#hits my nerd brain real good

[katakaluptastrophy]

Can we talk about Magnus in Harrow the Ninth? Because there's a tendency to paint him as this constantly cheerful figure and he's not - he's just very Fifth.

He's the only person who seems even slightly upset about the whole gun-toting horror thing:

“Did the Sleeper get them?”

“Only by assumption,” said Harrowhark, while Abigail’s dolt of a husband said, “I bloody hope so.”

“Magnus,” Abigail said, a touch disapprovingly.

“Well, if the Sleeper didn’t, that’s two maniacs with an ancient weapon and a love of blowing off faces, dear,” said Magnus.

And he's got a very low opinion of Silas:

"She won’t tell me what he said to her, just that he ‘was horrid.’”

“Cheeky little so-and-so,” said Magnus. “If he were my son, I’d give him something to think about. I’m not surprised he’s gone to ground.”

“I would hope your son might be of different character,” said his wife, half-smiling.

“Protesilaus should have biffed him.”

“It’s strange,” said Abigail, ignoring her husband’s exhortations to biffing.

Behind the jolly Jeeves and Wooster-esque talk of biffing people, let's remember that this is Magnus - who from Gideon's POV never saw a teenager he didn't want to adopt - earnestly wishing that a grown man had hit a 16 year old kid.

And when Harrow explains that she thinks she saw him jump to his death, Magnus isn't particularly sympathetic:

“We should have made him a greater priority,” said Lady Pent.

Magnus said, “I’m not certain.”

and

“We didn’t need him,” he said bracingly.

Abigail said, “We need everyone.”

“I never thought he was quite the thing.”

This "never quite the thing" line is the same one Abigail uses when she says Ianthe shouldn't have become a Lyctor and you get the sense it has a quite specific meaning on the Fifth. You get the distinct feeling Magnus is saying "good riddance" in response to a teenager's apparent suicide.

And then of course there's Magnus' conversation with Harrow as the River bubble collapses, as Harrow debates whether she should leave her body to Gideon:

She said: “If I go back, it will finally destroy her soul.”

It was Magnus who stepped forward and looked at Harrow face-to-face. And perhaps she felt that more keenly: that he was the man who had, in Gideon’s own words a lifetime ago, been nice to her cavalier. His mouth was hard now, but his eyes were as kind as they had ever been. And kindness was a knife.

He doesn't pull any punches in laying out his understanding of the situation to Harrow:

“This whole thing happened because you wouldn’t face up to Gideon dying,” he said, which was a stab as precise as any Nonius had managed. “I don’t blame you. But where would you be, right now, if you’d said: She is dead? You’re keeping her things like a lover keeping old notes, but with her death, the stuff that made her Gideon was destroyed. That’s how Lyctorhood works, isn’t it? She died. She can’t come back, even if you keep her stuffed away in a drawer you can’t look at. You’re not waiting for her resurrection; you’ve made yourself her mausoleum.”

His wife looked at Harrow’s face and murmured, “Magnus, you’ve made your point,” but he uncharacteristically ignored her.

He's trying to get through to her in a very fraught situation, but he's certainly not pulling his punches:

“You’re a smart girl, Harrowhark. You might turn some of that brain to the toughest lesson: that of grief.”

Abigail is also trying to talk her out of things, but she's much more discursive and apologetic. Magnus is kind, but it's kindness as a knife, not a cushion.

Magnus is so often written off as just a silly, goofy character, when he's more complicated than that. He's allowed to have a very real frustration with the River bubble and with Harrow, however much he does also care for her and want to help her.

And you know what, he's a CFO stuck in a horrorscape with his delighted ghost nerd wife and a bunch of soldiers. He runs with it - he cracks one of his House ordinal jokes while physically tackling a gun-toting ghost and makes a decent go at it before getting shot. But he's very much out of his comfort zone, angry, and no longer entirely held back by propriety.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

“—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

[steddieas-shegoes]

A little thing based on this post because it wouldn’t leave my brain:

“I just don’t understand why you won’t try to read it.”

Steve had heard Dustin say this exact sentence hundreds of times at this point.

“I mean, do you know how to read?”

Mike was an asshole. Steve loved him because he was part of the group and he’d been through the same things, but he was such a dick.

“Yes, I know how to read. I just don’t.”

Dustin rolled his eyes.

“If you don’t wanna read nerd shit just say so.”

Steve threw his arms up in frustration.

Steve was a nerd at heart. As a child, he would beg the nanny to take him to the library and the science museum that had real dinosaur fossils. There was something about the peace of exiting his reality and finding a new one among fantasy and history that was indescribable, even to this day.

But as he grew into his looks, he grew out of that phase. At least around others.

And with no nanny around to take him places, he settled for just being the popular guy who hung out with his friends after practice and threw parties at his forever empty house on Saturdays.

But secretly, he still found himself enjoying books late into the night. Never school books, or his grades would’ve been good enough for college, but always incredible novels that took him to other worlds with the most impressively brave people.

And then he lived a nightmare. A few times over. With concussions at every turn.

Now, anytime he tried to read, his head started pounding, his vision got blurry, and ears would start ringing. He stopped trying altogether after Starcourt, but he’d never really let go his love of books.

He occasionally let Robin read to him, but she would get distracted by a plot or character and go on a tangent, leaving Steve confused about what the actual story was. He hated being confused.

“Stevie, you got a minute?”

Eddie had been watching from his spot at the end of the table, where he’d been cleaning up the mess of D&D. He usually made the kids do it, but he’d let them off the hook tonight when they beat the monster and escaped his trap.

Steve and Eddie were friends, definitely. Maybe not close ones, but friends.

Steve had a little crush, definitely. Or a big one. Maybe.

So when Eddie shows him attention, he somewhat shamefully receives it like he’s dying of thirst in a desert.

Robin is the only one who’s noticed so far, but if he keeps acting like a dog being called by his master anytime Eddie talks to him, someone else will comment on it.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Steve asked as he made his way to Eddie.

The kids took this time to talk amongst themselves about the game and what they think will happen next week, and Steve couldn’t have been more grateful.

“You don’t have to tell me, but.” Eddie was tapping his fingers nervously against his leg. “Do you not know how to read?”

“Uh. No I do. I mean I graduated high school. I know it’s hard to believe.”

“Not judging if you can’t, man. I mean, I took three senior years. I’m the last person who can judge.”

“Yeah, but you’re smart. You just didn’t like school,” Steve replied with a pat to his shoulder.

Eddie glanced down at the contact, eyebrow raising and then falling back to normal quickly.

“Just seems like you’d have read something by now to get them off your ass.”

And that’s a really good point. Maybe he should’ve just suffered through a migraine so they’d leave him alone about it.

But migraines left him out for days sometimes, and he couldn’t exactly afford that right now.

“I guess it’s just not worth the migraine.”

He hadn’t meant to actually say it. He didn’t want Eddie to feel bad or for him to try to make him feel better about it or ask questions or talk about the concussion thing.

Actually, did he even know about the concussion thing? Things?

“You get migraines when you try to read?” Then realization hit Eddie hard. “Steve. Do you like reading?”

Something about the way Eddie was looking at him, like he was sad for him but not pitying him, made Steve want to cry.

“I used to, yeah.”

“Everyone out! Your parents are gonna have to come get you! No questions, no explanations, go!” Eddie yelled to the room.

Everyone stared blankly at him before they started protesting, Dustin loudest of all.

“Steve’s my ride!”

“Not anymore. Hitch a ride with Lucas.”

“But Lucas’ mom always squeezes my cheeks and tells me she hopes I never lose my baby fat.”

“She speaks for all of us. Get the hell out of here!”

Steve was actually impressed. Maybe a little turned on? God, he was a disaster.

As everyone cleared out of the room, Eddie patted the seat next to him. When Steve sat down, Eddie scooted his chair so close to him, his knees were touching Steve’s.

“Alright, so you’re gonna tell me about what books you like and what books you want to read and we’re gonna get started.”

Steve blinked at him. “Huh?”

“You have a list I’m sure.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Okay, then we better get started.”

“I mean, I’ve tried. I appreciate it, but even focusing on one page makes my eyes burn and my head hurt.”

“Got that. I’m not asking you to read.”

Sometimes Steve was worried the concussions had actually knocked some screws loose. He wasn’t getting it.

“I’m gonna read to you, Stevie.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure a lot of them will be movies and I can just watch them.”

“It’s not the same. You know it’s not.”

He was right. Steve didn’t have much patience for movies. And sometimes even those gave him migraines if there were a lot of bright lights and explosions.

“Yeah. But still. You don’t have to do that. You might not even like the books.”

“Ah, this isn’t a completely free service, my liege.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t have extra money to pay you, dude.”

“Not money. I get to pick a book to read to you when we finish the first book you pick.”

“Is it The Hobbit?”

“It is,” Eddie looked so smug.

“Well, that was my first choice,” Steve stared back, equally as smug.

“So, your house is empty.”

“Yep.”

“And I’m assuming you own this book.”

“I do.”

“And it’s getting late.”

Steve looked out the window at the pitch black skies.

“It’s late.”

“So I could stay and read you to sleep.”

“Won’t I miss some of the book?”

“I’ll stop when you’re asleep.”

Steve’s heart was practically begging him to say yes. Eddie reading to him in his bed? Possibly falling asleep together? Maybe even waking up together? It couldn’t be a better proposition. Well. It could.

“Will you stay even if I fall asleep?”

Eddie smirked. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d called Steve that, but it was the first time it felt like he meant it in a non-teasing way.

“Okay.”

So they both changed into some of Steve’s comfy clothes, got into his bed, and Eddie started reading The Hobbit.

Just as he was during D&D and real life, Eddie was animated, providing different voices for different characters and often giving long pauses to let Steve soak in what the words meant.

Steve didn’t even have to ask him to do that. He just did.

Steve fell asleep somewhere between halfway and the end of chapter two, but Eddie stayed.

And they woke up the next day with Steve’s head resting on Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s arms wrapped around him to keep him as close as possible.

They finished the The Hobbit in a week, and because Eddie was now committed to making sure Steve was well-read, they started moving through his list rapidly, falling for each other in new ways every time Eddie turned a page.

Part 2 (Angst)  / Part 2 (Fluffy) /  Part 2 (Explicit)

[alphajocklover]

Man I'm just some scrawny skater and always have been. I always make fun of meatheads at the gym for being obsessed with size and power, but recently I watched the Hulk movie and I think I get it... The idea of becoming unstoppable and reigning supreme.

My friends have been worried about me since I've stopped hanging out with me and started hitting the gym but I wish I could just Hulk out without the whole 'Hulk speak' part. Something about letting my inner beast take over like the other dudes in the gym is tempting. Could you help me out?

The thing everyone forgets about the hulk is that, after decades of being in the comics, Bruce Banner is far more complicated than the movies would suggest. Sure, it started out like all the movies do, with Banner being transformed into the Hulk by some terrible accident, switching between forms whenever angered, but over the years and the dozens upon dozens of different storylines the Hulk has become so much more complicated. Over the years Bruce Banner has gained more than just one alternate personality. There’s himself, of course, ther nerdy genius. Then there’s the classic hulk, dumb angry and strong. But there have been many others over the years. Joe Fixit, the gray hulk with the mind and personality of a Vegas mobster, Doc Green/professor Hulk, a version of the hulk with both the brains and the brawn, and Green Scar, a cunning warrior who ruled an entire planet (for a short time). These are only a few of his many different forms and personalities. So, if you wanna be like the Hulk… it’s going to be more than just the nerd and the hunk.

Let’s start with the basics. That is to say, let’s start with you. The Skater. Your original personality, the one who makes fun of meathead jocks and doesn’t give a fuck about being strong. Or at least didn’t until recently. But after watching that movie… something’s changed inside of you. It awakened parts of yourself you didn’t even know were there. And I’m not speaking metaphorically. It seems that certain triggers now cause you to change into other forms, other people. At first they presented themselves as the sudden urge to workout and desire to be a jock, but now they don’t need to be just urges. They’ve developed into full on identities. When you’re not in a different form you’ll revert to your original self, the skinny skater you used to be… but that won’t be very often. Your other selves are way too greedy to give the pathetic little skater his fair share.

Next is your hulk. But for you it’d be more accurate to call him the Hunk. Beefy, muscular, dumb and sexy as hell. He’s everything you used to hate and everything you now long to be. An alpha male, a jock, a himbo, a stud. Your inner beast. He's the one who goes to the gym with your new bros, flirts with anything that moves, and flexes almost constantly. He isn’t brought forth by anger like the real hulk is though. You turn into the Hunk when horny. Makes sense. Just like how the Hulk is always angry, the Hunk is always horny. A complete and utter fuckboy stud, and until you get control over his wild libido, you’ll be turning into him almost constantly.

After that is your Joe Fixit. Let’s call him Joe. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it. Just like in the original comics Joe isn’t summoned by an emotion, but by the night. He’s drawn out by the thrill of the nightlife, by clubs and secret backrooms and grinding against each other in the dark while the beat pumps through you like a drug. He spends the first half of the night as a bouncer, using his beef, strength and sometimes even his charm to keep certain people out. The second half he spends flirting with chicks, dancing at the club, partying, drinking, and on a good night fucking his latest babe in the clubs VIP room. The best part is that he never has to deal with a hangover, and whichever you who wakes up in the morning is always well rested.

Your next form is the one who has it all. Your Doc Green, the one with the brains and the brawn. He actually is a med student who is trying to become a doctor, so let’s call him Doc. Charming, manly, and muscular, but also sensitive, kind and intelligent. His trigger is less clear, but you know he comes out when you need him. Whether its for a shift at work, to charm a girl or guy you actually like enough to date and not just fuck, he’s there. What he’s really good at though is making money. For a med student he’s shockingly loaded, probably because he set up a very successful onlyfans account for each of you. You, the regular you, watch his videos sometime. You always turn into the Hunk before the video ends.

Finally is the warrior. The green scar. You just call him Jock. Because that’s what he is. He comes out fairly rarely, only when you’re feeling very competitive, usually during sports events and bodybuilding contests. He’s tough, rough, and never backs down. He’s surprisingly intelligent, but uses most of this intelligence on strategy and tactics. He’s the perfect team leader, and is incredibly dominant on and off the field.

Between the Hunk, Joe, Doc, and Jock, there isn’t much time for you anymore. But this is what you wanted, want you fucking love being each of them. You finally released your inner beast. All four of them.

**hey there! Hope you guys liked the story. I know most people go a different direction when it comes to ‘hulking out’ but I thought maybe something a little different like this would be more interesting. I hope whoever requested the story enjoys it, and that you don’t mind me showing off my inner comic book geek**

[bodyhopper-files]

Just A Dream

Beau woke up with the sun shining through his window, breaking into his bedroom with a ray of light. With a start, he remembered the peculiar dream he had just had.

"Bro, I just had the weirdest dream..." he said, gazing up at the ceiling with a perplexed expression.

I had been waiting for this moment. I knew it was my chance to make sure Beau never figured out my secret. Pretending to be deeply interested in the dream, I asked, "Oh yeah, bro? What did you dream about?"

Beau's expression changed from puzzlement to awe. "I dreamt I used to be some skinny nerd but then I made a wish to be a dumb bro."

I chuckled, trying to sound as casual as possible. "No way, bro! Just look at you. You're a real bro with a sexy jock body, not some skinny nerd."

As my words hung in the air, I silently thanked the supernatural forces that gave me the power to transform him into a dumb, obedient bro while he was sleeping. I continued to act clueless, though I couldn't help but feel aroused at the thought of his new personality and the possibilities that came with it.

"Huh. So, what do you wanna do today, bro?" Beau asked me with a smirk and a slow, stupid drawl. I could sense the easy confidence settling into his voice and it only fueled my desire for him.

"I was thinking we could hit the gym and pump some iron, bro."

He nodded eagerly, flexing his biceps. "Hell yeah, bro! Let's get jacked!"

"And then I thought we could come home and you could rail me real good."

Beau's eyes widened in surprise at my suggestion, but then his thick, dumb jock-brain caught up and a cocky grin spread across his face.

"Fuck yeah, bro!" he exclaimed, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me close. "I've been waiting for you to ask me that."

My heart raced as I felt his muscular body pressed against mine, his hot breath tickling my neck. I could feel the bulge in his shorts growing harder and I knew he was just as turned on as I was.

"Maybe we should just skip the gym for today," I murmured in his ear as he nibbled my neck.

Beau leaned in, his lips brushing mine. His eyes opened slowly and a devilish smirk appeared on his face.

"Whatever you want, bro."

My face heated up and my heart rate quickened as I realized how far I'd taken him in such a short amount of time. His transformation was complete, and I was ready to enjoy every second of it.

We stripped off our clothes and tumbled into bed, exploring each other's bodies with eager hands. He kissed me deeply as I ran my hand over his bulging muscles, marveling at the perfect body I'd blessed him with using my special powers. We explored and touched and tasted each other until neither of us could take it anymore. Rolling over on top of him, I leaned down to meet his lips with mine, pressing my body tightly against his as our passionate lovemaking began.

He held me close and moved inside me in an exquisite rhythm that only heightened our pleasure. Every touch was electric and every movement was athletically performed. The new dumb jock might not have been all that smart, but his sex game was about to be legendary. I gasped and moaned as we both reached our climax. He finished by pumping his hot jock load into me with deep, animalistic groans.

We lay there afterwards spent but satisfied, curled up next to each other in a blissful afterglow. With one last kiss and hug Beau whispered softly "Bro, I'm so glad being a skinny nerd was just a dream."

[stupidlittlespirit]

OKAY BUT SCP FOUNDATION FORD. I feel like young Ford would be absolutely GIDDY to join an organization that he thinks shares his world views and mission- scientifically classifying and studying anomalies. But he would absolutely get fired for being WAY too fucking weird about like everything. He gets too personally invested and obsessed for their liking imo.

I can also see young Ford being weird about anomalous people, who he'd identify with. That's like a thesis in itself, really.

Either way, Ford would get fired and then have a lifelong grudge against them lol

Old Ford would get fired for his general "I know more than you" vibe and be convinced that they fired him out of insecurity.

Dying to hear what head cannons you have for SCP Foundation and Ford 💞

Okay so I have spent way too long thinking about this because I actually wanted to write a fic about it and I’m very devoted to the whole concept in general, so this all applies to the Ford-SCP AU I have in my brain.

I’m so fond of the series. I was often on /x/ as a kid (not the rest of 4chan because, duh) and I would spend hours on it, reading up on greentexts and believing every single fucking word. I desperately wanted to work for the shadowy American governmental orgs that kept these creatures in containment/a secret, and I was devastated when I grew up and found out that they weren’t real. (A part of me holds out hope that they are a real organisation but if America was covering shit up, we’d know because they fucking suck at keeping stuff on the DL).  

Anyway, let’s get into it, and remember that I’m playing fast and loose with everything SCP related because everything is canon and therefore nothing is canon! 

Below is everything from my AU ideas to Ford’s behaviour to fucking SCP/Ford ships because fuck it why not:

I think you’re right: young, starry eyed Ford would be psyched to get to see that kind of thing, but I do think that he’d be too focused on carving out his own path to allow himself to get wrapped up in the government’s red tape. It would be something he enthusiastically pencils into his diary and intends to follow up on, but never does because of how things unfold. 

Post-Portal Ford, however, is going to be The Guy for them. His personal intellect is attractive enough, but Ford has a lot of stuff going for him on top: he’s travelled interdimensionally, he’s spent time in places that would get even 05 Council Members to sit up and take notes, he’s had talks with beings that the Foundation would give their child’s left kidney to be privy to (not that they wouldn’t sell their kid for a bag of magic beans anyway but whatever) and he’s got more than enough knowledge to hit the ground running with minimal (perceived) liability for them. I mean, Bill alone has to be a Keter / Apollyon type object, surely? World ending scenario and all that. 

I think he would still be very personally invested and enthusiastic at that age, too. He would do better at trying to be aware of himself because he’s more conscious of being taken advantage of, but he wouldn’t be able to help himself when it came to just being a total nerd about it all. 

How does Ford get picked up by the Foundation?

He’d be recruited thanks to his extensive publishing on the weird and wonderful stuff within Gravity Falls (which at some point is also catergorised by the Foundation themselves) and his travels with Stan, and he would be head hunted to work for the Foundation. 

And he’d say no at first, because he’s not going to work for the government, what are you, insane?! He would want nothing to do with them, and Stan, equally, would be wary of them because nothing good ever comes from the Feds, right?  But the Foundation would be persistent and they’d give Ford appetising incentives (funding, support, tools etc) for his own research, so he’d eventually give them an inch because he'd grow to wonder what they might have on offer and they’d then introduce themselves. 

Ford would be wary but as we all know, he’s a curious cat and it doesn’t matter how many times he gets run over, he still wants to know what’s on the other side of the road even if it means weaving between cars with a blindfold on. 

Ford is obviously going to have a vested interest in the anomalies because of his own abnormalities, however I do think he’d be laughed at for even considering himself a ‘freak’ because… well…. Take a look at the guys we’re dealing with here and then say ‘having six fingers makes you weird’ with a straight face. 

Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be empathised with by some of them, even by some of the staff, but some of the beings in the SCP universe are so extreme that having six fingers is an easily-overlookable trait. I mean, the reactions would range from “okay, and….?” to “good lord, get a grip, there are real problems out there in the world, man!” to “oh my god that’s cool, he’s just like me fr”. 

