cushion, and between a bag of sealed needles and a tupperware keeping a fluid bag safe, a takeout box is tossed on her lap.
“What’s this?” Kyu asks, pulling the parka off her left arm for the needle.
“Katsudon,” Kazuho shrugs. “I figured health food might be better than ramen, but your body kinda needs the hearty calories, so…”
Kyu looks down at the styrofoam lid, waiting to be opened. She remembers her favorite food being katsudon. Maybe it still is, but a sordid thought comes to mind: ‘just like inko used to make’. Then, shortly after, every time Rumi encouraged her to eat something that’d feel warm down to her stomach comes to mind. Maybe it’s unhealthy, and maybe it’s not like a little kid’s affection for a mother’s cooking. It’s probably off an alley shop or a street vendor, and the smell of it beginning to reach through the styrofoam is all meat and warm, salty oil.
Maybe that’s home too. Kyu swallows thickly, and nods “thanks” to Kazuho, accepting an outstretched pack of disposable chopsticks. Kazuho watches Kyu for a moment afterwards, a searching look on her face, but she doesn’t probe beyond that. There’s a comfortable quiet as Kyu tucks in, eating a bit faster than she probably should, although it quickly becomes itchy as it stretches onward.
“Barely anyone comes in or out.” Kyu swallows another bite, feeling her esophagus fight down the fat and sinew. There’s spring onion in her teeth, and she flicks at it with her tongue. “I really only interfered once or twice— That’s how I found Rappa in the first place. But they had been stealing a computer bank, or something like that. Weird stuff, which makes me think it’s stuff that they need.”
Kazuho stands up to drag over an old coat hanger, and puts the IV pouch on it. She grimaces at it, despite it being what Kyu would consider pretty clever. It’s better than Blackwhip, anyway. “Do you think the League are doing it, then?”
Kyu frowns. “They could, I guess, but they can’t do anything that’d be connected to them, and so far as I can tell, they don’t really have anyone else they can drop veiled messages to. It’s not like—” She pauses in thought. Kazuho stares expectantly, and then nudges her shoulder. “Sorry. I was going to say ‘it’s not like they can go to the heroes’. But if it’s not the League…”
“Then heroes might be closing in on their operations, or the bullets. Is that what you’re thinking?” Kazuho carefully prepares the IV. It’s still something she’s new to, and she frowns at the clumsy setup, nodding through the steps of a mental checklist.
“It could be, but it also means all his tough guys are holed up, instead of out there. If they’re approaching critical mass…” Kyu chews her lip in thought, then startles and bites down a bit harder when Kazuho wipes a cold napkin doused in rubbing alcohol over the crook of her elbow.
“That’s a lot of speculation,” she says, voice very gently chiding. “You’re getting really up in your head just watching them all day.” Kyu opens her mouth, but Kazuho shuts her up by pointedly sticking the IV in. “I know you have to, but you also have to listen to me when I tell you overthinking and obsessing aren’t helping.”
Kyu frowns, but nods. “Whatever’s going on, I do think we’re near the end of the timeline,” she murmurs.
Kazuho looks out one of the dusty windows. She doesn’t say what’s on her mind, but her brows twist up in worry. “You need to recover.” Her eyes shine with the same earnest care as Oguro and a hundred uplifting hands, but there’s some steel left in her voice.
Unlike Kamino, the Naruhata Lockdown wasn’t broadcast everywhere. As far as Kyu knows, Kazuho wasn’t massively involved, but everything she knows isn’t much. There’s an understanding in her words. You need to recover. You need to do it fast enough to intervene. You need to have your cake and eat it too. Kazuho, of anybody, understands that. She unthinkingly rubs at her hollow eyelid.
Kyu nudges her, giving her a small, tender look of understanding. Then her lips crack into a sly smile. “Well, while it’s just you, me, and the sterilized needles…”
Katsuki is very regimented. Most of the extras give him shit for it, but there’s a reason he sleeps early and well, rises with the sun, and crushes all of them into little bits of ash and ‘passing grade’. The probation program is much the same, although it’s a big block of staring at drop ceilings and floor tiles that eats up most of his training time. That’s probably by design, he thinks cynically.
“How was your day?” Hound Dog, who is apparently a counselor, asks.
“Rrrough,” Katsuki says.
Hound Dog tips his muzzle up, and casts a deeply unimpressed look down his snout. He seems to believe Katsuki will ‘get past petty noncompliance,’ and his gaze is a reminder of words that he’s said a hundred times. They bounce into Katsuki’s thoughts without being spoken— You are not going to make any progress unless you help yourself.
You are not going to fight goes unsaid. He needs to discharge his Quirk to stay healthy, but he’s hardly flexing his muscles under the watchful eyes of the staff and students. You don’t get to breathe in the fall air without stares making your hair stand on end. You are subject to hobo-sensei’s quiet fury and All Might’s guilty frown.
