i can’t believe you’re posting on tumblr dot com… unacceptable *shaking my head like a disappointed mom*
don’t talk to me like that…..i mean it buddy you really don’t know what you’re messing with……..i mean WHO you’re messing with hahah……
*notices it’s a full moon* oh no…..
*eyes turn red* you shouldn’t have talked to me like that……
*turns into a wolf* 🐺🐺🐺🐺AOEOOO ARGHHHHGRRRR AWOOOON GRIWLLLLL HOWL HISS GROWLLLLL
IM A WEaR WOLF
AWOOOOOO
*TEARS YOU APRT WITH MY TALONS AND FANGS*
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*plotting the sibling AU*
Me: *knows that this is going to bring a lot of angst because it means Nera has to see a family member and hear her real name after YEARS of being away. All that shame after what happened to her older sister Calla will come flooding back*
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your third season in society sees you brandished with perhaps the worst title a woman can earn: spinster.
yes, you are 21 years of age, still flush with the heat of youth and womanhood, and you are — according to your societal peers — a lost cause. despite your sizeable dowry (a pathetic attempt at making your prospects more appealing), you're severely lacking in all those skills a reputable, agreeable lady would need; pianoforte, conversation, embroidery, cursive, and perhaps a laundry-list more.
it matters little to you. the only child of an old, wealthy family, you're more than content to take to your corners, dance card empty and cup full, awaiting the day you'll simply be handed your estate. life is easier this way, you think, without having to vet every man that comes in close contact with you — and what about the running of the house, good sir? oh, well, the lady of the house would take care of it all, no doubt! that's the right place for a woman, i say. ah, i see. and children? i come from a family of 9, miss. i'd want the same for my own children. ah... i see...
so why is it that — even considering your icy reputation, and your uninterested gaze, and your purposefully stilted conversation — that midoriya izuku cannot seem to leave you in peace?
truly, you do not know whether you should be vastly offended or begrudgingly impressed by his devotion to seeking you out, no matter how much you object to it. he is amongst the most anticipated bachelors of the season — an old, wealthy family similar to yours; dashing in all the ways loved by women, with his frame tall and strong, his hair fluffy and falling over his big, green eyes. in contrast to his physicality, he is known for his earnestness and kindness, his sweet conversation — and he wastes his skill on you, in vain.
“i have heard of your endeavours into botany,” he whispers to you one night, huddled at the back of a crowd of dance-spectators. a glass of champagne rests in his hand, one fetched for you and promptly refused. you try not to think too hard on how his hand engulfs the flute, and instead turn sharpened eyes upon him. he seems to fluster. “o-only to say that i am enraptured by them, truly—!”
“i suppose you must find me very strange,” you only say — perhaps a bit rudely, a tad snottily, though he doesn’t mind. he only shakes his head with fervour, denying it vehemently, and you sigh internally. he’s like a stray dog that you cannot shake.
truly, you cannot fathom it. izuku has the favour of both the lady tsuyu, the lady ochako, and even the young duchess momo — all willing women with large dowries and pleasant temperaments. all far more suited to wifely duties than you.
and yet it is you who he insists on staying by — it is your parlour he visits, not with flowers but with strawberry seeds and daffodil bulbs for your ever-growing garden. it is your ear that jokes are whispered into, your arm that winds around his whilst you promenade.
you tell him on one such stroll around the park that it is perhaps better for his reputation to leave you be. you’re a spinster, after all, and not known for your kindness. your hobbies are considered strange, your countenances considered rude. he would do better to find a young lady ready to marry and give him many children, before he is tarnished by his proximity to you.
izuku only laughs that laugh of his, and his eyes are all too soft and all too affectionate for an unmarried man to be giving you.
“forgive me for my forwardness,” he says, leaning towards you as if to share a great secret, “but if it is by you, then i shall welcome my tarnishment.”
and he tugs you along.
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