Ford would quickly learn that whatever research he’s done/is doing is really nothing in comparison to what the Foundation does. Not that his work is of less value or anything, just that the Foundation is so large and the breadth and scale of their work would be unbelievable to him. He’d still think he knew best in a lot of ways but he’d be willing to listen and learn from the researchers and scientists that he did admire.

However, Ford would definitely manage to piss off every other person on the site he gets contracted to LMAO. Except the scientists he respected, though perhaps even them sometimes. Oh, and the nicer/less serious D-Class personnel, because they’d often remind him of Stanley and he’d be rather grossed out by the process of sacrificing those lesser prisoners to creatures in the name of governmental gain, so he would make an effort to be patient with them where he can. 

Not to mention that he’d kick AWF if he found out how loosey goosey the regulations are around picking prisoners for testing…. We know the Foundation has a habit of taking anyone with a life sentence/death row conviction, but we also know that not every convict is guilty. On top of that, we know they’ll take literally anyone if they really need to get some tests done and they don’t really give a fuck what the D-Class has done. I mean, they’ll take civilians too, so. I don’t think Ford would be okay with that. 

If they’re actually just awful people then he’s not likely going to care as much of course, but sometimes I read/listen to reports with D-Class in them that have just sold drugs or something, and the researcher’s are like yeah fuck it put weed-dealer Greg in the box with the mutated crocodile made out of poisonous spikes and shake it really hard, it’ll be funny! I think that would upset Ford and he wouldn’t be afraid to kick off about it (after all, any of those D’s could have been his brother at one point, right?) 

Staff members:

In terms of working with specific staff members, he’s obviously not going to have much to do with MTF or even any of the agents etc, really. Not unless he would require specific information from them during a test or something. There could be crossover if he was to get pissed off at how poorly executed a field expedition went or something, but I expect that his main area of interaction would revolve around Researchers and Objects themselves. 

Let’s talk about my beloved Dr Bright. I think Ford would have a careful appreciation for Bright. As we know, Bright is a bit nuts. He’s very eccentric and volatile, but very intelligent and good at his job as well as being personally afflicted, what with his brother’s objecti-fication within the facility. Ford would recognise Bright’s appreciation for suicide (bless him, real recognises real) given all of his own personal issues and understand why Bright might be so difficult.  

I do, however, think Ford would also be exceptionally wary of Dr Bright, given the way he’s bound to SCP-963. If you don’t know, 963 is a medallion/necklace and if you wear it you’re immortal. However, it’s tied to Bright and if another person wears it, their mind is basically wiped and replaced with Dr Bright’s. So, it would be very close to possession and for Ford, that would be very triggering, I think. Ford would be amenable with Bright and even appreciative of his work, but he’d be too nervous about 963, even if the likelihood of him being made to wear it was low. 

Next up is another fav: Dr Alto Clef. Now, I think Ford would have a love-hate relationship with Clef. 

Clef is reeeeally smart and very talented. He’s also very eccentric and weird, and is also anomalous himself, so Ford can get behind that. But Clef is also a fucking nightmare. He lies and is gross and unethical (was an awful misogynist, but possibly isn’t anymore? Hard to know for sure because there’s a LOT of information out there and no hard canon), though I don’t think he’s an irredeemable guy. Most notably, Clef has what he refers to as a ‘deformity’. He underwent anomalous alterations that prevent his face from being photographed and gave him resistance to reality shifts. Clef is described in files but you just can’t ever see a photograph of his face.   

Though I think Ford would tire of Clef quite quickly, he’d be willing to give Clef more rope than Bright. I think Clef has a tendency to be kind of jammy and very funny, so I daresay Ford might be fonder of him than he’d let on and he wouldn’t feel as uncomfortable around him as he might with Bright’s 963 issue. Clef is also aroace! Yay!

Clef lies a lot though, so he might be more inclined to kick it with Stan than with Ford in terms of down time lol 

Onto Everett Mann. Dr Mann is said to have always felt like an outcast and he was also manipulated by an entity (Mr Lie) into doing something that put others at significant risk. I think he and Ford would have a kinship with that and they’d be friends. Technically, Clef killed Mann in one AU but whatever. No big deal. I think Mann is really funny and sweet, and he’d get on quite well with Ford. 

Honourable mentions for: 

Dr Elliott - known to be a too involved in the anomalies she works on and often gets fucked up by them because of it.  

Dr Glass, because obviously. We love Dr Glass in this house! I think Ford would always be wary around a psych professional but he’d be thrilled to hear about other SCP’s and understand their ways of thinking. I think Glass would also have a field day with Ford and he’d fill up at least 4 notebooks worth of psych-eval notes on him :) 

And there are more but there are SO many more that I can’t get all of them down here or I’ll be sitting at my PC forever. 

In terms of the actual anomalies that Ford becomes fond of:

Well, we have to start off with my absolute all-time favourite: SCP-507.

I highly recommend checking out Volgun’s video on him because it’s great. Frankly, all of Volgun’s videos are great if you’re interested in learning about SCP’s in a lore accurate way. 

SCP 507 is Ford’s special little guy. Ford LOVES him. Do I ship them? Kinda. That’s my business okay don’t judge me. 

In fact, I believe Ford likes him so strongly that I think when 507 requests a hug from personnel, following a traumatic shift, Ford is the one who grants it to him. I don’t care if the timelines don’t match up, I don’t care about anything that makes that impossible. I want 507 to get a hug and I think Ford gives great hugs. Ford would even volunteer to be his escort if he had the time to spare and I think he’d let 507 hang out in his lab sometimes. 

507 has always broken my heart because he’s so scared and so alone, and they won’t let him leave or really do much of anything. He really has nobody and he has 0 control over everything in his life, and I think that would resonate with Ford a lot. 

He’d be highly interested in SCP-2700 because it’s made by his All Time Fav hot scientist Nikola Tesla. While 2700 isn’t humanoid, I think Ford would be super geeked about it solely because it’s Tesla based haha.

I think Ford would also love SCP-1762 (aka ‘Where the dragons went’), too. I find 1762 to be a really sad story and I think others agree, and Ford would enjoy them. They’re cool (origami dragons fuck yeah) and cute, but also poignant. 

He’d be naturally curious about SCP-096 but obviously, due to its nature, would have to give up the ghost on that one. 

I think Stan would like SCP-1472 aka the Multiverse Strip Club. Naturally. He’d be at risk of wandering in but, respectfully, he ain’t going to Illinois. Not for all the strippers in the world. 

Like Researchers and other personnel, there are SO many SCP’s that I can’t even remember all of the ones I think would be most relevant/enjoyable for Ford so if you have something you think he’d like then please please hit me up because I’d love to talk about it with you!! 

Ultimately, I think Ford would do some great work and make friends with some of the more pleasant scientists, and he would really enjoy himself up until he stopped enjoying himself lol. I think he’d quickly realise how controlling the Foundation is and how they refuse to let anomalies be known to the public, rightly or wrongly, and Ford would refuse to play along with them. 

He’d be vocal about his disagreement with the treatment of some anomalies and with regard to the treatment of personnel, and he’d stand strongly against any corruption, which means he’d never see eye to eye with them. Many such cases, if you take the time to read the entries. 

So, they’d fire him or he’d walk out. You’d never know for sure because Ford would insist he left of his own accord and the Foundation would insist that they [REDACTED] so… It would be a mystery. 

And the Foundation would let him leave, by the way. Their knee jerk reaction would be to terminate him, of course, but he’d leave such an impression on some of the other scientists that they’d somehow manage to convince their higher-ups that Ford offered value that would be lost upon his death, so they should let him live and just try to monitor him instead. 

Ford, being Ford, would sniff out all the monitors every single time they tried to trace him and Stan (with his great knowledge of wire taps) would help him debug their house etc if they needed to. 

Eventually, the Foundation would say fuck it, this guy is annoying as fuck, and let Ford deal with his own containment specialisms while keeping a distant eye on him/Gravity Falls at large. 

….Can you tell this has been on my mind for a while? LMAO I’m so sorry this answer got sooooo out of hand but I love GF and SCP so much that I can’t help myself. I hope that as I get better at drawing I can make some crossover art for them because it would be too cute. Plus, like I said, I’m still considering writing this. I might make a reader one but also do a gen crossover because I think it would be a riot. 

If anyone else wants to make stuff on this then please do but pleeeeease tag me because I need to inject it straight into my veins. 

[unovaascollectionoftrinkets]

The Wonder Duo Takes Down Grape Juice

Minoru Mineta messed up big time.

He crossed the line—so far over it, he couldn’t see it anymore—and managed to piss off the two people who were willing to do something about it. The *only* two, apparently.

This time, the Wonder Duo isn’t charging in with fists or quirks blazing. Instead, they’re playing the long game, armed with something far more dangerous: a meticulously crafted plan. Calculated, ruthless, and utterly foolproof to ensure there’s no way for him to weasel out of the consequences.

***Sexual Harassment is alluded to/talked about in this fic! Nothing is spoken about in graphic detail but just be warned!***

***Mineta POV in parts of the story*** ( I feel like that needs a trigger warning, lol)

read on ao3 -> The Wonder Duo Takes Down Grape Juice

Katsuki Bakugou was in a damn good mood. 

Not just a passing, "oh, things don’t suck for once" kind of good. 

The kind of good that made his usual scowl curl into something almost smug, less rabid dog and more wolf licking its chops after a fresh kill. Why wouldn’t he be? He’d just wiped the fucking floor with Deku during training. 

Yeah, Deku. Mr. All-Powerful-Chosen-One-And-His-Fifty-Million-Fucking-Quirks. 

For once, the nerd couldn’t pull some out-of-nowhere strategy from thin air or cry his way into some miraculous comeback. Nope. 

King Explosion Murder: Dynamight took the W, and holy shit, it felt sweet.

Still riding the high of kicking the Symbol of Peace 2.0’s ass, Katsuki figured he’d earned himself a feast. 

A proper reward, the kind that could satisfy the rarest of wins: the taste of outsmarting Deku. Maybe katsudon. Yeah, it was cliché, but nothing hit quite like steaming rice and juicy cutlets smothered in eggs. And sure, Deku’s favorite dish didn’t influence his craving at all. (Fuck you for even thinking that.)

Hell, he might even save some leftovers for the nerd.

If he was feeling generous.

Probably not.

(Most definitely.)

He turned the corner into the common room, mentally debating which idiot’s pantry hoard he’d raid when a prickling tension shot through him. His muscles went rigid. It wasn’t the adrenaline-fueled buzz of combat readiness, but something worse. Deeper. Like the room was waiting to swallow him whole.

What the actual fuck is this?

At first, Katsuki’s brain went to villains. 

It always did. Danger, chaos, explosions—that was how he worked. Someone had to be screwing with his head, right? Someone like that stab-happy, freaky blood girl with the soul-crushing grin. 

She’d popped up as Pinky once before, hadn’t she? There had to be an explanation, because there was no way this was real.

And yet, the truth sat there like a slap to the face.

Pinky—Mina-fucking-Ashido—was crying.

No, not just crying. Not the tears-you-see-in-sap-TV-bullshit kind of crying. She was sobbing like the entire world had gone up in flames. Her whole body shook, curls spilling across her face like a shield she didn’t want to lift.

Katsuki froze. 

This didn’t compute. 

Mina didn’t cry.

She was an obnoxious firecracker, bright and loud as hell, the life of the party even when you wanted her to shut the fuck up. Always dancing in stupid TikToks, nagging Kirishima about his hair routine, or pulling Hagakure into a whispered gossip spiral about god knows what.

Occasionally, sure, she’d flop onto the couch and sigh dramatically about her "horrible" problems: “Blasty, my nails keep chipping! It’s the end of my life!” Usually, followed by some bullshit story about how her favorite moisturizer ran out.

This wasn’t that.

“Mina?” The word came out too loud, more bark than question. It tore through the common room like an explosion, shaking both the silence and her trembling form. “What the hell are you doing just sittin’ there?”

Nothing.

Mina didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Her arms curled tighter around her legs as if to anchor herself.

Katsuki’s frown deepened, an unfamiliar tightness settling in his chest. 

His instincts screamed at him to grab her shoulders, shake the answer out of her, but something in the air warned him to stop. He’d fucked this up enough in the past—getting his provisional license drilled that lesson into him. Harsh words and blunt actions weren’t always the answer. 

Sometimes, sometimes, a gentler approach was the only way forward.

Did it make him good at this kind of shit? 

Hell no. 

Did he care enough about Mina to try? 

Hell yes.

He stomped closer, his boots heavy against the polished floor, and crouched down in front of her. Planting himself between her and the rest of the common room, Katsuki positioned himself like a wall—a shield against whatever shitstorm had brought her here. His usual scowl softened by half a degree, and after a small pause, he slowly reached out. His calloused fingers brushed under her chin, lifting her face just enough to meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he muttered, his voice losing some of its usual sharp edges.

Her face was a mess. 

Puffy, red-rimmed eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her cheeks were streaked with dried salt tracks. She looked hollow, like a photograph of herself that had faded in the sun. The sight churned his stomach, unfamiliar and deeply unsettling. 

Where was her usual vibrance? 

Her light?

It pissed him off. And not just because he hated seeing her like this—but because somebody had clearly caused it.

“Oi,” he growled, voice quieter this time but no less dangerous. “Who the fuck do I need to kill?”

He wasn’t joking. Not even a little. 

The words were more fact than question. 

Whoever had done this—whoever had hurt her—was going to pay for it in ways they couldn’t even begin to imagine. If there was no justice waiting for them, then Katsuki himself would drag them down to hell if no divine intervention showed up first.

That promise must have been clear in his face, because for the first time that day, Mina looked startled. She blinked, a flicker of the old her flashing through the exhaustion clouding her gaze. Her lips twitched—just barely—a faint, weak thing that almost resembled a smile. 

And for one brief second, he thought maybe—just maybe—he was helping.

Then her gaze dropped again, her expression crumpling as reality came crashing back down. Her fingers tightened around her legs, knuckles going white, and she sucked in a shuddering breath.

Finally, her voice came, quiet and broken.

“It’s Mineta,” she whispered, each syllable heavy with shame and hurt.

The name hit like a bomb detonating in his head.

Mineta. 

Of fucking course it was Mineta.

Katsuki’s hands curled into tight fists, nails biting into his palms. 

That grape-haired fuck should have been dealt with a long time ago. 

Hell, the fact that Aizawa—arguably the most no-nonsense, trash-clearing teacher UA had ever seen—hadn’t expelled his sorry ass by now was un-fucking-believable. If this bastard had gone after Mina, the bubbly heart of Class 2-A, Katsuki wasn’t sure if the bastard even deserved the dignity of an apology after Katsuki beat him within an inch of his worthless life. 

He’d also be having a very long conversation with Eraserhead after.

Because letting his shit slide for this long was not okay.

His fists clenched tight enough that tiny crackles of heat began to flicker around his knuckles. The fiery rage coiled in his gut was kept barely in check—just enough to keep him from torching the furniture. 

He’d heard plenty of Mineta’s gross commentary in passing before, stupid shit about the girls’ uniforms or their “figures.” Most of the time, Mina or Yaoyorozu would shut him down with a sharp comment, and Jirou had once threatened to shove her earphone jack straight down his throat if he got too loud.

But that was the thing—those moments always passed. 

The girls laughed it off, brushing his shit behavior under the rug like it didn’t matter. And, okay, Katsuki might’ve thought it didn’t, either. Hell, he’d never witnessed the worst of it himself. 

He’d assumed the bastard kept himself on a leash just enough to avoid expulsion.

He didn’t even realize how wrong he’d been. Not until now.

Seeing Mina like this—reduced to shaking sobs instead of her usual blaring chaos—made one thing crystal clear. Whatever that bastard had done wasn’t just stupid comments or gross jokes anymore. This wasn’t a passing annoyance. It wasn’t something anyone should brush off.

This was going to end here.

“What the fuck did he say?” Katsuki snarled. “What the fuck did he do? I want details—‘cause I swear on everything I’m giving it back to him ten goddamn times worse.”

Mina flinched at his volume, and he forced himself to exhale slowly, scrubbing his palm across his face.

He hated this. 

He hated that he couldn’t even comfort her without turning into a goddamn nuclear meltdown. 

But he’d always been like this. 

Even after two years, even after everything he’d tried to learn about being less of an ass, his anger still burned just below the surface, ready to erupt at any moment. Sure, he’d mellowed—kind of—but he was still Bakugo Katsuki. 

But for Mina’s sake, he had to try.

He looked back at her, taking in the slight tremble of her lip, the way her body seemed to fold in on itself like she wanted to disappear. His voice dropped a little more, low and steady as he added, “Tell me what he did, Mina. I need to know.”

He didn’t just need it for revenge. He needed it to protect her—because nobody did this to one of their own and got away with it.

Not while he was around.

Katsuki planted himself more firmly, his knees protesting slightly from crouching so long, but he didn’t budge. 

Mina needed the time—needed something—and he sure as hell wasn’t about to rush her. Not this time. He could feel her tremors through the silence, each small shake tugging at something unfamiliar in his chest. 

Was this what they called patience? 

It wasn’t something he wore comfortably, but for Mina, he’d make it work.

She sniffled softly, and his mind raced. 

What the hell was he supposed to do here? His usual mode of operation was more bulldozer, less tender caregiver. For a moment, his jaw worked in silence as he replayed fleeting memories of others dealing with this kind of thing. 

What do people do when someone’s crying? 

His mom sure as hell hadn’t been much of a reference—“stop crying, brat!” wasn’t going to cut it.

Then he remembered seeing Deku’s mom once, years ago, when they were kids. She’d sat beside Izuku after a bad day, rubbing circles on his back and speaking so softly even Katsuki couldn’t hear. 

It had worked, too—the idiot had calmed down faster than a firework fizzling out.

Well, fuck it. Worth a shot.

Cautiously, Katsuki lifted a hand, hovering awkwardly behind Mina’s shoulder before finally pressing it lightly to her back. His fingers were stiff at first, unsure, but he started moving them in slow circles, imitating the motion he’d seen all those years ago.

She tensed under his touch at first, startled by the unexpected gesture. 

Her breath hitched sharply, and for a second, he wondered if he’d overstepped and made it worse. But the tension melted quickly, her shoulders easing just a fraction. The shaking softened too, though her sniffles persisted.

It seemed to work.

Huh. Not bad, he thought, cataloging the move for later. Maybe it wasn’t too terrible to have something in his arsenal besides yelling and blasting things.

A broken sound dragged his focus back to her as she finally tried to speak.

“He—” Mina hiccupped, choking on the word. A small, trembling hand darted up to swipe at her face, as if it could erase the tear tracks still marking her cheeks. She took another shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, before trying again. “He…”

Her voice cracked mid-word, and for a heartbeat, Katsuki felt like his insides might split apart. His gut churned with frustration, anger, helplessness—all the shit he was never good at processing. He fought down the immediate urge to storm out and fix this the only way he knew how: with fists and explosions. 

Right now, that wouldn’t help her. And helping her came first.

“I’m listening,” he murmured, voice rough but gentler than it had been all day.

It was the nudge she needed, apparently. 

Between uneven breaths, she forced the words out in pieces, so soft they were almost swallowed by the still air of the common room.

By the time she finished, Katsuki’s blood felt like liquid fire coursing through his veins. A rage hotter and more intense than any explosion he could muster pulsed in his chest, pounding in his skull, blurring his vision at the edges. His hand stilled on her back, flexing like it was trying to grip an imaginary bomb to launch into the nearest target.

Yeah. That bastard was fucking dead.

His mind immediately spun with possibilities. 

Every bone in his body screamed at him to march upstairs right now, grab Mineta by his ugly little haircut, and make sure he understood exactly what hell looked like up close. 

But—dammit—he couldn’t do that. Not yet.

Mina’s fragile sniffle brought him back down a notch. She wasn’t ready for explosions or confrontation. She needed calm. Quiet. Someone who could pull her out of the hell Mineta had dragged her into.

He adjusted his posture, relaxing his tense shoulders, and looked for anything—anything—that might make her laugh, or even just smile. The pink streak of her hair curled in messy tufts against her damp cheeks, her alien-like horns slumped slightly forward as if drooping under the weight of everything. 

Come on, he thought. Think of something, dumbass.

“You’re pretty damn lucky, y’know,” Katsuki muttered finally, keeping his voice low but firm.

Mina blinked at him, her wide, red-rimmed eyes darting up to meet his. She didn’t look convinced, but curiosity flickered in the background.

“Lucky?” she rasped, barely audible.

“Yeah,” he said with exaggerated seriousness, giving her back another careful circle. “Lucky I didn’t have any other plans tonight, ‘cause now I’ve gotta waste my time kicking the absolute shit outta that bastard for you.”

It wasn’t much—definitely not comedy gold—but it got a reaction. A single puff of air escaped her lips. Quiet, shaky, barely there—but unmistakably the start of a laugh.

“See?” Katsuki pressed, smirking slightly. “There’s that dumb face you make when you laugh. Told you I could get it back.”

Mina sniffled again, a hint of a watery chuckle escaping her throat. She shook her head lightly, but her lips twitched upward, just enough to count.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t nearly enough.

But for now, it was something. 

And it was enough to fuel him. Because as soon as he was sure Mina was okay—or at least as close to okay as she could be—Mineta was going to learn what hell on earth felt like.

And Katsuki would make damn sure it burned.

Katsuki stayed with her longer than he intended. 

He didn’t say much—didn’t need to. 

His presence was enough, a steady, unrelenting anchor as Mina slowly collected herself. Her trembling subsided bit by bit, and the sniffling grew less frequent, though her puffy eyes and occasional hiccups told him the storm hadn’t completely passed.