Katsuki’s eyes narrow, and he huffs out a breath through his nose just to feel them flare and the herbal-smell of Hound Dog’s office go away for a bit. “Just like the days before. I’m not having mood swings, you know.”
Hound Dog hums in acknowledgement. It’s a noncommittal sound, like ‘we’ll table it for now,’ which is annoying. Katsuki doesn’t have any desire to come back around on his decisions coming from a place of instability. So, he clicks his tongue and crosses his arms.
“I’m not unstable.”
Hound Dog hums in appreciation of this sentiment, and then says “I never said you were, Bakugou.”
“I don’t want to do this shit,” Bakugou growls.
“Can I ask why?” Hound Dog asks politely.
“I think you know damn well why—”
“I think so too,” Hound Dog nods. He scratches at his muzzle and taps his pen against his notepad. “But these meeting are about you. I want to hear it in your words so that we can discuss it.”
Katsuki tries for a withering glare, but Hound Dog’s expression remains open and expectant. The teachers have been clear that cooperation is expected, so he opens his mouth. “It’s all circling the same shit. I have to talk. I have to be ‘honest,’ and explain why I did a ‘bad thing’. I get that this shit… Works, for certain people, but I’m less inclined to participate in the process when it’s coerced.”
“It might seem that way if you think you did nothing to ‘deserve’ this. Do you think you could try to see it in a positive light? This is a chance to explore your thoughts and actions.”
Katsuki lets his head loll back over the starch-stiff couch. The next half-hour is full of half-answers and noncommittal hums, and he’s starting to feel like running off to join Kyu and blow up hobo-sensei again. He doesn’t, because that’d be stupid and impulsive and he’s not about to stop kicking villain ass. Instead, he walks silently beside Hound Dog to the cafeteria, with his hands deep in his pockets. His fists flex where they can’t be seen— even someone smart and calculating just has to blow shit up sometimes. Nobody is inclined to make it easy for him.
He’s been told that his appointments only take up part of the lunch hour because it’s still important that he socialize with his peers. Katsuki finds this unlikely, because his peers are as inclined to an explosive reaction as he is. Mina shoots a death glare his way as soon as he walks in, as if she was watching for him to walk in with it ready. Plenty of the Management chumps also sneer his way, but whatever work he’s made for them is their problem. It’s probably extra credit— Plus fucking Ultra, I say. He snags a tray of curry, which is made with all of Lunch Rush’s expertise, but not as hot and fresh as it’d be at the start of the hour.
Before he walks to a table, he looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. Hound Dog tips up his muzzle, watching expectantly, but doesn’t follow him into the room. Katsuki would probably do better ignoring him, and a few weeks ago, he could’ve grumbled and moved on with his life.
Not so much, anymore. Now Hound Dog is a man who growls and nudges him towards admitting that Kyu was wrong. He’s a hero of a few decades who’s especially good at sniffing out explosives and several hundred pounds of close combat specialist. He’s got sensitive hearing and his left shoulder’s weak from being dislocated multiple times and his practiced restraint means he’s more likely to hesitate before striking a student.
It was never a question. But a few weeks ago, Katsuki didn’t spend so much time playing out just how he’d win a fight with UA’s teachers in his head.
He sets his tray down, harsh as ever, across from Shitty Hair. There’s a tender look in his eyes, like he’s hoping he might glean something about the counseling session— Or, by some personality-swappinng Quirk, he might actually start discussing it. Not a chance. His slight frown is probably because he still thinks Katsuki is a dick, but Katsuki has lost basically all care for the extras’ opinions.
“How’s court-mandated therapy?” Kaminari asks around a mouthful of food.
“Fine.” He glances down the table, which is pretty barren given the number of students in the cafeteria. Ears is eating with her girlfriend’s class, probably. “How’s your math grade?”
“Shut the fuck up, dude,” Dunce Face groans mournfully. “Passing, barely. ”
“D’s get degrees,” Tape Face says, pointing his chopsticks.
“That’s for extracurriculars and stuff. Electricity is, like, all about numbers and physics and stuff. It sucks. ” Dunce Face’s shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh. “Man, if getting D’s got degrees, I’d be, like—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki says, immediately sensing where this conversation is going.
For once, Dunce Face shuts his mouth. He glances to Tape Face, then opens it again, and Shitty Hair gives him a reprimanding look that he completely ignores. “…She was in the news again.”
Katsuki blinks. It’d have to be pretty recent, given that he’s kept a tab open just to refresh the latest news stories under Nightlight, and he never keeps tabs open. “Yeah?”
“Well, there was a fight between villains on one of the artificial islands, it’s just…” Shitty Hair jostles him with an elbow. If not for the fact that Katsuki is looking right at him, he’d probably say something like ‘don’t bring it up,’ judging by the look on his face. Dunce Face jostles back.