Still, progress was progress.

He even stayed long enough to shoot Kirishima a quick text under the table:

Oi. Pinky’s a mess. Get your ass here and take over. I got trash to take out.

His thumb hovered over the send button before he added another line:

Don’t fuck it up. Be her rock or some shit. She needs you.

Katsuki hated to admit it, but if anyone could handle Mina with the gentleness and understanding she needed right now, it was Eijirou. And though Katsuki wasn’t one for leaving things half-finished, Mina deserved someone who wasn’t about to explode at the first mention of that name.

Moments later, Kirishima’s enthusiastic response lit up the screen:

On it! I’ll be right there, bro. Thanks for telling me!

Katsuki slid the phone back into his pocket, preparing to stand, but Mina’s soft voice stopped him.

“Wait, Kats…”

He turned, looking down at her. She was still curled on the couch, clutching her knees, but there was a little more color in her face now. Her horns stood straighter, and the faintest spark of her usual self had returned to her exhausted eyes.

“You’re not gonna…” Her voice wavered as she hesitated. “You’re not actually gonna kill him… are you?”

Katsuki tilted his head, crossing his arms as a slow smirk crept onto his face. His reply came low and razor-sharp.

“No.” He let the word hang for a moment before adding, “I’m gonna do worse.”

Her expression faltered, torn between worry and incredulous humor, but Katsuki was already turning toward the hall. 

It didn’t take long to form a plan. Hell, he already had the bones of it in his head. The plan he had brewing required backup—not some random idiot like Round Face or Electric Dunce, but someone who could actually help. 

Someone just as good at scheming as Katsuki was at winning.

And there was only one nerd with a hero complex big enough to share his burning rage right now.

Fishing his phone from his pocket, he started dialing as he stalked toward the hall. His footsteps echoed against the walls, matching the fury burning in his chest. 

It didn’t take long for the other end of the line to pick up.

“Kacchan?” Deku’s voice filtered through the speaker, half-surprised and half-excited, like Katsuki never called just to chat. “What’s up?”

“Get your ass to my room,” Katsuki ordered, pacing like a caged tiger. “Now. We got a little extra-credit assignment to do.”

“Wait, what kind of—”

“Mineta fucked up. Big time.” The words came out sharp and deliberate. Katsuki’s rage simmered just beneath the surface, but his tone was chillingly calm. “So we’re making sure the little shit doesn’t just get punished. He’s getting kicked the fuck out.”

Silence. Then—soft, deadly serious:

“I’ll be there in five.”

Perfect. 

This wasn’t just about petty vengeance anymore. Katsuki Bakugou was going to dismantle Mineta’s future at U.A.—strategically, of course.

And Deku was the perfect partner in crime.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Mina walked into class the next day feeling a little lighter. 

The events of the previous evening still lingered at the back of her mind, but it didn’t feel as suffocating now. Talking to Eijirou had helped—he always had a way of brightening her mood with his warmth and encouragement. 

But honestly? 

It was Blasty who’d really done it.

She hadn’t expected him to be the one to stick around, much less help her through the worst of it. Hell, she hadn’t ever seen him like that before—genuine, kind in his own explosive way. Sweet, even. Could you even call promising to murder someone "sweet"? Probably not. 

Still, it was strangely comforting, in that very Bakugo Katsuki way.

His willingness to protect her, to act like what she’d been through mattered, made her start to understand why Midoriya looked up to him so much. Katsuki wasn’t just all fire and fury; there was something deeper underneath the rough edges. 

Something good.

Of course, she had known that, but this was the first time sh had experienced it firsthand.

Mina adjusted the strap of her bag as she stepped into the classroom. 

She liked to arrive in that perfect middle ground—not early enough to look like a try-hard, but not late enough to earn one of Iida’s dramatic scoldings. 

As expected, she found the usual suspects already there.

One of them being Katsuki. 

He was slouched in his chair like a king on an unimpressive throne, feet up on his desk, arms crossed, and his trademark scowl on full display. The sight made her smile faintly despite herself. No matter what unexpected depths he might have shown last night, some things about Katsuki Bakugo never changed.

She glanced his way as she crossed the room. 

When she met Katsuki’s gaze, her breath caught in her throat. His crimson eyes bored into hers, sharp and blazing with something unspoken. She hesitated mid-step, uncertain of what he was trying to say.

Then he made a gesture—subtle and deliberate.

Flexing his fingers, he raised a hand and clenched it slowly, twisting as though crushing something invisible in his palm. There was no theatrics to it, no wild snarls or exaggerated movements. This wasn’t the Katsuki who riled up opponents with over-the-top smirks and loud threats.

This was colder. Controlled.

And far more terrifying.

Its message was clear: Mineta had been dealt with.

She still couldn’t shake the memory of him storming off the night before, fury radiating off him in waves after he’d sworn to handle Mineta. Part of her had braced for the aftermath—a round of deafening explosions shaking the dorms, or worse, a midnight announcement that Katsuki had gone too far and landed himself in deep trouble.

But none of that had happened. The dorms had been eerily calm.

It was unsettling in its own way, knowing he had done… something. 

Katsuki Bakugo didn’t make empty promises. He didn’t just let things slide. Mina had spent the evening wrapped in messy, complicated feelings, wondering how far Katsuki would go to keep his word. Part of her almost wanted him to cross a line—just a little. 

After what Mineta had done, didn’t he deserve it?

But deep down, she also knew she’d hate to see Katsuki get himself expelled over a scumbag like that.

The corner of her mouth quirked upward despite herself.

Slipping into her seat, she shook her head lightly. Mineta, ever the oblivious fool, had no idea the monster he’d just pissed off. If the purple-haired idiot thought he was in the clear just because Katsuki hadn’t flattened half the school last night, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Still, whatever amusement she felt was short-lived.

 The door opened again, and in walked Midoriya.

Mina tensed immediately.

Izuku was usually a walking bundle of sunshine, the kind of person you couldn’t help but feel lighter around. 

Not today. Today, he was …different.

His steps were slow, purposeful. 

His movements flowed with precision, each action controlled and deliberate. Izuku’s emerald-green eyes swept across the classroom once—not too fast, not too slow—before landing squarely on Katsuki. There was no fidgeting, no scribbling in his ever-present notebook, and none of his usual cheery greetings to classmates.

Instead, his expression was calm, eerily so, with his jaw set just enough to suggest restrained power. Mina swallowed hard. The warmth that usually radiated from Izuku had been replaced by something cooler, sharper. There was an undercurrent of danger—a quiet intensity that made her straighten instinctively, like her body recognized a predator before her mind fully caught up.

He looked... dangerous.

Then it happened.

The moment their gazes locked, the entire room seemed to shift. Katsuki, slouched lazily in his seat, uncoiled like a predator stretching after spotting its prey. His lips curled into a smirk, slow and deliberate, and the raw confidence that emanated from him felt nearly suffocating. There was nothing loud or exaggerated about it. 

This was a wolf who knew it had the upper hand and wasn’t in any rush to pounce.

Izuku didn’t say a word. 

He didn’t have to. He gave a single, short nod in response—decisive and exact.

No words. No theatrics. Just a silent exchange of understanding so complete it sent a shiver racing down Mina’s spine.

This was bad.

Katsuki and Izuku working together? 

That wasn’t teamwork. That was a fucking conspiracy—two apex predators closing in on the same target.

When two of the deadliest, most driven guys in the class were on the same page, there was only one possible outcome. And for the first time, Mina found herself feeling sorry for Mineta.

Well…

Almost.

If it weren’t for what he’d done to her—and likely tried to do to others—she might have been more worried about what Katsuki and Izuku had planned. Instead, a grim sense of satisfaction crept over her.

Her gaze darted between the boys, who seemed eerily calm now, both of them moving with the quiet confidence of people who knew they had already won.

Her stomach tightened. 

What the hell are you two planning?

As Izuku approached his desk, he spared Mina a glance—a fleeting but pointed look that spoke volumes. He wasn’t just a strategist today; he was a man on a mission, and somehow, Mina realized, that mission was personal. 

For her.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The air changed the moment they arrived at Ground Beta.

The sprawling industrial training site was already filled with the usual clutter—broken-down cars, mock-up buildings, and obstacles strategically placed for their training scenarios. They’d been here countless times, and it was always a blend of excitement and nerves for the students. 

But today, Mina couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something… off.

Aizawa, as usual, kept things brief. 

He gathered the class together in their gym uniforms and explained the day’s task with his trademark no-nonsense attitude.

“This’ll be a civilian rescue scenario,” he drawled, his scarf swaying slightly in the breeze. “Consider this a full simulation. Treat the obstacles, the injured, and the conditions as real. Civilians need rescuing, but your priority is safety—yours and theirs.”

The class nodded in unison, some more enthusiastically than others. 

Mina tried to focus on the details of the task, but her attention snapped to the figure approaching from the edge of the training field.

“Ah, perfect timing,” Aizawa muttered.

Mina’s heart sank a little as she recognized the distinct small, furred figure making his way toward them. 

Principal Nezu.

Of all days…

Nezu’s appearance immediately heightened her unease. 

It wasn’t that he scared her, exactly—he was small and unassuming in stature, with his pristine white fur and dark, shining eyes. But beneath that innocent exterior was a mind sharper than a thousand knives, capable of unraveling any plot with terrifying precision. 

The fact that no one seemed to know what he was—a mouse, a bear, some terrifying chimera—only added to the mystique.

The principal’s high-pitched, eerily cheery voice carried across the training grounds as he addressed Aizawa. “Oh, don’t mind me, Eraserhead. I’m here to observe! I believe an exercise such as this provides valuable insight—not just into skills but… character.”

Aizawa grunted in acknowledgment. “Just don’t get in the way.”

Nezu chuckled lightly, his high-pitched voice carrying an eerie mix of innocence and cunning. “Oh, I’ll stay out of the way. Don’t mind me at all.”

Despite the assurance, his presence loomed large over the group, like a shadow impossible to ignore. The class collectively shifted, an unspoken tension rippling through the ranks.

Mina watched him with narrowed eyes, her stomach doing a small flip. 

Nezu didn’t just drop by Ground Beta for a routine exercise. 

He always had a reason—a deeper game he was playing that no one ever fully understood until the pieces fell into place, usually at someone else’s expense. And if this had anything to do with Katsuki and Izuku’s hushed plotting…

She barely kept herself from groaning aloud. 

This wasn’t good. 

Whatever they’re doing, they better hope Nezu doesn’t catch on—or worse, decide they’re the ones worth testing today.

But, to her surprise, neither boy reacted overtly to Nezu’s arrival. 

She gnawed on her lip, stealing a glance between the two boys. 

Katsuki looked relaxed—too relaxed—arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised as Aizawa turned to address them. Izuku, meanwhile, tapped his index finger nervously against his thigh in what Mina recognized as his overthinking tick.

Don’t do something reckless, she thought, chewing her cheek. Whatever they had planned, Mina didn’t want them taking risks on her behalf.

Aizawa and Nezu exchanged a few quiet words, their conversation too soft for the students to catch. Then, after a pointed nod from the principal, Aizawa turned back to the group, clearing his throat to grab everyone’s attention.

“All right, listen up,” he began, his tone dry but commanding. 

“Teams will scout Ground Beta to locate and assist civilians in need—members of your class who will act as victims in the simulation. Your job is to bring them back to the rescue tent for evaluation and evacuation.”

Mina tuned in as Aizawa’s sharp gaze swept across the group, lingering a bit too long on Katsuki.

“The purpose of this exercise,” he continued, “is to focus on civilian aid. That’s the area most of you lost points on during the provisional license exam—not combat.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And as much as some of you might want to blow through this with brute force, remember that poor civilian care in a real scenario can cost lives. Treat the scenario like it’s real.”

A smattering of murmurs rippled through the group. 

Mina caught a subtle side-eye from Katsuki, his lip twitching like he was already biting back a complaint. She smirked faintly to herself, knowing the message was meant for him—and possibly a few others who still equated success with explosions and headbutting robots.

“The class will be divided into small teams based on prior teamwork and synergy,” Aizawa continued. He pulled out his tablet, glancing at the screen. “You’ll have thirty minutes to complete the exercise. Points will be tallied based on efficiency, creativity, and how well you interact with civilians. The security bots,” he added, gesturing vaguely toward the mock debris field where a few mechanical heads poked out, “will monitor your performance for bonus points.”

Mina nodded along as he read off the teams. 

She smiled when she heard her grouping—she’d been paired with Tsuyu and Momo, two people she’d worked well with in the past. 

They had a good balance: Momo’s sharp intellect, Tsuyu’s calm pragmatism, and Mina’s spontaneity.

The rest of the pairings fell into place without much surprise… until one caught her attention.

Izuku, Denki, and Minoru?

Her brows furrowed as the trio was announced. 

Could that be a coincidence? 

She bit back the thought and listened carefully. Aizawa followed up with Katsuki’s group: him, Eijiro, and Todoroki—another grouping that made logical sense. She tapped her chin in thought.

Aizawa had said the groups were formed based on prior teamwork and synergy, but when had Izuku ever worked with Mineta? 

The only example she could think of was the USJ attack—and all Mineta had done then was cower behind Izuku while everyone else fought for their lives.

Mina’s unease grew, suspicion prickling the back of her neck. 

She glanced toward Katsuki, who didn’t so much as blink at his group assignment but gave the faintest hint of a smirk when Izuku’s was announced.

Her train of thought derailed slightly when Aizawa moved on to explain the schedule. One team would run the simulation first while the rest acted as civilians, then roles would switch. All the girls had been placed as the civilians for the first round, with the boys as rescuers.

 Aizawa mentioned something about the teams being split by gender “for ease of coordination,” but Mina wasn’t so sure.

She tried to focus, imagining herself playing the role of a helpless civilian, but her mind wandered to the idea of Katsuki doing the same in the second round. 

The mental image made her giggle quietly to herself—Katsuki Bakugo acting injured and in need of rescuing? She could only picture him screaming “I’M FINE, I DON’T NEED ANY HELP!” while pretending to limp his way out of the disaster zone.

She glanced toward him again, expecting to catch the usual scowl, but what she saw instead sent a ripple of nerves through her.

Izuku cracked his knuckles absently, the gesture too deliberate to feel casual. 

It wasn’t his nervous habit—Mina knew those. This was calculated. Beside him, Katsuki shifted his stance just slightly, crossing his arms in a way that seemed almost… watchful.

Whatever they had planned was going down now.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The members of Class 2-A moved with practiced efficiency, each assuming their assigned positions for the day's exercise. Above Ground Beta, the nerve center of the operation buzzed with activity. 

From within the sleek surveillance building, Principal Nezu reclined in his seat with an air of serene confidence, a porcelain cup of tea balanced delicately between his paws. Steam curled upward, mingling with the faint hum of machinery. His dark eyes gleamed as they scanned the wall of screens before him. 

"This setup should challenge them," Nezu mused, his voice chipper but laden with unspoken undertones.

Beside him, Aizawa leaned against the console, his arms folded as his sharp gaze flitted from screen to screen. Every muscle in his frame seemed poised for action, a quiet intensity rolling off him in waves. “They’ve dealt with worse," he said after a pause, his tone deliberate, measured—but not without a trace of skepticism. 

“They’re competent,” Aizawa said eventually, though his tone lacked full conviction.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Nezu replied, the corner of his mouth twitching into a knowing smile. Aizawa’s brow furrowed slightly. For some reason, it felt like they were talking about two completely different things.

Aizawa didn’t trust that smile.

“Is everything in position?” Nezu asked, his voice as light and chipper as ever.

“I believe so,” Aizawa replied, crossing his arms. “The boys are on the field, and the girls have already taken up their roles.” He hesitated for a moment before narrowing his eyes at Nezu. “Wanna tell me now why you hijacked my training? How exactly are gender-split teams supposed to make them better heroes?”

Aizawa sighed as he finished, his irritation barely hidden beneath his flat tone.

“Mm, I do believe that will become clear in the near future,” Nezu said, his smile widening just enough to make Aizawa’s hackles rise. “But to answer your second question—it’s for their safety. That’s what all of this is about, no?”

Aizawa grunted in reply, unimpressed and unconvinced. His doubts about Nezu’s motivations lingered, but his attention shifted unwillingly to the intercom as Nezu reached for the button.

“Let the exercise begin,” Nezu announced brightly, his cheerful tone at odds with the tension simmering beneath the surface.

The first phase of the exercise unfolded with methodical precision. 

As Aizawa expected, the boys moved swiftly to strategize. The air was charged with a competitive but cooperative energy as the teams debated tactics. Ultimately, most teams opted to stay together, ensuring greater safety and streamlined communication as they navigated the simulated chaos.

But one team deviated. 

Midoriya, Kaminari, and Mineta opted to split up—a decision that drew Aizawa’s attention immediately. Midoriya, the perennial team player and strategist, wasn’t one to favor splitting his resources. 

This choice set off alarm bells in Aizawa’s mind.

Watching their deliberations on the screen, he saw Midoriya make his case. “It’ll be faster this way,” Izuku said, his tone firm but deceptively casual. “We can each cover different areas and reach the civilians quicker. I trust you guys to get the job done.”

That last part hung in the air. 

Izuku’s words lingered on Mineta in particular—a carefully placed statement, Aizawa noted with interest. Mineta, predictably, puffed up with self-importance, eagerly agreeing with the plan.

“Trusting him?” Aizawa muttered under his breath. His sharp eyes narrowed at the screen as Mineta's retreating figure became smaller. “That’s bold—even for Midoriya.”

Nezu chuckled beside him, the sound annoyingly rich with amusement. “Boldness is a key quality in leadership, don’t you agree?”

Ignoring him, Aizawa’s gaze darted between the monitors, trying to piece together the underlying currents. Something wasn’t adding up. Midoriya was precise, methodical—nearly obsessive when it came to detail. 

But there was an edge to him today, a deliberateness that went beyond problem-solving.

“Nezu,” Aizawa said suddenly. His tone, sharp and low, wiped the lingering smile off Nezu’s face.

“Yes?” the principal replied.

“If you think this is just a rescue exercise, you’re either underestimating these students…” Aizawa straightened and shifted his focus entirely to the screen showing Izuku. “Or you know something you’re not sharing.”

Nezu’s only answer was the sly twinkle in his eyes.

Aizawa sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He should have known something was up the moment the little rat had shown up at his office uninvited the day before.

The knock at his door had been perfunctory—a courtesy, not a request. 

Nezu didn’t even pause to wait for a reply before letting himself in. Aizawa, hunched over a stack of notes, glanced up irritably. He had just been about to wrap things up for the evening, ready to head home after a long day. What a pain.

“Hello, Aizawa,” Nezu greeted cheerfully, clasping his tiny paws together as he peered around the office. “Are you reviewing plans for tomorrow’s exercise?”

The way Nezu lingered just inside the doorway was strange. 

Usually, the principal was content to leave him to his work—one of the few perks of working under someone as unpredictable as Nezu was his general trust in Aizawa's ability to manage his own lesson plans. 

But this was different. 

Nezu had never gone out of his way to take an interest in his day-to-day training. Aizawa's mind bristled with an edge of suspicion, but his exhaustion kept him from chasing the thought too far.

He set his pen down. “What do you need?” he asked, tone curt but not entirely unfriendly.

Nezu’s ever-present smile widened just a fraction as he stepped further inside. “Oh, nothing too taxing. I wanted to check in, perhaps take a look at what you’ve planned. A routine evaluation, if you will.”

Aizawa frowned. 

Now this is weird. 

“It’s a basic rescue exercise,” he replied, his voice flat as he leaned back in his chair. “Standard scenario: rescuing civilians. Most of the students could use a refresher on treating injuries and handling panicked victims. This should give them a solid challenge without being overwhelming.”

Nezu’s sharp ears twitched, his expression polite but unreadable. “Mind sharing a few more details? I may need to make a few... adjustments.”

That caught Aizawa’s full attention. He folded his arms across his chest, his brows furrowing. 

“Adjustments? Since when do you take issue with my training plans?”

“Oh, I trust your judgment implicitly,” Nezu replied smoothly, brushing imaginary dust from his tiny coat. “However, let’s call it… taking an opportunity where it presents itself. I recently had an intriguing conversation that made me wonder if this particular exercise might be enhanced with a few tweaks.”

Aizawa’s frown deepened. Nezu only got vague like this when he was up to something.

“What kind of tweaks are you talking about?”

Nezu hopped into a seat opposite the desk, folding his paws in front of him. “Consider them small modifications for safety and fairness. Gender-split teams, for instance. It’s something worth exploring.”

“Why?” Aizawa shot back, his tone laced with exasperation. “What does that accomplish? Since when does splitting them up like that improve safety?”

“Let’s just say it’s relevant,” Nezu replied, his smile now unmistakably cunning. 

“And as I mentioned, this is purely precautionary. I’d hate for anything to interfere with such an important exercise. Wouldn’t you?”

The way he said it, light as his tone was, only made Aizawa more suspicious. 

“...What aren’t you telling me?” Aizawa asked, voice low and sharp.

“Me?” Nezu gave an exaggerated expression of innocence, resting a paw against his chest. “I’m simply ensuring everything goes smoothly. Incidentally, I might have had a visitor earlier with an intriguing hypothetical scenario.”

Aizawa didn’t like the sound of that. 

“Who?”

Nezu leaned back in his chair, folding his legs neatly. “Young Midoriya. He stopped by earlier today with what I suspect was a rather thinly veiled suggestion regarding... let’s call it an observed classroom dynamic.”

That got a rise out of Aizawa. “And?”

“And,” Nezu continued, “Midoriya suggested—quite passionately, I might add—that we incorporate some specific changes into this exercise to account for potential issues. He even offered a list of adjustments, citing the possibility of unfair dynamics or oversight that could risk their safety.”

That was unusual, to put it mildly. 

Izuku was methodical, intelligent, and respectful of authority. But this—going over Aizawa’s head directly to Nezu and pushing for such drastic changes—wasn’t his usual behavior.

“You agreed to this?” Aizawa said, narrowing his eyes at Nezu, the bite in his tone unmistakable.

“I make it a habit to listen carefully when a student who rarely advocates for change suddenly insists on it,” Nezu replied. “Midoriya's logic was impeccable, and truthfully, I find it hard to resist his determination when he insists I be… useful. Wouldn’t you? He didn’t tell me any specifics, but i’m sure we need to be on the lookout for strange behavior.”

Aizawa exhaled slowly through his nose, still trying to piece the entire puzzle together. 

If Izuku was behind this—that meant Katsuki probably wasn’t far behind. Those two were volatile on their own, but together? They were terrifyingly efficient when their goals aligned.

And with Nezu in their corner, it was clear the operation was already in motion.

Aizawa’s eyes flicked back to the monitors lining the surveillance wall, scanning for anything out of place. From the surface, everything appeared normal. 

Too normal.

On one screen, Midoriya’s team huddled together, reviewing their approach to the simulation with the kind of strategic focus that Aizawa had come to expect from his most analytical student. Izuku outlined where they should search, and the three members quickly agreed to split up. Kaminari wandered off toward the western sector, visibly excited by the challenge, while Mineta trudged reluctantly toward the mock rubble at the eastern edge of Ground Beta.

Aizawa leaned forward as Midoriya headed toward his assigned area. 

The boy’s movements seemed casual enough at first—until he paused at the corner of a collapsed structure where Jirou was stationed. 

Jirou, playing the role of a civilian, was seated on a crate, looking convincingly disoriented but otherwise unharmed. If Aizawa remembered her briefing correctly, she was supposed to portray someone with minor injuries who could make it back to the tents on her own. It was one of the simpler rescue scenarios.

Izuku knelt in front of her, calm and composed. 

He introduced himself with what Aizawa assumed was his hero name, his posture calm and professional. From what Aizawa could see on the monitor, he followed all the right steps: asking routine questions to assess her condition and gesturing toward the rescue tents with clear directions.

Aizawa couldn’t hear what was being said—there was no audio feed, too many screens for them to all play at once—but the interaction looked flawless, almost too polished. A textbook display of heroics.

Midoriya even patted Jirou lightly on the shoulder before stepping away, his body language exuding calm encouragement as she moved toward the tents. Then, without hesitation, he turned and continued toward his designated sector, leaving Aizawa to narrow his eyes at the screen.

Something about the encounter nagged at Aizawa.

Midoriya tapped his ear, a subtle but unmistakable gesture. 

Aizawa’s sharp eyes caught the glint of something metallic tucked against his earlobe. Was that an earpiece? That wasn’t part of this exercise. Where had he gotten it? And more importantly, why was he using it?

Aizawa’s fingers moved instinctively over the controls, isolating the audio feed from Midoriya’s channel. Static filled the room for a split second before a quiet voice came through.

“--got it. Everything’s going according to plan.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. Plan?

Quickly, he scanned the other monitors until he spotted Katsuki Bakugo. 

Unlike Midoriya, Katsuki wasn’t making any overt moves. He stalked through the simulated disaster zone with practiced ease, his expression almost bored as he carried out the exercise. But there were subtle tells. Every now and then, Katsuki would adjust his movements slightly, like he was deliberately keeping a certain distance from others—surveilling the area.

Aizawa wasn’t fooled. The kid was up to something.

He glanced at Nezu, whose knowing expression had only deepened. The principal’s dark eyes shone with intrigue, a playful smirk tugging at his mouth as he sipped delicately from his tea.

“So,” Aizawa asked, his tone low and pointed, “Midoriya didn’t tell you anything about his plan? Or why these ‘changes’ he suggested were so important?”

“No, he did not,” Nezu replied, his voice deceptively light. 

“And I did not ask.”

“You didn’t ask?” Aizawa’s brows furrowed. “You just gave him the green light to overhaul my training exercise without questioning it?”

“Not an overhaul,” Nezu corrected, tilting his head with an air of innocence. “Simply a few… modifications. Besides, young Midoriya’s reasoning was logical and well-presented. I found it charmingly bold.”

Aizawa stared at him, unimpressed. “Logical enough to risk undermining an entire exercise?”

Nezu chuckled, clearly unfazed. “Oh, I don’t think it’s undermining anything. On the contrary, I suspect it’ll make the experience far more illuminating.”

“For who, exactly?”

“For everyone,” Nezu replied, setting his teacup down with a delicate clink. “Let’s not pretend we don’t know these students, Eraserhead. Midoriya and Bakugo aren’t simply passively following instructions today. They’re testing something, and likely themselves in the process. As for what role we play in this…” He tapped his clawed finger against the edge of his chair, his smile widening. “I suspect we’ll both figure that out soon enough.”

Aizawa grunted, resisting the urge to rub his temples. 

He turned back to the monitors.

Onscreen, Midoriya stopped near a debris pile, scanning his surroundings before stepping carefully over a beam. He looked entirely in character—focused, determined, and professional. But when he raised a hand to adjust his earpiece again, Aizawa caught the faint flicker of his lips. Midoriya wasn’t muttering. 

He was smiling.

“Damn it, Midoriya,” Aizawa muttered under his breath. “What are you up to?”

As he watched the team’s movements unfold, that nagging suspicion at the back of his mind grew louder. Midoriya’s perfect civilian rescue. Bakugo’s deliberate nonchalance. Mineta, so far removed from them both, struggling through the simulation with none of his usual sly enthusiasm.

Aizawa’s gaze lingered on Bakugo’s monitor again. 

Unlike Midoriya, Katsuki wasn’t wired—or at least not obviously so. 

But his actions were just as deliberate, his shoulders braced with a level of tension that suggested he wasn’t simply navigating obstacles. He wasn’t just playing along with the exercise; he was waiting.

For what?

Aizawa straightened, eyes narrowing as he toggled between feeds. “Nezu,” he said abruptly, his voice tight.

“Yes, Aizawa?” Nezu replied, his tone infuriatingly calm.

“If those two idiots get themselves into trouble,” Aizawa muttered darkly, “you’re cleaning up the mess.”

Nezu’s chuckle filled the room, soft but unsettling. “Oh, I think you underestimate them. Or perhaps,” he mused, “they’re about to prove just how much they’ve learned under your careful watch.”

Aizawa clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the screens rather than letting Nezu’s cryptic smile burrow further under his skin. Whatever was about to unfold, Aizawa couldn’t let himself be caught off-guard. 

His job now was to observe—and to act if things spiraled out of control.

It wasn’t entirely unusual for Bakugo and Midoriya to work together these days. 

Over the past year, the two had grown closer—so close, in fact, that Aizawa had to remind them of dorm rules more than once. No visitors after 10 pm wasn’t just a guideline. Yet even with this newfound camaraderie, Bakugo and Midoriya couldn’t help but bicker and snipe at one another whenever they worked side-by-side. 

Competitiveness was ingrained in both of them, and that tension always made itself known, usually in the form of near-catastrophic attempts to one-up each other.

But today? Nothing. Not a single argument.

Instead, Bakugo had stayed curiously silent, letting Kirishima and Todoroki take the lead. Midoriya, meanwhile, had helped Jirou but done little else to assert himself or rack up points. 

They weren’t competing. 

They weren’t leading. 

They were waiting.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed as Kirishima and Todoroki spotted Tsuyu in the area ahead. The boys shouted her name, waving her over, and sprinted off together to assist her. The scene played out like any other standard rescue exercise—quick coordination and teamwork, executed well.

But Bakugo stayed behind.

He didn’t call out or follow after them. 

Instead, his sharp gaze trailed after his teammates for only a moment before he turned and headed in the opposite direction. Aizawa’s lips thinned as he watched Bakugo raise a hand to his ear, tapping it in what was now an infuriatingly familiar gesture.

So he is wired.... What the hell are they saying to each other?

Aizawa strained to make out even a snippet of dialogue, but nothing came through clearly. Whatever frequency Bakugo and Midoriya were on was too subtle, too private. For the first time in a long while, Aizawa cursed the limitations of UA’s surveillance equipment.

Bakugo veered further off-course, moving toward Midoriya’s team’s designated zone. His posture was deliberate, his strides tense but measured, like a predator zeroing in on its target.

Aizawa leaned in closer, his chest tightening. 

Then it clicked. Bakugo wasn’t heading toward Midoriya. He was heading for…

Mineta.

Aizawa sat bolt upright, his eyes darting between the monitors.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

The uneasy puzzle pieces fell into place, each sharper and more damning than the last. Of course this had to do with Mineta. Who else could incite such focus from both Bakugo and Midoriya? And if Bakugo had set his sights on that little sleazebag, there was no telling what might happen.

If Bakugo laid so much as a hand on Mineta, Aizawa would have no way to shield him from the fallout, no matter how much he may want to.

He was an undeniably talented student, but if Bakugo’s temper flared too far…

The history with Mineta gnawed at Aizawa’s thoughts, bitter and maddening. 

He’d wanted that problem student gone since year one, but powerful parents and politics tied his hands at every turn. And the one loophole Aizawa used to deal with students who showed no promise—his infamous expulsion policy—was more complex than people realized.

Yes, he expelled students. 

Entire classes, if necessary. But it wasn’t an immediate game over, as the rumors claimed. Expelled students could reapply to UA if they passed provisional courses elsewhere. It was a system meant to teach resilience and inspire improvement.

But Aizawa couldn’t risk that with Mineta. 

The thought of giving him another shot—another chance to slither through the cracks—was unbearable. He rather him be under his watch so he could step in when needed.

But, if Bakugo was heading for Mineta, there could only be one reason.

Perhaps Aizawa hadn’t been paying as much attention to the boy as he should have.

Aizawa’s mind flickered back to a recent homeroom discussion. 

Kirishima, always casual and cheerful, had mentioned something offhand about Bakugo comforting Mina in the common room. Aizawa had assumed it was a poorly executed joke, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Bakugo knew something more. 

Maybe Mina had told him something.

If Bakugo had found out that Mineta had harassed Mina—or worse—Aizawa had no doubt what the hot-headed teen’s first instinct would be. Bakugo would want revenge, plain and simple.

But this couldn’t be about revenge alone. Not with Midoriya involved. The boy was too calculating, too careful with everyone in Class 2-A to allow anything reckless.

Midoriya wouldn’t let Bakugo take it too far. Would he?

Aizawa’s eyes flicked to Nezu, still calm and poised, sipping his tea as though the world wasn’t moments away from detonation. “You’re awfully quiet,” Aizawa said sharply.

“Oh, I have my suspicions about what will happen next,” Nezu replied, his tone airy. “Don’t you?”

“You knew,” Aizawa muttered, his frustration boiling just beneath the surface. “About Mineta. About what they’re planning.”

Nezu’s smile remained enigmatic. “I know a great many things, Aizawa. But sometimes, it’s best to let things… evolve organically. Besides,” he added, tilting his cup slightly, “I suspect this particular situation will resolve itself soon enough. Don’t you agree?”

Aizawa turned away, biting down on his retort. He had to trust the boys—had to believe Midoriya wouldn’t let Bakugo cross the line. But doubt gnawed at the back of his mind.

What if Bakugo had already decided there was no line?

What if Midoriya decided Mineta deserved what was coming?

Aizawa forced himself to stay seated, his fists clenching. His role wasn’t to intervene unless absolutely necessary. 

For now, he had to watch.

Aizawa’s gaze locked onto the screen as Bakugo caught up to Mineta, who—predictably—hadn’t been doing anything remotely useful. 

While the rest of the class threw themselves into the exercise, Mineta was meandering around the outskirts of Ground Beta, fiddling with his costume and occasionally glancing toward the tents as though scoping something out.

Typical.

As Bakugo approached, his strides deliberate but unhurried, Aizawa noticed a change. 

The explosive blond had been quieter than usual all day, his movements restrained, his temper suspiciously reined in. Now, though, it was as if a switch flipped. Bakugo slipped on the mask he wore so effortlessly—the one that screamed “arrogant hothead.” His body language shifted; he cracked his neck and his knuckles, the picture of someone spoiling for a fight.

Aizawa’s brow furrowed. 

Bakugo could weaponize emotions when he wanted, switching personas to suit the moment with unsettling ease. The boy had always had layers, but this level of controlled transformation was… alarming. 

He made a mental note: Bakugo Katsuki might require closer attention in the future.

On the screen, Bakugo’s voice rang out, sharp and unapologetically crass. “Oi! Fuck face!”

Aizawa couldn’t suppress a dry thought. What a poet.

Mineta, startled, turned abruptly. He hadn’t even noticed Bakugo’s approach, and his expression immediately twisted into a mix of irritation and unease.

“What the hell do you want?” Mineta shot back, his voice as slimy as ever, though it wavered just slightly under Bakugo’s intensity.

“You find any civilians yet?” Bakugo’s tone dripped with venom, a dangerous grin playing at the edge of his lips. “Or are you too busy jacking off like the useless shit you are?”

Mineta flinched, his gaze darting nervously around the mock disaster zone as if checking for an audience. “Tch! I’ll have you know I’ve helped so many girls already!” he snapped, his bravado ringing false. Then, under his breath—but loud enough for Bakugo to hear—he muttered, “Probably touched more than you...”

The comment hit like a firecracker. 

Aizawa could see Bakugo’s jaw tighten, the smallest twitch betraying the restraint beneath his controlled mask. His shoulders stiffened, and for half a second, Aizawa thought he might snap right then and there.

But Bakugo surprised him. 

Instead of exploding, he rolled his eyes in exaggerated irritation and waved a dismissive hand. “What the fuck ever,” he growled, his voice almost casual. “If you actually wanna stop being a fucking waste of space for five seconds, go check the goddamn rescue tents.”

Mineta frowned, his face twisting in confusion. “Why the hell would I do that? Isn’t that what the recovery bots are for?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bakugo shot back, sarcasm lacing every word, “but just ’cause they say this is a rescue drill doesn’t mean it’s safe, dipshit. What if there’s a second wave of villains or some shit? Someone needs to check the tents. Make sure none of the dumbasses pretending to be injured are actually hurting themselves lying there, waiting for you losers to get your asses in gear.”

Mineta blinked, still clearly processing Bakugo’s aggressive tirade. “And why aren’t you doing it?”

“Because I’m not you,” Bakugo snapped, his expression hardening. “Do I look like someone who’s gonna wipe some moron’s nose while there’s still people out there waiting for me to fucking save them? Nah. That’s your job, ‘hero.’”

The last word dripped with enough sarcasm to fill a river.

Mineta puffed up, clearly desperate to salvage what little pride he had left. “Fine,” he spat. “But don’t come crying to me when you miss out on your big moment, Bakugo.”

Bakugo snorted. “Don’t care. Just get your slimy ass moving before I kick it there myself.”

Mineta grumbled something incoherent before reluctantly turning and shuffling toward the rescue tents. Bakugo stood still for a moment, watching him leave with a look Aizawa recognized all too well—contempt barely leashed beneath calculated calm.

The moment Mineta disappeared into the rubble-strewn corridors, Bakugo tapped his earpiece again. Aizawa, sitting bolt upright, caught the faintest trace of his voice as he muttered into the receiver.

“He’s heading there now. Keep an eye out.”

Aizawa switched his gaze to the feed showing Midoriya. 

Izuku stood a fair distance from the tents, casually pacing near a pile of mock debris. His demeanor was calm, but there was an intensity in his eyes, a focus that suggested he was prepared for what came next.

Something about the precision of it all—the choreography between Bakugo and Midoriya—sent a chill up Aizawa’s spine. 

They’d orchestrated this. 

Mineta wasn’t just being sent to the rescue tents; he was being herded.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Stupid fucking Bakugo.

Perfect in every way except for that attitude.

Minoru scowled as he trudged along, fists clenched at his sides. 

Who did Bakugo think he was, anyway? Strutting around like he owned the place, like he was UA’s golden boy. Sure, he was strong, but he wasn’t that great. Hell, all Bakugo really had going for him were those stupid muscles. 

And the stupid hair. And maybe the stupid, perfect aim with every explosion.

Ugh, whatever.

What really pissed Minoru off was how everyone else ate it up. 

Especially the girls. 

Oh, he wasn’t dumb—he’d seen Ashido giggle around Bakugo more times than he could count (he wasn’t even that funny), glancing at him from the corner of her eye like he was some kind of Greek god. And Uraraka? Don’t even get him started on her. She couldn’t go two seconds without sneaking a look at Bakugo, practically drooling anytime he stretched or rolled up his sleeves.

And Midoriya? What the hell was up with him?

It wasn’t enough that he was an annoyingly goody-goody, but he followed Bakugo around like some kind of lovesick puppy. They’d gone from fighting like mortal enemies to some weird… bromance… or whatever. 

It was disgusting.

Minoru scuffed the ground with his foot, kicking up a cloud of dust and glaring at nothing in particular. His bad mood only made the heat from the exercise feel worse.

Still, as much as he hated Bakugo’s guts, the blonde had pointed him toward the rescue tents, and now that he was thinking about it…

Smokin’ hot babes as damsels in distress? Sign me up.

His lips curled into a sly grin as he abandoned any lingering anger. 

This wasn’t such a bad gig. 

The other guys were off running themselves ragged through Ground Beta, and here he was—free to “check in” on the ladies, play the concerned hero, and maybe get a little closer to the people who mattered most. The girls were so into heroes—real heroes—someone confident and assertive, not meek and awkward like Midoriya or fake-tough like Bakugo.

Minoru hummed to himself as he approached the line of tents. 

His unease was fully replaced by giddy anticipation, his steps lighter now. His beady eyes scanned the area as he walked, making note of every detail. Most of the tents were clustered toward the far left side, where he spotted a few faint shadows moving through the fabric. 

That was definitely where most of the girls were—and definitely worth checking out later.

His gaze shifted to the far right. 

One tent stood off on its own, smaller, quieter. The opening flap was closed, and no movement came from inside. But the faint outline of a body could be seen lying on the cot, just barely visible through the fabric.

Perfect.

Mineta’s heart thumped in his chest, a thrill running up his spine. 

He darted a quick glance over his shoulder. The coast was clear—none of the other guys were around. He even scanned the rubble-strewn area beyond the tents, just in case some nosy asshole tried to ruin his fun. 

Nothing.

He crept toward the tent, a sly grin plastered across his face. 

This was his moment. 

Stupid Bakugo thought he could boss him around? Well, Minoru was the one winning here.

Reaching the tent, he pulled back the fabric covering the entrance, just enough to peek inside. The dim light outside barely filtered in, casting long shadows across the space. It was dark—too dark to make out much detail—but the figure on the cot was unmistakable. Someone was lying there, facing away, a blanket pulled up over their shoulders.

The grin on his face widened. This is too good.

He stepped inside, letting the flap fall back into place behind him. The quiet rustle of the fabric seemed to echo in the still air, but Mineta ignored it. His attention was locked on the person lying before him.

He stepped closer.

His gaze flicked down, noting the bandages wrapped around the figure’s arm and the splint on their leg. 

Whoever it was, they looked vulnerable—helpless even.

His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to reach out. He took another step forward, leaning in closer, close enough now to hear the soft sound of breathing from the figure on the cot. His own breath hitched in his throat. This wasn’t just any rescue—it was practically a dream scenario.

He crouched slightly, his voice dropping into what he must have thought was smooth, but was nothing more than a clumsy mix of feigned confidence and sleaze.

“Hey there,” he murmured, his voice oozing faux charm. “Looks like you’re all alone. Lucky for you, Minoru Mineta is here.”

The figure didn’t move, didn’t react. Their stillness fed his delusions, twisting the scene further in his mind.

“Now, let’s see that smokin’ hot bod—”

A creak.

Mineta froze, his words caught mid-sentence.

It was faint, subtle. 

A sound that shouldn’t have mattered—but in that charged moment, it echoed like a gunshot. His head jerked up, and his eyes flickered to the tent flap, which seemed to tremble just slightly as though disturbed by a breeze. 

But there was no wind.

He glanced nervously back at the figure on the cot, licking his lips again to hide the dryness creeping into his mouth. His throat felt tight now, his initial excitement beginning to sour at the edges. But he wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t stop. 

You’ve come this far, Minoru.

With more hesitation than he wanted to admit, he leaned down over the figure. His voice dropped lower, quieter.

“Hey, you awake?” he whispered. His heart raced in anticipation, his nerves buzzing in conflict with his darker urges.

The figure didn’t answer, didn’t so much as shift.

Mineta grinned, a sick sort of relief rushing through him. 

Even better.

His hand hovered, shaking slightly as it reached toward the blanket. His heart pounded in his ears as his fingers grazed the fabric, gripping it lightly. Slowly, he began to peel it back—just enough to reveal a shoulder, smooth and bandaged beneath the dim light seeping into the tent.

The breath he released was almost a shudder, an involuntary sound that made him feel both powerful and pathetic in the same moment. “See?” he murmured. “No need to be shy. I can make you feel good all over–”

The creak came again, louder this time, accompanied by a subtle thud.