Tape Face shrugs beside their catfight. “Lots of dust. Half-destroyed car parts in a puddle of oil, gas, coolant, and dust. Buildings with people-shaped holes in them. A lot of blood.”
“Shigaraki,” Katsuki hisses. He savors the image in his mind’s eye of Katsuki’s palm splaying in front of his forehead and a blinding orange bang that changes him from biology to physics Katsuki could work out in his sleep. He really needs to blow someone up. Instead, he’s going to be doing another shitty supervised exercise while his classmates actually get something done in Fundamental Heroics. Going at his curry with a lot more force and speed, he grumbles. “Anything else?”
Shitty Hair frowns. “I mean, no, but this isn’t proof of—”
Katsuki scoffs. “The moment those blood tests come back, there’ll be headlines. She hates him.”
“There was a lot of blood, apparently,” Dunce Face says quietly.
Katsuki shoves his spoon into his food so hard he can hear it squeak against the styrofoam. “She’s been stabbed, shot, and pulverized her own bones, and you’re worried about a guy hobo-sensei could take?”
“He like super-maimed Aizawa, though,” Sero says.
“Shut up, dude,” Dunce Face says. “Besides, that’s not the point.”
“What’s th—”
“I’m glad you asked. The point is that Kyuubi and Shigaraki fought. Even if she did go to the League, it’s not like they get along.” Then he frowns. “But she doesn’t exactly have access to skin grafts. I hope she’s okay.”
After a moment of quiet, Shitty Hair tentatively raises his head. “You really think she’s fighting the League?”
Dunce Face shrugs. Tape Face scrunches up his mouth, thinking. Katsuki says, “I think she would’ve paid for the chance to knock another one of his teeth out. And—” Grease-stained boots squeak from across the cafeteria. “—I can’t even have one good half-hour—”
“Hello!” Babymaker shouts. “I’ve been kicked out the labs again. I don’t know why I can’t just eat meal bars, it’s not like I’m messy enough to get crumbs in the heavy machinery.” She deflates onto the bench next to Tape Face, her double-serving tray clattering abrasively. Everything about her is abrasive. And somehow, not new. “You were talking about Kyuubi, right?”
Katsuki sneers. “Why the hell do you care?”
Dunce Face gives him the same ‘chill out, dude’ look he always gives Katsuki when Babymaker comes around crowing on and on about Kyu. There’s something off about her, and not just because she’s a— supposedly prodigal— Support course freak.
“Because I’m always watching out for movers and shakers, uh-duh,” Babymaker rattles off distractedly. Then, she blinks, and her eyes whirr to fix on him, like she’s just realized he’s not a distraction. “World’s changing. Support gear has to change with it! Well, Support gear is changing almost constantly, with I-Island inventors making constant progress to deal with the rise of powerful and versatile Quirks. But if the next generation of heroes is all about blowing up the old one, things are gonna get messy. I’m the one in coveralls and goggles.” She shovels several mouthfulls into her manic grin and barely chews before she swallows.
“I’m not doing this shit,” Katsuki decides, standing up and abandoning his half-eaten lunch. It’s not like he’s going to burn the calories on the lax shit he’s supposedly doing.
“You should come by sometime, explodo-boy! Your costume leaves a lot to be desired. Like reduced bulk, a better silhouette, and—”
“Did you just say explodo-boy,” Dunce Face says, choking back laughter.
Babymaker’s eyes don’t leave Katsuki’s glaring face. They just whirr a little closer, crosshairs fixed on his twitching jaw. “I can stick to Bakugou, if you like. I, uh, have been getting better with names!”
She’s a really bad liar. Why she’d lie about that, he doesn’t know— She probably just obsessively read his costume file, like a stalker. Like Kyu might’ve done, when she was an optimist despite being Quirkless and weak. His hands twitch into claws that want to crackle, so he shoves them in his pockets and looks across the cafeteria.
They always sit at the same booth table, and they’re all freakishly tall, fit, and most are loud, too— Even for third year Hero students. Katsuki stomps right toward them. It’s not like he’s louder than the dull roar of hundreds of extras, but it’s as if his every step thunders through the room and echoes off the tall windows and high ceiling. Some of them go quiet, or start low murmurs. Their eyes make the hair on the back of his neck shows up. Sometimes, even a smart guy really, really needs to blow something up.
The Big Three are sitting at the table with a few faces he doesn’t know and doesn’t give a shit about. He flexes his hands in his pockets and tips his chin at Tintin. “Spar with me.”
The blue one with too many questions does a spit-take with her energy drink. Beside her, an extra from a piercing catalogue snrks, and on her other side, the quiet one who’s pining for Tintin keeps his eyes downcast. Around them, everyone who’s been watching Katsuki is murmuring or giggling. He doesn’t really give a shit what they think, though. Tintin holds his gaze, and then smiles.