Mineta whipped his head around, his pulse spiking. “Who’s there?” he demanded, the false bravado in his voice doing nothing to mask the note of panic creeping in.

Nothing answered but the silence.

He exhaled shakily, sweat collecting at the nape of his neck. His eyes darted back to the figure on the cot. But now, the once vulnerable scene felt different. Mineta glanced at the cot again, trying to steady himself. 

It was fine. 

He was overreacting. 

Nothing was happening. 

This was his moment, dammit, and no stupid creaking sound was going to ruin it.

Gathering the last of his fleeting courage, he leaned in one final time, this time reaching for the figure’s shoulder. He grinned nervously, almost giggling to himself to shake off the discomfort.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re nice and safe…” he started, his voice trembling just slightly as his hand inched closer.

But before he could touch the shoulder, a shadow passed across the tent flap. It wasn’t subtle this time, and the flap rustled faintly, as if someone had just shifted outside.

“Who’s there?!” he barked, spinning around with a sudden burst of fear. His voice cracked, his confidence now utterly drained.

The flap slowly moved, pulling to the side. The moment stretched endlessly as two silhouettes emerged in the dim light.

The first figure stepped inside, and Mineta’s blood ran cold. Green eyes sharp and deliberate, their usual kindness absent, stared him down. Midoriya’s voice was anything but soft, but the intensity behind it made Mineta’s knees weak.

“Mineta,” Midoriya said calmly. “What are you doing?”

Mineta’s stomach plummeted, his hand retreating from the cot as if burned. “I—I—nothing!” he stammered. “What are you—why are you here?!”

A second shadow appeared at the entrance, and the flap slammed shut behind it with a loud thwap. Bakugo stood there, arms crossed, his glare icy and dangerous. When he spoke, his voice was low, but every word was a threat.

“Yeah, what the fuck are you doing?” Bakugo said, his lips curling into a snarl. 

The unease curdling in Mineta’s chest turned to dread. 

Something about their presence, their stillness, wasn’t right.

This wasn’t happenstance.

This was a setup.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Izuku had felt a lot of things when Kacchan told him what had happened to Mina.

Shock, at first—a sharp jolt of disbelief that crackled through his mind, fleeting but visceral. It wasn’t that he doubted Kacchan’s words. No, not for a second. Katsuki’s anger, the fire behind every word he spat, left no room for questioning. 

But Mineta? He’d always been a sleaze, sure, but this?

Then came the nausea. 

A hollow, twisting pit in his stomach that made it hard to breathe. 

Izuku could see it clearly in his mind, even though Katsuki hadn’t given him details, refused to—Mina’s tears, her humiliation, her pain. She was one of the kindest, strongest people Izuku knew. 

And someone they trusted had done this to her.

The nausea gave way to anger—a flood, burning and suffocating, roaring so loudly in his head that for a moment, it drowned out Kacchan’s voice entirely.

“Deku! Damn it, listen to me!”

Izuku barely registered the hands gripping his shoulders, squeezing tightly enough to anchor him but not enough to hurt. He was already half-standing, ready to storm out of the dorm, ready to find Mineta, ready to call it “combat training” and make the consequences worth it.

“Izuku, stop!”

Kacchan’s voice cut through the haze like a thunderclap. 

Izuku blinked, realizing his fists were clenched, trembling with the effort of holding himself in place. Katsuki’s face swam into focus.

Katsuki.

His fingers dug into Izuku’s shoulders harder, like he was trying to anchor him in place. 

“You think I don’t wanna rip that sick bastard apart?! You think I don’t wanna make him wish he never fucking existed?!”

The room felt electric, like their rage was about to tear the walls apart. But even in his explosive fury, Izuku caught something underneath Kacchan’s voice—something that made him pause.

“And yeah, I wanna beat his shitty little face till it’s fucking unrecognizable,” Katsuki continued, his words slicing through the air, brutal and vicious, every syllable dripping with raw hatred. “But what the hell do we get outta that? Huh? What the fuck does pounding his disgusting ass into the ground do except get us expelled?”

Izuku opened his mouth to argue, his chest still heaving, but Katsuki cut him off, shoving him back toward the edge of the bed.

“No. I’m serious, nerd. Think about it.” Katsuki’s voice wavered for just a second—just long enough for Izuku to notice. 

His blazing red eyes, usually so filled with stubborn arrogance, had a crack in them now. Not weakness, not even uncertainty—just… desperation.

Katsuki pressed his hands flat against Izuku’s chest, forcing him down just enough that his green-haired companion had no choice but to stay. His lips curled into a snarl as he leaned in closer, lowering his voice, though it didn’t lose an ounce of its venom.

“I don’t just wanna kick him out of class, Deku,” Katsuki hissed. “I want more. I want this little bastard fucking gone. Expelled. Stripped of that half-ass provisional license like the fraud he is. Blacklisted from every single damn hero school in the country. He doesn’t deserve to be here, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve to call himself a fucking hero.”

Izuku blinked, his heart pounding harder, but this time for a different reason. 

The red that had clouded his vision began to ebb slightly, and Katsuki’s words cut through his spiraling thoughts.

Katsuki wasn’t just angry—he was furious. 

Furious in a way Izuku hadn’t seen since they were kids. 

But beneath that fury was something deeper, something unspoken and raw. Katsuki’s hands trembled, his grip tight enough to bruise, but the edges of his anger weren’t just burning—they were controlled. 

Calculated.

“And if it were up to me,” Katsuki said, his voice dropping even lower, almost to a whisper, “I’d get that fucker behind bars. That’s what I really want. But we can’t do any of that if you go running off half-cocked, breaking his shitty nose, or blowing your damn cover.” His lips pulled back in a snarl, his sharp teeth glinting like a wolf warning off its prey. “Think, nerd. For once in your damn life, use that big fucking brain of yours before you get us both fucking expelled.”

Izuku stared at him, his breath catching in his throat. Katsuki was furious, seething with a barely contained rage that was like a dam about to burst—but he wasn’t letting it break. 

Not yet.

“Kacchan…” Izuku said, his voice trembling slightly. His anger began to mix with shame and guilt for his rashness.

“Deku,” Katsuki’s voice was razor-sharp, his hands gripping Izuku’s shoulders with an intensity that left no room for argument. “You don’t get to call the shots on this one. You’re with me, got it? We’re taking this bastard down the right way—clean, airtight, so there’s no way he can squirm out of it. And if that doesn’t work...” Katsuki leaned in, his crimson eyes blazing with unfiltered fury. 

“Trust me—I’ll be the first in line to smash that motherfucker’s face in.”

The room fell silent, except for the sound of their heavy breathing.

Katsuki stepped back slightly, his shoulders still tense, but his grip loosening. 

He gestured for Izuku to sit on the bed, and when Izuku finally did, Katsuki followed, flopping down beside him and running his hands through his hair. For a moment, the rage that had filled the room felt muted, but not gone.

“You know what she said to me?” Katsuki muttered suddenly, his voice quieter, though the tension was still there. He didn’t wait for Izuku to answer. “She said she thought she’d done something wrong. Thought it was her fault.”

Izuku froze, his heart sinking.

“And all I could think was, how the hell did I not see it? How the fuck did we not see it?” Katsuki’s teeth clenched as he looked away, his voice thick with frustration.

Izuku didn’t know what to say. 

But he knew one thing with absolute certainty.

“I’m with you, Kacchan,” he said softly, but firmly. “We’ll do this the right way. Together.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed, and for just a second, he nodded. The fire in his eyes flared again, but this time it burned with focus and purpose.

And from that moment on, they both knew Mineta’s time was running out.

Katsuki and Izuku stayed in Katsuki’s room for hours, the passage of time marked only by the soft glow of their laptop screens and the persistent rustle of papers as they shifted through UA’s rules and guidelines. Both were determined to find the perfect loopholes and safeguards to ensure their plan couldn’t be dismissed—or worse, backfire on them. 

If they had any chance of getting Mineta expelled, they had to leave no room for error.

“Izuku.” Katsuki’s sharp voice broke through the silence. Izuku looked up from his laptop to see Katsuki adjusting his reading glasses—a detail that might have seemed funny under less dire circumstances. “Page 84. Code of Conduct and shit.”

Izuku reached for the printed copy of UA’s Student Handbook between them, flipping through the worn pages until he landed on the one Katsuki referenced. His eyes skimmed the section Katsuki had highlighted with an aggressive stab of yellow marker.

‘Students engaging in predatory behavior, harassment, or violations of physical boundaries will face immediate disciplinary action pending an investigation. Consequences may include suspension, expulsion, and loss of provisional hero licensing.’

“This,” Katsuki said, jabbing the passage on Izuku’s screen. “This is the fucker’s exit ticket.”

Izuku nodded, his fingers flying across his keyboard as he typed out notes, cross-referencing disciplinary precedents they’d found buried in UA’s old case records. 

“It’s clear, but vague enough that we’ll need proof. The kind of proof that sticks.” He frowned, clicking through a tab that summarized one of UA’s more public disciplinary hearings. “This investigation protocol… it puts a lot on the school’s discretion. If we’re not careful, it’ll just come down to a word-against-word situation. Mineta’s parents will use his connections to muddle it or force the school to show leniency.”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki spat, shoving his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “If the rat thinks there’s even one hole in this fuckin’ thing, it’s over.”

The floor around them had transformed into chaos. 

Loose papers covered every corner, overlapping in a collage of scribbled notes and printed records. Each of their laptops boasted at least twenty open tabs, ranging from UA’s student code of conduct to Provisional Hero Licensing Board guidelines, and a few hazy legal PDFs that Izuku was fairly sure Katsuki had downloaded from… questionable sources.

The thing about them, though—once they were on the same page, nothing stopped them.

Izuku reached for his coffee, barely glancing at Katsuki as he murmured, “We need Nezu.”

The silence stretched for a moment before Katsuki growled, “How the fuck are we gonna get Nezu if we can’t tell him shit? We tell him what we’re doing, he reports it. They passed their time for action; we’re doing this on our own.”

“Not exactly,” Izuku countered, his tone calm but determined. 

He clicked through a few tabs before swiveling his laptop toward Katsuki. “We don’t have to tell Nezu anything directly. Just… give him a hypothetical scenario based on safety.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, his red eyes gleaming with skepticism. “The rat’s not dumb, nerd. He’d see through that in ten fuckin’ seconds.”

“He might,” Izuku admitted, scratching at the back of his neck, “but knowing Nezu? He wouldn’t stop us. He’d probably love it. Go crazy for it even.”

Katsuki’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because it’s me,” Izuku said simply. “You know he eats this kind of thing up. I go in with a perfectly constructed plan about implementing safety into training exercises, something about gender dynamics and security protocols—he’ll practically trip over himself to make it happen.”

“Tch. Why the fuck not me?” Katsuki challenged, leaning back on his elbows with a scowl. “You saying I ain’t capable?”

Izuku rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Kacchan, you know I think you’re capable.” His voice softened, good-natured despite their grim task. “But let’s be honest. You don’t exactly have the best track record with Nezu.”

“Fucking Captain Obvious, reporting for duty.” Katsuki clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. “Not my damn fault the rat thought a fucking muzzle was necessary ‘cause I wanted a fair fight back in first year.”

Izuku winced. Touchy subject. Very touchy subject.

Katsuki shoved his chair back, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to calm himself. “I swear to god, after we’re done with this creep, the rat’s next. Better yet—the fucking Hero Commission. Burn the whole goddamn system to the ground.”

Izuku sat quietly, his chest tightening at Katsuki’s words. He understood the anger more than most would. It wasn’t just about the medal—or even the humiliation. 

It was about what it symbolized. 

Katsuki was always fighting to be taken seriously, to prove himself on his own terms, but that moment had cemented for him that the system didn’t care about fairness. 

It cared about control.

And even though Katsuki’s fury was justified, it would need to wait. Focus on Mineta first, Izuku reminded himself, because even though Katsuki’s fire was unshakable, it burned in too many directions at once.

“Kacchan,” Izuku said softly, his tone both soothing and firm.

Katsuki snapped his gaze toward him, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s a good idea,” Izuku continued, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, almost imperceptibly. “Taking down the system that let that kind of thing happen. But we need to focus. One problem at a time. Let’s deal with him first.”

Katsuki scoffed, shaking his head, but the sharpness in his glare dulled just slightly. “Fine. But don’t think I’m letting this shit slide forever, nerd. I’m keeping score.”

“I know,” Izuku said, his voice steady. 

And he meant it. 

Because in a lot of ways, Katsuki was right.

That was a fight for later, though. 

For now, Izuku filed the thought away in the back of his mind. Because as much as Mineta was a problem, the system that protected him—the rules that would resist their every attempt to remove him—that was bigger. 

The anger that boiled just beneath the surface of Katsuki’s voice wasn’t gone, but he let out a long, sharp breath through his nose. “You go schmooze the rodent, then. But I’m writing the fucking outline. Got it?”

“Deal.” Izuku smiled faintly, but it faded quickly as his gaze swept over the tangled mess of notes and screens surrounding them.

If they pulled this off, there’d be no turning back. No plea for leniency. 

No second chances. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Izuku took a deep breath before knocking on the polished cedar door. 

His hand was steady, but only just. 

He knew this conversation was crucial—it had to be flawless. If he showed even a fraction of the simmering anger boiling beneath his skin, it could unravel everything.

A moment later, a bright, chipper voice answered from within. “Come in, young Midoriya!”

Izuku entered, his expression carefully measured, the picture of professionalism despite the emotions clawing at his chest. 

Principal Nezu’s office, as always, felt like an elegant fortress of intellect. The soft glow of lamps bathed the room in warm light, reflecting off shelves packed with books and meticulously organized files. Nezu himself sat behind his massive oak desk, reclining slightly in his chair, his ever-present smile etched across his face.

“Ah, welcome,” Nezu said, gesturing for Izuku to take a seat. “What brings you here today? I assume it’s something… intriguing, given your usual habit of addressing matters directly with Mr. Aizawa.”

Izuku gave a polite bow before settling into one of the plush armchairs, its comfort doing little to relax the tension winding through his muscles. 

“Thank you for meeting with me, Principal Nezu.”

Nezu waved a paw. “Oh, no thanks necessary. Conversations with you are always a delight.” His dark eyes sparkled with curiosity, glinting as if he could already sense something unusual brewing.

Izuku met his gaze with quiet resolve. “I had some… observations about the way our rescue training is structured, and I was hoping to discuss possible adjustments.”

Nezu tilted his head, his smile widening slightly. “Adjustments? Do tell. What sort of observations, and what adjustments would you suggest?”

Izuku inhaled deeply, steadying himself as he began. “As you know, the upcoming rescue exercise focuses on civilians requiring immediate medical assistance and evacuation under simulated emergency conditions.”

Nezu nodded. “Correct, a standard but effective training protocol.”

Izuku’s green eyes sharpened imperceptibly. “Yes, but I was wondering if we could take it a step further—one that prioritizes an additional layer of safety for everyone involved.”

“Safety?” Nezu echoed, leaning forward, his paws clasping beneath his chin. His intrigue was palpable now.

“Yes.” Izuku tapped a finger lightly against his thigh, projecting an air of analytical calm. “UA has always prioritized not only teaching combat skills but also fostering teamwork and ensuring the well-being of students, correct? Especially in high-stress scenarios like rescues?”

“Quite so,” Nezu replied smoothly. “That is at the core of our mission.”

Izuku nodded, his expression unreadable but composed. 

“I started reviewing the school’s guidelines and historical protocols after our most recent drills and noticed some areas where extra precautions could be beneficial—specifically regarding the dynamics within training simulations.”

Nezu’s eyes gleamed with interest, though the corners of his smile twitched slightly upward, as though he already suspected where this was going. “Ah, you mean the matter of interpersonal interactions during drills. Am I correct?”

Izuku’s lips pressed together for a fraction of a second, a flicker of his frustration slipping through before he smothered it. “Yes,” he said smoothly, carefully steering his tone. “Group training exercises, especially mixed-gender ones, have a tendency to create vulnerabilities that might not be immediately apparent. The physical proximity required during rescues could, hypothetically, create unnecessary complications—or risks—if the boundaries aren’t properly defined.”

Nezu tilted his head again, his ever-present smile turning just slightly sharper. “Hypothetically?”

Izuku’s fingers twitched against the chair, his control straining as anger threatened to crack his otherwise polished demeanor. 

He inhaled sharply, allowing just enough fire to simmer beneath his words to press the point. “Hypothetically, yes. But knowing you, Principal Nezu, I’m sure you’d agree that preparing for every contingency—even the most unlikely—is always in UA’s best interest. Isn’t that why you’ve designed so many exercises that balance unpredictability and safety?”

“Why, thank you, Midoriya,” Nezu replied, his tone a mix of amusement and intrigue. “I do pride myself on that balance. So, what is it exactly you’re proposing?”

Izuku straightened, meeting Nezu’s gaze head-on. 

“Gender-split teams for this particular exercise,” Izuku explained, his voice calm and measured. “The rescue simulation would proceed as planned, but with one key adjustment. For ease of organization—and to account for certain… sensitivities—the boys would handle one segment of the task, while the girls focus on another.”

As he spoke, Izuku slid a neatly printed document across the desk toward Nezu. The paper outlined the proposed changes in precise detail, complete with a breakdown of the newly arranged teams.

“These team assignments are based on past performance and demonstrated efficiency,” Izuku continued confidently, gesturing to the paper. “They should provide the best possible results for this scenario.”

Nezu’s sharp eyes scanned the document, his smile widening ever so slightly.

Nezu chuckled softly, but there was a weight behind the sound. “Interesting. And you believe this adjustment would improve the training outcomes?”

“Absolutely,” Izuku said firmly. “It ensures the drill remains focused on the exercise’s objectives while minimizing the risk of… distractions.”

Nezu’s dark eyes lingered on him for a long moment, sharp and calculating. “A well-constructed argument. You’re a natural strategist, young Midoriya.”

Izuku’s chest tightened at the praise, but he forced himself to remain calm. 

He couldn’t let on how much was at stake—not yet. 

“Thank you, Principal Nezu. I’ve also been thinking about ways to enhance safety protocols further, particularly for unsupervised zones like the rescue tents. Would you consider integrating remote monitoring systems for areas where students might be isolated?”

“Oh, how ambitious,” Nezu remarked, steepling his paws. “And a reasonable precaution, certainly.”

Izuku leaned forward slightly. “I know you always encourage us to think outside the box, Principal Nezu.”

Nezu’s sharp ears twitched at that last statement, a faint glimmer of knowing passing through his expression. 

For a fraction of a second, it was as though the principal could see everything—every thread Izuku was weaving. But, to Izuku’s relief, Nezu simply nodded, his smile widening once more.

“Very well, Midoriya. I’ll approve the changes. Let’s see how this plays out, shall we?”

Izuku nodded, bowing slightly before standing to leave.

“Midoriya,” Nezu called just before he left. Izuku turned.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Nezu said, his eyes glittering with something unreadable, “if there were anything else you’d like me to observe during the upcoming drill, now would be the time to mention it.”

Izuku’s lips quirked into the faintest smile. “Nothing comes to mind, sir. But if anything arises, I trust you’ll know exactly what to do.”

Nezu chuckled, waving a paw. “Oh, I most certainly will. Good day, Midoriya.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It took everything in Katsuki not to slam an explosion right into the bastard’s face. His hands twitched at his sides, tiny sparks crackling from his palms, betraying the volcanic rage bubbling just beneath the surface. 

Every instinct screamed for him to teach Mineta a lesson he’d never forget, but he didn’t move. 

Because as much as he wanted to break Mineta apart right here and now, both he and Deku knew it wasn’t enough. Words—no matter how laced with sleaze—could always be twisted. The bastard could backpedal, turn the narrative, make himself look like a concerned, if slightly misguided, classmate. 

It wouldn’t stick. 

They needed proof.

So, Katsuki forced himself to hold back. 

Something he’d had far too much practice with these past few days. Every second felt like someone was driving a stake deeper into his chest. He clenched his fists tighter, forcing his nails into his palms to ground himself.

The plan was for him to stay outside, to let Deku go in first, smooth-talking and subtle as always, and only step in if the bastard needed to be restrained. But the moment he saw Mineta’s slimeball grin—saw where his disgusting eyes had been lingering—he couldn’t stop himself. 

His feet carried him into the tent before his brain could catch up.

It wasn’t even like he was entirely in control anymore. 

His body was coiled so tightly, his rage barely contained, that it felt like he was walking a tightrope in a storm. And the wind was only getting stronger.

“Kacchan,” Deku said sharply, his voice calm but weighted. 

It was a warning Katsuki knew all too well. 

Deku’s hand came up and pressed lightly against his chest, not pushing him, but grounding him—an old gesture, familiar, like muscle memory. Katsuki’s jaw clenched, and he froze in place, though his glare was still locked on Mineta.

“Relax, Kacchan,” Deku said, his tone deliberately steady, smooth like polished steel. “He’s just taking care of the wounded. Just like you asked… Right, Mineta?”

The weight of the question dropped into the room like a stone.

Mineta flinched, his gaze darting nervously between the two of them. Sweat glistened on his temple, and his laugh came out thin and wheezy. “Y-yeah! Exactly! Nothing more, you know? Just… helping. I mean, what kind of hero wouldn’t? Ha-ha…”

Deku smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes narrowing just enough to look thoughtful but not suspicious, the way he always did when carefully peeling apart someone’s excuses, thread by thread. His hand stayed firmly pressed against Katsuki’s chest, a subtle but effective barrier between Mineta and the powder keg that was moments from detonating.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” Deku said, his tone perfectly even, almost… warm. But not too warm. Just enough to put Mineta slightly at ease.

Behind him, Katsuki bristled, a low growl simmering in the back of his throat. Deku didn’t need to look back to know the effort it took for him to stay restrained. Kacchan, don’t push it. We’re close.

Deku better fucking hurry this shit up.

“Kacchan was just concerned, that’s all,” Deku continued, keeping his tone casual and just a little playful. “You know how he gets—blows things way out of proportion. He heard some… disturbing things, and I told him, ‘No way that’s true.’” He laughed, light and airy, as though the very idea of those rumors had been absurd to him. “Mineta’s a good friend of mine. I wasn’t going to let him badmouth a good friend like that.”

He delivered the last line with an inflection so sincere that it took Katsuki everything not to roll his eyes. 

Damn nerd’s too fucking good at this. Mineta visibly began to relax, his shoulders dropping as some of the tension in his body ebbed away.

Deku kept his smile in place, even as his insides coiled tighter. 

He was lying through his teeth, every word revolting to him, but he couldn’t afford to let his disgust slip through. 

This had to work.

“You wouldn’t mind clearing things up for him, right?” Deku said, his gaze flicking to Mineta with just enough of a plea to seem convincing. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold him back otherwise…”

His hand on Katsuki’s chest pressed lightly—not enough to restrain him, but enough to sell the act.

Mineta blinked, his head tilting in confusion as his eyes darted between the two of them. His gaze lingered for a second too long on Deku, searching his expression for any hint of suspicion and finding none. 

The smile was steady. 

The warmth in Deku’s voice was convincing. 

It was working.

“Oh, y-yeah,” Mineta stammered, his voice shaky but losing some of its edge. “Sure, sure! You know me, I wouldn’t… you know, I’d never—”

“Exactly,” Deku said, cutting in smoothly before Mineta could trip over himself. “I mean, come on, you’ve always been good with the girls, right? Helpful. Friendly. Not like what Kacchan said—he thinks you’ve been…” He paused, glancing back at Katsuki as if searching for the right words. “Let’s just say, less than respectful with Mina.”

The shift in tone was so subtle it was almost imperceptible. Deku still smiled, his voice still friendly, but the words landed like tiny knives, buried just beneath the surface.

Mineta froze, his breath hitching. “Mina?” he echoed weakly.

“Mm-hmm,” Deku hummed, tilting his head slightly, his expression never faltering. “Kacchan said he saw her upset in the common room the other night. Crying, actually. And, well… he overheard something about you.”

Mineta’s eyes widened, his pupils shrinking. “What—what are you saying?!”

“I’m saying,” Deku said softly, leaning in just a fraction, “that if you didn’t do anything wrong, you’d have no problem explaining yourself. Because I know Kacchan’s wrong about this. Aren’t you, Kacchan?”

Behind him, Katsuki scoffed, the sound low and biting, his jaw tight as his hands flexed at his sides. 

It took every ounce of his control not to close the distance and plant his fist in the little creep’s face. Sparks crackled faintly at his palms, begging to be let loose, but he clenched his fists tighter and breathed through his nose.

This was the plan. 

The outline he wrote. 

All he had to do was play his part—aggressive enough to sell it, but not enough to send Mineta scrambling off to Aizawa before they could wring the truth out of him.

Katsuki glanced at Deku, who was already deep in character. 

Flawless, as usual. Deku was the picture of calm, his smile faint but disarming, his voice even and light. If Katsuki messed this up, he would be the one who ruined everything. And there was no fucking way he’d let that happen.

“Tch.” Katsuki growled, narrowing his eyes at Mineta. “I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

Deku smiled at him, the expression soft but just pointed enough for Mineta to notice. Katsuki returned a quick scowl but stayed planted, simmering in the tension as Deku turned back to their target.

“See?” Deku said, his tone soothing. “Just tell us what happened. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

Mineta visibly relaxed, his chest lifting as he exhaled shakily. He looked at Deku—too trusting, too kind Deku. That’s how everyone saw him. Always forgiving, always giving people the benefit of the doubt. The kind of person who would rein someone like Katsuki in, keep him from going too far.

What a joke.

Katsuki almost grinned at the thought. 

Everyone said Deku was the Katsuki Whisperer™, the one person who could “control” him. 

Bullshit. 

Katsuki wasn’t controlled by anyone. Deku didn’t rein him in—he steered him. Pointed him in the right direction. Without him, Katsuki would’ve burned a lot more bridges. But controlled? 

No fucking way.

Mineta nodded eagerly, seizing the lifeline Deku dangled in front of him. “Yeah! A misunderstanding! That’s all this is!”

“So…” Deku tilted his head slightly, his green eyes sharp but his smile still soft. “Do you mind explaining it for us? You know how Kacchan gets if he doesn’t have all the facts.”

Katsuki let out another growl, this one intentionally rougher, rolling his shoulders for good measure. Sparks hissed faintly as he crossed his arms and glared at Mineta. “Better make it good, you slimy little fuck.”

Mineta flinched, then looked back at Deku, his expression pleading. 

Deku just held up his hand in a familiar calming gesture, as though asking Katsuki to stand down. It was all part of the illusion.

Mineta licked his lips nervously, glancing between them. “Uh, sure! Yeah, of course. No problem at all…” He laughed, a shaky, high-pitched sound. “It’s just, you know… Mina’s kind of sensitive, you know? I think she might’ve taken something the wrong way.”

Deku’s expression didn’t change. His voice stayed soft. Friendly. “Taken what the wrong way, exactly?”

Mineta hesitated, shifting nervously on his feet. “Well, you know, girls… They get, uh, emotional. You compliment them, and they think you’re trying to, uh…” He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “You know how it is.”

“No,” Deku said gently, shaking his head. “I don’t think I do. What did you say to her, Mineta?”

Mineta froze, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the right words—or an escape. He laughed again, weaker this time. “It wasn’t anything bad! Just, you know, her hero costume is tight, and—”

“Her costume?” Deku echoed softly, his voice smooth as ice. He tilted his head again, feigning innocent curiosity. “What about her costume?”

Mineta winced, his laughter trailing off into silence. “I just… I said something about how it looked, you know? Like… how it fits her. She took it the wrong way, though! I wasn’t being creepy or anything!”

Katsuki took a step forward, his lip curling into a snarl, and Mineta practically stumbled backward. Deku raised a hand quickly, pressing it firmly against Katsuki’s chest again.

“Let him talk, Kacchan,” Deku said softly, his voice carrying a quiet warning.

Katsuki glared down at him, but stayed put, his entire body a coil of tension, ready to snap. “Fine,” Katsuki growled through clenched teeth.

“Go on,” Deku said, turning his gaze back to Mineta. “What else did you say to her?”

Mineta’s eyes darted wildly, panic flashing across his face. He tried to laugh again, but it died in his throat. “Nothing! Just—just a joke! You know, guys joke all the time!”

“A joke?” Deku repeated, tilting his head again, his faint smile returning. “What kind of joke?”

“I, uh… I said…” Mineta’s voice faltered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I said that maybe she shouldn’t get mad if… if someone wanted to touch her or something.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.

Katsuki let out a low snarl, and this time Deku didn’t press back as much. The anger that simmered under Deku’s calm facade began to flicker, though his voice stayed steady.

“You said what?”

“It was a joke!” Mineta said quickly, throwing his hands up in defense. “I swear! Just a joke! She freaked out over nothing!”

“Over nothing,” Deku echoed softly, his tone calm, but his sharp green eyes betrayed his disgust. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as if he’d already decided Mineta wasn’t worth his energy.

The tension in the tent thickened, the air suffocating. Mineta’s frantic gaze darted between the two of them, his sweat-drenched face pale with growing realization. 

He’d said too much, and he knew it.

Katsuki had had enough.

Finally pushing past Deku, Katsuki advanced, his movements slow and deliberate, each step heavy like the growl of a predator closing in on cornered prey. The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, his sweat sparking faintly at his palms, though he kept his hands in check.

“Kacchan,” Deku murmured, but Katsuki didn’t even look back. 

This was his moment now.

Mineta staggered backward instinctively as Katsuki loomed closer, his broad shoulders and wild glare towering over the smaller boy. Mineta’s back hit the edge of the tent, the fabric fluttering faintly as he stumbled further from the exit. Katsuki didn’t let up, his every movement designed to corner and intimidate.

“See, that’s not what Mina told me,” Katsuki began, his voice low and venomous. His grin was razor-sharp, the kind that promised pain. “I heard a very, very different story. Wanna explain why?”

Mineta’s breath hitched as Katsuki leaned in closer, his words slow and deliberate, each one carrying the weight of his anger.

“She said you were in the girls’ bathroom,” Katsuki snarled, his voice dropping even lower, the venom turning to pure steel. “Somewhere you know you shouldn’t fucking be. And she said you were taking pictures of her. Commenting on her goddamn body.”

Mineta shook his head rapidly, his entire body trembling. “N-no! That’s not—”

Katsuki’s palm slammed against the side of the tent next to Mineta’s head, sparks flying just inches from his face. Mineta yelped, his words cutting off instantly as the sharp scent of ozone filled the air.

“Oh, I’m not done,” Katsuki hissed, his eyes narrowing further. “She said when she wouldn’t ‘have fun’ with you, you had the fucking audacity to blackmail her. Blackmail her!” His voice rose, every word sharper and louder than the last. “Threatened to send those pictures around unless she gave you what you wanted.”

Mineta’s knees buckled slightly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

“So yeah,” Katsuki barked, the sparks in his hands intensifying. He held his palms low, careful not to let them get too close. His quirk was volatile, and he knew the teachers wouldn’t let him off for even the smallest slip right now. 

He forced himself to stay in control, his teeth grinding as he leaned in so close their noses almost touched. “I’m a little fucking confused, so please—fucking explain.”

“I—I didn’t—” Mineta stammered, his voice breaking as he tried to find an escape. “I didn’t mean it like that! It was a joke! Just a stupid joke, that’s all!”

Katsuki scoffed, pulling back slightly only to laugh—low, bitter, and devoid of humor. “A joke, huh? You call that a joke?!”

“I—” Mineta began, but Katsuki didn’t let him finish.

“What the fuck even makes you think you can talk to her—or anyone—like that?!” Katsuki’s voice was a growl now, barely restrained, his body practically vibrating with rage. “You think you’re untouchable, huh? Think you can hide behind your slimy little bullshit forever?”

“I swear, I didn’t mean it!” Mineta wailed, his voice cracking. “I wasn’t gonna send the pictures—I didn’t even keep them! I deleted them!”

The words tumbled out before Mineta could stop himself, his panic overriding any sense of self-preservation. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what he’d just admitted.

Katsuki froze for half a second, his body going completely still. Then he moved, his fist clenching as he raised it, sparks flying wildly now. “You fucking piece of—”

“Bakugo.”

The sharp, commanding voice sliced through the tension like a whip.

Katsuki whipped his head around, and there, standing at the entrance to the tent, was Aizawa. His dark eyes bore into Katsuki with unyielding authority, his scarf already unwinding from his neck, prepared to stop him if necessary. Behind him, Principal Nezu stood silently, his expression unreadable but his sharp eyes watching everything with quiet intensity.

“Step back,” Aizawa ordered, his voice calm but firm.

For a moment, it looked like Katsuki wouldn’t. 

His entire body was still coiled, his fist trembling as the sparks in his hand refused to dissipate.

“Katsuki,” Deku said softly, stepping forward now. His hand touched Katsuki’s shoulder, grounding him. “We got what we needed.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed, his eyes locked on Mineta, who was now practically sliding down the side of the tent, his legs barely holding him up. 

For a long, agonizing second, Katsuki didn’t move.

Then, with a sharp exhale, he dropped his fist and stepped back, his movements jerky but restrained. He turned his head, muttering through gritted teeth. “This shit isn’t over.”

Aizawa’s eyes flicked to Mineta, who was shaking like a leaf, then back to Katsuki. “Out. Now.”

Katsuki let out a frustrated growl but obeyed, storming out of the tent. Deku followed, pausing only long enough to glance back at Mineta with a look that promised his own reckoning.

As they disappeared into the rubble-strewn field, Nezu tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint, curious smile. “Well,” he said softly, “it seems there’s quite a bit to discuss.”

Aizawa said nothing, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to Mineta.

Aizawa took in a deep breath, his fingers twitching faintly at his sides as he fought to maintain his composure. The final threads of the boys’ plan were falling into place in his mind, each detail weaving a picture that was as impressive as it was concerning.

They had planned this down to the last detail.

And for what? Because two students believed their teachers weren’t capable of dealing with the mess that was Mineta Minoru.

That realization stung more than he cared to admit.

I’ll be beating myself up for this one for a while.

The weight of responsibility hung heavy on him, but there wasn’t time for self-recrimination—not now. 

Right now, there were more immediate matters to address.

“Phone,” Aizawa said, holding his hand out toward Mineta, his voice steady but firm.

Mineta’s head shot up, his wide, tear-filled eyes darting frantically between Aizawa and Nezu. “Y-you guys don’t have the r-right to take my phone!” he stammered, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline.

“Oh, on the contrary!” Principal Nezu piped up, his chipper tone jarring against the tension in the room. His sharp teeth glinted as he smiled, his small frame practically bouncing with energy. “In the UA Code of Conduct, it clearly states that if there is reason to suspect a student’s phone contains incriminating evidence—particularly anything that could compromise the safety or privacy of others—we have the right to examine it!”

Mineta paled, his grip on the phone tightening.

Nezu continued, his voice almost sing-song. “Of course, this rule is usually applied to cases of potential leaks of school-sensitive information… but I’d say it fits this situation quite nicely, wouldn’t you, Aizawa?” He cast a sly glance at the teacher, his eyes glittering with understanding. “Though I suspect this was an intentional detail, wasn’t it?”

Aizawa didn’t respond, pinching the bridge of his nose instead. He could already feel the grey hairs multiplying. “Mineta. Phone. Now.”

The command was calm, but the edge in Aizawa’s tone left no room for argument.

Mineta hesitated for a long moment, trembling as his fingers hovered over the phone. Finally, with a small, choked sound of defeat, he handed it over, his hand shaking as Aizawa took it.

“Nezu,” Aizawa said, sliding the phone into his pocket. “Take him to your office. I need to speak to the other problem students.”

Nezu tilted his head, his grin widening. “Oh, of course. Come along, young Mineta. Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

Mineta let out a small whimper as Nezu practically dragged him out of the tent, his tiny paws gripping the boy’s scruff with surprising strength.

Once the two were gone, Aizawa exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before stepping out of the tent.

The air outside was heavy with tension, the kind that settled in your chest and refused to let go. 

The exercise had come to a standstill, the students frozen in place as the weight of what had happened began to sink in.

Mina stood near the wreckage, her shoulders trembling as she clung to Katsuki, tears streaking her face. Katsuki’s arms were firm around her, his glare aimed at nothing in particular but carrying the same murderous edge as before. His protective stance was as fierce as his rage, his entire body taut as if ready to spring into action at any moment.

Nearby, Izuku stood with Jirou, his voice low as he spoke to her. Jirou nodded solemnly, her expression tight with worry but resolute.

Aizawa’s eyes scanned the scene before him, taking in every detail. He motioned for Kirishima, who had been hovering close to Katsuki and Mina, concern etched across his face.

“Kirishima,” Aizawa said, his tone softening just slightly. “I trust you’re capable of helping Mina?”

The redhead nodded instantly, his usual enthusiasm muted but his resolve clear. “Yeah. I’ve got her.”

“Good.” Aizawa patted Kirishima’s shoulder once before turning his attention to Katsuki and Izuku.

 “You two. With me.”

Aizawa directed them back into the tent, pulling the flap closed behind him to allow for privacy. 

The tension in the air shifted slightly as the chaos outside was muted, leaving only the three of them in the dimly lit space. Katsuki still carried the sharp edge of his anger, though he was visibly more controlled now. Izuku, in contrast, had a quiet intensity about him—calm, but watchful.

What they had done was reckless. It was dangerous. But it was also brilliant.

Aizawa took a moment to study them, his sharp eyes flicking between the two. 

They were a fascinating duo—opposites in so many ways, yet when aligned, a force to be reckoned with. It was clear now: every step of this had been deliberate, every move calculated to perfection, and yet… they’d gone behind his back to pull it off. The sting of that realization lingered, but he had to admit: he was impressed.

“Sit,” Aizawa said, motioning to the nearby crates.

The boys obeyed without hesitation, though Katsuki sat with a defiant slump, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Izuku perched on the edge of his crate, his posture open but alert.

Aizawa folded his arms, his sharp gaze flicking between them. 

“So, Midoriya,” he began, his tone steady but tinged with curiosity, “any other parts of your plan I should be aware of?”

Izuku glanced at Katsuki, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a small, knowing smile. “Aizawa-sensei,” he said with a quiet chuckle, “I thought you were sharper than that. All of this was Kacchan’s plan. Every detail.”

Aizawa blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His brow furrowed as he looked at Katsuki, who didn’t flinch under his gaze.

“This was your plan, Bakugo?” Aizawa asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief.

Katsuki scowled, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—pride. “Damn right it was.”

Aizawa’s mind raced.

Of course, Katsuki had always been smart—sharp and analytical in combat. But his strategies usually centered around raw power and brute force. This, however, was something else entirely. 

This was precise. 

Controlled.

“Well,” Aizawa said slowly, his voice measured, “it seems I’ve underestimated you both.” He paused, his gaze returning to Izuku. “That being said, this was incredibly dangerous. Do you realize how easily this could have gone sideways?”

Izuku nodded, meeting Aizawa’s eyes without hesitation. 

“We accounted for that, Sensei,” he said, his voice steady. “Everything we did stayed within UA’s guidelines. We reviewed the Code of Conduct, disciplinary precedents, and emergency protocols. And we made sure no one else was involved or put in harm’s way.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue.

“I told Jirou to keep the girls together,” Izuku explained. “That way, no one would be isolated, and they’d be safe from Mineta. The injured civilian in the tent wasn’t a person—it was a weighted CPR dummy. Realistic enough to fool him, but completely harmless.”

Aizawa leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. “And the exercise itself? What about the premise?”

Izuku’s expression didn’t falter. “We stuck to the objective. The exercise was about rescuing civilians from a simulated threat. That’s exactly what we did, though not simulated. We rescued the girls—from Mineta.”

For a moment, Aizawa was silent, processing the weight of Izuku’s words. 

They treated him like a villain.

“And Mineta?” Aizawa asked.

Katsuki leaned forward now, his sharp glare cutting through the air. “We trapped the fucker fair and square,” he said bluntly. “Got him to spill his disgusting guts without anyone else getting hurt. And yeah, I got in his face, but I didn’t fucking touch him.”

“That brings me to my next point,” Aizawa said, his voice tightening. “You were too rough, Bakugo. The way you cornered him, the sparks on your hands—it could have easily been seen as aggression.”

Katsuki scoffed, but his tone was surprisingly even as he responded. “The sparks weren’t me being ‘aggressive,’ Sensei. That’s just my quirk.”

Aizawa frowned, tilting his head slightly. “Explain.”

Katsuki exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “My sweat builds up naturally. It’s not something I can turn off. If I let it sit too long, it gets dangerous. My gauntlets are for storing it so it doesn’t go off randomly, but when I don’t have them, I have to spark it off manually. Controlled sparks are the only way to burn it off without leaving a mess—or blowing shit up.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re saying the sparks weren’t intentional?”

“Exactly,” Katsuki said, leaning back again.

 “It’s maintenance, not aggression. If I wipe it off somewhere, it’ll turn into a fucking bomb. The slightest friction might make it go off. You didn’t know that because you didn’t ask. Everyone’s too busy patting me on the back for my ‘control’ to actually figure out what I deal with.”

Aizawa felt a pang of guilt at Katsuki’s words. 

He prided himself on knowing his students—on understanding not just their strengths but the challenges they faced. 

And yet, this was something he hadn’t known.

“You’re right,” Aizawa admitted, his voice quieter now. “I should have asked.”

Katsuki shrugged, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Whatever. Just figured you should know before you accuse me of losing it.”

Aizawa sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You two… You’re a pain in my ass. But I’m proud of you.”

Both boys looked up at him, their expressions shifting—Katsuki’s eyes narrowing with begrudging acceptance, Izuku’s softening into quiet gratitude.

“This plan of yours,” Aizawa said, glancing between them, “was smart. Reckless, but smart. You thought of everything. Even this conversation, I’m guessing.”

Izuku smiled faintly. “Well, we figured you’d want answers.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki added, smirking. “And we knew you’d lecture. It’s your thing.”

Aizawa let out a tired laugh, shaking his head. “Get out of here. Both of you. And stay out of trouble.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, without another word, the two boys stood and left the tent.

As the flap closed behind them, Aizawa allowed himself a small, weary smile. 

These kids… They’ll be incredible heroes someday.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Back in the staffroom that evening, Aizawa sat at his desk, a stack of paperwork in front of him. Nezu had left after handing over Mineta’s phone, his parting words hanging in Aizawa’s mind:

"You’ve raised some remarkable students, Aizawa. Their loyalty to one another is inspiring… even if their methods are a bit unorthodox."

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his temples. 

There was truth in that, as much as he hated to admit it. His students had shown initiative and strength, but it had come at a cost—a cost he should’ve prevented.

They were students, they didnt need to deal with this.

Going forward, things would have to change.

First, he needed to ensure that every student felt safe coming to him or any teacher with concerns. 