“You’re that probation kid, right?”
Katsuki sneers. “Yeah, the one who dropped hobo-sensei.”
Tintin tilts his head and closes one eye, as if contemplating the value of his statement. “Well, I would, but I hardly think you’re supposed to, problem child two. Besides! I kicked your butts pretty hard last, time, remember!” He chuckles.
“I actually dodged, ” Katsuki scoffs. “I bet most of your classmates can’t manage that shit— Not unless you’ve all gone against each other ‘til it’s stale. And I’m fast, too. You’re right about the gap in experience, but don’t write me off, Tintin. I’m still a better matchup for you than anyone else in this school.”
The blue one snorts again. There’s less laughter this time, as Tintin thinks carefully, and then he shrugs. “I guess one match with my kouhai couldn’t hurt.”
“It could hospitalize, ” the quiet one groans.
“At least it’ll be humbling. He sort of needs that if he tried to blow up a teacher, right?” the blue one giggles.
Katsuki glares at her. “ Successfully blew up a teacher.” He turns back to Tintin. “I’m not allowed to reserve a gym.”
Tintin laughs politely. “Oh, Year Three pretty much always share Gym Theta. How’s four-thirty?”
Katsuki frowns, but nods. It’ll be nice to blow something up, even if it’ll probably never feel it. He just has to get through a few more grindingly-slow hours.
Notes:
Bomb-- To paint many surfaces in an area/cover a surface, usually with tags/throwups.
SO... (scuffs shoe) Been a while!
First of all, this one's not beta-read. If you notice any glaring issues, please feel free to comment! Or comment because there are none and you're feeling nice.
Secondly: While I tend to get pretty disenchanted with writing around wintertime, I haven't dropped entirely off the face of the earth! If you haven't watched RWBY, go watch it.
...Done? Okay. If you like my writing and want more of it, please check out:
A Rose / By any other name (Incomplete). A Canon Divergence longfic that I am very proud to cowrite with the editor of Switcheroo, and which has siphoned much of the brainpower otherwise used to worry over Switcheroo.
Adagio for Strings (Complete). A Vol9 StrawberryShortcake fic. Enemies and Lovers, toxic old woman yuri, etc.
You’re an Angel, I’m A Dog (Incomplete). A Vol8 QuickSilver fic. Villain redemption in the darkest hour, toxic old woman yuri, etc.All that being said: Switcheroo is far from neglected! I mean, I wrote this in like 2 days and I love my little asshole children. Haven't flexed the Katsuki-POV muscle in a long time, and it's an odd one, but I like it. You'll be seeing more of him as The Stakeout is largely a boring thing that happens offscreen and involves a lot of cup ramen. And then... My favorite arc. Is finally here. where doing it man. where MAKING THIS HAPEN
...so, seeya soon, probably. Next time on Switcheroo: A chat and a spar, both a long time coming.
Chapter 79: 7/4/25 (not an update)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
I'm not going to release a hiatus statement or anything like that, but I've still been getting comments from new readers or those rereading and enjoying Switcheroo. To all of you: Thank you so much!
From the bottom of my heart. It's meant a lot to me to have this work gain attention and fans. I met my editor, one of my best friends, chatted with lots of you, and became a much better writer over the course of-- check this out-- almost 3 years since Switcheroo's first chapter.
That being said, it's firmly on the back-burner. I don't engage much with the MHA fandom at large, and as a hyperfixation of mine I've more or less outgrown it after almost 8 years of enjoying it. Switcheroo has a full outline, but expanding that into dozens of chapters will take a lot of time and spoons I haven't used on this story in a while. Maybe I'll wrap up the arc and leave the open ending on reuniting, or maybe I'll finish this one day!
But it's also important as it is. I'm proud of it, and I love it and the audience and the characters. All of it has a special place in my heart, and all of it matters. So don't weep for the "78/?," alright? We made a lot together. All that care and three novels' worth of word count and a lot of comments that made me laugh, or toy with my outline, or pace up and down the hall. The time this took up and the little slice of my heart that's in it matters to me, and doesn't matter less because of some sunk-cost issue.
Thank you for reading Switcheroo. I love you all.
PS:
Kyu and Himiko happily kiss at the end. It turns out that being trans and gay and full of love are good and important.
PPS:
Oh, and I made out with the editor, too. Practice what you preach, and all.
Notes:
Nothing further! Well, other than to make it clear that I'm still writing. I know I have a lot of readers, and few of them are likely to be engaged with RWBY or Homestuck, but I do have works in those fandoms! Moreover, they're better written than Switcheroo, on account of being written more recently and me being more brave in my writing.
<3
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