The gap in trust that had formed between him and his class was unacceptable. He’d talk to them—individually and as a group—to rebuild that trust and make it clear they didn’t have to handle these kinds of problems alone.

Second, UA’s policies would need to be revisited. 

If Mineta had been able to skate by for this long without proper action being taken, then something in the system was broken. Aizawa would make sure it was fixed.

And lastly, he needed to do better. 

To be better. 

Katsuki’s explanation of his quirk had been a stark reminder that even he, as someone who prided himself on knowing his students, didn’t always dig deep enough.

“You didn’t ask.”

That simple statement cut deeper than he expected. He’d been quick to praise Katsuki for his control but never thought to ask how he maintained it. 

How many other details had he missed?

He had always assumed the sparking palms were an intimidation tactic, but now, he and Midoriya’s relationship made a bit more sense.

Aizawa leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the small corkboard pinned with photos of his class. 

They stared back at him—young, bright, and full of potential. Each one of them carried their own burdens, their own struggles. It was his job to notice those, to support them, and to guide them.

Mineta was gone, and the girls were safe. That was a victory, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to ensure nothing like this ever happened again.

For Mina. For Katsuki and Izuku. For all of them.

Tomorrow, he’d talk to the class. 

He’d explain what happened in as much detail as he could, balancing transparency with discretion. He’d apologize for his oversight and make it clear that their safety—physical, mental, and emotional—was his priority.

And he’d thank them, too.

Because as reckless as they had been, Katsuki and Izuku had reminded him of what mattered most: these kids, this team, and the unwavering bond they shared.

As Aizawa turned off the lights and left the staffroom, he felt a faint glimmer of hope. His students had already proven their strength and resilience. 

Now, it was his turn to do the same.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

the epilogue

Formal Announcement from U.A. High School XXX-XX24

It is with great disappointment that we inform the UA community of the immediate expulsion of Mineta Minoru from the Heroics Department, Class 2-A, for gross misconduct that violates the principles and ethical standards upheld by our institution.

An internal investigation revealed a pattern of behavior that endangered the safety, privacy, and dignity of multiple students. Evidence collected during this investigation has been shared with law enforcement, and pending legal charges are under review.

UA prioritizes the safety and well-being of all its students, and we will not tolerate actions that compromise their physical or emotional security. Moving forward, additional measures will be implemented to ensure incidents of this nature cannot happen again.

We remain committed to fostering an environment where all students feel safe, supported, and respected.

Signed, Principal Nezu U.A. High School ______________________________________________________________ congrats if you made it this far!

[translatemunson]

these days I'm restless, work days are endless • ttfd

chapter three of the tortured firefighters department

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader, banter (because i love it), reader is a math and science nerd, chris and eddie are here, mentions of food, hints of mental issues, proofread by my bye-lingual ass (let me know if i forgot anything)

LA was less of a stranger now. Who knew going to that dinner at Maddie’s would slowly bring you closer to the 118 family.

Late night texts with Maddie to make her company while Chimney worked and Jee was nowhere close to sleep were standard. Night shifts were smooth as butter if compared to day shifts in any state, you found out. LA of course had more hits and runs, overdose emergencies, abuse situations, but you could type their info while waiting for your personal laptop to run the latest dynamical system you were analyzing. 

And now your agenda also included occasional brownie deliveries to the 118 and leftover food pickup you were sure Bobby wasn’t cooking as an accident; a few talks with Athena, Bobby’s wife, about how they could improve response time inside the LAPD with a small system you developed for your old local police; helping Chris over Facetime with his math homework — because Eddie called you one day looking like he just had the worst day of his life, but he couldn’t just understand the process to the results of a simple equation.

It was nice to finally have a life besides PhD and work routine. But that would always be brought up or come in handy for helping.

That’s how you ended up at Eddie’s place on a saturday morning. When he texted you that Chris needed extra help with a math syllabus — that could bring him some extra points that semester —, you jumped on your car and said would gladly help.

“How is it going, kiddo?” Eddie entered the dining room and checked Chris' progress.

“She’s really a genius!”

“And you are the most dedicated student I had.” And you weren’t saying that just to make him feel special. Chris was one of those kids that really put in the effort and dedication to understand things — when they wanted to, of course —, it wasn’t his fault the math problems were too complex for his age. Maybe you could talk to Eddie about it, so he could let the teachers know that maybe taking it easy with the kids was a good idea. They didn’t need to also be traumatized by mathematics. “C’mon, you’re crushing those equations, Chris!”

“Do you need a refill?” Eddie pointed to your empty lemonade cup.

“Yes, please.”

“Can you help me with science?” Chris asked, now that he was almost done with his math exercises.

“Not my forte, but I’ll try.”

In another universe, you would’ve stopped your studies once you had the basic requirements for being a teacher — maybe middle or secondary school. You’d always loved classrooms, and it was the safest option if your Masters ended up on a dead end. You were glad to be where you were, but your mind sometimes wondered the ‘what if’s of being a school teacher.

Chris brought his science homework, luckily just some questions about animals that, because of all of your free hours in museums and science classes you took for extra credits during college, were easy to deal with. Once you talked about seeing the dinosaur bones in real life, he was mesmerized, avoiding blinking at all costs just so he couldn’t miss a single detail.

“Dad! She saw the dinosaur!” He almost screamed when you pulled out your phone to show him some pictures.

The doorbell hung as soon as Eddie entered the dining room. “Be right back, buddy! Don’t give him any more ideas, Brains!”

“Won’t promise anything.” I took you one heartbeat to cover your mouth and whisper, “I will check if there is any dinosaur in town and take you there for a visit. What do you think?”

“That’s awesome,” he whispered back.

“But for now this is a secret, ok?”

“Ok. Pinky swear?”

“Of course, kiddo.” 

Chris got up to pick his books about dinosaurs. Your mind started to list all the museums in LA and how many of them had really good replicas of them — or the real ones, if possible. Maybe you could get the tickets for Chris and Eddie and tag along as their tour guide. Or maybe you could check with Eddie if he needed a babysitter someday in the following weeks, so you could help and also fulfill your promise at the same time.

“Buck!” Chris screamed.

You turned around just in time to see Buck taking him off the floor with a bear type huge and messing with his hair. “My guy! What are you up to today?”

“I’m studying dinosaurs.” He showed the books in his hands.

“On a Saturday morning? Where’s the fun? How about video games?”

“Are you done with your science homework?” Eddie asked, closing the door.

“Yes! Brains helped me!”

As your nickname has been brought up to the conversation, Buck finally noticed you. You heard Maddie saying, countless times, that Buck had a soft spot for kids. But had a huge spot for Chris, with all his heart. After the tsunami — you’ve only heard about it, still not in California to experience the disaster first hand —, their bond only grew even stronger.

“Oh did she?” He smirked.

“Yes. She even promised me she will take me to see the dinosaurs.”

“Chris! I thought you would honor our pinky swear!” you shouted playfully.

“Ouch! Someone call 9-1-1, I’ve been betrayed.” Buck faked having a knife to his chest, and pulling it out.

You pretended to have your earpiece on and changed your voice until it sounded like you were in your job, saying “Sir, calling 9-1-1 without being in real danger is considered a felony, and the authorities will investigate you. Hope you look good in orange pajamas.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and Chris laughed. Buck was definitely not impressed, and he took Chris with him to play some video games. You busied yourself with organizing Chris’ books over the table and checking his equations one last time. You took your lemonade glass to the kitchen, intending to wash it before going home for some deep cleaning.

“Just leave it there, I’ll take care of it,” Eddie entered the room and opened the cookie jar. “Are you serious about taking him to the museum?”

“I was gonna talk to you about it later. Maybe? Only if you’re ok with it, of course. I can take him on my day off, get him some pancakes from my favorite restaurant, bring him back by the end of the day, safe and sound. Or you could tag along, I can pretend I’m a VIP tour guide, I might be able to pull some strings at the Caltech museum, they don’t have real dinosaurs, but their exhibition on life on Earth is really good. It’s not much, but they have a few things about dinosaurs.”

“Does next Saturday work for you? I might need to take an extra 12-hour shift.”

“Sure! The Natural History Museum will do the job just fine. I’ll pick him up and don’t worry, we can stay at mine until your shift ends. Anything works for me, really.”

“Great.” He noticed how you held your bag and checked the door from time to time. “In a hurry?”

“I think my job here is done,” you pointed to the two kids playing and screaming over some stupid video game. 

Lately, you’ve been avoiding Buck like the plague. He was just so annoying towards you every time you met and it was getting on your nerves. Your small encounters when you were at the firestation to drop off some baked goods, or when you went to visit Maddie and he was just leaving the place, were messing with your thoughts. 

It was easier to give him the cold shoulder and keep your distance than sitting in a quiet room with your mixed feelings about the younger Buckley.

“Thank you again, Brains.”

“No worries, happy I could help.”

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay a little more and grab some lunch with us?”

“I really don’t wanna disturb the vibes, you know.”

“You know you are practically family, right? Catching lunch with us on slow days, having some beers, teaching math to the kids.”

“Yeah, but I just… Maybe another time, ok? I promise.”

“You have to stop acting like you’re always on the run, Brains. Someday you’re gonna run out of breath.”

“I appreciate the advice, Eddie. Text you soon?”

“He’s gonna freak out when I tell him about your plans.”

You left the house unnoticed. Before hopping on your car and driving to your favorite grocery store, you checked your messages, hoping to clear your agenda for next saturday — pretty sure you had a night shift on friday, but with enough caffeine, you could pull an all-nighter. Not ideal, but it was your plan B.

“Hey! Brains!”

“Tired of getting your ass kicked by a younger boy?” You were still too busy with your phone to raise your eyes to Buck.

“Why are you almost running to get out of here? Schedule’s too packed?”

“None of your business.” You opened the door of your car and threw your bag inside.

“Oh so you are still mad at me for eating the cupcakes!” Oh yeah, the cupcake incident. That was one of the reasons why you weren’t staying more than one minute alone with Evan Buckley.

“What did you expect me to do? I bought them for me and Maddie, and you thought it was ok to eat them all. Alone!” You faced him, your chin up high. “You have no fucking clue how long I waited in line before the store opened that day, I had a really messed up shift and I needed those!”

“I told you I’d get more cupcakes!”

“No! I wanted my favorites! Your sister wanted those specific ones, she kept mentioning them for days! And you ruined it!” You held the door open, hoping you could leave the place quickly.

“I’ve told you I’m sorry, ok? What else do you want me to do, hm?”

“How about getting out of my hair? Leave me alone, Buckley. I mean it. I was starting to grow fond of the 118, but you are making it impossible to enjoy some time with any of them!”

“I was there first!” Buck was much stronger than you, and he successfully closed the door. He wanted another fight.

“Great. Text me your schedule so I can avoid being in the same room with you.” You tried to push his arm out of the door.

“Now you’re just being dramatic! C’mon, Brains, it was just some stupid cupcakes, I got Maddie some of her favorite cake after you stormed out of the apartment. I texted you I was sorry a dozen times.”

“Maybe you should start asking before eating something that isn’t yours.”

“I don’t know what happened to you lately, but it’s unbelievable you’re holding the grudge for so long. Brains, really, I’m sorry I ruined your plans with my sister. Can we act as adults now?”

“Who are you to tell me ‘Let’s be adults’ now? You ruined the only free time I had with Maddie that week. And you know what? I had a shitty shift with some really bad calls that day, but, unlike you, I don’t go on messing with things that don’t belong to me.”

Your real name slipped from his lips and you knew it was time to leave. You took the chance to open the door and throw yourself into the seat.

“I’m tired, Evan. I really am. Give me some space, I’m still recovering from that shift. You could’ve bought us all the cupcakes in the world that day, and I’d still be mad at you.” You started the car. “I need to go home.”

“I’m gonna find out why you’re still mad at me after one million sorry’s!”

“I wouldn’t waste any more breath. But you know what, good luck.”

As much as you hated it, Eddie was right. You were running away. And you just didn’t want to admit who was from.

author's note: and she’s back for chapter three!!!! you all were a little shy on chapter 2, but ok, i’ll forgive you. there is a small blurb coming up this weekend, so stay tuned. also, you can request blurbs from the tortured firefighters department or just talk about it via my asks!!! also i’m almost done with 9-1-1 lone star and i may or may not be working on a crossover in the near future hihihi kay love you see y’all next week byeeeeeee (actually this sunday ok byeeeee)

[saintblk]

*ೃ— spider’s web | NANAMI KENTO

warnings: foul language, smut, p in v, vaginal penetration, slight slut-shaming, sort of kinda sub!nanami, implied virgin!nanami, nerd!nanami, college au— gender neutral afab reader, considered to be black + thick

word count: 606 (so short i know>_<)

note: ngl idk if i like this but i been having nerd!nanami brainrot for a while i might write another part to this idk

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS INTERACT AT YOUR OWN RISK

NANAMI KENTO prided himself on his work ethic. he didn’t allow for anything, or anyone, to come between him and his perfect gpa. that included skipping out on gojo’s dumb parties, handing work in far earlier than he needed to, and spending all his free time in the library. it also included approaching professors and insisting he get to work on his own. one thing he despised most was depending on other people for a good grade.

so when you were assigned to be his partner for a research paper, he wasted no time in raising the concern with the prof before he left the lecture hall. unfortunately, he’d be quickly turned away after some speech about working with people in the real world.

as he suspected, meeting with you was as difficult as he expected it to be. as soon as you approached him for contact information, he couldn’t help but further curse your prof. you were followed by your equally loud friends, dressed in short revealing clothes. nanami, to his assumption, had you figured out in a minute.

he was not surprised by your lack of response to his texts, how little you showed up to class, and the new man he saw on your arm every week. to him, you were nothing but a manipulative little slut who had everyone wrapped around their finger, and he refused to be taken advantage of.

the position he found himself in just a few days later would say otherwise. you showed up at his dorm abruptly, informing him the library was closed for renovations neither of you knew about. he allowed you to come in and bit his tongue when you plopped down on his bed.

the last thing he expected was to have you climb atop him, tight walls enveloping his shaft as you sunk down onto his member. he couldn’t recall exactly what led to it; at least not with the way you clenched around him. while he failed to stifle his whimpers and groans, you ground your hips down against his in an attempt to force his noises out.

“lemme hear you,” you breath. “know you wanna let it out.”

as if he was waiting for those words, nanami let out a choked whine and clasped at your pudgy hips. he needily bucked his hips up into you, thrusting his aching member between your walls. a loud and sudden moan escaped your mouth, encouraging him to repeat his actions.

as he chased the unfamiliar feeling overcoming him, he mindlessly pistoned in and out of you. your nails dug into his chest and your mind went blank. every time he hit the spot inside you that made your toes curl, you felt yourself lose more and more of your sanity to him.

“f-feels so good-fuck…” he bites out.

nanami, who’d never been inside anything besides his own fists, fucked into you with reckless abandon. any concern he might’ve had about the assignment flitted from his brain as did his reservations about you. it was not long before you found sweet release and gushed onto his pelvis with nanami following close behind. despite trying to hold out the way you clenched around his manhood made it impossible. with a bruising grip on your waist, he thrust into you until he emptied his seed into your womb.

it didn’t take very long for him to knock out from exertion, only to come to with an email from you, the attached document containing a nearly complete assignment. though he might’ve thought being your partner would be absolutely pointless, it seemed you were useful for something after all.

2023 ©️ all rights reserved by saintblk (me) | do not copy, repost, promote, or translate any of my works without my permission

[doug-meat]

parts of the npmd soundtrack that scratch my brain perfectly (act one)

this soundtrack is so good. this is a long post so its all under the cut Part two coming soon. also i alternate between chara names and actor names idk why i do that. i hope this is even slightly comprehensible

HIGH SCHOOL IS KILLING ME

the little grace note in the piano bit in the last line of the piano melody before richie starts singing in (i hope this makes Sense)

jon's voice for real . just through this whole show

"a thread" and "i'm scared" happening at the same time

the violins(??) coming in when ruth starts singing

richie and ruth's harmonies during "the weight has got me sweating" bit

the "and i can survive it for only so long" harmonies

steph's "shit"

the way steph says "couldn't fuckin' study"

FOR THE CLASS OF TWENTY TWENTY WURN

agh Agh AGH!

the whispered "i'm so fuckin' dead"s underneath steph and pete's dialogue

steph and pete's repeated "my melody"s

the howling

the second delayed vocal line underneath the last bit of the last chorus

LITERAL MONSTER

the "HUH" at the start

the guitar riff motif

the little guitar squeal right before pete starts singing

the way pete says locker

richie's little riff on "seduce her"

the chorus harmonies

everyone knows how he BANGS!

the "and we pray and we pray harmonies"

you better you better!

kims voice in the he roars part <3

the harmonies in this song in general

will branners voice in this song SO GOOD

the "HUH HUH"s behind max's i roar bit

max's "don't need no one to tell me" verse UGH so good

NO ONE'S GONNA STOP ME!

max's harmonies on kind, size and rise

I WILL CLAIM WHAT IS MINE!

COOL AS I THINK I AM

the piano motif Can you tell i love motifs

i bet this song'll suck!

oo woah oo woah oh Oh

when the violins come in especially their little BA DA DUMS after "princess leia told me"

what if i were King of the hill!

the drums kicking in after the one oowoahoowoahoh oh

ensemble coming in

the little growl on the second "i'm as cool as she thinks i am"

THEN AGAIN I'M DERANGED

she's the brawn i'm the brains!

the electric guitar kicking in

IF I CAN FINALLY BE COOL I WILL KNOW THAT I'M NOT A LOSER

I'M THE RULER!!!!!!

DIRTY GIRL

the synth and drums

the way max says behave and be-betray me

baaaabe I'mma love ya all night lOOOooooong

THE LIKE MORE SYNTH KICKING IN HALFWAY THROUGH THE FIRST CHORUS UGH SO GOOD

the way grace says classroom

you want me cant be skipping skewl!

grace's "be-behayveee" UGH <3

THE GROWL ON "on your knees pray along"

the chorus harmonies <3

I DONT CARE ABOUT YOU!

the bridge harmonies

AA AAAGH!!

i'm a i'm a i'm a good girl!

WHO ON OCCASION GETS DIRTY!!!!

I WONT CAAARE ABOUT YOU!

BULLY THE BULLY

the snaps coming in

we'll make him shit his pants!

the riff on that line ^^

the jager-man??????

what's our budget?

the growl on "he's just a nerd in disguise"

stephie gonna lure him in with her charm

yeah?

JAGER GONNA JAGER OUT!

chorus harmonies!

standing for the nerdy the prudy!

WE'RE GONNA CUT OFF HIS NIPS!

AAAAHAaaAaaahh

the guitar bits in the back

we're gonna keep the beans cool! that whole sequence

BEAN SCHOOL? EXCELLENT!

THESE CHORUS HARMONIES ESP STEPHS

pete's and our problem's solved

richie's and the school can evolve

AND THE SCHOOL CAAAAN EVOLVE!!!

ugh jon and joey sound so good on the "we're gonna get the jock pleading"

the last guitar note

BURY THE BULLY

oh god she's snapping again...

this is a lot!!!

the whole hack all his limbs off bit

YOU WANT ME TO FILM THIS?

tape him up after dousing with bleach!

the chorus harmonies. every bit of these choruses i cant even isolate its everything

steph's little "bury bully line up stories NEVER HAUNT ME!"

i just cut off his nips

GRACE TELLING RUTH TO GIVE HER MAX'S NIPS

GO GO NIGHTHAWKS

the way ruth says shiny

IT'S LIKE THE START OF A NEW YEAR!

jon's higher range <3

jon's harmony on "and now i don't eat all by myself"

the trumpets behind the chorus

all the squawks

the HUH after who knew footballs a team game

corey's voice sounds so good on the "or hit u with a saturated towel"

the no more bully ball harmonies

the HUH! after no more bully ball

We're all givin the butt slaps YEAH HEAH!

the way jason sings cause we care <3

AND NOW I CAN PEE ALL BY MYSELF!!!!

the overlapping vocals coming together for "in hatchetfield high school"

N! I! G! H! T! AWK AWK! KSSSS!

NIGHT! HAWKS! NIGHT! HAWKS! NIGHT! HAWKS! FLY!

FUCK YOU CLIVESDALE GO GET FUCKED YOURE FUCKIN LOSERS AND WE'LL KILL YOU (KILL YOUR ASS)

fuuuuck you cliiivesdale gooo get fuuucked

the watch us fly harmonies

NIGHT! HAWKS! FLY! AWK AWK!

NERDY PRUDES MUST DIE (my fave song in the soundtrack be warned)

the "watch these nerds run for their lives" guitar riff before max sings

will branners voice augh

the little synthy ba duh duh duhs in the back

the BAMS! after every line in verses

the way max says "hallway safe" and "break you"

ugh the guitar kicking in and the double BUM BUM for the second verse

YA BITCH!

WOAH UH OAHHH

SHOULDA JOINED THE SMOKE CLUB YA NERDY PRUDE

the whole chorus

the watch those nerds run for their lives melody Ugh loved it in axe man loved it here

YOU PUSHED ME OFF THE EEEDGE

the way he says crusade

and youre too weak to be enSLAAAAVED

the drums AUAUDUAAUAU

CLEANSING OF YOUR KIND!!!!

the way he says anti socialites

the entire repeat after me bit. its actually incredible i cant just isolate one part of it its so good

the ensemble kicking in

IIIIM NOT A LOOOSERRRR

But you have lost. Everything.

THE HATCHET TOWN MOTIF

UGH I LOVE THIS SONG. THE NMT MOTIF

[cheese-ducks]

TWRP ORIGINS SIDE STORY

Remember when I said last chapter that Sung overhead a conversation between Phobos and Meouch?

This is that conversation

Papers and screens were scattered across Phobos's bed. He'd been researching sign language ever since that night at the 'club fair', and he'd gotten pretty good. He had the basics down but he still had a long way to go.

"Practicin' that hand code thing?" 

He was startled to see Commander Meouch there. Usually he was playing the bass, drinking or both simultaneously. Phobos grabbed his notepad, showing him the initial pamphlet he'd been given. 

Yes I am. Who knows, this might help me become a better guitar player.

Meouch leafed through it, examining each picture. 

"Y'know this might help with your overall dexterity but in terms of playing it won't do much. Just stick to practicin'."

He paused, almost physically recoiling from what he'd just said.

"I mean, fuckin do whatever you want. I don't give a shit." 

He rolled his eyes as he tossed the pamphlet back.

Phobos scooted closer and tugged on his sleeve. 

Why do you do that?

"Do what?" He growled.

Say something really smart and then bail from it?

Meouch sighed, he'd hoped he wouldn't notice. Every now and again he would tease Phobos by correcting him on something and immediately follow it up with a general insult. He always made sure to say the insult louder. Messing with his head was all it was supposed to be, he didn't think Phobos actually cared. His eyes darted around the room as Phobos moved closer. Meouch was probably safe, the only people who would hear this couldn't talk. 

"Can you keep a secret?"

Phobos shook his head and snickered quietly. He was quite oblivious when it came to secrets. Meouch glared at him as if to say 'Really?'. 

He was also oblivious when it came to social cues most times. To make up for it he quickly wrote; But for you, of course.

"Ok so, it was a really long time ago but I too was" 

Meouch took a deep breath in, preparing himself.

"A nerd!" He whispered. 

'Too?' Phobos thought. Meouch, taking Phobos's confused expression as a request to explain further, continued his story.

"When I was a cub, I had these huge sunglasses, wore dorky flannels, and I was totally obsessed with jazz music." 

His voice was noticably softer than usual. The growl was nearly gone, he sounded grounded, real. 

"It's great music, it makes you a better player, it's inventive, it stretches boundaries, but it's so damn easy to make fun of. It can be up it's own ass so much further than anything else, y'know?" 

There was also an accent that Phobos couldn't place. Did he always have an accent? It was a nice surprise.

"I'm not even one of those stuck up jazz types or anything! I'm also a huge synthesizer nerd. People can be like oh it's just overly aggressive distorted synthesizers, but my fuckin nerd brain goes that's a sine wave with a sine wave sub and then a square wave..."

Phobos could listen to him for hours. As a relative novice to music as a whole it was enthralling hearing him speak so knowledgeably. It didn't matter how much he actually understood. He wanted to chime in with his own musical knowledge so badly, but anything he could have said, the lion probably already knew. He couldn't interrupt Meouch for anything. Both because he was still entranced by him and he was vaguely terrified. 

"My old crew thought the funkiness came naturally, but once I opened my fuckin mouth about the nerd shit I never heard the end of it. But when those dickheads hit me around I learned to hit em back even harder." 

Phobos knew what he meant. Music was as much a learned skill as anything. He was fascinated by all of it.

"So I toughened up, started keeping the nerdy shit to myself, and I was never made fun of again." He reached for something in one of his vest pockets. "And I still like these things but I never wear them."

He revealed a pair of darkly tinted aviators. Upon seeing them Phobos discreetly scribbled into his notepad. Before he had the chance to look up Meouch ripped out the page.

I bet you'd look great in those glasses

His hearty laugh made Phobos's face scrunch up in anger. More like a mixture of anger and relief.

"Trust me, pal. I would not." 

Phobos couldn't let that blatant invasion of privacy go unpunished. In an instant he snatched the aviators from Meouch's claws and forced them onto his face. 

"The fuck are you doing, Phobos?" He snarled. 

Phobos couldn't help but laugh, a real genuine laugh. Meouch was getting this angry over sunglasses? Pathetic. 

"Oh you think this is funny, do ya?" The lion taunted. "Your laugh is more dorky than I thought it would be, your lordship." 

He pushed Phobos as he walked out of the room.

"And now the reveal." 

After a while Meouch slinked back into the room, wearing a dark blue flannel overshirt and the giant aviator sunglasses. The flannel hung loose on his body, the absence of his bulky vest made Phobos notice just how slim Meouch was. The stark contrast of the top and bottom halves of his attire was almost funny. The top half looked approachable, cool, fun even. That sentiment was only made stronger by Meouch leaning against the doorframe, lifting the aviators and winking at Phobos. Without taking his eyes off of him he wrote a response.

You look amazing

"Oh, stop. I can't go out in public like this." Meouch brushed off the compliment in an instant. Phobos couldn't have been serious, could he?

Well, why not? This is the real you, right? 

He could've sworn he saw the lion's face go flush while reading.

You're smart, strong, absolutely infuriating. Who wouldn't want to see that?

Meouch chuckled and tossed the notepad back. 

"You know I've never met anyone like you, Phobos."

Me either. 

But about you

[quillyfied]

Real talk for a minute because I fucking need this:

I’ve been a fandom nerd since age eight. Formalized when I first got online at age thirteen. My first real fandom was Harry Potter. It was my personality. It was everything. It introduced me to the fantasy genre, which I still haven’t really left. It made me want to be a writer. It made me realize there are stories inside of me that I want to share, that I hope touch someone else as deeply as Harry Potter touched me. Brain chemistry-altering type stuff. Loving Harry Potter is the only thing that extended family members who don’t really know me anymore remember about me. An ornament gifted years ago from an aunt who died suddenly. Thousands of words of writing. Hundreds of hours talking about it with friends and family. Toys, stickers, notebooks, clothes, gifts from others and some bought with money I shouldn’t have spent but did because it made me happy. Core childhood memories with people I don’t talk to anymore but remember so fondly.

It took a long time to be okay with tucking away my Harry Potter things. I disagreed with JKR’s political stances the second I heard them, but I held out hope for longer than I should have. I went through the very real shame and guilt and agony of something so foundational to my sense of self having to become a private, nostalgic sort of sad love instead of the loud, joyous proclamation it had been for years. It took a long time to be okay with losing the connection it brought with other strangers who also loved this story like I do and the giddiness of common ground and common excitement with other human beings. I’m still not okay with how something I still have so much love for is now an indicator of a person’s moral quality. I’m not okay with how my love makes me sad and uncomfortable instead of happy.

I’m a fandom nerd. It’s my biggest hobby and my biggest escape and coping mechanism. In May 2019, the thriving and small Dice Camera Action fandom exploded and then crumbled because of the show’s players’ interpersonal dramas, which in turn exploded and then crumbled me. Fully took out a pillar of my mental health. I learned a lot about parasocial relationships and my own relationship with them, about the dangers of them despite their very normal and common advent.

July 2019, I found Good Omens.

You can infer the pattern: brain chemistry-altering love, thousands of words of fanfic, more money than I had sometimes spent on stickers and plushes and shirts. Creating my very first cosplay, hours and hours talking about it with friends, some very fulfilling new creative relationships. A story that gave me hope, that felt True in the way that all great stories feel when they hit the right emotional chords. I’ve found new stories since then, but Good Omens remains an anchor that found me during a time I desperately needed it.

July 6, 2024.

Real people are more important than fandom. Obviously. I don’t think that’s ever truly in question.

But goddammit, fandom is people, too. Fandom is community. It’s the driving dopamine-sharing communal experience that has shaped my life for twenty years now. There is something in me that pushes back against the idea that the stories that have shaped and affected me so deeply must now be cast aside because their creators are unworthy, and at the same time, I have a hard time enjoying art knowing something on this magnitude taints it. It’s almost religious, in a way; avoid the appearance of evil, cast aside the unclean thing, repent for the sin of loving something made by a bad person.

Fuck you, my love doesn’t require repentance, art and artist can have some degree of separation and what I do and enjoy is nobody’s business.

Fuck you, how dare you give even verbal support to a monster by giving their work, and by extension them, the gift of your attention.

I don’t know how I’m going to handle this one yet, because the situation is more complex than JKR’s. There is still information coming out (more victims coming forward, I think more journalistic investigations under way), and Good Omens wasn’t just NG’s work, not the book and not the show. I’m in mourning. A little stuck and paralyzed. I’m not ready to put away and privatize another love that gave me such joy to be open and proud of. I resent the feeling that I need to or I will not be a Good Person.

In the meantime the bills need paid and my antidepressants need taken.

[justevelynnnn]

My Nerd Armin Hcs 😘🥰

Notes: Sorry for my disappearance for anyone who noticed😭 i have alot of school stuff going on and i also work part time. The Armin angst is still coming and i’ll try to write other characters i just love Armin omggg‼️

Content: Headcannons, Modern AU, Armin is GROWN‼️ , one small mention of 🍃 ⛽️but that’s it

- As a kid he used to watch a lot of older tv shows and listen to a lot of older music due to mostly growing up with his grandfather so as an Adult he does the same thing

- He keeps it to himself though

- He also dresses kinda old fashioned too

- Wears glasses to read

- Has an extra pair with fake lenses though just because he likes the amount of compliments he gets when he wears the real ones so he’s seen with glasses a lot

- He’s obviously a Marine Biology major but he also has a minor in oceanography

- Takes like 6-7 classes 💀

- He’s also part of his schools garden club

- This boy just loves nature and life😭❤️

- He stays to himself a lot especially due to the workload but also because he’s a bit introverted

- Even when with Eren or Mikasa he’s just kinda there he’ll talk a little bit but he just enjoys listening more

- Has many posters on his wall of random old actors and sea animals

- Just completely covered

- And of course he’s a big reader too

- So just stacks of books everywhere it’s crazy

- He’s a bit messy but it can be excused due to how much he has going on sometimes

- He keeps it to himself too but he gets stressed easily ☹️

- So sometimessss he’ll smoke a joint or two to relax his brain

- He didn’t like the idea at first when Eren introduced the idea to him but once he tried it and felt at ease he got into it more

- He only does it once or twice a month

- He did date Annie for a little bit in high school but as they got older they grew further apart and naturally broke up

- It was on good and sad terms

- Since then he doesn’t worry about girls too much just school

- Gets hit on a lot when he does his tutoring lessons

- He lowkey kinda hates it

- He just politely declines and the girls normally “suddenly” don’t need help anymore

- His favorite scents are vanilla and sandalwood

- His favorite food is garlic bread and he loves coffee and tea

- He once dyed his hair brown and hated it

- I feel like he’d be allergic to all seafood which would fit his love for the ocean and marine life tbh

- One of his favorite book series is Scythe

- Secretly a Star Wars fan

- He listens to alot of classical music when alone and/or studying

- He doesn’t make his bed alot 💀

- He’s a bit lazy in every other area but school

- So a lot of people think he’s super organized and stuff until they see his room

- He doesn’t plan on having many kids, maybe one or two but no more than three for sure

- He also wants a cat super bad but he has slight allergies to them which he’s cried about alot 😭

- Once did an Escape room thing with Eren, Connie and Jean and he figured it out in record time (10 minutes) and he won an award and everything

- In the picture the place took he was red as hell and Jean and Connie didn’t let up on that fact for weeks 💀

- He was “Tomato boy” for a month too

- So now he’s never going again and he refuses to talk about it

Ok that’s all i got, i wrote this in like 20 mins so if it’s ugly sorry 💔

[far-side-skies]

Reworking Noob

Inspired by this post by @crossyyt. Saying what we're all thinking, Number One Fan was a lackluster episode despite the fact that it furthered what little overarching plot we managed to get out of the end of Season 2.

And it's because of this guy.

Gifs from this post by @atmosiacyclonia

Yeah, Noob. "The fan", and the writers' way of making jabs at both the fanbase and the industry as a whole apparently. Kind of entertaining on a first watch, especially over a decade after the show has ended, but looking at it critically...

He's just kind of a nothing character overall. We didn't need him to get involved in the quest for Warp crystals, he doesn't add anything to the story, he doesn't leave any meaningful impact on the story and yet he gets frozen in the prison crystal in Cyclonia Rising. Anyone could've been in his place and not much would've changed overall.

But I'm a believer that all characters have a use, you just need to find one for them. Noob didn't have much potential, but the potential that he did have feels wasted.

So let's see how he could've been put to better use.

TL;DR: I put him on the reserve team that was mentioned in Talon Academy and then never brought up again. Alternatively he could be a relative of Dark Ace.

Edit: I hit post on this too soon, added more thoughts as soon as I realised this wasn't in my drafts anymore.

First off: remove the meta commentary aspect. Poking fun at fans is bad form and commentary on real-life merch production in a fantasy setting like this is, in my opinion, nonsensical and makes my worldbuilding brain itch.

Second: Let's take a look at this kid's design.

When did y'all notice that Noob has black hair

and red eyes?

I only noticed a year ago.

Remind you of someone?

Allow me to freak out a bit, because

This can't have been an accident, right? What was the intent behind it? As far as I've noticed, these are the only two characters with this specific colouring. What was Nerd Corps trying to tell us??

Ok, freakout over. What are our options?

Noob and Dark Ace are related, and Noob's obsession with the Storm Hawks comes from knowing that he had a relative who was part of the old team.

Possible, but considering how quickly Noob bounced from being a Storm Hawks fan to an Absolute Zeroes fan, I don't think it's likely. If that is the case, then a rewrite of the episode would be needed to show a little bit more loyalty from Noob. I don't know about everyone else, but the jump from one fanbase to another feels like a pattern of behaviour in my opinion. He rotates through special interests on the regular. Nothing against that in a real-life context, but it feels like another mean-spirited jab at fans.

Meta commentary aside, Noob could be rewritten to be a fan of the original Storm Hawks because of this potential relation to them. It'd give us something close to a "real" origins episode if Noob was given a chance to infodump about his old idols. Maybe he dislikes the new team for being "inauthentic", or he doesn't care all that much about them, he's just interested in the Condor; a crucial piece of Storm Hawks history.

As for Dark Ace? Noob could either be unaware that the copilot he might be related to was a traitor (possibly indicating that the Sky Knights tried to cover up the traitor aspect), or he rejects the copilot out of disgust. He's just a traitorous Cyclonian after all and fodder for an identity crisis in Noob if he was anything close to a main character.

In short: Noob could've been used as an exposition device.

Option 2, and my personal take on how Noob can be made useful:

Rewrite him in full and give him a touch more screen time. Put him in Talon Academy for a scene or two, and then have him beg to join the reserve team that Aerrow suggested to Lynn. "Number One Fan" makes good on this suggestion and is about the whole reserve team, not just Noob.

I see this as a two birds, one stone solution. Noob gets to be useful, keeps his character trait as a mega-fan of the Storm Hawks, and that loose end from Talon Academy gets tied up somewhat. As much as I love the show, its episodic writing lead to quite a bit of disappointment. But it just means we get to play with all the elements like dolls.

Let him be an exposition piece for the world in regards to sky knight merchandise, but have it make sense in the context of Atmos. If he really is the only Storm Hawks fan out there (which I find doubtful), why are action figures of the team being made without the Hawks knowing? Either all his figures be handmade, or repurposed from existing figures of more popular teams like the Rex Guardians. Or hell, keep the joke that there aren't any Piper dolls in production, but have it be due to resource scarcity brought in by the war. Or Cyclonis bought every single Piper doll to use as target practise for whatever machine or weapon she's working on.

As I said above, let him be from the Talon Academy. Have him be so enamoured with the Hawks' takedown of this Cyclonian institution that he latched onto them as heroes and then got wrapped up in war propaganda in his efforts to become their number one fan. He's obviously a good few years younger than the team, so have his understanding of the war be incredibly shallow, and maybe give him an arc where he learns from that.

I was going to add more to this a lot more but a misclick or some kind of tumblr goof caused this to he published half-finished instead of saving it to my drafts, so eventually I'll make another post elaborating on these ideas. For now though I'm curious to see what everyone thinks, and their own takes on Noob. Is he a waste of screen time? Did you guys scrap him in your AUs? Did yall forget about him? Let me know.

[pipperoo]

another one of my npmd wips that i plan on writing sometime soon! i mentioned it in previous posts, but this is another ghost!au centered on max and grace (jagertitty brain worms got me)

this has been sitting in my drafts a bit, it’s very top down and doesn’t really get to the vibe of the fic, but it’s the best i’m really ever going to get. in person frantic rambles is the preferred medium to get my fic ideas across, so it’s always hard when i have to translate it to some written down. idk if that makes sense, but just read if you’re interested

the premise is grace is tired of max hitting on her so much and decides that, to stop him from bothering her, she needs to take him on a terrible date so he’ll be scared off. of course it takes place at the waylon house (only she and max go there, none of the other nerds)

max falls and dies and grace decides to cover up that she was there so it looks like an accident. (it was not her intention to kill him) max becomes a ghost and is mysteriously shunted to the black before appearing in grace’s room a week after he died.

through some stuff that’ll be revealed over the course of the fic, max and grace are connected and every time max gets a certain distance away from her, he is teleported back to her side. only grace can see and hear him too. he’s a bit of a lame ghost, he can’t really do anything, at the start.

they grapple with the complicated feelings and opinions they had as each other, but grow closer and become friends during their effort to figure out how to send max to the next plane. but there may be more to it than they thought.

grace’s headspace is stuck between arousal and repulsion towards max at the beginning. she hates him when he returns as a ghost and grows to see him as a friend (maybe more but who knows) but she now has to deal with the fact that he’ll eventually have to go. max’s headspace at the start is pure infatuation with grace, but he can never fully determine why he’s so into her that it bothers him. he also enjoys getting under her skin so she’ll think about him as much as he thinks about her. when he becomes a ghost he’s a little lost bc he thought grace liked him which she doesn’t and the entire school hates him which causes his temper to flare. when he starts to improve his relationship, he becomes better in general, still not great, but not the worst.

this is a very basic rundown, but their connection has ties to the waylon house spell which operates a little differently in this timeline due to certain things. a lot of it is mainly them being each others first real friend in a long time and navigating the complexities of being a ghost before their search for answers leads them towards danger.

i had a much longer explanation, but it made very little sense so this is good for now, it’s a little hard to fully describe it when i’m not rambling out loud. this is one of two wips that i plan to work on. there is also another au that i like to say is the evil version of this one which i might post about. this is what i have for now, might include more details later <3

[lizardperson]

lizardreading wrapped 2024

i was a huuuuge reader when i was younger, and then eventually i fell out of that somehow. but this year i finally managed get back into a more or less consistent reading habit, so imma blab about that

STATS

(powered by Storygraph, will probably update these when december is over lol)

BEST OF

The Instant Fav: The Sapling Cage by Margaret Killjoy usually, "fantasy YA" is something i do not care about. at all. i didn't particularly care about teenage protagonists back when i was that age, i do not now. and run-of-the-mill european-medieval-coded fantasy also isn't my thing. at all. BUT when Margaret Killjoy, who is amazing and great and such a cool person, brings out her first real novel (after a bunch of novellas and short stories which i also enjoyed a bunch), guess i have to read it. AND IT'S SO GOOD. it's exciting and funny and tragic and hopeful and queer af and well written and i just really really loved it. go read it y'all. [favorite line]

The Slow Burn: Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer been meaning to read this one for ages, because i love the movie so much, although i heard people either like the movie or the book. and i did enjoy it well enough, read the next 2 books too, it was.. nice. i think i gave it 4.5/5 initially. and then i couldn't stop thinking about it. re-read parts, read about it, hyperfocused. people always go on about how they want a relatable protagonist, but i don't think i ever actually had a character like that. well, hello Biologist. she's just like me fr. if i were a biologist. anyway, this book tickles something inside me. maybe it's the autism. [favorite line] [another favorite line]

The Surprise Hit: The Magos by Dan Abnett when you ask the internet "which warhammer 40k book is a good starting point", the Eisenhorn trilogy usually gets recommended. what doesn't get mentioned is "well, that one actually belongs to 2 more trilogies and another novel and a bunch of short stories". started, felt entertained enough to continue, had my fun. they're not great, the first 3 Eisenhorn ones have the weirdest-ass pacing, Eisenhorn himself is a dramatic bitch, but overall good enough. Ravenor trilogy is ok. the short stories inbetween range from :shrug_emoji: to good enough. (Bequin on the other hand is really really good) and in comes The Magos. suddenly the pov character is not some larger than life inquisitor doing god's the emperor's work, but the saddest wettest little nerd way in over his head. and he hates all this daemon- and chaos-bullshit and all the guns and the blood and just wants to go home to his books and he cries and he pukes from all the gore, and his ex wife is there too, and he mouthes off to FamousTM ScaryTM InquisitorTM Eisenhorn because it's all bullshit, and you just wanna wrap him in a blanket. and of course he saves the day eventually. i'd die for Valentin Drusher. [favorite line]

The Old Fav: Arbeit und Struktur by Wolfgang Herrndorf sorry to the english speakers, but this one is german only. it's not even fiction. it's the blog of an author after he got diagnosed with a brain tumor, documenting his last few years, slapped into a book after his death. i don't know how many times i've read this one over the years. going on 10 maybe? twice this year for some reason. and it hits me every time in a way i can't put into words. one of my alltime favs. mildly funny (?) sidenote: i can't for the life me of get into the fiction writing of this guy. i tried, multiple times. sorry dude. [favorite line]